The Absentee | Page 7

from all that were bound or willing to submit to his commands,
far away from all signs of hereditary grandeur--plunged into one of our
great public schools--into a new world. Forced to struggle, mind and
body, with his equals, his rivals, the little lord became a spirited
schoolboy, and, in time, a man. Fortunately for him, science and
literature happened to be the fashion among a set of clever young men
with whom he was at Cambridge. His ambition for intellectual
superiority was raised, his views were enlarged, his tastes and his
manners formed. The sobriety of English good sense mixed most
advantageously with Irish vivacity; English prudence governed, but did
not extinguish his Irish enthusiasm. But, in fact, English and Irish had
not been invidiously contrasted in his mind: he had been so long
resident in England, and so intimately connected with Englishmen, that
he was not obvious to any of the commonplace ridicule thrown upon
Hibernians; and he had lived with men who were too well informed and
liberal to misjudge or depreciate a sister country. He had found, from
experience, that, however reserved the English may be in manner, they
are warm at heart; that, however averse they may be from forming new
acquaintance, their esteem and confidence once gained, they make the
most solid friends. He had formed friendships in England; he was fully
sensible of the superior comforts, refinement, and information, of
English society; but his own country was endeared to him by early
association, and a sense of duty and patriotism attached him to Ireland.
And shall I too be an absentee? was a question which resulted from
these reflections--a question which he was not yet prepared to answer
decidedly. In the meantime, the first business of the morning was to
execute a commission for a Cambridge friend. Mr. Berryl had bought
from Mr. Mordicai, a famous London coachmaker, a curricle,
WARRANTED SOUND, for which he had paid a sound price, upon
express condition that Mr. Mordicai, BARRING ACCIDENTS, should
be answerable for all repairs of the curricle for six months. In three,
both the carriage and body were found to be good for nothing--the
curricle had been returned to Mr. Mordicai --nothing had since been
heard of it, or from him--and Lord Colambre had undertaken to pay
him and it a visit, and to make all proper inquiries. Accordingly, he

went to the coachmaker's, and, obtaining no satisfaction from the
underlings, desired to see the head of the house. He was answered, that
Mr. Mordicai was not at home. His lordship had never seen Mr.
Mordicai; but, just then, he saw, walking across the yard, a man, who
looked something like a Bond Street coxcomb, but not the least like a
gentleman, who called, in the tone of a master, for 'Mr. Mordicai's
barouche!' It appeared; and he was stepping into it when Lord
Colambre took the liberty of stopping him; and, pointing to the wreck
of Mr. Berryl's curricle, now standing in the yard, began a statement of
his friend's grievances, and an appeal to common justice and
conscience, which he, unknowing the nature of the man with whom he
had to deal, imagined must be irresistible. Mr. Mordicai stood without
moving a muscle of his dark wooden face. Indeed, in his face there
appeared to be no muscles, or none which could move; so that, though
he had what are generally called handsome features, there was, all
together, something unnatural and shocking in his countenance. When,
at last, his eyes turned, and his lips opened, this seemed to be done by
machinery, and not by the will of a living creature, or from the impulse
of a rational soul. Lord Colambre was so much struck with this strange
physiognomy, that he actually forgot much he had to say of springs and
wheels. But it was no matter. Whatever he had said, it would have
come to the same thing; and Mordicai would have answered as he now
did--
'Sir, it was my partner made that bargain, not myself; and I don't hold
myself bound by it, for he is the sleeping-partner only, and not
empowered to act in the way of business. Had Mr. Berryl bargained
with me, I should have told him that he should have looked to these
things before his carriage went out of our yard.'
The indignation of Lord Colambre kindled at these words--but in vain.
To all that indignation could by word or look urge against Mordicai, he
replied--
'Maybe so, sir; the law is open to your friend--the law is open to all
men who can pay for it.'
Lord Colambre turned in despair from the callous coach-maker, and

listened to one of his more compassionate-looking workmen, who was
reviewing the disabled curricle; and, whilst he was