Golden Lads and Girls

Front matter

■ ■ I I m a BY H. A. HINKSON iiyialvuv fiev Sloiotov avbpl 6vaTi#, bevrepov be tpvav Ka\bv yeviadat., rb rplrov de irXovre'iv dSbXus, Kal rb riraprov rifiav fxera rojv <pi\wv. Anth. Lyr. LONDON DOWNEY & CO. 12 YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN i895 TO THE DEAREST OF WOMEN CONTENTS CHAP. PAGE I. — Introduces the Reader to an Old Irish Family, and recounts the Story of a Strange Conversion, . I II. — Wherein is Counsel taken concerning the Future of a Young Gentleman, . . . . . II III. — Wherein the Hero visits his Uncle and receives at his Hands Counsel and Chastisement, . . 28 IV. — A Reformer and His Family, .... 43 V. — Wherein the Hero seeks Spiritual Advice and finds Spiritual Comfort, ...... 57 VI. — We'll all go a-hunting To-day, . . . 73 VII. — The Hero sets out to seek His Fortune, . . 91 VIII. — And is introduced to an Ancient Mother of Learning. 102 IX. — Socii Cratera Coronant, 113 X. — Of how a Song is sung and Public Opinion is made, 123 XI. — Relates a Strange Meeting and a Stranger Departure, 1 33 XII. — Of a Rejected Lover and a Passage-at-Arms, 142 XIII. — Where Love is there comes Sorrow To-day or else To-morrow, . . - . . .152 XIV. — Youth at the Prow and Pleasure at the Helm, 163 XV. — An Irish Question discussed 175 XVI. — A Civic Festivity and a Revival of the Olympic Games, ........ 18S CONTENTS CHAP. PAGE XVII. — When Greek meets Greek, 204 XVIII.— The Hero and Cynicus 218 XIX. — Cross Purposes, ....... 228 XX. — Love Me, Love my Dog, ..... 237 XXI.— The Wheel of Fortune, 247 XXII. — A Letter from America and Pastoral Counsel, . 260 XXIII.— Table Talk, 270 XXIV.— The Way of the Oppressor, 280 XXV. — A Night Drive and a Narrow Escape, . . . 290 XXVI. — Wherein Crooked Matters are made Straight, .

CH A PTER I INTRODUCES THE READER TO AN OLD IRISH FAMILY, AND RECOUNTS THE STORY OF A STRANGE CONVERSION Castle Joyce stands on the bank of the Conn, about two miles from Spanishtown, where the river enters the western bay. As you row up the river from the town there is nothing to be seen on either side, save the ruins of castles and of mills, and tracts of limestone boulders, with hardly a trace of ver dure between them ; but as you shoot round the bend of the river there breaks on your astonished eyes a scene of almost incredible beauty. Stretch ing from the water's edge is a soft carpet of vivid green, where a few scattered deer are peace fully grazing between the sparse wood of hazel and oak. A dozen strokes more bring you in front of the castle itself. There is little of the baronial pile about the large, square, comfortable mansion looking west ward down the stream, with its many small windows peeping out through the dense masses of ivy and A creepers which cover the front.

In the middle, a heavy oak door, quaintly carved with the arms of the Joyces, opens on a rectangle of carefully-preserved turf, on which peaceful conflicts of tennis and croquet are decided. But its memories were of less peaceful conflicts, for often had it echoed the clank of arms, and the hoarse voice of the challenger had been heard without. In the days when Castle Joyce was the greatest stronghold in the western county, this had been the castle keep, and the ruined walls of immense thickness, which still surrounded it, and the turrets with their circular winding stairs, bear witness to its former strength and importance. On the north side an avenue of lime trees, more than a mile in length, and straight as a plummet, connects the castle with the high road and the village of Joyce town.

Chapter II Wherein Is Counsel Taken Concerning The Future Of

A YOUNG GENTLEMAN THE interior of Castle Joyce was by no means un worthy the traditions of the family. When the heavy door swung back, you entered a hall of noble proportions, wainscoted to the ceiling with oak. Right and left of the door stood grim figures in armour, bearing evidence, on their indented corse lets, of many a hard and well-directed blow. From the walls on both sides were suspended Spanish horse-pistols with heavy knobs of brass, old flint lock muskets, silver-hilted rapiers, in which the steel of Toledo still rang true, steel caps and heavy sabres which Cromwell's troopers had left behind them when they left little else. Some chrono logical order had been observed withal, for further in were muskets and pikes such as the Irish used in their rebellions, and beyond them were firearms of a more modern date, with stag-antlers, fox brushes and other trophies of the chase.

In the middle of the hall stood a billiard-table with the green cloth much faded and scarred. The few re maining cues were headless now save one — Ralph's favourite cue — and that hung suspended with its u case untouched since the last time the young master had wielded it the evening before his death. In the time of the young master's short reign of revelry, many a stiff day's hunting had ended here with billiards, cigars and tales of the field, when, after a Homeric banquet, bumpers of claret had eased the tired muscles and set the tongues a-wagging. Ralph preserved the tradi tions of the time when claret was the drink of every true-hearted Irish gentleman. Indeed, the custom was not yet become obsolete of distinguish ing a gentleman not merely by his name and place, but also by the number of bottles he could drink.

Ralph himself had been a nine-bottle man. Nor was punch to seek at such festivities, but it was made generally from a spirit that smacked strongly of the native turf and had never owned allegiance to the customs. So strong was the feeling amongst the resident magistrates of the country in favour of this, the only really national industry, that it was intimated to a young police constable, who, with greater zeal than discretion, had at great personal risk discovered a poteen still on one of the western islets, that the road to promotion did not lie in that direction. But after the storm a great peace had fallen on Castle Joyce. Even if Ralph's widow had cared to keep up the old careless, open-handed hospi tality of her husband and his forbears, the income of the property would not have been sufficient to maintain it.

So when Ralph's former boon com panions called at Castle Joyce on their way home from the hunting-field, they were received by the lady with as much coldness as was consistent with courtesy, and gradually they dropped off alto gether. Mrs Joyce's widowhood and the care of her boy formed the ostensible reason for her seclu sion, and whatever other reasons were wanting were supplied by her friends with many a mysterious smile and an ominous shaking of the head. So the years went on and Hugh returned from school to the home of his fathers. It was a clear crisp day in early autumn. Al ready the trees of the great avenue had begun to take on the golden yellow which makes a sort of gay, half-mourning in anticipation of the brown of death and decay. The birds, who had been silent awhile in anxious tenderness for their brood, were now chanting their farewells to the sun and summer.

About the castle there were signs of un wonted activity. Even the servants went about with faces big with destiny. A matter of supreme importance was about to be decided — no less a matter than the choice of a profession for the last representative of the Joyces to adorn. The cabinet meeting had been called for twelve o'clock, and Mrs Joyce had summoned the Reverend Walter Thornhill, the Vicar of St Fin's, Spanishtown, Dr Finucane and Ben Kennedy to take part in the consultation. These gentlemen were invited rather to confirm the lady's own decision than to influence or advise the forming of it. Mrs Joyce had for the last year carefully considered all the professions which were more or less worthy of her son's membership. The law had been rejected as too uncertain, the army as too expensive, and the medical profession as beneath his dignity.

There was no help for it but to fall back on the Church. It was true that young Hugh's particular suitability for that profession was not very apparent ; but no doubt the Church would soon show its appreciation of the distinction conferred on it by appointing Hugh Joyce to a bishopric. At least, that was Mrs Joyce's firm conviction, and as Hugh had shown no predilection for any profession, this fact alone suggested to his mother's mind unlimited possibilities. The Church, too, would be inexpensive as compared with other professions. He would have to go to Trinity College for a few years, and after a distinguished career there, Mrs Joyce made no doubt but that his advancement would be rapid. So she summoned her intimate counsellors to lay the matter before them. The first to arrive was Ben Kennedy, the family attorney, who drove up in a smart tax-cart drawn by a high-stepping cob, for, like most of his class, Ben patronised the turf and was a keen judge of horse-flesh.

He was a good specimen of the type of attorneys to be found in Ireland. In appearance, he was a cross between a jockey and an under taker, the former generally predominating ; but the latter was very apparent when he expressed regret that the law was so inexorable as to compel him to adopt extreme measures. Those who left his office after clutching vainly at the last straw of solvency, probably formed the most correct judg ment of Ben Kennedy's character. Take him all in all, he was nothing better and little worse than the ordinary country-town solicitor, much acquainted with shifts, and with about as much sense of professional honour as the average ■5 London suburban tradesman has of commercial honesty. He was about sixty years of age, with hard, clean-shaven, aquiline features and little black, piercing eyes.

His manner was one of humble suggestion, which became somewhat roughly familiar on occasions ; and about money matters he had the reputation of being a 'hard man,' without the saving epithet of ' honest' Both his father and grandfather had been solicitors to the Joyces, and whatever he possessed of honour or compunction was probably devoted to them and their interests. Ben was ushered into the drawing-room, where he spent the few minutes before the next visitor arrived in unconsciously apprais ing the value of the gilded French chairs and the cabinets of buhl and ormolu. The scrutiny seemed a satisfactory one, for several times he smiled com placently and showed his white teeth. This must have been due to the habit of his mind, for he had often gone through the same process before. His congenial occupation was, however, soon cut short by the entrance of Mr Thornhill, the vicar.

This gentleman afforded a pleasing contrast to the attorney. He was a man of about fifty, but well-preserved. In his cure of souls he had not forgotten the maxim, curare cutetn. His figure was somewhat stout and his countenance rubicund. Indeed, fresh air, good living, and a mind free from anxiety, had done their best for his physique. He was dressed in a short, clerical coat, and the longitude of his trousers was concealed by riding boots, which he slashed every now and then with his whip to give additional force to his remarks. The Vicar, although he had been known to dispute the authenticity of Daniel and other portions of Holy Scripture, had an unwavering faith in the rights and irresponsibilities of property. His aspirations were not many, but they were firmly rooted — to be and to live like a gentleman, by which he meant to have a good horse or two to ride, to dine well, to have a comfortable balance at bank, and to meet ' nice people,' were the essentials of his creed, and he was never troubled by doubts.

Had anyone come to him with a doctrinal diffi culty, he would have recommended him a blue pill to be obtained at the nearest chemist's. But no one did. 'A healthy digestion,' he was wont to say, 'was the truest servant, as it was the greatest gift of the Creator.' He himself had found it so. But withal, none of his parishioners was ever known to seek his help and be sent empty away. The Vicar greeted the attorney with familiar condescension. ' Hallo, Kennedy,' he said, ' and how are things going with you ? ' ' Pretty well, Mr Thornhill,' the attorney an swered, as he shook hands. ' Oh, the bad times never affect you except to bring more grist to your mill, eh ? ' ' Well, I've known the times worse, and I've known them better, but I don't complain.' ' Ha, ha,' laughed the Vicar, ' I've always said the rewards of this world belong to you men of law, but of the next — ha, ha, that is another matter.' The attorney smiled faintly. ' The rewards of the next world, sir,' he said with a slightly malicious glance at the portly form of the representative of the Church, 'will belong, I suppose, to those who deserve them most.

Mean while, we do our best in this, and often we don't even get credit for that.' ' Credit, Kennedy? I didn't think that was much in your line,' the Vicar laughed, and the conversation, which might have ended in the attorney's gaining still more definite knowledge of his posi tion hereafter, was interrupted by the entrance of the third counsellor. Dr Finucane was a short, thick-set man, dressed in a frock-coat and baggy trousers. His collar and tie were somewhat Pecksniffian in shape, and he had the habit of shaking a very long fore-finger at his auditor, or, if he wished to be particularly impres sive, of placing it on the top button of his waist coat. The structure of his face was peculiar. The upper part was well enough, but the lower part seemed to have been finished in a hurry, as if the architect had tired of his job and finished it up any how.

It was a very plain superfices, with a slit for the mouth, and flanked by mutton-chop whiskers. Unlike most Irishmen, who prefer to have all their success attributed to their ancestors, at what ever pains they may be to discover them, Dr Finucane openly boasted that he was the archi tect of his own fortune. Indeed, he had been known to assert that, at one time, when as a student he had to earn his own bread as well as study, he had worked twenty-four hours a day, only allowing three hours for sleep ; and when some person, whose mind had been contracted by the study of science, had traversed the accuracy of the computation, the doctor silenced him with the retort, — 1 ' Sir, I have done it, and I ought to know. When you have succeeded in doing it, then you may give an opinion.' Dr Finucane nodded to the attorney, whom he had met earlier in the day, and shook hands with the Vicar, eyeing him the while with professional solicitude. ' Well, my dear sir, and how do you find your self?' ' Capital, never better in my life.

The only thing which troubles me is that my eyesight is not quite what it was. I suppose I must take to eye glasses or give up reading so much.' It was notorious that the Vicar never read any thing but his own sermons. Finucane's face assumed a look of grave respon sibility. Placing the point of his long fore-finger on the Vicar's silk vest, where the button might have been, but was not, and gazing into his eyes, he said, ' Ha ! ' with great impressiveness. ' Well ! ' asked the Vicar. ' My dear sir, take my word for it, it's the liver.' ' Liver ! ' exclaimed the representative of the Church, checking, in the interest of his calling, the secular interjection which rose to his lips. ' Con found it, man, I never had a liver in my life. Do I look like a man with a liver ? ' The man of physic shook his head mournfully. ' Alas, my good sir, such is the insidious char act er of disease that it is hidden, except from the penetrating eye of medical science.

The goodly apple rotten at the core.' The attorney had meanwhile been gazing out of the window at the river which flowed by with lazy lappings of the shore. At Dr Finucane's simile he turned round, and seeing the Vicar's face flushed with anger, he adroitly turned the conversation to the object of their visit. ' Well, doctor, it isn't in your professional capa city that you are here to-day, and it is hardly fair that Mr Thornhill should have the benefit of your opinion without paying a fee. Let us turn to the matter in hand.' ' Ha, ha, Kennedy,' laughed the doctor, 'just like you, Kennedy ; you are always a man of deeds. So young Master Hugh is to be brought up to a pro fession. Well, he's grown a fine lad since I pulled him out of the scarlatina. Old Moriarty thought it was typhoid, but the symptoms — ' and Finucane was proceeding to give a clinical lecture, when the attorney interrupted him. ' My dear Finucane, it is as a man of the world that we desire your advice, not as a physician.' The vicar had quite recovered his good humour and forgotten all about the apple. ' Has Mrs Joyce any idea herself of what profes sion the boy should adopt, or has the lad any pre ference himself?' he asked. ' I shrewdly suspect that the lady has made up her mind already,' the attorney answered, 'and only wants us to confirm the wisdom of her choice.

As for Hugh, I don't think he troubles himself about anything, so long as he has his rod and gun and a good mount' The Vicar drew from his fob his heavy gold re peater, and made a rapid mental calculation of the number of minutes which must elapse before the luncheon-bell rang. ' She should be here now,' he murmured, and relapsed into a silent resolution of the minutes into seconds. The reason of Mrs Joyce's unpunctuality was not far to seek. She was really superintending the preparation of a lunch which should be worthy of the importance of the event. A rustle of silk announced the lady's entrance, and the gentlemen turned to greet her with a reverential courtesy that was more than conventional. The lady looked very handsome in her well fitting black dress, which hung gracefully in silken folds from her tall figure.

Her dark wavy hair was parted in the middle and revealed the low white brow. Her eyes sparkled and her cheeks had more than their wonted colour. As the Vicar bent low over the proffered hand, the thought that the Church was not the all-sufficing bride to him which he had been accustomed to assert it was, shook the contracted muscles of his bachelor heart. Even the hard, keen face of Ben Kennedy grew softer, and those who had marvelled exceedingly at the attorney's devotion to the interests of the widow, had they been present, might have discovered the secret There is something charming in the unbending of an habitually haughty person, especially if it be a beautiful woman, and to-day Mrs Joyce was particularly gracious. ' It is very kind of you to come,' she said in a soft, sweet voice, as she seated herself, with a grace ful sweep of her skirt, in an arm-chair by the window, while the men took seats in a little semi circle about her. ' You know I am anxious about the future of my boy, and it is time that he should begin his preparation for some profession.

Un fortunately, as Mr Kennedy knows, the land is not what it was, and even if it were, I can, with his assistance, manage it, at least for some years to come,' with a smile that belied any doubts on the matter. ' So Hugh has really nothing to do. Be sides, he goes shooting with George Coffey, that worthless tenant of ours who has paid no rent for many a day.' ' I'd have given him his marching orders long ago,' the attorney interposed, ' if you had given me permission, and will do so now — ' ' No, no, it is better not to begin evicting before we can help it. And this Coffey gives me the impression of being a dangerous man, and one who could give us a deal of trouble ; but of course I do not approve of my son's associating with him.' ' Well, Mrs Joyce,' the Vicar asked, ' have you thought of any profession which is likely to suit Hugh ? ' ' Yes, I have.

At first I was rather in favour of making Hugh a barrister, but I'm afraid that advancement in that profession is very slow now adays, except for unscrupulous politicians. Is not that so, Mr Kennedy ? ' The attorney bowed assent. ' The members of the Bar used to be gentlemen, as a rule,' remarked the Vicar, 'but now every rogue who can get money enough by deceiving his ignorant countrymen becomes a member of the Honourable Society of the King's Inns.' 'Well, then, there is the medical profession.' broke in Dr Finucane, who had been unusually silent. ' What could be more noble than to be a follower of Æsculapius and Galen ? What can be more worthy of the human mind than the science which teaches us to battle with disease and to alleviate human suffering ? As I once said to Sir William Jenkins— "The scientific method of diagnosis — " ' ' But you must admit, Finucane,' said the Vicar, interrupting the doctor's flow of reminiscences, ' that the road to medical fame is uphill, and the way of practitioners is hard before they win the recognition which they deserve.' ' Quite true, sir, quite true.

Why, madam, when I invented my patent limb-setting apparatus, I assure you a refractory patient said to me, " For God's sake, doctor, take off the leg, but don't put it in that damned thing" — saving your presence, madam. What do you think of that ? ' ' Well, Dr Finucane,' said Mrs Joyce, with a smile, ' I take it you do not recommend your pro fession for my son ? ' The doctor had not quite meant that. ' I believe it to be the noblest profession, though the man of genius and originality, who is not con tent to remain in the old grooves, must often meet with a rebuff; but there is a time coming when — ' ' But perhaps we had better consider what is best for the present time,' the lady interposed. ' What do you think, Mr Thornhill ? ' ' Certainly,' that gentleman answered : ' and I do not see why Hugh should not enter the Church.

It's really a very nice, comfortable life, if you get into a rich parish where there are not many poor to be looked after. There are many nice parishes where he could have plenty of hunting and shooting, and not be troubled with over-work. Besides, in a short time he would have a curate or two to do the rough work.' Mrs Joyce smiled at the Vicar's description of the ideal clerical life. The suggestion that Hugh, in whose veins mingled the blood of the Joyces and O'Haras, should spend his life as a mere rector of a parish amused her. In her imagination she saw the mitre already about to drop on the comely head of her son. She was pleased, however, that the Vicar should have recommended the profession which she had already definitely decided upon in her own mind. ' So you think the Church will suit Hugh?' the lady asked. ' Well, yes, I don't really know why it shouldn't ; that is, of course, if Hugh suits it, and that will be to some extent necessary.

Naturally, he will have to adopt some of the clerical conventions, but they will come easily enough in time. A clergyman has a very free hand in Ireland, and if he does not display any socialistic tendencies or foolish sympathy with the Gibeonites, he is certain to get on well. And then we have really hardly anything to do with the poorer classes. Fortun ately, nearly all the Protestants who do not belong to the upper or professional classes go to Dissent ing chapels, and we are not troubled with them. But what does the boy say himself?' ' He seems to take no interest in his future,' the lady replied, ' and it grieves me very much. This morning, when I told him you were coming, and asked him to remain at home to discuss his choice of a profession, he said, "Dearest mother, surely four people are enough to settle the matter, and why should it be necessary for anyone to be a party to his own execution.

If it came to voting, I know I should be in a minority of one ; and besides, there is a covey of partridges at the bottom of the long field, and if I don't look sharp, Coffey'll have them up before I get down there." I never knew anyone take less interest in his future,' Mrs Joyce concluded with a sigh. ' Depend on it, madam,' Dr Finucane said consolingly, ' the interest will come in good time. Why, before I became a student — ' ' Ah, but, Finucane, you had no principal to start with, so you were bound to have interest,' the attorney broke in, with a smile at his own jest. ' No principle, sir — what do you mean ? ' the doctor exclaimed, flushing red. ' My honour, sir — ' ' Kennedy used the expression in its commercial, not its moral, signification,' the Vicar interposed, throwing oil on the troubled waters of Dr Finucane's outraged dignity. ' I'm sure there's no one readier than Kennedy to make an affidavit that you have never been guilty of malpractice.' ' Certainly,' replied the attorney, much pleased at the effect of his wit on the man of physic ; ' and I'll undertake to get him his certificate in the Bank ruptcy Court if he only has patience.' • I have patients enough to keep me from that, anyhow, and perhaps it is yourself will be want ing another kind of certificate from me before then.' 1 I'd rather have your certificate after death than your prescription before, anyway,' Kennedy retorted with a grin. ' I suppose we may regard the matter as settled,' Mrs Joyce, who had not taken much notice of the passage of arms between her legal and medical advisers, remarked to the Vicar. ' Now, the sooner Hugh goes to the University the better.' ' Yes ; he'll be in time to keep the Michaelmas term if he makes no delay.

I daresay I could arrange a private entrance for him if necessary. Of course, he'll enter under Dr MacDuff.' ' I don't know. But why Dr MacDuff? ' ' Oh, MacDuff does more for his pupils than any one else, and if Hugh has to be pulled through an exam., he's the man to do it, and it won't do for him to be plucked.' ' I don't anticipate that,' Mrs Joyce said rather stiffly. ' Hugh's abilities are not mediocre.' ' My dear madam,' the Vicar replied, ' that is precisely the reason why he may be plucked. It's the mediocre ones who invariably succeed in their exams.' The Vicar had several times been plucked himself, so his statement was founded on personal experience. ' Besides,' he continued, ' Hugh may get into some scrapes, and then he'll want an advocate.' ' But surely, if he enters the Divinity School — ' ' Oh, I've known Divinity students just as wild as the others ; ccelum, non animum, mutant, you know.' The welcome sound of the luncheon-bell rendered any further explanation on the Vicar's part un necessary.

For some time he had been tightening an imaginary waistband, and his silk vest showed a perceptible shrinkage. With no less alacrity did the other two counsellors arise and follow as the lady led the way to the luncheon-room. As they sat down one chair was vacant. ' Has Master Hugh returned yet, Larry ? ' Mrs Joyce asked. 'No, your leddyship. He said, when he was goin' out, as how he might be a bit late, an' he tuk some sandwiches with him.' A shade of annoyance passed over the lady's face. ' I do wish that Hugh had more sense of responsibility,' she remarked somewhat querulously. ' Responsibility does not sit very heavily on the shoulders of twenty-one,' the Vicar assured her consolingly, as he sipped his claret with the approval of a connoisseur. ' Depend upon it, when he goes to the 'Varsity he will be fired with the spirit of emulation, and Dr MacDuff will look after him.