The Fortunes Of Glencore - Charles James Lever

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out, in all the fulness of his liquid voice, them elegant lines out of Pope's Homer:—

      “'As when the moon, refulgent lamp of night,

      O'er heaven's clear azure spreads her sacred light,

      When not a breath disturbs the deep serene,

      And not a cloud o'ercasts the solemn scene,

      Around her throne the vivid planets roll,

      And stars unnumbered gild the glowing pole:

      O'er the dark trees a yellower verdure shed,

      And top with silver every mountain's head;

      Then shine the vales; the rocks in prospect rise—

      A flood of glory bursts from all the skies;

      The conscious swains, rejoicing in the sight,

      Eye the blue vault and bless the useful light.'

      “The Lord forgive me, but when he came to the last words and said, 'useful light,' I couldn't restrain myself, but broke out, 'That's mighty like a bull, anyhow, and reminds me of the ould song—

      “'Good luck to the moon, she's a fine noble creature,

      And gives us the daylight all night in the dark.'

      “Before I knew where I was, the boat glided in to the steps, and a tall man, a little stooped in the shoulders, stood before me.

      “'Is it you,' said he, with a quiet laugh, 'that accuses Pope of a bull?'

      “'It is,' says I; 'and, what's more, there isn't a poet from Horace downwards that I won't show bulls in; there's bulls in Shakspeare and in Milton; there's bulls in the ancients; I 'll point out a bull in Aristophanes.'

      “'What have we here?' said he, turning to the others.

      “'A poor crayture,' says I, 'like Goldsmith's chest of drawers—

      “'With brains reduced a doable debt to pay, To dream by night, sell Sheffield ware by day.'

      “Well, with that he took a fit of laughing, and handing the rest out of the boat, he made me come along at his side, discoorsin' me about my thravels, and all I seen, and all I read, till we reached an elegant little cottage on a bank right over the lake; and then he brought me in and made me take tay with the family; and I spent the night there; and when I started the next morning there was n't a 'screed' of my pack that they did n't buy, penknives, and whistles, and nut-crackers, and all, just, as they said, for keepsakes. Good luck to them, and happy hearts, wherever they are, for they made mine happy that day; ay, and for many an hour afterwards, when I just think over their kind words and pleasant faces.”

      More than one of the company had dropped off asleep during Billy's narrative, and of the others, their complaisance as listeners appeared taxed to the utmost, while the Corporal snored loudly, like a man who had a right to indulge himself to the fullest extent.

      “There's the bell again,” muttered one, “that's from the 'lord's room;'” and Craggs, starting up by the instinct of his office, hastened off to his master's chamber.

      “My lord says you are to remain here,” said he, as he re-entered a few minutes later; “he is satisfied with your skill, and I'm to send off a messenger to the post, to let them know he has detained you.”

      “I 'm obaydient,” said Billy, with a low bow; “and now for a brief repose!” And so saying, he drew a long woollen nightcap from his pocket, and putting it over his eyes, resigned himself to sleep with the practised air of one who needed but very little preparation to secure slumber.

       Table of Contents

      The old Castle of Glencore contained but one spacious room, and this served all the purposes of drawing-room, dining-room, and library. It was a long and lofty chamber, with a raftered ceiling, from which a heavy chandelier hung by a massive chain of iron. Six windows, all in the same wall, deeply set and narrow, admitted a sparing light. In the opposite wall stood two fireplaces, large, massive, and monumental, the carved supporters of the richly-chased pediment being of colossal size, and the great shield of the house crowning the pyramid of strange and uncouth objects that were grouped below. The walls were partly occupied by bookshelves, partly covered by wainscot, and here and there displayed a worn-out portrait of some bygone warrior or dame, who little dreamed how much the color of their effigies should be indebted to the sad effects of damp and mildew. The furniture consisted of every imaginable type, from the carved oak and ebony console to the white and gold of Versailles taste, and the modern compromise of comfort with ugliness which chintz and soft cushions accomplish. Two great screens, thickly covered with prints and drawings, most of them political caricatures of some fifty years back, flanked each fireplace, making, as it were, in this case two different apartments.

      At one of those, on a low sofa, sat, or rather lay, Lord Glencore, pale and wasted by long illness. His thin hand held a letter, to shade his eyes from the blazing wood-fire, and the other hand hung listlessly at his side. The expression of the sick man's face was that of deep melancholy—not the mere gloom of recent suffering, but the deep-cut traces of a long-carried affliction, a sorrow which had eaten into his very heart, and made its home there.

      At the second fireplace sat his son, and, though a mere boy, the lineaments of his father marked the youth's face with a painful exactness. The same intensity was in the eyes, the same haughty character sat on the brow; and there was in the whole countenance the most extraordinary counterpart of the gloomy seriousness of the older face. He had been reading, but the fast-falling night obliged him to desist, and he sat now contemplating the bright embers of the wood fire in dreamy thought. Once or twice was he disturbed from his revery by the whispered voice of an old serving-man, asking for something with that submissive manner assumed by those who are continually exposed to the outbreaks of another's temper; and at last the boy, who had hitherto scarcely deigned to notice the appeals to him, flung a bunch of keys contemptuously on the ground, with a muttered malediction on his tormentor.

      “What's that?” cried out the sick man, startled at the sound.

      “'Tis nothing, my lord, but the keys that fell out of my hand,” replied the old man, humbly. “Mr. Craggs is away to Leenane, and I was going to get out the wine for dinner.”

      “Where's Mr. Charles?” asked Lord Glencore.

      “He's there beyant,” muttered the other, in a low voice, while he pointed towards the distant fireplace; “but he looks tired and weary, and I did n't like to disturb him.”

      “Tired! weary!—with what? Where has he been; what has he been doing?” cried he, hastily. “Charles, Charles, I say!”

      And slowly rising from his seat, and with an air of languid indifference, the boy came towards him.

      Lord Glencore's face darkened as he gazed on him.

      “Where have you been?” asked he, sternly.

      “Yonder,” said the boy, in an accent like the echo of his own.

      “There's Mr. Craggs, now, my lord,” said the old butler, as he looked out of the window, and eagerly seized the opportunity to interrupt the scene; “there he is, and a gentleman with him.”

      “Ha! go and meet him, Charles—it's Harcourt. Go and receive him, show him his room, and then bring him here to me.”

      The boy heard without a word, and left the room with the same slow step and the same look of apathy. Just as he reached the hall the stranger was entering it. He was a tall, well-built man, with the mingled ease and stiffness of a soldier in his bearing; his face was handsome, but somewhat stern, and his voice had that tone which implies the long habit of command.

      “You're a Massy, that I'll swear to,” said he, frankly, as he

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