"God love and guard your kind and charitable heart, my sweet Mary," said he, looking down tenderly into her beautiful face, and pressing her arm lovingly against his side.
"What a hard-hearted man that under agent, M'Clutchy, is," she exclaimed, her beautiful eye brightening with indignation--"do you know that while her children were ill, his bailiff, Darby O'Drive, by his orders or authority, or some claim or other, took away her goose and the only half-dozen of eggs she had for them--indeed, Frank, he's a sad curse to the property."
"He is what an old Vandal was once called for his cruelty and oppression--the Scourge of God," replied Harman, "such certainly the unhappy tenantry of the Topertoe family find him. Harsh and heartless as he is, however, what would he be were it not for the vigilance and humanity of Mr. Hickman? But are you aware, Mary, that his graceful son Phil was a suitor of yours?"
"Of mine---ha, ha, ha!--oh, that's too comical, Frank--but I am not--Had I really ever that honor?"
"Most certainly; his amiable father had the modesty to propose a matrimonial union between your family and his!"
"I never heard of it," replied Mary, "never;--but that is easily accounted for--my father, I know, would not insult me by the very mention of it."
"It's a fact though, that the illegitimate son of the blasphemous old squire, and of the virtuous and celebrated Kate Clank, hoped to have united the M'Loughlin blood with his!"
"Hush!" exclaimed Mary, shuddering, "the very thought is sickening, revolting."
"It's not a pleasant subject, certainly," said Harman, "and the less that is said about it the more disgust we shall avoid, at any rate."
Her lover having safely conducted Mary home, remained with her family only a few minutes, as the evening was advanced, and he had still to go as far as Castle Cumber, upon business connected with the manufactory, which M'Loughlin and his father had placed wholly under his superintendence.
Upon what slight circumstances does the happiness of individuals, nay, even of states and kingdoms, too frequently depend! Harman most assuredly was incapable of altogether dismissing the circumstance of the evening--involved in mystery as they unquestionably were--out of his mind; not that he entertained the slightest possible suspicion of Mary's prudence or affection; but he felt a kind of surprise at the novelty of the position in which he saw she was placed, and no little pain in consequence of the disagreeable necessity for silence which she admitted had been imposed on her. His confidence in her, however, was boundless; and from this perfect reliance on her discretion and truth, he derived an assurance that she was acting with strict propriety under the circumstances, whatever might be their character or tendency.
It may be necessary to mention here that a right of passage ran from Beleeven, the name of the village in which M'Loughlin resided, to the Castle Cumber high road, which it joined a little beyond Constitution Cottage, passing immediately through an angle of the clump of beeches already mentioned as growing behind the house. By this path, which shortened the way very much, Harman, and indeed every pedestrian acquainted with it, was in the habit of passing, and on the night in question he was proceeding along it at a pretty quick pace, when, having reached the beeches just alluded to, he perceived two figures, a male and female, apparently engaged in close and earnest conversation. The distance at first was too great to enable him to form any opinion as to who they were, nor would he have even asked himself the question, were it not that the way necessarily brought him pretty near them. The reader may form some conception then of his surprise, his perplexity, and, disguise it as he might, his pain, on ascertaining that the female was no other than Poll Doolin, and her companion, graceful Phil himself--the gallant and accomplished owner of Handsome Harry.
It appeared quite evident that the subject matter of their conversation was designed for no other ears than their own, or why speak as they did in low and guarded tones, that implied great secrecy and caution. Nay, what proved still a plainer corroboration of this--no sooner was the noise of his footsteps heard, than Poll squatted herself down behind the small hedge which separated the pathway from the space on which they stood, and this clearly with a hope of concealing her person from his observation. Phil also turned away his face with a purpose of concealment, but the impression left by his lank and scraggy outline, as it stood twisted before Harman, was such as could not be mistaken.
Poll's identity not only on this occasion, but also during her hasty separation from Mary, was now established beyond the possibility of a doubt; a fact which lent to both her interviews a degree of mystery that confounded Harman. On thinking over the matter coolly, he could scarcely help believing that Her appearance here was in some way connected with the, circumstances which had occasioned Mary so much agitation and alarm. This suspicion, however, soon gave way to a more generous estimate of her character, and he could not permit himself for a moment to imagine the existence of anything that was prejudicial to her truth and affection. At the same time he felt it impossible to prevent himself from experiencing a strong sense of anxiety, or perhaps we should say, a feeling of involuntary pain, which lay like a dead weight upon his heart and spirits. In truth, do what he might and reason as he would, he could not expel from his mind the new and painful principle which disturbed it. And thus he went on, sometimes triumphantly defending Mary from all ungenerous suspicion, and again writhing under the vague and shapeless surmises which the singular events of the evening sent crowding to his imagination. His dreams on retiring to seek repose were frightful--several times in the night he saw graceful Phil squinting at him with a nondescript leer of vengeance and derision in his yellow goggle eyes, and bearing Mary off, like some misshapen ogre of old, mounted upon Handsome Harry, who appeared to be gifted with the speed of Hark-away or flying Childers, whilst he himself could do nothing but stand helplessly by, and contemplate the triumph of his hated rival.
In the mean time the respected father and grandfather of that worthy young gentleman were laboring as assiduously for his advancement in life as if he had been gifted with a catalogue of all human virtues.
Old Deaker, true to his word, addressed the very next day the following characteristic epistle--
"To the Right Hon. Lord Cumber.
"My Lord--It is unnecessary to tell you that I was, during my life, a plain blunt fellow in all my transactions. When I was honest, I was honest like a man; and when I did the roguery, I did it like a open, fearless knave, that defied the world and scorned hypocrisy. I am, therefore, the same consistent old scoundrel as ever; or the same bluff, good-humored rascal which your old father--who sold his country--and yourself--who would sell it too, if you had one to sell--ever found me.
To make short work, then, I want you to dismiss that poor, scurvy devil, Hickman, from your agency, and put that misbegotten spawn of mine in his place. I mean Val M'Clutchy, or Val the Vulture, as they have very properly christened him. Hickman's not the thing, in any sense. He can't manage the people, and they impose upon him--then you suffer, of course.
Bedsides, he's an anti-ascendancy man, of late, and will go against you at the forthcoming Election. The fellow pretends to have a conscience, and be cursed to him--prates about the Union--preaches against corruption--and talks about the people, as if they were fit to be anything else than what they are. This is a pretty fellow for you to have as an agent to your property. Now, I'll tell you what, my Lord--you know old Deaker well. His motto is--'Let us eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow we die--' I'll tell you what, I say; I have a mortgage on your property for fourteen thousand pounds. Now, put in Val or I'll be speaking to my lawyer about it. Put in Val, or you will never warm your posteriors in a seat for this county, so long as I carry the key of it.
In doing so, make no wry faces about it--you will only serve yourself and your property, and serve Val into the bargain. Val, to be sure, is as confounded a scoundrel as any of us, but then he is a staunch Protestant; and you ought not to be told at this time of day, that the greater the scoundrel the better the agent. Would you have a fellow, for instance, whose conscience, indeed, must stand between you and your interest? Would you have some honest blockhead, who, when you are to be served by a piece of friendly rascality, will plead scruples. If so, you are a greater fool than I ever took you to be. Make Val your agent, and it is not you that will suffer by him, but the people--whom, of course, no one cares a curse about. I ought to have some claim on you, I think.
Many a lift I have given your precious old father, Tom Topertoe, when I did not think of pleading scruples. To tell you the truth, many a dirty trick I played for him, and never brought my conscience to account for it. Make the most of this rascally world, and of the rascals that are in it, for we are all alike in the grave. Put in Val, then, and don't made an enemy of
"Your old friend,
"Randal Deaker.
"P.S.--As to Val, he knows nothing of this transaction--I told him I would say so, and I keep my word. I forgot to say that if you write this beggarly devil, Hickman, a sharp letter for money, he may probably save you the trouble of turning him out. I know him well--he is a thin skinned fool, and will be apt to bolt, if you follow my advice.
"Yours as you deserve it,
"R D."
Now, it is necessary to say here, that amidst all this pretence of open villainy, there ran an undercurrent of cunning that might escape the observation of most men. In truth, old Deaker was not only a knave, but a most unscrupulous oppressor at heart, especially when he happened to get a man in his power from whom he wished to extort a favor, or on whom he wished to inflict an injury. In the present instance he felt perfectly conscious of his power over the heartless profligate, to whom he wrote such a characteristic letter, and the result shows that he neither miscalculated the feeble principles of his correspondent, nor the consequences of his own influence over him. By due return of post he received a reply, of which the following is a copy:--
"Old Deaker--You have me fast, and you know it--so I suppose must is the word; now I'll tell you what I want, you old villain; I want two thousand pounds, and if M'Clutchy is to get the agency, I must have the money--so there is my must as well as yours. In the meantime I have written to Hickman on the same subject, want of money, I mean--what the consequences may be, I know not, but I fancy I can guess them.
"Yours,
"Cumber."
CHAPTER VI.--The Life and Virtues of an Irish Absentee
--Duties of an Irish Landlord--An Apologue on Property--Reasons for Appointing an Agent--M'Clutchy's Notions of His Duties--Receipt to make a Forty Shilling Freeholder.
Lord Cumber to Henry Hickman, Esq.
"London, April 1st, 18--
"My Dear Hickman,
"I wrote to you the day before yesterday, and, as the letter was one of a very pressing nature, I hope its influence won't be lost upon you.
To you who are so well acquainted with the cursed pickle in which I am placed, it is unnecessary to say that I shall be fairly done up, unless you can squeeze something for me out of those rascally tenants of mine.
Fairly done up is not the proper term either; for between you and me, I strongly suspect a young fellow called Swingler, an ironmonger's son, of giving me a twist too much, on more than one occasion. He was introduced, that is, proposed as a member of our club, by Sir Robert Ratsbane, whose grandfather was a druggist, and seconded by Lord Loadstone, the celebrated lady-killer, as a regular pigeon, who dropped, by the death of old 'burn the wind,' into half a million at least. The fellow did appear to be a very capital speculation, but the whole thing, however, was a trick, as I strongly suspect; for after losing to a tolerably smart tune, our gentleman began to illustrate the doctrine of reaction, and has, under the character of a pigeon, already fleeced half a score of us. Last week I suffered to the tune of eight hundred--Sir Heavyhead to that of twelve--Bill Swag five--and the Hon. Tom Trickman himself, who scarcely ever loses, gave bills for six fifties. I can't stand this, Hickman, that is, I cannot afford to stand it. What is fifteen thousand a year to a man like me, who must support his rank, or be driven to the purgatorial alternative of being imprisoned on his own estate? Hickman, you have no bowels for me, although you can have for the hard-fisted boors on my property, who wont pay up as they ought, and all through your indolence and neglect. You must send me money, get it where you will; beg, borrow, rob, drive, cant, sell out--for money I must have. Two thousand within a fortnight, and no disappointment, or I'm dished. You know not the demands upon me, and therefore you, naturally enough, think very easily--much too easily--of my confounded difficulties. If you had an opera girl to keep, as I have--and a devilish expensive appendage the affectionate jade is--perhaps you might feel a little more Christian sympathy for me than you do. If you had the expense of my yacht--my large stud at Melton Mowbry and Doncaster, and the yearly deficits in my betting book, besides the never ending train of jockies, grooms, feeders, trainers, _et hoc genus omne_--to meet, it is probable, old boy, you would not feel so boundless an interest, as you say you do, in the peace and welfare of another man's tenantry, and all this at that other man's expense. You're confoundedly unreasonable, Hickman. Why feel, or pretend to feel, more for these fellows, their barelegged wives, and ragged brats, than you do for a nobleman of rank, to whom you are deeply indebted. I mean you no offence, Hickman; you are in other respects an honest fellow enough, and if possessed of only a little less heart, as the times go, and more skill in raising money from these people, you would be invaluable to such a distressed devil as I am. As it is, I regret to say, that you are more a friend to my tenantry than to myself, which is a poor qualification for an agent. In fact, we, the Irish aristocracy living here, or absentees as you call us, instead of being assailed by abuse, want of patriotism, neglect of duties, and all that kind of stuff, have an especial claim upon the compassion of their countrymen. If you knew what we, with limited means and encumbered properties, must suffer in attempting to compete with the aristocracy of this country, who are enormously rich, you would say that we deserve immortal credit for holding out and keeping up appearances as we do--not that I think we always come off scott-free from their ridicule, especially when they see the shifts to which we are put, in order to stretch onward at their own pace. However, we must drink when we are thirsty, as well as they, and if the water happen to be low in the cistern, which, indeed, is mostly the case with us, we must, as the rook in the fable did with the pebbles, throw in rack-renting, drivings, executions, mortgages, loans, &c, in order to bring it within our reach--for there is ingenuity in everything, as the proverb says, except in roasting of eggs.
"Come, then, Hickman, set to work at once. My yacht has been damaged by a foolish wager I made to run her through a creek of reefs at low water, so that the mere repairs will cost me a cool two hundred at least.
Besides this, I have pledged myself to buy my charming little Signora a pair of Blenheim spaniels that she has fallen in love with, for which I shall have to fork out a hundred and fifty down. I say, then, again, my dear Hickman, money, money; money by _any_ means, but by _all_ means money; _rem, sed quocunque modo rem_.
"By the way is there not a man there, a kind of under-fellow in something--agent, I believe--some time appointed, named M'Snitchy, or M'Smatchey, M'Clutchy, or some such euphonious appellative? Somebody, old Deaker I think, once mentioned him to me in strong terms, and said he might become capable of being useful; and you know, Hickman, as well as I do, that every property circumstanced as mine is, requires a useful fellow of that particular description. For instance, I dare say, there are certain proceedings connected with your duty to which you have no great inclination, and, under these circumstances, would it not be prudent at least to resort to the agency of somebody like this M'Clutchy; a fellow not overburthened with too strong a perception of the necessary pressure. But the truth is, if I proceed in this manner, your humanity, as the cant goes, will take the alarm; you will say that my residence abroad has not improved my principles; and that I am rather strongly tainted with club morality, and the ethics of the gaming, house. So would you, perhaps, if you breathed my atmosphere, and were exposed to my temptations. But now I am preaching, and not to the right purpose either; so as I said before, I say again--money, money, money.
"I am, my dear Hickman, "Thy friend in distress, "Cumber."
Henry Hickman, Esq., to the Right Honorable Lord Viscount Cumber:--
Primrose Hill, April 18--
"My Lord:
"I have had the honor of receiving both your communications, and have read them, especially that of the first instant, with great pain. I need not tell you, that I have been your father's friend--that I have been, and still am your friend, and as such, from my age and anxiety for your lordship's welfare and reputation, I must take the liberty of one who has both sincerely at heart, to write to you in terms which a mere agent could not with propriety use. As this letter, therefore, is written for your own eye only, you will be good enough to remember that in everything severe and home-spoken in it, the friend, and not the agent speaks--at the same time, I must admit, that it is from the knowledge gained as an agent that I remonstrate as a friend.
"It is now beyond a doubt, my Lord, that your position is one surrounded with difficulties scarcely to be surmounted, unless by measures which I, as an honest man, cannot permit myself to adopt. So long as the course of life, which it has pleased your lordship's better taste and judgment to pursue, did not bring within the compass of my duties as your agent, the exhibition of principles at variance with humanity and justice, so long did I fulfil those duties with all the ability and zeal for your just interests which I could exert. But now I perceive, that you have driven me to that line beyond which I cannot put my foot, without dishonor to myself. I have been the agent of your property, my Lord, but I shall never become the instrument of your vices; and believe me, this is a distinction which in our unhappy country, is too seldom observed.
Many an agent, my Lord, has built himself a fortune out of the very necessities of his employer, and left to his children the honorable reflection that their independence originated from profligacy on the one hand and dishonesty on the other. You see, my Lord, I find it necessary to be very plain with you, and to say, that however you may feel yourself disposed to follow the one course, I shall not rival you in the other. I cannot become a scourge inflicted by your necessities, not to use a harsher word, upon a suffering people, who are already exhausted and provoked by an excess of severity and neglect. Think of the predicament in which you would have me stand--of the defence which you place, in my lips. Should your tenantry ask me--'why are you thus cruel and oppressive-upon us?' what reply could I make but this--'I am thus cruel because his lordship is profligate. He wants money to support his-mistress, to feed her vanities and excesses, and you must endure distress and privation, that the insatiable rapacity of a courtezan may be gratified. His lordship, too, has horses and dogs, in the welfare of which he feels a deep interest.' 'But why does he not feel an interest in us?' 'So he does, for are not you the persons by whose toil and labor he is enabled to support them all?' 'So that in point of fact, we are made indirectly the agents of his crimes. The privations which we suffer--the sweat of our brows--the labor of our hands, go to the-support of his wantonness, his luxury, and his extravagance!
This, then, is his interest in us?' 'Yes--_work, that you may feed them_--starve, that his mistress may riot in wantonness; perish your children that his dogs may be fed!' In such a position as this, my Lord, I shall never place myself, but you may easily find many that will. The moment your necessities are known, knavery will be immediately at work, and assume its guardianship over folly. Indeed there is a monarchical spirit in knavery, which has never yet been observed. The knave keeps his fool, as did the kings of old, with this only difference, and a material one it is--that whilst the fool always lived at the king's expense, the knave lives at the fool's. How your lordship may feel under the new administration I cannot say, but I am inclined to think, you will not find it a distinction without a difference. By this, of course, you understand, my Lord, that I at once resign my agency.
"And now, my Lord, in addition to many other unavailable remonstrances made by me, not only against your licentious habits as a man, but against your still more indefensible conduct as a landlord, allow me to address you in a spirit of honesty, which I fear is not easily found among the class to which I belong. I look upon this as a duty which I owe less to you than to my country, because I am satisfied that the most important service which can be rendered to any man, not ashamed of either your habits or principles, is to lay before him a clear, but short and simple statement, of that which constitutes his duty as a landlord--I should say an Irish landlord--for there is a national idiosyncrasy of constitution about such a man, which appears to prevent him from properly discharging his duties, either as a friend to himself, or a just man to his tenantry.
"The first principle, therefore, which an Irish landlord--or, indeed any landlord--should lay down, as his fixed and unerring guide, is ever to remember that his tenantry are his best friends--his only patrons--and that instead of looking down upon them with contempt, neglect, or even indifference, he should feel that they are his chief benefactors, who prop his influence, maintain his rank, and support his authority.
"The second is--that the duties of the landlord to his tenantry are much greater, and far more important than those of his tenantry to him, and should at least be quite as equitably and attentively discharged.