Sir Jasper Carew: His Life and Experience. Lever Charles James

and I am resolved – yes, Fifine, I am determined on his liking me.’”

      My father’s face assumed an expression here that was far too much for MacNaghten’s gravity; but my mother read on, unconcerned: “‘And now I have but to say when I shall be with you. It may be about the 12th – not later than the 20th – of next month. I shall take no one but François with me; I shall not even bring the dogs, only Jocasse, my monkey, – for whom, by the way, I beg to bespeak a quiet room, with a south aspect. I hope the climate will not injure him; but Dr. Reynault has given me numerous directions about his clothing, and a receipt for a white wine posset that he assures me will be very bracing to his nervous system. You have no idea how susceptible he has grown latterly about noise and tumult. The canaille have taken to parade the streets, singing and shouting their odious songs, and Jocasse has suffered much from the disturbance. I mentioned the fact to M. Mirabeau, whom I met at your aunt’s the other night, and he remarked gravely, “It’s a bad time for monkeys just now, – ‘singerie’ has had its day.” The expression struck me as a very hollow, if not a very heartless,’ one; but I may say, en passant, that this same M. Mirabeau, whom it is the fashion to think clever and agreeable, is only abrupt and rude, with courage to say the coarse things that good-breeding retreats from! I am glad to find how thoroughly the Court dislikes him. They say that he has had the effrontery to tell the King the most disagreeable stories about popular discontent, distress, and so forth. I need scarcely say that he met the dignified rebuke such underbred observations merited.

      “‘And now, Fifine, to say adieu until it be my happiness once again to embrace you and that dear Carew, who must have more good qualities than I have known centred in one individual, to deserve you. Think of me, dearest cousin, and do not forget Jocasse.’”

      “The association will aid you much,” said my father, dryly.

      “‘Let him have a cheerful room, and put me anywhere, so that I have a place in your heart. Your dearly attached cousin,

      “‘Emile de Gabriac.’”

      “Is that all?” asked my father, as she concluded.

      “A few words on the turn-down: ‘Hortense has just sent me her picture. She is blond, but her eyes want color; the hair, too, is sandy, and not silky; the mouth – But why do I go on? – it is not Fifine’s.’”

      “Our cousin is the most candid of mortals,” said my father, quietly; “whatever opinion we may entertain of his other gifts, on the score of frankness he is unimpeachable. Don’t you think so, Miss Polly?”

      “His letter is a most unreserved one, indeed,” said she, cautiously.

      And now a silence fell on all, for each was following out in his own way some train of thought suggested by the Count’s letter. As if to change the current of his reflections, my father once more turned to the letter-bag, and busied himself running hastily over some of the many epistles addressed to him. Apparently there was little to interest or amuse amongst them, for he threw them from him half read, – some, indeed, when he had but deciphered the writers’ names; one short note from Hackett, his man of business, alone seemed to excite his attention, and this he read over twice.

      “Look at that, Dan,” said he, handing the paper to MacNaghten, who, walking to the window slowly, perused the following lines: —

      “Dear Sir, – In accordance with the directions contained in your note of Friday last, and handed to me by Mr. Fagan, I

      placed at his disposal all the deeds and securities at present in my possession, for him to select such as would appear sufficient guarantee for the sum advanced to you on that day. I now beg to state that he has made choice of the title to Lucksleven silver mine, and a bond of joint mortgage over a French estate which I apprehend to form part of the dowry of Madame Carew. I endeavored to induce him to make choice of some other equally valuable document, not knowing whether this selection might be to your satisfaction;

      he, however, persisted, and referred to the tenor of your note to substantiate his right. Of course, I could offer no further opposition, and have now only to mention the circumstance for your information. I have the honor to be, dear sir, respectfully yours,

      “E. Hackett.”

      “Curious enough, that, Dan!” muttered my father. MacNaghten assented with a nod, and handed back the letter.

      CHAPTER XI. POLITICS AND NEWSPAPERS

      The venality and corruption which accomplished the Legislative Union between England and Ireland admit of as little doubt as of palliation. There was an epidemic of baseness over the land, and but few escaped the contagion. To whatever section of party an Irishman may belong, he never can cease to mourn over the degenerate temper of a time which exhibited the sad spectacle of a Legislature declaring its own downfall. Nor does the secret history of the measure offer much ground for consolation.

      And yet what a position did the Irish Parliament hold, but eighteen short years before that event! Never, perhaps, in the whole history of constitutional government was the stand of a representative body more boldly maintained, alike against the power and the secret influence of the Crown; and England, in all the plenitude of her glory and influence, was forced to declare the necessity of finally adjusting the differences between the two countries.

      The very admission of separate interests seemed a fatal confession, and might – had a more cautious temper swayed the counsels of the Irish party – have led to very momentous consequences; but in the enthusiasm of victory all thought of the spoils was forgotten. It was a moment of national triumph from which even the coldest could not withhold his sympathies. The “Dungannon Declaration” became at once the adopted sentiment of the national party, and it was agreed that Ireland was bound by no laws save such as her own Lords and Commons enacted.

      In the very crisis of this national enthusiasm was it that the Duke of Portland arrived as Viceroy in Ireland. His secret instructions counselled him to endeavor to prorogue the Parliament, and thus obtain a short breathing-time for future action. This policy, in the then temper of the people, was soon declared impossible. Mr. Grattan had already announced his intention of proposing a final settlement of the national differences by a “Bill of Rights,” and the country would not brook any delay as to their expectations.

      But one other safe course remained, which was, by a seeming concurrence in the views of the Irish party, to affect that a change had come over the spirit of English legislation towards Ireland, and a sincere desire grown up to confirm her in the possession of “every privilege not inconsistent with the stability of the empire.” Mr. Grattan was induced to see the Viceroy in private, and submit to his Grace his intended declaration of rights. Without conceding the slightest alteration in his plan, the great leader was evidently impressed by the conciliating tone of the Duke, and, with a generous credulity, led to believe in the most favorable dispositions of the Government towards Ireland. The measure in itself was so strong and so decisive that the Duke could not say how it would be received by his party. He had no time to ask for instructions, for Parliament was to assemble on the day but one after; and thus was he driven to a policy of secret influence, – the origin of that school of corruption which ultimately was to effect the doom of Irish nationality.

      I am sorry to be obliged to impose upon my reader even so much of a digression; but the requirements of my story demand it. I wish, as briefly, of course, as may be, to place before him a state of society wherein as yet the arts of corruption had made no great progress, and in which the open bribery of a subsequent time would have been perfectly impossible.

      This was in reality a great moment in Irish history. The patriotism of the nation had declared itself not less manfully than practically. The same avowal which pronounced independence also proclaimed the principles of free trade, and that the ports of Ireland were open to all foreign countries not at war with England. It is humiliating enough to contrast the patriotic spirit of those times with the miserable policy of popular leaders in our own day; but in the names of the men who then swayed her counsels we read some of the greatest orators and statesmen of our country, – a race worthy of nobler successors than those who now trade upon the wrongs of Ireland, and whose highest aspirations for their country are in the despotism of an ignorant