Volume I Part 30 (2/2)
or ”a train of elegant figured tabinet.” Why, Molly darling, you might as well wear a mackintosh, or go out in a suit of glazed alpaca cloth. Mary Anne says that the ball at the Castle of Dublin is like a tournament, where all the company dance in armor; and, indeed, when I think of the rattling of bead bracelets, false pearls, and Berlin necklaces, it rather reminds me of a hornpipe in fetters!
I must confess to you, Molly, there 's nothing as low anywhere as Dublin, and latterly, when anybody asks Mary Anne or me if it's pleasant, we always say with a strong English accent, ”Our military friends say, vastly, but we really don't know ourselves.” Is n't that a pretty pa.s.s to be reduced to? But I 'm told that all the Irish, of any distinction, are obliged to do the same, and never confess to have seen more of Ireland than one does from the Welsh mountains. It's no want of patriotism makes me say this. I wish, with all my heart, that Ireland was a perfect paradise; and it's no fault of mine that Providence intended otherwise.
If I was n't writing with my head so full of Tom Purcell and his late impudence, I 'd have plenty to tell you about the girls and James. Mary Anne is more admired than any girl here, and so would Cary, if she 'd only let herself be so; but she has got a short, snubby, tart kind of way with people, that never goes down abroad, where, as Lord G. says, ”every cat plays with his claws covered.”
And as to Lord George himself, I wonder is it Mary Anne or Cary that he's after. I watch him day by day, and can make nothing of it; but sure and certain it is he means one of the two, and that is the reason why he left this suddenly the other morning for England, and saying,--
”There 's no use letter-writing; I'll just dash over and have a talk with my governor.”
I would n't ask him about what, but I saw the way the girls looked down when he spoke, and that was enough to show me in what quarter the wind was blowing.
I wish from my heart and soul the proposal would come before K. I. came back. I 'd like to have to show the superior way I have always managed the family affairs; for I need n't tell you, Molly, that _he_ never had an eye to the peerage for one of his daughters! but if he returns before it's settled, he 'll say that he had his share in it all! As to James, he is everything that a fond and doting mother could wish. Six feet two and a half,--he grew the half since he came here,--with dark eyes, and a pair of whiskers and moustaches that there's not the like here, dressed in the very top of the fas.h.i.+on, with opal and diamond studs to his s.h.i.+rt and waistcoat, and a black velvet paletot with turquoise b.u.t.tons for evening wear. The whole room turns to look at him wherever he goes, for he walks along just for all the world as if he owned the place. You may suppose, my dear Molly, how little he resembles K. I.; and, indeed, I have heard many make the same remark when we were at Bonn.
I made Mary Anne write me down a list of the great people here who have all called on us; but what 's the use of sending it, after all? You could n't p.r.o.nounce them if they were before you! I send you, however, a bit I cut out of ”Galignani's Messenger,” where you 'll see that we are put down amongst the distinguished visitors as ”Madame M'Carthy Dodd, family and suite!” James still thinks if K. I. would call himself ”The O'Dodd,” it would serve us greatly; and Mary Anne agrees with the opinion; and perhaps now, when he comes back under a cloud, as one may say, it may not be so difficult to make him give in. As James remarks, ”Print it on your card, call out and shoot the first fellow that addresses you as Mr.--make it no laughing matter for anybody, before your face at least,--and the thing is done.” Maybe we 'll live to see this yet, Molly, but I fear it won't be till Providence sends for K. I.
I spoke rather sharply to Waters in my last; and I find now that the legacy is paid into Latouche's. Will you remind Purcell that to be of any use to me the money ought to be here? As to the Loan Fund, I wonder how you have the face to ask me for anything, knowing the way I 'm in for ready cash, and that I 'd rather borrow than lend any day. Tell Peter Belton, also, that I stop my subscription after this year to the Dispensary; and I am quite sure the old system of physic is nothing but legalized poisoning. Looking to the facilities of the country, and the natural habits of the people, I 'm convinced, Molly, that the water-cure is what you want in Ireland; and I 've half a mind to write a letter to one of the papers about it. Cheapness is the first requisite in a poor country; and any one can vouch for it, water is n't a dear commodity with you.
Father Maher's remarks upon poor Jones M'Carthy is, I must say, very unfeeling; and I don't coincide with the conclusions he draws from them; for if he was half as bad as he says, ma.s.ses will do him little good; and for a few thousand years, more or less, I can't afford to pay fifty pounds! Ask him, besides, is it reasonable that when the price of everything is falling, with Free-trade, that the old tariff of Purgatory is to be kept up still? That would be downright absurd! Priests, my dear Molly, must lower their rates, as the Protectionists do their rents: that's ”one of the demands of the age, and can't be resisted.” As Lord George says, ”The Church, like the railroad people, fell into the mistake of lavish expenditure! Purgatory was like a station, and ought never to be made too costly. No one wants to live there: the most one requires is to be decently comfortable, till you can 'go on.' What's the use of fine furniture, elegant chairs and carpets? they 're clean thrown away in such a place.” If Father Maher thinks that the remarks are not uttered in a respectful spirit, tell him he's wrong; for Lord G. and all his family are great Whigs, and intend to do more mischief to the Established Church than any party that ever was in power; and I must say, I never heard Father Maher abuse Protestants, bigotry, and intolerance more bitterly than Lord G. It is so seldom that one ever hears really liberal sentiments, or anything like justice to Ireland, I could listen to him for hours when he begins. If I 'm right in my conjecture about the object of his journey to London, it will be the making of James; since, once that we are connected with the aristocracy, Molly, there's nothing we cannot have; for, you see, the way is this: if you belong to the middle cla.s.ses, they expect that you ought to have some kind of fitness for the occupation you look for; and they say, ”This would n't suit you at all;” ”That's not your line, in the least;”
but when you are one of the ”higher orders,” there's, so to say, a general adaptiveness about you, and you can do anything they put before you, from ranging Windsor Forest to keeping a lighthouse! When one reflects upon that, it's no wonder that one of our great poets says, ”Oh, bless,” or ”preserve”--I forget which--”our old n.o.bility!”
Go into any of the great public offices--the Foreign or the Colonial, for instance--and they tell me that such a set of incapable-looking creatures never was seen, with spy-gla.s.ses stuck in their eyes, airing themselves before a big fire, and reading the ”Times;” and yet, Molly,--confess it we must,--the work is done somehow and by somebody.
It reminds me of a paper-mill I once saw; and no matter how dirty and squalid the rags that went in, they came out ”Beautiful fine wove,” or ”Bath extra.”
As to the questions in your last, I can't answer a t.i.the of them. You go on, letter after letter, with the same tiresome demand,--”Are we as much in love with the Continent as we were? Is it so cheap? Is the climate as fine as they say? Is there never any rain or wind at all? Is everybody polite and agreeable? Is there no such thing as backbiting or slandering? Are all the men handsome and brave, and all the women beautiful and virtuous?” This is but a specimen taken at random out of your late inquiries; and I 'd like to know that if even you gave me ”notice of a question,” as they do in the House, how could I satisfy you on these points? The most I can do is to say that there may be some slight exaggeration in one or two of these,--the rain, for instance, and the virtue,--but that, generally speaking, the rest is all true. I can be more explicit in regard to what you ask in your last postscript,--”After living so long abroad, can we ever come back to reside in Ireland?” Never, Molly, never! I make neither reserve nor qualification in my answer. _That_ would be clearly impossible! for it's not only that Ireland would be insupportable to us, but, as Mary Anne remarks, ”we would be insupportable to the Irish.” Our walk, our dress, our looks, our accent, our manner with men, and our way with women; the homage we 're used to; the respect we feel our due; the topics we discuss with freedom, and the range of our views generally over life,--would shock the whole population from Cape Clear to the Causeway.
It's not easy for me to explain it to you, Molly; but, somehow, everything abroad is different from at home. Not only the things you talk of, but the way you talk of them, is quite distinct; and the whole world of men, morals, and manners have quite another standard! It is the same with one's thoughts as with their diet; half the things we like best are only what is called acquired tastes. Trouble enough we often have to learn them; but when once we do so, who'd be fool enough to go back upon his old ignorance again? High society and genteel manners, Molly, however you may like them when you are used to them, are just like London porter,--mighty bitter when you first taste it. I know there are plenty of people will tell you the contrary, and that they took to it naturally like mother's milk; but don't believe them, it's quite impossible it could be true.
Once for all, I beg to tell you that there's no earthly use in tormenting and teasing us about the state the house is in at Dodsborough; how the roof is broken here, and the walls given way there.
I trust sincerely that it may soon become perfectly uninhabitable, for I never wish to see it again! I often think it would n't be a bad plan for K. I. to go back and reside there. I 'm sure if he collected his rents himself, instead of leaving all to Tom Purcell, it would be ”telling him something.” You say that the country is getting disturbed again, and that they're likely to have a ”sharp winter for the landlords;” but if it was the will of Providence anything should happen, I hope I have Christian feelings to support me! Indeed, I'm well used to trials now!
It's a mistake, besides, Molly, to suppose that these--I hate to call them ”outrages,” as the newspapers do--these little outbreaks of the boys have any deep root in the country. The Orangemen, I know, would make them out as a regular system, and say that it's an organized society for murder; but it's no such thing. Father Maher himself told me that he spoke against it from the altar, and said: ”What a pa.s.s the country has come to,” says he, ”that the poor laboring hard-working man has no justice to right him, except his own stout heart and strong arm!” What could he say more than that, Molly? But even these beautiful expressions did n't save him from the ”Evening Mail”!
The English are always boasting about their bravery and their courage, and so on; and when any one says, ”Why don't you buy property in Ireland?” the answer is, ”We 're afraid.” I have heard it myself, Molly, with my own ears. But their ignorance is even worse than their cowardness, for if they only knew the people, they 'd see there was nothing to be frightened at. Sure, I remember myself, when we lived at Cloughma.n.u.s, Sam Gill came up to the house one morning, to say that there was two men come from below Lahinch to shoot K. I.
”They have the pa.s.swords,” says he, ”and all the tokens, and though I 'm, your honor's man, I was obliged to take them into my house and feed them.”
”It's a bad business, Sam,” says he. ”What are they to get for it?”
”Five pound between them, sir,--if it's done complete.”
”Would they take three,” says K. I., ”and let me live?”
”I don't know, sir; but, if you like, I'll ask them.”
”I would like it, indeed,” says K. I.
And down went Sam to the gate-house, and spoke to them. They were both decent, reasonable men, and agreed at once to the offer. The money was paid, and the two came up and ate a hearty breakfast at the house, and K. I. walked more than a mile of the road with them afterwards,--talking about the crops and the state of the country down westward,--and shook hands with them cordially at parting.
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