Celt and Saxon | Page 8

whether we wouldn't be satisfied with
her for politeness in her manners. We'd like her better for a spice of
devotion to alight higher up in politics and religion. But the key of the
difficulty's a sparkle of enthusiasm. It's part business, and the greater
part sentiment. We want a rousing in the heart of us; or else we'd be
pleased with her for sitting so as not to overlap us entirely: we'd feel
more at home, and behold her more respectfully. We'd see the policy of
an honourable union, and be joined to you by more than a telegraphic
cable. That's Captain Con, I think, and many like him.'
Patrick finished his airy sketch of the Irish case in a key signifying that
he might be one among the many, but unobtrusive.
'Stick to horses!' observed Mr. Adister.
It was pronounced as the termination to sheer maundering.
Patrick talked on the uppermost topic for the remainder of their stroll.
He noticed that his host occasionally allowed himself to say, 'You Irish':
and he reflected that the saying, 'You English,' had been hinted as an
offence.
He forgot to think that he had possibly provoked this alienation in a
scornfully proud spirit. The language of metaphor was to Mr. Adister
fool's froth. He conceded the use of it to the Irish and the Welsh as a
right that stamped them for what they were by adopting it; and they
might look on a country as a 'she,' if it amused them: so long as they
were not recalcitrant, they were to be tolerated, they were a part of us;
doubtless the nether part, yet not the less a part for which we are bound

to exercise a specially considerate care, or else we suffer, for we are
sensitive there: this is justice but the indications by fiddle-faddle
verbiage of anything objectionable to the whole in the part aroused an
irritability that speedily endued him with the sense of sanity opposing
lunacy; when, not having a wide command of the undecorated plain
speech which enjoyed his approval, he withdrew into the
entrenchments of contempt.
Patrick heard enough to let him understand why the lord of Earlsfont
and Captain Con were not on the best of terms. Once or twice he had a
twinge or suspicion of a sting from the tone of his host, though he was
not political and was of a mood to pity the poor gentleman's
melancholy state of solitariness, with all his children absent, his wife
dead, only a niece, a young lady of twenty, to lend an air of grace and
warmth to his home.
She was a Caroline, and as he had never taken a liking to a Caroline, he
classed her in the tribe of Carolines. To a Kathleen, an Eveleen, a Nora,
or a Bessy, or an Alicia, he would have bowed more cordially on his
introduction to her, for these were names with portraits and vistas
beyond, that shook leaves of recollection of the happiest of life--the
sweet things dreamed undesiringly in opening youth. A Caroline
awakened no soft association of fancies, no mysterious heaven and
earth. The others had variously tinted skies above them; their features
wooed the dream, led it on as the wooded glen leads the eye till we are
deep in richness. Nor would he have throbbed had one of any of his
favourite names appeared in the place of Caroline Adister. They had
not moved his heart, they had only stirred the sources of wonder. An
Eveleen had carried him farthest to imagine the splendours of an
Adiante, and the announcement of the coming of an Eveleen would
perchance have sped a little wild fire, to which what the world calls
curiosity is frozenly akin, through his veins.
Mr. Adister had spoken of his niece Caroline. A lacquey, receiving
orders from his master, mentioned Miss Adister. There was but one
Miss Adister for Patrick. Against reason, he was raised to anticipate the
possible beholding of her, and Caroline's entrance into the

drawing-room brought him to the ground. Disappointment is a poor
term for the descent from an immoderate height, but the
acknowledgment that we have shot up irrationally reconciles even
unphilosophical youth to the necessity of the fall, though we must
continue sensible of a shock. She was the Miss Adister; and how, and
why? No one else accompanied them on their march to the dinner-table.
Patrick pursued his double task of hunting his thousand speculations
and conversing fluently, so that it is not astonishing if, when he retired
to his room, the impression made on him by this young Caroline was
inefficient to distinguish her from the horde of her baptismal sisters.
And she had a pleasant face: he was able to see that, and some
individuality in