The Memoirs of Barry Lyndon, Esq. | Page 7

the widow, who had been smitten by the charms of the spinster;
but Mrs. Barry refused all offers of marriage, declaring that she lived now for her son
only, and for the memory of her departed saint.
'Saint forsooth!' said ill-natured Mrs. Brady.
'Harry Barry was as big a sinner as ever was known; and 'tis notorious that he and Bell
hated each other. If she won't marry now, depend on it, the artful woman has a husband
in her eye for all that, and only waits until Lord Bagwig is a widower.'

And suppose she did, what then? Was not the widow of a Barry fit to marry with any lord
of England? and was it not always said that a woman was to restore the fortunes of the
Barry family? If my mother fancied that SHE was to be that woman, I think it was a
perfectly justifiable notion on her part; for the Earl (my godfather) was always most
attentive to her: I never knew how deeply this notion of advancing my interests in the
world had taken possession of mamma's mind, until his Lordship's marriage in the year
'57 with Miss Goldmore, the Indian nabob's rich daughter.
Meanwhile we continued to reside at Barryville, and, considering the smallness of our
income, kept up a wonderful state. Of the half- dozen families that formed the
congregation at Brady's Town, there was not a single person whose appearance was so
respectable as that of the widow, who, though she always dressed in mourning, in
memory of her deceased husband, took care that her garments should be made so as to set
off her handsome person to the greatest advantage; and, indeed, I think, spent six hours
out of every day in the week in cutting, trimming, and altering them to the fashion. She
had the largest of hoops and the handsomest of furbelows, and once a month (under my
Lord Bagwig's cover) would come a letter from London containing the newest accounts
of the fashions there. Her complexion was so brilliant that she had no call to use rouge, as
was the mode in those days. No, she left red and white, she said (and hence the reader
may imagine how the two ladies hated each other) to Madam Brady, whose yellow
complexion no plaster could alter. In a word, she was so accomplished a beauty, that all
the women in the country took pattern by her, and the young fellows from ten miles
round would ride over to Castle Brady church to have the sight of her.
But if (like every other woman that ever I saw or read of) she was proud of her beauty, to
do her justice she was still more proud of her son, and has said a thousand times to me
that I was the handsomest young fellow in the world. This is a matter of taste. A man of
sixty may, however, say what he was at fourteen without much vanity, and I must say I
think there was some cause for my mother's opinion. The good soul's pleasure was to
dress me; and on Sundays and holidays I turned out in a velvet coat with a silver-hilted
sword by my side and a gold garter at my knee, as fine as any lord in the land. My mother
worked me several most splendid waistcoats, and I had plenty of lace for my ruffles, and
a fresh riband to my hair, and as we walked to church on Sundays, even envious Mrs.
Brady was found to allow that there was not a prettier pair in the kingdom.
Of course, too, the lady of Castle Brady used to sneer, because on these occasions a
certain Tim, who used to be called my valet, followed me and my mother to church,
carrying a huge prayer-book and a cane, and dressed in the livery of one of our own fine
footmen from Clarges Street, which, as Tim was a bandy-shanked little fellow, did not
exactly become him. But, though poor, we were gentlefolks, and not to be sneered out of
these becoming appendages to our rank; and so would march up the aisle to our pew with
as much state and gravity as the Lord Lieutenant's lady and son might do. When there,
my mother would give the responses and amens in a loud dignified voice that was
delightful to hear, and, besides, had a fine loud voice for singing, which art she had
perfected in London under a fashionable teacher; and she would exercise her talent in
such a way that you would hardly hear any other voice of the little congregation which
chose to join in the psalm. In fact, my mother had great gifts in every way, and believed

herself to be one