The O'Donoghue: Tale of Ireland Fifty Years Ago. Lever Charles James

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ them – pride of ancestry and birth they both possessed in common; but this trait, so far from serving to reconcile the other discrepancies of their naturess, kept them even wider apart, and added to the passive estrangement of ill-matched associates, an additional element of active discord.

      There was a lad of some fifteen or sixteen years of age, who sat beside the fire on a low stool, busily engaged in deciphering, by the fitful light of the bog-wood, the pages of an old volume, in which he seemed deeply interested. The blazing pine, as it threw its red gleam over the room, showed the handsome forehead of the youth, and the ample locks of a rich auburn, which hung in clusters over it; while his face was strikingly like the old man’s, the mildness of its expression – partly the result of youth, partly the character imparted by his present occupation – was unlike that of either his father or brother; for Herbert O’Donoghue was the younger son of the house, and was said, both in temper and appearance, to resemble his mother.

      At a distance from the fire, and with a certain air of half assurance, half constraint, sat a man of some five-and-thirty years of age, whose dress of green coat, short breeches, and top boots, suggested at once the jockey, to which the mingled look of confidence and cunning bore ample corroboration. This was a well-known character in the south of Ireland at that time. His name was Lanty Lawler. The sporting habits of the gentry – their easiness on the score of intimacy – the advantages of a ready-money purchaser, whenever they wished “to weed their stables,” admitted the horse-dealer pretty freely among a class, to which neither his habits nor station could have warranted him in presenting himself. But, in addition to these qualities, Lanty was rather a prize in remote and unvisited tracts, such as the one we have been describing, his information being both great and varied in every thing going forward. He had the latest news of the capital – the fashions of hair and toilet – the colours worn by the ladies in vogue, and the newest rumours of any intended change – he knew well the gossip of politics and party – upon the probable turn of events in and out of parliament he could hazard a guess, with a fair prospect of accuracy. With the prices of stock and the changes in the world of agriculture he was thoroughly familiar, and had besides a world of stories and small-talk on every possible subject, which he brought forth with the greatest tact as regarded the tastes and character of his company, one-half of his acquaintances being totally ignorant of the gifts and graces, by which he obtained fame and character with the other.

      A roving vagabond life gave him a certain free-and-easy air, which, among the majority of his associates, was a great source of his popularity; but he well knew when to lay this aside, and assume the exact shade of deference and respect his company might require. If then with O’Donoghue himself, he would have felt perfectly at ease, the presence of Sir Archy, and his taciturn solemnity, was a sad check upon him, and mingled the freedom he felt with a degree of reserve far from comfortable. However, he had come for a purpose, and, if successful, the result would amply remunerate him for any passing inconvenience he might incur; and with this thought he armed himself, as he entered the room some ten minutes before.

      “So you are looking for Mark,” said the O’Donoghue to Lanty. “You can’t help hankering after that grey mare of his.”

      “Sure enough, sir, there’s no denying it. I’ll have to give him the forty pounds for her, though, as sure as I’m here, she’s not worth the money; but when I’ve a fancy for a beast, or take a conceit out of her – it’s no use, I must buy her – that’s it!”

      “Well, I don’t think he’ll give her to you now, Lanty; he has got her so quiet – so gentle – that I doubt he’ll part with her.”

      “It’s little a quiet one suits him; faix, he’d soon tire of her if she wasn’t rearing or plunging like mad! He’s an elegant rider, God bless him. I’ve a black horse now that would mount him well; he’s out of ‘Divil-may-care,’ Mooney’s horse, and can take six foot of a wall flying, with fourteen stone on his back; and barring the least taste of a capped hock, you could not see speck nor spot about him wrong.”

      “He’s in no great humour for buying just now,” interposed the O’Donoghue, with a voice to which some suddenly awakened recollection imparted a tone of considerable depression.

      “Sure we might make a swop with the mare,” rejoined Lanty, determined not to be foiled so easily; and then, as no answer was forthcoming, after a long pause, he added, “and havn’t I the elegant pony for Master Herbert there; a crame colour – clean bred – with white mane and tail. If he was the Prince of Wales he might ride her. She has racing speed – they tell me, for I only have her a few days; and, faix, ye’d win all the county stakes with her.”

      The youth looked up from his book, and listened with glistening eyes and animated features to the description, which, to one reared as he was, possessed no common attraction.

      “Sure I’ll send over for her to-morrow, and you can try her,” said Lanty, as if replying to the gaze with which the boy regarded him.

      “Ye mauna do nae sich a thing,” broke in M’Nab. “Keep your rogueries and rascalities for the auld generation ye hae assisted to ruin; but leave the young anes alane to mind ither matters than dicing and horse-racing.”

      Either the O’Donoghue conceived the allusion one that bore hardly on himself, or he felt vexed that the authority of a father over his son should have been usurped by another, or both causes were in operation together, but he turned an angry look on Sir Archy, and said —

      “And why shouldn’t the boy ride? was there ever one of his name or family that didn’t know how to cross a country? I don’t intend him for a highland pedlar.”

      “He might be waur,” retorted M’Nab, solemnly, “he might be an Irish beggar.”

      “By my soul, sir,” broke in O’Donoghue; but fortunately an interruption saved the speech from being concluded, for at the same moment the door opened, and Mark O’Donoghue, travel-stained and weary-looking, entered the room.

      “Well, Mark,” said the old man, as his eyes glistened at the appearance of his favourite son – “what sport, boy?”

      “Poor enough, sir; five brace in two days is nothing to boast of, besides two hares. Ah, Lanty – you here; how goes it?”

      “Purty well, as times go, Mr. Mark,” said the horse-dealer, affecting a degree of deference he would not have deemed necessary had they been alone. “I’m glad to see you back again.”

      “Why – what old broken-down devils have you now got on hand to pass off upon us? It’s fellows like you destroy the sport of the country. You carry away every good horse to be found, and cover the country with spavined, wind-galled brutes, not fit for the kennel.”

      “That’s it, Mark – give him a canter, lad,” cried the old man, joyfully.

      “I know what you are at well enough,” resumed the youth, encouraged by these tokens of approval; “you want that grey mare of mine. You have some fine English officer ready to give you an hundred and fifty, or, may be, two hundred guineas, for her, the moment you bring her over to England.”

      “May I never —

      “That’s the trade you drive. Nothing too bad for us – nothing too good for them.”

      “See now, Mr. Mark, I hope I may never – ”

      “Well, Lanty, one word for all; I’d rather send a bullet through her skull this minute, than let you have her for one of your fine English patrons.”

      “Won’t you let me speak a word at all,” interposed the horse-dealer, in an accent half imploring, half deprecating. “If I buy the СКАЧАТЬ