UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 ILLINOIS LIBRARY 
 
 AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN 
 
 BOOKSTACKS
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 My daughter asks me for a Preface to the 
 following Volumes ; from a pardonable 
 weakness she calls upon me for parental 
 protection: but, in fact, the public judges 
 of every work, not from the sex, but from 
 the merit of the author. 
 
 What we feel, and see, and hear, and read, 
 affects our conduct from the moment when 
 we begin, till the moment when we cease to 
 think. It has, therefore, been my daugh- 
 ter's aim to promote, by all her writings, 
 
 ^ the progress of education, from the cradle 
 
 >~ to the grave. 
 
 Miss Edgeworth's former works consist 
 of tales for children — of stories for young 
 men and women — and of tales suited to 
 that great mass, which does not move in 
 the circles of fashion. The present volumes 
 are intended to point out some of those 
 errours to which the higher classes of so- 
 ciety are disposed.
 
 vi PREFACE. 
 
 All the parts of this series of moral fic- 
 tions bear upon the faults and excellences 
 of different ages and classes ; and they have 
 all arisen from that view of society, which 
 we have laid before the public in more di- 
 dactic works on education. In the " Pa^ 
 rents' Assistant,'' in *' MoraV and in " Po- 
 pular Tales y' it was my daughter's aim 
 to exemplify the principles contained in 
 *' Practical Education.*' In these volumes, 
 and in others which are to follow, she en- 
 deavours to disseminate, in a familiar form, 
 some of the ideas that are unfolded in 
 " Essays on Professional Education." 
 
 The first of these stories is called 
 Ennui — The causes, curses, and cure of 
 this disease are exemplified, I hope, in such 
 a manner, as not to make the remedy worse 
 than the disease. Thiebauld tells us, that 
 a prize essay on Ennui was read to the 
 Academy of Berlin, which put all the 
 judges to sleep. 
 
 Almeria — gives a view of the conse- 
 quences, which usually follow the substitu- 
 tion of the gifts of fortune in the place of 
 merit 3 and it shows the meanness of those.
 
 PREFACE. VU 
 
 who imitate manners, and haunt company 
 above their station in society. 
 
 Difference of rank is a continual excite- 
 ment to laudable emulation ; but those, who 
 consider the being admitted into circles of 
 fashion as the summit of human bliss and 
 elevation, will here find how grievously 
 such frivolous ambition may be disappointed 
 and chastised. 
 
 Madame de Fleiiry — points out some of 
 the means, which may be employed by 
 the rich for the real advantage of the poor. 
 This story shows, that sowing gold does not 
 always produce a golden haf vest ; but that 
 knowledge and virtue, when early implant- 
 ed in the human breast, seldom fail to make 
 ample returns of prudence and felicity. 
 
 The Dun — is intended as a lesson against 
 the common folly of believing, that a debt- 
 or is able by a few cant phrases to alter 
 the nature of right and wrong -, we had once 
 thoughts of giving to these books the title 
 of '' Fashionable Tales," alas ! the Duu 
 could never have found favour with fashion- 
 able readers. 
 
 Manoeuvring — is a vice to which the 
 little great have recourse, to show their
 
 viii PREFACE. 
 
 second-rate abilities. Intrigues of gallantry 
 upon the continent frequently lead to 
 political intrigue; amongst us the attempts 
 to introduce this improvement of our man- 
 ners have not yet been successful ; but 
 there are, however, some, who, in every 
 thing they say or do, show a predilection 
 for " left-handed wisdom.'* It is hoped, 
 that the picture here represented of a 
 manmivrer has not been made alluring. 
 
 I may be permitted to add a word on the 
 respect, with which Miss Edgeworth treats 
 the public — their former indulgence has 
 not made her careless or presuming. The 
 dates subjoined to each of these stories 
 show, that they have not been hastily in- 
 truded upon the reader. 
 
 Richard Lovell Edgeworth, 
 
 Edgeworthstown, 
 March 1809.
 
 ENNUI, 
 
 OR 
 
 MEMOIRS 
 
 or THE 
 
 EARL OF GLENTHORN. 
 
 Que faites-vous a Potzdam ? demandois-je un jour au prince 
 ** GulUaume. Monsieur, me repondit-il, nous passons 
 '* notre vie a conjuguer tous Ic meme verbe ; Je tnennuie, 
 ** tu t'ennuieSf ils'entiuic, nous nous ennuyonsy vous vous en- 
 ": nwjez, Us s'cnnu'ient ; je mennuyois,je m enmtieraij' etc. 
 Thiebauld, Mcuj. de Frederick le Grand. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Bred up in luxurious indolence, I was 
 surrounded by friends, who seemed to have 
 no business in this world but to save rne the 
 trouble of thinking or acting for myself; 
 and 1 was confirmed in the pride of help- 
 lessness by being continually reminded, 
 that I was the only son and heir of the Earl 
 of Glenthorn. My mother died a i<iV7 weeks 
 after I was born, and I lost my father when 
 I was very young. I was left to the care of 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 ENNUI. 
 
 a guardian, who in hopes of winning my 
 affectic^ never controlled my wishes, or even 
 my whims; I changed schools and masters 
 as often as I pleased, and consequently 
 learned nothing : at last I found a private 
 tutor, who suited me exactly, for he was 
 completely of my own opinion, *' that every 
 thing, which tlie young Earl of Glenthorn 
 did not know by the mstinct of genius, was 
 not worth his learning." Money could 
 piirchase a reputation for talents, and with 
 money I was immoderately supplied^ for 
 my guardian expected to bribe me with a 
 part of my own fortune, to forbear inquiring 
 what had become of a certain deficiency in 
 lhe remainder. This tacit compact I per- 
 fectly understood ; wc were consequently 
 on the most amicable terms imaginable, 
 and the most confidential, for I thought It 
 better to deal with my guardian than witli 
 Jews. Thus at an age when other young 
 men are subject to some restraint, either 
 from the necessity of their circumstances, 
 or the discretion of their friends, I became 
 completely master of myself, and of my for- 
 tune. Tvly companions envied me ; but 
 «sven their envy was not sufficient to make
 
 EXXUI. 3 
 
 me liapp}^ "Whilst yet a boy I began to 
 feel the dreadful symptoms of th a t'^na entail 
 malady, which baffles the skill of medicine, 
 and for which wealth can purchase only 
 temporary alleviation. For this complainft 
 there is no precise English name, — ^but, 
 alas ! the foreign term is now riaturaHzed 
 in England. — Among the higher classes, 
 whether in the wealthy or the faslnonalale 
 world, who is unacquainted with enmii V — 
 At first I was unconscious of being subject 
 to tliis disease; I felt that something was 
 the matter with me, but I did not know 
 what: yet the symptoms were suQiciently 
 marked. I was afflicted with frequent fits 
 of fidgettingj yawning, and stretching, with 
 a constant restlessness of mind and body, an 
 aversion to the place I was in, or the thing 
 I was doing, or rather to that which wa« 
 passing before my eyes, for I was never 
 doing any thing; I had an utter abhor- 
 rence, and an incapacitj^ of voluntary exer- 
 tion. Unless roused by extei-nai stimulus, I 
 sunk into that kind of apaih\% and vacancy 
 of ideas, vulgarly known by the name of & 
 brown study. If confined in a room for 
 more than half an hour by bad weather, or 
 
 B 2
 
 4 ENNUT. 
 
 Other contrarieties, I would pace backwards 
 and forwards, like the restless cavia in his 
 den, with a fretful, unmeaning pertinacity. 
 I felt an insatiable longing for something 
 new, and a childish love of locomotion. 
 
 My physician and my guardian, not 
 knowing what else to do with me, sent me 
 abroad. I set out upon my travels in my 
 eighteenth year, attended by my favourite 
 tutor as my companion. AVe perfectly agreed 
 in our ideas of travelling ; we hurried from 
 place to place as fast as horses and wheels, 
 and curses and guineas, could carry us. 
 Milord Anglois rattled over half the globe 
 without getting one inch farther from his 
 ennui. Three years were to be consumed 
 before I should be of age. What sums did 
 I spend during this interval in expedition- 
 money to Time! but the more 1 tried to 
 hasten him, the slower the rogue went. I 
 lost my money and my temper. 
 
 At last the day for which I had so long 
 panted arrived. I was twenty-one ! and I 
 took possession of my estate. The bells 
 rang, the bonfires blazed, the tables were 
 spread, the wine flowed, huzzas resounded, 
 friends and tenants crowded about me, and
 
 ENNUI. 5 
 
 nothing but the voice of joy and congratu- 
 lation was to be heard. The bustle of my 
 situation kept me awake for some weeks ; 
 the pleasure of property was new, and, as 
 long as the novelty lasted, delightful. I 
 cannot say that I was satisfied, but my 
 mind was distended by the sense of the 
 magnitude of my possessions. 1 had large 
 estates in England; and in one of the re- 
 mote maritime counties of Ireland, I was 
 lord over an immense territory, annexed 
 to the ancient castle of Glenthorn. A noble 
 pile of antiquity ! worth ten degenerate 
 castles of modern days. It was placed in 
 a bold romantic situation ; at least as far 
 as I could judge of it by a picture, said to 
 be a striking likeness, which hung in my hall 
 at Sherwood Park in England. I was born 
 in Ireland, and nursed, as I was told, in 
 an Irish cabin; for my father had an idea, 
 that this would make me hardy : he left me 
 with my Irish nurse till I was two years 
 old, and from that time forward neither he 
 nor I ever revisited Ireland. He had a dis- 
 like to that country, and I grew up in his 
 prejudices. I declared that 1 would always 
 reside in England. Sherwood Park, my
 
 $ EKNUh 
 
 English country seat, had but one fault. It 
 \i;as completely finished. The house was 
 inagniiicent, and in the modern taste ; the 
 furniture fashionably elegant, and in all the 
 gloss of novelty. Not a single luxury 
 omitted ^ not a fault could be found by 
 the most fastidious critic. My park, my 
 grounds, displayed all the beauties of na- 
 tuie and of art, judiciously combined. Ma^ 
 jestic woods, waving their dark foliage, over- 
 hung But I will spare my readers the 
 
 description, for I remember falling asleep 
 myself whilst a poet was reading to me an 
 ode on the beauties of Sherwood Park. 
 These beauties too soon became familiar to 
 my eycj and even the idea of being the 
 proprietor of this enchanting place soon 
 palled upon my vanity. Every casual vi- 
 sitor, all the strangers, even the common 
 people, who were allowed once a week to 
 walk in my demesne, enjoyed it a thousand 
 times more than I could. I remember, that, 
 about six weeks after 1 came to Sherwood 
 Park, I one evening escaped from the crowds 
 oi friends who filled my house, to indulge 
 myself in a solitary, melancholy walk. I 
 ^aw at some distance a party of people,
 
 ENNUI. 7 
 
 who were coming to admire the grounds, 
 and to avoid meeting them I took sheher 
 under a fnie tree, the branches of which, 
 hanging to the ground, concealed me from 
 the view of passengers. Thus seated, I 
 was checked in the middle of a desperate* 
 yawn, by hearing one among the party of 
 strangers exclaiming — 
 
 Haw happy the owner of this place must 
 be ! Has he any want, or any care? 
 
 Yes: had 1 known how^ to enjay the goods 
 of life, I might have been happy; but want* 
 of occupation, and antipathy to exertion, 
 rendered me one of the most miserable mea 
 upon earth. Still 1 imagined, that the cause 
 of my discontent proceeded from some ex- 
 ternal circumstance. Soon after my coming 
 of age, business of various sorts required 
 my attention ; papers w^ere to be signed, 
 and lands were to be let : these things ap- 
 peared to me terrible difficulties. Not even 
 that minister of state, who so feelingly de- 
 scribes his horrour at the first appearance 
 of the secretary with the great portfolio, ever 
 experienced sensations so oppressive as 
 mine w^ere, when my steward began to talk 
 to me of my own affairs. In the peevish-
 
 € £NNUI. 
 
 ness of my indolence, I declared, that 1 
 thought the pains overbalanced the plea- 
 sures of property. Captain Crawley, a 
 friend — a sort of a friend — an humble 
 companion of mine, a gross, unblushing, 
 thorough-going flatterer, happened to be 
 present when I made this declaration : he 
 kindly undertook to stand between me and 
 the shadow of trouble. 1 accepted this 
 offer. 
 
 Aye, Crawley, said I, do see and settle 
 with these people. 
 
 I had not the slightest confidence in the 
 person into whose hands, to save myself 
 from the labour of thinking, 1 thus threw 
 all my affairs; but I satisfied my under- 
 standing, by resolving that, when I should 
 have leisure, I would look out for an agent, 
 upon whom I could depend. 
 
 I had now been nearly two months at 
 Sherwood Park ; too long a time, I thought, 
 to remain in any place, and I was impatient 
 to get away. My steward, who disliked 
 the idea of my spending my summers at 
 home, found it easy to persuade me, that 
 the water on my estate had a brackish un- 
 wholesome taste. The man w ho told me
 
 ENNUI. 9 
 
 this stood before me in perfect health, though 
 he had drunk this insalubrious water all his 
 life ; but it was too laborious a task for my 
 intellects to compare the evidence of my 
 different senses, and I found it most easy to 
 believe what I heard, though it was in direct 
 opposition to what I saw. Away I hurried 
 to a zv ate ring-place, after the example of 
 many of my noble contemporaries,, who 
 leave their delightful country seats to pay, 
 by the inch, for being squeezed up in lodg- 
 ing houses, with all imaginable inconveni- 
 ence, during the hottest months in summer. 
 I whiledawaymy time at Brighton, cursing 
 the heat of the weather, till the winter came, 
 and then cursing the cold, and longing for 
 the London winter. 
 
 The London winter commenced, and the 
 young Earl of Glenthorn, and his entertain- 
 ments, and his equipages, and his extrava- 
 gance, were the conversation of all the 
 world, and the joy of the newspapers. The 
 immense cost of the fruit at my deserts 
 was recorded; the annual expense of the 
 vast nosegays of hot-house flowers worn 
 daily by the footmen who clung behind 
 my coach, was calculated ; the hundreds of 
 
 b5
 
 VO ENNUI. 
 
 wax lights, which burned nightly in my 
 house, were numbered by the idle admirers 
 of folly ; and it was known by the ser- 
 vants of every genteel family in town, that 
 Lord Glenthorn sufilered nothing but wax 
 to be burned in his stables ; that his ser- 
 vants drank nothing but claret and cham- 
 pagne; that his liveries, surpassing the 
 imagination of ambassadors, vied with regal 
 magnificence, whilst their golden trappings 
 could have stood even the test of Chinese 
 curiosity. My coachmaker's bill for this 
 year, if laid before the public, would amuse 
 and astonish sober-minded people, as much 
 as some charges vvhich have lately ap- 
 peared in our courts of justice for extra- 
 ordinary coaches and very extraordinari/ 
 landaus. I will not enter into the detail 
 of my extravagance in minor articles of 
 expense; these, I thought, could never be 
 felt by such a fortune as that of the Earl 
 of Glenthorn : but, for the information of 
 those who have the same course to rini or 
 to avoid, I should observe, that my di- 
 urnal visits to jewellers' shops amounted, in 
 time, to sums worth mentioning. Of the 
 multitude of baubles that I bought, the
 
 ENNUI. 11 
 
 rings, the seals, the chains, I will give no 
 account ; it would pass the behef of man, 
 and the imagination of woman. Those who 
 have the least value for their time have 
 usually the greatest number of watches, 
 and are the, most anxious about the exact- 
 ness of their going. I and my repeaters 
 were my own plagues, aud the profit of all 
 the fashionable watchmakers, whose shops 
 1 regularly visited for a louvge. My his- 
 tory, at this period, would be a complete 
 lounger's journal ; but I will spare my read- 
 ers this diary. I wish, however, as I have 
 had ample experience, to impress it on the 
 minds of all whom it may concern, that 
 a lounger of fortune must be extravagant. 
 I went into shops merely to pass an idle 
 hour, but I could not help buying some- 
 thing ^ and I was ever at the mercy of 
 tradesmen, who took advantage of my in- 
 dolence, and who thought my fortune in- 
 exhaustible. I really had not any taste for 
 expense ; but I let all who dealt with me, 
 especially my servants, do as they pleased, 
 rather than be at the trouble of making them 
 do as they ought. They assured me, that 
 Lord Glenthorn must have such and such
 
 12 ENNUI. 
 
 things, and must do so and so, and I quietly 
 submitted to this imaginary necessity. 
 
 All this time I was the envy of my ac- 
 quaintance, but I was more deserving of 
 their compassion. Without anxiety or ex- 
 ertion, I possessed every thing they wanted; 
 but then I had no motive — I had nothing 
 to desire ; I had an immense fortune, and I 
 was the Earl of Glenthorn: my title and 
 wealth were sufficient distinctions; how 
 could I be anxious about my boots, or the 
 cape of my coat, or any of those trifles 
 which so happily interest and occupy the 
 lives of fashionable young men, who have 
 not the misfortune to possess a large estate ? 
 Most of my companions had some real or 
 imaginary grievance, some old uncle or 
 father, some cursed profession to complain 
 of, but I had none. They had hopes and 
 fears, but I had none. I was on the pinnacle 
 of glory, which they were endeavouring to 
 reach, and I had nothing to do but to sit 
 still, and enjoy the barrenness of the 
 prospect. 
 
 In this recital 1 have communicated, I 
 hope, to my readers, some portion of that 
 ennui which I endured, otherwise they can-
 
 ENNUI. 13 
 
 not form an adequate idea of my temptation 
 to become a gambler. I really had no vice, 
 nor any of those propensities which lead to 
 vice J but ennui produced most of the ef- 
 fects that are usually attributed to strong 
 passions or a vicious disposition.
 
 14 KNNUr. 
 
 CHAPTER ir. 
 
 ** O \ ressource assurce, 
 *' Viens ranimer leur langueur desoeavrec : 
 ** Leur ame vide est du moins amusee 
 '* Par I'avarice en plaisir deguisce." 
 
 Gaming relieved me from that insuperable 
 listlessness by which I was oppressed. I 
 became interested — I became agitated 3 in 
 short, I found a new kind of stimulus, and 
 I indulged in it most intemperately. I grew 
 immoderately fond of that which supplied 
 me with sensations. My days and nights 
 were passed at the gaming table. I re- 
 member once spending three days and 
 three nights in the hazard room of a well-- 
 known house in St. James's- street: the 
 shutters were closed, the curtains down, 
 and we had candles the whole time ; even 
 in the adjoining rooms we had candles, 
 that when our doors were opened to 
 bring in refreshments, no obtrusive gleam 
 of day-light might remind us how the 
 hours had passed. How human nature
 
 ENNUI. 15 
 
 supported the fatigue I know not. We 
 scarcely allovred oiu'selves a moment^s 
 pause to take the sustenance our bodies 
 required. At last one of the waiters, who 
 had been in the room with us the whole 
 time, declared that he could hold out no 
 longer, and that sleep he must. With difli- 
 culty he obtained an hour's truce : the mo- 
 ment he got out of the room he fell asleep, 
 absolutely at the very threshold of our door. 
 By the rules of the house he was entitled to 
 a bonus on every transfer of property at 
 the hazard table, and he had made, in the 
 course of these three days, upwards of 
 three hundred pounds. Sleep and avarice 
 had struggled to the utmost, but, with his 
 vulgar habits, sleep prevailed. We were 
 wide awake. I never shall forget the figure 
 of one of my noble associates, who sat 
 holding his watch, his eager eyes fixed up- 
 on the minute hand, whilst he exclaimed 
 continually, " This hour will never be 
 over." Then he listened to discover whether 
 his watch had stopped; then cursed the 
 lazy fellow for falling asleep, protesting 
 that, for his part, he never would again 
 consent to such waste of time. The very
 
 16 ENNUI. 
 
 instant the hour was ended, he ordered 
 ** that dog*' to be awakened, and to work 
 we went. At this sitting 35000/. were lost 
 and won. I was very fortunate, for I lost 
 a mere trifle — ten thousand pounds; but I 
 could not expect to be always so lucky. 
 
 Now we come to the old story of being 
 
 ruined by play. My English John-o'-the- 
 Scales warned me, that he could advance 
 no more money; my Irish agent, upon 
 whom my draughts had indeed been un- 
 merciful, could not oblige me any longer, 
 and he threw up his agency, after having 
 made his fortune at my expense. I railed, 
 but railing would not pay my debts of ho- 
 nour, I inveighed against my grandfather 
 for having tied me up so tight ; I could 
 neither mortgage nor sell ; my Irish estate 
 would have been sold instantly, had it not 
 been settled upon a Mr. Delamere. The 
 pleasure of abusing him, whom I had ne- 
 ver seen, and of whom I knew nothing, 
 but that he was to be my heir, relieved 
 me wonderfully. He died, and left only 
 a daughter, a mere child. My chance of 
 possessing the estate in fee-simple increased : 
 1 sold this increased value to the Jews, and
 
 ENNUI. 17 
 
 gamed on. — Miss Delamere, some time af- 
 terwards, had the small-pox. Upon the 
 event of her illness I laid bets to an a- 
 mazing amount. 
 
 She recovered. No more money could be 
 raised, and my debts were to be paid. In 
 this dilemma I recollected, that I once had 
 a guardian, and that I had never settled 
 accounts with him. Crawley, who conti- 
 nued to be my factotum, and flatterer in 
 ordinary and extraordinary, informed me, 
 upon looking over these accounts, that 
 there was a mine of money due to me, if I 
 could but obtain it by law or equity. To 
 law I went, and the anxiety of a law-suit 
 might have, in some degree, supplied the 
 place of gambling; but all my business 
 was managed for me by Crawley, and I 
 charged him never to mention the subject 
 to me till a verdict should be obtained. 
 
 A verdict was obtained against me. It 
 was proved in open court by my own wit- 
 nesses, that I was a fool ; but as no judge, 
 jury, or chancellor could believe, that I was 
 so great a fool as my carelessness indicated, 
 my guardian stood acquitted in equity of 
 being so great a rogue as he really was.
 
 1$ KNNUI. 
 
 What was now to be done? I saw my 
 doom. As a highwayman knows, that he 
 must come to the gallows at last, and 
 acts accordingly, so a fashionably extra- 
 vagant youth knows, that sooner or later 
 lie must come to matrimony. No one 
 could have more horrour of this catas- 
 trophe than I felt; but it was in vaia 
 to oppose my destiny. My opinion of 
 W'Omea had been formed from the com- 
 mon-place jests of my companions, and 
 froiai my own acquaintance with the worst 
 paj^t of the sex. I had never felt tlie pas* 
 sion of love, and of course believed it to 
 be something that might have existed ia 
 former ages, but that was in our days quite 
 obsolete, at least among the knowing part 
 of tlie world. \i\ my imagination, young 
 women were divided into two classes, those 
 who were to be purchased, and those wha 
 w^ere to purchase. Between these two 
 classes, though the division was to be mark- 
 ed externally by a certain degree of cere- 
 mony, yet I was internally persuaded, that 
 there was no essential dilFerence. In my 
 feelings towards them there was some dis- 
 tinction y of t lie first class I was tired, and
 
 ENNUI. 1^ 
 
 of the second I was afraid. — Afiaid ! Yes — • 
 afraid of being taken in. With these fears, 
 and these sentiments, I was now to choose 
 a wife. I chose her by the numeration 
 table : Units, tens, hundreds, thousands, 
 tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands. 
 I was content, in the language of the news- 
 papers, to It ad to the hxpneneal altar any 
 lashionable fair one, whose fortune came 
 under this sixth place of figures. No sooner 
 were my dlspositiom knawn, than the friends 
 of a young heiress, who wanted to purchcise 
 a coronet, settled a match betweea us. My 
 bride had one hundred wedding dresses, 
 elegant as a select committee of mantua- 
 makers and milliners, French and English, 
 could devise. The least expensive of these 
 robes, as well as I remember, cost filty 
 guineas; the most admired came to about 
 five hundred pounds, and was thought, by 
 the best judges in these matters, to be won- 
 derfully cheap, as it was of lace such as 
 had never before been trailed in English 
 dust, even by the lady of a nabob. These 
 things were shown in London as a spectach 
 for some days, by the mantua-maker, who 
 declared, that she had lost many a night's
 
 20 ENNUI. 
 
 rest in contriving how to make such a va- 
 riety of dresses siifTiciently magnificent and 
 distinguished. The jewellers also requested 
 and obtained permission to exhibit the dif- 
 ferent sets of jewels ; these were so nume- 
 rous, that Lady Glenthorn scarcely knew 
 them all. One day, soon after her marriage, 
 somebody at court, observing that her dia- 
 monds were prodigiously fine, asked wdiere 
 she bought them. " Really,*' said she, 
 " 1 cannot tell. I have so many sets I 
 declaie ! I don't know whether iCs my Pa- 
 ris, or my Hamburgh, or my London set.** 
 Poor young creature ! I believe her chief 
 idea of happiness in marriage w^as the pos- 
 session of the jewels and paraphernalia of a 
 countess — I am sure it was the only hope 
 she could have, that was likely to be realiz- 
 ed, in marrying me. I thought it manly 
 and fashionable to be indifferent, if not 
 contemptuous to my wife : I considered her 
 only as an incumbrance, that I was obliged 
 to take along with a fortune. Beside the 
 disagreeable ideas generally connected with 
 the word tvifcy I had some peculiar reasons 
 for my aversion to my Lady Glenthorn. 
 Before her friends would suffer me to take
 
 ENNUI. 31 
 
 possession of her fortune, they required from 
 me a solemn oath against gambling; sol 
 was compelled to abjure the hazard table 
 and the turf, the only two objects in life 
 that could keep me awake. This extorted 
 vow I set down entirely to my bride's ac- 
 count, and I therefore became even more 
 averse from her than men usually are who 
 marry for money. Yet this dislike sub- 
 sided. Lady Glenthorn was only childish — 
 I, of an easy temper — I thought her ridi- 
 culous, but it was too much trouble to tell 
 her so continually. I let the occasions pass, 
 and even forgot her ladyship, when she 
 was not absolutely in my way. She was 
 too frivolous to be hated, and the passion 
 of hatred was not to be easily sustained in 
 my mind. The habit of ennui was stronger 
 than all my passions put together.
 
 SQ ENNUI. 
 
 CHAPTER 111. 
 
 " Or realize what we think fabulous, 
 " IWx bill of fare of Eliogabalus/' 
 
 After my marriage, my old malady rose 
 10 an insupportable height. The pleasures 
 of the table were all that seemed left to me 
 in life. Most of the young men of any ton, 
 cither were, or pretended to be, connoisseiu's 
 in the science of good eating. Their talk 
 was of sauces and of cooks — what dishes 
 each cook was famous for, whether hhfort 
 lay in white sauces or brown, in soups, len- 
 titles y fricandeaus, bechemele, matelotes, 
 daubes, kc. Then the history and genea- 
 logy of the cooks came after the discussion 
 of the merit of their works ; who my Lord 
 C — 's cook lived with formerly — what my 
 
 Tord D gave his cook — where they 
 
 met with these great geniuses, &c. I can- 
 not boast that our conversation at these se- 
 lect dinners, from which the ladies were 
 excluded, was very entertaining ; but true.
 
 ENNUr. 23 
 
 good eaters detest wit at dinner-time, and 
 sentiment at all times. I think I observed, 
 that amongst these cognoscenti there was 
 scarcely one to whom the delicacy of taste 
 did not daily prove a source of more pain 
 than pleasure. There was always a cruel 
 something that spoiled the rest; or if the 
 dinner were excellent, beyond the power of 
 the most fastidious palate tt) condemn, yet 
 there was the hazard of being placed far 
 from the favourite dish, or the still greater 
 danger of being deputed to can^e at the 
 head or foot of the table. How I have 
 seen a heavy nobleman, of this set, dex- 
 terously manoeuvre to avoid the dangerous 
 honour of carving a haunch of venison. 
 But, good heavens, said I, when a confi- 
 dential whisper pointed this first to my no- 
 tice— why does he not like to carve ?*— -he 
 would have it in his power to help him.self 
 to his mind, which nobody else can do so 
 
 well Xo ! if he carves he must give the 
 
 Tike bits to others, every body here under- 
 stands them as well as he — each knows 
 what is upon his neighbour's plate, and 
 what ought to be there, and what must be 
 in the dish. I found that it was an affair
 
 24 ENNUI. 
 
 of calculation — a game at which nobody 
 can cheat without being discovered and 
 disgraced — I emulated, and soon equalled 
 my experienced friends. I became a per- 
 fect epicure, and gloried in the character, 
 for it could be supported without any in- 
 tellectual exertion, and it was fashionable. 
 I cannot say that I could ever eat as much 
 as some of my companions — One of them 
 I once heard to exclaim, after a monstrous 
 dinner, " I wish my digestion was equal to 
 my appetite." I would not be thought to 
 exaggerate, therefore I shall not recount 
 the wonders I have seen performed by these 
 capacious heroes of the table. After what 
 I have beheld, to say nothing of what I have 
 achieved, I can believe any thing that is 
 related of the capacity of the human sto- 
 mach. I can credit even the account of the 
 dinner which Madame de Baviere affirms 
 she saw eaten by Lewis the Fourteenth, 
 viz, " quatre assiettes de differentes soupes ; 
 un faisan tout entier; un perdrix ; une 
 grande assiette pleine de salade ; du mou- 
 ton coupe dans son jus avec de Tail ; deux 
 bons morceaux de jambon ; une assiette 
 pleine de patisserie ; du fruit et des confi-
 
 KNNUf. 25 
 
 tares r' Nor can I doubt the accuracy of the 
 historian, who assures us, that a Roman Em- 
 peror*, one of the most moderate of those 
 Imperial gluttons, took for his breakfast, 
 500 figs, 100 peaches, 10 melons, 100 bec- 
 caficoes, and 400 oysters. 
 
 Epicurism was scarcely more prevalent 
 during tlie decline of the Roriaan Empire, 
 than it is at this day amongst some of the 
 wealthy and noble youths of Britain. Not 
 one of my select dinner party but would 
 have been worthy of a place at the iiirbot 
 consultation^ immortalized by the Roman sa- 
 tirist. A friend of mine, a bishop, one day 
 went into his kitchen, to look at a large tur- 
 bot, whiclr the cook was dressing. The cook 
 had found it so large, that he had cutoff the 
 fms — ^' What a shame !" cried the bishops 
 and immediately calling for the cook's apron 
 he spread it before his cassock, and actually 
 sewed the fins again to the turbot with his 
 own episcopal hands. If I mightjudge from 
 my own experience, I should attribute fa- 
 shionable epicurism ina great measure to en- 
 nui. Many affect it, because they have no- 
 
 ■'i" Cloilius Albinus. 
 VOL. I. C
 
 ^6 ENNUI. 
 
 thing else to do; and sensual indulgences are 
 all that exist for those who have not sufficient 
 energy to enjoy intellectual pleasures. I 
 dare say, that if Heliogabalus could be 
 brought in evidence in his own case, and 
 couldbemadeto understand the meaning of 
 the word ennui, he would agree with me 
 in opinion, that it was the cause of half his 
 vices. His offered reward for the discovery 
 of a new pleasure is stronger evidence than 
 any confession he could make. I thank 
 God that I was not born an Emperor, or I 
 might have become a monster. Though not 
 in the least inclined to cruelty, I might have 
 acquired the taste for it, merely for desire of 
 the emotion which real tragedies excite. 
 Fortunately, I was only an Earl and an epi- 
 cure. My indulgence in theexcessesof the 
 table injured my health ; violent bodily ex- 
 ercise was necessary to counteract the effects 
 of intemperance. It was my maxirn, that 
 a man could never eat or drink too much, if 
 he would but take exercise enough. I 
 killed fourteen horses* and survived; but I 
 
 * I was not the noblejuan who laid a \\ager, that he 
 could ride a fine horse to death in fifteen minutes. In-
 
 ENNUI. 2 
 
 ^ / 
 
 grew tired of killing horses, and I continued 
 to eat immoderately. I was seized with a 
 nervous complaint, attended with extreme 
 melancholy. Frequently the thoughts of 
 putting an end to my existence occurred, 
 and I had many times determined upon the 
 means; but very small, and apparently ina- 
 dequate and ridiculous motives, prevented 
 the execution of my design. Once, I was 
 kept alive by ^pigg^rij, which I wanted to 
 see finished. Another time, I delayed de- 
 stroying myself, till a statue, which I had 
 just purchased at a vast expense, should be 
 put up in my Egyptian salon. By the 
 awkwardness of the unpacker, the statue's 
 thumb was ])roken. This broken thumb 
 saved my life ; it converted ennui into anger. 
 Like Montaigne and his sausage, I had now 
 something to complain of, and I was happy. 
 But at last my anger subsided, the thumb 
 would serve me no longer as a subject of 
 conversation, and I rdapsed into silence and 
 black melancholy. I w^as " a' weary of the 
 
 deed, I must do myself the justice to say, that I rejoiced 
 at this man's losing his bet. He bltxu the horse in four 
 minutes, and killed it ; but it did not die within the time 
 prescribed by the bet. 
 
 C2
 
 28 ENNUI. 
 
 sun;'* my old thoughts recurred. At this 
 time I was just entering my twenty-fifth 
 year. Rejoicings were preparing for my 
 birth-day. My Lady Glenthorn had pre- 
 vailed upon me to spend the summer at Sher- 
 wood Park, because it was new to her. 
 She filled the house with company and 
 noise; but this only increased my discon- 
 tent. My birth-day arrived — I wished my- 
 self dead — and I resolved to shoot myself at 
 the close of the day. I put a pistol into my 
 j)ocket, and stole out towards the evening, 
 unobserved by my jovial companions. 
 Lady Glenthorn and her set were dancing, 
 and I was tired of these sounds of gayety. 
 I took the private way to the forest which 
 was near the house, but one of my grooms 
 met me with a fme horse, which an old te- 
 nant had just sent as a present on my birth- 
 day. The horse was saddled and bridled, 
 the groom held the stirrup, and up I got. 
 The fellow told me the private gate was 
 locked, and I turned as he pointed to go 
 through the grand entrance. At the out- 
 side of the gate sat upon the ground, hud- 
 dled in a great red cloak, an old woman, 
 who started up and sprung forwards the mo-
 
 ENNUI. 29 
 
 merit she saw me, stretching out her arms 
 and her cloak with one and the same mo- 
 tion. 
 
 " Ogh! is it you I see?'* cried she, in a 
 strong Irish tone. 
 
 At this sound and this sight my horse, 
 who was shy, backed a Httle. I called to 
 the woman to stand out of my way. 
 
 " Heaven bless your sweet face ! I'm the 
 nurse that suckled yees when ye was a baby 
 in Ireland. Many's the day I've been 
 longing to see you," continued she, clasping 
 her hands, and standing her ground in the 
 middle of the gateway, regardless of my 
 horse, which I was pressing forward. 
 
 " Stand out of the way, for God's sake, 
 my good woman, or I shall certainly ride 
 over you." 
 
 ** So! so! so!" said I, patting my rest- 
 Jess horse. 
 
 '^ Oh ! he's only shy, God bless him ; 
 he's as quite nov/ as a lamb, arid kiss one or 
 other of yees I must," cried she, throwing 
 her arms about the horse's neck. 
 
 The horse, unaccustomed to this mode of 
 salutation, suddenly plunged, and threw
 
 30 ENNUI. 
 
 nie. Aly liead fell against the pier of the 
 gate. The last sound I heard was the re- 
 port of a pistol ; but I can give no account 
 of what happened afterwards. I was stun- 
 ned by my fall, and senseless. Wiien I 
 opened my eyes, I found myself stretched 
 on one of the cushions of my landau, and 
 surrounded by a crowd of people, who 
 seemed to be all talking at once : in the 
 buzz of voices I could not distinguish any 
 thing that was said, till I heard Captain 
 Crawley's voice above the rest, saying, 
 
 " Send for a surgeon instantly; but it*s 
 all over 1 it's all over ! Take the body the 
 back way to the banquetting-house; I 
 must run to Lady Glenthoin." 
 
 I perceived that they thongiit me dcad^ 
 I did not at this moment feel that I was 
 hurt, I v/as curious to know what they 
 would all do; so I closed my eyes again be- 
 fore any one perceived that I had opened 
 them. I lay motionless, and they proceeded 
 with me, according to Captain Crav\dey's 
 orders to the banquetting-house. When we 
 arrived there, my servants laid me on one of 
 the Turkish sofas, and the crowd, after
 
 ENNUI. 31 
 
 having satisfied their curiosity, dropped off 
 one by one, till 1 was left with a single foot- 
 man and my steward. 
 
 " I don't believe he's quite dead," said 
 the footman, '' for his heart beats." 
 
 '*■ Oh, he's the same as dead, for he does 
 not stir hand or foot, and his scull, they 
 say, is fractured for certain; but it will all 
 be seen when the surgeon comes. I am sure 
 he will never do. Crawley will have every 
 thing his own way now, and I may as well 
 decamp." 
 
 " Ay, and among them," said the foot- 
 man, " I only hope I may get my wages." 
 
 " What a fool that Crawley made of my 
 lordr* said the steward. 
 
 ** What a fool my lord made of iiiiDHcir," 
 said the footman, ** to be ruled, and let all 
 his people be ruled, by such an upstart. 
 With your leave, Mr. Turner, I'll just run 
 to the house to say one word to James, and 
 be back immediately." 
 
 *' No, no, you must stay, Robert, whilst 
 I step home to lock my places, before Craw- 
 ley begins to rummage." 
 
 The footman was now left alone with me. 
 Scarcely had the steward been gone two mi-
 
 3^2 ENNUI. 
 
 nutes, when I heard a low voice near me 
 saying, in a tone of great anxiety, '* Is he 
 dead?" 
 
 1 half opened my eyes to see who it w as 
 that spoke. The voice came from the door, 
 which was opposite to me, and whilst the 
 footman turned his back, I raised my head, 
 and beheld the figure of the old woman, who 
 had been the cause of mv accident. She 
 was upon her knees on the threshold — her 
 arms crossed over her breast. I never shall 
 forget her face, it was so expressive of de- 
 spair. 
 
 " Is he dead ?" she repeated. 
 
 " I tell you yes," replied the footman. 
 
 *^ For the love of God let me come in, if 
 he is here," cried she. 
 
 " Come in then, and stay here whilst I run 
 to the house*." 
 
 The footman ran off, and my old nurse, on 
 seeing me, burst into an agony of grief. 
 
 * If any one should think it impossible, that a man 
 «f Lord Glenthorn's consequence should, at the supposed 
 moment of his death, be thusneglected, letthem recollect 
 the scenes that followed the death of Tiberius — of Henry 
 the Fourth of France— of William Rufus, and of George 
 the Second,
 
 EXXUI. 33 
 
 I did not understand one word she uttered, 
 as she spoke in her native language; but 
 her lamentations went to m}'' heart, for they 
 came from hers. She hung over me, and I 
 felt her tears dropping upon my forehead. 
 I could not refrain from whispering, "Don't 
 cry — I am alive." 
 
 " Blessings on him !'* exclaimed she, start- 
 ing back; she then dropped down on her 
 knees to thank God. Then calling me by 
 every fondling name that nurses use to their 
 children, she begged my forgiveness, and al- 
 ternately cursed herself, and prayed for me. 
 
 The strong affections of this poor woman 
 touched me more than any thing I had ever 
 yet felt in my life; she seemed to be the only 
 person upon earth, who really cared for me, 
 and in spite of her vulgarity, and my preju- 
 dice against the tone in which she spoke, 
 she excited in my mind emotions of tender- 
 ness and gratitude. ** My good woman, if 
 I live, I will do something for you ; tell me 
 what I can do," said I. " Live ! live ! God 
 bless you, live; that's all in the wide world 
 1 want of you, my jewel; and, till you are 
 well, let me watch over you at nights, as I 
 
 C5
 
 34 ENNUI. 
 
 used to do when you were a child, and I 
 had you in my arms all to myself, dear." 
 
 Three or four people now ran into the room, 
 to get before Captain Crawley, whose voice 
 was heard at this instant at a distance. I 
 had only time to make the poor woman un- 
 derstand that I wished to appear to be dead ; 
 she took the hint with surprising quickness. 
 Captain Craw^ley came up the steps, talk- 
 ing in the tone of a master to the steward 
 and people who followed. 
 
 " Whatis this old hag doing here? Where 
 is Robert? Where is Thomas? I ordered 
 them to stay till I came. Mr. Turner, why 
 did not you stay ? What ! has not the coro- 
 ner been here yet? The coroner must see 
 the body, I tell you. Good God ! What a 
 parcel of blockheads you all are ! How many 
 times must I tell you the same thing ? No- 
 thing can be done till the coroner has seen 
 him ; then v/e'U talk about the funeral, Mr. 
 Turner — one thing at a time. Every thing 
 shall be done properly, Mr. Turner. Lady 
 Glen thorn trusts every thing to me^ — Lady 
 Glenthorn v/ishes that I should order every 
 thing.''
 
 ENNUL 35 
 
 '^ To be sure — no doubt — very proper 
 — I doii^t say against that.'' 
 
 " But/' continued Crawley, turning to- 
 wards the sofa upon which I lay, and seeing 
 Ellinor kneeling beside me, " What keeps 
 this old Irish witch here still? A\"hat bu- 
 siness have yoiv here pray, and who are you 
 or what are you? 
 
 " Please your honour, I was his nurse 
 formerly, and so had a nat'ral longing to see 
 him once again before 1 would die." 
 
 '^ And did you come all the way from 
 Ireland on this wise errand?" 
 
 " Troth I did — every inch of the way 
 from his own sweet place.'* 
 
 " Why, you are little better than a fool, 
 I think/' said Grawley. 
 
 " Little better, plase your honour; but I 
 was always so about them childer that I 
 nursed." 
 
 *• Childer I Well, get along about your 
 business now, you see your nursing is not 
 wanted here." 
 
 " I'll not stir out of this, while he is here," 
 said my nurse, catching hold of the leg of 
 the sofa, and clinging to it»
 
 36 ENNUI. 
 
 " You'll not stir, you say 1" cried Captain 
 Crawley: *^ Turn her out 1" 
 
 '^ Oh, sure you would not have the 
 cru'lty to turn his old nurse out before he's 
 even cowld. And won't you let me see him 
 buried?" 
 
 " Out with her! out wdth her, the old 
 Irish hag ! We'll have no howling here. 
 Out wath her, John!" said Crawley to my 
 groom. 
 
 The groom hesitated, I fancy ; for Craw- 
 ley repeated the order more imperiously. 
 ** Out with her, or go yourself." 
 
 ** May be it's you that will go first your- 
 self," said she. 
 
 , " Go first myself!'* cried Captain Craw- 
 ley, furiously^ '* are you insolent to me P'' 
 
 ** And are not you cru'l to me, and to my 
 child I nursed, that lies all as one as dead 
 before you, and was a good friend to you in 
 his day, no doubt?" 
 
 Crawley seized hold of her; but she re- 
 sisted with so much energy, that she dragged 
 along with her the sofa to which she clung, 
 and on which I lay. 
 
 •* Stop !" cried I> starting up. There was
 
 ENNUI. S7 
 
 sudden silence. I looked round, but could 
 not utter another syllable. Now, for the 
 first time, I was sensible that I had been 
 really hurt by the fall. My head grew giddy, 
 and my stomach sick. I just saw Craw- 
 ley's fallen countenance, and him and the 
 steward looking at one another; they were 
 like hideous faces in a dream. I sunk back. 
 
 *^ Ay, lie down my darling, don't be dis- 
 turbing yourself for such as them," said my 
 nurse. " Let them do what they will with 
 me; it's little I'd care for them, if you were 
 but once in safe hands." 
 
 I beckoned to the groom who had hesi- 
 tated to turn out Ellinor, and bid him go to 
 the housekeeper, and have me put to bed. 
 ** She," added I, pointing to my old nurse, 
 ** is to sit up with me at night." It was all 
 I could say. What they did with me after- 
 wards, I do not know; but I was in my 
 bed, and a bandage was round my temples^ 
 and my poor nurse was kneeling on one 
 side of the bed, with a string of beads in her 
 hand, and a surgeon and physician, and 
 Crawley and my Lady Glenthorn were on 
 the other side, whispering together. The 
 curtain was dravni between me and them j,
 
 3S^ ENNUI. 
 
 but the motion I made on wakening was in- 
 stantly observed by Crawley, who imme- 
 diately left the room. Lady Glenthorn 
 drew back my curtain, and began to ask me 
 how I did ; but when I fixed my eyes upon 
 her, she sunk upon the bed, trembling vio- 
 lently, and could not finish her sentence. 
 I begged her to go to rest, and she retired. 
 The physician ordered that I should be kept 
 quiet, and seemed to think I was in danger. 
 I asked what was the matter with me ? and 
 the surgeon, with a very grave face, informed 
 me, that 1 had an ugly contusion on my 
 head. I had heard of a concussion of the 
 brain; but I did not know distinctly what it 
 was, and my fears were increased by my ig- 
 norance. The life which, but a few hours 
 before, I had been on the point of voluntarily 
 destroying, because it was insupportably bur- 
 densome, I was now, the moment it was in 
 danger, most anxious to preserve ; and the 
 interest which I perceived others had in get- 
 ting rid of me, increased my desire to reco- 
 ver. My recovery was, however, for some 
 time doubtful. I was seized with a fever, 
 which left me in a state of alarming debility. 
 My old nurse, whom I shall henceforward
 
 ENNUI. 39 
 
 call by her name of Ellinor, attended me 
 with the most affectionate solicitude during 
 my illness * ; she scarcely stirred from my 
 bed-side, night or day: and, indeed, when I 
 came to the use of my senses, she was the 
 only person whom I really liked to have near 
 me. I knew that she was sincere, and, how- 
 ever unpolished her manners, and however 
 awkward her assistance, the good-will with 
 which it was given made me prefer it to 
 the most delicate and dexterous attentions, 
 which I beheved to be interested. The very 
 want of a sense of propriety, and the free- 
 dom with which she talked to me, regardless 
 of what was suited to her station, or due to 
 
 * " For fostering, I did never hear or read, that it was 
 in use or reputation in any country, barbarous or civil, 
 as it hath been, and yet is in Ireland. * * * * In the 
 opinion of this people, fostering hath always been a 
 stronger alliance than blood; and the foster-children 
 do love and are beloved of their foster-fathers and their 
 sept (or clan), more than of their natural parents and 
 kindred ; and do participate of their means more frank- 
 ly, and do adhere unto them, in all fortunes, with more 
 affection and constancy.* *******-***** 
 Such a general custom in a kingdom, in giving and 
 taking children to foster, making such a firm alliance 
 as it doth in Ireland, was never seen or heard of in any 
 other country of the world beside." Davies,
 
 40 ENNUI. 
 
 my rank, instead of offending or disgusting 
 me, became agreeable; besides, the novelty 
 of her dialect, and of her turn of thought, 
 entertained me as much as a sick man could 
 be entertained. 1 remember once her tell- 
 ing me, that *' if it plased God she would 
 like to die on a Christmas-day, of all days; 
 hecaase the gates of Heaven, they say, will 
 be open all that day; and who knows but a 
 body might slip in unknownst.'^ When she 
 sat up with me at nights, she talked on eter- 
 nally; for she assured me there was nothing 
 like talking, as she had always found, to put 
 one asy asleep. I listened or not, just as I 
 liked; any way she was content. She was 
 inexhaustible in her anecdotes of my ances- 
 tors, all tending to the honour and glory of 
 the family ; she had also an excellent memory 
 for all the insults, or traditions of insults,which 
 the Glenthorns had received for many ages 
 back, even to the times of the old kings of 
 Ireland; long and long before they stooped 
 to be lorded ; when their *' names, which it 
 was a pity and a murder, and moreover a 
 burning shame, to change, wasO'Shagnasee. 
 She was well stored with histories of Irish 
 and Scottish chiefs. The story of O'Neill,
 
 ENNUr. 41 
 
 llie Irish black-beard, I am sure I ought to 
 remember, for Ellinor told it to me at least 
 six times. Then she had a large assortment 
 of fairies smd shadowless'^' witches, and bcDi' 
 shees'y and besides, she bad legions of spirits 
 and ghosts, and haunted castles without end, 
 my own castle of Glenthorn not excepted, 
 in the description of which she was extremely 
 eloquent; she absolutely excited in my mind 
 some desire to see it. " For many a Ions: 
 year,'* she said, " it had been her nightly 
 prayer, that she might live to see me in my 
 own castle; and often and often she was 
 coming over to England to tell me so, only 
 her husband, as long as he lived, would not 
 let her set out on what he called a fool's er- 
 rand; but it pleased God to take him to 
 himself last fair day, and then she resolved 
 that nothing should hinder her to be with 
 her own child against his birth-day; and now 
 could she see me in my own Castle Glen- 
 thorn, she would die cojitint-^and what a 
 pity but I should be in it! I was only a 
 lord, as she said, in England; but I could 
 be all as one as a king in Ireland.** 
 
 * In Ireland it is a belief among the vulgar, that 
 witches have no shadows.
 
 42! ENNUI. 
 
 Ellinor impressed me with the idea of the 
 sort of feudal power I should possess in my 
 vast territory over tenants, who were almost 
 vassals, and amongst a numerous train of 
 dependants. We resist the efforts made by 
 those who, w^e think, exert authority or em- 
 ploy artifice to change our determinations, 
 whilst the perverse mind insensibly yields 
 to those, who appear not to have power, or 
 reason, or address sufficient to obtain a vic- 
 tory. I should not have heard any human 
 being with patience try to persuade me to 
 go to Ireland, except this ignorant poor 
 nurse, who spoke, as I thought, merely from 
 the instinct of affection to me and to her na- 
 tive country. I promised her that I would, 
 sometime or* othar^ visit Glenthorn Castle: 
 but this was only a vague promise, and it 
 was but little likely that it should be ac- 
 complished. As I regained my strength, 
 my mind turned, or rather was turned, to 
 other thoughts.
 
 KNNUI. 43 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 One moruiiig — it was the day after my 
 physicians had pronounced me out of all 
 danger, Cravviey sent me a note by ElJinor, 
 congratulating me upon my recovery, and 
 begging to speak to me for half an hour. 
 I refused to see him, and said, that I was 
 not yet well enough to do business. The 
 same morning Ellinor came with a message 
 from Turner, my steward, who, with his 
 humble duty, requested to see me for five 
 minutes, to communicate to me somethingof , 
 importance. I consented to hee Turner. He 
 entered with a face of suppressed joy and 
 affected melancholy. 
 
 " Sad news I am bound in duty to be the 
 bearer of, my lord. I was determined, what- 
 ever came to pass, however, not to speak till 
 your honour was out of danger, which I 
 thank Heaven, is now the case, and I am 
 happy to be able to congratulate your lord- 
 ship upon looking as well as "
 
 44 ENNUI. 
 
 *^ Never mind my looks. 1 will excuse 
 your congratulations, Mr. Turner/* said I, 
 impatiently; for the recollection of the ban- 
 quetting-house, and the undertaker, whom 
 Turner was so eager to introduce, came full 
 into my mind — *' Go on, if you please; five 
 minutes is all I am at present able to give to 
 any business, and you sent me word you had 
 something of importance to communicate.** 
 
 ** True, my lord; but in case your lord- 
 ship is not at present well enough, or not so 
 disposed, I will wait your lordship's leisure.*' 
 
 " Now or never, Mr. Turner. Speak, 
 but speak at once.'* 
 
 " My lord, I would have done so long ago, 
 but was loath to make mischief; and besides, 
 could not believe what I heard w^hispered, 
 and would scarce believe what I verily saw ; 
 though now, as I cannot reasonably have a 
 doubt, 1 think it would be a sin, and a bur- 
 den upon my conscience, not to speak ; only 
 that I am unwilHng to shock your lordship 
 too much, when but Just recovering, for that 
 is not the tim.e one would wish to tell or to 
 hear disagreeable things.'* 
 
 ^^ Mr. Turner, either come to the point
 
 ENNUr. 4 
 
 at once, or leave me, for I am not strong 
 enough to bear this suspense.'* 
 
 " I beg pardon, my lord: why, then my 
 lord, the point is Captain Crawley.** 
 
 *' What of him ? I never desire to hear his 
 
 name again." 
 
 " Nor I, I am sure, my lord; but there 
 are some in the house might not be of our 
 opinion." 
 
 " Who? you sneaking fellow; speak out, 
 can't you r" 
 
 ** My lady — my lord Now it is out. 
 
 She'll go off with him this night, if not pre- 
 vented." 
 
 My surprise and indignation were as 
 great, as if I had always been the fondest 
 and the most attentive of husbands. I was 
 at length roused from that indilTerence and 
 apathy into which 1 had sunk; and though 
 I had never loved my wife, the moment I 
 knew she was lost to me for ever was exqui- 
 sitely painful. Astonishment, the sense of 
 disgrace, the feeling of rage against that 
 treacherous parasite, by whom she had been 
 seduced, all combined to overwhehn me. 
 I could command my voice only enough
 
 46 ENNUI. 
 
 to bid Turner leave the room, and tell no 
 one that he had spoken to me on this sub- 
 ject. — " Not a soul," he said, " should be 
 told, or could guess it." 
 
 Left to my own reflections, as soon as the 
 first emotions of anger subsided, I blamed 
 niyself for my conduct to Lady Glenthorn. 
 I considered, that she had been married to 
 me by her friends, when she was too young 
 and too childish to judge for herself; that 
 from the first day of our marriage I had never 
 madetheslightest effort to win her affections, 
 or to guide her conduct; that, on the con- 
 trary, I had shown her marked indifference, 
 if not aversion. With fashionable airs, I had 
 professed, that provided she left me atliberty 
 to spend the large fortune which she brought 
 me, and in consideration of which she en- 
 joyed the title of Countess of Glenthorn, I 
 cared for nothing farther. With the conse- 
 quences of my neglect I now reproached my- 
 self in vain. Lady Glenthorn's immense 
 fortune had paid my debts, and had for two 
 years supplied my extravagance, or rather 
 my indolence : little remained, and she was 
 now, in her twentieth year, to be consigned 
 to public disgrace, and to a man whom I
 
 ENNUT. 47 
 
 knew to be destitute of honour and feeling. — 
 1 pitied her, and resolved to go instantly 
 and make an effort to save her from de- 
 struction. 
 
 EUinor, who vi^atched all Crawley *s mo- 
 tions, informed me, that he was gone to a 
 neighbouring town, and had left word that 
 he should not be home till after dinner. 
 Lady Glenthorn was in her dressing-room, 
 which was at a part of the house farthest 
 from that which I now inhabited. I had 
 never left my room since my illness, and 
 had scarcely walked farther than from my 
 bed to my arm-chair; but I was so much 
 roused by my feelings at this instant, that to 
 Ellinor's great astonishment, I started from 
 my chair, and, forbidding her to follow me, 
 walked without any assistance along the 
 corridor, which led to the back-stairs, and 
 to Lady Glen thorn's apartment. I opened 
 the private door of her dressing-room 
 suddenly^— the room was in great disorder — 
 her woman was upon her knees packing a 
 trunk: Lady Glenthorn was standing at a 
 table, with a parcel of open letters before 
 her, and a diamond necklace in her hand.
 
 48 ENNUI. 
 
 She started at the sight of me as if she had 
 beheld a ghost: the maid screamed, and ran 
 to a door at the farther end of the room, to 
 make her escape, but that was bolted. Lady 
 Glenthorn was pale and motionless, till I 
 approached, and then recollecting herself, 
 she reddened all over, and thrust the letters 
 into her table drawer. Her woman, at the 
 same instant, snatched a casket of jewels, 
 swept up in her arms a heap of clothes, and 
 huddled them altogether into the half- 
 packed trunk. 
 
 *' Leave the room," said I to her sternly. 
 She locked the trunk, pocketed the key, and 
 obeyed. 
 
 I placed a chair for Lady Glenthorn, and 
 sat down myself. We were almost equally 
 imable to stand. We were silent for some 
 moments. Her eyes were fixed upon the 
 ground, and she leaned her head upon her 
 hand in an attitude of despair. 1 could 
 scarcely articulate, but making an effort to 
 command my voice, I at last said — 
 
 " Lady Glenthorn, I blame myself more 
 than you for all that has happened." 
 
 " For what?" said she, making a feeble 
 attempt at evasion, yet at the same time
 
 ENNUf. 49 
 
 casting a guilty look towards the drawer of 
 lettei-s. 
 
 " You have nothing to conceal from 
 me/* said I. 
 
 — -" Nothing,*' said she, in a feeble voice. 
 
 " Nothing !" said I, " for I know every 
 thing** — She started — '^ and am willing to 
 pardon every thing.** 
 
 She looked up in my face astonished. " I 
 am conscious,'* continued I, '* that you 
 have not been well treated by me. You 
 have had much reason to complain of my 
 neglect. To this I attribute your errour. — 
 Forget the past — I will set you the ex- 
 ample. — Promise me never to see the man 
 more, and what has happened shall never 
 be known to the world." 
 
 She made me no answer, but burst into a 
 flood of tears. She seemed incapable of de- 
 cision, or even of thought. I felt suddenly 
 inspired with energy. 
 
 " Write this moment," continued I, 
 placing a pen and ink before her, — " write 
 to forbid him ever to return to this house, 
 or ever more to appear in your presence. 
 If he appears in mine, I know how to chas- 
 tise him, and to vindicate my own honour 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 ENNUI: 
 
 To preserve your reputation, I refrain, upon 
 these conditions, from making my contempt 
 of him public.'* 
 
 I put a pen into Lady Glenthorn's hand ; 
 but she trembled so that she could not 
 'write. She niade several ineffectual at- 
 tempts, then tore the paper, and again 
 giving way to tears, exclaimed — 
 
 " I cannot write — I cannot think — I do 
 not knov/ what to say. Write what you 
 will, and Iwill sign it." 
 
 *' I write to Captain Crawley! Write 
 ^vhat / will r* ** Lady Glenthorn, it must 
 be yoUr will to write, not mine. If it be 
 not your will, say so." 
 
 " Oh ! I do not say so — I do not say that. 
 Give me a moment's time. I do not know 
 what I say. I have been very foolish — very 
 wicked. You are very good — but it is too 
 late : it will all be known. Crawley will 
 betray me; he will tell it to Mrs. Mat- 
 tocks : so whichever way I turn I am un- 
 done. — Oh ! what ivill become of me ?" 
 
 She wrung her hands and wept, and was 
 for an hour in this state, in all the indecision 
 and imbecility of a child. At last she wrote 
 a few scarcely legible lines to Crawley, for-
 
 !)idding him to see or think of her more. 
 I dispatched the note, and she was full of 
 penitence, and gratitude, and tears. The 
 next morning, when I wakened, I in my 
 turn received a note from her ladyship. 
 
 *' Since I saw yon. Captain Grawley has 
 convinced me that I am his wife, in the ,€i/e 
 of Heaven y and I therefore desire a divorce, 
 as much as your zohole cofi duet, smce my 
 marriage, convinces me you must in your 
 heart, whatever may be your motives to 
 ///■^^(?/zG? otherwise. Before you, receive this 
 I shall be out of ijour xvay, and beyond yoiir 
 reach ; so do not think of pursuing one who 
 is no longer 
 
 *' Yours. 
 
 '' A. Crawley.*' 
 
 After reading this note, I thought not of 
 pursuing or saving Lady Glenthorn. I was 
 as anxious for a divorce as she could be. 
 — Some mouths afterwards the affair was 
 brought to a public trial. When the cause 
 came on, so many circumstances w^ere 
 brought in mitigation of damages, to prove 
 my utter carelessness respecting my wife's 
 
 U. OF Ul. Uc
 
 59 ENNUI. 
 
 conduct, that a suspicion of collusion arose. 
 From this imputation I was clear in the 
 opinion of all who really knew me, and I 
 repelled the charge publicly, with a degree 
 of indignation that surprised all who knew 
 the usual apathy of my temper. I must 
 observe, that during the whole time my 
 divorce bill was pending, and whilst I was 
 in the greatest possible anxiety, my health 
 was perfectly good. But no sooner was 
 the affair settled, and a decision made in 
 my favour, than I relapsed into my old 
 nervous complaints.
 
 KKNUt; 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 *' 'Twas doing nothing was his curse. 
 ** Is there a vice can plague us worse ? 
 ** The wretch who digs the mine for breach, 
 ** Or ploughs, that others may be fed, 
 ** Feels less fatigue than that decreed 
 ** To him who cannot think or read," 
 
 Illness was a sort of occupation to me, 
 and I was always sorry to get well. When 
 the interest of being in clanger ceased, I 
 had no other to supply its place. I fancied 
 that I should enjoy my liberty after my 
 divorce ; but " even freedom grew taste- 
 less." I do not recollect any thing that 
 wakened me from my torpor, during two 
 months after my divorce, except a violent 
 quarrel between all my English servants 
 and my Irish nurse. Whether she assumed 
 too much, upon the idea that she was a fa- 
 vourite, or whether national prejudice was 
 alone the cause of the hatred that prevailed 
 against her, I know not; but they one and 
 all declared, that they could not, and would
 
 54 7i:nnui. 
 
 not, live with her. She expressed the same 
 disHke to consorting with them ; *' but 
 would put up with worse, aye, with the 
 devils themselves, to oblige my honour, and 
 to lie under the same roof ivid my honour." 
 
 The rest of the servants laughed at her 
 blunders. This she could bear with good 
 humour ; but when they seriously affected 
 to reproach her with having, by her un- 
 couth appearance at her first presenting 
 herself at Sherwood Palk, endangered m}^ 
 life, she retorted. 
 
 " And who cared for him in the wide 
 world but I, amongst you all, v*^hen he lay 
 for dead ? I ask you that," said she. 
 
 To this there was no reply; and they 
 hated her the more for their having been 
 silenced by her shrewdness. I protected 
 her as long as I could ; but, for the sake 
 of peace, I at last yielded to the combined 
 forces of the steward's room and the ser- 
 vants' hall, and dispatched I^llinor to Ire- 
 land, with a renewal of the promise, that I 
 would visit Glenthorn castle this year or the 
 next. To comfort her at parting, I would 
 have made her a considerable present; but 
 she would take only a few guineas, to bear
 
 ENNUI. 5^5 • 
 
 her expenses back to her native place. The 
 sacrifice I made did not procure me a peace 
 of any continuance in my own house ; 
 ruined by indulgence, and by my indolent, 
 reckless temper, my servants were now my 
 masters. In a large, ill-regulated establish- 
 ment, domestics become, like spoiled child- 
 ren, discontented, capricious, and the ty- 
 rants over those who have not the sense or 
 steadiness to command. I remember one 
 delicate puppy parted with mcy because, as 
 he informed me, the curtains of his beddid 
 not close at the foot ; he had never been 
 used to such a thing, and had told the 
 housekeeper so three times, but could ob- 
 tain no redress, which necessitated him to 
 beg my permission to retire from the service. 
 In his stead another coxcomb came to 
 offer himself, who, w^th an incomparably 
 easy air, begged to know whether I wanted 
 a man of figure or a man of parts ? For the 
 benefit of those to whom this fashionable 
 classification of domestics may not be fa- 
 miliar, I should observe, that the depart- 
 ment of a man of fgiire is specially and 
 solely to announce company on gala days; 
 the business of the man of parts is midtifa-
 
 56 ENNUI. 
 
 rious: to write cards of invitation, to speak 
 to impertinent tradesmen, to carry confi- 
 dential messages, et cetera. Now, where 
 there is an et cetera in an agreement, there 
 is always an opening for dispute. The 
 functions of the man of parly not being ac- 
 curately defined, I unluckily required from 
 him some service, which was not in his 
 bond : I believe it was to go for my pocket 
 handkerchief — ^* He could not possibly do 
 it, because it was not his business 5" and I, 
 the laziest of mortals, after waiting a full 
 quarter of an hour, whilst they were set- 
 tling whose business it was to obey me, was 
 forced to get up and go for what I wanted. 
 I comforted myself by the recollection of 
 ^he poor king of Spain and le b raster. With 
 a regal precedent I could not but be satis- 
 fied. All great people, said I to myself, 
 are obliged to submit to these inconveni^^ 
 ences. I submitted with so good a grace, 
 that my submission was scarcely felt to be 
 a condescension. My bachelor s house soon 
 exhibited in perfection, " High Life below 
 Stairs." 
 
 It is said, that a foreign nobleman per- 
 mitted his servants to take their own way
 
 ENNUI. 57 
 
 SO completely, that one night he and his 
 guests being kept waiting an unconscion- 
 able time for supper, he at last went down 
 stairs to inquire into the cause of the delay : 
 he found the servant, whose business it was 
 to take up supper, quietly at cards with a 
 large party of his friends. The man coolly 
 remonstrated, that it was impossible to leave 
 his game unfinished. The master candidly 
 acknowledged the force of his plea; but in- 
 sisted upon the man's going up stairs tp lay 
 the cloth for supper, whilst he took 'his 
 cards, sat down, and finished the game for 
 him. 
 
 The suavity of my temper never abso- 
 lutely reached this degree of complaisance. 
 My home \^;as disagreeable to me : I had 
 not the resolution to remove the causes of 
 the discontents. Every day I sw^ore I would 
 part witii all these rascals the next morn- 
 ing; but still they staid. Abroad I was 
 not happier than at home. I was disgusted 
 with my former companions; they had 
 convinced me, the night of my accident at 
 Sherwood Park, that they cared not whe- 
 ther I was alive or dead : and ever since 
 that time 1 had been more and more struck 
 
 D 5
 
 58 ENNUI. 
 
 with their selfishness, as well as folly. It 
 was inexpressibly fatiguing and irksome to 
 me to keep up a show of good fellowship 
 and joviaiit}^ with these people, though I 
 had not sufficient energy to make the at- 
 tempt to quit them. When these dashers 
 and loungers found that I was not always 
 at their disposal, they discovered that Glen- 
 thorn had always something odd about him -, 
 that Glenthorn had always a melancholy 
 turn; that it ran in the family, &c. Sa- 
 tisfied with these phrases, they let me take 
 my own way, and forgot my existence. 
 Public amusements had lost their charm ; 
 I had sufficient steadiness to resist the temp- 
 tation to game : but, for want of stimulus, 
 I could hardly endure the tedium of my 
 days. At this period of my life, ennui was 
 very near turning into misanthropy. I ba- 
 lanced between, becoming a misanthrope 
 and a democrat. 
 
 Whilst I was in this critical state of inep- 
 titude, my attention was accidentally roused 
 by the sight of a boxing match. My feel- 
 ings were so much excited, and the excita- 
 tion was so delightful, that I was now in 
 danger of becoming an amateur of the pu-
 
 ENNUI. 59 
 
 gilistic art. It did not occur to me, that 
 it was beneath the dignity of a British no- 
 bleman, to learn the vulgar terms of the 
 boxing trade, I soon began to talk very 
 knowingly o^ first rate bruisers, game men, 
 £i\\d^ pleasing fighters, making play — beating 
 a man under the ropes — sparring — rallying 
 — -sawing — and chopping. What farther 
 proficiency I might have made in this lan- 
 guage, or how long my interest in these 
 feats of prize-fighters might have continued, 
 had I been left to myself, I cannot deter- 
 mine ; but I w^as unexpectedly seized with 
 a fit of national shame, on hearing a fo- 
 reigner of rank and reputation express asto- 
 nishrpent at our taste for these savage spec- 
 tacles. It was in vain that I repeated the 
 arguments of some of the parliamentary pa- 
 negyrists of boxing and bull-baiting ; and 
 asserted, that these diversions render a peo- 
 ple hardy and courageous. My opponent 
 replied, that he did not perceive the neces- 
 sary connexion between cruelty and cou- 
 rage -y that he did not comprehend how the 
 standing by in safety to see two men bruise 
 each other almost to death could evince or 
 inspire heroic sentiments or warlike dispo*
 
 60 ENNUI. 
 
 sitions. He observed, that the Romans 
 were most eager for the fights of gladiators 
 during the reigns of the most effeminate and 
 cruel emperors, and in the decline of all 
 public spirit and virtue. These arguments 
 would have probably made but a feeble im- 
 pression on an understanding like mine, un- 
 accustomed to general reasoning, and oh 
 a temper habituated to pursue, without 
 thought of consequences, my immediate 
 individual gratification j but it happened 
 that my feelings were touched at this time 
 by the dreadful sufferings of one of the pu- 
 gilistic combatants. He died a few hours 
 after the battle. He was an Irishman : 
 most of the spectators being English, and 
 triumphing in the victory of their country- 
 man, the poor fellow's fate was scarcely 
 noticed. I spoke to him a little while be- 
 fore he died, and found that he came from 
 my own county. His name was Michael 
 Noonan. He made it his dying request, 
 that I would carry half a guinea, the only 
 money he possessed, to his aged father, and 
 a silk handkerchief he had worn round his 
 neck to his sister. Pity for this unfor- 
 tunate Irishman recalled Ireland to my
 
 ENNUI. 61 
 
 thoughts. Many small reasons concurred 
 to make me now desirous of going to that 
 country. I should get rid at once of a tor- 
 menting establishment, and of servants, 
 without the odium of turning them away -, 
 for they all declined going into banishment, 
 as they called it. Beside this, I should 
 leave my companions, with whom I was 
 disgusted. I was tired of England, and 
 wanted to see something new, even if it 
 were to be worse than what I had seen be- 
 fore. These were not my ostensible rea- 
 sons : I professed to have more exalted mo- 
 tives for my journey. It was my duty, I 
 said, to visit my Irish estate, and to en- 
 courage my tenantry, by residing some time 
 among them. Duties often spring up to 
 our view at a convenient opportunity. Then 
 my promise to poor Ellinor. It w^as im- 
 possible for a man of honour to break a 
 promise, even to an old woman. In short, 
 when people are determined upon any ac- 
 tion, they seldom fail to fnid arguments 
 capable of convincing them, that their re- 
 solution is reasonable. Mixed motives go- 
 vern the conduct of half mankind 3 so I set 
 out upon my journey to Ireland.
 
 6^ ENNUI. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 I WAS detained six days by contrary 
 winds at Holyhead ; sick of that miserable 
 place, in my ill humour I cursed Ireland, 
 and twice resolved to return to London : 
 but the wind changed, my carriage was on 
 board the packet, so I sailed, and landed 
 safely in Dublin. I was surprised by the 
 excellence of the hotel at which I was 
 lodged. I had not conceived, that such 
 excellent accommodation could have been 
 found in Dublin. The house had, as I was 
 told, belonged to a nobleman : it was fitted 
 up and appointed with a degree of ele- 
 gance, and even magniticence, be^^ond what 
 I had been used to in the most fashionable 
 hotels in London. 
 
 " Ah ! sir,*' said an Irish gentleman, who 
 found me in admiration upon the staircase, 
 " this is all very good, very fine, but it is 
 too good and too fine to last ; come her^ 
 again in two years, and I am afraid you
 
 ENNUI. 63 
 
 will see all this going to rack and ruin. This 
 is too often the case with us in Ireland ; we 
 can project, but we can't calculate : we 
 must have every thing upon too large a 
 scale. We mistake a grand beginning for 
 a good beginning. We begin like princes, 
 and we end like beggars." 
 
 I rested only a few days in a capital, in 
 which, I took it for granted, there could 
 be nothing worth seeing by a person who 
 was just come from London. In driving 
 through the streets, I was however surprised 
 to see buildings, which my prejudices could 
 scarcely believe to be Irish. I also saw 
 some things, which recalled to my mind the 
 observations I had heard at my hotel. I 
 was struck with instances of grand begin- 
 nings and lamentable want of finish, with 
 mixtures of the magnificent and the paltry ; 
 of admirable and execrable taste : some 
 which reminded me of the Elector of Bran- 
 denburgh's gilt coach*, stuck up over one 
 of the finest modern imitations of Grecian 
 architecture. Though my understanding 
 was wholly uncultivated, these things struck 
 
 * The gate of Brandcnburgh-house, in Berlin, built 
 on the model of the Athenian Propyleum.
 
 64 ENNur. 
 
 my eye. Of all the faculties of my mind, 
 my taste had been most exercised, because 
 its exercise had given me least trouble. 
 
 Impatient to see my own castle, I left 
 Dublin. I was again astonished by the 
 beauty of the prospects, and the excellence 
 of the roads. I had in my ignorance be- 
 lieved, that I was never to see a tree in 
 Ireland, and that the roads were almost im- 
 passable. With the promptitude of credu- 
 lity, I now went from one extreme to the 
 other : I concluded that we should travel 
 with the same celerity as upon the Bath 
 road, and I expected, that a journey for 
 which four days had been allotted might be 
 performed in two. Like all those who have 
 nothing to do any where, I was always in 
 a prodigious hurry to get from place to 
 place; and I ever had a noble ambition to 
 go over as much ground as possible in a 
 given space of time. I travelled in a light 
 barouche, and with my own horses. My 
 own man, an Englishman, and my cook, a 
 Frenchman, followed in a hackney chaise ; 
 I cared not how, so that they kept up with 
 me; the rest was their affair. At night, 
 my gentleman complained bitterly of the
 
 ENNUI. 6.5. 
 
 Irish post carriages, and besought me to^ 
 let hira follow at an easier rate the next' 
 day ; but to this I could by no means con- 
 sent: for how could I exist without my 
 own man aud my French cook ? In the 
 morning, just as I was ready to set off, and 
 had thrown myself back in my carriage, my 
 Englishman and Frenchman came to the 
 door, both in so great a rage, that the one 
 was inarticulate, and the other unintelli- 
 gible. At length the object of their indig- 
 nation spoke for itself. From the inn yard 
 came a hackney chaise, in a most deplo- 
 rably crazy state ; the body mounted up to 
 a prodigious height, on unbending springs^ 
 nodding forwards, one door swinging open, 
 three blinds up, because they could not be 
 let down, the perch tied in two places, the 
 iron of the wheels half off, half loose, 
 wooden pegs for linch-pins, and ropes for 
 harness. The horses were worthy of the 
 harness ; wretched little dog-tired creatures, 
 that looked as if they had been driven to 
 the last gasp, and as if they had never been 
 rubbed down in their lives; their bones 
 starting through their skin ; one lame, the 
 other blind; one with a raw back, tha
 
 66 ENNUI. 
 
 other with a galled breast; one with his 
 neck poking dowil over his eollar, and the 
 other with his head dragged forward by a 
 bit of a broken bridle, held at arms' length 
 by a man dressed like a nmd beggar, in 
 half a hat and half a wig, both awry in op- 
 posite directions; a long tattered great 
 coat, tied round his waist by a hay-rope ; 
 the jagged rents in. the skirts of this coat 
 showing his bare legs, marbled of many 
 colours; while something hke stockings 
 burg loose about his ankles. The noises 
 he made, by way of threatening or encou- 
 raging his steeds, I pretend not to describe. 
 
 In an indignant voice I called to the 
 landlord — ^' I hope these are not the 
 horses — I hope this is not the chaise, in- 
 tended for my servants.'' 
 
 The innkeeper, and the pauper who was 
 preparing to officiate as postillion, both in 
 the same instant exclaimed— 
 
 " Sorroiv better chaise in the county 1" 
 
 " Sorrotv /" said I — " what do you mean 
 by sorrow ?'* 
 
 *' That there's no better, plase your ho* 
 nour, can be seen. We have two more to 
 be sure— but one has no top, and the other
 
 KNNUI. 67 
 
 no bottom. Any way there's no better 
 can be seen than this same *.'* 
 
 " And these horses,'* eried I: — " why 
 this horse is so lame he can hardly stand." 
 
 " Oh, plase your honour, tho' he can't 
 stand, he'll go fast enough. He has a great 
 deal of the rogue in him, plase your honour. 
 He's always that way at first setting out." 
 
 " And that wretched animal with, the 
 galled breast !" 
 
 " He's all the better for it^ when once 
 he warms; it's he that will go with the 
 speed of light, plase your honour. Sure, 
 is not he Knockecroghery ? and didn't I 
 give fifteen guineas for him, barring the 
 luck penny, at the fair of Knockecroghery, 
 and he rising four year old at the same 
 time ?" 
 
 I could not avoid smiling at this speech ; 
 but my gentleman, maintaining his angry 
 gravity, declared, in a sullen tone, that he 
 would be cursed if he went with such 
 horses ; and the Frenchman, with abun- 
 dance of gesticulation, made a prodigious 
 chattering, which no mortal understood. 
 
 * Verbatltn.
 
 68 ENNUI. 
 
 " Then I'll tell you what you'll do," 
 said Paddys ** you'll take four, as becomes 
 gentlemen of your quality, and you'll see 
 how we'll powder along.*' 
 
 And straight he put the knuckle of his 
 fore-finger in his mouth, and whistled shrill 
 and strong -, and, in a moment, a whistle 
 somewhere out in the fields answered him. 
 
 I protested against these proceedings, 
 but in vain j before the firvSt pair of horses 
 were fastened to the chaise, up came a little 
 boy with the others /r£\?/i from the plough. 
 They were quick enough in putting these 
 to 5 yet how they managed it with their 
 tackle, I know not. " Now we're fixed 
 handsomely," said Paddy. 
 
 " But this chaise will break down the 
 first mile." 
 
 " Is it this chaise, plase your honour ? 
 I'll engage it will go the world's end. 
 The universe wouldn't break it down now ;. 
 sure it was mended but last night." 
 
 Then seizing his whip and reins in one 
 hand, he clawed up his stockings with the 
 other; so with one easy step he got into 
 his place, and seated himself, coachman- 
 like, upon a well- worn bar of wood, that
 
 ENNUI. 69 
 
 served as a coach-box. " Throw me the 
 loan of a trusty Bartly, for a cushion," said 
 he. A frieze coat was thrown up over the 
 horse's heads — Paddy caught it. •* Where 
 are you, Hosey," cried he. " Sure I'm 
 only rowling a wisp of straw on my leg," 
 replied Hosey. ^' Throw me up," added 
 this paragon of postillions, turning to one 
 of the crowd of idle by-standers. " Arrah, 
 push me up, can't ye ?" 
 
 A man took hold of his knee, and threw 
 him upon the horse -, he was in his seat in 
 a trice ; then clinging by the mane of his 
 horse, he scrambled for the bridle which 
 was under tlie other horse's feet — reached 
 it, and well satisfied with himself, looked 
 round at Paddy, who looked back to the 
 chaise door at my angry servants, " secure 
 in the last event of things." In vain the 
 Englishman in monotonous anger, and the 
 Frenchman in every note of the gamut, 
 abused Paddy ; necessity and wit were on 
 Paddy's side : he parried all that was said 
 against his chaise, his horses, himself, and 
 his country, with invincible comic dexte- 
 rity, till at last both his adversaries, dumb- 
 founded, clambered into the vehicle, where
 
 70 ENNUI. 
 
 they were instantly shut up hi straw and 
 darkness. Paddy, in a triumphant tone, 
 ^called to ?/z?/;postinions, bidding them " get 
 on, aud'not be stopping the way any longer.*' 
 
 Without uttering a syllable, they drove 
 on; but they Gould not, nor could I refrain 
 from looking back to see how those fellows 
 would manage. We savy the fore-horses 
 make towards the right, then to the left, 
 and evevy way but straight forwards; 
 whilst Paddy bawled to Plosey — ** Keep 
 the middle of the road, can't ye ? I don't 
 want ye to draw a pound at all at all." 
 
 At last, by dint of whipping, the four 
 :horses were compelled to set off in a lame 
 gallop; but they stopped short at a hill 
 near the end of the town, whilst a shouting 
 •troop of ragged boys followed, and pushed 
 them fairly to the top. Half an hour after- 
 wards, as w:e were putting on our drag- 
 chain to g-o d)OAvn another steep hill, to my 
 utter astonishment, Paddy, with his horses 
 in full gallop, came rattling and chehupping 
 past us. My people called to warn .him 
 that he had > no dmg, but still he cried — 
 "Never fear!" — amd ; shaking the loi>g 
 reins, and stam]>in.g . with his foot, on he
 
 ENNUI. 71 
 
 went thundering down -the hill. My En- 
 glishmen were aghast. 
 
 " The turn yonder below, a4: the bottom 
 of the hill, is as sharp and ugly as ever I 
 see," said my postillion, after a moment*s 
 stupified silence. "He will break their 
 necks, as sure as my name is John.*' 
 
 Quite the contrary; when we had drag- 
 ged and und ragged, and came up with 
 Paddy, we found him safe on his legs, 
 mending some of his tackle very quietly. 
 
 " If that brieeching had broke as you 
 were going down the steep hill," said I, 
 " it would have been all over with you, 
 Paddy." 
 
 " That's true, plase your honour ; but it 
 never happened me going down hill — nor 
 never will, by the blessing of God, if I've 
 any luck." 
 
 With this mixed confidence in a special 
 providence, and in his own good luck, 
 Paddy went on, much to my amusement. 
 It was his glory to keep before us, and he 
 rattled on till he came to a narrow part of 
 the road, where they were rebuilding a 
 bridge. Here there was a dead stop. Paddy 
 lashed his horses, and called them all man-
 
 P2 ENNUI. 
 
 ner of names ; but the wheel horse, Knocke- 
 crogheiy, was restive, and at last began to 
 kick most furiously. It seemed inevitable 
 that the first kick which should reach the 
 splinter bar, at which it was aimed, must 
 demolish it instantly. My EngHsh gentle- 
 man and my Frenchman both put their 
 heads out of the only window which was 
 pervious, and called most manfully to be 
 let out. " Never fear," said Paddy. To 
 open the door for themselves, w^as beyond 
 their force or skill. One of the hind wheels, 
 which had belonged to another carriage, 
 was too high to suffer the door to be open- 
 ed, and the blind at the other side prevented 
 their attempts, so they were close prisoners. 
 The men who had been at work on the 
 broken bridge came forward, and rested on 
 their spades to see the battle. As my car- 
 riage could not pass, I also was compelled 
 to be a spectator of this contest between 
 man and horse. 
 
 " Never fear," reiterated Paddy ; " I'll 
 engage I'll be up wid him. Now for it 
 Knockecroghery ! Oh the rogue, he thinks 
 he has me at a nonplushy but I'll show him 
 the difery
 
 ENNUt. 73 
 
 After this brag of war, Paddy whipped, 
 Knockecroghery kicked, and Paddy, seem- 
 ingly unconscious of danger, sat within 
 reach of the kicking horse, twitching up 
 first one of his legs, then the other, and 
 shifting as the animal aimed his hoofs, 
 escaping every time as it were by miracle. 
 With a mixture of temerity and presence of 
 mind, which made us alternately look upon 
 him as a madman and a hero, he gloried in 
 the danger, secure of success, and of the 
 sympathy of the spectators. 
 
 " Ah ! didn't I compass him cleverly 
 then ? Oh the villain, to be browbating me ! 
 I'm too cute for him yet. See, there now, 
 he's come to ; and I'll be his bail he'll go 
 <i.92/ enough wid me. Ogh! he has a fine 
 spirit of his own, but it's I that can match 
 him ; 'twould be a poor case if a man like 
 me couldn't match a horse any way, let 
 alone a mare, which this is, or it never 
 would be so vicious.** 
 
 After this hard-fought battle, and suit- 
 able rejoicing for the victory, Paddy walked 
 his subdued adversary on a few yards to 
 allow us to pass him ; but to the dismay of 
 my postillions, a hay-rope was at this in- 
 
 VOL. I, E
 
 74 ENNUI, 
 
 stant thrown across the road, before our 
 horses, by the road-makers, who, to explain 
 this proceeding, cried out, " Plase your 
 honour, the road is so dry, we'd expect a 
 trifle to wet it." 
 
 *' What do these fellows mean?" said I. 
 
 ^' It's only a tester or a hog they want, 
 your honour, to give 'em to drink your 
 honour's health," said Paddy. 
 
 " A hog to drink my health ?" 
 
 *^ Ay, that is a thirteen, plase your ho- 
 nour; all as one as an English shilling." 
 
 I threw them a shilhng; the hay-rope 
 was withdrawn, and at last we went on. 
 We heard no more of Paddy till evening. 
 He came in two hours after us, and ex- 
 pected to be doubly paid for drhmig my 
 honour's gentleriieii so zvelL 
 
 I must say that on this journey, though 
 I met with many delays and disasters ; 
 though one of my horses was lamed in shoe- 
 ing by a smith, who came home drunk 
 from a funeral ; and though the back pan- 
 nel of my carriage was broken by the pole 
 of a chaise 3 and though one day I went 
 without my dinner at a large desolate inn, 
 where nothing was to be had but whiskey ;
 
 ENNUL 75 
 
 and though one night 1 lay in a little smoky 
 den, in which the meanest of my servants 
 in luigland would have thought it impos- 
 sible to sleep ; and though I complained 
 bitterly, and swore it was impracticable for 
 a gentleman to travel in Ireland; yet I 
 never remember to have experienced, on 
 any journey, less ennui. I was out of pa- 
 tience twenty times a day, but I certainly 
 felt no ennui ; and I am convinced, that 
 the benefit some patients receive from a 
 journey is in an inverse proportion to the 
 ease and luxury of their mode of travelling. 
 When they are compelled to exert their fa- 
 culties, and to use their limbs, they forget 
 their nerves, as I did. Upon this principle 
 I should recommend to wealthy hypochon- 
 driacs a journey in Ireland, preferably to 
 any country in the civilized world. I can 
 promise them, that they will not only be 
 moved to anger often enough to make their 
 blood circulate briskly, but, they will even, 
 in the acme of their impatience, be thrown 
 into salutary convulsions of laughter, by 
 the comic concomitants of their disasters ; 
 besides, if they have hearts, their best feel- 
 ings cannot fail to be awakened by the 
 
 E 2
 
 76 ENNUI. 
 
 warm, generous hospitality they will re- 
 ceive in this country, from the cabin to the 
 castle. 
 
 Late in the evening of the fourth day, 
 we came to an inn on the verge of the 
 county where my estate was situate. It 
 was one of the wildest parts of Ireland. 
 We could fnid no horses, nor accommoda- 
 tions of any sort, and we had several miles 
 farther to go. For our only comfort, the 
 dirty landlady, who had married the host- 
 ler, and wore gold drop ear-rings, reminded 
 us, that, " Sure, if we could but wait an 
 hour, and Uike a iresh egg, we should have 
 a fine moon.*' 
 
 After many fruitless imprecations, my 
 French cook was obliged to mount one of 
 my saddle-horses ; my groom was left to 
 follow us the next day ; I let my gentleman 
 sit on the barouche box, and proceeded 
 wit^^my own tired horses. The moon, 
 which my landlady had promised me, rose, 
 and I had a. full view of the face of the 
 country. As we approached my maritime 
 territories, the cottages were thinly scat- 
 tered, and the trees had a stunted appear- 
 ance; they all slanted one way, from the
 
 ENx\ur. 77 
 
 prevalent winds that blew from the ocean. 
 Our road presently stretched along the 
 beach, and I saw nothing to vary the pro- 
 spect but rocks, and their huge shadows up- 
 on the water. The road being sandy, the 
 feet of the horses made no noise, and no* 
 thing interrupted the silence of the night, 
 but the hissing sound of the carriage wheels 
 passing through the sand. 
 
 " What o'clock is it now, think you, 
 John }'' said one of my postillions to the 
 other. 
 
 " Past twelve for sartauiy' said John ; 
 " and this bees a strange Irish place," con- 
 tinued he, in a drawling voice ; " w ith no 
 possible way o* getting at it, as I see." 
 John, after a pause, resumed — *^ I say, 
 Timothy, to the best of my opinion, this 
 liere road is leading on us into the sea." 
 John rephed, ** that he did suppose there 
 might be such a thing as a boat farther on, 
 but where he could not say for sartain.'" 
 Dismayed and helpless, they at last stop- 
 ped to consult whether they had come the 
 right road to the house. In the midst of 
 their consultation there came up an Irish
 
 78 ENNUr. 
 
 carman, whistling as he walked beside hi.s 
 horse an<J car. 
 
 " Honest friend, is this the road to Glen- 
 tliorn Castle ?'' 
 
 *^ To Glenthorn, sure enough, your ho- 
 nour.** 
 
 " V/hereabouts is the castle r" 
 " Forenent you, if you go on to the turn,'" 
 *' Forenent you !" As the postillions 
 pondered upon this word, the carman, 
 leaving his horse and car, turned back to 
 explain by action, what he could not make 
 intelligible by words. 
 
 ** See, isn't here the castle ?" cried he, 
 darting before us to the turn of the road, 
 where he stood pointing at what we could 
 not possibly see, as it was hid by a pro- 
 montory of rock. When we reached the 
 spot where he was stationed, we came full 
 upon the view of Glenthorn Castle ; it 
 seemed to rise from the sea, abrupt and in- 
 salaied, in ail the gloomy grandeur of an- 
 cient tunes, with turrets and battlements, 
 and a huge gateway, the pointed arch of 
 which receded in perspective between the 
 projecting towers.
 
 ENNUI. 79 
 
 ** It*s my lord himself, I*m fond to be- 
 lieve !" said our guide, taking off his hat — 
 ** I had best step on and tell 'em at the 
 castle." 
 
 " No, my good friend, there is no occa- 
 sion to trouble you farther ; you had better 
 go back to your horse and car, which you 
 have left on the road." 
 
 " Oh ! they are used to that, plase your 
 honour; they'll go ou yevy quite, and I'll 
 run like a redshank with the news to the 
 castle." 
 
 He ran on before us with surprising ve- 
 locity, whilst our tired horses dragged us 
 slowly through the sand. As we ap- 
 proached, the gateway of the castle opened, 
 and a number of men, who appeared to be 
 dwarfs, when compared with the height of 
 the building, came out with torches in their 
 hands: by their bustle, and the vehemence 
 with which they bawled to one another, 
 one might have thought that the whole 
 castle was in flames ; but they were only 
 letting down a draw-bridge. As I was go- 
 ing over this bridge, a casement window 
 opened in the castle, and a voice, which I 
 knew to be old Ellinor*s, exclaimed, '' Mind
 
 so ENNUI. 
 
 the big hole in the middle of the bridge, 
 God bless yeas /" 
 
 I passed over the broken bridge, and 
 through the massive gate, under an arched 
 way, at the farthest end of which a lamp 
 had just been lighted: then I came into a 
 large open area, the court of the castle. 
 The hollow sound of the horses feet and 
 of the carriage rumbling over the draw- 
 bridge was immediately succeeded by the 
 strange and eager voices of the people, 
 who filled the court v/ith variety of noises, 
 contrasting, in the most striking manner 
 with the silence, in which we had travelled 
 ever the sands. The great effect that my 
 arrival instantaneously produced upon the 
 multitude of servants and dependants who 
 issued from the castle, gave me an idea of 
 my own consequence beyond any thing 
 which I had ever felt in England. These 
 people seemed " born for my use :" the 
 officious precipitation with which they ran 
 to and fro; the style in which they ad- 
 dressed me ; some crying, <^ Long life to 
 the Earl of <jJlenthorn !'* some blessing me 
 for coming to reign over them ; altogether 
 gave more the idea of vassals than of
 
 ENNUI. SI 
 
 tenants, and carried iny imagination cen- 
 turies back to feudal times. 
 
 The first person I saw on entering the 
 hall of my castle was poor Ellinor j she 
 pushed her way up to me — 
 
 " 'Tis himself!" cried she. Then turning 
 about suddenly, " I've seen him in his own 
 castle — ^^I've seen him — and if it pletises God 
 this minute to take me to himself, I would 
 die with pleasure." 
 
 " My good El H nor/ 'said I,touched to the 
 heart by her affection, '' my good Ellinor, I 
 hope you will live many a happy year; and 
 
 if I can contribute' " And himself to 
 
 speak to me so kind before them all !" in- 
 terrupted she. " Oh ! this is too much — - 
 quite too much 1" She burst into tears ; and 
 hiding her face with her arm, made her way 
 out of the hall. 
 
 The flights of stairs wdiich I had to as- 
 cend, and the length of galleries through 
 which I Vv'as conducted, before I reached 
 the apartmeiit where supper w^as served, 
 gave me a vast idea of the extent of my 
 castle ; but I was too much fatigued to en- 
 joy fully the gratifications of pride. To 
 the simple pleasures of appetite I was more 
 
 E 5
 
 821 ENNUI. 
 
 sensible : I ate heartily of one of the most 
 profusely hospitable suppers, that ever was 
 prepared for a noble baron, even in the 
 days when oxen were roasted whole. Then 
 I grew so sleepy, that I was impatient to 
 be shown to mv bed. I was ushered throu«rh 
 another suite of chambers and galleries ; 
 ^id, as I was traversing one of these, a 
 door of some strange dormitory opened, 
 and a group of female heads were thrust 
 out, in the midst of which I could distin- 
 guish old Ellinor's face ; but, as I turned 
 my head, the door closed so quickly, that I 
 had no time to speak : I only heard the 
 words '* Blessings on him ! that's he P' 
 
 I was so sleepy, that I rejoiced having 
 escaped an occasion where I might have 
 been called upon to speak, yet I was realh^ 
 grateful to my poor nurse for her blessing. 
 The state tower, in which, after reiterated 
 entreaties, I was at last left alone to repose, 
 was hung with magnificent, but ancient 
 tapestry. It was so hke a room in a haunted 
 castle, that if I had not been too much fa- 
 tigued to think of any thing, I should cer- 
 tainly have thought of Mrs.-RadclifTe. I 
 am sorry to say, that I have no mysteries.
 
 ENNUI. 83 
 
 or even portentous omens to record of this 
 night ; for the moment that 1 lay down in 
 my antiquated bed, I fell into a profound 
 sleep.
 
 ?4 ENNUI. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 When I awoke, I thought that I was on 
 shipboard , for the first sound I heard Avas 
 that of the sea booming against the castle 
 walls. I arose, looked out of the window 
 of my bed-chamber, and saw that the whole 
 prospect bore an air of savage wildness. 
 As I contemplated the scene, my imagina- 
 tion was seized with the idea of remoteness 
 from civilized society : the melancholy 
 feeling of solitary grandeur took possession 
 of my soul. 
 
 From this feeling I was relieyed by the 
 affectionate countenance of my old nurse, 
 who at this instant put her head half in at 
 the door. 
 
 " I only just made bold to look in at the 
 fire to see did it burn, becaase I lighted it 
 myself, and would not be blowing of it for 
 fear of wakening you." 
 
 " Come in, Ellinor, come in/* said I. 
 ** Come quite mJ'
 
 ENNUL 85 
 
 ** I will, since you've nobody with you — 
 that I need be afraid of — " said she, look- 
 ing round satisfied, when she saw my own 
 man was not in the room. 
 
 '^ Yo« need never be afraid of any body, 
 Ellinor, whilst I am alive," said I, " for I 
 will alwaj^s protect you. I do not forget 
 your conduct, when 3^ou thought I was 
 dead in the banquetting-room." 
 
 " Ohl don't be talking of that: thanks 
 be to God there was nothing in it. I see 
 you well now. Long life to you. Sure you 
 must have been tired to death last night, 
 for this morning early you lay so quite ^ 
 sleeping like an angel ;. and I could see a 
 great likeness in ;i/eesy to what you were 
 when jT^ou were a child in my arms." 
 
 '^ But sit down, sit down, my good Elli- 
 nor," said I, " and let us talk a little of 
 your own affairs." 
 
 *' And are not these my own affairs ?'* 
 said she, rather angrily. 
 
 '* Certainly; but I mean, that you must 
 tell me how you are going on in the world,, 
 and what I can do to make you comfort- 
 able and happy."
 
 86 ENNUr. 
 
 ** There's one thing would make me 
 happy/* said she. 
 
 " Name it/' said I. 
 
 " To be let light your fire myself every 
 morning, and open your shutters, dear.** 
 
 I could not help smiling at the simplicity 
 of the request. I was going to press her to 
 ask something of more consequence, but 
 she heard a servant coming along the gal- 
 lery, and starting from her chair, she ran 
 and threw herself upon her knees before the 
 fire, blowing it with her mouth with great 
 vehemence. 
 
 The servant came to let me know that 
 Mr. M'Leod, my agent, was waiting for 
 xne in the breakfast-room. 
 
 " And will I be let light your fire then 
 every morning ?" said Ellinor eagerly, turn- 
 ing as she knelt. 
 
 *' And welcome,*' said I. 
 
 " Then you won't forget to speak about it 
 for me," said she, " else may be 1 won't be 
 let up BY them English. God bless you, 
 and don't forget to speak lor me." ** I will 
 remember to speak about it," said I j but I 
 went down stairs and forgot, it.
 
 ENNUI. 87 
 
 Mr. M'Leod, whom I found reading the 
 newspaper in the breakfast- room, seemed 
 less affected by my presence than any body 
 I had seen since my arrival. He was a 
 hard-featured, strong-built, perpendicular 
 man, with a remarkable quietness of de- 
 portment: he spoke with deliberate dis- 
 tinctness, in an accent slightly Scotch; 
 and, in speaking, he made use of no gesti- 
 culation, but held himself surprisingly still. 
 No part of him, but his eyes, moved; and 
 they had an expression of slow, but deter- 
 mined good sense. He was sparing of liis 
 words, but the few that he used said much, 
 and went directly to the point. He pressed 
 for the immediate examination and settle- 
 ment of his accounts: he enumerated several 
 things of importance, which he had done for 
 my service ; but he did this without pre- 
 tending the slightest attachment to me ; he 
 mentioned them only as proofs of his having 
 done his duty to his employer, for which 
 he neither expected nor would accept of 
 thanks. He seemed to be cold and upright 
 in his mind as in his body. I was not in- 
 fluenced in his favour even by his striking 
 appearance of plain deaJing, so strong was
 
 SB ENNUI. 
 
 the general abhorrence of agents, which 
 Crawley's treachery had left hi my niincL 
 The excess of credulitj^ when convinced 
 of its errour, becomes the extreme of sus- 
 picion. Persons not habituated to reason 
 often argue absurdly, because, from parti- 
 cular instances, they deduce general con- 
 clusions, and extend the result of their li- 
 mited experience of individuals indiscrimi- 
 nately to whole classes. The labour of 
 thinking was so great to me, that having 
 once come to a conclusion upon any sub- 
 ject, I would rather persist in it, right or 
 wrong, than be at the trouble of going over 
 the process again, to revise and rectify my 
 judgement. 
 
 Upon this occasion national prejudice 
 heightened the prepossession, which cir- 
 cumstances had raised. Mr. M'Leod was 
 not only an agent, but a Scotchman ; and 
 I had a notion that all Scotchmen were 
 crafty : therefore I concluded, that his 
 blunt manner was assumed, and his plain 
 dealing but a more refined species of policy. 
 
 After breakfast, he laid before me a ge- 
 neral statement of my affairs ; obliged me 
 to name a day for the examination of his
 
 ENNUI. 89 
 
 accounts, and then, without expressing 
 either mortification or displeasure at the 
 coldness of my behaviour, or at my evident 
 impatience of his presence, he, unmoved 
 of spirit, rang for his horse, wished me a 
 good morning, and departed. 
 
 By this time my castle-yard was filled 
 with a crowd of " great-coated suitors,'* 
 who were all come to see — could theij see iny 
 lordship f or waiting just to sa\) two ivords 
 to my honour. In various lounging atti- 
 tudes, leaning against the walls, or pacing 
 backwards and forwards before the window, 
 to catch my eye, they, with a patience 
 passing the patience of courtiers, waited, 
 hour after hour, the live-long day, for their 
 turn, or their chance of an audience. I 
 had promised myself the pleasure of view- 
 ing my castle this day, and of taking a ride 
 through my demesne, but that was totally 
 out of the question. I was no longer a man 
 with a will of my own, or with time at my 
 own disposal, 
 
 " Long maij you live to reign over us !'* 
 was the .signal, that I was now to live, like a 
 prince, only for the service of ray subjects* 
 How these subjects of mine had contrived
 
 90 ENNUI. 
 
 to go on for so many years in my absence, 
 I was at a loss to conceive ; for, the mo- 
 ment I was present, it seemed evident that 
 they could not exist without me. 
 
 One had a wife and six childtry and not 
 a spot in the wide v\ orld to live in, if my 
 honour did not let him live under me, in 
 any bit of a skirt of the estate that would 
 feed a cow. 
 
 Another had a brother in jail, who could 
 not be got out without me. 
 
 Another had three lives dropped in a lase 
 for ever; another wanted a renewal; an- 
 other a farm ; another a house ; and one 
 (expected my lard would make his son an ex- 
 ciseman ; and another that 1 would make 
 him a pohceman ; and another was rackedy 
 if I did not settle the mearing between him 
 and Corny Corkran ; and half a hundred 
 had given in proposials to the agent for 
 lands that would be out next May; and 
 half a hundred more came with legends of 
 traditionary promises from the old lord, nr^ 
 lordship's father that was : and for hours I 
 was forced to listen to long stories out of the 
 faccy in which there was such a perplexing 
 and provoking mixture of truth and fiction.
 
 ENNUI. . 91 
 
 involved in language so figurative, and 
 tones so new to my English ears, that, with 
 ray utmost patieoce and strained attention, 
 I could comprehend but a very small por- 
 tion of wliat was said to me. 
 
 Never were my ears so weary any day of 
 my life as they were this day. I could not 
 have endured the fatigue, if I had not been 
 supported by the agreeable idea of my own 
 power and consequence ; a power seem- 
 ingly next to despotic. This new stimulus 
 sustained me for three days that I was kept 
 a state prisoner in my own castle, by the 
 crowds who came to do me homage, and to 
 claim my favour and protection. In vain 
 every morning was my horse led about sad- 
 dled and bridled : I never was permitted to 
 mount. On the fourth morning, when I 
 felt sure of having dispatched all my tor- 
 mentors, I was in astonishment and despair 
 on seeing my levee crowded with a fresh 
 succession of petitioners. I gave orders to 
 my people to say that I was going out, and 
 absolutely could see nobody. I supposed 
 that they did not understand what my Eng- 
 lish servants said, for they never stirred 
 from their posts. On receiving a second
 
 $2 ENNUI. 
 
 message, they acknowledged that they un* 
 derstood the first; but replied, that they 
 could wait there till my honour came back 
 from my ride. With difficulty I mounted 
 my horse, and escaped from the closing 
 ranks of my persecutors. At night I gave 
 directions to have the gates kept shut, and 
 ordered the porter not to admit any body 
 at his peril. When I got up, 1 was de- 
 lighted to see the coast clear ; but the mo- 
 ment I went out, lo 1 at the outside of the 
 gate, the host of besiegers were posted, and 
 in my lawn, and along the road, and through 
 the iields, they pursued me; and when I 
 forbade them to speak to me when I was 
 on horseback, the next day 1 found parties 
 in ambuscade, who laid wait for me in si- 
 lence, with their hats off, bowing and bow- 
 ing, till I could not refrain from saying,. 
 ** Well, my good friend, what do you stand 
 bowing there for?" Then 1 was fairly pri- 
 soner, and held by the bridle for an hour. 
 
 In short, I found that I was now placed 
 in a situation, where I could hope neither 
 for privacy nor leisure; but I had the joys, 
 of power: my rising passion for which 
 would certainly have been extinguished in
 
 ENNUI. 95 
 
 a short time by my habitual indolence, if it 
 had not been kept alive by jealousy of Mr. 
 M^Leod. 
 
 One day, when I refused to hear an im- 
 portunate tenant, and declared that I had 
 been persecuted with petitioners ever since 
 my arrival, and that I was absolutely tired 
 to death, the man answered — " True, for 
 ye, my lard ; and it's a shame to be trou- 
 bhng you this v/ay. Then, may be it's to 
 Mr. M'Leod I'll go ? Sure the agent will 
 do as well, and no more about it. Mr. 
 M^Leod will do every thing the same way 
 as usual." 
 
 ^' Mr. M'Leod will do every thing, ' said 
 I hastily: " no, by no means." 
 
 " Who will we speak to then?" said the 
 man. 
 
 " To myself," said I, with as haughty a 
 tone as Lewis XIV, could have assumed, 
 when he announced to his court his reso- 
 lution to be his own minister. After this 
 intrepid declaration to act for myself, I 
 ;4:ould not yield to my habitual laziness. So 
 much had my pride been hurt, as well as 
 my other feelings, by Captain Crawley >
 
 94 ENNUI. 
 
 conduct, that I determined to show the 
 world I was not to be duped a second time 
 by an agent. 
 
 When, on the day appointed, Mr. 
 M'Leod came to settle accounts with me, 
 I, with an air of self-important capability, 
 as if I had been all my life used to look into 
 my own affairs, sat down to inspect the 
 papers; and, incredil)le as it may appear, 
 I went through the whole at a sitting, with- 
 out a single yawn ; and, for a man, who 
 never before had looked into an account, I 
 understood the nature of debtor and creditor 
 wonderfully well : but, with my utmost de- 
 sire to evince my arithmetical sagacity, I 
 could not detect the slightest errour in the 
 accounts; and it was evident, that Mr. 
 M'Leod was not Captain Crawley ; yet, 
 rather than believe that he could be both 
 an agent and an honest man, I concluded, 
 that if he did not cheat me out of my mo- 
 ney, his aim was to cheat me out of power; 
 and fancying that he wished to be a man of 
 influence and consequence in the county, !• 
 transferred to him instantly the feelings that 
 #ere passing in my own mind, and took it
 
 ENNUI. 95 
 
 for granted, that he must be actuated by a 
 love of power in every thing that he did ap- 
 parently for my service. 
 
 About this time I remember being much 
 disturbed in my mind, by a letter vi^hich 
 Mr. M'Leod received in my presence, and 
 of which he read to me only a part : I never 
 rested till I saw the whole. The epistle 
 proved well worth the trouble of decipher- 
 ing: it related merely to the paving of my 
 chicken-yard. Like the King of Prussia*, 
 who was said to be so jealous of power, 
 that he wanted to regulate all the mouse- 
 traps in his dominions, I soon engrossed the 
 management of a perplexing multiplicity of 
 minute insignificant details. Alas I I dis- 
 covered, to my cost, that trouble is the in- 
 separable attendant upon power : and many 
 times, in the course of the first ten days of 
 my reign, I was ready to give up my dig- 
 nity from excessive fatigue. 
 
 * Mirabeau — Secret Memoirs.
 
 90 KNNUI. 
 
 CHAPTER VI IL 
 
 Early one morning, after having passed a 
 feverish night, tortured in my dreams by the 
 voices and faces of the people who had sur- 
 rounded me the preceding day, I was wa- 
 kened by the noise of somebody hghting 
 my fire. I thought it was ERinor, and the 
 idea of the disinterested affection of this 
 poor woman came full into my mind, con- 
 trasted in the strongest manner with the re- 
 collection of the selfish encroaching people 
 by whom, of late, I had been worried. 
 
 " How do you do, my good Ellinorr'* 
 said I : "I have not seen any thing of you 
 this week past." 
 
 *' It's not Ellinor at all, my lord," saicl a 
 new voice. 
 
 " x^nd why so? Why does not Ellinor 
 light my fire?" 
 
 ** Myself does not know, my lard." 
 
 *^ Go for her directly.''
 
 ENNur. 97 
 
 " She*s gone home these three days, my 
 lard." 
 
 " Gone ! is she sick?'* 
 
 " Not as I know 07i, my lard. Myself 
 does not know what ailed her, except she 
 would be, jealous of my lighting the fire. 
 But I can't say what ailed her ; for she 
 went away without a word good or bad, 
 when she seen me lighting this fire, which 
 I did by the housekeeper's orders." 
 
 I now recollected poor Ellinor's request, 
 and reproached myself for having neglected 
 to fulfil my promise, upon an affair which, 
 however trifling in itself, appeared of con- 
 sequence to her. In the course of my 
 morning's ride I determined to call upon 
 her at her own house, and make my apo- 
 logies : but first I satisfied my curiosity 
 about a prodigious number of parks and 
 towns which I had heard of upon my estate- 
 Many a ragged man had come to me, with 
 the modest request that I would let him 
 one of the parks near the town. The horse- 
 park, the deer-park, the cow-park, were 
 not quite sufficient to answer the ideas I 
 had attached to the w^ord park : but I was 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 9S ENNUI. 
 
 quite astonished and mortified when I be- 
 held the bits and corners of land near the 
 town of Glenthorn, on which these high- 
 sounding titles had been bestowed : — just 
 what would feed a cow is sufficient in Ire- 
 land to constitute a park. 
 
 When I heard the names of above a hun- 
 dred towns on the Glenthorn estate, I had 
 an exalted idea of my own territories ; and 
 I was impatient to make a piogress through 
 my dominions : but, upon visiting a few of 
 these places, my curiosity was satisfied. 
 Two or three cabins gathered together were 
 sufficient to constitute a town, and the land 
 adjoining thereto is called a town-land. 
 The denominations of these town-lands hav- 
 ing continued from generation to genera- 
 tion, according to ancient surveys of Ire- 
 land, it is sufficient to show the boundaries 
 of a town-land, to prove that there must be 
 a town, and a tradition of a town continues 
 to be satisfactory, even when only a single 
 cabin remains. I turned my horse's head 
 away in disgust from one of these tradition- 
 zry towns, and desired a boy to show me 
 the Way to Ellinor O'Donoghoe's house.
 
 ENNUI. 99 
 
 *' So I will, plase your honour, my lard ; 
 sure IVe a right to know, for she's my own 
 mother.*' 
 
 The boy, or, as he w^as called, the gos- 
 soon, ran across some fields where there was 
 abundance of fern and of rabbits. The rab- 
 bits, sitting quietly at the entrance of their 
 holes, seemed to consider themselves as pro- 
 prietors of the soil, and me and my horse 
 as intruders. The boy apologized for the 
 number of rabbit holes on this part of the 
 estate : " It would not be so, my lard, if I 
 had a gun allowed me by the gamekeeper, 
 which he would give me, if he knew it 
 would be plasing to your honour." The 
 ingenuity, with which even the young boys 
 can introduce their requests in a favourable 
 moment, sometimes provoked me, and 
 sometimes excited my admiration. This 
 boy made his just at the time he wns roll- 
 ing out of my way a car that stopped a gap 
 in the hedge, and he was so hot and out of 
 breath with running in my service, that I 
 could not refuse him a token to the game- 
 keeper that he might get a gun as soon as I 
 understood what it meant. 
 
 We came to Ellinor's house, a wretched- 
 
 F 2
 
 100 ENNUI. 
 
 looking, low, mud- walled cabin ; at one end 
 it was propped by a buttress of loose stones, 
 upon which stood a goat reared on his hind 
 legs, to browze on the grass that grew on 
 the housetop. A dunghill was before the 
 only window, at the other end of the house, 
 and close to the door was a puddle of the 
 dirtiest of dirty water, in which ducks were 
 dabbling. At my approach there came 
 out of the cabin, a pig, a calf, a lamb, a 
 kid, and two geese, all with their legs tied ; 
 followed by turkej^s, cocks, hens, chickens, 
 a dog, a cat, a kitten, a beggar-man, a beg- 
 gar-woman, with a pipe in her mouth ; 
 children innumerable, and a stout girl, with 
 a pitchfork in her hand ; altogether more 
 than I, looking down upon the roof as I sat 
 on horseback, and measuring the super- 
 ficies with my eye, could have possibly sup- 
 posed the mansion capable of containing. 
 — I asked if Ellinor O'Donoghoe was at 
 home? but the dog barked, the geese 
 cackled, the turkeys gobbled, and the beg- 
 gars begged with one accord, so loudly, 
 that there was no chance of my being 
 heard. When the girl had at last succeeded 
 in appeasing them all with her pitchfork.
 
 ENNUI. lOi 
 
 she answered, that Ellinor O'Donoghoe was 
 at home, but that she was out with the po- 
 tatoes ; and she ran to fetch her, after call- 
 ing to the boys, who was within in the room 
 smoking, to come out to his honour. As 
 soon as they had crouched under the door, 
 ^nd were able to stand upright, they wel- 
 comed me with a very good grace, and 
 were proud to see me in the kingdom. I 
 asked if they were all Ellinor's sons. 
 
 " All entirely," was the first answer. 
 
 " Not one but one," was the second 
 answer. The third made the other two in- 
 telligible. 
 
 " Plase your honour, we are all her sons- 
 in-law, except myself, who am her lawful 
 son." 
 
 " Then you are my foster-brother ?" 
 
 " No, plase your honour, it's not me, but 
 my brother, and he's not in it.'' 
 
 " Not in it?'' 
 
 '* No, plase your honour, becaase he's 
 in the forge up aboiv." 
 
 " Abow!" said I; " what does he 
 mean ?' 
 
 " Sure he's the blacksmith, my lard." 
 
 '* And what are you ?"
 
 102 ENNUI. 
 
 *« I'm Ody, plase your honour j" the short 
 for Owen. 
 
 ** And what is your trade ?*' 
 
 " Trade, plase your honour, I was bred 
 to none, more than another ; hut expects, 
 only that my mother's not wiUing to part 
 me, to go into the militia next month 5 and 
 I'm sure she'd let me, if your honour^s lord- 
 ship would spake a word to the colonel, to 
 see to get me made a sergeant imviadi- 
 atehjr 
 
 As Ody made his request, all his com- 
 panions came forward in sign of sympathy, 
 and closed round my horse's head to make 
 me sinsihle of their expectations ; but at tliis 
 instant Ellinor came up, her old face colour- 
 ing all over with joy when she saw me. 
 
 " So, Ellinor," said I, " you were affront- 
 ed, I hear, and left the castle in anger ?" 
 
 " In anger ! And if I did, more shame 
 for me — but anger does not last long with 
 me any way ; and against you, my lord, 
 dear how could it ? Oh, think how good he 
 is, coming to see me in such a poor place 1" 
 " I will make it a better place for you, 
 Ellinor," said I. Ear from being eager to 
 obtain promises, she still replied, that '' all
 
 ENNUI. 103 
 
 was good enough for her.** I desired that 
 she would come and Hve with me at the 
 castle, till a better house than her present 
 habitation could be built for her; but she 
 seemed to prefer this hovel. I assured her 
 that she should be permitted to hght my 
 fire. 
 
 " Obit's better for me not!" said she; 
 " better keep out of the way. I could not 
 be asy if I got any one ill-will." 
 
 I assured her that she should be at liberty 
 to do just as she liked; and whilst I rode 
 home I was planning a pretty cottage for 
 her near the porter's lodge. I was pleased 
 with myself for my gratitude to this poor 
 woman. Before I slept, I actually wrote a 
 letter, which obtained for Ody the honour 
 of being made a sergeant in the mi- 
 litia 'y and Ellinor, dazzled by this military 
 glory, was satisfied that he should leave 
 home, though he was her favourite. 
 
 *' Well, let him leave me then," said she 5 
 " I won't stand in his light. I never thought 
 of my living to see Ody a sergeant. Now, 
 Ody, have done being wild, honey-dear, 
 and be a credit to your family, and to his 
 honour's commendation — God bless him for
 
 104 ENNUI. 
 
 ever for it ! From the very first I knew it 
 was he that had the kind heart." 
 
 I am not sure, that it was a very good 
 action to get a man made a sergeant, of 
 whom I knew nothing, but that he was son 
 to my nurse. Self-complacency, however, 
 cherished my first indistinct feelings of be- 
 nevolence. Though not much accustomed 
 to reflect upon my own sensations, I think 
 I remember, at this period, suspecting that 
 the feeling of benevolence is a greater plea- 
 sure than the possession of barouches, and 
 horses, and castles, and parks — greater even 
 than the possession of power. Of this last 
 truth, however, I had not as yet a perfectly 
 clear conception. Even in my benevolence 
 I was as impatient and unreasonable as a 
 child. Money, I thought, had the power 
 of Aladdin's lamp, to procure with magical 
 celerity the gratification of my wishes. I 
 expected that a cottage for Ellinor should 
 rise out cf the earth at my command. But 
 the slaves of Aladdin's lamp were not Irish- 
 men. The delays, and difficulties, and 
 blunders, in the execution of my orders, 
 provoked me beyond measure ; and it would 
 have been difficult for a cool spectator to
 
 ENNUI. 105 
 
 decide, whether I or my workmen were most 
 in fault; they for their dilatory habits, or I 
 for my impatient temper. 
 
 " Well, plase your honour, when the 
 pratees are set, and the turf cut, we'll fall-to 
 at Ellinor's house." 
 
 " Confound the potatoes and the turf [ 
 you vcms^tfall'to, as you call it, directly." 
 
 *' Is it without the lime, and plase your 
 honour ? Sure that same is not drawn yet, 
 nor the stones quarried, since it is of stone 
 it will be — nor the foundations itself dug, 
 and the horses were all putting out dung." 
 
 Then after the bog and the potatoes came 
 funerals and holidays innumerable. The 
 masons were idle one week waiting for the 
 mortar, and the mortar another week wait- 
 ing for the stones, and then they were at a 
 stand for the carpenter when they came to 
 the door-case, and the carpenter was look- 
 ing for the sawyer, and the sawyer was gone 
 to have the saw mended. Then there was 
 a stop again at the window-sills for the 
 stone-cutter, and he was at the quarter- 
 sessions, processing his brother for tin and 
 tinpence, hay-money. And when, in spite of 
 all delays and obstacles, the walls reached 
 
 Y 5
 
 10(3 ENNUI. 
 
 their destined height, the roof was a new 
 plague J the carpenter, the slater, and the 
 nailer, were all at variance, and I cannot 
 tell which was the most provoking rogue of 
 the three. At last, however, the house was 
 roofed and slated : then I would not wait 
 till the walls were dry before I plastered 
 and papered and furnished it. I fitted it 
 up in the most elegant style of English cot- 
 tages, for I was determined that Ellinor's 
 habitation should be such as had never 
 been seen in this part of the world. The 
 day when it was finished, and when I gave 
 possession of it to Ellinor, paid me for all 
 my trouble; I tasted a species of pleasure 
 that was new to me, and which was the 
 sweeter from having been earned with some 
 difficulty. And now, when I saw a vast 
 number of my tenants assembled at a rural 
 feast, which I gave on Ellinor's installatioTiy 
 my benevolence enlarged, even beyond the 
 possibility of its gratification, and I wished 
 to make all m)^ dependants happy, provided 
 I could accomplish it without much trou- 
 ble. The method of doing good, which 
 seemed to require the least exertion, and 
 which I, therefore, most v/illingly practised.
 
 ENNUI. 107 
 
 was giving away money. I did not wait to 
 inquire, much less to examine into the me- 
 rits of the claimants ; but, without selecting 
 proper objects, I relieved myself from the 
 uneasy feeling of pity, by indiscriminate 
 donations to objects apparently the most 
 miserable. 
 
 I was quite angry with Mr. M*Leod, my 
 agent ; and considered him as a selfish, 
 hard-hearted miser, because he did not seem 
 to sympathize with me, or to applaud my 
 generosity. I was so much irritated by his 
 cold silence, that I could not forbear press- 
 ing him to say something. 
 
 " / doubts then," said he, " since you de- 
 sire me to speak my mind, my lord, / doubt 
 whether the best way of encouraging the 
 industrious, is to give premiums to the 
 idle." 
 
 " But, idle or not, these poor wretches 
 are so miserable, that I cannot refuse to 
 give them something; and, surely, when 
 one can do it so easily, it is right to relieve 
 misery. Is it not?'* 
 
 " Undoubtedly, my lord -, but the diffi- 
 culty is to relieve present misery, without 
 creating more in future. Pity for one class
 
 108 i:nnui. 
 
 of beings sometimes makes us cruel to 
 others. I am told that there are some In- 
 dian J3rahmiiis so very compassionate, that 
 they hire beggars to let fleas feed upon 
 them 3 I doubt whether it might not be bet- 
 ter to let the fleas starve." 
 
 I did not in the least understand what 
 Mr. M^Leod meant ; but I was soon made 
 to comprehend it, by crowds of eloquent 
 beggars, who soon surrounded me : many 
 who' had been resolutely strugghng with 
 their difficulties, slackened their exertions, 
 and left their labour for the easier trade of 
 imposing upon my credulity. The money I 
 had bestowed was w^asted at the dram-shop, 
 or it became the subject of family quarrels; 
 and those whom I had relieved ^ returned to 
 my, honour y with fresh and insatiable expec- 
 tations. All this time my industrious te- 
 nants grumbled, because no encouragement 
 was given to them -, and, looking upon me 
 ^s a weak good-natured fool, they com- 
 bined in a resolution to ask me for long 
 leases, or reduction of rent. 
 . . ,The rhetoric of my tenants succeeded, in 
 spme instances ; and again, I was mortified 
 by lylr. M*Leod's silence. I was top proud
 
 ENNUI. 109 
 
 to ask his opinion. I ordered, and was 
 obeyed. A few leases for long terms were 
 signed and sealed ; and when I had thus 
 my own way completely, I could not refrain 
 from recurring to Mr. NPLeod's opinion. 
 
 *' I doubt, my lord," said he, *' whether 
 this measure may be as advantageous as 
 you hope. These fellows, these middle 
 men, will underset the land, and live in idle- 
 ness, whilst they rack a parcel of wretched 
 under-tenants." 
 
 " But they said they would keep the land 
 in their own hands, and improve it; and that 
 the reason why they could not afford to im- 
 prove before was, that they had not long 
 leases." 
 
 " It may be doubted whether long leases 
 alone will make improving tenants ; for in 
 the next county to us there are many farms 
 of the dowager Lady Ormsby's land, let at 
 ten shillings an acre, and her tenantry are 
 beggars : and the land now, at the end of 
 the leases, is worn out, and worse than at 
 their commencement." 
 
 I was weary listening to this cold reason- 
 ing, and resolved to apply no more for ex- 
 planations to Mr. M'Leod; yet I did not
 
 110 ENNUI. 
 
 long keep this resolution: infirm of pur- 
 pose, I wanted the support of his approba- 
 tion, at the very time I was jealous of his 
 interference. 
 
 At one time I had a mind to raise the 
 wages of labour; but Mr. M'Leod said — 
 ** It might he doubted whether the people 
 would not work less, when they could with 
 less work have money enough to support 
 them." 
 
 I was puzzled, and then I had a mind to 
 lower the wages of labour, to force them 
 to work or starve — Still, provoking Mr. 
 M'Leod said — " It might be doubted 
 whether it would not be better to leave 
 them alone." 
 
 I gave marriage portions to the daugh- 
 ters of my tenants, and rewards to those 
 who had children ; for I had always heard 
 that legislators should encourage popula- 
 tion. 
 
 Still Mr. M'Leod hesitated to approve ; 
 he observed, " that my estate was so po- 
 pulous, that the complaint in each family 
 was, that they had not land for the sons. 
 It might be doubted whether, if a farngt 
 could support but ten people, it were wise
 
 ENNUI. 1 1 1 
 
 to encourage the birth of twenty. It might 
 he doubted whether it were not better for 
 ten to live, and be well fed, than for twenty 
 to be born, and to be half-starved.'* 
 
 To encourage manufactures in my town 
 of Glenthorn, I proposed putting a clause 
 in my leases, compelling my tenants to 
 buy stuffs and linens manufactured at 
 Glenthorn, and no where else. Stubborn 
 AI'Leod, as usual, began with — 
 ' " / doubt whether that will not encou-^ 
 rage the manufacturers at Glenthorn to 
 make bad stuffs and bad linen, since they 
 are sure of a sale, and without danger of 
 competition.'* 
 
 At all events, I thought my tenants 
 would grow rich and independent^ if they 
 made every thing at home that they want- 
 ed : yet Mr. M'Leod perplexed me by his 
 
 " Doubt whether it would not be better 
 for a man to buy shoes, if he could buy 
 them cheaper than he could make them.** 
 He added something about the division of 
 labour, and Smith's Wealth of Nations. To 
 which I could only answer — Smith's a 
 Scotchman. 
 
 I cannot express how much I dreaded
 
 112 ENNUI. 
 
 Mr. M'Leod's / doubt — and — It may be 
 doubted. 
 
 From the pain of doubt, and the labour 
 of thought, 1 was soon most agreeably re- 
 prieved by the company of a Mr. Hard- 
 castle, whose visits I constantly encouraged 
 by a most gracious reception. Mr. Hard- 
 castle was the agent of the dowager Lady 
 Ormsby, who had a large estate in my 
 neighbourhood: he was the very re- 
 verse of my Mr. M'Leod in his deportment 
 and conversation. Talkative, self-suffi- 
 cient, peremptory, he seemed not to know 
 what it was to doubt ; he considered doubt 
 as a proof of ignorance, imbecility, or cow- 
 ardice. " Can any man doubt f was his 
 usual beginning. On every subject of hu- 
 man knowledge, taste, morals, politics, eco- 
 nomy, legislation; on all affairs, civil, mi- 
 litary, or ecclesiastical, he decided at once 
 in the most confident tone. Yet he '^ ne- 
 ver read, not he !" he had nothing to do 
 ■with books 3 he consulted only his own 
 eyes and ears, and appealed only to com- 
 mon sense. As to theory, he had no opi- 
 nion of theory ; for his part, he only pre- 
 tended to understand practice and expe-
 
 ENNUI. 113 
 
 rienee — and his practice was confined 
 steadily to his own practice, and his expe- 
 rience uniformly to what he had tried at 
 Ne w-to wn- Hardcastle. 
 
 At first I thought him a mighty clever 
 man, and I really rejoiced to see my doubter 
 silenced. After dinner, when he had fi- 
 nished speaking in his decisive manner, I 
 used frequently to back him with a — Very 
 true — very fair — very clear — though I un- 
 derstood what he said, as little as he did 
 himself^ but it was an ease to my mind to 
 have a disputed point settled — and I filled 
 my glass with an air of triumph, whilst 
 M*Leod never contradicted my assertions, 
 or controverted Mr. Hardcastle^s argu- 
 ments. There was still an air of content 
 and quiet self-satisfaction in M'Leod's very 
 silence, which surprised and vexed me. 
 
 One day, when Hardcastle was laying 
 down the law upon several subjects, in his 
 usual dictatorial manner, telling us how he 
 managed his people, and what order he 
 kept them in, I was determined that 
 M*Leod should not enjoy the security of 
 his silence, and 1 urged him to give us his
 
 114 ENNUL 
 
 general opinion, as to the means of improv- 
 ing the poor people in Ireland. 
 
 " I doubt,'* said M'Leod, <* whether 
 any thing efTectual can be done, till they 
 have a better education/' 
 
 *^ Education! — Pshaw! — There it is 
 now 'j these book-men," cried Hardcastle — 
 " Why, my dear sir, can any man alive, 
 who knows this country, doubt that the 
 common people have already too much 
 education, as it is called — a vast deal too 
 much } Too many of them know how to 
 read, and write, and cipher, which I pre- 
 sume is all you mean by education." 
 
 " Not entirely," said M'Leod — " a* 
 good education comprehends something 
 more." 
 
 " The more the worse," interrupted 
 Hardcastle. The more they know, the 
 worse they are, sir, depend on that ; I know 
 the people of this country, sir ; I have a 
 good right to know them, sir, being born 
 amongst them, and bred amongst them ; so 
 I think I may speak with some confidence 
 on these matters. And I g\ve it as my 
 decided humble opinion, founded on irre-
 
 ENNUI. 1 1 
 
 fragable experience, which is what I al- 
 ways build upon, that the way to ruin the 
 poor of Ireland would be to educate them, 
 sir. Look at the poor scholars, as they 
 call themselves; and what are they? a 
 parcel of young vagabonds in rags, with a 
 book under their arm instead of a spade or 
 a shovel, sir. And what comes of this? 
 that they grow up the worst-disposed, and 
 the most troublesome seditious rascals in the 
 community. I allow none of them about 
 New-town-Hardcastle -, none — banished 
 them all. Useless vagrants — hornets — 
 vipers, sir: and show me a quieter, better- 
 managed set of people, than I have made of 
 mine. I go upon experience, sir; and 
 that's the only thing to go upon ; and I'll 
 go no farther than New-town-Hardcastle : 
 if that won't bring conviction home to you, 
 nothing will.'* 
 
 " I never was at New-town-Hardcastle," 
 said M'Leod drily. 
 
 " Well, sir, I hope it will not be the 
 case long. But in the mean time, my good 
 sir, do give me leave to put it to your own 
 common sense, what can reading or writing 
 do for a poor man, unless he is to be a
 
 116 ENNUI. 
 
 bailiff or an exciseman ? and you know all 
 men can't expect to be bailiffs or excise- 
 men. Can all the book-learning in the 
 world, sir, dig a poor man's potatoes for 
 him, or plough his land, or cut his turf? 
 Then, sir, in this country, where's the ad- 
 vantages of education, I humbly ask ? No, 
 sir, no, trust me — keep the Irish common 
 people ignorant, and you keep 'em quiet; 
 and that's the only way with them ; for they 
 are too quick and smart as it is naturally. 
 Teach them to read and write, and it's just 
 adding fuel to fire — fire to gunpowder, sir. 
 Teach them any thing, and directly you 
 set them lip: now, it's our business to keep 
 them down, unless, sir, you'd wish to have 
 your throat cut. Education, sir ; Lord 
 bless your soul, sir ! they have a great deal 
 too much ; they know too much already, 
 which makes them so refractory to the 
 laws, and so idle. I will go no farther than 
 New-town-Hardcastle, to prove all this. 
 So, my good sir," concluded he, triumph- 
 antly, " education, I grant you, is ne- 
 cessary for the rich ; but tell me, if you can, 
 what's the use of education to the poor ?" 
 " Much the same, I apprehend, as to
 
 ENNUI. 117 
 
 the rich,*' answered M'Leod. '^ The use 
 of education, as I understand it, is to teach 
 men to see clearly* and to follow steadily, 
 their real interests. All morality, you 
 know, is comprised in this definition ; 
 and—" 
 
 ** Very true, sir; but all this can never 
 apply to the poor in Ireland." 
 
 '• Why, sir, are they not men ? 
 
 " Men, to be sure; but not like men in 
 Scotland. The Irish know nothing of their 
 interests; and as to morality, that's out of 
 the question: they know nothing about it, 
 my dear sir." 
 
 " That is the very thing of which I com- 
 plain," said M'Leod. '' They know no- 
 thing, because they have been taught no- 
 thing." 
 
 " They cannot be taught, sir." 
 
 " Did you ever try ?" 
 
 '' I did, sir, no later than last week. A 
 fellow that I caught stealing my turf, in- 
 stead of sending him to jail, I said to him, 
 with a great deal of lenity. My honest fel- 
 low, did you never hear of the eighth com- 
 mandment, ' Thou shalt not steal ?' He 
 confessed he had ; but did not know it was
 
 11$ ENNUI. 
 
 the eighth. I showed it to him, and counted 
 it to him myself; and set him, for a punish- 
 ment, to get his whole catechism. Well, 
 sir, the next week I found him stealing my 
 turf again 1 and when I caught him by the 
 wrist in the fact, he said, it was because 
 the priest would not let him learn the cate- 
 chism I gave him, because it was a pro- 
 testant one. Now you see, sir, there's a 
 bar for ever to all education/* 
 
 Mr. M'Leod smiled, said something 
 about time and patience, and observed, 
 ^* that one experiment was not conclusive 
 against a whole nation.'* Anything like a 
 general argument, Mr. Hardcastle could 
 not comprehend. He knew every blade 
 of grass within the reach of his tether, but 
 could not reach an inch beyond. Any 
 thing like an appeal to benevolent feelings 
 was lost upon him ; for he was so frank in 
 his selfishness, that he did not even pretend 
 to be generous. — By sundry self-compla- 
 cent notions he showed, whilst his adver- 
 sary spoke, that he disdained to listen al- 
 most as much as to read : but, as soon as 
 M'Leod paused, he said — 
 
 ** What yQii observe, sir, may possibly
 
 ENNUI. 119 
 
 be very true; but I have made up my 
 mind." Then he went over and over again 
 his assertions, in a louder and a louder 
 voice : ending with a tone of interrogation 
 that seemed to set all answer at defiance. 
 
 " What have you to answer to me now, 
 sir ? Can any man aHve doubt this, sir ?** 
 
 iVl^Leod was perfectly silent. The com- 
 pany broke up ; and, as we were going out 
 of the room, I maliciously asked M'Leod, 
 why he, who could say so much in his own 
 defence, had suffered himself to be so com- 
 pletely silenced. He answered me, in his 
 low deliberate voice, in the words of Mo- 
 liere — " Qu*est-ce que la raison avec un filet 
 de voix contre une gueule comme celle-la ?* 
 At some other time," added Mr. M'Leod, 
 *' mjr sentiments shall be at your lordship s 
 disposal." 
 
 Indolent persons love positive people 
 when they are of their own opinion; be^ 
 cause they are saved the trouble of deve- 
 loping their thoughts, or supporting their 
 assertions : but the moment the positive 
 differs in sentiment from the indolent man, 
 there is an end of the friendship. The in- 
 dolent man then hates his pertinacious ad-
 
 120 ENNUI. 
 
 versary as much as he loved his sturdy 
 friend. So it happened between Mr. Hard- 
 castle and me. This gentleman was a pro- 
 digious favourite with me, so long as his 
 opinions were not in opposition to my own ; 
 but an accident happened, which brought 
 his love of power and mine into direct com- 
 petition, and then I found his peremptory 
 mode of reasoning and his ignorance absurd 
 and insufferable. 
 
 Before I can do justice to my part of this 
 quarrel, I must explain the cause of the 
 interest which I took in behalf of the per- 
 sons aggrieved. During the time that my 
 first hot fit of benevolence was on me, I was 
 riding home one evening after dining with 
 Mr. Hardcastle, and I was struck with the 
 sight of a cabin, more wretched than any I 
 had ever before beheld : the feeble light of 
 a single rush candle through the window 
 revealed its internal misery. 
 
 *' Does any body live in that hovel ?" 
 said I. 
 
 ** Ay sure does there : the Noonans, 
 please your honour," replied a man on the 
 road. Noonans ! I recollected the name to 
 be th^t of the pugilist, who had died in con-
 
 ENNUI. 1^1 
 
 sequence of the combat at which I had 
 been present in London ; who had^ w^ith 
 his dying breath, besought me to convey 
 his only half-guinea, and his silk handker- 
 chief, to his poor father and sister. I 
 ahghted from my horse, asking the man, at 
 the same time, if the son of this Noonan 
 had not died in England. 
 
 " He had, sir, a son in England, Mick 
 Noonan, who used to send him odd guineas, 
 / mhid^ and Avas a good lad to his father^ 
 though wild ; and there's been no account, 
 of him at all at all this long while : but the 
 old man has another boy, a sober lad, who's 
 abroad with the army in the East Indies ; 
 and it's he that is the hope of the family. 
 And there's the father — and old as he is, 
 and poor, and a cripple, Fd engage there 
 is not a happier man in the three comities 
 at this very time speaking: for it is just 
 now I seen young Jemmy Riley, the daugh- 
 ter's T^ac/^d-Zc^r, go by with a letter. What 
 news ? says I. Great news 1 says he : a 
 letter from Tom Noonan to his father; and 
 I'm going in to read it for him." 
 
 By the time my voluble informant had 
 come to this period, I had reached the cabin 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 122 ENNUI. 
 
 door. Who could have expected to see 
 smiles, and hear exclamations of joy, under 
 such a roof ? 
 
 I saw the father, with his hands clasped 
 in ecstasy, and looking up to Heaven, with 
 the strong expression of delight in his aged 
 countenance. I saw every line of his face ; 
 for the light of the candle was full upon it. 
 The daughter, a beautiful girl, kneeling be- 
 side him, held the light. for the young man, 
 who was reading her brother's letter. I 
 was sorry to interrupt them. 
 
 " Your honour's kindly welcome," said 
 the old man, making an attempt to rise. 
 
 " Pray don't let me disturb you." 
 
 *' It was onl}^ a letter from a boy of mine 
 that's over the seas we was reading," said 
 the old man. " A better boy to an ould 
 father, that's good for nothing now in this 
 world, never was, plase your honour. See 
 what he has sent me : a draught here for 
 ten guineas, out of the little pay he has. 
 God for ever bless him — as he surely will." 
 
 After a few minutes' conversation, the old 
 man's heart was so much opened towards 
 me, that he talked as freely as if he had 
 known me for years. 1 led to the subject
 
 ENNUI. 123 
 
 of his other son Michael, who was men- 
 tioned in the letter as a wild chap. " Ah ! 
 your honour, that's what lies heaviest on 
 my heart, and will to my dying day, that 
 Mick, before he died, which they say he 
 did surely a twelvemonth ago, over there in 
 England, never so much as sent me one 
 line, good or bad, or his sister a token to 
 remember him by even !" 
 
 " Had he but sent us the least bit of a 
 word, or the least token in life, I had been 
 content,'* said the sister, wiping her eyes : 
 '' we don't so much as know how he died." 
 
 I took this moment to relate the circum- 
 stances of Michael Noonan's death : and 
 when I told them of his dying request about 
 the half-guinea and the silk handkerchief, 
 they were all so much touched, that they 
 utterly forgot the ten-guinea draught, which 
 I saw on the ground, in the dirt, under the 
 old man's feet, whilst lie contemplated the 
 half-guinea which his pooi^ Michael had sent 
 him : repeating, '^ Poor fellow ! poor fel- 
 low ! 'twas all he had in the v/orid. God 
 bless him ! — Poor Michael ! he was a wild 
 chap ! but none better to his parents than he 
 while the life was in him. Poor Michael 1" 
 
 G 2
 
 t24 ENNUI. 
 
 Ill no country have I found such strong 
 itistances of filial affection as in Ireland. 
 Let the sons go where they may, let what 
 will befall them, they never forget their pa- 
 rents at home : they write to them con- 
 stantly the most affectionate letters, and 
 send them a share of whatever they earn. 
 
 When I asked the daughter of this Noo- 
 nan, why she had not married ? the old man 
 atiswered, " That's her own fault — if it be a 
 fault to abide by an old father. She wastes 
 her youth here, in the way your honour sees, 
 tending him who has none other to mind 
 him." 
 
 ** Oh ! let alone thaty^ said the girl, with 
 a cheerful smile, '^ we be too poor to think 
 of marrying yet, by a great deal; so, father 
 dear, you're no hindrance any way. For 
 don't I know, and doesn't Jemmy there 
 know, that it's a sin and a shame, as my 
 mother used to say, for them that have no- 
 thing to marry and set up house-keeping, 
 like the rogue that ruined my father?" 
 
 " That's true," said the young man, with 
 a heavy sigh : " but times will mend, or 
 we'll strive and mend them, with the bless- 
 ing of God."
 
 ENNUI. 125 
 
 1 left this miserable hut in admiration of 
 the generosity of its inhabitants. I desired 
 the girl to come to Glenthorn Castle the 
 next day, that I might give her the silk 
 handkerchief which her poor brother had 
 sent her. The more I inquired into the cir- 
 cumstances of this family, the more cause 
 I found for pity and approbation. The old 
 man had been a good farmer in his day, as 
 the traditions of the aged, and the memo- 
 ries of the young, were ready to witness ; 
 but he was unfortunately joined in copart- 
 nership with a drunken rogue, who ran 
 away, and left an arrear of rent, which 
 ruined Noonan. Mr. Hardcastle, the agent, 
 called upon him to pay it, and sold all that 
 the old man possessed j* and this being in- 
 sufficient to discharge the debt, he was 
 forced to give up his farm, and retire, with 
 his daughter, to this hovel 5 and soon after- 
 wards he lost the use of his side by a para- 
 lytic stroke. 
 
 I was so much pleased with the goodne^ 
 of these poor people, that, in despite of my 
 indolent disposition, I bestirred myself the 
 very next day to find a better habitation for 
 them on my own estate. I settled them.
 
 hiG ENNUh 
 
 infinitely to their satisfaction, in a small 
 farm ^ and the girl married her lover, who 
 imdertook to manage the farm for the old 
 man. To my utter surprise I found, that 
 Mv. Ilardcastle was affronted by the part I 
 look in this affair. He complained that I 
 iiad behaved in a very ungentlemanlike 
 manner, and had spirited away the tenants 
 from Lady Ormsby's estate, against the re- 
 gulation which he had laid down for all the 
 tenants not to e wig rale from the estate. 
 Jemmy Riley, it seems, was one of the eot- 
 ters on the Ormsby estate, a circumstance 
 with w^hich I was unacquainted ; indeed I 
 scarcely at that time imderstood w hat was 
 meant by a cotter, Mr. Hardcastle's com- 
 j)laint, in matter and manner, was unintel- 
 ligible to me 5 but I was quite content to 
 leave off visiting him, as he left off visiting 
 me — but here the matter did not stop. This 
 over- wise and over-busy gentleman took 
 upon him, amongst other ofiices, the regu- 
 lation of the markets in the town of Orms- 
 by; and as he apprehended, for reasons 
 best and only known to himself, a year of 
 scarcity, he thought fit to keep down the 
 price of oats and potatoes. He would al-
 
 ENNUI. It27 
 
 low none to be sold in the market of Orms- 
 by, but at the price which he stipulated. 
 The poor people grumbled, and to remedy 
 the injustice, made private bargains with 
 each othen Ele had information of this, 
 and seized the corn that was selling above 
 the price he had fixed. Young Riley, 
 Noonan's son-in-law, came to me to com- 
 plain, that his little oats was seized and 
 detained, I remonstrated — Hardcastle re- 
 sented the appeal to me, and bid him wait 
 and be damned. The young man, who 
 was rather of a hasty temper, and who did 
 not much like either to wait or be damned, 
 seized his own oats, and was marching oiT, 
 when they were recaptured hy Hardcastle's 
 bailiff, whom young Riley knocked down ; 
 and who, as soon as he got up again, went 
 straight and swore examinations against Ri* 
 ley. Then I was offended, as I had a right 
 to be, by the custom of the country, with 
 the magistrate who took an examination 
 against my tenant without writing first to 
 me. Then there was a race between the 
 examinations of //ny justice of peace and his 
 justice of peace. My indolence was con- 
 quered by my love of power : I supported
 
 1S8 KNNUI. 
 
 the contest: the affair came before our 
 grand jury : I conquered, and Mr. Hard- 
 castle was ever after, of course, my enemy. 
 To English ears the possessive pronouns my 
 and his may sound extraordinary, prefixed 
 to a justice of peace; but, in many parts of 
 Ireland, this language is perfectly correct. 
 A great man talks of making a justice of 
 the peace with perfect confidence ; a very 
 great man talks with as much certainty of 
 making a sheriff; and a sheriff makes the 
 jury; and the jury makes the law. We 
 must not forget, however, that, in England, 
 during the reign of Elizabeth, a member of 
 parliament defined a justice of peace to be 
 *' an animal who, for half a dozen chickens, 
 will dispense with half a dozen penal sta- 
 tutes." Time is necessary to enforce the 
 sanctions of legislation and civilization — 
 But I am anticipating reflections, which I 
 made at a much later period of my life. To 
 return to my history. 
 
 My benevolence was soon checked by 
 slight disappointments. Ellinor's cottage, 
 "which I had taken so much pains to build, 
 became a source of mortification to me. 
 One day I found my old nurse sitting at her
 
 ENNUI. 129 
 
 'Wheel, in the midst of the wreck and litter 
 of all sorts of household furniture, singing 
 her favourite song of 
 
 " There was a lady lovM a swine, 
 " Honey ! says she, 
 *' ril give ye a silver trough. 
 " Hunk ! says he 1" 
 
 Ellinor seemed, alas ! to have as little 
 taste for the luxuries with which I had pro- 
 vided her, as the pig had for the silver 
 trough. What I called conveniences, were 
 to her incumbrances : she had not been 
 used to them; she v/as put out of her way ; 
 and it was a daily torment to one of her 
 habits, to keep her house clean and neat. 
 
 There may be, as some philosophers as- 
 sure us that there is, an innate love of order 
 in the human mind ; but of this instinctive 
 principle my poor Ellinor was totally desti- 
 tute. Her ornamented farm-house became, 
 in a v/onderfully short time, a scene of dirt, 
 rubbish, and confusion. There was a par- 
 tition between two rooms, which had been 
 built with turf or peat, instead of bricks, by 
 the wise ecotiomy I had employed. Of 
 course, this was pulled down to get at the 
 
 q6
 
 130 ENNUI. 
 
 turf. The stairs also were pulled down and 
 burned, though there was no scarcity of 
 firing. As the walls were plastered and 
 papered before they were quite dry, the 
 paper grew mouldy, and the plaster fell off. 
 In the hurry of finishing, some of the wood- 
 work had but one coat of paint. In Ire- 
 land they have not faith in the excellent 
 Dutch proverb, " Paint costs vothiugy I 
 could not get my workmen to give a second 
 coat of paint to any of the sashes, and the 
 wood decayed : divers panes of glass in the 
 windows were broken, and their places filled 
 up with shoes, an old hat, or a bundle of 
 rags. Some of the slates were blown off 
 one windy night : the slater lived ten miles 
 off, and before the slates were replaced, the 
 rain came in, and Ellinor was forced to 
 make a bed-chamber of the parlour, and 
 then of the kitchen, retreating from corner 
 to corner as the rain pursued, till, at last, 
 when '' it xvould come even; ivcnj upon her 
 bed,'* she petitioned me to let her take the 
 slates off and thatch the house ; for a slated 
 house, she said, was never so warm as a 
 tatched cabin ; and as there was no smoke, 
 she w^s kilt with the coivld.
 
 ENNUI. 131 
 
 In my life I never felt so angry. I was 
 ten times more angry than when Crawley 
 ran away with my wife. In a paroxysm of 
 passion, I reproached Ellinor with being a 
 savage, an Irishwoman, and ail ungrateful 
 fool. 
 
 '* Savage I am, for any thing I know; and 
 fool I am, that's certain ; but ungrateful I 
 am not," said she, bursting into tears. She 
 went home and took to her bed ; and the 
 next thing I heard from her son was, " that 
 she was lying in the rheumatism, which had 
 kept her awake many a long night, before 
 she would come to complain to my honour 
 of the house, in dread that I should blame 
 myself for sending of her into it afoj^e it was 
 dry." 
 
 The rheumatism reconciled me immedi- 
 ately to Ellinor; I let her take her own 
 way, and thatch the house, and have as 
 much smoke as she pleased, and she reco- 
 vered. But I did not entirely recover my 
 desire to do good to my poor tenants. Af- 
 ter forming, in the first enthusiasm of my 
 benevolence, princely schemes for their ad- 
 vantage, my ardour was damped, and my
 
 13^ ENNUI. 
 
 zeal discouraged, hy a few slight disap- 
 pointments. 
 
 I did not consider, that there is often, 
 amongst uncultivated people, a mixture of 
 obstinate and lazy content, which makes 
 them despise the luxuries of their richer 
 neighbours; like those mountaineers, who, 
 proud of their own hard fare*, out of a 
 singular species of contempt, call the in- 
 habitants of the plains majige-rotis, " eaters 
 of roast meat." 1 did not consider, that it 
 must take time to chano;e local and national 
 habits and prejudices; and that it is neces- 
 sary to raise a taste for comforts, before 
 they can be properly enjoyed. 
 
 In the pettishness of my disappointment, 
 I decided, that it was in vain to attempt to 
 improve or civilize such people as the Irish. 
 I did not recollect, perhaps at that time I 
 did not know, that even in the days of the 
 great Queen Elizabeth, " the greatest part 
 of the buildings in the cities and good towns 
 
 * See Philosophical Transactions, vol. Ixvii. part 2, 
 Sir George Shuckburgh's observations to ascertain the 
 height of mountains — for a full account of the cabin of 
 a couple of Alpine shepherdesses.
 
 ENNUf. IS3 
 
 of England consisted only of timber, cast 
 over with thick clay to keep out the wind. 
 The new houses of the nobihty were indeed 
 either of brick or stone ; and glass windows 
 were then beginning to be used in Eng- 
 land* :** and clean rushes were strewed over 
 the dirty floors of the royal palace. In the 
 impatience of my zeal for improvement, I 
 expected to do the work of two hundred 
 years in a few months : and because I could 
 not accelerate the progress of refinement in 
 this miraculous manner, I was out of hu- 
 mour with myself and with a whole nation. 
 So easily is the humanity of the rich and 
 great disgusted and discouraged ! as if any 
 people could be civilized in a moment, and 
 at the word of command of ignorant pride 
 or despotic benevolence. 
 
 * See Harrison,
 
 134 ENNUI. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 I HAVE not thought it necessary to record 
 every visit that 1 received from all my coun- 
 try neighbours ; but I must now mention 
 one, Avhich led to important consequences j 
 a visit from Sir Harry Ormsby, a very young 
 dashing man of fortune, who, in expecta- 
 tion of the happy moment when he should 
 be of age, resided with his mother, the 
 dowager Lady Ormsby.. Her ladyship had 
 heard, that there had been some disagree- 
 ment between her agent, Mr. Hardcastle, 
 and my people : but she took the earliest 
 opportunity of expressing her wishes, that 
 our families should be on an amicable foot- 
 ing. 
 
 Lady Ormsby was just come to the coun- 
 try, with a large party of her fashionable 
 friends — some Irish, some English : Lord 
 and Lady Kilrush ; my Lady Kildangan 
 and her daughter; the Lady Geraldine 
 ****^****; the knowing widow O'Con-
 
 ENNUI. 135 
 
 nor ; the English dasher. Lady Haaton ; 
 the interesting Mrs. Norton, separated but 
 not parted from her husband ; the pleasant 
 Miss Bland ; the three Miss Ormsby's, bet- 
 ter known by the name of the Swadlinbar 
 Graces; two English aides-de-camp from 
 the castle, and a brace of brigadiers ; beside 
 other men of inferior note. 
 
 I perceived that Sir Flarry Ornisby took 
 it for granted, that I must be acquainted 
 with the pretensions of* all these persons to 
 celebrity ; his talkativeness and my taci- 
 turnity favoured me so fortunately, that he 
 never discovered the extent of my ignorance. 
 He was obligingly impatient to make me 
 personally acquainted " with those of whom 
 I must have heard so much in England.** 
 Observing that Ormshy Villa was too far 
 from Glenthorn Castle for a morning visit, 
 he pressed me to wave ceremony, and to do 
 Lady Ormsby and him the honour of spend- 
 ing a week with them, as soon as I could 
 make it convenient. I accepted this invi- 
 tation, partly from a slight emotion of cu- 
 riosity, and partly from my habitual inabi- 
 lity to resist any reiterated importunity. 
 
 Arrived at Ormsby Villa, and introduced
 
 136 ENNUI. 
 
 to this crowd of people, I was at first dis- 
 appointed by seeing nothing extraordinary. 
 I expected that their manners would have 
 been as strange to me as some of their names 
 appeared: but whether it was from my 
 want of the powers of discrimination, or 
 from the real sameness of the objects, I 
 could scarcely, in this fashionable flock, 
 discern any individual marks of distinction. 
 At first view, the married ladies appeared 
 much the same as those of a similar class 
 in England, whom I had been accustomed 
 to see. The young ladies I thought, as 
 usual, " best distinguished by black, brown, 
 and fair:" but I had not yet seen Lady 
 Geraldine ********** and a great part 
 of the conversation, the first day I was at 
 Ormsby Villa, was filled with lamentations 
 on the unfortunate tooth-ache, which pre- 
 vented her ladyship from appearing. She 
 was talked of so much, and as a person of 
 such importance, and so essential to the 
 amusement of the society, that I could not 
 help feeling a slight wish to see her. The 
 next day at breakfast she did not appear ; 
 but, fiveminutesbefore dinner, her ladyship's 
 humble companion whispered, ** Now Lady
 
 ENNUI. 137 
 
 Geraldine is coming, my lard." I was al- 
 ways rather displeased to be called upon to 
 attend to any thing or any body, yet as 
 Lady Geraldine entered, I gave one invo- 
 luntary glance of curiosity. I saw a tall, 
 iinely shaped woman, with the command- 
 ing air of a woman of rank : she moved 
 well; not with feminine timidity, but with 
 ease, promptitude, and decision. She had 
 iiae eyes and a fine complexion, yet no re- 
 gularity of feature. The only thing that 
 struck me as really extraordinary was her 
 indifference when I was introduced to her. 
 Every body had seemed extremely desirous 
 that I should see her ladyship, and that her 
 ladyship should see me; and I was rather 
 surprised by her unconcerned air. This 
 piqued me and fixed my attention. She 
 turned from me, and began to converse with 
 others. Her voice was agreeable, though 
 rather loud: she did not speak with the 
 Irish accent; but, when I listened mali- 
 ciously, I detected certain Hibernian inflec- 
 tions ; nothing of the vulgar Irish idiom, 
 but something that was more interrogative, 
 more exclamatory, and perhaps more 
 rhetorical, than the common language of
 
 138 ENNUI. 
 
 English ladies, accompanied with much 
 animation of countenance and demonstra- 
 tive gesture. This appeared to me peculiar 
 and unusual, but not affected. She was 
 u:n commonly eloquent, and yet, without 
 action, her words were not sufficiently rapid 
 to express her ideas. Her manner appear- 
 ed foreign, yet it was not quite French. If 
 I had been obliged to decide, I should, how- 
 ever, have pronounced it rather more French 
 than English. To determine which it wa^, 
 or whether I had ever seen any thing simi- 
 lar, I stood considering her ladyship with 
 more attention, than I had ever bestowed 
 QX\ any other woman. The words striking 
 '^fascinating — bezvitching, occurred to me 
 as I looked at her and heard her speak. I 
 resolved to turn my eyes away, and shut 
 my ears; for I was positively determined 
 not to like her ; I dreaded so much the idea 
 of a second Hymen. I retreated to the 
 farthest windov^^ and looked out very sober- 
 ly upon a dirty fish-pond. Dinner was 
 announced. I observed Lady Kildangan 
 mano3uvring to place me beside her daugh- 
 ter Geraldine, but Lady Geraldine counter- 
 acted this movement. I was again sur-
 
 ENNUI. 139 
 
 prised and piqued. After yielding the en- 
 vied position to one of the Svvadlinbar 
 Graces, I heard Lady Geraldine whisper to 
 her next neighbour, *' Baffled, mamma 1" 
 
 It was strange to me to feel piqued by a 
 young lady's not choosing to sit beside me. 
 After dinner, I left the gentlemen as soon 
 as possible, because the conversation wea- 
 ried me. Lord Kilrush, the chief orator, 
 Mas a courtier, and could talk of nothing 
 but Dublin Castle, and my lord lieutenant's 
 levees, things of which I, as yet, knew no- 
 thing. The moment that I went to the 
 ladies, I was seized upon by the officious 
 Miss Bland : she could not speak of any 
 thing but Lady Geraldine, who sat at so 
 ■great a distance, and who was conversing 
 with such animation herself, that she could 
 not hear \nt\: prdneuse. Miss Bland, inform 
 me, that " her friend. Lady Geraldine, was 
 extremely clever: so clever, that many 
 people were at first a little afraid of her; 
 but that there was not the least occasion ^ 
 for that, where she liked, nobody could be 
 more affable and engaging." This judi- 
 cious friend, a minute afterwards, told me, 
 as a very great secret, that Lady Geraldine
 
 140 ENNUI. 
 
 was an admirable mimic; that she could 
 draw or speak caricatures -, tliat she was 
 also wonderfully happy in the invention 
 of agnomens and cognomens, so applicable 
 to the persons, that they could scarcely be 
 forgotten or forgiven. I was a little anxi- 
 ous to know whether her ladyship would 
 honour me with an agnomen. I could not 
 learn this from Miss Bland, and I was too 
 prudent to betray my curiosity : I after- 
 wards heard it, however. Pairing me and 
 Mr. M'Leod, whom she had formerly seen 
 together, her ladyship observed, that Sazv- 
 iiey and Yawnee were made for each other : 
 and she sketched^ in strong caricature, my 
 relaxed elongation of limb, and his rigid 
 rectangularity. A slight degree of fear of 
 Lady Geraldine's powers kept my attention 
 alert. In the course of the evening. Lady 
 Kildangan summoned her daughter to the 
 music-room, and asked me to come and 
 hear an L'ish song. I exerted myself so far 
 as to follow immediately; but though sum- 
 moned. Lady Geraldine did not obey. Miss 
 Bland tuned the harp, and opened the 
 music-books on the piano; but no Lady 
 Geraldine appeared. Miss Bland was sent
 
 ENNUI. 141 
 
 backwards and forwards with messaf'-es ; 
 but Lady Geraldine\s ultimatum was, that 
 she could not possibly sing, because she 
 was afraid of the tooth-ache. God knows, 
 her mouth had never been shut all the even- 
 ing. " Well, but," said Lady Kildangan, 
 *^ she can play for us, cannot she?" No, 
 her ladyship was afraid of the cold in the 
 music-room. *' Do, my Lord Glenthorn, 
 go and tell the dear capricious creature, 
 that we are very warm here." 
 
 Very relujctantly I obeyed. The lady 
 Geraldine, with her circle round her, heard 
 and answered me with the air of a princess. 
 
 " Do you the honour to play for you, my 
 lord ! Excuse me : I am no professor — I 
 play so ill, that I make it a rule never to 
 play but for my own amusement. If you 
 wish for music, there is Miss Bland -, she 
 plays incomparably ; and I dare say, will 
 think herself happy to oblige your lord- 
 ship." I never felt so silly, or so much 
 abashed, as at this instant. " This comes,*' 
 thought I, " of acting out of character. 
 AVhat possessed me to exert myself to ask a; 
 lady to play; I that have been tired to 
 death of music ! Why did I let myself be
 
 142 ENNUI. 
 
 sent ambassador, when I had no interest in 
 the embassy ?'* 
 
 To convince myself and others of my apa- 
 thy, I threw myself on a sofa, and never 
 stirred or spoke the remainder of the night. 
 I presume I appeared fast asleep, else Lady 
 Geraldine would not have said, within my 
 hearing, 
 
 ** Mamma wants me to catch somebody, 
 and to be caught by somebody ; but that 
 will not be; for, do you know, I think 
 somebody is nobody." 
 
 I was offended as much as it was in my 
 nature to be offended, and I began to medi- 
 tate apologies for shortening my visit at 
 Ormsby Villa: but, though 1 was shocked 
 by the haughtiness of Lady Geraldine, and 
 accused her, in my own mind, of want 
 of delicacy and politeness, yet I could not 
 now suspect her of being an accomplice with 
 her mother in any matrimonial designs upon 
 roe. From the moment I was convinced of* 
 this, my conviction was, I suppose,^ visible 
 to her ladyship's penetrating eyes, and from 
 that instant she showed me that she could 
 be polite and agreeable. Now, soothed to 
 a state of ease and complacency, I might
 
 ENNUI- 14:5 
 
 have sunk to iiidiirereiice and ennui, but 
 fresh saigularities in this lady struck me, 
 and kept my attention awake and fixed 
 upon her character. If she had treated me 
 with tolerable civility at first,'I never should 
 have thought about her. High-born and 
 high-bred, she seemed to consider more 
 what she thought of others, than what 
 others thought of her. Frank, candid and 
 affable, yet opiniated, insolent and an egot- 
 ist : her candour and affability appeared 
 the effect of a naturally good temper ; her 
 insolence and egotism only those of a spoiled 
 child. She seemed to talk of herself purely 
 to oblige others, as the most interesting 
 possible topic of conversation; for such it. 
 had always been to her fond mother, who 
 idolized her ladyship as an only daughter, 
 and the representative of an ancient house. 
 Confident of her talents, conscious of her 
 charms, and secure of her station. Lady- 
 Geraldine^ave free scope to her high spi- 
 rits, her fancy, and her turn for ridicule. 
 She looke(^, spoke, and acted, like a person 
 privileged to think, say and do, what she 
 pleased. Her raillery, like the raillery of 
 princes, was without fear of retort. She
 
 144 ENNUI. 
 
 was not ill-natured, yet careless to whom 
 she gave offence, provi<led she produced 
 amusement; and in this she seldom failed; 
 for, in her conversation, there wa^ much of 
 the raciness of Irish wit, an<J the oddity of 
 Irish humour. Th^ singularity that struck 
 me most about her ladyship, was her indif- 
 ference to flattery. She certainly preferred 
 frolic. Miss Bland was her humble com- 
 panion; Miss Tracey her butt. Her lady- 
 ship appeared to consider Miss Bland as a 
 necessary appendage to her rank and per- 
 son, like h«r dress or her sha-dow; and she 
 seemed to think no more of the one than o^ 
 the other. She suffered Miss Bland to fol- 
 low her ; but she would go in quest of Miss 
 Tracey. Miss Bland was allowed to speak ; 
 but her ladyship listened to Miss Ti'acej^ 
 Miss Bland seldom obtained an answer; 
 but Miss- Tracey never opened her lips 
 without being honoured by a repartee. 
 
 In describing Miss Tracey, Lady Gerald- 
 ine said, 
 
 ** Poor simpleton ! she camaot help imi- 
 tating all she sees us do; yet, would you 
 believe it, she really has starts of common 
 sense, and some tolerable ideas of her own.
 
 ENNUI. 145 
 
 —Spoiled by bad company ! In the language 
 of the bird-fanciers, she has a few notes 
 nightingale, and all the rest rubbish." 
 
 It was one of Lady Geraldine's delights, 
 to humour Miss Tracey*s rage for imitating 
 the fashions of fine people. 
 
 " Now you shall see Miss Tracey appear 
 at the ball to-morrow, in every thing that 
 I have sworn to her is fashionable. Nor 
 have I cheated her in a single article : but 
 the tout ejisemhle I leave to her better judg- 
 ment; and you shall see her, I trust, a per- 
 fect monster, formed of every creature's 
 best: Lady Kilrush's feathers, Mrs. Moore's 
 wig, Mrs. O'Connor's gown, Mrs. Lighton's 
 sleeves, and all the necklaces of all the Miss 
 Ormsbys. She has no taste, no judgment; 
 none at all, poor thing ; but she can imitate 
 as well as those Chinese painters, who, in 
 their drawings, give you the flower of one 
 plant stuck on the stalk of another, and 
 garnished with the leaves of a third.'* 
 
 Miss Tracey's appearance the ensuing 
 night justified all I^ady Geraldine's predic- 
 tions, and surpassed her ladyship's most san- 
 guine hopes. Even I, albeit unused to the 
 laughing mood, could not forbear smil in e; 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 ENNUI. 
 
 at the humour and ease, with which hei' 
 ladyship played off this girl's credulous 
 vanity. 
 
 At breakfast the next morning. Lord 
 Kilrush, in his grave manner (always too 
 solemn by half for the occasion), declared, 
 " that no man was more willing than him- 
 self to enter into a jest in proper time, and 
 season, and measure, and so forth ; but 
 that it was really, positively, morally un- 
 justifiable, in his apprehension, the making 
 this poor girl so publicly ridiculous." 
 
 " My good lord,*' replied Lady Geraldine, 
 " all the world are ridiculous some way or 
 other: some in public, some in private. 
 Now,*' continued she, with an appealing 
 look to the whole company, " now, after 
 all, what is there more extravagant in my 
 Miss Tracey's delighting, at sixteen, in six 
 yards of pink ribbon, than in your courtier 
 sighing, at sixty, for three yards of blue 
 ribbon ? or what is there more ridiculous in 
 her coming simpering into a ball-room, fan- 
 cying herself the mirror of fashion, when 
 she is a figure for a print-shop, than in the 
 courtier rising solemnly in the House of 
 Lords, believing himself an orator, and ex-
 
 ENNUI. 147 
 
 pecting to make a vast reputation, by pick- 
 ing up, in every debate, the very worst ar- 
 guments that every body else let fall ? There 
 would be no living in this world, if we were 
 all to see and expose one another's ridicules. 
 My plan is much the best — to help my 
 friends to expose themselves, and then they 
 are infinitely obliged to me." 
 
 Satisfied with silencing all opposition, and 
 seeing that the majority was with her, Lady 
 Geraldine persisted in her course ; and I 
 was glad she was incorrigible, because her 
 faults entertained me. As to love, I 
 thought I was perfectly safe; because, 
 though I admired her quickness and clever- 
 ness, yet I still, at times, perceived, or fan- 
 cied I perceived, some want of polish, and 
 elegance, and tact. She was not exactly 
 cut out according to my English pattern of 
 a woman of fashion ; so I thought I might 
 amuse myself without danger, as it was 
 partly at her ladyship's expense. But about 
 this time I was alarmed for myself by a 
 slight twinge of jealousy. As I was stand- 
 ing lounging upon the steps at the hall- 
 door, almost as ennuye as usual, I saw a 
 carriage at a distance, between the trees, 
 
 H 2
 
 148 ENNUI. 
 
 driving up the approach ; and, at the same 
 instant, I heard Lady Geraldine's eager 
 voice in the hall — 
 
 ^^ Oh ! they are coming; he is coming; 
 they are come. Run, Miss Bland, run, and 
 give Lord Craiglethorpe my message before 
 he gets out of the carriage — before any 
 body sees him.** 
 
 Afraid of hearing v^hat I should not hear, 
 I vralked down the steps deliberately, and 
 turned into a shrubbery walk, to leave the 
 coast clear. Out ran Miss Bland : and 
 then it was that I felt the twinge — very 
 slight, however. " Who is this Lord Craigle- 
 thorpe, with whom Lady Geraldine is on 
 such favourable terms ? I wonder what kind 
 of looking man he is; and what could the 
 message mean ? — but, at all events, it can- 
 not concern me ; yet I am curious to see 
 this Lord Craiglethorpe. I wonder any 
 woman can like a man with so strange a 
 name : but does she like him, after all ? — 
 Why do I plague myself about it ?" 
 
 As I returned from my saunter, I was 
 met fore-right by Miss Bland — 
 
 " A charming day, ma'am," said I, en- 
 deavouring to pass on.
 
 ENNUI. 149 
 
 ** A charming day, my lord ! But I must 
 stop your lordship a moment. — Oh, I am 
 so out of breath — I went the wrong way — *' 
 
 '' The wrong way ! Indeed ! I am sorry, 
 I am concerned you should have had so 
 much trouble.'* 
 
 ** No trouble in the world. Only I want 
 to beg you'll keep our secret — my Lady 
 Geraldine's secret." 
 
 *' Undoubtedly, madam — a man of ho- 
 nour — Lady Geraldine cannot doubt — her 
 ladyship's secret is perfectly safe." 
 
 " But do you know it ? You don't know 
 it yet, my lord ?" 
 
 '^ Pardon me ; I was on the steps just 
 now. I thought you saw me." 
 
 " I did, my lord — but I don't under- 
 stand—" 
 
 " Nor I, neither," interrupted I, half 
 laughing ; for I began to think I was mis- 
 taken in my suspicions ; " pray explain 
 yourself, my dear Miss Bland : I was very 
 rude to be so quick in interrupting you." 
 
 Miss Bland then made me the confidant 
 of a charming scheme of Lady Geraldine's, 
 for quizzing Miss Tracey. 
 
 " She has never, in her life, seen Lord
 
 \dO ENNUI. 
 
 Craiglethorpe, who is an English lord tra- 
 velling through Ireland," continued Miss 
 Bland. " Now, you must know, that Miss 
 Tracey is passionately^ fond of lords, let 
 them be what they may. Now, Lord 
 Craiglethorpe, this very morning, sent his 
 groom with a note and excuse to Lady 
 Ormsby, for not coming to us to day ; be- 
 cause, he said, he was bringing down in the 
 chaise with him a surveyor, to survey his 
 estate nea?- here ; and he could not possibly 
 think of bringing the surveyor, who is a low 
 man, to Ormsby Villa. But Lady Ormsby 
 would take no apology, and wrote by the 
 groom to beg that Lord Craiglethorpe 
 would make no scruple of bringing the sur- 
 veyor ; for you know she is so polite and 
 accommodating, and all that. Well, the 
 note was scarcely gone, before Lady Ge- 
 raldine thought of her charming scheme, 
 and regretted, of all things y she had not pu.t 
 it mto it.'* 
 
 " It into it r repeated I to myself — 
 " Ma'am 1" said I, looking a little bewild- 
 ered. 
 
 " But,'* continued my clear narrator, " I 
 promised to remedy all that, by running to
 
 ENNUI. 151 
 
 meet the carriage, which was what I ran 
 for when you saw me, my lord, in such a 
 hurry.*' 
 
 I bowed — and was as wise as ever. 
 
 '^ So, my lord, you comprehend, that the 
 surveyor, whose name, whose odious name, 
 is Gabbitt, is to be my Lord Craiglethorpe,, 
 and my Lord Craiglethorpe is to be passed 
 for Mr. Gabbitt upon MissTracey; and, 
 you will see. Miss Tracey will admire Mr. 
 Gabbitt prodigiously, and call him vastly 
 genteel, when she thinks him a lord. Your 
 lordship will keep our secret : and she is 
 sure Lord Craiglethorpe will do any thing 
 to oblige her, because he is a near con- 
 nexion of hers. But, I assure you, it is not 
 every body could get Lord Craiglethorpe to 
 join in a joke ; for he is very stiff, and cold, 
 aiid high. Of course your lordship will 
 know which is the real lord at first sight. 
 He is a full head taller than Gabbitt." 
 
 Never was explanation finally more sa- 
 tisfactory : and whether the jest was really 
 well contrived and executed, or whether I 
 was put into a humour to think so, I can- 
 not exactly determine j but, I confess, I
 
 152 ENNUJ. 
 
 was amused with the scenes that followed, 
 though I felt that they were not quite jus- 
 tifiable even in jest. 
 
 The admiration of Miss Tracey for the 
 false Craigkthorpe, as Lady Geraldine call- 
 ed Mr. Gabbitt ; the awkwardness of Mr. 
 Gabbitt with his title, and the awkwardness 
 of Lord Craiglethorpe without it, were fine 
 subjects for her ladyship's satirical humour. 
 
 In another point of view. Lord Craigle- 
 thorpe afforded her ladyship amusement — 
 as an English traveller, full of English pre- 
 judices against Ireland and every thing 
 Irish. Whenever Miss Tracey was out of 
 ihe room, I^ady Geraldine allowed Lord 
 Craiglethorpe to be himself again ; but he 
 did not fare the better for this restoration to 
 his honours. Lady Geraldine contrived to 
 make him as ridiculous in his real, as in his 
 assumed cliararter. Lord Craiglethorpe 
 was, as Miss Bland had described him, 
 very stiff, cold, and high. His manners 
 were in the extreme of English reserve; and 
 his ill-bred show of contempt for the Irish 
 was sufficient provocation and justification 
 of Lady Geraldine's ridicule. He was
 
 ENNUI. 153 
 
 much in awe of his fair and witty cousin : 
 she could easily put him out of counte- 
 nance, for he was extremely bashful. 
 
 His lordship had that sort of bashfulness, 
 which makes a man surly and obstinate in 
 his taciturnity ; which makes him turn 
 upon all who approach him, as if they were 
 going to assault him , which makes him 
 answer a question as if it were an injury, 
 and repel a compliment as if it were an in- 
 sult. Once, when he was out of the room. 
 Lady Geraldine exclaimed, " That cousin 
 Craiglethorpe of mine is scarcely an agree- 
 able man : the awkwardness of fnauvaise- 
 honte might be pitied and pardoned, even 
 in a nobleman," continued her ladyship, 
 " if it really proceeded from humility; but 
 here, when I know it is connected with se- 
 cret and inordinate arrogance, 'tis past all 
 endurance. Even his ways of sitting and 
 standing provoke me, they are so self-suffi- 
 cient. Have you observed how he stands 
 at the fire r Oh, the caricature of ' the Eng- 
 lish fire-side' outdone ! Then, if he sits, we 
 hope that change of posture may afford our 
 eyes transient relief; but woise again : bol- 
 stered up, with his back against his chair, 
 
 II 5
 
 154 ENNUI. 
 
 his hands in his pockets, and his legs thrown 
 out, in defiance of all passengers and all 
 decorum, there he sits, in magisterial si- 
 lence, throwing • a gloom upon all conver- 
 sation. As the Frenchman said of the 
 Englishman, for whom even his politeness 
 could not find another compliment, * II 
 faut avouer que ce Monsieur a un grand ta- 
 lent pour le silence :' — he holds his tongue, 
 till people actually believe that he has some- 
 thing to say — a mistake they could never 
 fall into if he would but speak." 
 
 Some of the company attempted to inter- 
 pose a word or two in favour of Lord 
 Craiglethorpe's timidity, but the vivacious 
 and merciless lady went on. 
 
 " I tell you, my good friends, it is not 
 timidity ; it is all pride. I would pardon 
 his dulness, and even his ignorance; for 
 one, as you say, might be the fault of his 
 nature, and the other of his education : but 
 his self-sufficiency is his own fault, and that 
 I will not, and cannot pardon. Somebody 
 says, that nature may make a fool, but a 
 coxcomb is always of his own making. 
 Now, my cousin — (as he is my cousin, I 
 may say what I please of him) — my cousin 
 Craiglethorpe is a solemn coxcomb, who
 
 ENNUI. 155 
 
 thinks, because his vanity is not talkative 
 and sociable, that it's not vanity. What a 
 mistake ! his silent superciliousness is to me 
 more intolerable than the most garrulous 
 egotism, that ever laid itself open to my ri- 
 dicule.'' 
 
 Miss Bland and Miss Ormsby both con- 
 fessed that Lord Craiglethorpe was vastly 
 too silent. 
 
 *' For the honour of my country," con- 
 tinued Lady Geraldine, " I am determined 
 to make this man talk, and he shall say all 
 that I know he thinks of us poor Irish sa- 
 vages. If he would but speak, one could 
 answer him : if he would fmd fault, one 
 might defend : if he would laugh, one might 
 perhaps laugh again : but here he comes to 
 hospitable, open-hearted Ireland, eats as 
 well as he can in his own country ; drinks 
 better than he can in his own country ; 
 sleeps as well as he can in his own country; 
 accepts all our kindness, without a word or 
 a look of thanks, and seems the whole time 
 to think, that, ' Born for his use, we live 
 but to oblige him.' There he is at this 
 instant : look at him, walking in the park, 
 with his note-book in his hand, setting down
 
 156 ENNUI. "^ 
 
 our faults, and conning them by rote. We 
 are even with him. I understand, Lady 
 Kih'ush, that my bright cousin Craigle- 
 thorpe means to write a book, a great book, 
 upon Ireland ? 
 
 Lady Kilrush replied, that she under- 
 stood Lord Craiglethorpe had it in contem- 
 plation to publish a tour through Ireland, 
 or a view of Ireland, or something of that 
 nature. 
 
 " He ! with his means of acquiring in- 
 formation!" exclaimed Lady Geraldine — 
 " posting from one great man's house to 
 another — what can he see or know of the 
 manners of any rank of people, but of the 
 class of gentry, which in England and Ire- 
 land is much the same ? As to the lower 
 classes, I don't think he ever speaks to 
 them ; or, if he does, what good can it do 
 him ? for he can't understand their modes 
 of expression, nor they his; if he inquire 
 about a matter of fact, I d^d^ him to get 
 the trutli out of them, if they don't wish to 
 tell it; and, for some reason or other, they 
 will, nine times in ten, not wish to tell it to 
 an Englishman. There is not a man, wo- 
 man, or child, in any cabin in Ireland, who
 
 ENNUI. 157 
 
 would not have wit and ^cuteness enough to 
 make my lard beheve just what they please. 
 So, after posting from Dublin to Cork, and 
 from the Giants* Causeway to Killarney : 
 after travelling east, w^est, north, and south, 
 my wise cousin Craiglethorpe will know 
 just as much of the lower Irish, as the 
 cockney who has never been out of London, 
 and who has never, in all Ids born daySy 
 seen an Irishman, but on the English stage, 
 where the representations are usually as like 
 the originals, as the Chinese pictures of 
 lions, drawn from description, are to a real 
 lion. 
 
 " Now! now! look at his lordship!" 
 cried Miss Bland ; " he has his note-book 
 out again.'* 
 
 " Mercy on us I" said Miss Call well,'* 
 " how he is writing !" 
 
 *' Yes, yes, write on, my good cousin 
 Craiglethorpe," pursued Lady Geraldine, 
 and fill the little note- book, which will soon, 
 heigh ! presto ! turn to a ponderous quarto. 
 I shall have a copy, bound in Morocco, no 
 doubt, from the author, if I behave myself 
 prettily ; and I will earn it, by supplying 
 valuable information. You shall see, my
 
 158 ENNUI. 
 
 friends, how I'll deserve well of my coun- 
 try, if you'll only keep my counsel and your 
 own countenances." 
 
 Presently Lord Craiglethorpe entered the 
 room, Avalking very pompously, and putting 
 his note-book up as he advanced. 
 
 '' O, my dear lord, open the book again, 
 I have a bull for you.'* 
 
 Lady Geraldine, after putting his lord- 
 ship in good humour by this propitiatory 
 offering of a bull, continued to supply him, 
 either directly or indirectly, by some of her 
 confederates, with the most absurd anec- 
 dotes, incredible /(2C/5, stale jests, and blun- 
 ders, such as never were made by true-born 
 Irishmen ; all which my Lord Craiglethorpe 
 took down with an industrious sobriety, at 
 which the spectators could scarcely refrain 
 from laughing. Sometimes he would pause, 
 and exclaim, " A capital anecdote ! a cu- 
 rious fact ! May I give my authority ? may 
 I quote your ladyship?" "Yes, if you'll 
 pay me a compliment in the preface," 
 whispered Lady Geraldine : " and now, 
 dear cousin, do go up stairs and put it all 
 in i?ik.** 
 
 When she had dispatched the noble au-
 
 ENNUI. 159 
 
 thor, her ladyship indulged her laughter. 
 *' But now," cried she, " only imagine a 
 set of sober EngHsh readers studying my 
 cousin Craiglethorpe's new view of Ireland, 
 and swallowing all the nonsense it will con- 
 tain !" 
 
 When Lord Kilrush remonstrated against 
 the cruelty of letting the man publish such 
 stuff, and represented it as a fraud upon the 
 public. Lady Geraldine laughed still more, 
 and exclaimed, " Surely you don't think I 
 would use the public and my poor cousin 
 so ill. No, I am doing him and the public 
 the greatest possible service. Just when he 
 is going to leave us, when the writing box 
 is packed, I will step up to him, and tell 
 him the truth. I will show him what a far- 
 rago of nonsense he has collected as mate- 
 rials for his quarto : and convince him, at 
 once, how utterly unfit he is to write a 
 book, at least a book on Irish affairs. — 
 Won't this be deserving well of my country 
 and of my cousin ?** 
 
 Neither on this occasion, nor on any 
 other, were the remonstrances of my Lord 
 Kilrush of power to stop the course of this 
 lady's flow of spirits and raillery.
 
 160 ENNUI. 
 
 Whilst she was going on in this manner 
 with the real Lord Craiglethorpe, Miss 
 Tracey was taking charming walks in the 
 park with Mr. Gabbitt, and the young 
 lady began to be seriously charmed with 
 her false lord. This was carrying the jest 
 farther than Lady Geraldine had intended 
 or foreseen ; and her good-nature would 
 probably have disposed her immediately 
 to dissolve the enchantment, had she not 
 been provoked by the interference of Lord 
 Kilrush, and the affected sensibility of Miss 
 Clementina Ormsby, who, to give me an 
 exalted opinion of her delicacy, expostu- 
 lated incessantly in favour of the deluded 
 fair one. 
 
 " But, my dear Lady Geraldine, I do as- 
 sure you it really hurts my feelings. This 
 is going too far — when it comes to the 
 heart. I can't laugh, I own — the poor girl's 
 affections will be engaged — she is really fall- 
 ing in love v/ith this odious surveyor.'* 
 
 '^ But now, my dear Clementina, I do 
 assure you, it really hurts my feelings to 
 hear you talk so childishly. When it comes 
 to the heart ! affections engaged ! You 
 talk of falling in love as if it were a terrible
 
 ENNUI. 161 
 
 fall : for my part, I should pity a person 
 much more for falling down stairs. Why, 
 my dear, where is the mighty height from 
 which Miss Tracey could fall ? She does 
 not live in the clouds, Clementina, as you 
 do. No ladies live there now — for the best 
 of all possible reasons — because there are 
 no men there. So, my love, make haste 
 and come down, before you are out of 
 your teens, or you may chance to be left 
 there till you are an angel or an old maid. 
 Trust me, my dear, I, who have tried, 
 tell you, there is no such thing as falling 
 in love now-a-days: you may slip, slide, or 
 stumble, but to fall in love, I defy you." 
 
 I saw I.ady Kildangan*s eyes fix upon 
 me as her daughter pronounced the last 
 sentence. 
 
 " Geraldine, my dear, you do not know 
 what you are talking about," said her lady- 
 ship. " Your time may come, Geraldine. 
 Nobody should be too courageous. Cupid 
 does not like to be defied.'* 
 
 Lady Kildangan walked away, as she 
 spoke, with a very w^ell satisfied air, leaving 
 a party of us young people together. Lady
 
 162 ENNUI. 
 
 Geraldine looked haughtily vexed. Wheii^ 
 in this mood, her wit gave no quarter; 
 spared neither sex nor age. 
 
 '^ Every body says," whispered she, " that 
 mamma is the most artful woman in the 
 world ; and I should believe it, only that 
 every body says it : now, if it were true, 
 nobody would know it." : 
 
 Lady Geraldine's air of disdain towards 
 me was resumed. I did not quite under- 
 stand. Was it pride ? was it coquetry ? She 
 certainly blushed deeply, and for the first 
 time that I ever saw her blush, when her 
 mother said, " Your time may come, Ge- 
 raldine.'* 
 
 My week being now at an end, I resolved 
 to take my leave. When I announced this 
 resolution, I was assailed with the most 
 pressing entreaties t^ stay a few days longer 
 — one day longer — Lady Ormsby and Sir 
 Harry said every thing that could be said 
 upon the occasion : indeed, it seemed a 
 matter of general interest to all, except to 
 Lady Geraldine. She appeared wholly in- 
 different, and I was not even gratified by 
 any apparent affectation of desiring my de*
 
 ENMUI. 1^; 
 
 [mrture. Curiosity to see whether this 
 would be sustained by her ladyship to the 
 last, gave me resolution sufficient to resist 
 the importunities of Sir Harry ; and I de- 
 parted, rejoicing that my indifference was 
 equal to her ladyship's. As Tasso said of 
 some fair one, whom he met at the car- 
 nival of Mantua, / j^an some risk of falling 
 iti love, I had been so far roused from my 
 habitual apathy, that I actually made some 
 reflections. As I returned home, I began 
 to perceive, that there was some differ- 
 ence between woman and woman, beside 
 the distinctions of rank, fortune, and figure. 
 I think I owe to Lady Geraldine my first 
 relish for wit, and my first idea that a 
 woman might be, if not a reasonable, at 
 least a companionable animal. I com- 
 pared her ladyship with the mere puppets 
 and parrots of fashion, of whom I had been 
 wearied : and I began to suspect, that one 
 might find, in a lady's " lively nonsense/' 
 a relief from ennui. These reflections, 
 however, did not prevent me from sleeping 
 the greatest part of the morning on my way 
 home ; nor did I dream of any thing that I 
 can remember.
 
 164 ENNUI. 
 
 At the porter's lodge I saw EUinor sitting 
 at her spinning wheel, and my thoughts 
 took up my domestic affairs, just where I 
 had left them the preceding week.
 
 ENNUI. 16S 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 In vain I attempted to interest myself in 
 my domestic affairs ; the silence and soli- 
 tude of my own castle appeared to me in- 
 tolerably melancholy, after my return from 
 Ormsby Villa. There was a blank in my 
 existence during a week, in which I can re- 
 member nothing that I did, said, or thought, 
 except what passed during one ride, which 
 Mr. M'Leod compelled my politeness to 
 take with him. He came with the same 
 face to see me, and the same set of ideas, 
 as those he had before I went to Ormsby 
 Villa. He began to talk of my schemes for 
 improving my tenantry, and of my wish, 
 that he should explain his notions relative 
 to the education of the poor of Ireland, 
 which, he said, as I now seemed to be at 
 leisure, he was ready to do as concisely as 
 possible. Js concisely as possible were the 
 only words of this address that I heard with 
 satisfaction ; but of course I bowed, said I
 
 166 ENNU^I. 
 
 was much obliged, and should be happy to 
 have the advantage of Mr. M'Leod's opi- 
 nions and sentiments. What these were I 
 cannot recollect, for I settled myself in a 
 reverie soon after his voice began to sound 
 upon my ear ; but I remember at last he 
 wakened me, by proposing that I should 
 ride with him to see a school-house and 
 some cottages, which he had built on a 
 little estate of his own in my neighbour- 
 hood : " for,*' said he, " 'tis better my lord 
 to show you what can be done with these 
 people, than to talk of what might be ef- 
 fected/' 
 
 " Very true," said I, agreeing readily ; 
 because I wanted to finish a conversation 
 that wearied me, and to have a refreshing 
 ride. It was a delightful evening, and when 
 we came on M'Leod's estate, I really could 
 not help being pleased and interested. In 
 an unfavourable situation, with all nature, 
 vegetable and animal against him, he had 
 actually ' created a paradise amid the wilds.* 
 There was nothing wonderful in any thing 
 I saw around me, but there was such an 
 air of neatness and comfort, order and ac- 
 tivity, in the people, and in their cottages.
 
 EN^^Ui.' 167 
 
 that' I almoBt thought myself in England, 
 and I could not forbear exclaiming — *' How 
 could all this be brought about in Ireland !** 
 •^ Chiefly by not doing and not expecting 
 too much at first," said M'Leod. " We 
 took time, and had patience. We began 
 by setting them the example of some very 
 dight improvements, and then, lured on b^ 
 the sight of success, they could make simi- 
 lar trials themselves. My wife and 1 went 
 among them, and talked to them in their 
 cottages, and took an interest in their con- 
 cerns, and did not want to have every thing 
 our own way ; and when they saw that, 
 they began to consider which way was best : 
 so by degrees we led where we could not 
 have driven; and raised in them, by little 
 and little, a taste for conveniences and 
 comforts. Then the business was done, for* 
 the moment the taste and ambition were 
 excited, to work the people went to gratify 
 them ; and accordingly as they exerted 
 themselves, we helped them. Perhaps it 
 was best for them and for us, that we were 
 not rich, for we could not do too much at 
 a time, and were never tempted to begin 
 grand schemes that we could not finish.
 
 168 ENNUI. 
 
 There/' saidM'Leod, pointing to a cottage 
 with a pretty porch covered with woodbine, 
 and a neat garden, in which many children 
 were busily at work, " that house and that 
 garden were the means of doing all the 
 rest; that is our school-house. We could 
 not expect to do much with the old, whose 
 habits were fixed ; but we tried to give the 
 young children better notions, and it was 
 a long time before we could bring that to 
 bear. Twenty-six years we have been at 
 this work, and in that time if we have done 
 any thing, it was by beginning with the 
 children ; a race of our own training has 
 now grown up, and they go on in the way 
 they were taught, and prosper to our hearts* 
 content, and what is better still, to their 
 hearts' content." 
 
 , M^Leod, habitually grave and taciturn, 
 seemed quite enlivened and talkative this 
 day; but I verily believe, that not the 
 slightest ostentation or vanity inspired him, 
 for I never before or since h(?ard him talk or 
 allude to his own good deeds; I am con- 
 vinced his motive was to excite me to per- 
 severe in my benevolent projects, by show- 
 ing what had been done by small means.
 
 ENNUI. 169 
 
 He was so truly in earnest, that he never 
 perceived how tired I was ; indeed he was 
 so little in the habit of expecting sympathy 
 or applause, that he never missed even the 
 ordinary expressions of concurrent com- 
 plaisance. 
 
 " Religion," continued he, " is the great 
 difficulty in Ireland. We make no differ- 
 ence between protestants and catholics ; 
 we always have admitted both into our 
 school. The priest comes on Saturday 
 morning, and the parish minister on Satur- 
 day evening, to hear the children belonging 
 to each church their catechisms, and to in- 
 struct them in the tenets of their faith. And 
 as w^e keep to our word, and never attempt 
 making proselytes, nor directly, or indi- 
 rectly, interfere with their religious opi- 
 nions, the priests are glad to let us instruct 
 the catholic children in all other points, 
 which they plainly see must advance their 
 temporal interests." 
 
 Mr. M'Leod invited me to go in and look 
 at the school. " In a hedge or ditch school,*' 
 said he, *' which I once passed on this road, 
 and in which I saw a crowd of idle children, 
 I heard the schoolmaster cry out, « Re- 
 VOL. I. I
 
 170 ENNUI. 
 
 hearse ! rehearse ! there's company going 
 by;' and mstantly all the boys snatched up 
 their books, and began gabbHng as fast as 
 ever they could, to give an idea to the pas- 
 senger of their diligence in repeating their 
 lessons. But here, my lord," continued 
 M'Leod, " you will not see any exhibitions 
 got up for company. I hate such tricks. 
 Walk in, my lord, if you please." 
 
 I M^alked in, but am ashamed to say, that 
 I observed only that every thing looked as 
 if it had been used for many years, and yet 
 not worn out ; and the whole school ap- 
 peared as if all were in their places, and 
 occupied and intent upon their business : 
 but this general recollection is all 1 have 
 retained. The enthusiasm for improvement 
 had subsided in my mind, and, though I 
 felt a transient pleasure in the present pic- 
 ture of the happiness of these poor people 
 and their healthy children, yet, as I rode 
 home, the images faded aw^ay like a dream. 
 I resolved, indeed, at some future period, 
 to surpass all that Mr. M'Leod had done, 
 or all that with his narrow income he could 
 ever accompHsh ; and to this resolution I 
 was prompted by jealousy of Mr. M*Leod
 
 ENNUI. 171 
 
 rather than by benevolence. Before 1 had 
 arranged, even in imagination, my plans, 
 young Ormsby came one morning, and 
 pressed me to return with him to Ormsby 
 Villa. I yielded to his solicitations, and to 
 my own wishes. When I arrived, the la- 
 dies were all at their toilettes, except Miss 
 Bland, who was in the book-room with the 
 gentlemen, ready to receive me with her 
 perpetual smile. Wherever Miss Bland 
 went, she was always I'amie de la maison, 
 accustomed to share with the lady of the 
 house the labour of entertaining her guests. 
 This double of Lady Ormsby talk^ed to me 
 most courteously of all the nothings of the 
 day, and informed me of the chancres which 
 had taken place in the ever-varying suc- 
 cession of company at Ormsby Villa. The 
 two brigadiers and one of the aides-de- 
 camp were gone, but Captain Andrews, an- 
 other castle aid-de-camp was come, and my 
 Lord O'Toole had arrived. Then followed 
 a by-conversation between Miss Bland and 
 some of the gentlemen about the joy and 
 sorrow which his lordship's arrival would 
 create in the hearts of two certain ladies, 
 one of whom, as I gathered from the inu- 
 
 12
 
 17^ • ENNUI. 
 
 en does, was Lady Hauton, and the other 
 Lady O'TooIe. As 1 knew nothing of 
 Dubhn intrigues and scandal, I was little 
 attentive to all this. Miss Bland, persist- 
 ing in entertaining me, proceeded to inform 
 me, that my Lord O'TooIe had brought 
 down with him Mr. Cecil Devereux, who 
 was a wit and a poet, very handsome and 
 gallant, and one of the most fashionable 
 young men in Dublin, I determined not 
 to like him — I always hated a flourish of 
 trumpets; whoever enters, announced in 
 this parading manner, appears to disadvan- 
 tage. Mr. Cecil Devereux entered just as 
 the flourish ceased. He was not at all the 
 sort of person I was prepared to see ; though 
 handsome, and with the air of a man used 
 to good company, there was nothing of a 
 coxcomb in his manner ; on the contrary, 
 there was such an appearance of careless- 
 ness about himself, and deference towards 
 others, that, notwithstanding the injudicious 
 praise that had been bestowed on him, 
 and ray consequent resolution to dislike 
 him, I was pleased and familiar with him 
 before I had been ten min tes i his com- 
 pany. Lord Kilrush aitroda«.ed him to me
 
 ENNUI. 173 
 
 with great pomposity, as a gentleman of 
 talents, for whom he and his brother 
 O'Toole interested themselves much. This 
 air of patronage, I saw, disgusted Mr. De- 
 vereux, and instead of suffering himself to 
 be shozvn off] he turned the conversation 
 from his own poems to general subjects. 
 He asked me some questions about a cu- 
 rious cavern, or subterraneous way, near 
 Castle Glentiiorn, which stretched from the 
 sea-shore to a considerable distance under 
 the rock, and communicated with an old 
 abbey near the castle. Mr. Devereux said, 
 that such subterraneous places had been 
 formerly used in Ireland as granaries by the 
 ancient inhabitants ; but a gentleman of 
 the neighbourhood who was present ob- 
 served, that the caverns on this coast had, 
 within his memory, been used as hiding 
 places by smugglers; on this hint Lord 
 Kilrush began a prosing dissertation upon 
 smugglers and contraband traders, and 
 talked to me a prodigious deal about ex- 
 ports and imports, and bounties, and the 
 balance of trade. Not one word he said 
 did I comprehend, and I question whether 
 his lordship understood the subjects upon
 
 174 ENNUI. 
 
 which he spoke so dictatorially ; but he 
 thought he gucceeded in giving me an opi- 
 nion of his wisdom and information. His 
 brother, 0*Toole, appeared next; he did 
 not look like a man of gallantry, as I had 
 been taught to expect from the hints thrown 
 out respecting Lady Hauton ; his lordship's 
 whole soul seemed devoted to ambition, and 
 he talked so much of great men, and state 
 affairs, and court intrigues, and honours 
 and preferments, that I began to fancy I 
 had been buried alive, because 1 knew little 
 of these things. I was tired of hearing him, 
 yet mortified that I could not speak exactly 
 in the same manner, and with the same air 
 of being the best possible authority. I be- 
 gan to wish, that I also had some interest 
 at court. The cares and troubles of the 
 ambitious man, so utterly repugnant to the 
 indolence of my disposition, vanished in 
 this moment of infatuation from my view, 
 and I thought only of the pleasures of power. 
 Such is the infectious nature of ambition ! 
 
 Mr. Devereux helped me to throw off 
 this dangerous contagion, before it did me 
 any injury. He happened to stay in the 
 room with me a quarter of an hour after the
 
 ENNUI. 175 
 
 other gentlemen went to dress. Though 
 not often disposed to conversation with a 
 stranger, yet I was won by this gentle- 
 man's easy address ; he politely talked of 
 the English fashionable world, with w4iich 
 lie knew that I was well acquainted; I, 
 with equal politeness, recurred to the Irish 
 great w^orld 5 we fastened together upon 
 Lord O'Toole, who took us to Dublin 
 Castle, and I began to express my regret 
 that I had not yet been at the Irish court, 
 and that I had not earlier in life made my- 
 self of political consequence. *' Ambition," 
 said I, *' might help to keep a man awake 
 and alive ; all common pleasures have long 
 since ceased to interest me. They really 
 cannot make me stir." 
 
 *' My lord," said Mr. Devereux, " you 
 w ould do better to sit or lie still all your life, 
 than toil for such vain objects. 
 
 " Full little knovvest thou that hast not tried, 
 '* What Hell it is in sueing long to bide. 
 
 *' Your lordship may remember Spencer*s 
 description of that Hell ?" 
 
 " Not exactly," said I, unwilling to lower 
 the good opinion this gentleman seemed to
 
 176 ENNUI. 
 
 have taken for granted of my literature. He 
 took Spencer's poems out of the book-case^ 
 and I actually rose from my seat to read 
 the passage; for what trouble will not even 
 the laziest of mortals take to prcser\e the 
 esteem of one, by w horn he sees that he is 
 over estimated. I read the followinij^ ten 
 lines without yawning ! 
 
 •' Pull little knowest thou that hast not tritd, 
 ** What Hell it is in sueing long to bide ; 
 " To lose good days, that might be better spent, 
 *' To waste long nights in pensive discontent, 
 '* To speed to day, to be put back to-morrow, 
 ** To feed on hope, to pine with fear and sorrow, 
 ** To fret thy soul with crosses and with cares, 
 «• To eat thy heart through comfortless despairs, 
 *• To fawn, to crouch, to wait, to ride, to run, 
 '* To spend, to give, to want, to be undone." 
 
 « Very strong, indeed," said I, with a 
 competent air, as if used to judge of poetry. 
 
 " And it comes with still greater force, 
 when we consider by whom it was written. 
 A man, you know, my lord, who had been 
 secretary to a Lord Lieutenant." 
 
 I felt my nascent ambition die away 
 within me. i acknowledged it was better 
 to spend an easy life. My determination
 
 EKNUI. 177 
 
 was confirmed at this instant by the ap- 
 pearance of Lady Geraldine. Ambition 
 and love, it is said, are incompatible pas- 
 sions. Neither of them had yet possession 
 of my heart, but love and Lady Geraldine 
 had perhaps a better chance than ambition 
 and Lord O'Toole. Lady Geraldine ap- 
 peared in high spirits ; and though I was 
 not a vain man, I could not help fancying, 
 that my return to Ormsby Villa contributed 
 to her charming vivacity. This gratified 
 me secretly and soberly, as much as it vi- 
 sibly dehghted her mother. Miss Bland, 
 to pay her court to Lady Kildangan, ob- 
 served, that Lady Geraldine v^as in uncom- 
 monly fine spirits this evening. Lady Ge- 
 raldine threw back a haughty frown over 
 her left shoulder ; this was the only time I 
 ever saw her notice, in any manner, any 
 thing that fell from her obsequious friend. 
 To avert the fair one's displeasure, I asked 
 for Miss Tracey and Mr. Gabbitt. 
 
 " Mr. Gabbitt," said her ladyship, re- 
 suming her good humour instantly ; " Mr. 
 Gabbitt is gone off the happiest man in Ire- 
 land, with the hopes of surveying my Lord 
 O'Toole's estate 3 a good job, which I was 
 
 15
 
 178 ENNUI. 
 
 bound in honour to obtain for him, as a re- 
 ward for taking a good joke. After mocking 
 him with the bare imagination of a feast, 
 you know the Barmecide in the Arabian 
 Tales gave poor Shakabac a substantial 
 dinner, a full equivalent for the jest." 
 
 " And MissTracey ?" said I, '^ what did 
 your ladyship do for her ?'* 
 
 " I persuaded her mamma, that the 
 sweet creature was falling into an atrophy* 
 So she carried the forlorn damsel post haste 
 to the Black Rock for the recovery of her 
 health, or her heart. Clernentina, my dear, 
 no reproachful looks ; in your secret soul 
 do not you know, that I could not do a 
 young lady a greater favour, than to give 
 her a plausible excuse for getting away from 
 home." 
 
 I was afraid that Lady Geraldine would 
 feel the want of her butt ; however, I found 
 that Miss Tracey's place was supplied by 
 Captain Andrews, one of the castle aides- 
 de-camp ; and when Captain Andrews was 
 out of the way. Lord Kilrush, and his bro- 
 ther O'Toole, were good marks. High and 
 mighty as these personages thought them- 
 selves 5 and respectfully, nay obsequiously,
 
 ENNUI. 179 
 
 as they were treated by most others, to this 
 lady their characters appeared only a good 
 study ; and to laugh at them seemed only a 
 good practice, 
 
 '' Perhaps, my lord," said she to me, 
 ^' you do not yet know my Lord O'Toole ?'* 
 
 " I had the honour to be introduced to 
 him to day." 
 
 " That's well ; for he thinks that, 
 
 * Not to know him, argues yourself unknown/ 
 
 ** But as your lordship is a stranger in 
 this country, you may be pardoned ; and I 
 will make you better acquainted with him. 
 I suppose you know there are many Tooles 
 in Ireland, some very ancient, respectable, 
 and useful : this, however, is but a mere 
 political tool, and the worst of all tools, a 
 cat's paw. There's one thing to the credit 
 of these brothers, they agree vastly well ; 
 for one delights in being always on the 
 stage, and the other always behind the 
 scenes. These brothers, with Captain An- 
 drews — I hope they are none of them within 
 hearing — form a charming trio, all admi- 
 rable in their way. My Lord O'Toole is —
 
 180 ENNUI. 
 
 artifice without art. My Lord Kilrush — - 
 importance without power. And, Captain 
 Andrews — pliabihty without ease. Poor 
 Andrews ! he's a defenceless animal — safe 
 in impenetrable armour. Give him but 
 time — as a man said, who once showed me 
 a land tortoise — give him but time to draw 
 his head into his shell, and a broad-wheeled 
 waggon may go over him without hurting 
 him. Lord Glenthorn, did you ever ob- 
 serve Captain Andrews's mode of conver- 
 .sation?'* 
 
 " No; I never heard him converse.'* 
 *' Converse ! nor I indeed ; but you have 
 heard liim talk." 
 
 " I have heard him say — Venj true — and 
 Of coursed 
 
 " Lord Glenthorn is quite severe this 
 evening," said Mrs. O'Connor. 
 
 " But though your lordship," continued 
 Lady Geraldine, " may have observed Cap- 
 tain Andrews's wonderful economy of words, 
 do you know whence it arises ? Perhaps, you 
 think from his perception of his own want 
 of understanding." 
 
 ** Not from his perception of the want," 
 ^id L
 
 ENNUI. 181 
 
 "Again! again!" said Mrs. O'Connor, 
 with an insulting tone of surprise; ** Lord 
 Glenthorn's quite witty this evening.*' 
 
 Lady Geraldine looked as if she was fully 
 sensible of the want of politeness in Mrs, 
 O'Connor's mode of praising. *^ But, my 
 lord,'* pursued she, " you wrong Captain 
 Andrews, if you attribute his monosyllabic 
 replies either to stupidity or timidity. You 
 have not guessed the reason why he never 
 gives on any subject more than half an 
 opinion." 
 
 " It was in the diplomatic school he was 
 taught that art," said Mr. Devereux. * 
 
 " You must know," pursued Lady Ge- 
 raldine, " that Captain Andrews is only an 
 aide-de-camp till a diplomatic situation can 
 be found for him ; and to do him justice he 
 has been so well trained in the diplomatic 
 school, that he will not hazard an assertion 
 on any subject ; he is not certain of any 
 thing, not even of his own identity." 
 
 " He assuredly wants," said Devereux, 
 " the only proof of existence which Des- 
 cartes would admit, / think, therefore I am." 
 
 '^ He has such a holy horrour of com- 
 mitting himself," continued Lady Gerald-
 
 18^2 ENNUI. 
 
 ine, " that if you were to ask him if the 
 sun rose this morning, he would answer 
 with his sweet smile — So J am told- — or — So 
 I am informed.^^ 
 
 " Begging your ladyship's pardon," cried 
 Mr. Devereux, " that is much too affirma- 
 tive. In the pure diplomatic style, imper- 
 sonal verbs must ever be used in preference 
 to active or passive. So I mn told, lays 
 him open to the dangerous questions — Who 
 told you ? — or — By whom were you in- 
 formed ? Then he is forced into the impru- 
 dence of giving up his authorities ; whereas 
 he is safe in the impersonality of — So it is 
 said — or — So it is reported " 
 
 " How I should like to see a meeting be- 
 tween two perfectly finished diplomatists !" 
 cried Lady Geraldine. 
 
 *^ That is demonstrably impossible," said 
 Mr. Devereux; " for in certain politica], as 
 well as in certain geometrical lines, there is 
 a continual effort to approach, without a 
 possibility of meeting." 
 
 Lady Geraldine's raillery, like all other 
 things, would, perhaps, soon have become 
 tiresome to me -, but that there was infinite 
 variety in her humour. At first I had
 
 ENNUI. 183 
 
 tliought her merely superficial, and intent 
 solely upon her own amusement; but I soon 
 found that she had a taste for literature, 
 beyond what could have been expected in 
 one who lived so dissipated a life ; a depth 
 of reflection that seemed inconsistent with 
 the rapidity with which she thought; and, 
 above all, a degree of generous indignation 
 against meanness and vice, which seemed 
 incompatible with the selfish character of a 
 fine lady, and which appeared quite in- 
 comprehensible to the imitating tribe of her 
 fashionable companions. 
 
 I mentioned a Mrs. Norton and Lady 
 Hauton amongst the company at Ormsby 
 Villa. These two English ladies, whom I 
 had never met in any of the higher circles 
 in London, who were persons of no conse- 
 quence, and of no marked character in their 
 own country, made, it seems, a prodigious 
 sensation when they came over to Ireland, 
 and turned the heads of half Dublin by the 
 extravagance of their dress, the imperti- 
 nence of their airs, and the audacity of their 
 conduct. Fame flew before them to the re- 
 mote parts of the country, and when they 
 arrived at Ormsby Villa, all the country
 
 184 ENNUI. 
 
 gentlemen and ladies were prepared to ad- 
 mire these celebrated fashionable belles. All 
 worshipped them present, and abused them 
 absent, except Lady Geraldine, who neither 
 joined in the admiration, nor inquired into 
 the scandal. One morning Mrs. Norton 
 and Lady Hauton had ^ach collected her 
 votaries round her. One group begging 
 patterns of dress from Lady Hauton, who 
 stood up in the midst of them, to have every 
 thing she wore examined and envied. The 
 other group sat on a sofa apart, listening to 
 Mrs. Norton, who, sottovcce, was telling 
 interesting anecdotes of an English crim. 
 con., which then occupied the attention of 
 the fashionable world. Mrs. Norton had 
 letters from the best authorities in Lon- 
 don, which she was entreated by ber audi- 
 tors to read to them. Mrs. Norton went 
 to look for the letters. Lady Hauton to di- 
 rect her woman to furnish some patterns of 
 I know not what articles of dress : and, in 
 the mean time, all the company joined in 
 canvassing the merits and demerits of the 
 dress and characters of the two ladies who 
 had just left the room. Lady Geraldine, 
 who had kept aloof, and who was examin- 
 
 i
 
 ENNUI. . 185 
 
 ing some prints at the farther end of the 
 room, at this instant laid down her book, 
 and looked upon the whole party with an 
 air of magnanimous disdain ; then smiling, 
 as in scorn, she advanced towards them, 
 and, in a tone of irony, addressing one of 
 the Swadlinbar graces: 
 
 " My dear Theresa," said her ladyship, 
 " you are absolutely ashamed, I see, of not 
 being quite naked; and you, my good Bess, 
 will, no doubt, very soon be equally scandal- 
 ized, at the imputation of being a perfectly 
 modest woman. Go on, my friends; go 
 on, and prosper ; beg and borrow all the 
 patterns and precedents you can collect of 
 the newest fashions of folly and vice. Make 
 haste, make haste ; they don't reach our re- 
 mote island fast enougii. We, Irish, might 
 live in innocence half a century longer, if 
 you didn't expedite the progress of profli- 
 gacy ; we might escape the plague that 
 rages in neighbouring countries, if we didn't, 
 without any quarantine, and with open 
 arms, welcome every suspected stranger; if 
 we didn't encourage the importation of 
 whole bales of tainted fmeries, that will
 
 186 ENNUI. 
 
 spread the contagion from Dublin to Cork, 
 and from Cork to Galway !" 
 
 " La !" said Miss Ormsby, " how severe 
 your ladyship is ; and all only for one's ask- 
 ing for a pattern ?" 
 
 ^^ But you know," pursued Mrs. O'Con- 
 nor, " that Lady Geraldine is too proud to 
 take pattern from any body." 
 
 « Too proud am I ? Well, then, I'll be 
 humble ; I'll abase myself — shall I ? 
 * Proud as I am, I'll put myself to school;' 
 
 and I'll do what the Ladies Hauton and 
 Norton shall advise, to heighten my charms 
 and preserve my reputation. I must begin, 
 must not I, Mrs. O'Connor, by learning 
 not to blush ? for I observed you were 
 ashamed for me yesterday at dinner, when 
 I blushed at something said by one of our 
 fair missionaries. Then, to whatever lengths 
 flirtations and gallantry may go between 
 unmarried or married people, I must look 
 9n. I may shut my eyes, if I please, and 
 look down ; but not from shame — from af- 
 fectation I may as often as I please, or to 
 show my eye-lashes. Memorandum — to 
 practise this before Clementina Ormsby, my 
 mirror of fashion. So far, so good, for my
 
 ENNUI. 187 
 
 looks 3 but now for my language. I must 
 reform my barbarous language, and learn 
 from Mrs. Norton, with her pretty accom- 
 modating voice, to call an intrigue an ar* 
 rangementy and a crim. con. an affair in 
 Doctor s CoTiimonSy or that business before the 
 Lords, As to adultery, it is an odious word ; 
 found only in the prayer book, and fit only 
 for our gross grandmothers. 
 
 * We never mention Hell to ears polite.' 
 
 '* IIow virtuous we shall be when we have 
 no name for vice ! But stay, I must mind 
 my lessons — I have more, much more to 
 learn. From the dashing Lady Hauton I 
 may learn, if my head be but strong, and 
 my courage intrepid enough, ' to touch 
 the brink of all we hate,' without tumbling 
 Iieadlong into the gulf. And from the in- 
 teresting Mrs. Norton, as I hear it whis- 
 pered amongst you ladies, I may learn how, 
 with the assistance of a humane society, to 
 save a half-drowned reputation. It is, I 
 understand, the glory of one class of fashion- 
 able females, to seem worse than they are ; 
 sLud of another class the privilege, to be 
 worse than they seem."
 
 188 ENNUI. 
 
 Here clamorous voices interrupted Lady 
 Geraldine — some justifying, some attacking 
 Lady Hauton and Mrs. Norton. 
 
 " O ! Lady Geraldine, I assure you, 
 notwithstanding all that was said about 
 
 General and Mrs. Norton, I tim 
 
 convinced there was nothing in it.** 
 
 *' And, my dear Lady Geraldine, though 
 Lady Hauton does go great lengths in co- 
 quetting with a certain lord, you must see 
 that there's nothing zvrojig ; and that she 
 means nothing, but to provoke his lady's 
 jealousy. You know his lordship is not a 
 man to fall in love with.'* 
 
 " So, because Lady Hauton*s passion is 
 hatred instead of love, and because her sole 
 object is to give pain to a poor wife, and to 
 make mischiel' in famihes, all her sins are 
 to be forgiven. Now, if I were forced to 
 forgive any ill-conducted female, I would 
 rather excuse the woman who is hurried 
 on by love, than she who is instigated by 
 hatred." 
 
 Miss Bland now began to support her 
 ladyship's opinion, that " Lady Hauton 
 was much the worst of the two ;'* and all 
 the scandal that was in circulation was
 
 ENNUI. 189 
 
 produced by the partisans of each of these 
 ladies. 
 
 " No matter, no matter, which is the 
 worst," cried Lady Gerald in e; " don't let 
 us waste our time in repeating or verifying 
 scandalous stories of either of them. I have 
 no enmity to these ladies ; I only despise 
 them, or, rather, their follies and their faults. 
 It is not the sinner, but ihe sin we should 
 reprobate. O ! my dear countrywomen,*' 
 cried Lady Geraldine, with increasing ani- 
 mation of countenance and manner — " O ! 
 my dear countrywomen, let us never stoop 
 to admire and imitate these second-hand 
 airs and graces, follies and vices. Let us 
 dare to be ourselves.*' 
 
 My eyes were fixed upon her animated 
 countenance, and, I believe, I continued 
 gazing even after her voice ceased. Mrs. 
 O'Connor pointed this out, and I was im- 
 mediately embarrassed. Miss Bland ac- 
 counted for my embarrassment by suppos- 
 ing, that what Lady Geraldine had said of 
 English crim. cons, had affected me. From 
 a look and a whisper among the Ihdies I 
 guessed this; but Lady Geraldine was too 
 well bred to suppose I could suspect her of
 
 190 ENNUI. 
 
 ill-breeding and ill-nature, or that I could 
 apply to myself what evidently was not in- 
 tended to allude to my family misfortunes. 
 By an openness of manner, and sweetness 
 of expression, which I cannot forget, she, 
 in one single look, conveyed all this to me : 
 and then resuming her conversation — 
 
 " Pray, my lord," said she, '^ you who 
 have lived so much in the great world in 
 England, say, for you can, whether I am 
 right or wrong in my suspicion, that these 
 ladies, who have made such a noise in Ire- 
 land, have been Httle heard of in Eng- 
 land?'* 
 
 I confirmed her ladyship's opinion by 
 my evidence. The faces of the company 
 changed. Thus, in a few seconds, the em- 
 pire of Lady Hauton and of Mrs. Norton 
 seemed shaken to the foundation, and never 
 recovered from this shock. 
 
 The warmth of Lady Geraldine's expres- 
 sions on this, and many other occasions, 
 wakened dormant feehngs in my heart, and 
 made me sensible that I had a soul, and 
 that I was superior to the puppets, with 
 whom I had been classed. 
 
 One day. Lady Kilrush, in her mixed
 
 ENNUL 191 
 
 mode, with partly the graces of a fine lady, 
 and partly the airs of a bel-esprit, was talk- 
 ing of Mr. Devereux, whom she affected 
 to patronise dind produce. 
 
 " Here, Devereux!" cried she, *^ Cecil 
 Devereux 1 What can you be thinking of? 
 I am talking to you. Here's this epitaph 
 of Francis the First upon Petrarch's Laura, 
 that you showed me the other day ; do you 
 know, I doat upon it ; I must have it trans- 
 lated : nobody can do it so well as you : 
 I have not time 5 but I shall not sleep to 
 night if it is not done : and you are so 
 quick; so sit down here, there's a dear 
 man, and do it in your elegant way for me, 
 whilst I go to my toilette. Perhaps you 
 did not know that my name was Laura,'' 
 said she, leaving the room with a very sen- 
 timental air. 
 
 " What will become of me!" cried De- 
 vereux. " Never was a harder task set 
 by cruel patroness. I would rather turn a 
 Persian tale for half a crown. Read this, 
 my lord, and tell me whether it will be easy 
 to turn my Lady Kilrush into Petrarch's 
 Laura." 
 
 " This sonnet, to be sure, is rather diffi-
 
 19^ ENNUI. 
 
 cult to translate, or at least to modernize, as 
 bespoke," said Lady Geraldine, after she 
 had perused the sonnet * ; *' but I think, 
 Mr. Devereux, you brought this difficulty 
 upon yourself. How came you to show 
 these lines to such an amateur, such a 
 fetcher and carrier of bays, as Lady Kil- 
 rush ?" 
 
 " You might have been certain, that, 
 had they been trash, with the name of 
 Francis the First, and with your fashion- 
 able approbation, and something to say 
 about Petrarch and Laura, my Lady Kil- 
 rush would talk for ever, et se pamerait 
 d^afTectation." 
 
 " Mr. Devereux," said I, " has only t^ 
 abide by the last lines, as a good and suffi- 
 cient apology to Lady Kilrush for his si- 
 lence: 
 
 ■* * En petit conipris vous pouvez voir 
 
 Ce qui comprend beaucoup par renomme, 
 Plume, labeur, la langue, et le devoir 
 Furent vaincus par Tamant de I'ainiee. 
 O gentille ame, etant toute estimee ! 
 Qui te pourra louer qu*en se taisant ? 
 Car la parole est toujours reprimee 
 Quand le sujet surnionte le disant.*
 
 ENNUI. 19-1 
 
 ' Uui te pourra louer qu'en se taisant r 
 
 * Car la parole est toujours repriraee 
 
 * Qruand le sujet surmonte le disanl;/ 
 
 *' There is no way to get out of my dif- 
 ficulties," said Mn Devereux, with a very 
 melancholy look ; and, with a deep sigh, 
 he sat down to attempt- the translation of 
 the poem. In a few minutes, however, he 
 rose and left the room, declaring that he 
 had the bad habit of not being able to do 
 any thing in company. 
 
 Lady Geraldine now, with much energy 
 of indignation, exclaimed against the pre- 
 tensions of rich amateurs, and the mean 
 and presumptuous manner in which some 
 would-be-great people affect to patronise 
 genius. 
 
 " O ! the baseness, the emptiness of 
 such patronising ostentation!" cried she. 
 *^ I am accused of being proud myself; 
 but I hope — I believe — I am sure, that my 
 pride is of another sort. Persons of any 
 elevation or generosity of mind never have 
 this species of pride; but it is -your mean, 
 second-rate folk, who imagine that people 
 of talents are a sort of raree-show for their 
 entertainment. At best, they consider men 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194 ENNUI. 
 
 of genius only as artists formed for their 
 use, who, if not in a situation to be paid 
 with money, are yet to be easily recom- 
 pensed by praise — by their praise — theii^ 
 praise 1 Heavens ! w hat conceit ! And these 
 amateur-patrons really think themselves 
 judges, and presume to advise and direct 
 genius, and employ it to their petty "pur- 
 poses ! Like that Piedro de Medicis, v/ho, 
 at some of his entertainments, set Michael 
 Angelo to make a statue of snow. My 
 lord, did you ever happen to meet with les 
 Memoires de Madame de Stael ?" 
 
 " Noj I did not know that they were 
 published.*' 
 
 " You mistake me : I mean Madame de 
 Stael of Lewis the Fourteenth and the Re- 
 gent's time. Mademoiselle de Launay.*' 
 
 I had never heard of such a person, and 
 I blushed for my ignorance. 
 
 *' Nay, I met with them myself only 
 yesterday," said Lady Geraldine : '^ I was 
 struck wdth the character of the Duchesse 
 de la Ferte, in which this kind of proud pa- 
 tronising ignorance is admirably painted 
 from the life. It is really worth your while, 
 my lord, to look at it. There's the book
 
 ENNUI. 195 
 
 on that little table; here is the passage. 
 You see, this Duchesse de la Ferte is show- 
 ing off to a sister duchess a poor girl of 
 genius, like a puppet or an ape." 
 
 * Allons mademoiselle, parlez — Madame, 
 vous allez voir comme elle parle — Elle vit 
 que j'hesitois a repondre, et pensa qu'il 
 falloit m' aider comme une chanteuse a qui 
 Ton indique ce qu'on desire d entendre — 
 Parlez un peu de religion, mademoiselle, 
 vous direz ensuite autre chose.* 
 
 " This speech, Mr. Devereux tells me, 
 has become quite proverbial in Paris/' con- 
 tinued Lady Geraldine ; " and it is often 
 quoted, when any one presumes in the 
 Duchesse de Ferte's style.'* 
 
 " Ignorance, either in high or low life, is 
 equally self-sufficient, 1 believe," said I, ex- 
 erting myself to illustrate her ladyship's re- 
 marks. " A gentleman of my acquaint- 
 ance lately went to buy some razors at 
 Packwood's. Mrs. Packwood alone was 
 visible. Upon the gentleman s compliment- 
 ing her on the infmite variety of her hus- 
 band's ingenious and poetical advertise- 
 ments, she replied, ' La ! sir, and do you 
 think husband has time to write them there 
 
 K2
 
 196 ENNUI. 
 
 things his-self ? Why, sir, we keeps a poet 
 to do all that there work.* " 
 
 Though Lady Geraldine spoke only in 
 general of amateur-patrons, and of men of 
 genius, yet I could not help fancying, from 
 the warmth with which she expressed her- 
 self, and from her dwelling on the subject 
 so long, that her feelings were peculiarly 
 interested for some individual of this de- 
 scription. Thus I discovered, that Lady 
 Geraldine had a heart; and I suspected, 
 that her ladyship and Mr. Devereux had 
 also made the same discovery. This sus- 
 picion was strengthened by a slight inci- 
 dent which occurred the following evening. 
 
 Lady Geraldine and Cecil Devereux, as 
 we were drinking coffee, were in a recessed 
 window, while some of the company stood 
 round them, amused by their animated con- 
 versation. They went on repartee after re- 
 partee, as if inspired by each other's spirits. 
 
 " You two," said a little girl of six years 
 old, who was playing in the window, " go 
 on singing to one another like two nightin- 
 gales ; and this shall be your cage," added 
 she, drawing the drapery of the window 
 curtains across the recessed window. " You
 
 ENNUI. 197 
 
 shall live always together in this cage: will 
 you, pretty birds?" 
 
 ** No, no ; some birds cannot live in a 
 cage, my dear," cried Lady Geraldine, play- 
 fully struggling to get free, v/hilst the child 
 held her prisoner. 
 
 " Mr. Devereux seems tolerably quiet 
 and contented in his cage/' said the shrewd 
 Mrs. O'Connor. 
 
 " I can't get out ! I can't get out 1" cried 
 Devereux, in the melancholy tone of the 
 Starling in the Sentimental Journey. ^ 
 
 " What is all this?" said my Lady Kil- 
 dangan, sailing up to us. 
 
 *^ Only two birds," the child began. 
 
 " Sin^ingf birds," interrupted Lady Ge- 
 raldine, catching the little girl up in her 
 arms, and stopping her from saying more, 
 hy beginning to sing most charmingly. 
 
 Lady Kildangan returned to the sofa with- 
 out comprehending one word of what had 
 passed. For my part, I now felt almost 
 certain of the justice of my suspicions: I 
 was a little vexed, but not by any means in 
 that despair into which a man heartily in 
 love would have been thrown by such a dis- 
 covery.
 
 J 98 ENNUI. 
 
 Well, thought I, it is well it is no worse : 
 it was very lucky, that I did not fall quite 
 in love with this fair lady, since, it seems, 
 that she has given her heart away. But 
 am I certain of this ? I was mistaken once. 
 Let me examine more carefully. 
 
 Now I had a new motive to keep my at- 
 tention awake,
 
 ENNUI. 199 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 To preserve the continuity of my story, and 
 not to fatigue the reader with the journals 
 of my comings and goings from Ormsby 
 Villa to Glenthorn Castle, and from Glen- 
 thorn Castle to Ormsby Villa, I must here 
 relate the observations I made, and the in- 
 cidents that occurred, during various visits 
 at Sir Harry Ormsby 's, in the course of the 
 summer. 
 
 After the incident of the birds and cage, 
 my sagacity was for some time at a fault. 
 I could not perceive any further signs of in- 
 telligence between the parties : on the con- 
 trary, all communication seemed abruptly 
 to cease. As I was not well versed in such 
 affairs, this quieted my suspicions, and I 
 began to think, that I had been entirely 
 mistaken. Cecil Devereux spent his days 
 shut up in his own apartment, immersed, 
 as far as I could understand, in the study 
 of the Persian language. He talked to me
 
 ^0 ENNUI. 
 
 of nothing but his hopes of an appointment, 
 which Lord O'TooIe had promised to pro- 
 cure for him, in India. When he was not 
 studying, he was botanizing or mineralo- 
 gizi?ig with 0'Toole*s chaplain. I did not 
 envy him his new mode of life. Lady Ge- 
 raldine took no notice of it. When they 
 did meet, which happened as seldom as 
 possible, there was an air of haughty dis- 
 pleasure on her part ; on his, steady and 
 apparently calm respect and self-satisfac- 
 tion. Fler spirits were exuberant, but va- 
 riable ; and, at times, evidently forced : 
 his were not high, but even and certain. 
 Towards me, her ladyship's manners were 
 free from coquetry, yet politely gratifying, 
 as she marked, by the sort of conversation 
 she addressed to me, her opinion that I was 
 superior in ability and capability to what 
 she had at first thought me, and to what I 
 had always thought myself. 
 
 Mr. Devereux, though with more effort, 
 treated me with distinction, and showed a 
 constant desire to cultivate my friendship. 
 On every occasion he endeavoured to raise 
 my opinion of myself ; to give me ambition 
 and courage to cultivate my mind. Once,
 
 ENNUI. 201 
 
 when I was arguing in favour of natural ge- 
 nius, and saying, that I thought no culti- 
 vation could make the abilities of one man 
 equal to those of another, he, without seem- 
 ing to perceive that I was apologizing at 
 once for my own indolence and my intel- 
 lectual inferiority, answered in general 
 terms : — 
 
 " It is difficult to judge what are the na- 
 tural powers of the mind, they appear so 
 different in different circumstances. You 
 can no more judge of a mind in ignorance^ 
 than of a plant in darkness. A philoso- 
 phical friend told me, that he once thought 
 he had discovered a new and strange plant 
 growing in a mine. It was common sage, 
 but so degenerated and altered, that he 
 could not know it : he planted it in the open 
 air and in the light, and gradually it re- 
 sumed its natural appearance and cha- 
 racter.'* 
 
 Mr. Devereux excited, without fatiguing 
 my mind by his conversation ; and I was 
 not yet sufficiently in love to be seriously 
 jealous. I was resolved, however, to sound 
 him upon the subject of Lady Geraldine. 
 I waited for a good opportunity ; at iength, 
 
 K5
 
 ^02 ENNUI, 
 
 as we were looking together over the prints 
 of Buerger's Lenore, he led to the sort of 
 conversation that I desired, by telling me 
 an anecdote relative to the poet, which he 
 had lately heard from a German baron. 
 
 Buerger was charmed with a sonnet, 
 which an unknown fair one addressed to 
 him, in praise of his poetry : he replied in 
 equal strains ; and they went on flattering 
 one another, till both believed themselves 
 in love : without ever having met, they de- 
 termined to marry : they at length met and 
 married : they quarrelled and parted : in 
 other words, the gentleman Avas terribly 
 disappointed in his unknown mistress, and 
 she consoled herself by running away from 
 him with another lover. The imprudence 
 of this poetic couple led us to reflections on 
 love and marriage in general. Keeping far 
 away from all allusion to Lady Geraldine, 
 I rallied Mr. Devereux about the fair Cle- 
 mentina, who was evidently a romantic ad- 
 mirer of his. 
 
 " Who, except Cupid, would barter his 
 liberty for a butterfly?" said he; " and 
 Cupid was a child. Men now-a-days are 
 grown too wise to enslave themselves for
 
 ENNUI. 203 
 
 women. Love occupies a vast space in a 
 woman's thoughts, but fills a small portion 
 of a man's life. Women are told, that 
 ' The great, th* important business of their 
 life, is love ;* but men know, that they are 
 born for something better than to sing 
 mournful ditties to a mistress's eyebrow. 
 As to marriage, what a serious, terrible 
 thing ! Some quaint old author says, that 
 man is of too smooth and oily a nature to 
 climb up to Heaven, if, to make him less 
 slippery, there be not added to his composi- 
 tion the vinegar of marriage. This may be ; 
 but I will keep as long as possible from the 
 vinegar." 
 
 " Really, Devereux,'' said I, smiling, 
 " you talk so like a cynic and an old ba- 
 chelor, and you look so little like either, 
 that it is quite ridiculous." 
 
 " A man must be ridiculous sometimes," 
 said he, '^ and bear to be thought so. No 
 man ever distinguished himself, who could 
 not bear to be laughed at." 
 
 Mr. Devereux left the room singing, 
 
 " No mere for Amynta fresh garlands I wove, 
 '' Ambition, I said, will soon cure me of love."
 
 £04 ENNUL 
 
 I was uncertain what to think of all this. 
 I inchned to believe, that ambition was his 
 ruling passion, notwithstanding the descrip- 
 tion of that Hell w^hich he showed me in 
 Spencer. His conduct to his patron lords, 
 by which a surer judgement of his character 
 could be formed than by his professions/ 
 was not, however, that of a man merely in- 
 tent upon rising in the world. 
 
 I remember once hearing Lord O'Toole 
 attack a friend of this gentleman's, calling 
 him, in a certain tone, a philosopher, Mr. 
 Devereux replied, '^ that he could not con^ 
 sider that as a term of reproach : that where 
 a false or pretended philosopher was meant, 
 8ome other name should be used, equivalent 
 to the Italian term oi ve^to2ic\i^filosofastroJ* 
 
 Lord O'Toole would by no means admit 
 of this Italianism : he would make no dis- 
 tinctions : he deemed philosophers alto- 
 gether a race of beings dangerous and ini- 
 mical to states. 
 
 *' For states read statesmen," said Deve- 
 reux, who persisted in the vindication of 
 his friend, till Lord O Toole grew pale with 
 anger, whilst Lord Craiglethorpe smiled
 
 ENNUI. 205 
 
 with ineffable contempt at the political be- 
 vue : Lady Geraldine glowed with generous 
 indignation. 
 
 Afterwards^ in speaking to me of Lord 
 O'Toole, Devereux said, '' His lordship's 
 classification of men is as contracted as the 
 savage's classification of animals : he divides 
 mankind into two classes, knaves and fools ; 
 and when he meets with an honest man, he 
 does not know what to make of him.'* 
 
 My esteem for Mr. Devereux was much 
 increased by my daily observations upon his 
 conduct : towards Lady Geraldine I thought 
 it particularly honourable : when her dis- 
 pleasure evidently merged in esteem ; when 
 her manners again became most winning 
 and attractive, his continued uniformly the 
 same ; never passing the bounds of friendly 
 respect, or swerving, in the slightest degree, 
 from the line of conduct, which he had laid 
 down for himself I thought I now under- 
 stood him perfectly. That he liked Lady 
 Geraldine I could scarcely doubt; but I 
 saw, that he refrained from aiming at the 
 prize, which he knew he ought not to ob- 
 tain : that he perceived her ladyship's fa- 
 vourable disposition towards him, yet de-
 
 $206 ENNUI. 
 
 nied himself not only the gratification of his 
 vanity, but the exquisite pleasure of con- 
 versing with her, lest he should stand in the 
 way of her happier prospects. He fre- 
 quently spoke to me of her ladyship in 
 terms of the warmest approbation. He said, 
 that " all the world saw and admired her 
 talents and beauty, but that he had had 
 opportunities, as a relation, of studying her 
 domestic life. With all her vivacity, she 
 has a heart formed for tenderness,'' said he, 
 *^ a high sense of duty, the best security for 
 a woman's conduct -, and in generosity and 
 magnanimity, I never found her superior 
 in either sex. In short, I never saw any 
 woman, whose temper and disposition were 
 more likely to make a man of sense and 
 feeling supremely happy." 
 
 I could not forbear smiling, and asking 
 Cecil Devereux how all this accorded with 
 his late professions of hatred to marriage. 
 
 " My professions were sincere," said he. 
 *' It would be misery to me to marry any 
 inferior woman, and I am not in circum- 
 stances to marry as I could wish. I could 
 not think of Lady Geraldine, without a 
 breach of trust, of which your lordsbip> I
 
 ENNUI. 207 
 
 hope, cannot suspect me. Her mother 
 places confidence in me. I am not only a 
 relation, but treated as a friend of the fa- 
 mily. I am not in love with Lady Ge- 
 raldine. I admire, esteem, respect her la- 
 dyship ; and I wish to see her united to a 
 man, if such a man there be, who may de- 
 serve her. We understand one another 
 now. Your lordship will have the good- 
 ness never more to speak to me on this sub- 
 ject." He spoke with much emotion, but 
 with steadiness, and left me penetrated with 
 feelings, that were entirely new to me. 
 
 Much as I admired his conduct, I was 
 yet undecided as to my own ; my aversion 
 to a second marriage was not yet con- 
 quered : I was amused, I was captivated by 
 Lady Geraldine, but I could not bring my- 
 self to think of making a distinct proposal. 
 Lord Craiglethorpe himself was not more 
 afraid of being committed, than I was upon 
 this tender subject. To gain time, I now 
 thought it necessary to verify all the praises 
 Mr. Devereux had bestowed on her lady- 
 ship. Magnanimity was a word, that par- 
 ticularly struck my ear as extraordinary 
 when applied to a female. However, by
 
 S08 ENNUL 
 
 attending carefully to this ladj, I thought 
 I discovered what Mr. Devereux meant. 
 Lady Geraldine was superior to manoBU- 
 vring little arts, and petty stratagems, to 
 attract attention. She would not stoop, 
 even to conquer. From gentlemen she 
 seemed to expect attention as her right, as 
 the right of her sex ; not to beg or accept 
 of it as a favour: if it were not paid, she 
 deemed the gentleman degraded, not her- 
 self. Far from being mortified by any pre- 
 ference shown to other ladies, her counte- 
 nance betrayed only a sarcastic sort of pity 
 for the bad taste of the men, or an absolute 
 indifference and look of haughty absence. 
 I saw that she beheld with disdain the pal- 
 try competitions of the young ladies her 
 companions: as her companions, indeed, 
 she hardly seemed to consider them ; she 
 tolerated their foibles, forgave their envy, 
 and never exerted any superiority, except 
 to show her contempt of vice and meanness. 
 To be in any degree excepted from the 
 common herd; to be in any degree distin- 
 guished by a lady so proud, and with so 
 many good reasons to be proud, was flat- 
 tering to my self-love. She gave me no di-
 
 ENNUI. 209 
 
 rect enconragement ; but I never advanced 
 far enough to require encouragement, much 
 less to justify repulse. Sometimes I ob-* 
 served, or I fancied, that she treated me 
 with more favour when Mr. Devereux was 
 present, than at other times y perhaps, for 
 she was a woman, not an angel — to pique 
 Devereux, and try if she could move him 
 from the settled purpose of his soul. He 
 bore it all with surprising constancy 5 his 
 spirits, however, and his health, began vi- 
 sibly to decline. 
 
 " If I do not intrude too much on your 
 valuable time, Mr. Devereux," said her 
 ladyship to him one evening, in her most 
 attractive manner, *« may 1 beg you to read 
 to us some of these beautiful poems of Sir 
 William Jones?'' 
 
 There was a seat beside her ladyship on 
 the sofa : the book was held out by the finest 
 arm in the world. 
 
 " Nay," said Lady Geraldine, '^ do not 
 look so respectfully miserable ; if you have 
 any other engagements, you have only to 
 say so ; or if you cannot speak, you may 
 bow : a bow, you know, is an answer to 
 every thing. And here is my Lord Glen-
 
 210 ENNUI. 
 
 thorn ready to supply your place: pray, 
 do not let me detain you prisoner. You 
 shall not a second time say, / can't get 
 cutr 
 
 Devereux made no further effort to 
 escape, but took the book and his danger- 
 ous seat. He remained with us, contrary 
 to his custom, the whole evening. After- 
 wards, as if he felt that some apology was 
 necessary to me for the pleasure in which 
 he had indulged himself, 
 
 " Perhaps, my lord,*' said he, " another 
 man in my situation, and with my feelings, 
 would think it necessary to retreat, and 
 prudent to secure his safety by flight ; but 
 flight is unworthy of him who can combat 
 and conquer : the man, who is sure of him- 
 self, does not sculk away to avoid danger, 
 but advances to meet it, armed secure in 
 honesty." 
 
 This proud and rash security in his own 
 courage, strength of mind, and integrity, 
 was the only fault of Cecil Devereux. He 
 never prayed not to be led into temptation, 
 he thought himself so sure of avoiding evil. 
 Unconscious of his danger, even though 
 his disease was at its height, he now braved
 
 ENNUI. 211 
 
 it most imprudently : he was certain, that 
 he should never pass the bounds of friend- 
 ship ; he had proved this to himself, and 
 was satisfied: he told me, that he could 
 with indifference, nay, with pleasure, see 
 Lady Geraldlne mine. In the mean time, 
 upon the same principle that he deemed 
 flight inglorious, he was proud to expose 
 himself to the full force of Love's artillery. 
 He was with us now every day, and almost 
 all day, and Lady Geraldine was more 
 charming than ever. The week was fixed 
 for her departure. Still I could not decide. 
 I understood that her ladyship would pass 
 the ensuing winter in Dublin, where she 
 >vo\*ivi jai vbo-tljr AiAoci -with new adorers 5 
 and even if Mr. Devereux should not suc- 
 ceed, some adventurous knight might win 
 and wear the prize. This was an alarming 
 thought. It almost decided me to hazard 
 the fatal declaration : but then I recollect- 
 ed, that I might follow her ladyship to 
 town the next winter, and that if the im- 
 pression did not, as might be hoped, wear 
 off during the intervening autumn, it would 
 be time enough to commit myself, when I 
 should meet my fair one in Dublin. This
 
 fl!§t ENNUI, 
 
 was at last my fixed resolution. Respited 
 from the agonies of doubt, I now waited 
 very tranquilly for that moment, to which 
 most lovers look forward with horrour, the 
 moment of separation. I was sensible that 
 I had accustomed myself to think about 
 this lady so much, that I had gradually 
 identified my existence ^vith hers, and I 
 thus found my spirit of animation much in- 
 creased. I dreaded the departure of Lady 
 Geraldine less than the return of ennui. 
 
 In this frame of mind I was walking one 
 morning in the pleasure-grounds with Lady 
 Geraldine, when a slight accident made me 
 act in direct contradiction to all my resolu- 
 tions, and, T think. innrvn«it{tpnflj7 wifh my 
 character. But such is the nature of man ! 
 and I was doomed to make a fool of my- 
 self, even in the very temple of Minerva. 
 Among the various ornamental buildings 
 in the grounds at Ormsby Villa, there was 
 a temple dedicated to this goddess, from 
 which issued a troop of hoyden young la- 
 dies, headed by the widow O'Connor and 
 Lady Kilrush, all calling to us to come and 
 look at some charming discovery, which 
 they had just made in the Temple of Mi-
 
 ENNUI. 213 
 
 nerva. Thither we proceeded, accompa- 
 nied by the merry troop. We found in the 
 temple only a poetical inscription of Lady 
 Kilrush's, pompously engraved on a fine 
 marble tablet. We read the lines with all 
 the attention usually paid to a lady's poetry 
 in the presence of the poetess. Lady Ge- 
 raldine and I turned to pay some compli- 
 ments on the performance, when we found 
 that Lady Kilrush, and all her companions, 
 were gone. 
 
 " Gone! all gone!'* said Lady Gerald- 
 ine, " and there they are, making their 
 way very fast down to the Temple of Folly I 
 Lady Kilrush, you know, is so ba-a-ashful, 
 she could not possibly stay to receive iios 
 hommages. I love to laugh at affectation. 
 Call them back, do, my lord, and you shall 
 see the/ah^ author go through all the evo- 
 lutions of mock humility, and end by yield- 
 ing quietly to the notion that she is the 
 tenth muse. But run, my lord, or they 
 will be out of our reach." 
 
 I never was seen to run on any occasion, 
 but, to obey Lady Geraldine, I walked as 
 fast as I could to the door, and, to my sur- 
 prise, found it fastened.
 
 214 ENNUI. 
 
 " Locked, I declare ! some of the witty 
 tricks of the widow O'Connor, or the hoy- 
 den Miss Callweirs !" 
 
 " How I hate hoydens!" cried Lady Ge- 
 raldine ; *' but let us take patience, they 
 will be back presently. If young ladies 
 must perform practical jokes, because quiz- 
 zing is the fashion, I wish they would de- 
 vise something new. This locking-up is 
 so stale a jest. To be sure it has lately to 
 boast the authority of high rank in suc- 
 cessful practice : but these bungling imita- 
 tors never distinguish between cases the 
 most dissimilar imaginable. Silly creatures! 
 We have only to be wise and patient." 
 
 Her ladyship sat down to reperuse the 
 tablet. I never saw her look so beautiful. 
 — The dignified composure of her manner 
 charmed me; it w^as so unlike the paltry 
 affectation of some of the fashionable ladies 
 by whom I had been disgusted. I recol- 
 lected the precedent to which she alluded. 
 I recollected, that the locking-up ended in 
 matrimony, and as Lady Geraldine made 
 some remarks upon the verses, I suppose 
 my answers showed my absence of mind. 
 
 *^ Why so grave, my lord ? why so ab-
 
 ENNUI. 215 
 
 sent ? I assure you I do not suspect your 
 lordship of having any hand in this vulgar 
 manoeuvre. I acquit you honourably, 
 therefore you need not stand any longer 
 like a criminal.'* 
 
 What decided me at this instant I can- 
 not positively tell : whether it was the 
 awkwardness of my own situation, or the 
 grace of her ladyship's manner, but all my 
 prudential arrangements were forgotten, all 
 my doubts vanished. Before I knew that 
 the words passed my lips, I replied, *^ That 
 her ladyship did me justice by such an ac- 
 quittal ; but that, though I had no part in 
 the contrivance, yet I felt irresistibly im- 
 pelled to avail myself of the opportunity it 
 afforded of declaring my real sentiments." 
 I was at her ladyship's feet, and making 
 very serious love, before I knew where I 
 was. In what words my long-delayed de- 
 claration was made I cannot recollect, but 
 I well remember Lady Geraldine's answer. 
 
 " My lord, I assure you, that you do 
 not know what you are saying : you do not 
 know what you are doing. This is all a 
 mistake, as you will find half an hour
 
 2!l6 ENNUI. 
 
 hence. I will not be so cruelly vain as to 
 suppose you serious.** 
 
 " Not serious! no man ever was more 
 serious.'* 
 
 " No, no — No, no, no." 
 
 I swore, of course, most fervently. 
 
 " O ! rise, rise I beseech you, my lord, 
 and don*t look so like a hero ; though you 
 have done an heroical action, I grant. How 
 you ever brought yourself to it I cannot 
 imagine. But now, for your comfort, you 
 are safe — ^Vous voila quitte pour la peur ! 
 Do not, however, let this encourage you to 
 venture again in the same foolish manner. 
 1 know but few, very few young ladies, to 
 whom Lord Glenthorn could offer himself 
 with any chance or reasonable hope of 
 being refused. So take warning: never 
 again expect to meet with such another as 
 my whimsical self." 
 
 ** Never, never, can I expect to meet 
 with any thing resembling your charming 
 s^elf," cried I. This was a new text for a 
 lover's rhapsody. It is not necessary, and 
 might not be generally interesting, to repeat 
 all the ridiculous things I said, even if I 
 could remember them.
 
 ENNUI. 217 
 
 Lady Geraldine listened to me, and then 
 very calmly replied — 
 
 " Granting you believe all that you are 
 saying at this minute, which I must grant 
 from common gratitude, and still more, 
 common vanity ; nevertheless, permit me 
 to assure you, my lord, that this is not love, 
 it is only a fancy — only the nettlerash, not 
 the plague. You will not die this time. I will 
 insure your life. So now jump out of the 
 window as fast as you can, and unlock the 
 door — you need not be afraid of breaking 
 your neck — you know your life is insured. 
 Come, take the lover's leap, and get rid of 
 your passion at once.*' 
 
 I grew angry. 
 
 " Only a cloud,'* said Lady Geraldine— 
 ** it will blow over.** 
 
 I became more passionate — I did not 
 know the force of my own feelings, till they 
 met with an obstacle ; they suddenly rose 
 to a surprising height. 
 
 " Now, my lord,'* cried Lady Gerald- 
 ine, with a tone and look of comic vexa- 
 tion, ^' this is really the most provokino- 
 thing imaginable j you have no idea how 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 218 ENNUI. 
 
 you distress me, nor of what exquisite 
 pleasures you deprive me — all the pleasures 
 of coquetry ; legitimate pleasures, in cer- 
 tain circumstances, as I am instructed to 
 think them by one of the first moral autho- 
 rities. There is a case — 1 quote from me- 
 mory, my lord, for my memory, like that of 
 most other people, on subjects where I am 
 deeply interested, is tolerably tenacious — 
 there is a case, says the best of fathers, in 
 his Legacy to the best of daughters — there 
 is a case where a woman may coquet justi- 
 fiably to the utmost verge which her con- 
 science will allow. It is where a gentleman 
 purposely declines making his addresses, 
 till such time as he thinks himself perfectly 
 sure of her consent. Now, my lord, if you 
 had had the goodness to do so, I might 
 have made this delightful case my own ; 
 and what charming latitude I might have 
 allowed my conscience ! But now, alas ! 
 it is all over, and I must be as frank as you 
 have been, under pain of forfeiting what I 
 value more even than admiration — my own 
 good opinion." 
 
 She paused, and .was silent for a few^ mo-
 
 ENNUI. 219 
 
 ments ; then suddenly changing her man- 
 ner, she exclaimed, in a serious energetic 
 tone, 
 
 ^' Yes, I must, I will be sincere ; let it 
 cost me what it may. I will be sincere. — 
 My lord, I never can be yours. My lord, 
 you will believe me, even from the effort 
 with which I speak 5" her voice softened, 
 and her face suffused with crimson, as 
 she spoke. *^ I love another — my heart is 
 no longer in my own possession ; whether 
 it will ever be in my power, consistently 
 with my duty and his principles, to be 
 united with the man of my choice, is doubt- 
 ful — more than doubtful — but this is cer- 
 tain, that with such a prepossession, such 
 a conviction in my mind, I never could nor 
 ought to think of marrying any other per- 
 son." 
 
 I pleaded, that however deserving of her 
 preference the object of her favour might 
 be, yet that if there were, as her own pru- 
 dence seemed to suggest, obstacles, render- 
 ing the probability of her union with that 
 person more than doubtful, it might be pos- 
 sible that her superior sense and strength 
 of mind, joined to the persevering affection
 
 J2^0 ENNUI. 
 
 of another lover, who would spare no exer- 
 tions to render himself worthy of her, might, 
 
 perhaps, in time 
 
 " No, no," said she, interrupting me; 
 *' do not deceive yourself. I will not de- 
 ceive you. I give you no hopes that my 
 sentiments may change. I know my ov/n 
 mind — it will not change. My attachment 
 is founded on the firm basis of esteem ; my 
 affection has grown from the intimate know- 
 ledge of the principles and conduct of the 
 man I love. No other man, let his merits 
 be what they may, could have these advan- 
 tages in my opinion. And when I say 
 that the probability of our being united is 
 more than doubtful, 1 do not mean to de- 
 ny, that 1 have distant hope that change of 
 circumstances might render love and duty 
 compatible. Without hope I know love 
 cannot long exist. You see I do not talk 
 romantic nonsense to you. All that you 
 say of prudence, and time, and the effect 
 of the attentions of another admirer, would 
 be perfectly just and applicable, if my at- 
 tachment were a fancy of yesterday — if it 
 were a mere young lady's commonplace 
 first love; but I am not a very young lady.
 
 KNNUl. 221 
 
 nor is this, though a first love, common- 
 place. 1 do not, you see, in the usual 
 style, tell you that the man I adore is an 
 angel, and that no created form ever did, or 
 ever can, resemble this angel in green and 
 goldy but on the contrary do justice to your 
 lordship's merit; and believing, as I do, 
 that you are capable of a real love, still 
 more, believing that such an attachment 
 would rouse you to exertion, and bring to 
 life and light a surprising number of good 
 qualities, yet I should deceive you unpar- 
 donably, fatally for my own peace of mind^ 
 if not for yours, were I not frankly and de* 
 cidedly to assure you, that I never could 
 reward or return your affection. My at* 
 tachment to— I trust entirely where I trust 
 at all — my attachment to Mr. Devereux is 
 for life." 
 
 '* He deserves it — deserves it all," cried 
 I, struggling for utterance ^ " that is as 
 much as a rival can say." 
 
 '' Not more than 1 expected from you, 
 my lord." 
 
 " But your ladyship says there is hope 
 of duty and love being compatible. Would 
 Lady Kildangan evej- consent?"
 
 QOO. 
 
 ENNUi. 
 
 She looked much disturbed. 
 
 *' No, certainly not ; unless — Lord O' 
 Toole has promised — not that I depend on 
 courtiers* promises — but Lord O'Toole is a 
 relation of ours, and he has promised to ob- 
 tain an appointment abroad, in India, for 
 Mr. Devereux. If that were done, he might 
 appear of more con^sequence in the eyes of 
 the world. My mother might then, per- 
 haps, be propitious. My lord, I give you 
 the strongest proof of my esteem, by speak- 
 ing with such openness. I have had the 
 honour of your lordship's acquaintance on- 
 ly a iew months; but without compliment- 
 ing my own penetration, I may securely 
 trust to the judgment of Mr. Devereux, 
 and his example has taught me, to feel con- 
 fidence in your lordship. Your conduct 
 now will, I trust, justify my good opinion, 
 by your secrecy, and by desisting from 
 useless pursuit you will entitle yourself to 
 my esteem and gratitude. These, I pre- 
 sume, you will think worth securing.'* 
 
 My soul was so completely touched, that 
 I could not articulate. 
 
 " Mr. Devereux is right — I see, my lord, 
 that you have a soul that can be touched/'
 
 ENNUI. 223 
 
 -** Kissing hands ! I protest," exclaimed 
 a shrill voice at the window; we turned 
 and saw Mrs. O'Connor, and a group of 
 tittering faces peeping in. " Kissing 
 hands, after a good hour's tete-a-tete ! O 
 pray, Lady Kildangan, make haste here,'* 
 continued Mrs. O'Connor; " make haste, 
 before Lady Geraldine's blushes are over." 
 
 " Were you ever detected in the crime 
 of blushing, in your life, Mrs. O'Connor ?" 
 said I. 
 
 " I never w^as found out locked up with 
 so fine a gentleman," replied Mrs. O'Con- 
 nor. 
 
 " Then it hurts your conscience only to 
 be found out, like all the rest of the vast 
 family of the Surfaces," said Lady Gerald- 
 ine, resuming her spirit. 
 
 " Found out ! — Locked up 1 — Bless me ! 
 bless me ! What is all this ?" cried Lady 
 Kildangan, puffing up the hill. " For 
 shame! young ladies; for shame!" con- 
 tinued her ladyship, with a decent sup- 
 pression of her satisfaction, when she saw, 
 or thought she saw, how matters stood. 
 " Unlock the door, pray. Don't be vexed,
 
 *i24 KMNUr. 
 
 my Geraldine. Fie ! fie ! Mrs. O'Contior. 
 But quizzing is now so fashionable — no- 
 body can be angry with any body. My 
 Geraldine, consider we are all friends.** 
 
 The door unlocked, and, as we were go- 
 ing out, Lady Geraldine whispered to me : 
 
 *' For mercy *s sake, my lord, don't 
 break my poor mother's heart ! Never let 
 her know, that a coronet has been within 
 my grasp, and that I have not clutched it." 
 
 Lady Kildangan, who thought that all 
 was now approaching that happy termina- 
 tion she so devoutly wished, was so full of 
 her own happy presentiments, that it was 
 impossible for me to undeceive her lady- 
 ship. Even when I announced before her, 
 to Sir Harry Ormsby, that I was obliged 
 to return home immediately on particular 
 business, she was, I am sure, persuaded 
 that I was going to prepare matters for 
 marriage-settlements. When I mounted 
 my horse, Mr. Devereux pressed through a 
 crowd assembled on the steps at the hall- 
 door, and offered me his hand, with a look 
 and manner that seemed to say- — Have you 
 sufficient generosity to be still my friend ?
 
 ENNUI. 225 
 
 " I know the value of your friendship, Mr. 
 Devereux," said I, " and I hope to deserve 
 it better every year that 1 hve." 
 
 For the effort which it cost me to say 
 this I was rewarded. Lady Geraldine> 
 who had retired behind her companions, 
 at this instant approached with an air of 
 mingled grace and dignity, bowed her 
 head, and gave me a smile of grateful ap- 
 probation. This is the last image left on 
 my mind, the last look of the charming Ge- 
 raldine — I never saw her again. 
 
 After I got home, I never shaved for two 
 days, and scarcely ever spoke. I should 
 have taken to my bed to avoid seeing any 
 human creature, but I knew, that if I de- 
 clared myself ill, no power would keep my 
 old nurse,- EUinor, from coming to moan 
 over me ; and 1 was not in a humour to 
 listen to stories of the Irish Black Beard, 
 or the ghost of King O'Donoghoe ; nor 
 could I, however troublesome, have re- 
 pulsed the simplicity of her affection. In- 
 stead of going to bed, therefore, I conti- 
 nued to lie stretched upon a sofa, rumi- 
 nating sweet and bitter thoughts, after giv- 
 ing absolute orders, that I should not be 
 
 L5
 
 ^226* ENNUI. 
 
 disturbed on any account whatever. Whilst 
 I was in this state of reverie^ one of my ser- 
 vants, an odd Irish fellow^, who, under pre- 
 tence of being half-witted, took more liber- 
 ties than his companions, bolted into my 
 presence. 
 
 " Plase your lordship, I thought it my 
 duty, in spite of 'em all below, to <:ome up 
 to advertise your lordship of the news that's 
 going through the country. That they 
 are all upside down at Ormsby Villa, all 
 mad entirely — fighting and setting off 
 through the kingdom, every one their own 
 way; and, they say, it's all on account of 
 something that Miss Clemmy Ormsby told, 
 that Lady Geraldine said about my Lord 
 OToole's being no better than a cat's paw, 
 or something that way, w^hich made his 
 lordship quite mad ; and he said, in the 
 presence of Lord Craiglethorpe, and my 
 Lady Kildangan, and Lady Geraldine, and 
 all that were in it, something that vexed 
 Lady Geraldine, which made Mr. Cecil 
 Devereux mad next, and he said something 
 smart in reply, that Lord O'Toole could 
 not digest he said, which made his lordship 
 madder than ever, and he discharged Mr.
 
 Ex\NUL 2^7 
 
 Devereux from his favour, and he is not to 
 get that place that was vacant^ the Lord 
 Lieutenancy of some place in the Indies 
 that he was to have had ; this made Lady 
 Geraldine mad, and it was found out she 
 was in love with Mr. Devereux, which 
 made her mother mad, the maddest of all 
 they say, so that none can hold her, and 
 she is crying night and day how her daugh- 
 ter might have had the first coronet in the 
 kingdom, mailing you, my lord, if it had 
 not been that she had preferred a beggar- 
 man, maning Mr. Cecil Devereux, who is 
 as poor, they say, as a Connaughtman — 
 and he's forbid to think of her, and she's 
 forbid, under pain of bread and water, ever 
 to set her eyes upon him the longest day 
 ever she lives ; so the horses and coaches 
 are ordered, and they are all to be off with 
 the first light for Dublin^ and that's all, 
 my lard, and all truth, not a word of lies 
 I'm tellins^." 
 
 I was inclined not to credit a story so 
 oddly told ; but, upon inquiry, I found it 
 true in its material points. My own words 
 to Mr. Devereux, and the parting look of
 
 228 ENNUI. 
 
 Lady Geraldine, were full in my recollec- 
 tion ; I was determined, by an unexpected 
 exertion, to surprise both the lovers, and to 
 secure for ever their esteem and gratitude. 
 The appointment, which Mr. Devereux de- 
 sired, was not yet given away; the fleet 
 was to sail in a few days. I started up 
 from my sofa — ordered my carriage in-, 
 stantly — shaved myself — sent a courier on 
 before to have horses ready at every stage 
 to carry me to Dublin— got there in the 
 shortest time possible — found Lord O'Toole 
 but just arrived. Though unused to diplo- 
 matic language and political negociation, I 
 knew pretty well on what they all hinge. I 
 went directly to the point, and showed, 
 that it would be the interest of the party 
 concerned, to grant my request. By ex- 
 pressing a becoming desire, that my bo- 
 roughs, upon a question where a majority 
 was desired, should strengthen the hands of 
 government, I obtained for my friend the 
 favour he deserved. Before I quitted Lord 
 O'Toole, his secretary. Captain Andrews, 
 was instructed to write a letter announcing 
 to Mr. Devereux his appointment. A copy
 
 ENNUr. 2 29 
 
 of the former letter of refusal now lay be- 
 fore me ; it was in his lordship's purest di- 
 plomatic style — as follows : 
 
 Private. 
 
 '' Lord O 'Toole is concerned to inform 
 *' Mr. Devereux, that he cannot feel him- 
 '^ self justified in encouraging Mr. D., un- 
 " der the existing circumstances, to make 
 " any direct application relative to the last 
 *^ conversation his lordship had the honour 
 *' to hold with Mr. Devereux." 
 
 To Cecil Devereux, Esq. rp, i 
 
 &c. ^ ' 
 
 The letter which I obtained, and of which 
 I took possession, ran as follows : 
 
 Private. 
 
 " Lord O'Toole is happy to have it in 
 " command to inform Mr. Devereux, that 
 " his lordship's representation^ on the sub- 
 *' ject of their last conversation have been 
 " thought sufficient, and that an official no- 
 *' tification of the appointment to India, 
 " which Mr. D. desired, will meet the 
 " wishes of Mr. Devereux. 
 
 " Captain Andrews has the honour to 
 " add his congratulations." 
 
 To Cecil Devereux, Esq. _,, , 
 
 &c. Thursday ■
 
 230 ENNUI. 
 
 Having dispatched this business with a 
 celerity^ that surprised all the parties con- 
 cerned, and most myself, I called at the 
 lodgings of Mr. Devereux, delivered the let- 
 ter to his servant, and left tov^^n. I could 
 not bear to see either Mr. Devereux, or 
 Lady Geraldine. I had the pleasure to 
 hear, that the obtaining this appointment 
 was followed by Lady Kildangan's consent 
 to their marriage. Soon after my return to 
 Glenthorn Castle, I received a letter of 
 warm thanks from Devereux, and a polite 
 postscript from Lady Geraldine, declaring 
 that, though she ftlt much pleasure, she 
 could feel no surprise in seeing her opinion 
 of Lord Glenthorn justified ; persuaded, as 
 she and Mr. Devereux had always been, 
 that only motive and opportunity were 
 wanting, to make his lordship's superior 
 qualities known to the world, and, what is 
 still more difficult, to himself. They left 
 Ireland immediately afterwards, in conse- 
 quence of their appointment in India. 
 
 I was raised in my own estimation — I 
 revelled a short time in my self-complacent 
 reflections; but when nothing more re- 
 mained to be done, or to be said — when the 
 hurry of action^ the novelty of generosity.
 
 ENNUI. '231 
 
 the glow of enthusiasm, and the freshness 
 of gratitude, were over, I felt that, though 
 large motives could now invigorate my 
 mind, I was still a prey to habitual indo- 
 lence, and that I should relapse into mv 
 former state of apathy and disease.
 
 232 ENNUI. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 I REMEMBER to have heard, in some epi* 
 logue to a tragedy, that the tide of pity and 
 of love, whilst it overwhelms, fertilizes the 
 soul. That it may deposit the seeds of fu- 
 ture fertilization, I believe ; but some time 
 must elapse before they germinate : on the 
 first retiring of the tide the prospect is bar- 
 ren and desolate. I was absolutely inert, 
 and almost imbecile for a considerable time, 
 after the extraordinary stimulus, by which I 
 had been actuated, was withdrawn. I was 
 in this state of apathy, when the rebellion 
 broke out in Ireland -, nor w as I roused in 
 the least by the first news of the disturb- 
 ances; the intelligence, however, so much 
 alarmed my English servants, that, wdth 
 one accord, they left me; nothing could 
 persuade them to remain longer in Ireland. 
 The parting with my English gentleman af- 
 fected my lethargic selfishness a little. His
 
 ENNUI. 0,33 
 
 loss would have been grievous to such a 
 helpless being as I was, had not his place 
 been immediately supplied by that half- 
 witted Irishman, Joe Kelly, who had in- 
 gratiated himself with me by a mixture of 
 drollery and simplicity, and by suffering 
 himself to be continually my laughing-stock, 
 for, in imitation of Lady Geraldine, I 
 thought it necessary to have a butt. I re- 
 member he first caught my notice by a 
 strange answer to a very simple question. 
 I asked, " What noise is that I hear?'* — 
 " My lard," said he, «' it is only the sing- 
 ing in my ears^ I have had it these six 
 months." Another time, when I reproached 
 him for having told me a lie, he answered, 
 " Why, now indeed, and plase your honour, 
 my lard, I tell as few lies as possibly I can.*' 
 This fellow, the son of a bricklayer, had 
 originally been intended for a priest, and 
 he went, as he told me, to the College of 
 Maynooth, to study his humanities ; but, 
 unluckily, the charms of some Irish Heloise 
 came between him and the altar. He lived 
 in a cabin on love, till he was weary of his 
 smoke-dried Heloise, and then thought it
 
 234 ENNUI. 
 
 cojivanient to turn sarving man, as he could 
 play on the flute, and brush a coat remark- 
 ably well, which he lamed at Maynooth, by 
 brushing the coats of the superiors. Though 
 he was willing to be laughed at, Joe Kelly 
 could in his turn laugh ; and he now ridi- 
 culed, without mercy, the pusillanimity of 
 the English renegadoeSy as he called the ser- 
 vants who had just left my service. He 
 assured me that, to his knowledge, there 
 was no manner of danger, except a man pre- 
 farred being a/raid of his own shadozv^ which 
 some did, rather than have nothing to talk 
 of, or enter into resolntiojis about, ivith some 
 of the spirited men in the chair. 
 
 Unwilling to be disturbed, I readily be- 
 lieved all that lulled me in my security. I 
 would not be at the trouble of reading the 
 public papers, and when they were read to 
 me, I did not credit any paragraph that mi- 
 litated against my own opinion. Nothing 
 could awaken me. I remember, one day, 
 lying yawning on my sofa, repeating to Mr. 
 M*Leod, who endeavoured to open my eyes 
 to the situation of the country, 
 
 " Pshaw, my dear sir; there is no danger,
 
 ENNUI. 235 
 
 be assured — none at all — none at all. For 
 mercy's sake ! talk to me of something more 
 diverting, if you would keep me awakes 
 time enough to think of these things, when 
 they come nearer to us.** 
 
 Evils that were not immediately near me 
 had no power to affect my imagination. My 
 tenantry had not yet been contaminated by 
 the epidemic infection, which broke out soon 
 after with such violence, as to threaten the 
 total destruction of all civil order. I had 
 lived in England — 1 was unacquainted with 
 the causes and the progress of the disease, 
 and I had no notion of my danger ; all I 
 knew was, that some houses had been rob- 
 bed of arms, and that there was a set of 
 desperate wTetches called defenders j but I 
 was annoijed only by the rout that was now 
 made about them. Having been used to 
 the regular course of justice which pre- 
 vailed in England, I was more shocked at 
 the summary proceedings of my neighbours, 
 than alarmed at the symptoms of insurrec- 
 tion. Whilst my mind v/as in this mood, I 
 was provoked by the conduct of some of the 
 violent party, which wounded my pepsonal
 
 23G ENNUI. 
 
 pride, and infringed upon my imagined con- 
 sequence. My foster-brother's forge was 
 searched for pikes, his house ransacked, his 
 bed and bellows, as possible hiding-places^ 
 were cut open ; by accident, or from private 
 mahce, he received a shot in his arm, and, 
 though not the sHghtest cause of suspicion 
 could be found against him, the party left 
 him with a broken arm, and the consolation 
 of not being sent to jail as a defender. With- 
 out making any allowance for the peculiar 
 circumstances of the country, my indigna- 
 tion was excited in the extreme, by the in- 
 jury done to my foster-brother ^ his suficr- 
 ings, the tears of his mother, the tauntg of 
 Mr. (now Captain) Hardcastle, and the op- 
 position made by his party, called forth all 
 the faculties of my mind and body. The 
 poor fellow, who was the subject of this 
 contest, showed the best disposition ima- 
 ginable; he was excessively grateful tome 
 for interesting myself to get him justice ^ 
 but as soon as he found that parties ran 
 high against me, he earnestly dissuaded me 
 from persisting. 
 
 ^' Let it drop, and /;/a.y^ your honour; my
 
 ENNUI. 237 
 
 lord, let it drop, and don't be making of 
 yourself inimies for the likes of me. Sure, 
 what signifies my arm ? and, before the next 
 assizes, sha'n*t 1 be as well as ever, arm and 
 all ?" continued he, trying to appear to move 
 the arm without pain. " And there's the 
 new bellows your honour has give me ; it 
 does my heart good to look at 'em, and it 
 won't be long before I will be blowing them 
 again as stout as ever; and so God bless 
 your honour, my lord, and think no more 
 about it — let it drop entirely, and don't be 
 bringing yourself into trouble." 
 
 *' Ay, don't be bringing yourself into 
 trouble, dear," added Ellinor, who seemed 
 half-distracted between her feelings for her 
 son, and her fears for me ; " it's a shame to 
 think of the way they've treated Christy — 
 but there's no help now, and it's best not to 
 be making bad worse ; and so, as Christy 
 says, let the thing drop, jewel, and don't be 
 bringing yourself into trouble ; you don't 
 know the natur of them people, dear — you 
 are too innocent for them entirely, and my- 
 self does not know the mischief they might 
 do veesy 
 
 True for ye," pursued Christy; *' I 

 
 238 ENNUI. 
 
 wouldn't for the best cow ever I see, that 
 your honour ever larn't a sentence about me 
 or my arm ; and it is not for such as we to 
 be minding every little accident — so God 
 lend you long life, and don't be plaguing 
 yourself to death; let it drop, and I'll sleep 
 well the night, which I did not do the week, 
 for thinking of all the trouble you got, and 
 would get, God presarve ye." 
 
 This generous fellow's eloquence produced 
 an effect directly contrary to what was in- 
 tended ; both my feelings and my pride were 
 now more warmly interested in his cause. I 
 insisted upon his swearing examinations be- 
 fore Mr. M'Leod, who was a justice of the 
 peace. Mr. M'Leod behaved with the ut- 
 most steadiness and impartiality ; and in this 
 trying moment, when " it was infamy to 
 seem my friend," he defended my conduct 
 calmly, but resolutely, in private and in 
 public, and gave his unequivocal testimony, 
 in few but decided words, in favour of my 
 injured tenant. I should have respected 
 Mr. M'Leod more, if I had not attributed 
 this conduct to his desire of being returned 
 for one of my boroughs at the approaching 
 election. He endeavoured, with persever-
 
 ENNUI. 239 
 
 ing goodness, to convince me of the reality 
 of the danger in the country. My eyes 
 were with much difficulty forced open so 
 far as to perceive, that it was necessary to 
 take an active part in public affairs to vin- 
 dicate my loyalty, and to do away the pre- 
 judices that were entertained against me; 
 nor did my incredulity, as to the magnitude 
 of the peril, prevent me from making exer- 
 tions essential to the defence of my own 
 character, if not to that of the nation. How 
 few act from purely patriotic and rational 
 motives ! At all events I acted, and acted 
 with energy ; and certainly at this period 
 of my life I felt no ennui. Party-spirit is 
 an effectual cure for ennui ; and, perhaps, 
 it is for this reason, that so many are ad- 
 dicted to its intemperance. All my pas- 
 sions were roused, and my mind and body 
 kept in continual activity. I was either 
 galloping, or haranguing, or fearing, or 
 hoping, or fighting ; and so long as it was 
 said, that I could not sleep in my bed, 
 J slept remarkably well, and never had so 
 good an appetite, as when I was in hourly 
 danger of having nothing to eat. The re- 
 bels ivere up, and Ihe rebels were doivn — and
 
 240 ENNUI. 
 
 Lord Glenthorn's spirited conduct in the 
 chair, and indefatigable exertions in the 
 field, were the theme of daily eulogium 
 amongst my convivial companions and im- 
 mediate dependants. But, unfortunately, 
 my sudden activity gained me no credit 
 amongst the violent party of my neigh- 
 bours, who persisted in their suspicions; 
 and my reputation was now still more in- 
 jured, by the alternate charge of being a 
 trimmer or a traitor. Nay, 1 was further 
 exposed to another danger, of which, from 
 my ignorance of the country, I could not 
 possibly be aware. The disaffected them- 
 selves, as I afterwards found, really believed, 
 that, as I had not begun by persecuting the 
 poor, I must be a favourer of the rebels ; 
 and all that I did to bring the guilty to jus- 
 tice, they thought was only to give a colour 
 to the thing, till the proper moment should 
 come for my declaring myself. Of this ab- 
 surd and perverse mode of judging I had 
 not the slightest conception ; and I only 
 laughed when it was hinted to me. My 
 treating the matter so lightly confirmed 
 suspicion on both sides. At this time all 
 objects were so magnified and distorted by
 
 ENKUr. 241 
 
 the mist of prejudice, that no inexperienced 
 eye could judge of their real proportions, 
 — Neither party could believe the simple 
 truth, that my tardiness to act arose from 
 the habitual inertia of my mind and body. 
 
 Whilst prepossessions were thus strong, 
 the time, the important time, in Ireland the 
 most important season of the year, the as- 
 sizes, arrived. My foster-brother's cause, 
 or, as it was now generally called, Lord 
 Glenthorns cause, came on to be tried. I 
 spared no expense, I spared no exertions : 
 I feed the ablest counsel -, and not content 
 with leaving them to be instructed by my 
 attorney, I explained the affair to them my- 
 self with indefatigable zeal. One of the 
 lawyers, whom I had seen, or by whom I 
 had been seen, in my former inert state of 
 existence, at some watering-place in Eng- 
 land, could not refrain from expressing his 
 astonishment at my change of character: 
 he could scarcely bilieve that I was the 
 same Lord Glenthorn, of whose indolence 
 and ennui he had formerly heard and seen 
 ^so much. 
 
 Alas ! all my activity, all my energy, on 
 VOL. I. M
 
 Q42 ENNUI. 
 
 the present occasion, proved ineffectual. — ■ 
 After a dreadful quantity of false swearing, 
 the jury professed themselves satisfied ; and, 
 without retiring from the box, acquitted the 
 persons who had assaulted my foster-bro- 
 ther. The mortification of this legal defeat 
 was not all that I had to endure ; the vic- 
 torious party mobbed me, as I passed some 
 time afterwards through a neighbouring 
 town, where Captain Hardcastle and his 
 friends had been carousing. I was hooted, 
 and pelted, and narrowly escaped with my 
 life. / who, but a few months ago, had 
 imagined myself possessed of nearly despotic 
 power: but opinions had changed; and, 
 on opinion, almost all power is founded. 
 No individual, unless he possess uncommon 
 eloquence. Joined to personal intrepidity, 
 can withstand the combination of numbers, 
 and the force of prejudice. 
 
 Such was the result of my first public ex- 
 ertions ! Yet I was now happier and better 
 satisfied with myself than I had ever been 
 before. I was not only conscious of having 
 acted in a manly and generous manner ; but- 
 the alarms of the rebels, and of the French,
 
 ENNUI. ,243 
 
 and of the loyalists ; and the parading, and 
 the galloping, and the quarrelling, and the 
 continual agitation in which I was kept, 
 whilst my character and life were at stake, 
 relieved me effectually from the intolerable 
 burden of ennui. 
 
 M 2
 
 244 ENNUI, 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 " And for the book of knowledge fair 
 " Presented with an universal blank 
 ** Of Nature's works to mc expunged and rased" 
 
 Unfortunately for mc, the rebellion in Ire- 
 land was soon quelled ; the nightly scouring 
 of our county ceased ; the poor people re- 
 turned to their duty and their homes ; the 
 occupation of upstart and ignorant associ- 
 ators ceased, and their consequence sunk 
 at once. Things and persons settled to their 
 natural level. The influence of men of pro- 
 perty, and birth, and education, and cha- 
 racter, once more prevailed. The spirit of 
 party ceased to operate : my neighbours 
 wakened, as if from a dream, and wondered 
 at the strange injustice with which I had 
 been treated. Those who had lately been 
 my combined enemies were disunited, and 
 each was eager to assure me, that he had 
 akvays been privately my friend, but that he 
 was compelled to conceal his sentiments :
 
 ENNUI. L>4.'; 
 
 each exculpated himself, and threw the 
 blame on others : all apologised to me, and 
 professed to be my most devoted humble 
 servants. My popularity, my power, and 
 my prosperit}^, were now at their zenith, 
 luifortunafelij for me : because my adversity 
 had not lasted long enough to form and 
 season my character. I had been driven to 
 exertion by a mixture of pride and gene- 
 rosity : my understanding being unculti- 
 vated, I had acted from the virtuous im- 
 pulse of the moment, but never from ra- 
 tional motive, which alone can be perma- 
 nent in its operation. When the spur of 
 the occasion pressed upon me no longer, I 
 relapsed into my former inactivity. When 
 the great interests and strong passions, by 
 which 1 had been impelled to exertion, sub- 
 sided, all other feelings, and all less objects, 
 seemed stale, flat, and unprofitable. For 
 the tranquillity, which I was now left to 
 enjoy, I had no taste ; it appeared to me a 
 dead calm, most spiritless and melancholy. 
 I remember hearing, some years after- 
 wards, a Frenchman, who had been in im- 
 minent danger of being guillotined by Ro- 
 bespierre, and who, at last, was one of
 
 ^46 ENNUl. 
 
 those who arrested the tyrant, declare, that 
 when the bustle and horrour of the revolu- 
 tion were over, he could hardly keep him- 
 self awake ; and that he thought it very in- 
 sipid to live in quiet with his wife and fa- 
 tnily. He further summed up the cata- 
 logue of Robespierre's crimes, by exclaim- 
 ing, *' d'ailleurs c'etoit uii grand philan- 
 trope 1" I am not conscious of any disposi- 
 tion to cruelty, and I heard this man's 
 speech with disgust; yet, upon a candid 
 self-examination, I must confess, that I 
 have felt, though from different causes, 
 some degree of what he described. Per- 
 haps ennui may have had a share in creating 
 revolutions. A French author pronounces 
 ennui to be *' a moral indigestion, caused 
 by a monotony of situations !'* 
 
 I had no wife or family to make domestic 
 life agreeable ; nor was I inclined to a se- 
 cond marriage, my first had proved so un- 
 fortunate, and the recollection of my dis- 
 appointment with Lady Geraldine was so 
 recent. Even the love of power no longer 
 acted upon me : my power was now un- 
 disputed. My jealousy and suspicions of 
 my agent, Mr. M'Leod, were about this
 
 ENNUI. 247 
 
 time completely conquered, by his beha- 
 viour at a general election. I perceived, 
 that he had no underhand design upon my 
 boroughs ; and that he never attempted or 
 wished to interfere in my affairs, except at 
 my particular desire. My confidence in 
 him became absolute and unbounded ; but 
 this v^as really a misfortune to me, for it 
 became the cause of my having still less to 
 do. I gave up all business, and from all 
 manner of trouble I was now free : yet I 
 became more and more unhappy, and my 
 nervous complaints returned. I was not 
 aware, that I was taking the very means to 
 increase my own disease. The philosophical 
 Dr. Cullen observes, that 
 
 ^' Whatever aversion to application of any 
 kind may appear in hypochondriacs, there 
 is nothing more pernicious to them than 
 absolute idleness, or a vacancy from all 
 earnest pursuit. It is owing to wealth ad- 
 mitting of indolence, and leading to the 
 pursuit of transitory and unsatisfying amuse- 
 ments, or exhausting pleasures only, that 
 the present times exhibit to us so many in- 
 stances of hypochondriacism." 
 
 I fancied that change of air and change
 
 248 ENNUI. 
 
 of place would do me good ; and, as it was 
 fine summer weather, I projected various 
 parties of pleasure. The Giant's Cause- 
 way, and the Lake of Ki Harney, were the 
 only things I had ever heard mentioned as 
 worth seeing in Ireland. T suffered myself 
 to be carried into the county of Antrim, 
 and I saw the Giant's Causeway. From the 
 description given by Dr. Hamilton of some 
 of these wonders of nature, the reader may 
 judge how much I ought to have been asto- 
 nished and delighted. 
 
 In the bold promontory of Bengore, you 
 behold, as you look up from the sea, a gi- 
 gantic colonnade of basal tes, supporting a 
 black mass of irregular rock, over which 
 rises another range of pillars, " forming al- 
 together a perpendicular height of one hun- 
 dred and seventy feet, from the base of 
 which the promontory, covered over with 
 rock and grass, slopes down to the sea, for 
 the space of two hundred feet more : mak- 
 ing, in all, a mass of near four hundred feet 
 in height, which, in the l:>eauty and variety 
 of its colouring, in elegance and novelty of 
 arrangement, and in the extraordinary mag- 
 nificence of its objects, cannot be rivalled."
 
 ENNUI. 249 
 
 Yet I was seized with a fit of j^awning, 
 as I sat in my pleasure-boat, to admire this 
 subhme spectacle. I looked at my watch, 
 observed that we should be late for dinner, 
 and grew impatient to be rowed back to 
 the place w here we were to dine : not that 
 I was hungry, but I wanted to be again set 
 in motion. Neither science nor taste ex- 
 panded my view ; and I saw nothing w^orthy 
 of my admiration, or capable of giving me 
 pleasure. The watching a straw floating 
 down the tide was the only amusement I 
 recollect to have enjoyed upon this excur- 
 sion. 
 
 I was assured,however,by Lady Ormsby, 
 that 1 could not help being enchanted with 
 the lake of Killarney. The party was ar- 
 ranged by this lady, who, having the pre- 
 ceding summer seen me captivated by Lady 
 Geraldine, and pitying ni\^ disappointment 
 had formed the obhging design of restoring 
 my spirits, and marrying me to one of her 
 near relations. She calculated, that, as I 
 had been charmed by Lady Geraldine's 
 vivacity, I must be enchanted with the fine 
 spirits of Lady Jocunda Lawler. So far 
 were the thoughts of marriage from my 
 
 M 5
 
 250 ENNtri. 
 
 imagination, that I only was sorry to find 
 a young lady smuggled into our party, be- 
 cause I was afraid she would he trouble- 
 some : but I resolved to be quite passive 
 upon all occasions, where attentions to the 
 fair sex are sometimes expected. My arm, 
 or my hand, or my assistance, in any man- 
 ner, I was determined not to offer : the 
 lounging indifference, which some fashion- 
 able young men affect towards ladies, I 
 really felt^ and, besides, nobody minds un- 
 married women ! This fashion was most 
 convenient to my indolence. In my state 
 of torpor I was not, however, long left in 
 peace. Lady Jocunda was a high-bred 
 romp, who made it a rule to say and do 
 whatever she pleased. In a hundred indi- 
 rect ways I was called upon to admire her 
 charming spirits ; but the rattling voice, 
 loud laughter, flippant wit, and hoyden 
 gaiety of Lady Jocunda, disgusted me be- 
 yond expression. A thousand times on the 
 journey I wished myself quietly asleep in 
 my own castle. Arrived at Killarney, such 
 blowing of horns, such boating, such see- 
 ing of prospects, such prosing of guides, all 
 telling us what to admire. Then such ex-
 
 ENNUI. 251 
 
 clamations, and such clambering. I was 
 walked and talked till I was half dead. I 
 wished the rocks, and the hanging w^oods, 
 and the glens, and the water-falls, and the 
 arbutus, and the myrtles, and the upper 
 and lower lakes, and the islands, and Mu- 
 cruss, and Mucruss Abbey, and the purple 
 mountain, and the eagle's nest, and the 
 grand Turk, and the lights, and the shades, 
 and the echoes, and, above all, the Lady 
 Jocunda, fairly at the devil. 
 
 A nobleman in the neighbourhood had 
 the politeness to invite us to see a stag hunt 
 upon the water. The account of this di- 
 version, which I had met with in my Guide 
 to the Lakes *, promised well. I consented 
 
 * " The stag is roused from the woods that skirt 
 '* Glenaa mountain, in which there are many of these 
 " animals that run wild ; the bottoms and sides of the 
 " mountains are covered with woods, and the declivi- 
 " ties are so long and steep, that no horse could either 
 " make his way to the bottom, or climb these imprac- 
 " ticable hills. It is impossible to follow the hunt, 
 " either by land or on horseback. The spectator en - 
 '* joys the diversion on the lake, where the cry of ^ 
 " hounds, the harmony of the horn, resounding from 
 " the hills on every side, the universal shouts of joy
 
 2.5'2 ENNUI. 
 
 to stay another day ; that day I really was 
 revived by this spectacle, for it vias new. 
 
 " along the valleys and mountains, which are often 
 " lined with foot people, who come in vast numbers to 
 *' partake and assist at the diversion, i*e-echo from hill 
 *' to hill, and give the highest glee and satisfaction, 
 ** that the imagination can conceive possible to arise 
 " from the chase, and perhaps can nowhere be enjoyed 
 " with that spirit and sublime elevation of soul, that a 
 " thoroughbred sportsman feels at a stag-hunt on the 
 '* lake of Killarney. There is, however, one imminent 
 " danger, which awaits him, that in his raptures and 
 " ecstasies he may forget himself, and jump out of the 
 *' boat. When hotly pursued, and weary with the con- 
 *' slant difficulty of making his way with his ramified 
 *' antlers through the woods, tlie stag, terrified by the 
 " cry of his open-mouthed pursuers, almost at his heels, 
 " now looks towards the lake as his last resource — then 
 " pauses and looks upwards ; but the hills are insur- 
 " mountable, and the woods refuse to shelier him — 
 " the bounds roar with redoubled fury at the sight of 
 " their victim— he plunges into the lake. He escapes 
 *♦ but for a few minutes from one merciless enemy to 
 '* fall into the hands of another — the shouting boatmen 
 " surround their victim, throw cords round his majestic 
 ** antlers— he is haltered and dragged to shore ; while 
 " the big tears roll down his face, and his heaving sides 
 ** and panting flanks speak his agonies, the keen search- 
 ♦♦ ing knife drinks his blood, and savages exult at his 
 " expiring groau/'
 
 ENNUI. 253 
 
 The sublime and the beautiful had no 
 charms for me : novelty was the only power, 
 that could waken me from my lethargy ; 
 perhaps there was in this spectacle some- 
 thing more than novelty. The Romans 
 had recourse to shows of wild beasts and 
 gladiators to relieve their ennui. At all 
 events, I was kept awake this whole morn- 
 ing, though I cannot say, that I felt in 
 s2icJi ecstasies, as to be in any imminent dan- 
 ger of jumping out of the boat. 
 
 Of our journey back from Killarney I re- 
 member nothing, but my being discomfited, 
 by Lady Jocunda's practical jests and over- 
 powering gaiety. When she addressed her- 
 self to me, my answers were as constrained 
 and as concise as possible ; and, as I was 
 afterwards told, I seemed, at the close of my 
 reply to each interrogative of her ladyship*s, 
 to answer with Oden's prophetess, 
 
 " Now my weary lips I close ; 
 " Leave me, leave me to repose." 
 
 This she never did till we parted ; and at that 
 moment, I believe, my satisfaction appeared 
 so visible, that Lady Ormsby gave up all 
 hopes of me. Arrived at my own castle, I 
 threw myself on my becl quite exhausted. I
 
 ^54 ENNUI. 
 
 took three hours' additional sleep every day, 
 for a week, to recruit my strength, and rest 
 my nerves, after all that I had been made to 
 suffer by this young lady's prodigious animal 
 spirits.
 
 ENNUI, 255 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 I COULD now boast that I had travelled all 
 over Ireland, from north to south, but, in 
 fact, I had seen nothing of the country, or of 
 its inhabitants. In these commodious parties 
 of pleasure, everything had been provided to 
 prevent the obstacles that roused my faculties. 
 Accustomed by this time to the Hibernian 
 tone, I fancied that I knew all that could be 
 known of the Irish character; familiarized 
 with the comic expressions of the lower class 
 of people, they amused me no longer. On 
 this journey, however, I recollect making one 
 observation, and once laughing at what I 
 thought a practical bull. We saw a number 
 of labourers at work in a bog, on a very hot 
 day, with a fire lighted close to them. When 
 I afterwards mentioned, before Mr. M'Leod, 
 this circumstance which I had thought ab- 
 surd, he informed me, that the Irish la- 
 bourers often light fires, that the smoke 
 may drive away or destroy those myriads of
 
 9,56 ENNUI. 
 
 tiny insects, called midges^ by which they 
 are often tormented so much, that without 
 this remedy, the\^ would, in hot and damp 
 weather, be obliged to abandon their work. 
 Had I been sufficiently active during myjour- 
 ney to pen ajournal, I should certainly, with- 
 out further inquiry, have noted down, that 
 the Irish labourers always light fires in the 
 hottest weather to cool themselves, and thus 
 I should have added one more to the number 
 of cursory travellers, who expose their own 
 ignorance, whilst they attempt to ridicule lo- 
 cal customs, of which they have not inquired 
 the cause or discovered the utility. 
 
 A foreigner, wdio has lately written letters 
 on England, has. given a laughable instance 
 of this promptitude of misapprehension. 
 
 He says, he had heard much of the venal- 
 ity of British parliament, but he had no idea 
 of the degree to which it extended, till he 
 actually was an eye-witness of the scene. The 
 moment the minister entered the house, all 
 the members ran about exclaiming. Places ! 
 places ! which means. Give us places — give 
 us places. 
 
 My heavy indolence fortunately preserved 
 me from exposing myself, like these volatile
 
 ENNUI. 257 
 
 tourists. I was at least secure from the dan- 
 ger of making mistakes in telling what I 
 never saw. 
 
 As to the mode of living of the Irish, their 
 domestic comforts, or grievances ; their ha- 
 bits and opinions ; their increasing or de- 
 creasing ambition to better their condition; 
 the proportion between the population and 
 the quantity of land cultivated, or capable of 
 cultivation ; the difference between the pro- 
 fits of the husbandman and the artificer; the 
 relation between the nominal wages of labour, 
 and the actual command over the necessaries 
 of life : these were questions wholly foreign 
 to my thoughts, and, at this period of my 
 life, absolutely beyond the range of my un- 
 derstanding. 1 had travelled through my own 
 country, without making even a single re- 
 mark upon the various degrees of industry 
 and civilization visible in different parts of 
 the kingdom. In fact, it never occurred to 
 me, that it became a British nobleman to have 
 some notion of the general state of that em- 
 pire, in the legislation of which he has a 
 share ; nor had I the slightest suspicion, that 
 political economy was a study requisite or 
 suitable to my rank in life or situation in so
 
 2158 ENNUI. 
 
 ciety. Satisfied with having seen all that is 
 worth seeing in Ireland, the Giant*s Cause- 
 way and the Lake of Killarney, I was now 
 impatient to return to England. During the 
 rebellion, I could not, with honour, desert my 
 post ; but now that tranquillity was appa- 
 rently restored, I determined to quit a coun- 
 try, of which my partial knowledge had in 
 every respect been unfortunate. This reso- 
 lution of mine to leave Ireland threw Ellinor 
 into despair, and she used all her eloquence 
 to dissuade me from the journey. I was quite 
 surprised by the agony of grief, into which 
 she was thrown by the dread of my departure. 
 I felt astonished, that one human being could 
 be so much attached to another, and I really 
 envied her sensibility. My new man, Joe 
 Kelly, also displayed much reluctance at the 
 thoughts of leaving his native country ; and 
 this sentiment inclined Eilinor to think more 
 favourably ofhim, though she could not quite 
 forgive him for being a Kelly of Ballymuddy. 
 " Troth," said she to him one day, in my 
 presence, " none of them Kelly's of Bally- 
 muddy but what are a bad clan ! Joey, is 
 not there your own broder^s uncle lying in 
 the jail of ******** at this present time
 
 KXNUI. '259 
 
 for the murder of a woman.*' — *' Well," re- 
 plied Joe, " and if he was so unfortunate to 
 be put 7tp, which was not asij done neither, 
 is not it better and more creditabler to lie 
 in jail for a murder than a robbery, I ask 
 you ?** — This new scale of crimes surprised 
 me, but Joe spoke what was the sense of 
 many of his countrymen at that period. 
 
 By various petty attentions, this man con- 
 trived to persuade me of the sincerity of his 
 attachment: chiefly by the art of appearing 
 to be managed by me in all things, he insen- 
 sibly obtained power over my pride; and, by 
 saving me daily trouble, secured considerable 
 influence over my indolence. More than any 
 one whom I had ever seen, he had the knack 
 of seeming half-witted : too simple to over- 
 reach, and yet sufficiently acute and droll to 
 divert his master. I liked to have him about 
 me, as uncultivated kings like to have their 
 fools. One of our ancient monarchs is said 
 to have given three parishes to his Joe ii la for j 
 I gave only three farms to mine. I had a sort 
 of mean pride in making my favourite an ob- 
 ject of envy : besides, I fell into the common 
 mistake of the inexperienced great, who 
 fancy that attachment can be purchased, and
 
 ^i60 ENNUI. 
 
 that gratitude can be secured, by favours dis- 
 proportioned to deserts. Joe Kelly, by sun- 
 dry manoeuvres too minute for description , 
 contrived to make me delay, from day to day, 
 the preparations for my journey to England. 
 From week to week it was put off, till the 
 autumn was far advanced. At length Kelly 
 had nothing left to suggest, but that it would 
 be best to wait for answers fi'om my English 
 steward, to the letters that had been written 
 to inquire whether every thing was ready for 
 my reception. During this interval, I avoid- 
 ed every human creature (except Joe Kelly), 
 and was in great danger of becoming a mis- 
 anthrope from mere indolence. I did not 
 hate my fellow-creatures, but I dreaded the 
 trouble of talking to them. My only re- 
 creation, at this period, was sauntering out 
 in the evening beside the sea shore. It was 
 my regular practice to sit down upon a cer- 
 tain large stone, at the foot of a rock, to 
 watch the ebbinc: of the tide. There was 
 something in the contemplation of the sea 
 and of the tides, which was fascinating to 
 my mind. I could sit and look at the ocean 
 whole hours together ; for, without any ex- 
 ertion of my own, I beheld a grand opera-
 
 £nnui. S61 
 
 tion of nature, accompanied with a sort of 
 vast monotony of motion and sound, which 
 lulled me into reverie. 
 
 Late one evening, as I was seated on my 
 accustomed stone, my attention was slightly 
 diverted from the sea by the sight of a man 
 descending the crag above me, in rather a 
 perilous manner. With one end of a rope 
 coiled round his body, and the other fastened 
 to a stake driven into the summit of the rock, 
 he let himself half way down the terrible 
 height. One foot now rested on a project- 
 ing point, one hand held the rope, and hang- 
 ing thus midway in the air, he seemed busy 
 searching in the crevices of the rock for the 
 eggs of water fowl. This dangerous trade I 
 had seen frequently pHed on this coast, so 
 that I should scarcely have regarded the man, 
 if he had not turned, from time to time, as if 
 to watch me. When he saw that he had 
 fixed my eye, he threw down, as I thought, 
 a white stone, which fell nearly at my feet. 
 I stooped to examine it ; the man waited till 
 he saw it in mv hands, then coiled himself 
 swiftly up his rope to the summit of the 
 rock, and disappeared. I found a paper 
 tied round the stone, and on this paper, in a
 
 ^6^ ^ ENNUI. 
 
 hand-writing that seemed to be feigned, were 
 written these words : — 
 
 " YourHfe and caracter, one or t'other — 
 say both, is in danger. Don't be walking 
 here any more late in the evening, near them 
 caves, nor don't go near the old abbey any 
 time — And don't be trusti ng to Joe Kelly any 
 way — Lave the kingdom entirely ; the wind 
 sarves. 
 
 " So prays your true well-wisher. 
 
 " P. S. Lave the castle the morrow, and 
 say nothing of this to Joe Kelly, or you'll 
 repent when it's all over wid you." 
 
 I was startled a little by this letter at first, 
 but in half an hour I relapsed into my apa- 
 thy. Many gentlemen in the country had 
 received anonymous letters : I had been tired 
 of hearing of them during the rebellion. 
 This, I thought, might be only a quiz, or a 
 trick to hurry me out of the kingdom, con- 
 trived by some of those who desired my ab- 
 sence. In short, the labour of tli ink ine, about 
 the matter fatigued me. I burned the letter 
 as soon as I got home, and resolved not to 
 puzzle or plague myself about it any more. 
 My steward's answer came the next morn- 
 ing from England : Kelly made no difficulty.
 
 ENNUI. 2t63 
 
 when I ordered him to be ready to set out 
 in three days. This confirmed me in my 
 opinion, that the letter was malicious, or a 
 jest. Mr. M'Leod came to take leave of 
 me. I mentioned the circumstance to him 
 slightly, and in general terms : he looked 
 very serious, and said — 
 
 " All these things are little in themselves, 
 but are to be heeded, as marking the unset- 
 tled minds of the people — straws, that show 
 which way the wind blows. I apprehend we 
 shall have a rough winter again, though we 
 have had so still a summer. The people 
 about us are too hush and too prudent — it is 
 not their natures — there's something contriv- 
 ing among them : they don't break one an- 
 other's heads at fairs as they used to do; they 
 keep from whiskey; there must be some 
 strong motive working this change upon them 
 — good or bad, 'tis hard to say which. My 
 lord, if we consider the condition of these 
 poor people, and if we consider the causes — " 
 
 " Oh ! for Heaven's sake, do not let us 
 consider any more about it now ; I am more 
 than half asleep already," said I, yawning, 
 " and our considering about it can do no 
 good, to me at least ; for you know I am
 
 264 ENNUI. 
 
 going out of the kingdom ; and when I am 
 gone, M'Leod, you, in whom I have impHcit 
 confidence, must manage as you always used 
 to do, you know, and as well as you can." 
 
 ** True," said M'Leod calmly,^* that is 
 what I shall do, indubitably ; for that is my 
 duty ; and, since your lordship has implicit 
 confidence in me, my pleasure. I wish 
 your lordship a good night and a good 
 journey." 
 
 ^^ I shall not set out in the morning — not 
 till the day after to-morrow, I believe," said I, 
 *' for I feel consumedly tired to night: they 
 have plagued me about so many things to 
 day; so much business always before one 
 can get away from a place ; and then Joe 
 Kelly has no head." 
 
 ** Have a care he has not too much head, 
 my lord, as your anonymous correspondent 
 hints — he may be right there — I told you 
 from the first I would not go security for 
 Joe Kelly's honesty ; and where there is not 
 strict honesty, I conceive there ought not 
 to be implicit confidence." 
 
 '* O, hang it ! as to honesty, they are none 
 of them honest ; I know that : but would 
 you have me plague myself till I find a
 
 ENNLI. 265 
 
 Strictly honest servant ? Joe's as honest as 
 his neighbours, I dare say: the fellow diverts 
 rne, and is attached to me, and that's all I 
 can expect. I must submit to be cheated, as 
 all men of large fortunes are, more or less." 
 
 Mr. IVPLeod listened with stubborn pa- 
 tience, and replied. That if I thought it ne- 
 cessary to submit to be cheated, he could 
 make no objection, except where it might 
 come under his cognizance, and then he 
 must take the liberty to remonstrate, or to 
 give up his agency to some of the many, 
 who could play better than he could the part 
 of the dog in the fable, pretending to guard 
 his master's meat. 
 
 The cold ungracious integrity of this man, 
 even in my own cause, at once excited my 
 spleen and commanded my respect. After 
 shaking my leg as I sat for two minutes in. 
 silence, I called after M'Leod, who moved 
 towards the door, 
 
 " Why, what can I do, Mr. M*Leod ? 
 What would you have me do ? Now, don't 
 give me one of your dry answers, but let me 
 have your notions as a friend : you know, 
 M^Leod, I'cannot help having the most 
 perfect confidence in you." 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 ^i66 ENNUL 
 
 He bowed, but rather stiffly. 
 
 ''lam proud to hear you cannot help that, 
 my lord/* said he. '' As to a friend, I never 
 considered myself upon that footing till now : 
 but as you at present honour me so far as to 
 ask my counsel, I am free to give it. Part 
 wn th Joe Kelly to night ; and whether you go 
 or stay, you are safer without him. Joe's a 
 rogue: he can do no good, and may do 
 harm.'* 
 
 " Then,** said I, " you are really fright- 
 ened by this anonymous letter?** 
 
 " Cannot a man take prudent precautions 
 without he is frightened?'* said M'Leod. 
 
 " But have you any particular reason to 
 believe — in short to — to think, there can be 
 any real danger for my life?'* 
 
 " No particular reason, my lord^ but the 
 general reasons I have mentioned, the sym- 
 ptoms among the common people lead me to 
 apprehend there may be fresh risings of the 
 people soon, and you, as a man of fortune 
 and rank, must be in danger. Captain I lard- 
 castle says, that he has had informations of 
 seditious meetings ; but he being a prej udiced 
 man, I don't trust altogether to what he 
 says.'*
 
 ^NNUI. 267 
 
 ^* Trust altogether to what he says!'* ex- 
 claimed I: "no, surely; for my part, I 
 do not trust a word he says : and his giving 
 it as his opinion that the people are ill-in- 
 clined, would decide me to believe the exact 
 contrary.'* 
 
 ''It would hardly be safe to judge that way 
 either,'* said M'Leod; '' for that method of 
 judging by contraries might make another's 
 folly the master of one's own sense." 
 
 " I don't comprehend you now. Safe way 
 of judging or not, Captain Hardcastle's opi- 
 nion shall never lead mine. When I asked 
 for your advice, Mr. M'Leod, it was because 
 I have a respect for your understanding; but 
 I cannot defer to Captain Hardcastle's. I 
 am now decided in my own opinion, that the 
 people in this neighbourhood are perfectly 
 well disposed : and as to this anonymous let^ 
 ter, it is a mere trick, depend upon it, my 
 good sir. I am surprised that a man of your 
 capacity should be the dupe of such a thing. 
 I should not be surprised if Hardcastle him- 
 self, or some of his people, wrote it," 
 
 " I should," said M'Leod, coolly. 
 
 *' You should!" cried I, warmly. '' Why 
 50 ? And why do 3^011 pronounce so decidedl}'. 
 
 N ^2
 
 ^68 ENNUI. 
 
 my good friend ? Have not I the same means 
 of judging as you have? unless, indeed, you 
 have some private reason with which I am 
 unacquainted. Perhaps," cried I, starting 
 half up from the sofa on which I lay, charmed 
 with a bright idea, which had just struck me, 
 ^^ perhaps, M'Leod, you wrote the letter 
 yourself for a jest. Did you ?" 
 
 "That's a question, my lord,"saidM'Leod, 
 growing suddenly red, and snatching up his 
 hat with a quicker motion than I ever saw 
 from him before, " That's a question, my 
 lord, which I must take leave not to answer : 
 a question, give me leave to add, my Lord 
 Glenthorn," continued he, speaking in a 
 broader Scotch accent than I had ever heard 
 from him before, " which I should knock my 
 equal doon for putting to me. A M'Leod, 
 my lord, in jest or in earnest, would scorn to 
 write to any man breathing that letter to 
 which he would not put his name : and more, 
 a MT^eod would scorn to write or to say that 
 thing, to which he ought not to put his name. 
 Your humble servant, my Lord Glenthorn," 
 said he, and making a hasty bow, departed. 
 
 1 called after liim, and even followed him 
 to the head of the stairs, to explain and apo-
 
 ENNUI. 269 
 
 logise; but in vain: I never saw him angry 
 before. 
 
 *' It's very weel, my lord, it's very weel; if 
 you say you meant nothing offensive, it's very 
 weel ; but, if you think fit, my lord, we will 
 sleep upon it before we talk any more. I am 
 a wee bit warmer than I could wish, and your 
 lordship has the advantage of me, in being 
 cool. A M*Leod is apt to grow warm, when 
 he's touched on the point of honour; and 
 there's no wisdom in talking when a man's 
 not his own master." 
 
 « My good friend,'* said I, seizing his 
 hand as he was buttoning up his coat, ** I like 
 you the better for this warmth : but I won't 
 let you sleep upon your wrath : you must 
 shake hands with me before that hall-door is 
 opened to you." 
 
 " Then so I do, for there's no standing 
 against this frankness: and to be as frank 
 with you, my lord, I was wrong myself to be 
 so testy — I ask pardon too. A M'Leod 
 never thought it a disgrace to crave a pardon 
 when he was wrong." 
 
 We shook hands, and parted better friends 
 than ever. I spoke the exact truth when I 
 said, that I liked him the better for his
 
 ^70 ENNUI. 
 
 warmth: his anger wakened me, and gave 
 me something to think of, and some emo-^ 
 tion for a few minutes. Joe Kelly presently 
 afterwards came, with the simplest face ima- 
 ginable, to inquire what I had determined 
 about the journey. 
 
 *' To put it off till the day after to mor- 
 row/* said I. " Light me to bed." 
 
 He obeyed, but observed, that *' it was 
 not his fault now if there was puttings-oif j 
 for his share every thing was ready, and he 
 was willing and ready to follow me, at a mo- 
 ment's warning, to the world's end, as he had 
 a good right to do, let alone inclination; for, 
 parting me, he could never be right in him- 
 self; and though loth to part his country, he 
 had rather part that nor^ me.** 
 
 Then without dwelling upon these expres- 
 sions of attachment, he changed to a merry 
 mood, and, by his drolleries, diverted me 
 all the time I was going to bed, and at last 
 fairly talked me asleep. 
 
 * Than.
 
 ENNUI. 271 
 
 CHAPTER X\'. 
 
 When the first gray light of morning began 
 to make objects indistinctly visible, I thought 
 I saw the door of my apartment open very 
 softly. I was broad awake, and kept my 
 eyes fixed upon it — it opened by very slow 
 degrees ; my head was so full of visions, that 
 I expected a ghost to enter — but it was only 
 Ellinor. 
 
 "Ellinor,'* cried I, ** is ityou, at this time 
 in the morning ?'* 
 
 " Hush ! hush 1 " said she, shutting the 
 door with great precaution, and then coming 
 on tiptoe close to my bed-side; " for the 
 love of God speak softly, and make no stir 
 to awake them that's asleep near and too near 
 you. It's unknown to all that I come up ; for^ 
 may be, when them people are awake and 
 about I might not get the opportunity to 
 speak, or they might guess I knew something 
 by my looks." 
 
 Her looks were full of terrour — I was all 
 amazement and expectation. Before she 
 would say a word more, she searched the
 
 27^ ENNUI. 
 
 closets carefully, and looked behind the 
 tapestry, as if she apprehended that she 
 might be overheard j satisfied that we were 
 alone, she went on speaking, but still in a 
 voice that, with my utmost strained atten- 
 tion, I could but just hear. 
 
 *' As you hope to live and breathe,'* said 
 she, '^ never go again, after nightfall, any 
 time walking in that lone place by the sea- 
 shore. It's a mercy you escaped as 3^ou did, 
 but if you go again you'll never come back 
 alive— for never would they get you to do 
 what they want, and to be as wicked as 
 themselves — the wicked villains!" 
 
 ^^Who?*' said I— « What wicked vil- 
 lains? I do not understand you 5 are you in 
 your right senses?" 
 
 " That I am, and wish you was as much 
 in yours; but it's time yet, by the blessing of 
 God ! What wicked villains am I talking of? 
 Of three hundred that have sworn to make 
 you their captain, or, in case you refuse, 
 to have your life this night. What villains 
 am I talking of? Of him, the wickedest 
 of all, who is now living in the very house 
 with you, that is now lying in the very next 
 room to you,'^
 
 ENNUI. 27s 
 
 « Joe Kelly?*' 
 
 " That same — from the first minute I saw 
 him in the castle, I should have hated him, 
 but for his causing you for to put off the 
 journey to England. I never could abide 
 him; but that blinded me, or I am sure I 
 would have found him out long ago/* 
 
 " And what have you found out concern- 
 ing him?" 
 
 " That he is (speaking very low) a united 
 man, and stirring up the rubbles again here ; 
 and they have their meetings at night in the 
 great cave, where the smugglers used to hide 
 formerly, under the big rock, opposite the old 
 abbey— and there's a way up into the abbey, 
 that you used to be so fond of walking to, 
 dear." 
 
 ** Good Heavens! can this be true!" 
 
 " True it is, and too true, dear." 
 
 " But how did you find all this out, Elli- 
 nor?" 
 
 " It was none of I found it, nor ever 
 could any such things have come into my 
 head — but it pleased God to make the dis- 
 covery of all by one of the childer — my own 
 grandson — the boy you gave the gun to, long 
 and long ago, to shoot them rabbits. He 
 
 N 5
 
 274 ENNUI. 
 
 was after a hare yesterday, and it took him a 
 chase over that mountain, and down it went 
 and took shelter in the cave, and in went the 
 boy after it, and as he was groping about, he 
 lights on an old great coat, and if he did he 
 brought it home with him, and was showing 
 it, as I was boiling the potatoes for their din- 
 ner yesterday, to his father forenent me, and 
 turning the pockets inside out, what should 
 come up but the broken head of a pike; then 
 he sarches in the other pocket, and finds a 
 paper written all over — I could not read it — 
 thank God, I never could read none of them 
 wicked things, nor could the boy — by very 
 great luck he could not, being no scholar, or 
 it would be all over the country before 
 this." 
 
 " Well, well 1 but what was in the paper 
 after all ? Did any body read it ?" 
 
 ** Ay, did they — that is, Christy read it — 
 none but Christy — but he would not tell us 
 what was in it— ^but said it was no matter, 
 and he'd not be wasting his time reading an 
 old song--»so we thought no more, and he 
 sent the boy up to the castle with a bill for 
 smith's work, as soon as we had eat the po-^ 
 tatoesj, and I thought no more about any
 
 ENNUI. 275 
 
 thing's being going wrong, no more than a 
 child ; and in the evening Christy said he 
 must go to the funeral of a neighbour, and 
 should not be home till early in the morning, 
 may be; and it's not two hours since he came 
 home and wakened me, and told me where 
 he had been, which was not to the funeral at 
 all, but to the cave where the coat was found ; 
 and he put the coat and the broken head of 
 the pike, and the papers all in the pockets, 
 just as we found it in the cave — and the 
 paper was a list of the names of them nibbles 
 that met there, and a letter telling how they 
 would make Lord Glenthorn their captain, 
 or have his life; this was what made Christy 
 to try and find out more — so he hid himself 
 in a hole in the side of the cave, and built his- 
 self up with rubbish, only just leaving a place 
 for hisself to breathe — and there he staid till 
 nightfall, and then on till midnight, God help 
 us! So, sure enough, them villains all come 
 filling fast into the cave. He had good 
 courage, God bless him for it— but he al- 
 ways had— and there he heard and saw all— 
 and this was how they were talking: — First, 
 one began by saying, how they must not be 
 delaying longer to show themselves; they
 
 S76 ENNUI. 
 
 must make a rising in the country — then nam- 
 ed the numbers in other parts that would join, 
 and that they would not be put down so asy 
 as afore, for they would have good leaders — 
 then some praised you greatly, and said they 
 were sure you favoured them in your heart, 
 by all the ill-will you got in the county the 
 time of the last 'ruction. But, again, others 
 said you was milk and water, and did not go 
 far enough, and never would, and that it was 
 not in you, and that you was a sleepy man, 
 and not the true thing at all, and neither beef 
 nor vaeL Again, thim that were for you spoke 
 and said you would show yourself soon — and 
 the others made reply, and observed you must 
 now spake out, or never spake more; you 
 must either head 'em, or be tramped under 
 foot along with the rest, so it did not signify 
 talking, and Joey Kelly should not be frib- 
 bling any more about it; and it was a wonder, 
 said they, he was not the night at the meet- 
 ing. And what was this about your being 
 going off foi* England — what would they do 
 when you was gone, with M'Leod the Scotch- 
 man, to come in over them again agent, who 
 was another guess sort of man from you, and 
 never slept at all, and would scent em out.
 
 ENNUI. 277 
 
 and have his corps after *em, and that once 
 M'Leod was master, there would be no 
 making any head again his head ; so, not to 
 be tiring you too much with all they said, 
 backward and forward, one that was a cap- 
 tain, or something that way, took the word, 
 and bid 'em all hold their peace, for they did 
 not know what they was talking on, and said 
 that Joey Kelly and he had settled it all, and 
 that the going to England was put off by Joe, 
 and all a sham, and that when you would be 
 walking out to morrow at nightfall, in those 
 lone places by the sea-side or the abbey, he 
 and Joe was to seize upon you, and when 
 you would be coming back near the abbey, 
 to have you down through the trap-door in- 
 to the cave, and any way they would swear 
 you to join and head them, and if you would 
 not, out with you and shove you into the sea, 
 and no more about it, for it would be give 
 out you drown' yourself in a fit of the me- 
 lancholic lunacy ,which none would question, 
 and it would be proved too you made away 
 wid yourself, by your hat and gloves lying 
 on the bank — Lord save us I What are you 
 laughing at in that, when it is truth every 
 word, and Joe Kelly was to fmd the body.
 
 ^78 ENNUI. 
 
 after a great search. Well, again, say you 
 would swear and join them, and head them, 
 and do whatever they pleased, still that 
 would not save you in the end, fer they 
 would quarrel with you at the first turn, 
 because you would not be ruled by them as 
 captain, and then they would shoot or pike 
 you (God save the mark, dear), and give 
 the castle to Joe Kelly, and the plunder all 
 among 'em entirely. So it was all laid out, 
 and they are all to meet in the cave to- 
 morrow evening — they will go along, bear- 
 ing a funeral, seemingly to the abbey- 
 ground. And now you know the whole 
 truth, and the Lord preserve you ! and 
 what will be done ? My poor head has no 
 more power to think for you no more than 
 an infant's, and I'm all in a tremble ever 
 since I heard it, and afraid to meet any 
 one lest they should see all in my face. Oh, 
 what wiU become of yees now — they will 
 be the death of you, whatever you do !" 
 
 By the time she came to these last words, 
 Ellinor's fears had so much overpowered 
 her, that she cried and sobbed continually, 
 repeating — '* What will be done now ) 
 What will bedane! They'll surely be the
 
 ENNUI. 379- 
 
 death of you, whatever you do." As to 
 me, the urgency of the danger wakened 
 my faculties; I rose instantly, wrote a note 
 to Mr.^'Leod, desiring to see him imme- 
 diately on particular business. Lest my 
 note should by any accident be intercepted 
 or opened, I couched it in the most gene- 
 ral and guarded terms, and added a request, 
 that he would bring his last settlement of 
 accounts with him; so that it was natural 
 to suppose my business with him was of a 
 pecuniary nature. I gradually quieted 
 poor EUinor by my own appearance of 
 composure ; I assured her, that we should 
 take our measures so as to prevent all mis- 
 chief — thanked her for the timely warning 
 she had given me— radvised her to- go home 
 before she was observed, and charged her 
 not to speak to any one this day of what 
 had happened. I desired that as soon as. 
 she should see Mr^ M'Leod coming through 
 the gate, she would send Christy after him 
 to the castle, to get his bill paid ; so that I 
 might then, without exciting suspicion,, 
 talk to him in private, and we might learn* 
 from his own lips the particulars of what 
 he saw and heard in the cavern.
 
 ^80 ENNUI. 
 
 Ellinor returned home, promising to obey 
 me exactly, especially as to my injunction 
 of secrecy — to make sure of herself she 
 said " she would go to bed straight, and 
 have the rheumatism very bad all day, so 
 as not to be in a way to talk to none who 
 would call in." The note to M*Leod was 
 dispatched by one of my grooms, and I 
 was now left at full leisure to finish my 
 morning's nap. 
 
 Joe Kelly presented himself at the usual 
 hour in my room ; I turned my head away 
 from him, and, in a sleepy tone, muttered 
 that I had passed a bad night, and should 
 breakfast in my own apartment. 
 
 Some time afterwards Mr. M'Leod ar- 
 rived, with an air of sturdy pride, and pro- 
 duced his accounts, of which I suffered him 
 to talk, till the servant who waited upon us 
 had left the room; I then explained the 
 real cause of my sending for him so sud- 
 denly. I was rather vexed, that I could 
 not produce in him, by my wonderful nar- 
 rative, any visible signs of agitation or 
 astonishment. He calmly observed — 
 
 " We are lucky to have so many hours 
 of day-light before us. The first thing we
 
 ENNUI. 2»1 
 
 have to do is to keep the old woman from 
 talking. 
 
 I answered for Ellinor. 
 
 " Then the next thing is for me, who am 
 a magistrate, to take the examinations of 
 her son, and see if he will swear to the 
 same that he says.** 
 
 Christy was summoned into our presence, 
 and he came with his bill for smithes work 
 done ; so that the servants could have no 
 suspicion of what was going forward. His 
 examinations were taken and sworn to in a 
 ^tw minutes ; his evidence was so clear and 
 direct, that there was no possibility of 
 doubting the truth. The only variation 
 between his story and his mother's report 
 to me was as to the numbers he had seen 
 in the cavern— her fears had turned thir* 
 teen into three hundred. 
 
 Christy assured us, that there were but 
 thirteen at this meeting, but that they said 
 there were three hundred ready to join 
 them. 
 
 '' You were a very bold fellow, Christy," 
 said I, *^ to hazard yourself in the cave 
 with these villains ; if you had been found
 
 ^82 ENNUI. 
 
 out in your hiding-place, they would have 
 certainly murdered you.'* 
 
 *' True for me,'* said Christy^ " but a 
 man must die some way, please your ho- 
 nour; and where's the way I could die 
 better ? Sure, I could not but remember 
 how good you was to me that time I was 
 shot, and all you suffered for it ! It would 
 have been bad indeed if I would stay quiet, 
 and let 'em murder you after all. No, no, 
 Christy O'Donoghoe would not do that — 
 any way. I hope, if there's to be any 
 fighting, your honour would not wrong 
 me so much as not to give me a blun- 
 derbush, and let me fight a bit along wid 
 the rest for yees." 
 
 ^' We are not come to that yet, my 
 good fellow," said Mr. M'Leod, who went 
 on methodically; "if you are precipitate, 
 you will spoil all. Go home to your forge, 
 and work as usual, and leave the rest to us ; 
 and I promise, that you shall have your 
 share if there is any fighting." 
 
 Very reluctantly Christy obeyed. Air. 
 M^Leod then deliberately settled our plan 
 of operations. I had a fishing-lodge at a
 
 ENNUI. 283 
 
 little distance, and a pleasure-boat there ; 
 to this place M*Leod was to go, as if on a 
 fishing-party with his nephew, a young 
 man, who often went there to fish. They 
 were to carry with them some yeomen in 
 coloured clothes, as their attendants, and 
 more were to come as their guests to din- 
 ner. At the lodge there was a small four- 
 pounder, which had been frequently used 
 in times of public rejoicing ; a naval vic- 
 tory, announced in the papers of the day, 
 afforded a plausible pretence for bringing 
 it out. We were aware that the rebels 
 would be upon the watch, and therefore 
 took every precaution to prevent their sus- 
 pecting, that we had made any discovery. 
 Our fishing-party was to let the mock-fu- 
 neral pass them quietly, to ask some tri- 
 fling questions, and to give money for pipes 
 and tobacco. Towards evening the boat, 
 with the four- pounder on board, was to 
 come under shore, and at a signal given by 
 me was to station itself opposite to the 
 mouth of the cave. 
 
 At the same signal a trusty man on the 
 watch was to give notice to a party hid in 
 the abbey, to secure the trap-door above.
 
 284 ENNUI. 
 
 The signal was to be my presenting a pistol 
 to the captain of the rebels, who intended 
 to meet and seize me on my return from 
 my evening's walk. Mr. M'Leod at first 
 objected to my hazarding a meeting with 
 this man ; but I insisted upon it, and 1 was 
 not sorry to give a public proof of my loy- 
 alty, and my personal courage. As to Joe 
 Kelly, I also undertook to secure him. 
 
 Mr. M'Leod left me, and went to con- 
 duct his fishing-party. As soon as he was 
 gone I sent for Joe Kelly to play on the 
 flute to me. I guarded my looks and voice 
 as weir as I could, and he did not see or 
 suspect any thing — he was too full of his 
 own schemes. To disguise his own plots 
 he affected great gaiety, and to divert me, 
 alternately played on the flute, and told me 
 good stories all the morning. I would not 
 let him leave me the whole day. Towards 
 evening I began to talk of my journey to 
 England, proposed setting out the next 
 morning, and sent Kelly to look for some 
 things, in what was called the strong closet — 
 a closet with a stout door, and iron-barred 
 windows, out of which no mortal could 
 make his escape. Whilst he was busy
 
 ENNUr. 285 
 
 searching in a drawer, I shut the door upon 
 him, locked it, and put the key into my 
 pocket. As I left the castle, I said in a 
 jesting tone to some of the servants who met 
 me — " I have locked Joe Kelly up in the 
 strong room ; if he calls to you to let him 
 out, never mind him -, he will not get out 
 till I come home from my walk — I owe him 
 this trick." The servants thought it was 
 some jest, and I passed on with my loaded 
 pistols in my pocket. I walked for some 
 time by the sea-shore, without seeing any 
 one. At last I espied our fishing-boat, just 
 peering out, and then keeping close to the 
 shore. I was afraid that the party would 
 be impatient at not seeing my signal, and 
 would come out to the mouth of the cave, 
 and show themselves too soon. If Mr. 
 M*Leod had not been their commander, 
 this, as I afterwards learned, would have 
 infallibly happened ; but he was so punc- 
 tual, cool, and peremptory, that he re- 
 strained the rest of the party, declaring that, 
 if it were till midnight, he would wait till 
 the signal agreed upon was given. At last 
 I saw a man creeping out of the cave — I sat 
 down upon my wonted stone, and yawned
 
 S86 ENNUI. 
 
 as naturally as I could ; then began to de- 
 scribe figures in the sand with my stick, as 
 I was wont to do, still watching the image 
 of the man in the water as he approached. 
 He was muffled up in a frieze great coat ; 
 he sauntered past, and went on to a turn in 
 the road, as if looking for some one. I knew 
 well for whom he was looking. As no Joe 
 Kelly came to meet him, he returned in a 
 few minutes towards me. I had my hand 
 upon the pistol in my pocket. 
 
 *' You are my Lard Glenthorn, I pre* 
 sume," said he. 
 
 " I am.*' 
 
 " Then you will come with me, if you 
 plase, my lord," said he. 
 
 " Make no resistance, or I will shoot you 
 instantly," cried I, presenting my pistol 
 with one hand, and seizing him b}^ the collar 
 with the other. I dragged him (for I had 
 force enough, now my energy was roused) 
 to the spot appointed for my signal. The 
 boat appeared opposite the mouth of the 
 cave. Every thing answered my expec- 
 tation. 
 
 " There," said I, pointing to the boat, 
 ** there are my armed friends: they have a
 
 KNiNUI. 287 
 
 four-pounder — the match is ready lighted 
 — ^your plot is discovered. Go in to your 
 confederates in that cave; tell them so. 
 The trap-door is secured above ; there is no 
 escape for them ; bid them surrender : if 
 they attempt to rush out, the grape-shot 
 will pour upoii them, and they are dead 
 men.'* 
 
 I cannot say, that my rebel captain 
 showed himself as stout as I could have 
 wished, for the honour of my victory. The 
 surprise disconcerted him totally: I felt 
 him tremble under my grasp. He obeyed 
 my orders— went into the cave to bring his 
 associates to submission. His parley with 
 them, however, was not immediately suc- 
 cessful : I suppose there were some braver 
 fellows than he amongst them, whose coun- 
 sel might be for open war. In the mean- 
 time our yeomen landed, and surrounded 
 the cave on all sides, so that there was no 
 possibility of escape for those within. At 
 last they yielded themselves our prisoners. 
 I am sorry I have no bloody battle for the 
 entertainment of such of my readers as like 
 horrours; but so it was, that they yielded 
 without a drop of blood being spilled, or a
 
 288 ENNUI. 
 
 shot fired. We let them out of their hiding- 
 place one by one, searching each as he 
 issued forth^ to be secure that they had no 
 concealed weapons. After they had given 
 up the arms which were concealed in the 
 cave, the next question was, what to do 
 with our prisoners. As it was now late, 
 and they could not all be examined and 
 committed with due legal form to the county 
 gaol, Mr. M'Leod advised, that we should 
 detain them in the place they had chosen 
 for themselves till morning. Accordingly, 
 in the cave we again stowed them, and left 
 a guard at each entrance, to secure them 
 for the night. We returned to the castle. 
 I stopped at the gate to tell Ellinor and 
 Christy that I was safe. They were sitting 
 up, watching for the news. The moment 
 Ellinor saw me, she clasped her hands in 
 an ecstasy of joy, but could not speak. 
 Christy was voluble in his congratulations ; 
 but, in the midst of his rejoicing, he could 
 not help reproaching me with forgetting to 
 give him the blunderbifshy and to let him 
 have a bit of the fighting. " Upon my 
 honour," said I, " there was none, or you 
 should have been there."
 
 ENNUI. 289 
 
 ** Oh, don't be plaguing and gathering 
 round him now," said Ellinor ; " sure, he is 
 tired, and look how hot — no wonder — let 
 him get home and to bed : I'll run and warm 
 it with the pan myself, and not be trusting 
 them.*' 
 
 She would not be persuaded, that I did 
 not desire to have my bed warmed, but, by 
 some short cut, got in before us. On en- 
 tering the castle hall, I found her, with the 
 warming-pan in her hand, held back by the 
 inquisitive servants, who were all question- 
 ing her about tlie news, of which she was 
 the first, and not very intelligible enun- 
 ciator. 
 
 I called for bread and water for my pri- 
 soner in the strong-room, and then I heard 
 various exclamations of wonder. 
 
 ** Ay, it is all true ! it is no jest ! Joe is 
 at the bottom of all. / never liked Joe 
 Kelly — /always knew Joe was not the right 
 thing — and / always said so ; and I, and I, 
 and I. And it was but last week I was 
 saying so : and it was but yesterday / said 
 so and so.'* 
 
 I passed through the gossiping crowd with 
 VOL. I. O
 
 :290 ENNUI. 
 
 bread and water for my culprit. M*Leod 
 instantly saw and followed nie. 
 
 " I wdl make bold to come with you/* 
 said he; " a pent rat's a dangerous animal.'* 
 
 I thanked him, and acquiesced; but there 
 was no need for the precaution. AVhen we 
 opened the door, we found the conscience 
 or terrour-struck wretch upon his knees, 
 and, in the most abject terms, he implored 
 our mercy. From the windows of the room, 
 which looked into the castle yard, he had 
 heard enough to guess all that had hap- 
 pened. I could not bear to look at him. 
 After I had* set down his food, he clung to 
 my knees, crying and whining in a most 
 unmanly manner. M*Leod, with indigna- 
 tion, loosened him from me, threw him 
 back, and locked the door. 
 
 " Cowardice and treachery,'* said he, 
 " usually go together." 
 
 " And courage and sincerity,** said I. — 
 ^« And now we'll go to supper, my good 
 friends. I hope you are all as hungry as I 
 am/* 
 
 1 never did eat any meal with so much 
 appetite.
 
 ENNUI. 291 
 
 " Tis a pity, my lord," said M'Leod, 
 '^ but what there was a conspiracy against 
 you every day of your life, it seems to do 
 you so much good.'*
 
 292 ENNUI. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 " What new wonders ? What new misfor- 
 tunes, EUinor,'* said I, as Ellinor, with a 
 face of consternation, appeared again in the 
 morning in my room, just as I was going 
 down to breakfast: " what new misfortunes, 
 Ellinor?" 
 
 « Oh ! the worst that could befall me !** 
 cried slie, wringing her hands ; " the worst, 
 the very worst 1 — to be the death of my 
 own child !** said she, with inexpressible 
 horrour. " Oh ! save him ! save him ! for 
 the love of Heaven, dear, save him ! If you 
 don't save him, 'tis I shall be his death." 
 
 She was in such agony, that she could 
 not explain herself further for some minutes. 
 
 " It was I gave the information against 
 them all to you. But how could I ever have 
 thought Owen was one of them ? My son, 
 my own son, the unfortunate cratur ; I never 
 thought but what he was with the militia far 
 away. And how could it ever come into
 
 ENNUI. 293 
 
 my head, that Owen could have any hand 
 in a thing of the kind?" 
 
 " But I did not see him last night,*' m- 
 terrupted I. 
 
 " Oh ! he was there ! One of his own 
 friends, one of the military that went with 
 you saw him among the prisoners, and came 
 just now to tell me of it. That Owen should 
 be guilty of the like ! Oh ! what could have 
 come over him ! He must have been out of 
 his rason. And against you to be plotting ! 
 That's what I never will believe, if even I'd 
 hear it from himself. But he's among them 
 that were taken last night. And will I live 
 to see him go to gaol ? — and will I live to 
 see — No, Td rather die first, a thousand 
 and a thousand times over. Oh ! for mercy's 
 sake r* said she, dropping on her knees at 
 my feet, <* have pity on me, and don't let 
 the blood of my own child be upon me in 
 my old days." 
 
 " What would you have me do, Ellinor r" 
 said I, much moved by her distress. 
 
 '* There is but one thing to do," said she. 
 «' Let him off: sure, a word from you would 
 be enough for the soldiers that are over 
 them on guard. And Mr. M*Leod has not
 
 t29^ ENNUI. 
 
 yiBt seen him ; and if lie was just let escape^ 
 there would be no more about it; and Td 
 engage he shall fly the country, the unfor- 
 tunate cratur ! and never trouble you more. 
 This is all I ask ; and sure, dear, you can't 
 refuse it to your own Ellinor; your old 
 nurse, that carried ye in her arms, and fed 
 ye with her milk, and watched over ye 
 many's the long night, and loved ye : ay, 
 none ever loved, or could love ye, so well.'* 
 
 ** I am sensible of it; I am grateful," in- 
 terrupted 1 : '* but what you ask of me, 
 Eiiinor, is impossible — I cannot let him 
 escape; but I will do my utmost." 
 
 ** Troth, nothing will save him, if you 
 would not say the word for him now. Ah ! 
 why cannot you let him off then ?" 
 
 " I should lose my honour ; I should lose 
 my character. You know that I have been 
 accused of favouring the rebels already — 
 you saw the consequences of my protect- 
 ing your other son, though he was innocent 
 and injured, and bore an excellent cha* 
 racter." 
 
 "Christy; ay, true: but poor Owen, un- 
 lucky as he is and misguided, has a better 
 claim upon you."
 
 ENNUI. 29o 
 
 *' How can that be ? Is not the other my 
 foster-brotlier in the first place ?" 
 
 '^ True, for him." 
 
 " And had not I proofs of his generous 
 conduct and attachment to me ?'* 
 
 " Owen is nat' rally fonder of you by a 
 great deal/* interrupted she; " I'll answer 
 for that;* 
 
 '^ What ! when he has just been detected 
 in conspiring against my life.'* 
 
 *' That's what I'll never believe," cried 
 Ellinor, vehemently: " that he might be 
 drawn in may be, when out of his rason — 
 he was always a wild boy — to be a united- 
 man, and to hope to get you for his cap- 
 tain, might be the case, and bad enough 
 that 5 but, jewel, you'll find he did never 
 conspire against you : I'd lay down my life 
 upon that." 
 
 She threw herself again at my feet, and 
 clung to my knees. 
 
 ' " As you hope for mercy yourself in this 
 •world, or the world to come, show some 
 now, and do not be so hard-hearted as to 
 be the death of both mother and son." 
 
 Her supplicating looks and gestures, her 
 words, her tears, moved me so much, that
 
 296 ENNUI. 
 
 1 was on the point of yielding; but recol- 
 lecting what was due to justice and to my 
 own character, with an effort of what I 
 thought virtuous resolution I repeated, 
 
 " It is impossible: my good Ellinor, urge 
 me no farther : ask any thing else, and it 
 shall be granted, but this is impossible.*' 
 
 As I spoke, I endeavoured to raise her 
 from the ground ; but, with the sudden 
 force of angry despair, she resisted. 
 
 " No, you shall not raise me," cried she. 
 " Here let me lie, and break my heart with 
 your cruelty ! 'Tis a judgement upon me — 
 it's a judgement, and it's fit I should feel it 
 as I do. But you shall feel too, in spite of 
 your hard heart. Yes, your heart is harder 
 than the marble: you want the natural 
 touch, you do ; for your mother has knelt 
 at your feet, and you have denied her 
 prayer." 
 
 « My mother !" 
 
 " And what was her prayer ? to save the 
 life of your brother." 
 
 " My brother ! Good heavens ! what do 
 I hear 1" 
 
 *' You hear the truth : you hear that I 
 am your lawful mother. Yes, you are my
 
 ENNUI. ^97 
 
 son. You have forced that secret from me, 
 which I thought to have carried with me to 
 my grave. And now you know all ; and 
 now you know how wicked I have been, 
 and it was all for you ; for you that refused 
 me the only thing ever I asked, and that, 
 too, in my greatest distress, when my heart 
 was just breaking : and all this time too, 
 there's Christy — poor good Christy ; he that 
 I've wronged, and robbed of his rightful in- 
 heritance, has been as a son, a dutiful good 
 son to me, and never did he deny me any 
 thing I could ask, but in you I have found 
 no touch of tenderness. Then it's fit I 
 should tell you again, and again, and again, 
 that he who is now slaving at the forge, to 
 give me the earnings of his labour ; he that 
 lives, and has lived all his days upon po- 
 tatoes and salt, and is content ; he who has 
 the face and the hands so disguised with 
 the smoke and the black, that yourself 
 asked him t'other day, did he ever wash 
 his face since he was born — 1 tell ye, he it 
 is who should live in this castle, and sleep 
 on that soft bed, and be lord of ail here— 7- 
 he is the true and real Lord Glenthorn, and 
 to the wide world I'll make it known. Ay, 
 
 o 5
 
 298 ENNUI. 
 
 be pale and tremble, do, it's your turn now : 
 I've touched you now ; but it's too late. In 
 the face of day I shall confess the wrong 
 I've done ; and I shall call upon you to give 
 back to him all that by right is his own." 
 
 Ellinor stopped short, for one of my ser- 
 vants at this instant came into the room. 
 
 " My lord, Mr. M'Leod desires me to 
 let you know the guard has brought up the 
 prisoners, and he is going to commit them 
 to gaol, and would be glad to know if you 
 choose to see them first, my lord." 
 
 Stupified by all I had just heard, I could 
 only reply, that I would come presently. 
 Ellinor rushed past the servant — " Are they 
 come?" cried she. " Where will I get a 
 sight of them ?" I staid for a few minutes 
 alone, to decide upon what I ought to say 
 and do. A multitude of ideas, more than 
 had ever come into my mind in a twelve- 
 month, passed through it in these few mi- 
 nutes. As I was slowly descending the 
 great stair-case, Ellinor came running, as 
 fast as she could run, to the foot of the stairs, 
 exclaiming, 
 
 " It's a mistake ! it*s all a mistake, and I 
 was a fool to believe them that brought me
 
 ENNUI. 299 
 
 the word. Sure Ody's not there at all ! nor 
 ever was in it. I've seen them all, face to 
 face, and my son's not one of them, nor ever 
 was ; and I was a fool from beginning to 
 end; and I beg your pardon entirely,*' whis- 
 pered she, coming close to my ear. " I 
 was out of my reason at the thought of that 
 boy*s being to suffer, and I, his mother, the 
 cause of it. Forgive all I said in my pas- 
 sion, my own best jewel : you was always 
 good and tender to me, and be the same 
 still, dear. I'll never say a word more about 
 it to any one living ; the secret shall die 
 with me. Sure, when my conscience has 
 borne it so long, it may strive and bear it a 
 little longer for your sake : and it can't be 
 long I have to live, so that will make all 
 easy. Hark ! they are asking for you. Do 
 you go your ways into the great parlour, to 
 Mr. M'Leod, and think no more of any 
 thing at all but joy. My son's not one of 
 them ! I must go to the forge and tell 
 Christy the good news." 
 
 EUinor departed, quite satisfied with her- 
 self, with me, and with all the world. She 
 took it for granted, that she left me in the 
 same state of mind, and that I should obey
 
 300 ENNUI. 
 
 her injunctions, and think of nothivg hut 
 joy. Of what happened in the great par* 
 lour, and of the examinations of the prison- 
 ers, I have but a confused recollection. I 
 remember that Mr. M'Leod seemed rather 
 surprised by my indifference to what con- 
 cerned me so nearly J and that he was 
 obliged to do all the business himself. The 
 men were, I believe, all committed to gaol, 
 and Joe Kelly turned king*s evidence ; but 
 as to any further particulars, I know no 
 more than if I had been in a dream. The 
 discovery, which Ellinor had just made to 
 me, engrossed all my powers of attention.
 
 ENNUI, 301 
 
 CHAPTER XVIL 
 
 ** Le vrai n*est pas toujours vraisemblable/* 
 says an acute observer of human affairs. 
 The romance of real life certainly goes be- 
 yond all other romances; and there are 
 facts, which few writers would dare to put 
 into a book, as there are skies which few 
 painters would venture to put into a picture. 
 When I had leisure to reflect, I consi- 
 dered, that as yet I had no proof of the 
 truth of Ellinor's strange story, except her 
 own assertions. I sent for her again to ex- 
 amine her more particularly. I was aware, 
 that, if 1 alarmed her, I should so confuse 
 her imagination, that I should never obtain 
 the truth; therefore I composed myself, and 
 assumed my usual external appearance of 
 non-chalance. I received her lolling upon 
 my sofa, as usual, and I questioned her 
 merely as if to gratify an idle curiosity. 
 
 " Troth, dear,'* said she, '' I'll tell you 
 the whole story how it was, to make your
 
 302 ENNUI. 
 
 mind asy, which, God knows, mine never 
 was, from that minute it first came into my 
 head, till this very time being. You mind 
 the time you got the cut in your head — 
 no, not you, jewel ; but the little lord that 
 was then, Christy there below that is. — 
 Well, the cut was a terrible cut as ever you 
 seen, got by a fall on the fender from the 
 nurse's arms, that was drunk, three days 
 after he was born." 
 
 '^ I remember to have heard my father 
 talk of some accident of this sort, which 
 happened to me when I was an infant." 
 
 " Ay, sure enough it did, and that was 
 what first put him in the notion of taking the 
 little lord out of the hands of the Dublin 
 nurse- tenders, and them that were about my 
 Lady Glenthorn, and did not know how to 
 manage her, which was the cause of her 
 death : and he said he'd have his own way 
 about his son and heir any way, and have 
 him nursed by a wholesome woman in a 
 cabin, and brought up hardy, as he, and 
 the old lord, and all the family, were before 
 him. So with that he sends for me, and 
 he puts the young lord, God bless him, into 
 my arms himself, and a donny thing he was
 
 ENNUJ. 303 
 
 that same time to look at, for he was but 
 just out of the surgeons hands, the head 
 just healed and scarred over like; and my 
 lord said, there should be no more doctors 
 never about him. So I took him, that is, 
 Christy, and you, to a house at the sea, for 
 the salt water, and showed him every justice; 
 and my lord often came to see him whilst 
 he was in the country ; but then he was off, 
 after a time, to Dublin, and I was in a lone 
 place, where nobody came, and the child 
 was very sick with me, and you was all the 
 time as fine and thriving a child as ever you. 
 see ; and I thought, to be sure, one night, 
 that he would die wid me. He was very 
 bad, very bad indeed; and I was sitting up 
 in bed, rocking him backwards and for- 
 wards this ways: I thought with myself, 
 what a pity it was the young lord should 
 die, and he an only son and heir, and the 
 estate to go out of the family the Lord 
 knows where ; and then the grief the father 
 would be in: and then I thought, how hap- 
 py he would be if he had such a fme babbij 
 as you, dear ; and you was a fme babby to 
 be sure: and then I thought, how happy it 
 would be for you, if you was in the place
 
 304 ENNUI. 
 
 of the little lord : and then it came into 
 my head, just like a shot, where would be 
 the harm to change you? for I thought the 
 real lord would surely die; and then, what 
 a gain it would be to all, if it was never 
 known, and if the dead child was carried 
 to the grave, since it must go, as only 
 poor Ellinor 0*Donoghoe*s, and no more 
 about it. Well, if it was a wicked thought, 
 it was the devil himself put it in my head, 
 to be sure; for, only for him, I should never 
 have had the sense to think of such a thing, 
 for I was always innocent like, and not 
 worldly given. But so it was, the devil put 
 it in my head, and made me do it, and 
 showed me how, and all in a minute. So, 
 I mind, your eyes and hair were both of 
 the very same colour, dear; and as to the 
 rest, there's no telling how those young 
 things alter in a few months, and my lord 
 would not be down from Dublin in a hurry, 
 so I settled it all right ; and as there was no 
 likelihood at all the real lord would live, 
 that quieted my conscience ; for I argued, 
 it was better the father should have any 
 sort of child at all than none. So, when 
 my lord came down, I carried him the child
 
 ENNUI. 305 
 
 to see, that is you, jewel. He praised me 
 greatly for all the care 1 had taken of his 
 boy ; and said, how finely you was come 
 on ; and I never see a father in greater joy; 
 and it would have been a sin, I thought, to 
 tell him the truth, after he took the change 
 that was put upon him so well, and it made 
 him so happy like. Well, I was afeard of 
 my life he'd pull off the cap to search for 
 the scar, so I would not let your hea,d be 
 touched any way, dear, saying it was tinder 
 and soft still with the fall, and you'd cry 
 if the cap was stirred, and so I made it out, 
 indeed, very well ; for, God forgive me, I 
 twitched the string under your chin, dear, 
 and made you cry like mad, when they 
 would come to touch you. So there was 
 no more about it, and I had you home to 
 myself, and, all in good time, the hair grew, 
 and fine thick hair it was, God bless you ; 
 and so there was no more about it, and I 
 got into no trouble at all ; for it all fell out 
 just as I had laid it out, except that the 
 real little young lord did not die as I 
 thought ; and it was a wonder but he did, 
 for you never saw none so near death, and 
 backwards and forwards, what turns of sick-
 
 306 ENNUI. 
 
 ness he took with me for months upon 
 months, and year after year, so that none 
 could think, no more than me, there was 
 any hkehhood at all of rearing of him to 
 man's estate. So that kept me easier in 
 my mind concerning what I'd done ; for, 
 as I kept saying to myself, better the family 
 should have an heir to the estate, suppose 
 not the right, than none at all ; and if tlie 
 father, nor nobody, never found it out, 
 there was he and all the family made happy 
 for life, and my child made a lord of, and 
 none the wiser or the worse. Well, so I 
 uovvn-argued my conscience ; and any way 
 1 took to little Christy, as he was now to 
 be called — and I loved him, all as one as if 
 he was my own — not that he was ever as 
 well-looking as Ody, or any of the childer 
 I had, but 1 never made any differ betwixt 
 him and any of my own — he can't say as I 
 did, any how, and he has no reason to com- 
 plain of my being an unnat'ral mother to 
 him, and being my foster-child I had a 
 right to love him as I did, and I never 
 wronged him any wdy, except in the one 
 article of changing him at nurse, which he 
 being an infant, and never knowing, was
 
 ENNUr. 307 
 
 never a bit the worse for, nor never will, 
 now. So all's right, dear, and make your 
 mind asy, jewel; there's the whole truth of 
 •the story for you." 
 
 " But it is a very strange story, EUinor, 
 after all, and — and I have only your word 
 for it, and may be you are only taking ad- 
 vantage of my regard for you to make me 
 believe you." 
 
 "What is it, plase your honour?" said 
 she, stepping forward, as if she did not hear 
 or understand me. 
 
 ** I say, EUinor, that after all I have no 
 proof of the truth of this story, except your 
 word." 
 
 " And is not that enough, and where's 
 the use of having more ; but if it will make 
 you asy, sure I can give you proof — sure 
 need you go farther than the scar on his 
 head? If he was shaved to-morrow, Td 
 engage you'd see it fast enough ; but, sure, 
 can't you put your hand up to your head 
 this minute, and feel there never was no 
 scar there, nor if all the hair you have, 
 God save the mark, was shaved this minute, 
 never a bit of a scar would be to be seen ; 
 but proof is it you want ? — why there's the
 
 308 ENNUI. 
 
 surgeon that dressed the cut in the chikVs 
 head, before he ever came to me, sure he's 
 the man that can't forget it, and that will 
 tell all ; so to make your mind asy, see him^ 
 dear, but for your life don't let him see 
 your head to feel it, for he'd miss the scar, 
 and might suspect something by your going 
 to question him.'* 
 
 " Where does he live ? interrupted L 
 
 " Not above twelve miles off." 
 
 " Is he alive?" 
 
 " Ay, if he been't dead since Candle- 
 mas." 
 
 At first I thought of writing to this man, 
 but afterwards, being afraid of committing 
 myself by writing, I went to him ; he had 
 long before this time left off business, and 
 had retired to enjoy his fortune in the de- 
 cline of life. He was a whimsical sort of 
 character ; he had some remains of his for- 
 mer taste for anatomy, and was a collector 
 of curiosities, I found him just returned 
 from a lake which he had been dragging 
 formoose^deer's horns, to complete the skele- 
 ton of a moose-deer which he had mount- 
 ed in his hall. I introduced myself, desiring 
 to see his museum, and mentioned to him
 
 ENNUI. 30f) 
 
 the thigh-bone of a giant found in my neigh- 
 bourhood, then by favour of this bone I 
 introduced the able cure, that he had made 
 of a cut in my head, when I was a child. 
 
 " A cut in your head, sir ? Yes, my lord, 
 I recollect perfectly well, it was a very ugly 
 cut, especially in an infant's head ; but I 
 am glad to find you fetl no bad effects from 
 it. Have you any cicatrice on the place ? 
 Eleven feet high, did you say; and is the 
 giant's skeleton in your neighbourhood ?" 
 
 I humoured his fancy, and by degrees he 
 gave me all the information I wanted, with- 
 out in the least suspecting my secret mo- 
 tives. He described the length, breadth, 
 and depth of the wound to me; showed 
 me just where it was on the head, and ob- 
 served that it must have left an indehble 
 mark, but that my fine hair covered it. 
 When he seemed disposed to search for it, 
 1 defended myself with the giant's thigh- 
 bone, and warded off his attacks most suc- 
 cessfully. To satisfy me upon this point, I 
 affected to think that he had not been paid; 
 he said he had been amply paid, and he 
 showed me his books to prove it. I ex- 
 amined the dates, and found that they
 
 310 ENNUI. 
 
 agreed with EUinor's preciseI3^ On my 
 return home, the first thing I did was to 
 make Christy a present of a new wig, which 
 I was certain would induce him to shave 
 his head, for the lower Irish agree with the 
 beaux and belles of London and Paris, in 
 preferring wigs to their own hair. Ellinor 
 told me, that I might safely let his head be 
 shaved, because, to her certain knowledge, 
 he had scars of so many cuts, which he had 
 received at fairs upon his scull, that there 
 would appear nothing particular in one 
 more or less. As soon as the head was 
 shaved, and the wig was worn, I took an 
 opportunity one day of stopping at the 
 forge to have one of my horse's shoes 
 changed, and whilst this was doing, I took 
 notice of his new wig, and how well it fitted 
 him^ as I expected, he took it off to show 
 it me better, and to pay his own compliments 
 to it. 
 
 " Sure enough, you are a very fine wig," 
 said he, apostrophising it as he held it up 
 on the end of his hammer, " and God bless 
 him that give it me, and it fits me as tight 
 as if it was nailed to my head.** 
 
 " You seem to have had a good many
 
 ENNUI. 311 
 
 nails ill your head already, Christy,'* said 
 I, " if one may judge by all these scars." 
 
 " Oh ye&, please your honour, my lord." 
 said he, '' tricre s no harm in them neither; 
 they are scratches got when I was no wiser 
 than. I should be, at fairs, fighting with the 
 boys of Shrawd-na-scoob." 
 
 Whilst he fought his battles o'er again, I 
 had leisure to study his head, a >d I traced 
 precisely all the boundary hnt s. The situa- 
 tion, size, and figure of the cicatrice, which 
 the surgeon and Ellinor had described to 
 me, were so visible and exact, that no doubt 
 could remain in my mind of Christy's being 
 the real son of the late Lord and Lady Glen- 
 thorn. This conviction was still more im- 
 pressed upon my mind a few days after- 
 wards. I recollected having seen a pile of 
 family pictures in a lumber-room in the 
 cas^le,^and I rummaged them out to see if 
 I could discover amongst them any likeness 
 to Christy : I found one, the picture of 
 my grandfather, I should say of his grand- 
 father, to which Christy bore a striking re- 
 semblance, when I saw him with his face 
 \yashed, and in his Sunday clothes. 
 , .My n\ind being now perfectly satisfied
 
 312 ENNUI. - 
 
 of the truth of Ellinor's story, I was next 
 to consider how I ought to act. To be or 
 not to be Lord Glenthorn; or in other 
 words, to be or not to be a villain, was now 
 the question. I could not dissemble to my 
 conscience this plain state of the case, that 
 I had no right to keep possession of that 
 which 1 knew to be another's lawful pro- 
 perty : yet, educated as 1 had been, and 
 accustomed to the long enjoyment of those 
 luxuries, which become necessaries to the 
 wealthy; habituated to attendance as I 
 had been, and even amongst the dissipated 
 and idle, notorious for extravagance the 
 most unbounded and indolence the most 
 inveterate, how was I at once to change my 
 habits, to abdicate my rank and power, to 
 encounter the evils of poverty? I was not 
 compelled to make such sacrifices; for 
 though Ellinor's transient passion had 
 prompted her to threaten me with a public 
 discovery, yet I knew that she would as 
 soon cut off her own right hand, as execute 
 her threats. Her affection for me, and her 
 pride in my consequence were so strong, 
 that I knew I might securely rely upon her 
 secrecy. The horrid idea of being the
 
 EXNUI. 315 
 
 cause of the death of one of her own child- 
 ren had for a moment sufficient power to 
 balance her love for me; yet there was but 
 little probabiHty, that any similar trial 
 should occur, nor had I reason to appre- 
 hend, that the reproaches of her conscience 
 should induce her to make a voluntary dis- 
 covery ; for all her ideas of virtue depended 
 on the principle of fidelity to the objects of 
 her affection, and no scrupulous notions of 
 justice disturbed her understanding, or 
 alarmed her self-complacency. Conscious 
 that she would willingly sacrifice all she 
 had in the world for any body she loved, 
 and scarcely comprehending that any one 
 could be selfish, she,, in a confused way, 
 applied the maxim of — ^ Do as you would 
 be done by,' and was as generous of the 
 property of others, as of her own. At the 
 Vvorst, if a law-suit commenced against me, 
 I knew that possession was nine tenths of 
 the law*. I also knew, that Ellinor's health 
 was declining, and that the secret would 
 die with her. Unlawful possession of the 
 wealth I enjoyed, could not, however, satis- 
 fy my own mind; and, after a severe con- 
 flict between my love of ease, and my sense 
 VOL. I. P
 
 314 ENNUI. 
 
 of right — between my tastes and my prin- 
 ciples, I determined to act honestly and 
 honourably, and to relinquish what I could 
 no longer maintain without committing in- 
 justice and feeling remorse. I was, per- 
 haps, the more ready to do rightly, because 
 I felt that I was not compelled to it. The 
 moment when I made this virtuous decision 
 was the happiest I had at that time ever 
 felt; my mind seemed suddenly relieved 
 from an oppressive weight; my whole frame 
 glowed with new life, and the consciousness 
 of courageous integrity elevated me so much 
 in my own opinion, that titles, and rank, 
 and fortune, appeared as nothing in my 
 estimation. I rang my bell eagerly, and 
 ordered, that Christy O'Donoghoe should 
 be immediately sent for. The servant went 
 instantly, but it seemed to me an immode- 
 rately long time before Christy arrived. I 
 walked up and down the room impatiently, 
 and at last threw myself at full length upon 
 a sofa — the servant returned. 
 
 " The smith is below in the hall, my 
 lord.'' 
 
 " Show him up." — He was shown up into 
 the antichamber.
 
 ENNUI. old 
 
 *' The smith is at the door, my lord.** 
 
 " Show him in, cannot you ? What de- 
 tains him ?" 
 
 " My brogues, my lord ! I'd be afraid to 
 come in with 'em on the carpet." Saying 
 this, Christy canre in, stepping fearfully, 
 astonished to find himself in a splendid 
 drawing-room. 
 
 " Were you never in this room before, 
 Christy?" said I. 
 
 '' Never, my lord, plase your honour, 
 barring the day I mended the bolt." 
 
 " It is a fine room, is not it Christy?" 
 
 "Troth it is, the finest ever I see, sure 
 enough." 
 
 " How should you like to have such a 
 room of you own, Christy ?'* 
 
 " Is it I ? plase your honour," rephed 
 he, laughing, " what should I do with the 
 like ?" 
 
 " How should you feel if you were master 
 of this great castle ?" 
 
 " It's a poor figure I should make, to be 
 sure," said he, turning his head over his 
 shoulder towards the door, and resting upon 
 the lock, " I'd rather be at the forge by a 
 great dale,'' 
 
 P 2!
 
 316 ENNUI. 
 
 "Are you sure of that, Christy ? Should 
 not you like to be able to live without work- 
 ing any more, and to have horses and ser- 
 vants of your own?** 
 
 *' What would I do with them, plase 
 your honour, I that have never been used 
 to them ? sure they'd all laugh at me, and 
 I'd net be the better o'that, no more than 
 of having nothing to do; I that have been 
 always used to the w^ork, what should I do 
 all the dav without it? But sure, mv lord," 
 continued he, changing his voice to a more 
 serious tone, " the horse that I shod yester- 
 day for your honour did not go lame, did 
 he?" 
 
 " The horse is very w'cll shod, I believe j 
 I have not ridden him since — 1 know no- 
 thing of the matter." 
 
 "Because' I was thinking, may be, it 
 was that made your honour send for me up 
 in the hurry — I was afeard Td find your 
 honour mad with me, and I'd be verv sorrv 
 to disoblige yon, my lord; and I'm glad 
 to see your honour looking so well after all 
 the trouble you've been put to by them 
 rubhleSyAhe villains, to be consarting^g^mst 
 you under-ground — But thanks be to God,
 
 ENxVUI, 317 
 
 you have 'em all in gaol now — I though. 
 my mother would have died of tlie fright 
 she took, when the report came, that Ody 
 was one of them. I told her there could 
 not be no truth in it at all, but she would 
 not mind me — It would be a strange unna- 
 teral thing indeed of any belonging to her 
 to be plotting against your honour. I knew 
 Ody could not be in it, and be a brother 
 of mine, and that's what I kept saying all 
 the time; but she never heeded me, for 
 your honour knows, when the women are 
 frighted, and have taken a thing into their 
 heads, you can*t asy get it out again." 
 
 " Very true; but to return to what I was 
 saying — Should not you like to change 
 places with me, if you could?'* 
 
 *' Your honour, my lord, is a very happy 
 jantleman, and a very good jantleman, 
 there's no doubt, and there's few but would 
 be proud to be like you in any thing at all." 
 
 '' Thank you for that compliment; but 
 now, in plain English, as to yourself, would 
 you like to be in my place — to change 
 places with me ?" 
 
 " In your honour's place — I ! I would 
 710 1, my lord, and that's the truth now,'
 
 318 ENNUI. 
 
 said he, decidedly. " I would not, no 
 offence, your honour bid me to speak the 
 truth, for Fve all I want in the world, a 
 good mother, and a good wife, and good 
 c/iilder, and a reasonable good little cabin, 
 and my little pratees, and the grazing of 
 the cow, and work enough always, and not 
 called on to slave , and I get my health, 
 thank God, for all; and what more could I 
 have if I should be made a lord to morrow ? 
 Sure, my good woman would never make a 
 lady, and what should I do with her ? I'd 
 be griev'd to see her the laughing-stock of 
 high and low, besides being the same my- 
 self, and my boy after me. That would 
 never answer for me, so I am not like them 
 that would overturn all to get uppermost ; 
 I never had any hand, art or part, in a thing 
 of the kind; I always thought and knew I 
 was best as I am ; not, but what if I was 
 to change w ith any, it is with you, my lord, 
 I would be proud to change, because if I 
 was to be a jantleman at all, I'd wish to be 
 of a ra-al good ould family born.'* 
 
 '^ You are then what you wish to be," 
 said I. 
 
 " Och !" said he, laughing, and scratch-
 
 EN'NUI. 319 
 
 ing his head, '' your honour's jesting me 
 about them kings of Ireland, that they say 
 the O'Donoghoe's was once, but that*s what 
 I never think o?i, that's all idle talk for the 
 like of me, for sure that's a long time ago, 
 and what use going back to it, one might 
 as well be going back to Adam, that was 
 the father of all, but which makes no differ 
 now." 
 
 " But you do not understand me," inter- 
 rupted I ; " I am not going back to the 
 kings of Ireland, I mean to tell you, that 
 you were born a gentleman — nay, I am 
 perfectly serious, listen to me." 
 
 ** I do, plase your .honour, though it'is 
 mocking me, I know you are, I would be 
 sorry not take a joke as well as another." 
 
 " This is no joke ; I repeat, that 1 am 
 serious ; you are not only a gentleman, but 
 a nobleman — to you this castle and this 
 great estate belongs, and to you they shall 
 be surrendered." 
 
 He stood astonished, and his eyes open- 
 ing wide, showed a great circle of white in 
 his black face. 
 
 '* Eh 1" cried he, drawing that long breath.
 
 3^0 ENNUI. 
 
 ■which astonishment had suppressed, " But 
 how can this be?" 
 
 " Your mother can explain better than 
 I can — your mother, did I say? she is not 
 your mother. Lady Glenthorn was your 
 mother.'* 
 
 *' I can*t understand it at all — I can't un- 
 derstand it at all. I'll lave it all to your 
 honour," said he, making a motion with his 
 hands, as if to throw from him the trouble 
 of comprehending it. 
 
 " Did you never hear of such a thing as 
 a child's being changed at nurse ?" 
 
 " I did, plase your honour; but my mo- 
 ther would never do the like, I'll answer for 
 hevy any way ; and them that said any thing 
 of the kind belied her, and don't be believ- 
 ing them, my lord." 
 
 " But Ellinor was the person who told 
 me this secret." 
 
 " Was she so ? Oh, she must have been 
 draaming : she was always too good a 
 mother to me to have sarved me so. But," 
 added he, struggling to clear his intellects, 
 *' you say it's not my mother she is ? but 
 whose mother is she then? can it be that
 
 she is yours? 'tis not possible to think such 
 a great lord was the son of such as her, to 
 look at you both: and was you the son of 
 my father Johnny Donoghoe? How is that 
 again ?'* 
 
 He rubbed his forehead, and I could 
 scarcely forbear laughing at his odd per- 
 plexity, though the subject was of such 
 serious importance. When he clearly un*- 
 derstood the case, and thoroughly believed 
 the truth, he did not seem elated by this 
 sudden chani^e of fortune : he reallv thouoht 
 more of me than of himself. 
 
 *' Well, ril teil you what you will do 
 then," continued he, after a pause of deep 
 reflection ; " say nothing to nobody, but 
 just keep asy on, even as we are. Don't 
 let there be any surrendering at all, and I'll 
 .speak to my mother, that is, Eilinor O'Do- 
 noghoc^ and settle it so ; and let it be so 
 settled, in the name of God, and no more 
 about it ; and none need never be the 
 wiser; 'tis so best for all. A good day to 
 your honour, and I'll go shoe the mare." 
 
 " Stay," said I ; " you may hereafter re- 
 pent of this sudden determination : I insist 
 upon your taking four-and-twenty hours — 
 
 P5
 
 322 ENNUI. 
 
 no, that would he too little — take a month 
 to consider of it coolly, and then let me 
 know your final determination." 
 
 " Oh ! plase your honour, I will say the 
 same then as now. It would be a poor 
 thing indeed of me, after all you done for 
 me and mine, to be putting you to more 
 trouble. It would be a poor thing of me 
 to forget how you liked to have lost your 
 life all along with me at the time of the 
 'ruction. No, I'll not take the fortin from 
 you any how.'* 
 
 " Put gratitude to me out of the ques- 
 tion," said I. " Far be it from me to take 
 advantage of your affectionate temper. I 
 do not consider you as under any obligations 
 to me ; nor will I be paid for doing justice." 
 
 " Sure enough, your honour desarved to 
 be born a gentleman," said Christy. 
 
 " At least I have been bred a gentleman," 
 said I. " Let me see you again this day 
 month, and not till then." 
 
 " You shall not — that is, you sliall, plase 
 your honour: but, for fear any one would 
 suspect any thing, I'd best go shoe the 
 mare, any way."
 
 ENNUI. 323 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 ♦* What riches give us, let us then inquire — 
 "Meat, fire, and clothes — ^AVhat more? — Meat, clothes, 
 and fire." 
 
 The philosophy we learn from books makes 
 but a faint impression upon the mind, in 
 comparison with that which we are taught 
 by our own experience: and we sometimes 
 feel surprised to find, that what we have 
 been taught as maxims of morality prove 
 true in real life. After liaving had, for 
 many years, the fullest opportunities of 
 judging of the value of riches, when I re- 
 flected upon my past life, I perceived that 
 their power of conferring happiness is li- 
 mited, nearly as the philosophic poet de- 
 scribes : that all the changes and modifi- 
 cations of luxury must, in the sum of actual 
 physical enjoymentj be reduced to a few 
 elementary pleasures, of which the industri- 
 ous poor can obtain their share: a small
 
 324 ENxNUI. 
 
 share, perhaps ; but then it is enjoyed with 
 a zest that makes it equal in value, perhaps, 
 to the largest portion offered to the sated 
 palate of ennui. These truths are as old 
 as ^the world, but they appeared quite new 
 to me, when I discovered them by my own 
 experience. 
 
 During the month which I had allowed 
 to my foster-brother for reflection, I had 
 leisure to philosophise, and my understand- 
 ing made a rapid progress. I foresaw the 
 probability of Christy's deciding to become 
 Earl of Glenthorn ; notwithstanding that 
 his good sense had so clearly demonstrated 
 to him in theory, that, with his education 
 and habits, he must be happier working in 
 his forge, than he could be as Lord of Glen- 
 thorn Castle. I was not dismayed by the 
 idea of losing my wealth and rank 5 I was 
 pleased with myself for my honest conduct, 
 and conscious of a degree of pleasure from 
 my own approbation, superior to what my 
 riches had ever procured. 
 
 The day appointed for Christy's fmal de- 
 termination arrived. 1 knew, by the first 
 motion of his shoulder as he came into the 
 room, v.'hat his decisipn would be.
 
 ENNUI. 325 
 
 *' Well, Christy," said I, '' you will be 
 Earl of Glenthorn, I perceive. You are 
 glad now that I did not take you at your 
 word, and that I gave you a month's time 
 for consideration." 
 
 *' Your honour was always considerate: 
 but if I'd wish now to be changing my 
 mind," said he, hesitating, and shifting from 
 leg to leg, " it is not upon my own account 
 any way, but upon my son Johnny's." 
 
 " My good friend," said I, " no apology 
 is necessary. I should be very unjust if I 
 were offended by your decision, and very 
 mean if, after the declarations I have made, 
 I could, for an instant, hesitate to restore 
 to you that property, which it is your righit 
 and your choice to reclaim." 
 
 Christy made a low bow, and seemed 
 much at a loss what he was to say next. 
 
 " I hope," continued I, *' that you will be 
 as happy when you are Earl of Glenthorn, 
 as you have been as Christy O'Donoghoe." 
 
 *' May be not, please your honour; but, 
 I trust, my childer will be happy after me ; 
 and it's them and my wife I'm thinking of^ 
 as in duty bound. But it is hard your ho- 
 nour should be astray for want of the fortin
 
 3^6 ENNUI. 
 
 you've been bred to; and this weighs witl 
 me greatly on the other side. If your ho- 
 nour could live on here, and share with us 
 — But I see your honour's displeased at my 
 naming that. ^ It was my wife thought 
 o'that ; I knew^ it could not do. But then, 
 wdiat I think is, that your honour should 
 name what you would be pleased to keep 
 to live upon ; for, to be sure, you have a 
 right to live as a gentleman, that have al- 
 ways lived as one, as every body knows, 
 and none better than I. Would your ho- 
 nour be so kind, then, as just to put down 
 on a bit of paper, what you'd wish to keep, 
 and that same, whatever it is, none shall 
 touch but yourself; and I would not own 
 a child for mine that would begrudge it you. 
 I'll step down and wait below, while your 
 honour writes what you plase." 
 
 The generosity of this man touched me 
 to the heart. I accepted from him three 
 hundred a-year; and requested, that the 
 annuity I allowed to the unfortunate Lady 
 Glenthorn might be continued ; that the 
 house which 1 had built for Ellinor, and the 
 land belonging to it, might be secured to 
 her rent-free for life; and that all my
 
 ENNUI. 327 
 
 debts should be paid. I recommended Mr. 
 AI*Lcod in the strongest manner, as an agent 
 whose abilities and integrity would be to 
 him an invaluable treasure. 
 
 Christy, when I gave him the paper on 
 which I had stated these requests, took a 
 pen instantly, and would have signed his 
 name without reading it j but to this I ab- 
 solutely objected. 
 
 " Well then," said he, " I'll take it home, 
 and read it over, and take time, as you de- 
 sire, to consider. There's no danger of my 
 changing my mind about this : I hope your 
 honour can't think there is." 
 
 The next day, on returning it to me, he 
 observed, that it was making very little of 
 him to put down only such a trifle, and he 
 pressed me to make the hundreds thou- 
 sands: this I refused. 
 
 " But I hope your honour won't object to 
 what I'm going to propose. Is not there a 
 house in London ? and is not there another 
 in England; in the country? and, sure, I 
 and mine can't live there and here and every 
 where at once : if you'd just condescend to 
 occupy one of them, you'd do me a great 
 pleasure, and a great sarvice too; for every
 
 ,328 ENNUI. 
 
 thing would be right, instead of going 
 wrong, as it might under an agent, and me 
 at a distance, that does not know well how 
 to manage such great estates. I hope you*lI 
 not refuse me that, if it's only to show me 
 I don't lose your honour's good-will." 
 
 The oiTer was made with so much earnest- 
 ness, and even delicacy, that I could not 
 abruptly refuse it at the moment, though 
 one of these magnificent houses could be of 
 no use to me with an income of 3001. per 
 annum. 
 
 " As to the annuity," continued Christy, 
 ** that shall be paid as punctual as the day : 
 Mr. M*Leod will pay it ; and he shall have 
 it all settled right, and put upon a stamp, 
 by the lawyers, in case any thing should 
 happen me. Then, as to EHinor, sure, she 
 is my mother, for I never can think of her 
 any other way ; and, except in that single 
 article of changing me at nurse^ was always 
 the best of mother's to me. And even that 
 same trick she played me, though very 
 wicked, to be sure, was very nat'ral — ay, 
 very nat'ral — to prefar her own tlesh and 
 blood if she could : and no one could be 
 more sorry for the wrong she did me than
 
 ENNUI. 329 
 
 she is now : there she is crying at home, 
 ready to break her heart : but, as I tell her, 
 there's no use in repenting a thing when 
 once it is done; and as 1 forgive her, none 
 can ever bring it up against her : and as to 
 the house and farm, she shall surely have 
 that, and shall never want for any thing. 
 So I hope your honour's mind will be asy 
 oa that matter ; and whatever else you re- 
 collect to wish, that, shall be done, if in my 
 power." 
 
 It is with pleasure that I recollect and 
 record all these instances of goodness of 
 heart in poor Christy, which, notwithstand- 
 ing the odd mixture of absurdity and sense 
 in his language and ideas, will, I make no 
 doubt, please my readers, though they can- 
 not affect them as much as they affected 
 me. 
 
 I now prepared for my departure from 
 Glenthorn Castle, never more to return. To 
 spare me from unnecessary mortification, 
 Christy had the wonderful self-command to 
 keep the secret faithfully, so tlVat none of 
 the people in the neighbourhood, nor even 
 my servants, had the slightest idea of the 
 truth. Having long talked of returning to
 
 330 ENNUI. 
 
 England, the preparations for my journey 
 excited no surprise. Every thing went on 
 as usual, except that Christy, instead of 
 being at the forge, was almost every day at 
 the ale-house. 
 
 I thought it proper to speak openly of 
 my affairs to Mr. M'Leod : he was the only 
 person who could make out a correct list of 
 my debts. Besides, I wished to recommend 
 him as agent to the future earl, to whom an 
 honest and able agent would be peculiarly 
 necessary, ignorant, as he was, both of the 
 world and of business ; and surrounded, as 
 he must probably be, on his accession to 
 his estate, by a herd of vulgar and design- 
 ing flatterers. 
 
 Albeit not easily moved to surprise, Mr, 
 M'Leod really did, for an instant, look asto- 
 nished, when I informed him, that Christy 
 0'Dono«hoe was Earl of Glenthorn. But 
 I must resolve not to stop to describe the 
 astonishment that each individual showed 
 upon this occasion, else I shall never have 
 finished my story. 
 
 It was settled that Mr. M'Leod should 
 continue agent ; and, for his credit, I must 
 observe, that after he was made acquainted
 
 ENNUI. 331 
 
 with my loss of rank and fortune, he treated 
 me with infinitely more respect and regard, 
 than he had ever shown me whilst he con- 
 sidered me only as his employer. Our ac- 
 counts were soon settled ; and, when this 
 was done, and they were all regularly signed, 
 Mr. M'Leod came up to me, and, in a low 
 voice, of great emotion, said — 
 
 " I am not a man of professions, but when 
 I say I am a man's friend, I hope I shall 
 ever be found to be so, as far as can be in 
 my power ; and I cannot but esteem and 
 admire the man who has acted so nobly as 
 you have done." 
 
 M'Leod wrung my hand as he spoke, 
 and the tears stood in his eyes. I knew 
 that the feeling must indeed be strong, W' hich 
 could extort from him even these few w^ords 
 of praise, and this simple profession of re- 
 gard : but I did not know, till long after- 
 wards, the full warmth of his affections, 
 and energy of his friendship. The very 
 next day, unfortunately for me, he was 
 obliged to go to Scotland, to his mother, 
 who was dying, and at this time I saw no 
 more of him. 
 
 In due legal form 1 now made a surrender
 
 332 ENNUI. . 
 
 of all claim upon the hereditary property of 
 tlie Earl of Glenthorn, and every thing was 
 in readiness for my journey. During this 
 tirpe, poor Ellinor never appeared at the 
 castle. I went to see her, to comfort her 
 about my going away ; but she was silent, 
 and seemingly sullen, and would not be 
 comforted. 
 
 " IVe enough to grieve me," said she: " I 
 know what will be the end of all ; I see it 
 as plain as if you'd told me. There's no 
 hiding nothing from a mother : no, there's 
 no use in striving to comfort me." Every 
 method which I tried to console her seemed 
 to grieve her more. 
 
 The day before that which was fixed for 
 my departure, I went to desire to see her. 
 This request I had repeatedly made, but 
 she had, from day to day, excused herself, 
 saying, that she was unwell, and that she 
 would be up on the morrow. At last she 
 came, and though but a few days had 
 elapsed since I had seen her, she was so 
 changed in her appearance, that I was 
 shocked the moment 1 beheld her counte- 
 nance.
 
 ENNUI. 333 
 
 ** You don't look well, Ellinor/* said I : 
 *' sit down." 
 
 " No matter whether I sit or stand," said 
 she, calmly. ^' I'm not long for this world : 
 I won't live long after you are gone, that's 
 one comfort." 
 
 Her eyes were fixed and tearless ; and 
 there was a dead unnatural tranquillity in 
 her manner. 
 
 '' They are making a wonderful great 
 noise nailing up the boxes, and I seen them 
 cording the trunks as I came through the , 
 hall. I asked them, could I be of any use: 
 but they said I could be of none, and that's 
 true ; for, when I put my hand to the cord 
 to pull it, I had no more strength than an 
 infant. It was seven and twenty years last 
 Midsummer- day since I first had you an 
 infant in my arms. I was strong enough 
 then, and you was a sweet babby. Had I 
 seen that time, all that would come to pass 
 this day ! But that's over now. I have done 
 a wicked thing ; but I'll send for Father 
 Murphy, and get absolution before I die." 
 
 She sighed deeply, then went on speaking 
 more quickly. 
 
 " But I can do nothing until you go.
 
 334 ENNUI. 
 
 What time will you go in the morning, 
 dear? Ifs better go early. Is it in the 
 coach you'll go ? I see it in the yard. But 
 I thought you must leave the coach, with 
 all the rest, to the rightful heir. But my 
 head's not clear about it all, I believe — and 
 no matter.'* 
 
 Her ideas rambled from one subject to 
 another in an unconnected manner. I en- 
 deavoured in vain to recall her understand- 
 ing, by speaking of her own immediate in- 
 terests ; of the house that was secured to 
 her for life ; and of the promise that had 
 been made me, that she should never want 
 for any things and that she should be treated 
 with all possible kindness. She seemed to 
 listen to me, but showed that she did not 
 comprehend what I said, by her answers ; 
 and, at every pause I made, she repeated 
 the same question. 
 
 " What time will you go in the morning, 
 dear?'* 
 
 At last I touched her feelings, and she 
 recovered her intellects, when I suddenly 
 asked, if she would accompany me to Eng- 
 land the next morning.
 
 ENNUI. 335 
 
 " Ay, that I will !" cried she ; " go with 
 you through the wide world." 
 
 She burst into tears, and wept bitterly for 
 some time. 
 
 " Ah ! now I feel right again,'* said she ; 
 " this is what I wanted ; but could not cry 
 this many a day — never since the word came 
 to me, that you was going, and all was lost." 
 I assured her, that I now expected to be 
 happier than I had ever been. 
 
 " Oh !" cried she, " and have you never 
 been happy all this time ? What a folly it 
 was for me, then, to do so wicked a thing ! 
 and all my comfort was, the thinking you 
 was happy, dear. And what will become 
 of you now ? And is it on foot you'll go ?" 
 Her thoughts rambled again. 
 ** Whatever way I go, you shall go with 
 me," said I. " You are my mother ; and 
 now that your son has done what he knows 
 to be honest and just, he will prosper in the 
 world, and will be truly happy; and so 
 may you be happy, now that you have no- 
 thing more to conceal." 
 She shook her head — 
 " It's too late," said she, " quite too late. 
 I often told Christy I would die before you
 
 S3Q ENNUI. 
 
 ]eft this place, dear, and so I will, you will 
 see. God bless you ! God bkss you ! and 
 pray to him to forgive me ! None that could 
 know what I've gone through would ever 
 do the like ; no, not for their own child, 
 was he even such as you, and that would 
 be hard to find. God bless you, dear; I 
 shall never see you more! The hand of 
 death is upon me — God for ever bless you, 
 dear!" 
 
 She died that night; and I lost, in her, 
 the only human being who had ever shown 
 me warm disinterested affection. Her death 
 delayed, for a few days, my departure from 
 Glenthorn Castle. I staid to see her laid in 
 the grave. Her funeral was followed by 
 crowds of people ; by many, from the ge- 
 neral habit of attending funerals : hy many, 
 who wished to pay their court to me, in 
 showing respect to the memory of my nurse. 
 
 When the prayers over the dead were 
 ended, and the grave closed, just as the 
 crowd were about to disperse, I stood up 
 on a monument belonging to the Glenthorn 
 family ; and the moment it wa^ observed, 
 that I wished to address the multitude, the 
 moving waves were stilled, and there was a
 
 ENNUi. 3S7 
 
 dead silence. Every eye was fixed upon 
 me with eager expectation. It was the first 
 time in my Hfe, that I had ever spoken be- 
 fore nmnbers ; but, as I was certain that I 
 had something to say, and quite indifferent 
 about the manner, words came without dif- 
 ficulty. Amazement appeared in every 
 face, when I declared myself to be the son 
 of the poor woman, whom we had just in- 
 terred. And when I pointed to the real 
 Earl of Glenthorn, and when I declared, 
 that I relinquished to him his hereditary 
 title and lawful property, my auditors looked 
 alternately at me and at my foster-brother, 
 seeming to think it impossible, that a man, 
 with face and hands so black as Christy's 
 usually were knowai to be, could become 
 an earl. 
 
 When I concluded my narrative, and 
 paused, the silence still continued, all seemed 
 held in mute astonishment. 
 
 '' And now, my good friends,*' continued 
 I, " let me bid you farewell; probably you 
 will never see or hear of me more ; but 
 whether he be rich or poor, or high or low- 
 born, every honest man must wish to leave 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 338 ENNUI. ' 
 
 behind him a fair character. Therefore, 
 when I am gone, and, as it were, dead to 
 you, speak of me, not as of an impostor, 
 who long assumed a name, and enjoyed a 
 fortune that was not his own ; hut remem- 
 ber, that I was hred to beheve myself heir 
 to a great estate, and that, after having 
 lived till the age of eight and twenty, in 
 every kind of luxury, I voluntarily gave up 
 the fortune I enjoyed, the moment I dis- 
 covered that it was not justly mine.** 
 
 ^' T/tat you did, indeed,** interrupted 
 Christy ; " and of that I am ready to bear 
 witness for you in this world and in the 
 next. God bless and prosper you wherever 
 you go ! and sure enough he will, for he 
 cannot do other than prosper one that de- 
 serves it so well. 1 never should have 
 known a sentence of the secret," continued 
 he, addressing his neighbours, " if it had 
 not been for his generosity to tell it me j 
 and even had I found it out by any maraclcy 
 where would have been the gain of that to 
 me, for you know he could, had he been 
 so inclined, have kept me out of all by the 
 law — ay, baffled me on till my heart was
 
 ENNin, 339 
 
 sick, and till my little substance was wasted, 
 and my bones rotten in the ground; but, 
 God's blessing be upon him ! he's an honest 
 man, and done that which many a lord in 
 his place would not have done j but a good 
 conscience is a kingdom in itself, and that 
 he cannot but have, wherever he goes — 
 and all which grieves me is that he is going 
 away from us. If he'd be prevailed with 
 by me, he'd stay where is, and we*d share 
 and share alike ; but he's too proud for that 
 r — and ao wonder — he has a right to be 
 proud y for no matter who was his mother, 
 he'll live and die a gentleman, every inch 
 of him. Any man, you see, may be made 
 a lord ; but a gentleman a man must make 
 himself. And vourselves can witness, has 
 not he reigned over us like a gentleman, and 
 a raal gentleman ; and shown mercy to the 
 poor, and done justice to all, as well as t9 
 me ; and did not he take me by the hand 
 when I was persecuted, and none else in the 
 wide world to befri?id me ; and did not he 
 stand up forme against the tyrants that had 
 the sway then ; ay, and did not he put him- 
 self to trouble, day and night, go riding here
 
 340 ENNUI. 
 
 and there, and spaking and writing for me? 
 Well, as they say, he loves his ease, and 
 that's the worst can be said of him ; he took 
 all this pains for a poor man, and had 
 like to have lost his life by it. And now, 
 wherever he is and whatever, can I help, 
 loving and praying for him ? or could you ? 
 And since you will go," added he, turning 
 to me with tears in his eyes, " take with 
 you the blessings of the poor, which, they 
 say, carry a man straight to Heaven, if any 
 thing can.'* 
 
 The surrounding crowd joined with one 
 voice in applauding this speech : " It is he 
 that has said what we all think,'* cried 
 they, following me with acclamations to the 
 castle. When they saw the chaise at the 
 door, which was to carry me away, their 
 acclamations suddenly ceased — " But is he 
 going? — But can't he stay? — And is he 
 going this minute ? troth it's a pity, and a 
 great pity !" 
 
 Again and again these honest people in- 
 sisted upon taking leave of me, and I could 
 not force myself away without difficulty. 
 They walked on beside my carriage, Chrisiy
 
 KNNUt. ^41 
 
 at their head ; and in this species of tri- 
 umph, melancholy indeed, but - grateful to 
 my heart, I quitted Glenthorn Castle, passed 
 through that demesne which was no longer 
 mine, and at the verge of the county shook 
 hands, for the last time, with these affec- 
 tionate and generous people. I then bid 
 my postillion driv^e on fast; and I never 
 looked back, never once cast a lingering 
 look at all I left behind. I felt proud of 
 having executed my purpose, and con- 
 scious I had not the weak, wavering, inef- 
 ficient character, that had formerly dis- 
 graced me. As to the future I had not dis- 
 tinctly arranged my plans, nor was my 
 mind during the remainder of the day suf- 
 ficiently tranquil for reflection. I felt like 
 one in a dream, and could scarcely per- 
 suade myself of the reality of the events, 
 that had succeeded each other with such 
 astonishing rapidity. At night I stopped 
 at an inn where I was not known, and hav- 
 ing no attendants or equipage to command 
 respect from hostlers, waiters, and inn- 
 keepers, I was made immediately sensible 
 of the reality, at least, of the change in my
 
 S4^i ENNUI. 
 
 fortunis ; but I was not mortified — I feit 
 only as if I were travelling incognito. And 
 I contrived to go to bed without a valet-de- 
 chambre, and slept soundly, for I had 
 earned a sound sleep by exertion both ot' 
 body and n\ind.
 
 ENNUI. 343 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 In the morning I awoke with a confused 
 notion, that something extraordinary had 
 happened^ but it was a good while before 
 I recollected myself sufficiently, to be per- 
 fectly sensible of the absolute and irrevo- 
 cable change in my circumstances. An inn 
 may not appear the best possible place for 
 meditation, especially if the moraliser's 
 bed-chamber be next the yard where car- 
 riages roll, and hostlers swear perpetually s 
 yet, so situate, I, this morning as I lay 
 awake in my bed, thought so abstractedly 
 and attentively, that I heard neither wheels 
 nor hostlers. I reviewed the whole of my 
 past life ; I regretted bitterly my extrava- 
 gance, my dissipation, my waste of time j 
 I considered how small a share of enjoy- 
 ment my wealth had procured, either for 
 myself or others^ how little advantage I 
 had derived from my education, and from 
 all my opportunities of acquiring know-
 
 344 ENNUI. 
 
 ledge. It had been in my power to asso- 
 ciate with persons of the highest talents, 
 and of the best information in the British 
 dominions; yet I had devoted my youth to 
 loungers, and gamesters, and epicures, and 
 knew that scarcely a trace of my existence 
 remained in the minds of those selfish be- 
 ings, who once called themselves my friends. 
 I wished, that I could live my life over 
 again, and I felt that, were it in my power, 
 
 ^ should live in a manner very different from 
 that in which I had fooled away existence. 
 In the midst of my self-reproaches, how- 
 ever, I had some consolation in the idea, 
 
 • that I had never been guilty of any base or 
 dishonourable action. I recollected, with 
 satisfaction, my behaviour to Lady Glen- 
 thorn, when I discovered her misconduct ; 
 I recollected that I had always shown gra- 
 titude to poor EUinor for her kindness; I 
 recollected with pleasure, that when trusted 
 with power I had not used it tyrannically. 
 My exertions in favour of my foster-bro- 
 ther, when he was oppressed, I remem- 
 bered with much satisfaction ; and the 
 steadiness with which I behaved, when a 
 conspiracy was formed against my life, gave
 
 ENNUL 345 
 
 me confidence in my own coii rage ; and, 
 after having sacrificed my vast possessions 
 to a sense of Justice, no mortal could doubt 
 my integrity ; so that upon the whole, not- 
 withstanding my past follies, I had a to- 
 lerably good opinion of myself, or rather 
 good hopes for the future. I was certain, 
 that there was more in me than the world 
 had seen ; and I was ambitious of proving, 
 that I had some personal merit independent 
 of the adventitious circumstaiices of rank 
 and fortune. But how was 1 to distinguish 
 myself? 
 
 Just as I came to this difficult question, 
 the chambermaid iiiterrupted my reverie; 
 by warning me in a shrill voice, that it was 
 very late, and that she h?d eddied me above 
 two hours before. 
 
 Where's my man ? send up my man ? O ! 
 I beg your pardon — nothing at all ; only, 
 my good girl, I should be obliged to'}/OU if 
 you could let me have a little warm water, 
 that I may shave myself. 
 
 It was new and rather strano^e to me to 
 be v^'ithout attendants, but 1 found, that 
 when I was forced to it, I could do things 
 admirably well for myself, that I had never
 
 346 ENNUI. 
 
 suspected I could perform without assist- 
 ance. After I had travelled two days with- 
 out servants, how I had travelled with them 
 was the wonder. I once caught myself, 
 saying of myself, " that careless blockhead 
 has forgot my night-cap." For some time 
 I was liable to make odd blunders about my 
 own identity ; I was apt to mistake between 
 my old and my new habits, so that w^hen I 
 spoke in the tone and imperative mood in 
 which Lord Glenthorn had been habituated 
 to speak, people stared at me as if I was 
 mad, and I in my turn was frequently asto- 
 nished by their astonishment, and perplexed 
 hy their ease of behaviour in my presence. 
 Upon my arrival in Dublin, I went to a 
 small lodging which Mr. M'Leod had re- 
 commended to me ; it was such as suited 
 my reduced finances; but, at first view, it 
 \^as not much to my taste ; however, 1 eat 
 with a good appetite my very frugal sup- 
 per, upon a little table, covered with a little 
 table-cloth, on which I could not wipe my 
 mouth without stooping low : the mistress 
 of the house, a north-country woman, was 
 so condescending, as to blow my fire, re- 
 marking at the same time, that coals were
 
 ENNUI. 347 
 
 a venj scarce article ; she begged to know 
 whether I would choose a fire in my bed- 
 room, and what quantity of coals she should 
 lay in; she added many questions about 
 boarding, and small-beer, and tea, and sugar, 
 and butter, and blankets, and sheets, and 
 washerwomen, which almost overwhelmed 
 my spirits. 
 
 And must I think of all these things for 
 myself? said I, in a lamentable tone, and 
 I suppose with a most deplorable length of 
 face, for the woman could not refrain from 
 laughing ; as she left the room, I heard her 
 exclaim, " Lord help him ! he looks as 
 much astray as if he was just new from 
 the Isle of Sky." 
 
 The cares of life were coming fast upon 
 me, and I was terrified by the idea of a 
 host of petty evils ; I sat ruminating with 
 my feet on the bars of the grate, till past 
 midnight, till my landlady, who seemed to 
 think it incumbent upon her to supply me 
 with common senso, came to inform me 
 that there was a good fire burning to waste 
 in the bed-room, and that I should find my- 
 self a deal better there than sitting over the 
 cinders. I suffered myself to be removed to
 
 348 ENNUI. 
 
 the bed-chamber, and again established my 
 feet upon the upper bar of the grate. 
 
 " Lack! sir, you'll burn your boots," 
 said my careful landlady, who, after bidding 
 me good-night, put her head back into the 
 room, to beg I would be sure to rake the 
 fire, and throw up the ashes safe before I 
 went to bed. Left to my own meditations, 
 I confess I did feel rather forlorn. I reflect- 
 ed upon my helplessness in all the common 
 business of life; and the more I considered, 
 that I was totally unfit for any employment 
 or profession, by which I could either earn 
 money, or distinguish myself, the deeper 
 became my despondency. I passed a sleep- 
 less night, vainly regretting the time that 
 never could be recalled. 
 
 In the mornmg, my landlady gave me 
 some letters, which had been forwarded for 
 me from Glenthorn Castle : The direction, 
 to the Earl of Glenthorn, scratched out, 
 and in its place inserted my new address, 
 <' C. (yUonoghoe, Esq., No. 6, Duke-Street^ 
 Dublin.'' 1 remember, I held the letters in 
 my hand, contemplating the direction for 
 some minutes, and at length read it aloud 
 repeatedly, to my landlady's infinite amuse-
 
 ENNUI. 349 
 
 ment; she knew nothing of my history, 
 and seemed in doubt whether to think me 
 extremely silly or mad. One of my letters 
 was from Lord Y****, an Irish nobleman, 
 with whom I was not personally acquainted, 
 but for whose amiable character, and lite- 
 rary reputation, I had always, even during 
 my days of dissipation, peculiar respect. 
 He wrote to me, to make inquiries respect- 
 ing the character of a Mr. Lyddell, who 
 had just proposed himself as tutor to the son 
 of one of his friends. Mr. I.yddell had for- 
 merly been my favourite tutor, the man who 
 had encouraged me in every species of igno- 
 rance and idleness. In my present state of 
 mind, I was not disposed to speak favourably 
 of this gentleman; and I resolved, that I 
 would not be instrumental in placing ano- 
 ther young nobleman under his guidance; 
 I wrote an explicit, indignant, and I will 
 say eloquent letter, upon this occasion; 
 but, when 1 came to the signature, I felt a 
 repugnance to signing myself, C. O'Dono- 
 ghoe, and I recollected, that as my history 
 could not yet be public. Lord Y**** would 
 be puzzled by this strange name, and would 
 be unable to comprehend this answer to his
 
 350 ENNUI. 
 
 letter. I therefore determined to wait upon 
 his lordship, and to make my explanations 
 in person; besides my other reasons for de- 
 termining on this visit, I had a strong desire 
 to become personally acquainted with a 
 nobleman, of whom I had heard so much. 
 His lordship*s porter was not quite so in- 
 solent as some of his brethren, and though 
 I did not come in a showy equipage, and 
 though I had no laced footmen to enforce 
 my rights, I gained admission. I passed 
 through a gallery of fine statues, to a mag- 
 nificent library, which I admired till the 
 master of the house appeared, and from 
 that moment he commanded, or rather cap- 
 tivated, my attention. 
 
 Lord Y**** was at this time an elderly 
 gentleman. In his address, there was a 
 becoming mixture of ease and dignity j he 
 was not what the French call manitrt ; his 
 politeness was not of any particular school, 
 but founded on those general principles of 
 good taste, good sense, and good nature, 
 which must succeed in all times, places, 
 and seasons. His desire to please evidently 
 arose, not from vanity, but benevolence. 
 In his conversation, there was neither the
 
 ENNCJT. 351 
 
 pedantry of a recluse, nor the coxcombry 
 of a man of the world : his knowledge was 
 select, his wit without effort, the play of a 
 cultivated imagination: the happiness of 
 his expressions did not seem the result of 
 care; and his allusions were at once so ap- 
 posite and elegant, as to charm both the 
 learned and the unlearned ; all he said was 
 sufficiently clear and just, to strike every 
 person of plain sense and natural feeling, 
 whilst, to the man of literature, it had often 
 a further power to please, by its less obvious 
 meaning. Lord Y****^'s superiority never 
 depressed those with whom he conversed ; 
 on the contrary, they felt themselves raised 
 by the magic of politeness to his level ; in- 
 stead of being compelled to pay tribute, 
 they seemed invited to share his intellectual 
 dominion, and to enjoy with him the de- 
 lightful pre-eminence of genius and virtue. 
 
 I shall be forgiven for pausing in my own 
 insignificant story, to dwell on the noble 
 character of a departed friend. That he 
 permitted me to call him my friend, 1 think 
 the greatest honour of my life. But let me, 
 if I can, go on regularly with my narrative.
 
 3.5^. ENNUI ; 
 
 Lord Y**** took it for granted, during' 
 our first half hour's conversation, that he 
 was speaking to the Earl of Glenthorn ; he 
 thanked me with much warmth for putting 
 him on his guard against the character of 
 Mr. Lyddell ; and his lordship was also 
 pleased to thank me, for making him ac- 
 quainted, as he said, with my own charac- 
 ter; for convincing him how ill it had been 
 appreciated by those, who imagined, that 
 wealth and title were the only distinctions, 
 which the Earl of Glenthorn might claim. 
 This compliment went nearer to m}^ heart 
 than Lord Y**** could guess. 
 
 " My chafacter," said I, " since your 
 lordship encourages me to speak of myself 
 with freedom, my character has, I hope, 
 been much changed and improved by cir- 
 cumstances ; and perhaps those, which 
 might at present be deemed the most unfor- 
 tunate, may ultimately prove of the greatest 
 advantage by urging me to exertion. — Your 
 lordship is not aware of what I allude to : 
 a late event in my singular history,'* con- 
 tinued I, taking up the newspapers which 
 lay on his library table — " my singular
 
 ENNUI. 353 
 
 tiistoiy, has not yet, I fancy, got into the 
 public newspapers. Perhaps you will hear 
 it most favourably from myself." 
 
 Lord Y**** was politely, benevolently 
 attentive, whilst I related to him the sudden 
 and singular change in my fortune: when 
 I gave an account of the manner in which 
 I had conducted myself after the discovery 
 of my birth, tears of generous feeling filled 
 his eyes -, he laid his hand upon mine when 
 I paused. 
 
 " Whatever you have lost," said he, 
 f^ you have gained a friend. Do not be sur- 
 prised," continued he, '* by this sudden 
 •declaration. Before I saw you this morn- 
 ing, your real character was better known 
 to me than you imagine. I learnt it from 
 a particular friend of mine, of whosejudge- 
 ment and abilities I have the highest opi- 
 nion, Mr. Cecil Devereux ; I saw him just 
 after his marriage, and the very evening 
 before they sailed, I remember, when Lady 
 Geraldine and he were talking of the re- 
 gret tl>ey felt in leaving Ireland, among the 
 friends whom they lamented that they should 
 not see again, perhaps for years, you were 
 mentioned with peculiar esteem and affec-
 
 354 ENNUI. 
 
 tion. They called you their generous bene- 
 factor, and fully explained to me the claim 
 you had to this title — a title which never 
 can be lost. But Mr. Devereux was anxi- 
 ous to convince me, that he was not in- 
 iluenced by the partiality of gratitude in 
 his opinion of his benefactor's talents. He 
 repeated an assertion, that was supported 
 with much energy by the charming Lady 
 Geraldine, that Lord Glenthorn had abilities 
 to be am) thing he pleased; and the high 
 terms in which they spoke of his talents, 
 and the strong proofs they adduced of the 
 generosity of his character, excited, in my 
 mind, a warm desire to cultivate his ac- 
 quaintance j a desire, which has been con- 
 siderably increased within this last hour. 
 May I hope, that the Irish rapidity, with 
 which I have passed from acquaintance to 
 friendship, may not shock English habits 
 of reserve, and ma}^ not induce you to doubt 
 the sincerity of the man, who has ventured 
 w ith so little hesitation or ceremony, to de- 
 clare himselfyour friend?" 
 
 I was so much moved by this unexpected 
 kindness, that, though I felt how much 
 more was requisite, I could answer only
 
 ENNUI. 353 
 
 with a bow ; and I was glad to make my 
 retreat as soon as possible. Tiie very next 
 day, his lordship returned my visit, to my 
 landlady's irrecoverable astonishment ; and 
 I had increasing reason to regard him with 
 admiration and affection. He convinced 
 me, that I had interested him in my con- 
 cerns, and told me, I must forgive him if he 
 spoke to me with the freedom of a friend ; 
 thus I was encouraged to consult him re- 
 specting my future plans. Plans, indeed, 
 I had none regularly formed j but Lord 
 Y****, by his judicious suggestions, settled, 
 and directed my ideas, without overpower- 
 ing me by the formality of advice. My 
 ambition was excited to deserve his friend- 
 ship, and to accomplish his predictions. 
 The profession of the law was that, to 
 which he advised me to turn my thoughts : 
 he predicted, that, if for five years I would 
 persevere in application to the necessary 
 preparatory studies, I should afterwards dis- 
 tinguish myself at the bar, more than I had 
 ever been distinguished by the title of Earl 
 of Glenthorn. Five years of hard labour I 
 the idea alarmed, but did not utterly appal 
 my imagination ; and to prevent my dwell-
 
 356 ENNUI. 
 
 ing upon it too long at the first. Lord Y**** 
 suddenly changed the conversation, and in 
 a playful tone, said, " Before you immerse 
 yourself in your studies, I must, however, 
 claim some of your time. You must permit 
 me to carry you home v\/ith me to day, to 
 introduce you to two ladies of my acquaint- 
 ance. The one prudent and old — if a lady 
 can ever be old ; the other, young, and 
 beautiful, and graceful, and witty, and wise, 
 and reasonable. One of these ladies is 
 much prepossessed in your favour, the other 
 strongly prejudiced against you — for the 
 best of all possible reasons, because she does 
 not know you." 
 
 I accepted Lord Y****'s invitation -, not 
 a little curious, to know, whether it was the 
 old and prudent, or the young, beautiful, 
 graceful,witty,wise, and reasonable lady,who 
 was much prepossessed in my favour. Not- 
 withstanding my usual indifference to the 
 whole race of vcrij agreeable young la dies ^ 
 I remember trying to form a picture in my 
 imagination of this all-accomplished female.
 
 ENNUU 357 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 Upon my arrival at Y**** House, I found 
 two ladies in the drawing-room, in earnest 
 conversation with Lady Y****. In their 
 external appearance, they were nearly what 
 my friend had described ; except that the 
 beauty of the youngest infinitely surpassed 
 my expectations. The elegance of her 
 form, and the charming expression of her 
 countenance, struck me with a sort of de- 
 lightful surprise, that was quickly succeeded 
 by a most painful sensation. 
 
 " Lady Y***^, give me leave to intro- 
 duce to you Mr. O'Donoghoe.'* 
 
 Shocked by the sound of my own name, 
 I was ready to recoil abashed. The elderly 
 lady turned her eyes upon me for an instant, 
 with that indifference with which we look 
 at an uninteresting stranger. The young 
 lady seemed to pity my confusion ; for 
 though so well and so long used to varieties 
 of the highest company, when placed in a
 
 358 ENNUI. 
 
 situation that was new to me, I was unac- 
 countably disconcerted. Ah ! thought I, 
 how differently should I be received were 
 I still Earl of Glenthorn ! 
 
 I was rather angry with Lord Y**** for 
 not introducing me, as he had promised, to 
 this fair lady ; and yet the repetition of my 
 name would have increased my vexation. 
 In short, I was unjust, and felt an impa- 
 tience and irritability quite unusual to my 
 temper. Lady Y**** addressed some con- 
 versation to me, in an obliging manner, and 
 I did my best to support my part till she 
 left me : but my attention was soon dis- 
 tracted, by a conversation that commenced 
 at another part of the room, between the 
 elderly lady and Lady Y****. 
 
 *' My dear Lady Y****, have you heard 
 the extraordinary news ? the most incredible 
 thing that ever was heard! For my part, I 
 cannot believe it yet, though we have the 
 intellig;ence from the best authority. Lord 
 Glenthorn, that is to say, the })erson we 
 always called Lord Glenthorn, turns out to 
 be the son of the lord knows who — tljey 
 don't mention the name.'* 
 
 At this speech I was ready to sink into
 
 ENNUI. 359 
 
 the earth. LordY**** took my arm, and 
 led me into another room. " I have some 
 cameos," said he, " which are thought 
 curious ; would you Hke to look at them?" 
 " Can you conceive it!" continued the 
 elderly lady, whose voice I still heard, as 
 the folding doors of the room were open : 
 " Changed at nurse ! One hears of such 
 things in novels, but, in real life, I abso- 
 lutely cannot believe it. Yet here, in this 
 letter from Lady Ormsby, are all the parti- 
 culars : and a blacksmith is found to be 
 Earl of Glenthorn, and takes possession of 
 Glen thorn Castle, and all the estates. And 
 the man is married, to some vulgarian, of 
 course : and he has a son, and may have 
 half a hundred, you know; so there is an 
 end of our hopes ; and there is an end too 
 of all my fine schemes for Cecilia." 
 
 I felt myself change colour again. " I 
 believe," said I, to Lord Y****, " I ought 
 not to hear this. If your lordship will give 
 me leave, I will shut the door." 
 
 ** No, no," said he, smiling, and stop- 
 ping me, " you ought to hear it, for it will 
 do you a great deal of good. You know I 
 have undertaken to be your guide, philoso*
 
 360 ENNUI. 
 
 pher, and friend; so 3'^ou must let me have 
 my own way; and if it should so happen, 
 hear yourself abused patiently. Is not this 
 a fine bust of Socrates?" 
 
 Some part of the conversation in the next 
 room I missed, whilst his lordship spoke. — 
 The next words I heard were — 
 
 «' But, my dear Lady Y****, look at 
 Cecilia. Would not any other girl be cast 
 down and miserable in Cecilia's place ? yet 
 see how provokingly happy and well she 
 looks." 
 
 ^' Yes," replied Lady Y****, '^ I never 
 saw her appear better : but we are not to 
 judge of her by what any other young lady 
 would be in her place, for I know of none 
 at all comparable to Miss Delamere.'' 
 
 ** Miss Del amere!" said I, toLordY****. 
 ** Is this the Miss Dclamere who is heir 
 at law to—" 
 
 " The Glenthorn estate. Yes — do not 
 let the head of Socrates fall from your 
 hands," said his lordship, smiling. 
 
 I again lost something that was said in 
 the next room ; but I heard the old lady 
 going on with — 
 
 " I only say, my dear, that if the man
 
 ENNUI. 361 
 
 had been really what he was said to be, you 
 could not have done better.'* 
 
 " Dearest mother, you cannot be serious,'* 
 replied the sweetest voice I ever heard. " I 
 am sure that you never were in earnest upon 
 this subject : you could not wish me to be 
 united with such a man as Lord Glenthorn 
 was said to be." 
 
 " Why ? what was he said to be, my 
 dear? — a little dissipated, a little extravagant 
 only : and if he had a fortune to support 
 it, child, v/hat matter?" pursued the mo- 
 ther : *' all young men are extravagant 
 now-a days — you must take the world as it 
 goes." 
 
 *' The lady who married Lord Glenthori), 
 I suppose, acted upon that principle, and 
 you see wiiat was the consequence." 
 
 *' O, my dear, as to her ladyship, it ran 
 in the blood : k-t her have married whom 
 she would, she would have done the same-: 
 and I am told Lord Glenthorn made an in- 
 comparably good husband. A cousin of 
 Lady Glenthorn's assured me^ that she was 
 present one day, when her ladyship ex- 
 pressed a wish for a guld chain to wear 
 round her neck, or braid her hair, I forgft 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 562 ENNUI. 
 
 for what, but that very hour Lord Glen- 
 thorn bespoke for her a hundred yards of 
 gold chahi, at three guineas a yard. An* 
 other time she longed for an Indian shawl, 
 and his lordship presented her next day with 
 three dozen real India shawls. There's a 
 husband for you, Cecilia 1" 
 
 " Not for me, mamma,'* said Cecilia, 
 laughing. 
 
 " Ah, you are a strange, romantic girl, 
 and never will be married after all, I fear.** 
 
 *' Never to a fool, I hope," said Cecilia. 
 
 ** Miss Delamere will, however, allow,** 
 said Lady y^***, '^ that a man may have 
 his follies, without being a fool, or wholly 
 unworthy of her esteem ; otherwise, what 
 a large portion of mankind she would de- 
 prive of hope!" 
 
 " As to Lord Glenthorn, he was no fool, 
 I promise you," continued the mother; 
 " has not he been living prudently enough 
 these three years ? we have not heard of 
 late of any of his ex traor dinar y landaus J' 
 
 " But I have been told," said Cecilia, 
 " that he is quite uninformed, without any 
 taste for literature, and absolutely incapable 
 of exertion — a victim to ennui. How miser-
 
 ENNUI. 3to 
 
 ^.ble, a woman must be with such a hus- 
 band j'^jj^.^jij .7/ ^*-*/ 
 
 *' But," said Lady Y****, " whatcoiild 
 be expected from a young nobleman,., bredi 
 up as Lord Glenthorn was,?'/ n-jjjt :r.^"' " - 
 .i,f' Nothing," said Cecilia; "and that i$ 
 tl)p. very reason I never. wish to se€f.liim/V '■ 
 
 "Perhaps Miss Delamere's opinion might 
 be changed if she had known him," said 
 Lady Y****. 
 
 " Ay, for he is a very handsome man, I 
 have heard,'* said the mother. " Lai^y 
 Jocunda Lawler told me so, in one of her 
 letters ; and Lady Jocunda was very near 
 being married to him herself, I can tell you, 
 for he admired her prodigiously." 
 
 " A certain proof, that he never would 
 have admired me," said Cecilia; " for two 
 women, so opposite in every respect, no 
 man could have loved.'* 
 
 " Lord bless you, child!, how little you 
 know of the matter ! After aU, I dare say, 
 if you had been acquainted with him, you 
 might have been in love yourself with Lord- 
 Glenthorn." 
 
 " Possibly," said Cecilia, " if I had found 
 him the reverse of what he is reported to be.".
 
 364 ENNUI. 
 
 Company came in at this instant. Lord 
 Y**** was called to receive them, and I 
 followed; glad, at this instant, that I was 
 not Lord Glenthorn. At dinner the con- 
 versation turned upon general subjects ; and 
 I^rd Y****, with polite and friendly at- 
 tention, drew vie out, without seeming to do 
 so, in the most friendly manner possible. 
 
 I had the pleasure to perceive, that Ceci- 
 lia Delamere did not fmd me a fool. I 
 never, even in the presence of Lady Geral- 
 diie, exerted myself so much to avoid this 
 disgrace. 
 
 After all the company, except Airs, and 
 Miss Delamere, were gone. Lord Y**** 
 called me aside. 
 
 " Will you pardon." said he, *' the means 
 I have taken to convince you how much 
 superior you are to the opinion that has 
 been commonly formed of Lord Glenthorn ? 
 Will you forgive me for convincing you, 
 that when a man has sufficient strength of 
 mind to rely upon himself, and sufficient 
 energy to exert his abilities, he becomes in- 
 dependent of common report and vulgar 
 opinion ? he secures the suffrages of the best 
 iudges ; and they, in time, lead all the rest
 
 ENNUI. 365 
 
 of the world. Will you permit me now to 
 introduce you to your prudent friend and 
 your fair enemy ? Mrs. Delamere — Miss 
 Delamere, give me leave to introduce to you 
 the late Earl of Glenthorn.*' 
 
 Of the astonishment in tlie opening eyes 
 t)f Mrs. Delamere 1 have some faint recol- 
 lection. I can never forget the crimson 
 blush, that instantaneously spread over the' 
 celestial countenance of Cecilia. She was 
 perfectly silent, but her mother went on 
 talking with increased rapidity. 
 
 " Good Heavens ! the late Lord Glen- 
 thorn ! Why, I was talking — but he was 
 not in the room." The ladies exchanged 
 looks, which seemed to say, " I hope he 
 did not hear all we said of him." 
 
 ** My dear Lord Y * " * *, why did not you 
 tell us this before? Suppose we had spoken 
 of his lordship, you would have been an- 
 swerable for all the consequences." 
 
 '' Certainly," said Lord Y*^**. 
 , " But, seriously," said the old lady, '* have 
 I the pleasure to speak to Lord Cjlenthorn, 
 or have I not? I believe 1 began, unluckily, 
 to talk of a strange story 1 had heard; but 
 perhaps all this is a mistake, and my coun-
 
 36iy ENNUf. 
 
 try correspoii'dent may have been amusing 
 herself at the expense of my credulity. I 
 assure you I was not imposed upon, I never 
 believed half the story.'* 
 
 *' You may believe the whole of it, ma- 
 dam," said I y " the story is perfectly true.'* 
 
 '* O ! my good sir, how sorry I am to 
 hear you say it is all true ! And the black- 
 smith is rcally Earl of Glenthorn, and has 
 taken possession of the castle, and is mar* 
 ried, and has a son! Lord bless me, how 
 unfortunate ! Well, I can only say, sir, I 
 wish, with all my heart, you were Earl of 
 Glenthorn still.'* 
 
 After hearing from Lord Y**** the cir- 
 cumstances of what he was pleased to call 
 my generous conduct, Mrs. Delamere ob- 
 served, that r had acted very generously, to 
 bfe sure, but that few in my place would 
 have thought themselves bound to give up 
 possession of an estate, which I had so long 
 been taught to belie\e was my own. To 
 have and to hold, she observed, always 
 went together in law ; and she could not 
 help thinking I had done very injudiciously 
 and imprudently not to let the law decide 
 for me. - ' •
 
 ENNUI. S67 
 
 I was consoled for Mrs. Delamere's re- 
 prehensions by her daughter's approving 
 countenance. After this visit. Lord Y***^ 
 gave me a general invitation to his house, 
 where 1 frequently saw Miss Delamere, and 
 frequently compared her with my recollec- 
 tion of Lady Geraldine *********. 
 Cecilia Delamere was not so entertaining, 
 but she was more interesting than Lady 
 Geraldine ; the flashes of her ladyship's wit, 
 though always striking, were sometimes 
 dangerous ; Cecilia's wit, though equally 
 brilliant, shone with a more pleasing and 
 inoffensive light. Cecilia had humour, but 
 it played rather upon things than upon per- 
 sons : she had not the dexterity of Lady 
 Geraldine in drawing caricature, but in fa- 
 vourable likenesses she excelled; she had 
 neither the powers of mimickry, nor the sa- 
 tirical talents of Lady Geraldine; but Ce- 
 cilia's general observations on life and man- 
 ners showed more impartiality and juster 
 discrimination, if not so wide a range of 
 thought. With as much generosity as Lady 
 Geraldine could show in great affairs, she 
 had more forbearance and delicacy of at- 
 tention on every-day occasions. Lady Ge-
 
 568 ENNUI. 
 
 raldiiie had much pride, and it often gave 
 offence : Ceciha, perhaps, had more pride, 
 but it never appeared, except upon the 
 defensive: without having less candour, 
 she had less occasion for it than Lady Ge- 
 raldine seemed to have; and Cecilia's tem- 
 per had more softness and equabiHty. Per- 
 haps Cecilia was not so fascinating, but she 
 Avas more attractive. One had the envied 
 art of appearing to advantage in public — 
 the other, the more desirable power of be- 
 ing happy in private. 1 admired Lady Ge- 
 raldine long before I loved her 5 I loved Ce- 
 cilia long before 1 admired her. 
 
 Whilst 1 possibly could, I called what I 
 felt for Miss Delamere only esteem; but 
 when I found it impossible to conceal from 
 myself that I loved^ I resolved to avoid this 
 charming woman. How happy, thought I, 
 would the fortune I oRce possessed now 
 make me ! but in my present circumstances 
 what have 1 to hope ? Surely my friend Lord 
 Y**** has not shown his usual prudence, 
 in exposing me to such a temptation ; but 
 it is to be supposed, he thinks, that the im- 
 possibility of my obtaining Miss Delamere 
 w^ould prevent my thinking of her; or, per-
 
 ENNUI. 369 
 
 haps, he depends on the inertness and apatliy 
 of my temper. Unfortunately for me, my 
 sensibility has increased since I have be- 
 come poor; for many years, when I was 
 rich, and could have married easily, I never 
 wished to marry, and now that 1 have not 
 enough to support a wife, I immediately 
 fall desperately in love. 
 
 Again and again 1 pondered upon my 
 circumstances ; three hundred a-year was 
 the amount of all my worldly possessions; 
 and Miss Delamere was not rich, and she 
 had been bred expensively ; for it had never 
 been absent from her mother's mind, that 
 Cecilia would be heiress to the immense 
 Glenthorn estate. The present possessor 
 was, however, an excellent life, and he had 
 a son stout and healthy, so all these hope& 
 of Mrs. Delamere's were at an end ; and as 
 there was little chance, as she said (laugh* 
 ing), of persuading her daughter to marry 
 Johnny, the young lord and heir apparent, 
 it was now necessary to turn her views else- 
 where, and to form for Cecilia some suit- 
 able alliance;. Rank and large fortune were, 
 in Mrs. Delamere's opinion, indispensable 
 to happiness. Cecilia's ideas were far more 
 
 r5
 
 370 ENNUI. 
 
 moderate; but though perfectly disinter- 
 ested and generous, she was not so roman- 
 ticj or so silly, as to think of marrying any 
 man, without the probability of his being 
 able to support her in the society of her 
 equals ; nor, even if I could have thought 
 it possible to prevail upon Miss Delamere 
 to make an unbecoming and imprudent 
 choice, would I have taken advantage of 
 the confidence reposed in me by Lord 
 Y****, to destroy the happiness of a young 
 friend, for whom he evidently had a great 
 regard. I resolved to see her no more — 
 and for some weeks I kept my resolution ; 
 I refrained from going to Y* * * * house. I 
 deem this the most virtuous action of my 
 life; it certainly was the most painful sacri- 
 fice I ever made to a sense of duty. At 
 last. Lord Y * * * * came to me one morn- 
 ing, and after reproaching me, in a friendly 
 manner, for having so long absented myself 
 from his house, declared, that he would not 
 be satisfied with any of those common ex- 
 cuses, which might content a mere ac- 
 quaintance; that his sincere anxiety for my 
 welfare gave him a right to expect from me 
 the frankness of a friend. It was a relief to
 
 ENNur. 371 
 
 my mind to be encouraged in this manner. 
 I confessed with entire openness my real 
 motive. Lord Y * * * * heard me without 
 surprise : — 
 
 '' It is gratifying to me,'* said his lord- 
 ship, " to be convinced, that I was not mis- 
 taken in my judgement, either of your taste, 
 or your integrity ; permit me to assure you, 
 that I foresaw exactly how you would feel, 
 and precisely how you would act. There 
 are certain moral omens, which old expe- 
 rience never fails to interpret rightly, and 
 from which, unerring predictions of the fu- 
 ture conduct, and consequently of the fu- 
 ture fate of individuals, may be formed. I 
 hold that we are the artificers of our own 
 fortune. If there be any whom the gods 
 wish to destroy, these are first deprived of 
 understanding ; whom the gods wish to fa- 
 vour, they first endow with integrity, inspire 
 with understanding, and animate with ac- 
 tivity. Have I not seen integrity in you ? 
 and shall I not see activity ? Yes — that su- 
 pineness of temper or habit, with which 
 you reproach yourself, has arisen, believe 
 me, only from want of motive ; but you have 
 now the most powerful of motives, and, in
 
 372 ENNUI. 
 
 proportion to your exertions, will be your 
 success. In our country, you know, the 
 highest offices of the state are open to ta- 
 lents and perseverance j a man of abilities 
 and application cannot fail to secure inde- 
 pendence, and obtain distinction. Time and 
 industry are necessary to prepare you for 
 the profession, to which you will hereafter 
 be an honour, and you will courageously 
 su'bmit. 
 
 'Time and industry the mighty two, 
 
 ' Which bring our wishes nearer to our view.' 
 
 As to the probability that your present 
 wishes may be crowned with success, I can 
 judge only from my general knowledge of 
 the views and disposition of the lady whom 
 you admire. I k^iow that her views with 
 respect to fortune are moderate, and that 
 her disposition and excellent understanding 
 will, in the choice of a husband, direct her 
 preference to the essential good qualities, 
 and not to the accidental advantages of the 
 candidates for her favour. As to the mo- 
 ther's influence, that will necessarily yield 
 to the daughter's superior judgement. Ce- 
 cilia possesses over her mother not only that
 
 ENNUI. 373 
 
 power, which strong minds always have 
 over weak ones, but she further exercises 
 the witchcraft of gentle manners, which in 
 the female sex is always irresistible, even 
 over violent tempers. Prudential consider- 
 ations have a just, though not exclusive 
 claim to Miss Delamere's attention. But 
 Miss Delamere^s relations, I fancy, could 
 find means of providing against any pecu- 
 niary embarrassments, if she should think 
 proper to unite herself to a man who can 
 be content, as she would be, with a com- 
 petence, and who should have proved him- 
 self able, b\j his own exertions, to maintain 
 Jus wife in independence. On this last con- 
 dition I must dwell with emphasis, because 
 it is indispensable, and I am convinced, 
 that, without it. Miss Delamere's consent, 
 even after she is of age, and at liberty to 
 judge for herself, could never be obtained. 
 You perceive then, how much depends upon 
 your own exertions ; and this is the best 
 hope, and the best motive that I can give 
 to a strong and generous mind. Farewell 
 —Persevere and prosper." 
 
 Such was the general purport of what 
 Lord Y * * * * said to me 3 indeed, I believe.
 
 374 ENNUf. 
 
 that I have repeated his very words, for 
 they made a great and ineffaceable impres- 
 sion upon my mind. From this day I date 
 the commencement of a new existence. 
 Fired with ambition, I hope generous am- 
 bition, to distinguish myself among men, 
 and to win the favour of the most amiable 
 and the most lovely of women ; all the fa- 
 culties of my soul were awakened — I be- 
 came active, permanently active. The en- 
 chantment of indolence was dissolved, and 
 the demon of ennui was cast out for ever.
 
 ENNUI. 375 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 If, among those who may be tempted to 
 peruse my history, there should be any mere 
 novel-readers, let me advise them to throw 
 the book aside at the commencement of this 
 chapter, for I have no more wonderful inci- 
 dents to relate, no more changes at nurse, 
 no more sudden turns of fortune. I am now 
 become a plodding man of business, poring 
 over law-books from morning till night, and 
 leading a most monotonous life ; yet occu- 
 pation, and hope, and the constant sense of 
 approaching nearer to my object, rendered 
 this mode of existence, dull as it may seem, 
 infinitely more agreeable than many of my 
 apparently prosperous days, when I had 
 more money, and more time, than I knew 
 how to enjoy. I resolutely persevered in 
 my studies. 
 
 About a month after I came to town, the 
 doors of my lodgings were blockaded by 
 half a dozen cars, loaded with huge pack-
 
 376 ENNUI. 
 
 ing-cases, on which I saw, in the hand- 
 writing which I remembered often to have 
 seen in my blacksmith's bills, a direction to 
 Christopher O'DonoghoCy Esquire — this side 
 upzvards, to be kept dry. 
 
 One of the carmen fumbled in what he 
 called his pocket, and at last produced a 
 very dirty note. 
 
 *' My dear and honourable foster-brother^ 
 larning from Mr. M^Leod, that you are 
 X\\m\i\n^ oi studde-ingy I send you inclosed 
 by the bearer, who is to get nothing for the 
 cai^rigCy all the bookes from the big booke- 
 room at the castle, which I hope, being of 
 not as much use as I could wish to me, 
 your honour will not scorn to accept, with 
 the true veneration of 
 
 ** Your ever-loving foster-brother, 
 *' and grateful humble servant,. 
 
 " to command, 
 
 " P. S. No name needful, for you wiU 
 not be astray about the hand." 
 
 This good-natured fellow^s present was 
 highly valuable and useful to me. 
 
 Among my pleasures at this studious pe-
 
 ENNUI. 377 
 
 riod of my life, when I had few events to 
 break the uniform tenour of my days, I must 
 mention letters which I frequently received 
 from Mr. Devereux and I.adv^ Geraldine, 
 who still continued in India. Mr. Deve- 
 reux was acquainted with almost all the 
 men of eminence at the Irish bar; men who 
 are . not mere lawyers, but persons of li- 
 terature, of agreeable manners, and gentle- 
 manlike habits. Air. Devereux WTote to his 
 friends so warmly in my favour, that, in- 
 stead of finding myself a stranger in Dublin, 
 my only difficulty was how to avoid the nu- 
 merous invitations, which tempted me from 
 my studies. 
 
 Those gentlemen of the bar, who were 
 intimate with Mr. Devereux, honoured me 
 with particular attention, and their society 
 was peculiarly useful, as well as agreeable 
 tome: they directed ray industry to the 
 best and shortest means of preparing my- 
 self for their profession; they put into my 
 hands the best books ; told me all that ex- 
 perience had taught them of the art of dis- 
 tinguishing, in the mass of law precedents, 
 the useful from the useless, instructed me 
 in the methods of indexing and common-
 
 378 ENNUI. 
 
 placing, and gave me all those advantages, 
 which solitary students so often want, and 
 the want of which so often niakes the study 
 of the law appear an endless maze without 
 a plan. When I found myself surrounded 
 with books, and reading assiduously day 
 and night, I could scarcely believe in my 
 own identity ; I could scarcely imagine, 
 that I was the same person, who, but a few 
 months before this time, lolled upon a sofa 
 half the dav, and found it an intolerable 
 labour to read or think for half an hour to- 
 gether. Such is the power of motive 1 
 During the whole time 1 pursued my stu- 
 dies, and kept my terms in Ireland, the 
 only relaxation I allowed myself was in the 
 society at Lord Y** * * 's house in Dublin, 
 and, during my vacations, in excursions 
 which I made with his lordship to different 
 parts of the country. Lord Y**^** had 
 two country seats in the most beautiful parts 
 of Leland, one in the county of Wicklow, 
 and one in the Queen's County. How dif- 
 ferently the face of nature appeared to me 
 now I with what different sensations 1 be- 
 held the same objects !
 
 ENNUI. 379 
 
 « " ' No brighter colours paint th* enamellM fields, 
 ' No sweeter fragrance now the garden yields ; 
 ' Whence this strange increase of joy ? 
 * Is it to love these new delights I owe ?* 
 
 It was not to love that I owed these new 
 dehghts, for Ceciha was not there ; but my 
 powers of observation were wakened, and 
 the confinement and labour to which I had 
 lately submitted gave value to the pleasures 
 of rest and liberty, and to the freshness of 
 country air, and the beautiful scenes of 
 nature. So true it is, that all our plea- 
 sures must be earned, before they can be 
 enjoyed. When I saw on Lord Y*****s 
 estates, and on those of several other gen- 
 tlemen, which he occasionally took me to 
 visit, the neat cottages, the w^ell-cultivated 
 farms, the air of comfort, industry, and 
 prosperity, diffused through the lower clas- 
 ses of the people, I was convinced, that 
 much may be done by the judicious care 
 and assistance of landlords for their tenantry. 
 I saw this with mixed sensations of pleasure 
 and of pain — of pain, for I reflected how 
 little I had accomplished, and how ill I had 
 done even that little, whilst the means of 
 doing good to numbers had been in my
 
 380 ENNm. 
 
 power. For the very trifling services 1 did 
 some of my poor tenants, I am sure I had 
 abundant gratitude, and I was astonished 
 and touched by instances of this gratitude 
 shown to me after I had lost mv fortune, 
 and when I scarcely had myself any re- 
 membrance of the people who came to thank 
 me. Trivial as it is, I cannot forbear to 
 record one of the many instances of grati* 
 tude I met with from a poor Irishman. 
 
 Whilst I was in Dublin, as I was paying 
 a morning visit to Lord ¥****% sitting with 
 him in his libraiy, we heard some disturb- 
 ance in the inner court, and looking out of 
 the window, we saw a countryman with a 
 basket on his arm, strugghng with the por- 
 ter and two footmeu. 
 
 " He is here, I know to a certainty he is 
 here, and I shall see him, say what yoiv 
 plase now T* 
 
 " I tell you my lord is not at home,** said 
 the porter. 
 
 '« What\s the matter," said Lord Y * * **> 
 opening the window. 
 
 " See, there's my lord himself at the 
 window ; are not you ashamed of yourself 
 now/' said the footman.
 
 ENNUI. 581 
 
 ** And why would I be ashamed that am 
 telling no lies, and hindering no one/' said 
 the countryman, looking up to us with so 
 sudden a motion, that his hat fell off. I 
 knew his face, but could not recollect his 
 name. 
 
 " OIiJ there he is, his own honour; Vve 
 found him, and axe pardon for my bold- 
 ness; but it*s becaase Vve been all day yes- 
 terday, and this day, running through Dub- 
 lin after jjees, and when certified by the 
 lady of the lodgings you was in it here, I 
 could not lave town without my errand^ 
 which is no more than a cheese from my 
 wife, of her own making, to be given to 
 your honour's own hands, and she would 
 not see me if I did not do it." 
 
 ^* Let him come up," said Lord Y****; 
 *' this," continued his lordship, turning to 
 me, " reminds me of Henry the Fourth, 
 and the Gascon peasant, with his fromages 
 debitiifr 
 
 " But oar countryman brings his offering 
 to' an abdicated monarch," said L 
 
 The poor fellow presented his wife*s 
 cheese to me with as good a grace as any 
 courtier could have made his offerinsr. Uu-
 
 S83t ENNUI. 
 
 embarrassed, his manner and his words gave 
 the natural and easy expression of a grateful 
 heart. He assured me, that he and his 
 wife were the happiest couple in all Ireland; 
 and he hoped I would one day be as happy 
 myself in a wife as I desarved, who had 
 made others so, and there were many on 
 the estate remembered as well as he did the 
 good I did to the poor during my reign. 
 
 Then stepping up closer to me, he said, 
 in a lower voice, " I'm Jimmy Riley, that 
 married ould Noonan*s daughter ; and now 
 that it is all over I may tell you a bit of a 
 sacrety which made me so eager to get to 
 the speech of your honour, that I might 
 tell it to your own ear alone — no offence to 
 this gentleman before whom I*d as soon say 
 it as yourself, becaase I see he is all as one 
 as another yourself. Then the thing is — 
 does your honour remember the boy with 
 the cord round his body, looking for the 
 bird's eggs in ithe rock, and the *nonymous 
 bit of a letter that you got ? 'Twas I wrote 
 it, and the gps.wcm that threw it to your ho- 
 nour was a cousin of my own that I sent, 
 that nobody, nor yourself even, might not 
 know him j and the way I got the informa-
 
 ENNUI. 383 
 
 tion I never can tell till I die, and then 
 only to the priest, because I swore I would 
 not never. But don*t go for to think it was 
 by being a rubble any way ; no man can, I 
 thank my God, charge me with indiffer- 
 ency. So, rejoiced to see you the same, I 
 wish you a good morrow, and a long life, 
 and a happy death — when it comes.'* 
 
 About this time I frequently used to re- 
 ceive presents to a considerable amount, and 
 of things which were most useful to me, but 
 always without any indication by which I 
 could discover to whom I was indebted for 
 them ; at last, by means of my Scotch land- 
 lady, I traced them to Mr. M*Leod. His 
 kindness was so earnest and peremptory, 
 that it would admit neither thanks nor re- 
 fusals ; and I submitted to be obliged to a 
 man for whom I felt such high esteem. I 
 looked upon it as not the least of his proofs 
 of regard, that he gave me what I knew he 
 valued more than any thing else — his time. 
 Whenever he came to Dublin, though he 
 was always hurried by business, so that he 
 had scarcely leisure to eat or sleep, he used 
 constantly to come to see me in my obscure 
 lodgings 3 and when in the country, though
 
 584 KNN'UI. 
 
 he hated all letter- writing, except letters of 
 business, yet he regularly informed me of 
 every thing that could be interesting to me, 
 Glenthorn Castle he described as a scene of 
 riotous living, and of the most w^asteful 
 vulgar extravagance. My poor foster-bro- 
 ther, the best natured and most generous 
 fellow in the world, had not sufficient pru^ 
 dence or strength of mind to conduct his 
 own family; his wife filled the castle with 
 tribes of her vagabond relations ; she chose 
 to be descended from one of the kings of 
 Ireland, and whoever would acknowledge 
 her high descent, and whoever would claim 
 relationship with her, were sure to have 
 their claims allowed, and were welcome to 
 live in all the barbarian magnificence of 
 Glenthorn Castle. Every instance that she 
 could hear of the former I^ady Glenthorn*s 
 extravagance, or of mine — and, alas 1 there 
 were many upon record, she determined to 
 exceed. Her diamonds, and her pearls, and 
 her finery, surpassed every thing but the 
 extravagance of some of the llussian favour- 
 ites of fortune. Decked out in the most 
 absurd manner, this descendant of kings 
 often, as Mr, M^Leod assured me, indulged
 
 ENNUI. 386 
 
 m the pleasures of the banquet, till, no 
 Jonger able to support the regal diadem, she 
 was carried by some of the meanest of her 
 subjects to her bed. The thefts committed 
 during these interregmims were amazing in 
 their amount, and the jewels of the crow^n 
 were to be replaced as fast as they were 
 stolen. Poor Christy all this time was con- 
 sidered as a mean-spirited cratur^ who had 
 no notion of living like a prince, and whilst 
 his wife and her relations were revelling in 
 this unheard-of manner, he was scarcely 
 considered as the master of the house \ he 
 lived by the fireside, disregarded in winter, 
 and in summer he spent his time chiefly in 
 w alking up and down his garden, and pick- 
 ing fruit. He once made an attempt to 
 amuse himself by miending the lock of his 
 own room-door, but he was detected in the 
 fact, and exposed to such loud ridicule by 
 his lady's favourites, that he desisted, and 
 sighing said to Mr. M*Leod — " And isn't 
 it now a great hardship upon a man like me 
 to have nothing to do, or not to be let do 
 any thing \ If it had not been for my son 
 Johnny's sake, I never would have quit the 
 forge; and now all will be spent in cosher" 
 VOL. I, S
 
 386* ENmji. 
 
 ing, and Johnny, atthelast^ will never be 
 a' penny the better, but the worse for my 
 consinthig to be lorded ; and what grieves 
 me more than all the rest, she is such a 
 negre'^^ that I haven't a guinea I can call 
 my ov/n to send, as Td always laid out to 
 d'o at odd times, such little tokens of my 
 love and duty, as would be becoming to 
 my dear foster-brother there in Dublin. — 
 And now, you tell me, he is going aw^ay 
 too, beyond sea to England, to finish mak- 
 ing a lawyer of himself in London ; and 
 what friends will he fmd there, without 
 money in his pocket ? and I had been think- 
 ing this while past, ever since you gave me 
 notice of his being to quit Ireland, that I 
 would go up to Dublin myself to see him, 
 and wish him a good journey kindly before^ 
 he would go ; and Ihad a little covipUme?it 
 here, in a private drawer, that I had col- 
 lected unlm&ivmt to my wife, but here last 
 night she lit upon it^ and now tlfdt her hand 
 has closed upon it, not a guinea of it shall 
 I ever see more, hor a farthing the better 
 
 . * An Irishman in using .this word has some confused 
 notion that it comes from ne^ro ; whereas it really means 
 niggaVdl • ' . « .. .. .
 
 ENNUI. 387 
 
 of it will my dear foster-brother ever be, 
 for it or forme ; and this is what grieves me 
 more than ail, and goes to the quick of my 
 heart." 
 
 When Mr. M'Leod repeated to me these 
 lamentations of poor Christy, I immediately 
 wrote to set his heart at ease, as much as I 
 could, by the assurance that I was in no 
 distress for money, and that my three hun- 
 dred a-year would support me in perfect 
 comfort and independence, whilst, "I was 
 making a lawyer of myself in London.*" I 
 farther assured my good foster-brother, that 
 I was so well conrinced of his affectionate 
 and generous dispositions towards me^ that 
 it would be quite unnecessary ev^er to- send 
 me tokens of his regard. I added a few 
 words of advice about his wife ^and his 
 affairs, which, like most words of advice, 
 were, as I afterwards fouiid, absolutely 
 thrown away. 
 
 Though I had taken care to live with so 
 much economy, that I was not in any 
 danger of ^being in pecuniary embarrass- 
 ments, yet I felt much distress of another 
 kind in leaving Ireland. I left Miss Dela- 
 mere surrounded with admirers; her mother
 
 3dS ENNUI. 
 
 using her utmost art and parental influeace- 
 to induce Cecilia to decide ia favour of one 
 of these gentlemen, who was a pexspn of 
 rank and of considerable fortune. I had 
 seen all this going on, and was bound in 
 honour the whole time to remain passive, 
 not to express my own ardent feelings, nqt 
 to make the slightest attempt to win the 
 affections of the woman, who was the ob- 
 ject of all my labours, of all my exertions. 
 The last evening that I saw her at Lord 
 Y****'s> just before I sailed for England, 
 I suffered more than I thought it was in my 
 nature to feel, especially at the moment 
 when I went up to make my bow, and take 
 leave of her with all the cold ceremony of 
 a common acquaintance. At parting, how- 
 ever, in the presence of her mother and of 
 Lord Y****, Ceciha, with her sweet smile, 
 and, I think, with a slight blush, said a 
 few words, upon which I lived for months 
 afterwards. 
 
 " I sincerely wish you, sir, the success 
 your perseverance so well deserves.'* 
 
 The recollection of these w^ords was. often 
 my solace in my lonely chambers at the 
 Temple 5 and ofteui after a day's hard study.
 
 ENNUI. sas 
 
 the repeating them to myself operated as a 
 charm that dissipated all fatigue, and re- 
 vived at once my exhausted spirits. To be 
 sure there were moments, when my fire was 
 out, and my candle sinking in the socket, 
 and my mind over-wearied saw things m 
 the most gloomy point of view; and at 
 these times I used to give an unfavourable 
 interpretation to Cecilia's words, and I 
 fancied, that they were designed to prevent 
 my entertaining fallacious hopes, and to 
 warn me that she must yield tocher mother's 
 authority, or perhaps to her own inclina- 
 tions, in favour of some of her richer lovers. 
 This idea would have sunk me into utter 
 despondency, and I should have lost, with 
 my motive, all power of exertion, had I not 
 opposed to this apprehension the remem- 
 brance of Lord Y****'s countenance, at 
 the moment Cecilia was speaking to me. 
 I then felt assured, that his lordship, at 
 least, understood the words in a favourable 
 sense, else he would have suffered for me, 
 and would not certainly have allowed me to 
 go away with false hopes. Re-animated by 
 this consideration, I persevered — for it was
 
 390 ENNUI. 
 
 by perseverance alone that I could have 
 any chance of success. 
 
 It was fortunate for me, that, stimulated 
 
 by a great motive, I thus devoted my whole 
 
 time and thoughts to my studies, otherwise 
 
 I must, on returning to London, have felt 
 
 the total neglect and desertion of ail my 
 
 former associates in the fashionable woiW ; 
 
 of all the vast number of acquaintance, 
 
 who used to lounge away their hours in my 
 
 company, and partake of the luxuries of 
 
 my table aijd the festivities of my house. 
 
 Some whom I accidentally met in the street, 
 
 just at my re-appearance in town, thought 
 
 , proper, indeed, to know me again at first, 
 
 .that they might gratify their curiosity 
 
 about the paragraphs which they had seen 
 
 in the papers, and the reports which they 
 
 .had heard of my extraordinary change of 
 
 fortune ; but no sooner had they satisfied 
 
 .themselves, that all they had heard was true, 
 
 ^than their interest concerning me ceased. 
 
 .When they found, that, instead of being 
 
 ,Earl of Glenthorn, and the possessor of -a 
 
 Jarge estate, I was now reduced to three 
 
 hundred a year, lodging. in small chambers
 
 ENNUI. It9l 
 
 at the Temple, and studying the law, they 
 never more thought me worthy of their 
 notice. They atYeqted, according to their 
 different humours, either to pity me for my 
 misfortunes, or to blame me for my folly in 
 giving up my estate ; but they unanimously 
 expressed astonishment at the idea of my 
 becoming a member of any active profes- 
 sion. They declared, that it was impossible 
 that I could ever endure the labour of the 
 law, or succeed in such an arduous profes- 
 sion. Their prophecies intimidated me not; 
 I was conscious, that these people did not 
 in the least know me, and I hoped and be- 
 lieved, that I had powers and a characte,r, 
 which they were incapable of estimating ; 
 their contempt rather excited than depress- 
 ed my mind, and their pity I returned with 
 more sincerity than it was given. I had 
 lived their life, knew thoroughly what were 
 its pleasures and its pains, I could compare 
 the ennui I felt when I was a Bond-street 
 lounger, with the self-complacency I enjoyed 
 now that I was occupied in a laborious but 
 interesting and honourable pursuit. I con- 
 fess, I had sometimes, however, the weak- 
 ness to think the w^orse of human nature.
 
 39^ ENNUI, 
 
 for what I called the desertion and ingrati- 
 tude of these my former companions and 
 flatterers ; and I could not avoid comparing 
 the neglect and solitude in which I lived in 
 London, where I had lavished my fortune, 
 with the kindness and hospitalities I had 
 received in Dublin, where I lived only when 
 I had no fortune to spend. After a little 
 time, however, I became more reasonable 
 and just; for I considered, that it was my 
 former dissipated mode of life, and impru- 
 dent choice of associates, which I should 
 blame for the mortifications I now suffered 
 from the desertion of companions, who 
 were, in fact, incapable of being friends. 
 In London I had lived with the most worth- 
 less, in Dublin, with the best company ; 
 and in each place I had been treated as, 
 in fact, I deserved. But, leaving the his- 
 tory of my feelings, 1 must proceed with 
 my narrative. 
 
 One night, after I had dined with an 
 Irish gentleman, a friend of Lord Y*'*'**''s, 
 at the west end of the town, as I was re- 
 turning late to my lodgings, I was stopped 
 for some time by a crowd of carriages, in 
 one of the fashionnble streets, I found
 
 ENNUI. 393 
 
 that there was a masquerade at the house of 
 a lady, with whom I had been intimately 
 acquainted. Th^ clamours of themob, eager 
 to see the dresses of those who were alight- 
 ing from their carnages, the gaudy and 
 fantastic figures which I beheld by the light 
 of the flambeaux, the noise and the bustle, 
 'pTit me hi mind of various similar nights of 
 my past life, ahd it' seemed to me like a 
 dream or a reminiscence of some former 
 state of existence. I thought my present 
 self preferable, and without casting a long- 
 ing lingering look behind on the scenes of 
 vanity, or, as they are called, of pleasure, I 
 passed on as soon as the crowd would per- 
 mit, and took my way down a narrow street, 
 by which I hoped to get, Ly a shorter way 
 than usualj to my quiet lodgings. The 
 rattling of the carriages, the oaths of the 
 footmen,, and the shouts of the mob, still 
 sounded in my ears; and the masquerade 
 figures had scarcely faded from my sight, 
 when I saw, coming slowly out of a miser- 
 able entry, by the light of a few wretched 
 candles and lanterns, a funerah The con- 
 trast struck me; I stood still to make way 
 for the coffin, and I heard one sa:y to 
 
 S5
 
 394 ENNUI. 
 
 another, " What matter how she's buried i 
 I tell you, be at as little expense as possible, 
 for he'll never pay a farthing.** I had a 
 confused recollection of having heard the 
 voice before ; as one of the bearers lifted his 
 lantern, I saw the face of the woman who 
 spoke, and had a notion of having seen her 
 before. I asked whose funeral it was, and 
 I was answered, *Vltis one Mrs. Craw- 
 ley's — Lady Glen thorn that was,'* added 
 the woman. I heard no more, I was so 
 much shocked, that I believe I should have 
 fallen in the street, if I had not been imme- 
 diately supported by somebody near me. 
 When I recovered Kpy recollection, I saw 
 the funeral had moved on some paces, and 
 the person who supported me, I now found, 
 was a clergyman. , In a mild voice, he told 
 me that his duty called; him away from me 
 at present, but he added, that if I would tell 
 him where I could be found, he would see 
 me in the morning, and give me any infor- 
 mation in hisi power, as he judged that 1 was 
 interested for this unfortunate woman. . I 
 put a card with my address into his hands, 
 thanked him, and gpt home as well as I 
 <?ould. In the mqruinga thC' clergyman
 
 ENNUI. 395 
 
 Called upon me — a most benevolent man, 
 unknown to fame 1 but known to all the 
 wretched within the reach of his consolatory 
 religion. He gave me a melancholy ac- 
 count of the last days of the unhappy 
 woman, whose funeral I had just seen. I 
 told him who I was, and what she had been 
 to me. She had, almost in her last mo- 
 ments, as he assured me, expressed her sense 
 of, what she called, my generosity to her, 
 and had shown deep contrition for her in- 
 fidelity. She died in extreme poverty and 
 wretchedness, with no human being who 
 was, or even seemed, interested for her, but 
 a maid-servant (the woman whose voice I 
 recollected), whose services were purchased 
 to the last, by presents of whatever clothes 
 or trinkets were left from the wreck of her 
 mistress's fortune. Crawley, it seems, had 
 behaved brutally to his victim. After hav-r 
 ing long delayed to perform his promise of 
 marrying her, he declared, that he could- 
 never think of a woman who had been ,di-» 
 vorced, in any other way than as a mistress: 
 she, poor weak creature, consented to liver 
 with him oa any terms ; but, as his passions 
 and his intexeat soon turned to new object,:
 
 396 ENNUI. 
 
 he cast her off without scruple, refusing to 
 pay any of the tradesmen, who had supphed 
 her while she bore his name. He refused to 
 pay the expenses even of her funeral, though 
 she had shared with him her annuity, and 
 every thing she possessed. I paid the 
 funeral expenses, and some arrears of the 
 maid's wages, together with such debts for 
 necessaries, as I had reason to believe were 
 justly due: the strict economy with which 
 I had lived for three years, and the parting 
 with a watch and some other trinkets too 
 fine for my circumstances, enabled me to 
 pay this money without material incon- 
 venience, and it was a satisfaction to my 
 mind. The good clergyman, who managed 
 these little matters for me, became interested 
 for me, and our acquaintance with each 
 other grew every day more intimate and 
 agreeable. When he found that I was 
 studying the law, he begged to introduce 
 me to a brother of his, who had been one 
 of the most eminent special pleaders in 
 London, and who now, on a high salary, 
 undertook to prepare students for the bar, 
 I was rather unwilling to accept of this 
 introduction, because I was not rich enough
 
 ENNur. 397 
 
 to become a pupil of this gentleman's ; but 
 my clergyman guessed the cause of my 
 reluctance, and told me, that his brother 
 had charged him to overrule all such ob- 
 jections. " My brother and I,*' continued 
 he, " though of different professions, have, 
 in reality, but one mind between us; he has 
 heard from me all the circumstances I know 
 ©f you, and they have interested him so 
 much, that he desires, in plain English, to 
 be of any service he can to you.** 
 
 This offer was made in earnest ; and if I 
 had given him the largest salary that could 
 have been offered by the most opulent of 
 his pupils, 1 could not have met with more 
 attention, or have been instructed with more 
 zeal than I was, by my new friend, the spe- 
 cial pleader. He was also so kind as to put 
 me at ease, by the assurance, that whenever 
 I should begin to make money by my pro- 
 fession, he would accept of remuneration. 
 He jestingly said, that he would make the 
 same bargain with me, that was made by 
 the famous sophist Protagoras of old with 
 his pupil, that he should have the profits of 
 the first cause I should win — certain that I 
 would. not, like his treacherous pupil Evath-
 
 / 
 
 35S ENNUI. 
 
 lus, employ the rhetorician's arms against 
 himself, tO cheat him out of his promised 
 reward. My special pleader was not a 
 mere man of forms and law rigmaroles ; 
 he knew the reason for the forms he used : 
 he had not only a technical hut a rational 
 knowledge of his business; and what is 
 still more uncommon, he knew how to teach 
 what he had learnt. He did not merely 
 set me down at a desk, and leave me skins 
 after skins of parchment to pore over in be- 
 wildered and hopeless stupidity ; he did not 
 use me like a mere copying machine, to 
 copy sheet after sheet for him, every morn- 
 ing from nine till four, and again every 
 evening, from five till ten. Mine was a 
 law-tutor of a superior sort. Wherever he 
 could, he gave me a clew to guide me 
 through the labyrinth of the law ; and when 
 no reason could be devised for what the law 
 directs, he never puzzled me by attempting 
 to explain what could not be explained ; 
 he did not insist upon the total surrender of 
 my rational faculties, but, with wonderful 
 liberality, would allow me to call nonsense^ 
 nonsense; and would, after two or three 
 hours* hard scrivening, as the ease might rer
 
 ENNUI. 399 
 
 quire — for this I thank him more than aU 
 the rest — permit me to yawn, and stretch, 
 and pity mj^self, and curse the useless re* 
 petitions of lawyers. 
 
 At other times, my judicious special 
 pleader was in the habits of cheering my 
 spirits, sinking under the weight of declara-' 
 tioiiSy and replications y and double pleas ^ and 
 dilatori/ pleas ; 
 
 ** O^ horse pTeas, traverses, demurrers, 
 " Jeofails, imparlances, and errours, 
 *' Averments, bars, and protestandoes.'* 
 
 O I Cecilia, what pains did I endure to 
 win your applause ! Yet, that I may state 
 the whole truth, let me acknowledge, that 
 even these my dullest, hardest tasks were 
 light, compared with the burden 1 formerly 
 hore of ennui. At length, my period of 
 probation in my pleader's office was over ; 
 I escaped from the dusty desk, and the 
 smell of musty parchments, and the close 
 smoky room ; I finished eating my terms at 
 the Temple, and returned, even as the 
 captain of the packet swore, *^ in the face 
 and teeth of the wind," to Dublin. 
 
 But, in my haste to return, 1 must not
 
 400 ENNUI. 
 
 omit to notice, for the sake of poetical 
 equity, that, just when I was leaving Eng- 
 land, I heard that slow but sure paced 
 justice at last overtook that wretch, Craw- 
 ley. He was detected and convicted of 
 embezzling considerable sums, the property 
 of a gentleman in Cheshire, who had em- 
 ployed him as his agent. I saw him, as I 
 passed through Chester, going to prison, 
 amidst the execrations of the populace.
 
 ENNUI. 401 
 
 CHAPTER XXIL 
 
 As I was not, as formerly, asleep in my 
 carriage on deck, when we came within 
 sight of the Irish shore, I saw% and hailed 
 with delight, the beautiful bay of Dublin. 
 The moment we landed, instead of putting 
 myself out of humour, as before, with every 
 thing at the Marine Hotel, I went directly 
 "to my friend, Lord Y*'***'s. I made my 
 sortie from the hotel with so much extraor- 
 dinary promptitude, that a slip-shod waiter 
 was forced to pursue me, running or shuf- 
 fling after me the whole length of the street, 
 before he could overtake me, with a letter, 
 which had been " waiting for my honour, 
 at the hotel, since yesterday's Holyhead 
 packet,*' This was a mistake, as the letter 
 had never come or gone by any Holyhead 
 packet; it was only a letter from Mr. 
 M'Leod, to welcome me to Ireland again; 
 and to tell me, that he had taken care to 
 secure good well-aired lodgings for me : he
 
 40£ ENNUI. 
 
 added an account of what was going on at 
 Glenthorn Castle, The extravagance of 
 my lady had, by this time, reduced the fa- 
 mily to great difficulties for ready-money, 
 as they could neither sell nor mortgage any 
 part of the Glenthorn estate, which was 
 settled Qn the son. My poor foster-brother 
 had, it seem,s, in vain, attempted to restrain 
 iXi'^ wasteful folly of his wife, and to per- 
 suade Johnny, the young heir apparent, to 
 lam to be ^jantleynan : in vain Christy tried 
 to prevail on his lordship, to ** refrain drink- 
 ing whiskey preferably to claret ;*' the youth 
 pleaded both his father and mother's ex- 
 amples; and said, that as he was an only 
 son, and his father had but a life-interest in 
 the estate, he expected to be indulged -, he 
 repeated continually, " a short life and a 
 jnerry one for me.'* Mr. M*Leod con- 
 cluded this letter, by observing, '* that far 
 from its being a merry life, he never saw 
 any thing more sad than the life this foolish 
 boy led ; and that Glenthorn Castle was so 
 melancholy and disgusting a scene of waste, 
 riot, and intemperance, that he could not 
 bear to go there.'' I was grieved by this 
 a.cco«nt, for the sake of my poor foster-
 
 ENNUI. 40g 
 
 brother ; but it would have made a deeper 
 impression upon me at any other time. I 
 must own, that I forgot the letter, and all 
 that it contained, as I knocked at Lord 
 Y*'=***^sdoor. 
 
 Lord Y**** received me with open 
 ♦arms, and, with all the kindness of friend- 
 ship, anticipated the questions I longed, yet 
 feared, to ask. 
 
 " Cecilia Delamere is still unmarried — 
 Let these words be enough to content you 
 for the present ; all the rest is, 1 hope, in 
 your own power." 
 
 In my power! — delightful thought! yet 
 how distant that hope ! For I was now, af- 
 ter all my labours, but just called to the 
 bar J not yet likely, for years, to make a 
 guinea, much less a fortune, by my pro- 
 fession. Many of the greatest of our law- 
 yers have gone circuit, for ten or twelve 
 years, before they made a hundred a year 
 by their profession -, and I was at this time 
 Jour and thirty. I confessed to my Lord 
 :Y#*:=^*, that these reflection^ alarmed and 
 depressed me exceedingly : but he encou- 
 raged me by this answer — 
 
 " Persevere — deserv.e> &^acesfe^i-and trust
 
 4a4 ENNUI. 
 
 the rest, not to fortune, but to your friends. 
 It is not required of you to make ten thou- 
 sand, or one thousand a year, at the bar, in 
 any given time ; but it is expected from you 
 to give proofs, that you are capable of con- 
 quering the indolence of your disposition, 
 or of your former habits. It is required 
 ■from you, to give proofs of intellectual 
 energy and ability. When you have con- 
 vinced me, that you have the know^ledge 
 and assiduity that ought to succeed at the 
 bar, 1 shall be certain, that only time is 
 wanting to your actual acquisition ©f a for- 
 tune equal to what I ought to require for 
 my fair friend and relation. When it comes 
 to that pomt, it will, my dear sir, be time 
 enough for me to say more. Till it comes 
 to that point, 1 have promised Mrs. Dela- 
 mere, that you will not even attempt to see 
 her daughter. She blames me for having 
 permitted Cecilia and you to see so much 
 of each other, as you did in this house when 
 you were last in Ireland. Perhaps I was 
 imprudent, but your conduct has saved 
 me from my own reproaches, and I fear no 
 other. I end where I began, with ' Per- 
 severe — and may the success your perse-
 
 ENNUI. 405 
 
 verance deserves be yonr reward.* If I re- 
 collect right, these were nearly Miss De- 
 lamere's own words at parting with you." 
 
 In truth, I had not forgotten them ; and 
 I was so much excited by their repetition at 
 this moment, and by my excellent friend's 
 encouraging voice, that all difficulties, all 
 dread of future labours or evils, vanished 
 from my view. I went my first circuit, and 
 made two guineas, and was content; for 
 Lord Y**** was not disappointed : he told 
 me it would, it must be so. But though I 
 made no money, I obtained gradually, 
 amongst my associates at the bar, the re- 
 putation for judgement and knowledge. Of 
 this they could judge by my conversation, 
 and by the remarks on the trials brought on 
 l)efore us. The elder counsel had been pre- 
 pared in my favaur, first by Mr. Devereux, 
 and afterwards by v\y diligence in following 
 their advice, dciriing my studies in Dublin: 
 they perceived that I had not lost my time 
 in London, and that my mind was in my 
 possession. They prophesied that, from the 
 moment I began to be employed, I should 
 ri.se rapidly at the bar. Opportunity, they 
 told me, was. now all that I wanted, and
 
 406 ENNUI. 
 
 for that I must wait with patience. I waited ' 
 with as much patience as I could. I had 
 many friends; some among the judges, some 
 among a more powerful class of men, the 
 attorneys. Some of these friends made for 
 me by Mr. Devereux and Lady Geraldine ; i 
 some by Lord Y***^; some, may I say it, 
 by myself Yet the united and zealous en- 
 deavours, direct and indirect, of partisans 
 more powerful and more numerous than 
 mine, had failed to push on, or push up, se- 
 veral barristers, who were of much longer 
 standing than myself Indeed the attempts 
 to bring tkem forward had, in some in- 
 stances, been rather injurious than service- 
 able. The law is a. profession in which pa- 
 tronage can do but little for any candidate. 
 Everyman, in his own business, will em- 
 ploy him wdiom he believes to have the 
 most knowledge and ability. The utmost 
 that even the highest patronage from the 
 bench can do for a young barrister is, to 
 give him an opportunity of distinguishing 
 himself in preference to other competitors. 
 This was all I hoped ; and I was not de- 
 ceivM in this hope. It happened, that a 
 cause of considerable moment,, which had
 
 ENKUI. 407 
 
 <come on in our circuit, and to the whole 
 course of which I had attended with great 
 care, was removed, by an appeal, to the 
 courts above, in Dublin. I fortunately, I 
 should say, prudently, was in the habit of 
 constant attendance at the courts: the 
 counsel, who was engaged to manage this 
 cause, was suddenly taken ill, and was dis- 
 abled from proceeding. The judge called 
 upon me; the attorneys, and the other 
 counsel, were all agreed in wishing me to 
 take up the business, for they knew I was 
 prepared, and competent to the question. 
 The next day the cause, which was then 
 to be finally decided, came on. I sat up 
 all night to look over my documents, and to 
 make myself sure of my points. Ten years 
 before this, if any one had prophesied this 
 of me, how little could I have believed 
 them ! 
 
 The trial came on — I rose to speak. How 
 fortunate it was for me, that I did not know 
 my Lord Y'^"*** was in the court. I am 
 persuaded, that I could not have spoken 
 three sentences, if he had caught my eye 
 in the exordium of this my first harangue. 
 Every man of sensibility— and no man with-
 
 4as KNNur. 
 
 out it can be an orator — every man of sen 
 sibility kno-vvs, that it is more difficult to 
 speak in the presence of one anxious friend, 
 of whose judgement we have a high opinion, 
 than before a thousand auditors who are in- 
 different, and are strangers to us. Not con- 
 scious who was listening to me, whose 
 eyes were upon me, whose heart was beat- 
 ing for me, I spoke w ith confidence and 
 fluency, for I spoke on a subject, of which 
 I had previously made myself completely 
 master; and I was so full of the matter, 
 that I tjiought not of the words. Perhaps 
 this, and my ha?ving the right side of the 
 question, were the causes of my sufccess. 
 I heard a buzz of thanks and applause round 
 me. The decree was given in our favour. 
 At this moment I recollected my bargain, 
 and my debt to my good master, the special 
 pleader. But all bargains, all debts, all 
 special pleaders, vanished the next instant 
 from my mind ; for the crowd opened. Lord 
 Y##*% appeared before nie, seized my 
 hand, congratulated me actually with tears 
 of joy, carried me away to his carriage, 
 ordered the coachman to drive home — fast! 
 fast!
 
 ENNUf. 40!) 
 
 " And now/* said he to me, " I am sa- 
 tisfied. — Your trial is over — successfully 
 over — You have convinced me of your 
 powers and your perseverance. All the 
 hopes of friendship are fulfilled : may all the 
 hopes of love be accomplished. You have 
 now my free and full approbation to ad- 
 dress my ward and relation, Cecilia Dela- 
 mere. You will have difficulties with her 
 mother, perhaps ; but none beyond what 
 we good and great lawyers shall, I trust, be 
 able to overrule. Mrs. Delamere knows, 
 that, as I have an unsettled estate, and but 
 one son, I have it in my power to provide 
 for her daughter as if she were my own. 
 It has always been my intention to do so : 
 but, if you marry Miss Delamere, you will 
 still find it necessary to pursue your pro- 
 fession diligently, to maintain her in her 
 own rank and style of life ; and now that 
 you have felt the pleasures of successful ex- 
 ertion, you will consider this necessity as 
 an additional blessing. From what I have 
 heard this day, there can be no doubt, that, 
 by pursuing your profession, you can se- 
 cure, in a few years, not only ease and com- 
 petence, but affluence and honours. — Ho- 
 VOL. I. T
 
 410 ENNUI. 
 
 nours of your own earning. — How far su- 
 perior to any hereditary title !" 
 
 The carriage stopped at Lord Y * * * * *s 
 door. My friend presented me to Cecilia, 
 whom I saw this day for the first time since 
 my return to Ireland. From this hour I 
 date the commencement of my life of real 
 happiness. How unlike that life of plea- 
 sure, to which so many give erroneously the 
 name of happiness. Lord Y'****, with his 
 powerful influence, supported my cause 
 with Mrs. Delamere, who was induced, 
 though with an ill grace, to give up her op- 
 position. 
 
 " Cecilia,*' she said, " was now three and 
 twenty, an age to judge for herself; and 
 Lord Y**^^*s judgment was a great point 
 in favour of Mr. O'Donoghoe, to be sure. 
 And no doubt Mr. O'Donoghoe might make 
 a fortune, since he had made a figure al- 
 ready at the bar. In short, she could not 
 oppose thewishes of Lord Y**^*, and the 
 affections of her daughter, since they were 
 so fixed. But, after all," said Mrs. Dela- 
 mere, " what a horrid thing it will be to 
 hear my girl called Mrs. O'Donoghoe ! Only 
 conceive the sound of— Mrs. 0'Donoghoe*s
 
 ENNUI. 411 
 
 carriage there! — Mrs. 0*Donoghoe's car- 
 riage stops the way !'* 
 
 " Your objection, my dear madam,'* re- 
 plied Lord Y * * * *, " is fully as well 
 founded as that of a young lady of my ac- 
 quaintance, who could not prevail on her 
 delicacy to become the wife of a merchant 
 of the name oi Sheepshanks. He very wise- 
 ly, or very gallantly, paid five hundred 
 pounds to change his name. I make no 
 doubt that vour future son-in-law will have 
 no objection to take and bear the name and 
 arms of Delamere ; and I think I can answer 
 for it, that a king's letter may be obtained, 
 empowering him to do so. With this part 
 of the business allow me to charge myself.*' 
 I spare the reader the protracted journal 
 of a lover's hopes and fears. Cecilia, con- 
 vinced bv the exertions in which I had so 
 long persevered, that my affection for her 
 was not only sincere and ardent, but likely 
 to be permanent, did not tr)rture me by the 
 vain delays of female coquetry. She be- 
 lieved, she said, that a man capable of con- 
 uerinsT habitual indolence could not be of 
 a feeble character 5 and she therefore con- 
 
 T 2
 
 4:1 a ENNUI. 
 
 sented, without hesitation, to intrust her 
 happiness to my care. 
 
 I hope my readers have, by this time, too 
 favourable an opinion of me to suspect, that, 
 in my joy, I forgot him vs^ho had been my 
 steady friend in adversity. I wrote to 
 M'Leod as soon as 1 knew my own happi- 
 ness, and assured him, that it would be 
 incomplete without his sympathy. I do 
 not think there was at our w^edding a face 
 of more sincere, though sober joy, than 
 M'Leod's. Cecilia and I have been now 
 married above a twelvemonth, and she per- 
 mits me to say, that she has never, for a 
 moment, repented her choice. That I have 
 not relapsed into my former habits, the ju- 
 dicious and benevolent reader will hence in- 
 fer : and yet I have been in a situation to 
 be spoiled ; for I scarcely know a wish of 
 my heart that remains ungratificd, except 
 the wish that my friend Mr. Devereux, and 
 Lady Geraldine, should return from India, 
 to see and partake of that happiness, of 
 which they first prepared the foundation. 
 They first wakened my dormant intellects, 
 made me know that I had a heart, and that
 
 ENNUI. 413 
 
 1 was capable of forming a character for 
 myself The loss of my estate continued 
 the course of my education, forced me to 
 exert my own powers, and to rely upon 
 myself. My passion for the amiable and 
 charming Cecilia was afterwards motive 
 sufficient, to urge me to persevering intel- 
 lectual labour: fortunately my marriage 
 has obliged me to continue my exertions, 
 and the labours of my profession have made 
 the pleasures of domestic life most delight- 
 ful. The rich, says a philosophic moralist, 
 are obliged to labour, if they would be 
 healthy or happy ; and they call this labour 
 exercise. 
 
 Whether, if I were again a rich man, I 
 should have sufficient voluntary exertion to 
 take a due portion of mental and bodily ex- 
 ercise, I dare not pretend to determine, nor 
 do I wish to be put to the trial. Desiring 
 nothing in life but the continuance of the 
 blessings I possess, I may here conclude 
 my memoirs, by assuring my readers, that, 
 after a full experience of most of what are 
 Called the pleasures of Hfe, I would not ac- 
 cept of all the Glenthorn and Sherwood 
 estates, to pass another year of such misery
 
 414 ENNUI. 
 
 as I endured whilst I was " stretched on the 
 rack of a too easy chair." 
 
 The preceding Memoirs were just ready 
 for publication, when I received the follow- 
 ing letter : 
 
 To C. O'Donoghoe, Esq. 
 
 •* Honoured foster-brother, 
 
 " Since the day I parted yees, nothing in 
 life but misfortins has happened me, owing 
 to my being overruled by my wife, who 
 would be a lady, all I could say again it. 
 But thaf s over, and there's no help ; for all 
 and all that ever she can say will do no 
 good. The castle's burnt down all to the 
 ground, and my Johnny's dead, and I wish 
 I was dead in his place. The occasion of 
 his death was owing to drink, which he fell 
 into from getting too much money, and no- 
 thing to do — and a snuff of a candle. When 
 going to bed last night, a little in liquor, 
 what does he do but takes the candle, and 
 sticks it up against the head of his bed, as 
 he used oftentimes to do, w ithout detriment, 
 in the cabin where he was reared against
 
 ENNUI. 415 
 
 llie mud-wail. But this was close to an 
 ouid window curtain, and a deal of ould 
 wov)d in the bed, which was all in a smother, 
 and he lying asleep alter drinking, when he 
 was ever hard to wake, and before he wiik- 
 ened at all, it appears the unfortunit cratur 
 was smothered, and none heard a sentence 
 of it, till the ceiling of my room, the blue 
 bed-chamber, with a piece of the big wood 
 cornice fell, and wakened me with terrible 
 uproar, and all above and about me was 
 tlame and smoke, and I just took my wife 
 on my back, and down the stairs with her. 
 which did not give in till tive minutes after, 
 and she screeching, and all them relations 
 she had screeching and running every one 
 for themselves, and no thought in any to 
 save any ting at all, but just what they 
 could for themselves, and not a sarrant that 
 was in his right rason. 1 got the ladder 
 with a deal of difficulty, and up to Johnny's 
 room, and there was a sight for me — he a 
 corpse, and how even to get the corpse out 
 of that, myself could not tell, for I was he» 
 wildered, and how they took me down» I 
 don't well know. When I came to my 
 siuses, 1 was lying on the ground in the
 
 416 ENNUI. 
 
 court, and all confusion and screaming still, 
 and the flames raging worse than ever. — 
 There's no use in describing all — the short 
 of it is, there's nothing remaining of the 
 castle, but the stones; and it's little I'd 
 think o' that, if I could have Johnny back 
 — such as he used to be in my good days ; 
 since he's gone I am no good. I write this 
 to beg you, being married, of which I give 
 you joy, to Miss Delamere, that is the hare 
 at law, will take possession of all immedi- 
 ately, for I am as good as dead, and will 
 give 110 hindrance, I will go back to my 
 forge, and, by the help of God, forget at my 
 work what has passed, and as to my wife, 
 she may go to her own kith and kin, if she 
 will not abide by me, I shall not trouble 
 her long. Mr. M*Leod is a good man, and 
 will follow any directions you send, and 
 may the blessing of God attind, and come 
 to reign over us again, when you will fmd 
 me, as heretofore, 
 
 *^ Your loyal foster-brother, 
 
 " Christy Donoghoe." 
 
 Glenthorn Castle is now rebuilding ; and, 
 when it is finished, and when I return thither.
 
 ENNUI. 417 
 
 I will, if it should be desired by the public, 
 give a faithful account of my feelings. I 
 flatter myself that I shall not relapse into 
 indolence ; my understanding has been cul- 
 tivated — I have acquired a taste for litera- 
 ture, and the example of Lord Y * * * * 
 convinces me, that a man may at once be 
 rich and noble, and active and happy. 
 
 Written ill 1804,7 
 Printed in I8O9. J 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 Printed by S, Hamilton, Weybridge.
 
 1
 
 238 u/ei 
 
 mi