CHAPTER II.The party at the castle had postponed their visit to St. Alvin Priory till the feast of St. Kathereen and St. Mary, which in that neighbourhood was always celebrated with much observance. A fair was held upon the downs, in honour of these two martyrs. The rocks near which the ruins of the convent stood, were called the Black Sisters, and it was there, and in the Wizzard’s Glen, which stretched from the top to the foot of the mountain, that the meetings of the discontented had been held. The day proved fair; and at an early hour the carriages and horses were in attendance. Mrs. Seymour and many others declined being of the party; but Lady Margaret took Gondimar’s arm with a smile of good humour, which she could at times put on.Buchanan drove Calantha in his barouch. Sir Everard rode by Calantha’s side on a lowly white palfrey, as if to protect her. Lady Mandeville was with her; and Lady Trelawney took Sophia and Lady Augusta Selwyn in her carriage. The rest of the gentlemen were some on horseback and some in curricles.The whole country smiled around. There were ringers, and pipers, and hurlers upon the down. The cliff, towards the sea, was covered with booths and tents. Flocks, herds and horses had been brought from far for sale, ornamented with ribbands; green being the favourite colour. Scarcely ever was witnessed a scene more gay. This, and the vessels laden with fish, crowding into the harbour below, and the high mountains beyond, struck even the Italian, whose eyes had been accustomed to all that nature can produce of picturesque and majestic. The beauty of the girls, with their long blue mantles thrown asidefrom their shoulders, their dark hair fastened behind with a knot of ribband, was the subject of discussion. Comparisons of the difference of form between one nation and another arose. All descended from their carriages and horses. Lady Mandeville repeated poetry; Gondimar became sentimental; Buchanan looked at the horses, enquired their prices, and soon joined the hurlers, in whose combat he grew so much interested, that no one could draw him from thence until the moment when they left the fair, where they had remained till they were all much fatigued.“What are you laughing at so immensely?” cried Lady Augusta Selwyn, approaching Lord Trelawney, who was nearly enclosed in a circle of some hundreds. The moment Lady Augusta approached, with a courtesy seldom seen but in Ireland, the crowd made way for her. “I am listening,” said he, “to a preacher—a most capital preacher, whomthey call Cowdel O’Kelly. Only observe him: what a rogue it is, with that hypocrite mildness of manner, that straight black hair, that presbyterian stiffness and simplicity.” “But what is he saying?” enquired Lady Augusta. The preacher, standing upon a cart, was delivering an exhortation in a very emphatic manner, to a vast concourse of attentive hearers. The presence of the party from the Castle had no effect upon him: he was inveighing against the insolence of his superiors in rank, and pleading in favour of the rights of man.When he had concluded his discourse, the crowd dispersed, some laughing at him, and some much edified by his discourse. O’Kelly looked after them:—“That is the way of the world,” he said: “it gets all it can from a man, and then it leaves him; but all that is, is for the best; therefore, amen, your honours; so be it.” Lord Trelawney laughed to an excess. “Your name,” said he, “I take it, it is CowdelO’Kelly.” “If you take it to be my name, your honour can’t be any ways wrong in calling me by it; but I call myself citizen Wailman.” “And why the devil, my honest friend, do you call yourself so?” “To please myself, and trick my master.” “And pray who is your master?” “When I know that, I’ll let you know.” “What! not know your master?” “Why what master knows his servant? There’s nothing extraordinary in that, my Lord.” “But pray, my good citizen Wailman, where do you live, and where does your master live?”—“I live where I can, your honour; and as to my master, every one knows he lives under ground, in the family vault.”“Is he dead then, or what can he be doing under ground?” said Lady Trelawney. “Looking for friends, Miss, I believe; for he has none, that I see, above board.” “I am sure this is a rebel in disguise,” whispered Lady Trelawney. Her Lord laughed.A beautiful little boy now pushing his way through the crowd, plainly pronounced the words, “O’Kelly come home; I am very tired.” The man, hastily descending from the cart, called him his young prince—his treasure; and lifted him up in his arms. “He is about the same age as Henry Mowbray,” said Calantha, “and very like him. What is your name, my pretty child?” “Clare of Costally,” said the boy; “and it should by rights be Lord Clare—should it not, O’Kelly?” As he spoke, he smiled and put his little rosy hands to O’Kelly’s mouth, who kissed them, and making a slight bow, would have retired. “What, are you going? will you not stay a moment?” “I fear I intrude too much on your honour’s time.” “Not in the least—not in the least, good Mister Wailman; pray stay a little longer.” “Why, fair and honest, if I don’t intrude too much on your time, my lord, you do on mine; and so your servant.”“I really believe he belongs to the abbey,” said Lady Trelawney, who had re-entered her barouche, and was driving with the rest of the party, towards St. Alvin Priory. “See how he steals along by the cliff, in the same direction we are going.” “It was a lovely child,” said Lady Augusta; “but to be sure no more like Harry; only Lady Avondale is always in the seventh heaven of romance.” “Look, pray look,” interrupted Frances: “I assure you that is Sir Everard St. Clare’s wife, and Lauriana and Jessica are with her. I am certain of it,” she continued, throwing herself nearly out of the carriage to gaze upon them. Lord Trelawney was extremely diverted. “And there is the recruiting serjeant: only observe the manner in which they are habited.” The two unhappy girls, drest in the most flaunting attire, singing in chorus the song of liberty, covered with green ribbands, were walking in company with a vast number of youngmen, most of them intoxicated, and all talking and laughing loudly. Calantha begged Buchanan to stop the carriage, that she also might see them pass; which they did, marching to the sound of the drum and fife: but her heart sickened when she saw the beautiful recluse of Glenaa amongst them. Elinor came near: she raised her full black eye, and gazed with fearless effrontery upon Calantha.It was the same face she had seen a few years back at the convent: but alas, how changed;—the rich and vivid crimson of her cheek, the deep dark brown of the wild ringlets which waved above her brow, the bold masculine manners and dress she had assumed, contrasting with the slender beauty of her upright form. She was drest in uniform, and walked by the side of a young man, whose pale, thoughtful countenance struck every one. Elinor appeared desperate and utterly hardened: her presenceinspired Calantha with a mixed feeling of horror and commiseration, which Lady St. Clare’s ludicrous figure, and Jessica and Lauriana’s huge and clumsy personages turned into disgust.“Oh did you behold her?—did you see my poor deluded Elinor?” cried Sir Everard, riding up to Calantha, as she still gazed from the open carriage upon the procession: “did you see my unfortunate girls?” “I did, indeed,” said Lady Avondale, the tears springing into her eyes: “I saw them and stopped; for it occurred to me, that, perhaps, I might speak to them—might yet save them.” “And would you have condescended so much? Oh! this is more than I dared ask or hope.” Saying which, the Doctor wept, as was his custom, and Buchanan laughed. “You are so good,” continued he: “you were in tears when you saw your former playmates disgracing themselves, and their sex, but in the rest of the carriages I heardnothing but jesting, and loud laughter. And oh! would you credit it, can you believe it, Lady St. Clare had the audacity to drop me a courtesy as she passed.”“Was the tall young man, who was walking by the side of Elinor, Cyrel Linden?” “It was the same,” cried the Doctor—“gone mad like the rest, though they tell me it is all for the love of Miss Alice; and that since her loss, he is grown desperate, and cares not what becomes of him. They’ll be hanged, however; that is one consolation—Lady St. Clare, as well as the rest. Indeed,” cried he, drawing closer, “I am credibly informed that the officers of justice have an eye upon them, and wait only to obtain further evidence of their treasonable practices, to take them up.” During this discourse, the carriage drove slowly up the hill; but soon proceeding at a brisker pace, the doctor was obliged to draw in his steed and retire. The party now entered the park.
The party at the castle had postponed their visit to St. Alvin Priory till the feast of St. Kathereen and St. Mary, which in that neighbourhood was always celebrated with much observance. A fair was held upon the downs, in honour of these two martyrs. The rocks near which the ruins of the convent stood, were called the Black Sisters, and it was there, and in the Wizzard’s Glen, which stretched from the top to the foot of the mountain, that the meetings of the discontented had been held. The day proved fair; and at an early hour the carriages and horses were in attendance. Mrs. Seymour and many others declined being of the party; but Lady Margaret took Gondimar’s arm with a smile of good humour, which she could at times put on.Buchanan drove Calantha in his barouch. Sir Everard rode by Calantha’s side on a lowly white palfrey, as if to protect her. Lady Mandeville was with her; and Lady Trelawney took Sophia and Lady Augusta Selwyn in her carriage. The rest of the gentlemen were some on horseback and some in curricles.
The whole country smiled around. There were ringers, and pipers, and hurlers upon the down. The cliff, towards the sea, was covered with booths and tents. Flocks, herds and horses had been brought from far for sale, ornamented with ribbands; green being the favourite colour. Scarcely ever was witnessed a scene more gay. This, and the vessels laden with fish, crowding into the harbour below, and the high mountains beyond, struck even the Italian, whose eyes had been accustomed to all that nature can produce of picturesque and majestic. The beauty of the girls, with their long blue mantles thrown asidefrom their shoulders, their dark hair fastened behind with a knot of ribband, was the subject of discussion. Comparisons of the difference of form between one nation and another arose. All descended from their carriages and horses. Lady Mandeville repeated poetry; Gondimar became sentimental; Buchanan looked at the horses, enquired their prices, and soon joined the hurlers, in whose combat he grew so much interested, that no one could draw him from thence until the moment when they left the fair, where they had remained till they were all much fatigued.
“What are you laughing at so immensely?” cried Lady Augusta Selwyn, approaching Lord Trelawney, who was nearly enclosed in a circle of some hundreds. The moment Lady Augusta approached, with a courtesy seldom seen but in Ireland, the crowd made way for her. “I am listening,” said he, “to a preacher—a most capital preacher, whomthey call Cowdel O’Kelly. Only observe him: what a rogue it is, with that hypocrite mildness of manner, that straight black hair, that presbyterian stiffness and simplicity.” “But what is he saying?” enquired Lady Augusta. The preacher, standing upon a cart, was delivering an exhortation in a very emphatic manner, to a vast concourse of attentive hearers. The presence of the party from the Castle had no effect upon him: he was inveighing against the insolence of his superiors in rank, and pleading in favour of the rights of man.
When he had concluded his discourse, the crowd dispersed, some laughing at him, and some much edified by his discourse. O’Kelly looked after them:—“That is the way of the world,” he said: “it gets all it can from a man, and then it leaves him; but all that is, is for the best; therefore, amen, your honours; so be it.” Lord Trelawney laughed to an excess. “Your name,” said he, “I take it, it is CowdelO’Kelly.” “If you take it to be my name, your honour can’t be any ways wrong in calling me by it; but I call myself citizen Wailman.” “And why the devil, my honest friend, do you call yourself so?” “To please myself, and trick my master.” “And pray who is your master?” “When I know that, I’ll let you know.” “What! not know your master?” “Why what master knows his servant? There’s nothing extraordinary in that, my Lord.” “But pray, my good citizen Wailman, where do you live, and where does your master live?”—“I live where I can, your honour; and as to my master, every one knows he lives under ground, in the family vault.”
“Is he dead then, or what can he be doing under ground?” said Lady Trelawney. “Looking for friends, Miss, I believe; for he has none, that I see, above board.” “I am sure this is a rebel in disguise,” whispered Lady Trelawney. Her Lord laughed.
A beautiful little boy now pushing his way through the crowd, plainly pronounced the words, “O’Kelly come home; I am very tired.” The man, hastily descending from the cart, called him his young prince—his treasure; and lifted him up in his arms. “He is about the same age as Henry Mowbray,” said Calantha, “and very like him. What is your name, my pretty child?” “Clare of Costally,” said the boy; “and it should by rights be Lord Clare—should it not, O’Kelly?” As he spoke, he smiled and put his little rosy hands to O’Kelly’s mouth, who kissed them, and making a slight bow, would have retired. “What, are you going? will you not stay a moment?” “I fear I intrude too much on your honour’s time.” “Not in the least—not in the least, good Mister Wailman; pray stay a little longer.” “Why, fair and honest, if I don’t intrude too much on your time, my lord, you do on mine; and so your servant.”
“I really believe he belongs to the abbey,” said Lady Trelawney, who had re-entered her barouche, and was driving with the rest of the party, towards St. Alvin Priory. “See how he steals along by the cliff, in the same direction we are going.” “It was a lovely child,” said Lady Augusta; “but to be sure no more like Harry; only Lady Avondale is always in the seventh heaven of romance.” “Look, pray look,” interrupted Frances: “I assure you that is Sir Everard St. Clare’s wife, and Lauriana and Jessica are with her. I am certain of it,” she continued, throwing herself nearly out of the carriage to gaze upon them. Lord Trelawney was extremely diverted. “And there is the recruiting serjeant: only observe the manner in which they are habited.” The two unhappy girls, drest in the most flaunting attire, singing in chorus the song of liberty, covered with green ribbands, were walking in company with a vast number of youngmen, most of them intoxicated, and all talking and laughing loudly. Calantha begged Buchanan to stop the carriage, that she also might see them pass; which they did, marching to the sound of the drum and fife: but her heart sickened when she saw the beautiful recluse of Glenaa amongst them. Elinor came near: she raised her full black eye, and gazed with fearless effrontery upon Calantha.
It was the same face she had seen a few years back at the convent: but alas, how changed;—the rich and vivid crimson of her cheek, the deep dark brown of the wild ringlets which waved above her brow, the bold masculine manners and dress she had assumed, contrasting with the slender beauty of her upright form. She was drest in uniform, and walked by the side of a young man, whose pale, thoughtful countenance struck every one. Elinor appeared desperate and utterly hardened: her presenceinspired Calantha with a mixed feeling of horror and commiseration, which Lady St. Clare’s ludicrous figure, and Jessica and Lauriana’s huge and clumsy personages turned into disgust.
“Oh did you behold her?—did you see my poor deluded Elinor?” cried Sir Everard, riding up to Calantha, as she still gazed from the open carriage upon the procession: “did you see my unfortunate girls?” “I did, indeed,” said Lady Avondale, the tears springing into her eyes: “I saw them and stopped; for it occurred to me, that, perhaps, I might speak to them—might yet save them.” “And would you have condescended so much? Oh! this is more than I dared ask or hope.” Saying which, the Doctor wept, as was his custom, and Buchanan laughed. “You are so good,” continued he: “you were in tears when you saw your former playmates disgracing themselves, and their sex, but in the rest of the carriages I heardnothing but jesting, and loud laughter. And oh! would you credit it, can you believe it, Lady St. Clare had the audacity to drop me a courtesy as she passed.”
“Was the tall young man, who was walking by the side of Elinor, Cyrel Linden?” “It was the same,” cried the Doctor—“gone mad like the rest, though they tell me it is all for the love of Miss Alice; and that since her loss, he is grown desperate, and cares not what becomes of him. They’ll be hanged, however; that is one consolation—Lady St. Clare, as well as the rest. Indeed,” cried he, drawing closer, “I am credibly informed that the officers of justice have an eye upon them, and wait only to obtain further evidence of their treasonable practices, to take them up.” During this discourse, the carriage drove slowly up the hill; but soon proceeding at a brisker pace, the doctor was obliged to draw in his steed and retire. The party now entered the park.