MRS. RAFFARTY'S DINNER.

23

original. We can venture on nothing, therefore, but a few detached specimens: And we take the first from a class of society, which we should scarcely have thought characteristic of the country in question: we mean the Fine ladies of the Plebeian order, who dash more extravagantly, it seems, in Dublin, than any other place in this free and commercial empire. Lord Colambre had the good fortune to form an acquaintance with one of these, the spouse of a rich grocer, who invited him to dine with her at her villa, on his way back from the county of Wicklow. The description, though of a different character from most of Miss Edgeworth's delineations, is so picturesque and lively, that we cannot help thinking it must have been taken from the life. We are tempted, therefore, to give it at full length.

"After a charming tour in the county of Wicklow, where the beauty of the natural scenery, and the taste with which those natural beauties have been cultivated, far surpassed the sanguine expectations Lord Colambre had formed, his Lordship and his companions arrived at Tusculum; where he found Mrs. Raffarty, and Miss Juliana O'Leary, very elegant,—with a large party of the ladies and gentlemen of Bray assembled in a drawing-room, fine with bad pictures and gaudy gilding; the windows were all shut, and the company were playing cards, with all their might. This was the fashion of the neighbourhood. In compliment to Lord Colambre and the officers, the ladies left the card-tables: and Mrs. Raffarty, observing that his Lordship seemed partial to walking, took him out, as she said, to do the honours of nature and art.""

"The dinner had two great faults-profusion and pretension. There was, in fact, ten times more on the table than was necessary; and the entertainment was far above the circumstances of the person by whom it was given: for instance, the dish of fish at the head of the table had been brought across the island from Sligo, and had cost five guineas; as the lady of the house failed not to make known. But, after all, things were not of a piece: there was a disparity between the entertainment and the attendants: there was no proportion or fitness of things. A painful endeavour at what could not be attained, and a toiling in vain to conceal and repair deficiencies and blunders. Had the mistress of the house been quiet; had she, as Mrs. Broadhurst would say, but let things alone, let things take their course; all would have passed off with well-bred people; but she was incessantly apologising, and fussing and fretting inwardly and outwardly, and directing and calling to her servants-striving to make a butler who was deaf, and a boy who was hair-brained, do the business of five accomplished footmen of parts and figure. Mrs. Raffarty called Larry! Larry! My lord's plate, there!-James! bread, to

24

MISS EDGEWORTH- - CHARMING COTTAGE SCENE.

Captain Bowles!-James! port wine, to the Major.-James! James Kenny! James!' And panting James toiled after her in vain. At length one course was fairly got through; and after a torturing halfhour, the second course appeared, and James Kenny was intent upon one thing, and Larry upon another, so that the wine sauce for the hare was spilt by their collision; but what was worse, there seemed little chance that the whole of this second course should ever be placed altogether rightly upon the table. Mrs. Raffarty cleared her throat and nodded, and pointed, and sighed, and set Larry after Kenny, and Kenny after Larry; for what one did, the other undid; but at last, the lady's anger kindled, and she spoke!-'Kenny! James Kenny, set the sea-cale at this corner, and put down the grass, cross-corners; and match your maccaroni yonder with them puddens, set - Ogh! James! the pyramid in the middle can't ye.' The pyramid in changing places was overturned. Then it was, that the mistress of the feast, falling back in her seat, and lifting up her hands and eyes in despair, ejaculated: Oh, James! James!'-The pyramid was raised by the assistance of the military engineers, and stood trembling again on its base; but the lady's temper could not be so easily restored to its equilibrium.”—p. 25—28.

We hurry forward now to the cottage scene at Clonbrony; which has made us almost equally in love with the Irish, and with the writer who has painted them with such truth, pathos, and simplicity. An ingenious and good-natured postboy overturns his Lordship in the night, a few miles from Clonbrony; and then says,

"If your honour will lend me your hand till I pull you up the back of the ditch, the horses will stand while we go. I'll find you as pretty a lodging for the night, with a widow of a brother of my shister's husband that was, as ever you slept in your life; and your honour will be, no compare, snugger than in the inn at Clonbrony, which has no roof, the devil a stick. But where will I get your honour's hand? for it's coming on so dark, I can't see rightly. There! you're up now, safe. Yonder candle's the house.' 'Well, go and ask whether they can give us a night's lodging.' 'Is it ask? When I see the light! -Sure they'd be proud to give the traveller all the beds in the house, let alone one. Take care of the potato furrows, that's all, and follow me straight. I'll go on to meet the dog, who knows me, and might be strange to your honour.'

666

Kindly welcome!' were the first words Lord Colambre heard when he approached the cottage; and 'kindly welcome' was in the sound of the voice, and in the countenance of the old woman, who came out shading her rush candle from the wind, and holding it so as to light the path. When he entered the cottage, he saw a cheerful fire and a neat pretty young woman making it blaze: she curtsied, put her spinning wheel out of the way, set a stool by the fire for the stranger; and repeating in a very low tone of voice, 'Kindly welcome, sir,' retired. Put down some eggs, dear: there's plenty in the bowl,'

SWEET PICTURE OF POOR IRISH.

25

said the old woman, calling to her; 'I'll do the bacon. Was not we lucky to be up?-The boy's gone to bed, but waken him,' said she, turning to the postilion; and he'll help you with the chay, and put your horses in the bier for the night.""

"No: Larry chose to go on to Clonbrony with the horses, that he might get the chaise mended betimes for his honour. The table was set; clean trenchers, hot potatoes, milk, eggs, bacon, and kindly welcome to all.' 'Set the salt, dear; and the butter, love; where's your head, Grace, dear?' 'Grace!' repeated Lord Colambre, looking up; and to apologise for his involuntary exclamation, he added, 'Is Grace a common name in Ireland?' 'I can't say, plase your honour, but it was give her by Lady Clonbrony, from a niece of her own that was her foster-sister, God bless her; and a very kind lady she was to us and to all when she was living in it; but those times are gone past,' said the old woman, with a sigh. The young woman sighed too; and sitting down by the fire, began to count the notches in a little bit of stick, which she held in her hand; and after she had counted them, sighed again. But don't be sighing, Grace, now,' said the old woman; sighs is bad sauce for the traveller's supper; and we won't be troubling him with more,' added she, turning to Lord Colambre, with a smile-Is your egg done to your liking?' 'Perfectly, thank you.' Then I wish it was a chicken for your sake, which it should have been, and roast too, had we time. I wish I could see you eat another egg.' 'No more, thank you, my good lady; I never ate a better supper, nor received a more hospitable welcome.' O, the welcome is all we have to offer.'

"May I ask what that is?' said Lord Colambre, looking at the notched stick, which the young woman held in her hand, and on which her eyes were still fixed. It's a tally, plase your honour.-O you're a foreigner-It's the way the labourer keeps the account of the day's work with the overseer. And there's been a mistake, and is a dispute here between our boy and the overseer; and she was counting the boy's tally, that's in bed, tired, for in troth he's over-worked.' Would you want any thing more from me, mother?' said the girl, rising and turning her head away. No, child: get away, for your heart's full.' She went instantly. Is the boy her brother?' said Lord Colambre. No: he's her bachelor,' said the old woman, lowering her voice. Her bachelor?' That is, her sweetheart: for she is not my daughter, though you heard her call me mother. The boy's my son; but I am afeard they must give it up; for they're too poor, and the times is hard and the agent's harder than the times! There's two of them, the under and the upper; and they grind the substance of one between them, and then blow one away like chaff: but we'll not be talking of that, to spoil your honour's night's rest. The room's ready, and here's the rush-light.' She showed him into a very small, but neat room. What a comfortable looking bed,' said Lord Colambre. Ah, these red check curtains,' said she, letting them down; these have lasted well; they were given me by a good friend now far away, over the seas, my Lady Clonbrony; and made by the prettiest hands ever you see, her niece's, Miss Grace Nugent's,

26

MISS EDGEWORTH-TOUCHING VIEW OF PEASANTRY.

and she a little child that time; sweet love! all gone!' The old woman wiped a tear from her eye, and Lord Colambre did what he could to appear indifferent. She set down the candle and left the room; Lord Colambre went to bed, but he lay awake, 'revolving sweet and bitter thoughts.'

"The kettle was on the fire, tea things set, every thing prepared for her guest, by the hospitable hostess, who, thinking the gentleman would take tea to his breakfast, had sent off a gossoon by the first light to Clonbrony, for an ounce of tea, a quarter of sugar, and a loaf of white bread; and there was on the little table good cream, milk, butter, eggs all the promise of an excellent breakfast. It was a fresh morning, and there was a pleasant fire on the hearth neatly swept up. The old woman was sitting in her chimney corner, behind a little skreen of white-washed wall, built out into the room, for the purpose of keeping those who sat at the fire from the blast of the door. There was a loop-hole in this wall, to let the light in, just at the height of a person's head, who was sitting near the chimney. The rays of the morning sun now came through it, shining across the face of the old woman, as she sat knitting; Lord Colambre thought he had seldom seen a more agreeable countenance; intelligent eyes, benevolent smile, a natural expression of cheerfulness, subdued by age and misfortune. 'A good morrow to you kindly, sir, and I hope you got the night well? — A fine day for us this Sunday morning; my Grace is gone to early prayers, so your honour will be content with an old woman to make your breakfast.-O, let me put in plenty, or it will never be good; and if your honour takes stirabout, an old hand will engage to make that to your liking any way, for by great happiness we have what will just answer for you, of the nicest meal the miller made my Grace a compliment of, last time she went to the mill.””. p. 171-179.

In the course of conversation, she informs her guest of the precarious tenure on which she held the little possession that formed her only means of subsistence.

6

"The good lord himself granted us the lase; the life's dropped, and the years is out: but we had a promise of renewal in writing from the landlord. God bless him! if he was not away, he'd be a good gentleman, and we'd be happy and safe.'-' But if you have a promise in writing of a renewal, surely, you are safe, whether your landlord is absent or present.'—'Ah, no! that makes a great differ, when there's no eye or hand over the agent. Yet, indeed, there," added she, after a pause, as you say, I think we are safe; for we have that memorandum in writing, with a pencil, under his own hand, on the back of the lase, to me, by the same token, when my good lord had his foot on the step of the coach, going away; and I'll never forget the smile of her that got that good turn done for me, Miss Grace. And just when she was going to England and London, and young as she was, to have the thought to stop and turn to the likes of me! O, then, if you could see her, and know her as I did! That was the comforting angel upon earth-look and voice, and heart and all! O, that she was here

DELIGHTFUL NATIONALITIES.

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present, this minute!—But did you scald yourself?' said the widow to Lord Colambre.—' Sure, you must have scalded yourself: for you poured the kettle straight over your hand, and it boiling! O deear! to think of so young a gentleman's hand shaking so like my own.'Luckily, to prevent her pursuing her observations from the hand to the face, which might have betrayed more than Lord Colambre wished she should know, her own Grace came in at this instant-There it's for you safe, mother dear—the lase!' said Grace, throwing a packet into her lap. The old woman lifted up her hands to heaven with the lease between them-Thanks be to Heaven! Grace passed on, and sunk down on the first seat she could reach. Her face flushed, and, looking much fatigued, she loosened the strings of her bonnet and cloak.'Then, I'm tired!' but, recollecting herself, she rose, and curtsied to the gentleman.-'What tired ye, dear?'—'Why, after prayers, we had to go for the agent was not at prayers, nor at home for us, when we called-we had to go all the way up to the castle; and there, by great good luck, we found Mr. Nick Garraghty himself, come from Dublin, and the lase in his hands; and he sealed it up that way, and handed it to me very civil. I never saw him so good though he offered me a glass of spirits, which was not manners to a decent young woman, in a morning -as Brian noticed after.'-'But why didn't Brian come home all the way with you, Grace?'. He would have seen me home,' said Grace, only that he went up a piece of the mountain for some stones or ore for the gentleman, for he had the manners to think of him this morning, though shame for me, I had not, when I came in, or I would not have told you all this, and he himself by. See, there he is, mother.'-Brian came in very hot, out of breath, with his hat full of stones. Good morrow to your honour. I was in bed last night; and sorry they did not call me up to be of sarvice. Larry was telling us, this morning, your honour's from Wales, and looking for mines in Ireland, and I heard talk that there was one on our mountain-may be, you'd be curous to see; and so, I brought the best I could, but I'm no judge.'"-Vol. VI. p. 182-188.

A scene of villany now begins to disclose itself, as the experienced reader must have anticipated. The pencil writing is rubbed out: but the agent promises, that if they pay up their arrears, and be handsome with their sealing money and glove money, &c. he will grant a renewal. To obtain the rent, the widow is obliged to sell her cow. But she shall tell her story in her own words.

"Well, still it was but paper we got for the cow; then that must be gold before the agent would take, or touch it—so I was laying out to sell the dresser, and had taken the plates and cups, and little things off it, and my boy was lifting it out with Andy, the carpenter that was agreeing for it, when in comes Grace, all rosy, and out of breath