Part 3 (2/2)

He could not bring himself positively to deny that he had debts and difficulties; but he would by no means open the state of his affairs to his son--'No father is called upon to do that,' said he to himself; 'none but a fool would do it.'

Lord Colambre, perceiving his father's embarra.s.sment, withdrew his eyes, respectfully refrained from all further inquiries, and simply repeated the a.s.surance he had made to his mother, that he would put his family to no additional expense; and that, if it was necessary, he would willingly give up half his allowance.

'Not at all--not at all, my dear boy,' said his father; 'I would rather cramp myself than that you should be cramped, a thousand times over.

But it is all my Lady Clonbrony's nonsense. If people would but, as they ought, stay in their own country, live on their own estates, and kill their own mutton, money need never be wanting.'

For killing their own mutton, Lord Colambre did not see the indispensable necessity; but he rejoiced to hear his father a.s.sert that people should reside in their own country.

'Ay,' cried Lord Clonbrony, to strengthen his a.s.sertion, as he always thought it necessary to do, by quoting some other person's opinion. 'So Sir Terence O'Fay always says, and that's the reason your mother can't endure poor Terry. You don't know Terry? No, you have only seen him; but, indeed, to see him is to know him; for he is the most off-hand, good fellow in Europe.'

'I don't pretend to know him yet,' said Lord Colambre. 'I am not so presumptuous as to form my opinion at first sight.'

'Oh, curse your modesty!' interrupted Lord Clonbrony; 'you mean, you don't pretend to like him yet; but Terry will make you like him. I defy you not. I'll introduce you to him--him to you, I mean--most warn-hearted, generous dog upon earth--convivial--jovial--with wit and humour enough, in his own way, to split you--split me if he has not. You need not cast down your eyes, Colambre. What's your objection?'

'I have made none, sir; but, if you urge me, I can only say that, if he has all these good qualities, it is to be regretted that he does not look and speak a little more like a gentleman.'

'A gentleman! he is as much a gentleman as any of your formal prigs--not the exact Cambridge cut, maybe. Curse your English education! 'Twas none of my advice. I suppose you mean to take after your mother in the notion that nothing can be good, or genteel, but what's English.'

'Far from it, sir; I a.s.sure you, I am as warm a friend to Ireland as your heart could wish. You will have no reason, in that respect at least, nor, I hope, in any other, to curse my English education; and, if my grat.i.tude and affection can avail, you shall never regret the kindness and liberality with which you have, I fear, distressed yourself to afford me the means of becoming all that a British n.o.bleman ought to be.'

'Gad! you distress me now!' said Lord Clonbrony, 'and I didn't expect it, or I wouldn't make a fool of myself this way,' added he, ashamed of his emotion, and whiffling it off. 'You have an Irish heart, that I see, which no education can spoil. But you must like Terry. I'll give you time, as he said to me, when first he taught me to like usquebaugh. Good morning to you!'

Whilst Lady Clonbrony, in consequence of her residence in London, had become more of a fine lady, Lord Clonbrony, since he left Ireland, had become less of a gentleman. Lady Clonbrony, born an Englishwoman, disclaiming and disenc.u.mbering herself of all the Irish in town, had, by giving splendid entertainments, at an enormous expense, made her way into a certain set of fas.h.i.+onable company. But Lord Clonbrony, who was somebody in Ireland, who was a great person in Dublin, found himself n.o.body in England, a mere cipher in London, Looked down upon by the fine people with whom his lady a.s.sociated, and heartily weary of them, he retreated from them altogether, and sought entertainment and self-complacency in society beneath him--indeed, both in rank and education, but in which he had the satisfaction of feeling himself the first person in company. Of these a.s.sociates, the first in talents, and in jovial profligacy, was Sir Terence O'Fay--a man of low extraction, who had been knighted by an Irish lord-lieutenant in some convivial frolic. No one could tell a good story, or sing a good song better than Sir Terence; he exaggerated his native brogue, and his natural propensity to blunder, caring little whether the company laughed at him or with him, provided they laughed. 'Live and laugh--laugh and live,'

was his motto; and certainly he lived on laughing, as well as many better men can contrive to live on a thousand a year.

Lord Clonbrony brought Sir Terence home with him next day to introduce him to Lord Colambre; and it happened that on this occasion Terence appeared to peculiar disadvantage, because, like many other people, 'Il gatoit l'esprit qu'il avoit en voulant avoir celui qu'il n'avoit pas.'

Having been apprised that Lord Colambre was a fine scholar, fresh from Cambridge, and being conscious of his own deficiencies of literature, instead of trusting to his natural talents, he summoned to his aid, with no small effort, all the sc.r.a.ps of learning he had acquired in early days, and even brought before the company all the G.o.ds and G.o.ddesses with whom he had formed an acquaintance at school. Though embarra.s.sed by this unusual enc.u.mbrance of learning, he endeavoured to make all subservient to his immediate design, of paying his court to Lady Clonbrony, by forwarding the object she had most anxiously in view--the match between her son and Miss Broadhurst.

'And so, Miss Nugent,' said he, not daring, with all his a.s.surance, to address himself directly to Lady Clonbrony--'and so, Miss Nugent, you are going to have great doings, I'm told, and a wonderful grand gala.

There's nothing in the wide world equal to being in a good, handsome crowd. No later now than the last ball at the Castle that was before I left Dublin, Miss Nugent--the apartments, owing to the popularity of my lady-lieutenant, was so throng--so throng--that I remember very well, in the doorway, a lady--and a very genteel woman she was too, though a stranger to me--saying to me, ”Sir, your finger's in my ear.” ”I know it, madam,” says I, ”but I can't take it out till the crowd give me elbow room.”

'But it's gala I'm thinking of now. I hear you are to have the golden Venus, my Lady Clonbrony, won't you?'

'Sir!'

This freezing monosyllable notwithstanding, Sir Terence pursued his course fluently. 'The golden Venus!--Sure, Miss Nugent, you, that are so quick, can't but know I would apostrophise Miss Broadhurst that is, but that won't be long so, I hope. My Lord Colambre, have you seen much yet of that young lady?'

'No, sir.'

'Then I hope you won't be long so. I hear great talk now of the Venus of Medicis, and the Venus of this and that, with the Florence Venus, and the sable Venus, and that other Venus, that's was.h.i.+ng of her hair, and a hundred other Venuses, some good, some bad. But, be that as it will, my lord, trust a fool--ye may, when he tells you truth--the golden Venus is the only one on earth that can stand, or that will stand, through all ages and temperatures; for gold rules the court, gold rules the camp, and men below, and heaven above.'

'Heaven above! Take care, Terry! Do you know what you're saying?'

interrupted Lord Clonbrony.

'Do I? Don't I?' replied Terry. 'Deny, if you please, my lord, that it was for a golden pippin that the three G.o.ddesses FIT--and that the HIPPOMENES was about golden apples--and did not Hercules rob a garden for golden apples?--and did not the pious Eneas himself take a golden branch with him, to make himself welcome to his father in h.e.l.l?' said Sir Terence, winking at Lord Colambre.

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