Chapter III: Preface (3)

With that she heaved a great sigh, that I heard plain enough in the passage. “And did not you use me basely, Sir Condy,” says she, “not to tell me you were ruined before I married you?” “Tell you, my dear,” said he; “did you ever ask me one word about it? and had not you friends enough of your own, that were telling you nothing else from morning to night, if you’d have listened to them slanders?” “No slanders, nor are my friends slanderers; and I can’t bear to hear them treated with disrespect as I do,” says my lady, and took out her pocket handkerchief; “they are the best of friends; and if I had taken their advice--. But my father was wrong to lock me up, I own; that was the only unkind thing I can charge him with; for if he had not locked me up, I should never have had a serious thought of running away as I did.” “Well, my dear,” said my master, “don’t cry and make yourself uneasy about it now, when it’s all over, and you have the man of your own choice, in spite of ‘em all.” “I was too young, I know, to make a choice at the time you ran away with me, I’m sure,” says my lady, and another sigh, which made my master, half shaved as he was, turn round upon her in surprise. “Why, Bell,” says he, “you can’t deny what you know as well as I do, that it was at your own particular desire, and that twice under your own hand and seal expressed, that I should carry you off as I did to Scotland, and marry you there.” “Well, say no more about it, Sir Condy,” said my lady, pettish like--“I was a child then, you know.” “And as far as I know, you’re little better now, my dear Bella, to be talking in this manner to your husband’s _face_; but I won’t take it ill of you, for I know it’s something in that letter you put into your pocket just now, that has set you against me all on a sudden, and imposed upon your understanding.” “It’s not so very easy as you think it, Sir Condy, to impose upon _my_ understanding,” said my lady. “My dear,” says he, “I have, and with reason, the best opinion of your understanding of any man now breathing; and you know I have never set my own in competition with it till now, my dear Bella,” says he, taking her hand from her book as kind as could be--“till now, when I have the great advantage of being quite cool, and you not; so don’t believe one word your friends say against your own Sir Condy, and lend me the letter out of your pocket, till I see what it is they can have to say.” “Take it then,” says she, “and as you are quite cool, I hope it is a proper time to request you’ll allow me to comply with the wishes of all my own friends, and return to live with my father and family, during the remainder of my wretched existence, at Mount Juliet’s Town.”

At this, my poor master fell back a few paces, like one that had been shot. “You’re not serious, Bella,” says he; “and could you find it in your heart to leave me this way in the very middle of my distresses, all alone?” But recollecting himself after his first surprise, and a moment’s time for reflection, he said, with a great deal of consideration for my lady, “Well, Bella, my dear, I believe you are right; for what could you do at Castle Rackrent, and an execution against the goods coming down, and the furniture to be canted, and an auction in the house all next week? so you have my full consent to go, since that is your desire, only you must not think of my accompanying you, which I could not in honour do upon the terms I always have been, since our marriage, with your friends; besides, I have business to transact at home; so in the mean time, if we are to have any breakfast this morning, let us go down and have it for the last time in peace and comfort, Bella.”

Then as I heard my master coming to the passage door, I finished fastening up my slate against the broken pane; and when he came out, I wiped down the window seat with my wig,[17] and bade him a good morrow as kindly as I could, seeing he was in trouble, though he strove and thought to hide it from me. “This window is all racked and tattered,” says I, “and it’s what I’m striving to mend.” “It _is_ all racked and tattered, plain enough,” says he, “and never mind mending it, honest old Thady,” says he; “it will do well enough for you and I, and that’s all the company we shall have left in the house by-and-by.” “I’m sorry to see your honour so low this morning,” says I; “but you’ll be better after taking your breakfast.” “Step down to the servants’ hall,” said he, “and bring me up the pen and ink into the parlour, and get a sheet of paper from Mrs. Jane, for I have business that can’t brook to be delayed; and come into the parlour with the pen and ink yourself, Thady, for I must have you to witness my signing a paper I have to execute in a hurry.” Well, while I was getting of the pen and ink-horn, and the sheet of paper, I ransacked my brains to think what could be the papers my poor master could have to execute in such a hurry, he that never thought of such a thing as doing business afore breakfast, in the whole course of his life, for any man living; but this was for my lady, as I afterwards found, and the more genteel of him after all her treatment.

I was just witnessing the paper that he had scrawled over, and was shaking the ink out of my pen upon the carpet, when my lady came in to breakfast, and she started as if it had been a ghost! as well she might, when she saw Sir Condy writing at this unseasonable hour. “That will do very well, Thady,” says he to me, and took the paper I had signed to, without knowing what upon the earth it might be, out of my hands, and walked, folding it up, to my lady.

“You are concerned in this, my Lady Rackrent,” said he, putting it into her hands; “and I beg you’ll keep this memorandum safe, and show it to your friends the first thing you do when you get home; but put it in your pocket now, my dear, and let us eat our breakfast, in God’s name.” “What is all this?” said my lady, opening the paper in great curiosity. “It’s only a bit of a memorandum of what I think becomes me to do whenever I am able,” says my master; “you know my situation, tied hand and foot at the present time being, but that can’t last always, and when I’m dead and gone, the land will be to the good, Thady, you know; and take notice, it’s my intention your lady should have a clear five hundred a year jointure off the estate afore any of my debts are paid.” “Oh, please your honour,” says I, “I can’t expect to live to see that time, being now upwards of fourscore years of age, and you a young man, and likely to continue so, by the help of God.” I was vexed to see my lady so insensible too, for all she said was, “This is very genteel of you, Sir Condy. You need not wait any longer, Thady;” so I just picked up the pen and ink that had tumbled on the floor, and heard my master finish with saying, “You behaved very genteel to me, my dear, when you threw all the little you had in your own power along with yourself into my hands; and as I don’t deny but what you may have had some things to complain of,”--to be sure he was thinking then of Judy, or of the whiskey punch, one or t’other, or both,--“and as I don’t deny but you may have had something to complain of, my dear, it is but fair you should have something in the form of compensation to look forward to agreeably in future; besides, it’s an act of justice to myself, that none of your friends, my dear, may ever have it to say against me, I married for money, and not for love.” “That is the last thing I should ever have thought of saying of you, Sir Condy,” said my lady, looking very gracious. “Then, my dear,” said Sir Condy, “we shall part as good friends as we met; so all’s right.”

I was greatly rejoiced to hear this, and went out of the parlour to report it all to the kitchen. The next morning my lady and Mrs. Jane set out for Mount Juliet’s Town in the jaunting car: many wondered at my lady’s choosing to go away, considering all things, upon the jaunting car, as if it was only a party of pleasure; but they did not know, till I told them, that the coach was all broke in the journey down, and no other vehicle but the car to be had; besides, my lady’s friends were to send their coach to meet her at the cross roads; so it was all done very proper.

My poor master was in great trouble after my lady left us. The execution came down; and every thing at Castle Rackrent was seized by the gripers, and my son Jason, to his shame be it spoken, amongst them. I wondered, for the life of me, how he could harden himself to do it; but then he had been studying the law, and had made himself Attorney Quirk; so he brought down at once a heap of accounts upon my master’s head. To cash lent, and to ditto, and to ditto, and to ditto, and oats, and bills paid at the milliner’s and linen-draper’s, and many dresses for the fancy balls in Dublin for my lady, and all the bills to the workmen and tradesmen for the scenery of the theatre, and the chandler’s and grocer’s bills, and tailor’s, besides butcher’s and baker’s, and worse than all, the old one of that base wine merchant’s, that wanted to arrest my poor master for the amount on the election day, for which amount Sir Condy afterwards passed his note of hand, bearing lawful interest from the date thereof; and the interest and compound interest was now mounted to a terrible deal on many other notes and bonds for money borrowed, and there was besides hush money to the sub-sheriffs, and sheets upon sheets of old and new attorneys’ bills, with heavy balances, _as per former account furnished_, brought forward with interest thereon; then there was a powerful deal due to the crown for sixteen years’ arrear of quit-rent of the town-lands of Carrickshaughlin, with driver’s fees, and a compliment to the receiver every year for letting the quit-rent run on to oblige Sir Condy, and Sir Kit afore him. Then there were bills for spirits and ribands at the election time, and the gentlemen of the committee’s accounts unsettled, and their subscription never gathered; and there were cows to be paid for, with the smith and farrier’s bills to be set against the rent of the demesne, with calf and hay money; then there was all the servants’ wages, since I don’t know when, coming due to them, and sums advanced for them by my son Jason for clothes, and boots, and whips, and odd moneys for sundries expended by them in journeys to town and elsewhere, and pocket-money for the master continually, and messengers and postage before his being a parliament man; I can’t myself tell you what besides; but this I know, that when the evening came on the which Sir Condy had appointed to settle all with my son Jason, and when he comes into the parlour, and sees the sight of bills and load of papers all gathered on the great dining-table for him, he puts his hands before both his eyes, and cried out, “Merciful Jasus! what is it I see before me?” Then I sets an arm-chair at the table for him, and with a deal of difficulty he sits him down, and my son Jason hands him over the pen and ink to sign to this man’s bill and t’other man’s bill, all which he did without making the least objections. Indeed, to give him his due, I never _seen_ a man more fair and honest, and easy in all his dealings, from first to last, as Sir Condy, or more willing to pay every man his own as far as he was able, which is as much as any one can do. “Well,” says he, joking like with Jason, “I wish we could settle it all with a stroke of my grey goose quill. What signifies making me wade through all this ocean of papers here; can’t you now, who understand drawing out an account, debtor and creditor, just sit down here at the corner of the table and get it done out for me, that I may have a clear view of the balance, which is all I need be talking about, you know?” “Very true, Sir Condy; nobody understands business better than yourself,” says Jason. “So I’ve a right to do, being born and bred to the bar,” says Sir Condy. “Thady, do step out and see are they bringing in the things for the punch, for we’ve just done all we have to do for this evening.” I goes out accordingly, and when I came back, Jason was pointing to the balance, which was a terrible sight to my poor master. “Pooh! pooh! pooh!” says he, “here’s so many noughts they dazzle my eyes, so they do, and put me in mind of all I suffered, larning of my numeration table, when I was a boy at the day-school along with you, Jason--units, tens, hundreds, tens of hundreds. Is the punch ready, Thady?” says he, seeing me. “Immediately; the boy has the jug in his hand; it’s coming up stairs, please your honour, as fast as possible,” says I, for I saw his honour was tired out of his life; but Jason, very short and cruel, cuts me off with--“Don’t be talking of punch yet a while; it’s no time for punch yet a bit--units, tens, hundreds,” goes he on, counting over the master’s shoulder, units, tens, hundreds, thousands. “A-a-ah! hold your hand,” cries my master; “where in this wide world am I to find hundreds, or units itself, let alone thousands?” “The balance has been running on too long,” says Jason, sticking to him as I could not have done at the time, if you’d have given both the Indies and Cork to boot; “the balance has been running on too long, and I’m distressed myself on your account, Sir Condy, for money, and the thing must be settled now on the spot, and the balance cleared off,” says Jason. “I’ll thank you if you’ll only show me how,” says Sir Condy. “There’s but one way,” says Jason, “and that’s ready enough: when there’s no cash, what can a gentleman do, but go to the land?” “How can you go to the land, and it under custodiam to yourself already,” says Sir Condy, “and another custodiam hanging over it? and no one at all can touch it, you know, but the custodees.” “Sure, can’t you sell, though at a loss? sure you can sell, and I’ve a purchaser ready for you,” says Jason. “Have ye so?” said Sir Condy; “that’s a great point gained; but there’s a thing now beyond all, that perhaps you don’t know yet, barring Thady has let you into the secret.” “Sarrah bit of a secret, or any thing at all of the kind, has he learned from me these fifteen weeks come St. John’s eve,” says I; “for we have scarce been upon speaking terms of late: but what is it your honour means of a secret?” “Why, the secret of the little keepsake I gave my Lady Rackrent the morning she left us, that she might not go back empty-handed to her friends.” “My Lady Rackrent, I’m sure, has baubles and keepsakes enough, as those bills on the table will show,” says Jason; “but whatever it is,” says he, taking up his pen, “we must add it to the balance, for to be sure it can’t be paid for.” “No, nor can’t till after my decease,” said Sir Condy; “that’s one good thing.” Then colouring up a good deal, he tells Jason of the memorandum of the five hundred a-year jointure he had settled upon my lady; at which Jason was indeed mad, and said a great deal in very high words, that it was using a gentleman, who had the management of his affairs, and was moreover his principal creditor, extremely ill, to do such a thing without consulting him, and against his knowledge and consent. To all which Sir Condy had nothing to reply, but that upon his conscience, it was in a hurry and without a moment’s thought on his part, and he was very sorry for it, but if it was to do over again he would do the same; and he appealed to me, and I was ready to give my evidence, if that would do, to the truth of all he said.

So Jason with much ado was brought to agree to a compromise. “The purchaser that I have ready,” says he, “will be much displeased, to be sure, at the incumbrance on the land, but I must see and manage him; here’s a deed ready drawn up; we have nothing to do but to put in the consideration money and our names to it.” “And how much am I going to sell?--the lands of O’Shaughlin’s Town, and the lands of Gruneaghoolaghan, and the lands of Crookagnawaturgh,” says he, just reading to himself,--“and--oh, murder, Jason! sure you won’t put this in--the castle, stable, and appurtenances of Castle Rackrent.” “Oh, murder!” says I, clapping my hands, “this is too bad, Jason.” “Why so?” said Jason, “when it’s all, and a great deal more to the back of it, lawfully mine, was I to push for it.” “Look at him,” says I, pointing to Sir Condy, who was just leaning back in his arm-chair, with his arms falling beside him like one stupified; “is it you, Jason, that can stand in his presence, and recollect all he has been to us, and all we have been to him, and yet use him so at the last?” “Who will you find to use him better, I ask you?” said Jason; “if he can get a better purchaser, I’m content; I only offer to purchase, to make things easy, and oblige him: though I don’t see what compliment I am under, if you come to that; I have never had, asked, or charged more than sixpence in the pound, receiver’s fees; and where would he have got an agent for a penny less?” “Oh, Jason! Jason! how will you stand to this in the face of the county and all who know you?” says I; “and what will people think and say, when they see you living here in Castle Rackrent, and the lawful owner turned out of the seat of his ancestors, without a cabin to put his head into, or so much as a potatoe to eat?” Jason, whilst I was saying this, and a great deal more, made me signs, and winks, and frowns; but I took no heed; for I was grieved and sick at heart for my poor master, and couldn’t but speak.

“Here’s the punch,” says Jason, for the door opened; “here’s the punch!” Hearing that, my master starts up in his chair, and recollects himself, and Jason uncorks the whiskey. “Set down the jug here,” says he, making room for it beside the papers opposite to Sir Condy, but still not stirring the deed that was to make over all. Well, I was in great hopes he had some touch of mercy about him when I saw him making the punch, and my master took a glass; but Jason put it back as he was going to fill again, saying, “No, Sir Condy, it sha’n’t be said of me, I got your signature to this deed when you were half-seas over: you know your name and hand-writing in that condition would not, if brought before the courts, benefit me a straw; wherefore let us settle all before we go deeper into the punch-bowl.” “Settle all as you will,” said Sir Condy, clapping his hands to his ears: “but let me hear no more; I’m bothered to death this night.” “You’ve only to sign,” said Jason, putting the pen to him. “Take all, and be content,” said my master. So he signed; and the man who brought in the punch witnessed it, for I was not able, but crying like a child; and besides, Jason said, which I was glad of, that I was no fit witness, being so old and doting. It was so bad with me, I could not taste a drop of the punch itself, though my master himself, God bless him! in the midst of his trouble, poured out a glass for me, and brought it up to my lips. “Not a drop; I thank your honour’s honour as much as if I took it, though,” and I just set down the glass as it was, and went out, and when I got to the street-door, the neighbour’s childer, who were playing at marbles there, seeing me in great trouble, left their play, and gathered about me to know what ailed me; and I told them all, for it was a great relief to me to speak to these poor childer, that seemed to have some natural feeling left in them: and when they were made sensible that Sir Condy was going to leave Castle Rackrent for good and all, they set up a whillalu that could be heard to the farthest end of the street; and one fine boy he was, that my master had given an apple to that morning, cried the loudest, but they all were the same sorry, for Sir Condy was greatly beloved amongst the childer, for letting them go a-nutting in the demesne, without saying a word to them, though my lady objected to them. The people in the town, who were the most of them standing at their doors, hearing the childer cry, would know the reason of it; and when the report was made known, the people one and all gathered in great anger against my son Jason, and terror at the notion of his coming to be landlord over them, and they cried, “No Jason! no Jason! Sir Condy! Sir Condy! Sir Condy Rackrent for ever!” and the mob grew so great and so loud, I was frightened, and made my way back to the house to warn my son to make his escape, or hide himself for fear of the consequences. Jason would not believe me till they came all round the house, and to the windows with great shouts: then he grew quite pale, and asked Sir Condy what had he best do? “I’ll tell you what you’d best do,” said Sir Condy, who was laughing to see his fright; “finish your glass first, then let’s go to the window and show ourselves, and I’ll tell ‘em, or you shall, if you please, that I’m going to the Lodge for change of air for my health, and by my own desire, for the rest of my days.” “Do so,” said Jason, who never meant it should have been so, but could not refuse him the Lodge at this unseasonable time. Accordingly Sir Condy threw up the sash, and explained matters, and thanked all his friends, and bid ‘em look in at the punch-bowl, and observe that Jason and he had been sitting over it very good friends; so the mob was content, and he sent ‘em out some whiskey to drink his health, and that was the last time his honour’s health was ever drunk at Castle Rackrent.

The very next day, being too proud, as he said to me, to stay an hour longer in a house that did not belong to him, he sets off to the Lodge, and I along with him not many hours after. And there was great bemoaning through all O’Shaughlin’s Town, which I stayed to witness, and gave my poor master a full account of when I got to the Lodge. He was very low, and in his bed, when I got there, and complained of a great pain about his heart, but I guessed it was only trouble, and all the business, let alone vexation, he had gone through of late; and knowing the nature of him from a boy, I took my pipe, and, whilst smoking it by the chimney, began telling him how he was beloved and regretted in the county, and it did him a deal of good to hear it. “Your honour has a great many friends yet, that you don’t know of, rich and poor, in the county,” says I; “for as I was coming along the road, I met two gentlemen in their own carriages, who asked after you, knowing me, and wanted to know where you was and all about you, and even how old I was: think of that.” Then he wakened out of his doze, and began questioning me who the gentlemen were. And the next morning it came into my head to go, unknown to any body, with my master’s compliments, round to many of the gentlemen’s houses, where he and my lady used to visit, and people that I knew were his great friends, and would go to Cork to serve him any day in the year, and I made bold to try to borrow a trifle of cash from them. They all treated me very civil for the most part, and asked a great many questions very kind about my lady, and Sir Condy, and all the family, and were greatly surprised to learn from me Castle Rackrent was sold, and my master at the Lodge for health; and they all pitied him greatly, and he had their good wishes, if that would do, but money was a thing they unfortunately had not any of them at this time to spare. I had my journey for my pains, and I, not used to walking, nor supple as formerly, was greatly tired, but had the satisfaction of telling my master, when I got to the Lodge, all the civil things said by high and low.

“Thady,” says he, “all you’ve been telling me brings a strange thought into my head: I’ve a notion I shall not be long for this world any how, and I’ve a great fancy to see my own funeral afore I die.” I was greatly shocked, at the first speaking, to hear him speak so light about his funeral, and he, to all appearance, in good health, but recollecting myself, answered, “To be sure, it would be as fine a sight as one could see, I dared to say, and one I should be proud to witness, and I did not doubt his honour’s would be as great a funeral as ever Sir Patrick O’Shaughlin’s was, and such a one as that had never been known in the county afore or since.” But I never thought he was in earnest about seeing his own funeral himself, till the next day he returns to it again. “Thady,” says he, “as far as the wake[18] goes, sure I might without any great trouble have the satisfaction of seeing a bit of my own funeral.” “Well, since your honour’s honour’s so bent upon it,” says I, not willing to cross him, and he in trouble, “we must see what we can do.” So he fell into a sort of a sham disorder, which was easy done, as he kept his bed, and no one to see him; and I got my shister, who was an old woman very handy about the sick, and very skilful, to come up to the Lodge to nurse him; and we gave out, she knowing no better, that he was just at his latter end, and it answered beyond any thing; and there was a great throng of people, men, women, and childer, and there being only two rooms at the Lodge, except what was locked up full of Jason’s furniture and things, the house was soon as full and fuller than it could hold, and the heat, and smoke, and noise wonderful great; and standing amongst them that were near the bed, but not thinking at all of the dead, I was started by the sound of my master’s voice from under the great coats that had been thrown all at top, and I went close up, no one noticing. “Thady,” says he, “I’ve had enough of this; I’m smothering, and can’t hear a word of all they’re saying of the deceased.” “God bless you, and lie still and quiet,” says I, “a bit longer, for my shister’s afraid of ghosts, and would die on the spot with fright, was she to see you come to life all on a sudden this way without the least preparation.” So he lays him still, though well nigh stifled, and I made all haste to tell the secret of the joke, whispering to one and t’other, and there was a great surprise, but not so great as we had laid out it would. “And aren’t we to have the pipes and tobacco, after coming so far to-night?” said some; but they were all well enough pleased when his honour got up to drink with them, and sent for more spirits from a shebean-house,[19] where they very civilly let him have it upon credit. So the night passed off very merrily, but, to my mind, Sir Condy was rather upon the sad order in the midst of it all, not finding there had been such a great talk about himself after his death as he had always expected to hear.

The next morning when the house was cleared of them, and none but my shister and myself left in the kitchen with Sir Condy, one opens the door, and walks in, and who should it be but Judy M’Quirk herself! I forgot to notice, that she had been married long since, whilst young Captain Moneygawl lived at the Lodge, to the captain’s huntsman, who after a whilst listed and left her, and was killed in the wars. Poor Judy fell off greatly in her good looks after her being married a year or two; and being smoke-dried in the cabin, and neglecting herself like, it was hard for Sir Condy himself to know her again till she spoke; but when she says, “It’s Judy M’Quirk, please your honour, don’t you remember her?” “Oh, Judy, is it you?” says his honour; “yes, sure, I remember you very well; but you’re greatly altered, Judy.” “Sure it’s time for me,” says she; “and I think your honour, since I _seen_ you last,--but that’s a great while ago,--is altered too.” “And with reason, Judy,” says Sir Condy, fetching a sort of a sigh; “but how’s this, Judy?” he goes on; “I take it a little amiss of you, that you were not at my wake last night.” “Ah, don’t be being jealous of that,” says she; “I didn’t hear a sentence of your honour’s wake till it was all over, or it would have gone hard with me but I would have been at it sure; but I was forced to go ten miles up the country three days ago to a wedding of a relation of my own’s, and didn’t get home till after the wake was over; but,” says she, “it won’t be so, I hope, the next time,[20] please your honour.” “That we shall see, Judy,” says his honour, “and may be sooner than you think for, for I’ve been very unwell this while past, and don’t reckon any way I’m long for this world.” At this, Judy takes up the corner of her apron, and puts it first to one eye and then to t’other, being to all appearance in great trouble; and my shister put in her word, and bid his honour have a good heart, for she was sure it was only the gout that Sir Patrick used to have flying about him, and he ought to drink a glass or a bottle extraordinary to keep it out of his stomach; and he promised to take her advice, and sent out for more spirits immediately; and Judy made a sign to me, and I went over to the door to her, and she said, “I wonder to see Sir Condy so low! has he heard the news?” “What news?” says I. “Didn’t ye hear it, then?” says she; “my Lady Rackrent that was is kilt[D2] and lying for dead, and I don’t doubt but it’s all over with her by this time.” “Mercy on us all,” says I; “how was it?” “The jaunting car it was that ran away with her,” says Judy. “I was coming home that same time from Biddy M’Guggin’s marriage, and a great crowd of people too upon the road, coming from the fair of Crookaghnawaturgh, and I sees a jaunting car standing in the middle of the road, and with the two wheels off and all tattered. ‘What’s this?’ says I. ‘Didn’t ye hear of it?’ says they that were looking on; ‘it’s my Lady Rackrent’s car, that was running away from her husband, and the horse took fright at a carrion that lay across the road, and so ran away with the jaunting car, and my Lady Rackrent and her maid screaming, and the horse ran with them against a car that was coming from the fair, with the boy asleep on it, and the lady’s petticoat hanging out of the jaunting car caught, and she was dragged I can’t tell you how far upon the road, and it all broken up with the stones just going to be pounded, and one of the road-makers, with his sledge-hammer in his hand, stops the horse at the last; but my Lady Rackrent was all kilt[21] and smashed, and they lifted her into a cabin hard by, and the maid was found after, where she had been thrown, in the gripe of the ditch, her cap and bonnet all full of bog water, and they say my lady can’t live any way.’ Thady, pray now is it true what I’m told for sartain, that Sir Condy has made over all to your son Jason?” “All,” says I. “All entirely?” says she again. “All entirely,” says I. “Then,” says she, “that’s a great shame, but don’t be telling Jason what I say.” “And what is it you say?” cries Sir Condy, leaning over betwixt us, which made Judy start greatly. “I know the time when Judy M’Quirk would never have stayed so long talking at the door, and I in the house.” “Oh!” says Judy, “for shame, Sir Condy; times are altered since then, and it’s my Lady Rackrent you ought to be thinking of.” “And why should I be thinking of her, that’s not thinking of me now?” said Sir Condy. “No matter for that,” says Judy, very properly; “it’s time you should be thinking of her, if ever you mean to do it at all, for don’t you know she’s lying for death?” “My Lady Rackrent!” says Sir Condy, in a surprise; “why it’s but two days since we parted, as you very well know, Thady, in her full health and spirits, and she and her maid along with her going to Mount Juliet’s Town on her jaunting car.” “She’ll never ride no more on her jaunting car,” said Judy, “for it has been the death of her, sure enough.” “And is she dead then?” says his honour. “As good as dead, I hear,” says Judy; “but there’s Thady here has just learnt the whole truth of the story as I had it, and it is fitter he or any body else should be telling it you than I, Sir Condy: I must be going home to the childer.” But he stops her, but rather from civility in him, as I could see very plainly, than any thing else, for Judy was, as his honour remarked at her first coming in, greatly changed, and little likely, as far as I could see--though she did not seem to be clear of it herself--little likely to be my Lady Rackrent now, should there be a second toss-up to be made. But I told him the whole story out of the face, just as Judy had told it to me, and he sent off a messenger with his compliments to Mount Juliet’s Town that evening, to learn the truth of the report, and Judy bid the boy that was going call in at Tim M’Enerney’s shop in O’Shaughlin’s Town and buy her a new shawl. “Do so,” said Sir Condy, “and tell Tim to take no money from you, for I must pay him for the shawl myself.” At this my shister throws me over a look, and I says nothing, but turned the tobacco in my mouth, whilst Judy began making a many words about it, and saying how she could not be beholden for shawls to any gentleman. I left her there to consult with my shister, did she think there was any thing in it, and my shister thought I was blind to be asking her the question, and I thought my shister must see more into it than I did; and recollecting all past times and every thing, I changed my mind, and came over to her way of thinking, and we settled it that Judy was very like to be my Lady Rackrent after all, if a vacancy should have happened.

The next day, before his honour was up, somebody comes with a double knock at the door, and I was greatly surprised to see it was my son Jason. “Jason, is it you?” said I; “what brings you to the Lodge?” says I; “is it my Lady Rackrent? we know that already since yesterday.” “May be so,” says he, “but I must see Sir Condy about it.” “You can’t see him yet,” says I; “sure he is not awake.” “What then,” says he, “can’t he be wakened? and I standing at the door.” “I’ll not be disturbing his honour for you, Jason,” says I; “many’s the hour you’ve waited in your time, and been proud to do it, till his honour was at leisure to speak to you. His honour,” says I, raising my voice, at which his honour wakens of his own accord, and calls to me from the room to know who it was I was speaking to. Jason made no more ceremony, but follows me into the room. “How are you, Sir Condy?” says he; “I’m happy to see you looking so well; I came up to know how you did to-day, and to see did you want for any thing at the Lodge.” “Nothing at all, Mr. Jason, I thank you,” says he; for his honour had his own share of pride, and did not choose, after all that had passed, to be beholden, I suppose, to my son; “but pray take a chair and be seated, Mr. Jason.” Jason sat him down upon the chest, for chair there was none, and after he had set there some time, and a silence on all sides, “What news is there stirring in the country, Mr. Jason M’Quirk?” says Sir Condy, very easy, yet high like. “None that’s news to you, Sir Condy, I hear,” says Jason: “I am sorry to hear of my Lady Rackrent’s accident.” “I’m much obliged to you, and so is her ladyship, I’m sure,” answered Sir Condy, still stiff; and there was another sort of a silence, which seemed to lie the heaviest on my son Jason.

“Sir Condy,” says he at last, seeing Sir Condy disposing himself to go to sleep again, “Sir Condy, I dare say you recollect mentioning to me the little memorandum you gave to Lady Rackrent about the 500_l_. a-year jointure.” “Very true,” said Sir Condy; “it is all in my recollection.” “But if my Lady Rackrent dies, there’s an end of all jointure,” says Jason. “Of course,” says Sir Condy. “But it’s not a matter of certainty that my Lady Rackrent won’t recover,” says Jason. “Very true, sir,” says my master. “It’s a fair speculation, then, for you to consider what the chance of the jointure on those lands, when out of custodiam, will be to you.” “Just five hundred a-year, I take it, without any speculation at all,” said Sir Condy. “That’s supposing the life dropt, and the custodiam off, you know; begging your pardon, Sir Condy, who understands business, that is a wrong calculation.” “Very likely so,” said Sir Condy; “but Mr. Jason, if you have any thing to say to me this morning about it, I’d be obliged to you to say it, for I had an indifferent night’s rest last night, and wouldn’t be sorry to sleep a little this morning.” “I have only three words to say, and those more of consequence to you, Sir Condy, than me. You are a little cool, I observe; but I hope you will not be offended at what I have brought here in my pocket,” and he pulls out two long rolls, and showers down golden guineas upon the bed. “What’s this?” said Sir Condy; “it’s long since”--but his pride stops him, “All these are your lawful property this minute, Sir Condy, if you please,” said Jason. “Not for nothing, I’m sure,” said Sir Condy, and laughs a little--“nothing for nothing, or I’m under a mistake with you, Jason.” “Oh, Sir Condy, we’ll not be indulging ourselves in any unpleasant retrospects,” says Jason; “it’s my present intention to behave, as I’m sure you will, like a gentleman in this affair. Here’s two hundred guineas, and a third I mean to add, if you should think proper to make over to me all your right and title to those lands that you know of.” “I’ll consider of it,” said my master; and a great deal more, that I was tired listening to, was said by Jason, and all that, and the sight of the ready cash upon the bed worked with his honour; and the short and the long of it was, Sir Condy gathered up the golden guineas, and tied them up in a handkerchief, and signed some paper Jason brought with him as usual, and there was an end of the business: Jason took himself away, and my master turned himself round and fell asleep again.

I soon found what had put Jason in such a hurry to conclude this business. The little gossoon we had sent off the day before with my master’s compliments to Mount Juliet’s Town, and to know how my lady did after her accident, was stopped early this morning, coming back with his answer through O’Shaughlin’s Town, at Castle Rackrent, by my son Jason, and questioned of all he knew of my lady from the servant at Mount Juliet’s Town; and the gossoon told him my Lady Rackrent was not expected to live over night; so Jason thought it high time to be moving to the Lodge, to make his bargain with my master about the jointure afore it should be too late, and afore the little gossoon should reach us with the news. My master was greatly vexed, that is, I may say, as much as ever I _seen_ him, when he found how he had been taken in; but it was some comfort to have the ready cash for immediate consumption in the house, any way.

And when Judy came up that evening, and brought the childer to see his honour, he unties the handkerchief, and, God bless him! whether it was little or much he had, ‘twas all the same with him, he gives ‘em all round guineas a-piece. “Hold up your head,” says my shister to Judy, as Sir Condy was busy filling out a glass of punch for her eldest boy--“Hold up your head, Judy; for who knows but we may live to see you yet at the head of the Castle Rackrent estate?” “Maybe so,” says she, “but not the way you are thinking of.” I did not rightly understand which way Judy, was looking when she makes this speech, till a-while after. “Why, Thady, you were telling me yesterday, that Sir Condy had sold all entirely to Jason, and where then does all them guineas in the handkerchief come from?” “They are the purchase-money of my lady’s jointure,” says I. Judy looks a little bit puzzled at this. “A penny for your thoughts, Judy,” says my shister; “hark, sure Sir Condy is drinking her health.” He was at the table in _the room_,[22] drinking with the exciseman and the gauger, who came up to see his honour, and we were standing over the fire in the kitchen. “I don’t much care is he drinking my health or not,” says Judy; “and it is not Sir Condy I’m thinking of, with all your jokes, whatever he is of me.” “Sure you wouldn’t refuse to be my Lady Rackrent, Judy, if you had the offer?” says I. “But if I could do better!” says she. “How better?” says I and my shister both at once. “How better?” says she; “why, what signifies it to be my Lady Rackrent, and no castle? sure what good is the car, and no horse to draw it?” “And where will ye get the horse, Judy?” says I. “Never mind that,” says she; “may be it is your own son Jason might find that.” “Jason!” says I; “don’t be trusting to him, Judy. Sir Condy, as I have good reason to know, spoke well of you, when Jason spoke very indifferently of you, Judy.” “No matter,” says Judy; “it’s often men speak the contrary just to what they think of us.” “And you the same way of them, no doubt,” answers I. “Nay, don’t be denying it, Judy, for I think the better of ye for it, and shouldn’t be proud to call ye the daughter of a shister’s son of mine, if I was to hear ye talk ungrateful, and any way disrespectful of his honour.” “What disrespect,” says she, “to say I’d rather, if it was my luck, be the wife of another man?” “You’ll have no luck, mind my words, Judy,” says I; and all I remembered about my poor master’s goodness in tossing up for her afore he married at all came across me, and I had a choaking in my throat that hindered me to say more. “Better luck, any how, Thady,” says she, “than to be like some folk, following the fortunes of them that have none left.” “Oh! King of Glory!” says I, “hear the pride and ungratitude of her, and he giving his last guineas but a minute ago to her childer, and she with the fine shawl on her he made her a present of but yesterday!” “Oh, troth, Judy, you’re wrong now,” says my shister, looking at the shawl. “And was not he wrong yesterday, then,” says she, “to be telling me I was greatly altered, to affront me?” “But, Judy,” says I, “what is it brings you here then at all in the mind you are in; is it to make Jason think the better of you?” “I’ll tell you no more of my secrets, Thady,” says she, “nor would have told you this much, had I taken you for such an unnatural fader as I find you are, not to wish your own son prefarred to another.” “Oh, troth, _you_ are wrong now, Thady,” says my shister. Well, I was never so put to it in my life: between these womens, and my son and my master, and all I felt and thought just now, I could not, upon my conscience, tell which was the wrong from the right. So I said not a word more, but was only glad his honour had not the luck to hear all Judy had been saying of him, for I reckoned it would have gone nigh to break his heart; not that I was of opinion he cared for her as much as she and my shister fancied, but the ungratitude of the whole from Judy might not plase him; and he could never stand the notion of not being well spoken of or beloved like behind his back. Fortunately for all parties concerned, he was so much elevated at this time, there was no danger of his understanding any thing, even if it had reached his ears. There was a great horn at the Lodge, ever since my master and Captain Moneygawl was in together, that used to belong originally to the celebrated Sir Patrick, his ancestor; and his honour was fond often of telling the story that he learned from me when a child, how Sir Patrick drank the full of this horn without stopping, and this was what no other man afore or since could without drawing breath. Now Sir Condy challenged the gauger, who seemed to think little of the horn, to swallow the contents, and had it filled to the brim with punch; and the gauger said it was what he could not do for nothing, but he’d hold Sir Condy a hundred guineas he’d do it. “Done,” says my master; “I’ll lay you a hundred golden guineas to a tester[23] you don’t.” “Done,” says the gauger; and done and done’s enough between two gentlemen. The gauger was cast, and my master won the bet, and thought he’d won a hundred guineas, but by the wording it was adjudged to be only a tester that was his due by the exciseman. It was all one to him; he was as well pleased, and I was glad to see him in such spirits again.

The gauger, bad luck to him! was the man that next proposed to my master to try himself could he take at a draught the contents of the great horn. “Sir Patrick’s horn!” said his honour; “hand it to me: I’ll hold you your own bet over again I’ll swallow it.” “Done,” says the gauger; “I’ll lay ye anything at all you do no such thing.” “A hundred guineas to sixpence I do,” says he: “bring me the handkerchief.” I was loth, knowing he meant the handkerchief with the gold in it, to bring it out in such company, and his honour not very able to reckon it. “Bring me the handkerchief, then, Thady,” says he, and stamps with his foot; so with that I pulls it out of my great coat pocket, where I had put it for safety. Oh, how it grieved me to see the guineas counting upon the table, and they the last my master had! Says Sir Condy to me, “Your hand is steadier than mine to-night, old Thady, and that’s a wonder; fill you the horn for me.” And so, wishing his honour success, I did; but I filled it, little thinking of what would befall him. He swallows it down, and drops like one shot. We lifts him up, and he was speechless, and quite black in the face. We put him to bed, and in a short time he wakened, raving with a fever on his brain. He was shocking either to see or hear. “Judy! Judy! have you no touch of feeling? won’t you stay to help us nurse him?” says I to her, and she putting on her shawl to go out of the house. “I’m frightened to see him,” says she, “and wouldn’t nor couldn’t stay in it; and what use? he can’t last till the morning.” With that she ran off. There was none but my shister and myself left near him of all the many friends he had. The fever came and went, and came and went, and lasted five days, and the sixth he was sensible for a few minutes, and said to me, knowing me very well, “I’m in burning pain all withinside of me, Thady.” I could not speak, but my shister asked him would he have this thing or t’other to do him good? “No,” says he, “nothing will do me good no more,” and he gave a terrible screech with the torture he was in--then again a minute’s ease--“brought to this by drink,” says he; “where are all the friends?--where’s Judy?--Gone, hey? Ay, Sir Condy has been a fool all his days,” said he; and there was the last word he spoke, and died. He had but a very poor funeral, after all.