Tales and Novels Volume IX Part 29

But he had since seen hunts in a very different style, and he could no longer admire the rabble rout.

Human creatures, especially young human creatures, are apt to swing suddenly from one extreme to the other, and utterly to despise that which they had extravagantly admired. From this propensity Ormond was in the present instance guarded by affection and grat.i.tude. Through all the folly of his kings.h.i.+p, he saw that Cornelius O'Shane was not a person to be despised. He was indeed a man of great natural powers, both of body and mind--of inventive genius, energy, and perseverance, which might have attained the greatest objects; though from insufficient knowledge, and self-sufficient perversity, they had wasted themselves on absurd or trivial purposes.

There was a strong contrast between the characters of Sir Ulick and his cousin Cornelius O'Shane. They disliked and despised each other: differing as far in natural disposition as the subtle and the bold, their whole course through life, and the habits contracted during their progress, had widened the original difference.

The one living in the world, and mixing continually with men of all ranks and character, had, by bending easily, and being all things to all men, won his courtier-way onwards and upwards to the possession of a seat in parliament, and the prospect of a peerage.

The other, inhabiting a remote island, secluded from all men but those over whom he _reigned_, caring for no earthly consideration, and for no human opinion but his own, had _for_ himself and _by_ himself, hewed out his way to his own objects, and then rested, satisfied--

"Lord of himself, and all his (_little_) world his own."

CHAPTER VI.

One morning, when Harry Ormond was out shooting, and King Corny, who had recovered tolerably from the gout, was reinstated in his arm-chair in the parlour, listening to Father Jos reading "The Dublin Evening Post,"

a gossoon, one of the runners of the castle, opened the door, and putting in his curly red head and bare feet, announced, _in all haste_, that _he "just seen_ Sir Ulick O'Shane in the boat, crossing the lake for the Black Islands."

"Well, breathless blockhead! and what of that?" said King Corny--"did you never see a man in a boat before?"

"I did, plase your honour."

"Then what is there extraordinary?"

"Nothing at all, plase your honour, only--thought your honour might like to know."

"Then you thought wrong, for I neither like it, nor mislike it. I don't care a rush about the matter--so take yourself down stairs."

"'Tis a long time," said the priest, as the gossoon closed the door after him, "'tis a longer time than he ought, since Sir Ulick O'Shane paid his respects here, even in the shape of a morning visit."

"Morning visit!" repeated Mrs. Betty Dunshaughlin, the housekeeper, who entered the room, for she was a privileged person, and had _les grandes et les pet.i.tes entrees in this palace_"--Morning visit!--are you sure, Father Jos--are you clear he isn't come intending to stay dinner?"

"What, in the devil's name, Betty, does it signify?" said the king.

"About the dinner!"

"What about it?" said Corny, proudly: "whether he comes, stays, or goes, I'll not have a sc.r.a.p, or an iota of it changed," added he in a despotic tone.

"_Wheugh_.'" said Betty, "one would not like to have a dinner of sc.r.a.ps--for there's nothing else to-day for him."

"Then if there _is_ nothing else, there _can_ be nothing else," said the priest, very philosophically.

"But when strangers come to dine, one would make a bit of an exertion, if one could," said Betty.

"It's his own fault to be a stranger," said Father Jos, watching his majesty's clouding countenance; then whispering to Betty, "that was a faulty string you touched upon, Mrs. Betty; and can't you make out your dinner without saying any thing?"

"A person may speak in this house, I suppose, besides the clergy, Father Jos," said Mrs. Betty, under her breath.

Then looking out of the window, she added, "He's half-way over the lake, and he'll make his own apologies good, I'll engage, when he comes in; for he knows how to speak for himself as well as any gentleman--and I don't doubt but he'll get my Micky made an exciseman, as he promised to; and sure he has a good right--Isn't he a cousin of King Corny's?

wherefore I'd wish to have all things proper. So I'll step out and kill a couple of chickens--won't I?"

"Kill what you please," said King Corny; "but without my warrant, nothing killed or unkilled shall come up to my table this day--and that's enough. No more reasoning--quit the subject and the room, Betty."

Betty quitted the room; but every stair, as she descended to the kitchen, could bear witness that she did not quit the subject; and for an hour afterwards, she reasoned against the obstinacy and folly of man, and the chorus in the kitchen moralized, in conformity and commiseration--in vain.

Meantime Father Jos, though he regretted the exertions which Mrs. Betty might discreetly have made in favour of a good dinner, was by no means, as he declared, a friend or _fauterer_ of Sir Ulick O'Shane--how could he, when Sir Ulick had recanted?--The priest looked with horror upon the apostasy--the King with contempt upon the desertion of his party. "Was he sincere any way, I'd honour him," said Cornelius, "or forgive him; but, not to be ripping up old grievances when there's no occasion, can't forgive the way he is at this present double-dealing with poor Harry Ormond--cajoling the grateful heart, and s.h.i.+rking the orphan boy that he took upon him to patronise. Why there I thought n.o.bly of him, and forgave him all his sins, for the generous protection he afforded the son of his friend."

"Had Captain Ormond, the father, no fortune?" asked the priest.

"Only a trifle of three hundred a year, and no provision for the education or maintenance of the boy. Ulick's fondness for him, more than all, showed him capable of the disinterested _touch_; but then to belie his own heart--to abandon him he bred a favourite, just when the boy wants him most--Oh! how could he? And all for what? To please the wife he hates: that can't be--that's only the ostensible--but what the raal rason is I can't guess. No matter--he'll soon tell us."

"Tell us! Oh! no," said the priest, "he'll keep his own secret."

"He'll let it out, I'll engage, trying to hide it," said Corny: "like all cunning people, he _woodc.o.c.ks_--hides his head, and forgets his body can be seen. But hark! he is coming up. Tommy!" said he, turning to a little boy of five years old, Sheelah's grandchild, who was playing about in the room, "hand, me that whistle you're whistling with, till I see what's the matter with it for you."

King Corny seemed lost in examination of the whistle when Sir Ulick entered the room; and after receiving and seating him with proud courtesy, he again returned to the charge, blowing through the whistle, earnestly dividing his observation between Sir Ulick and little Tommy, and asking questions, by turns, about the whistle, and about all at Castle Hermitage.

"Where's my boy? Where's Harry Ormond?" was the first leading question Sir Ulick asked.

"Harry Ormond's out shooting, I believe, somewhere or somehow, taking his pleasure, as I hope he will long, and always as long as he likes it, at the Black Islands; at least as long as I live."

Sir Ulick branched off into hopes of his cousin Cornelius's living long, very long; and in general terms, that were intended to avoid committing himself, or pinning himself to any thing, he protested that he must not be robbed of his boy, that he had always, with good reason, been jealous of Harry's affection for King Corny, and that he could not consent to let his term of stay at the Black Islands be either as long as Harry himself should like, or during what he hoped would be the life of his cousin, Cornelius O'Shane.

"There's something wrong, still, in this whistle. Why, if you loved him so, did you let him go when you had him?" said Corny.

"He thought it necessary, for domestic reasons," replied Sir Ulick.

"_Continental policy_, that is; what I never understood, nor never shall," said Corny. "But I don't inquire any farther. If you are satisfied with yourself, we are all satisfied, I believe."

"Pardon me, I cannot be satisfied without seeing Harry this morning, for I've a little business with him--will you have the goodness to send for him?"

Father Jos, who, from the window, saw Harry's dog snuffing along the path to the wood, thought he could not be far from the house, and went to make inquiries; and now when Sir Ulick and King Corny were left alone together, a dialogue--a sort of single combat, without any object but to try each other's powers and temper--ensued between them; in which the one on the offensive came on with a tomahawk, and the other stood on the defensive parrying with a polished blade of Damascus; and sometimes, when the adversary was off his guard, making a sly cut at an exposed part.

"What are you so busy about?" said Sir Ulick.

"Mending the child's toy," said Cornelius. "A man must be doing something in this world."

"But a man of your ingenuity! 'tis a pity it should be wasted, as I have often said, upon mere toys."

"Toys of one sort or other we are all taken up with through life, from the cradle to the grave. By-the-bye, I give you joy of your baronetage.

I hope they did not make you pay, now, too much in conscience for that poor tag of n.o.bility."

"These things are not always matters of bargain and sale--mine was quite an unsolicited honour, a mark of approbation and acceptance of my poor services, and as such, gratifying;--as to the rest, believe me, it was not, if I must use so coa.r.s.e an expression, _paid_ for."

"Not paid for--what, then, it's owing for? To be paid for still? Well, that's too hard, after all you've done for them. But some men have no manner of conscience. At least, I hope you paid the fees."

"The fees, of course--but we shall never understand one another," said Sir Ulick.

"Now what will be the next t.i.tle or string you look forward to, Ulysses, may I ask? Is it to be Baron Castle Hermitage, or to get a riband, or a garter, or a thistle, or what?--A thistle! What a.s.ses some men are!"