y. Mother, in compliance with your
wishes my father left Ireland--left his home, his duties, his friends,
his natural connexions, and for many years he has lived in England, and
you have spent many seasons in London.'

'Yes, in the very best company--in the very first circles,' said Lady
Clonbrony; 'cold as the high-bred English are said to be in general to
strangers.'

'Yes,' replied Lord Colambre; 'the very best company (if you mean the
most fashionable) have accepted of our entertainments. We have forced
our way into their frozen circles; we have been permitted to breathe in
these elevated regions of fashion; we have it to say, that the duke of
this, and my lady that, are of our acquaintance. We may say more; we
may boast that we have vied with those whom we could never equal. And at
what expense have we done all this? For a single season, the last winter
(I will go no farther), at the expense of a great part of your timber,
the growth of a century--swallowed in the entertainments of one winter
in London! Our hills to be bare for another half century to come! But
let the trees go; I think more of your tenants--of those left under the
tyranny of a bad agent, at the expense of every comfort, every hope they
enjoyed!--tenants, who were thriving and prosperous; who used to smile
upon you, and to bless you both! In one cottage, I have seen--'

Here Lord Clonbrony, unable to restrain his emotion, hurried out of the
room.

'Then I am sure it is not my fault,' said Lady Clonbrony; 'for I brought
my lord a large fortune; and I am confident I have not, after all, spent
more any season, in the best company, than he has among a set of low
people, in his muddling, discreditable way.'

'And how has he been reduced to this?' said Lord Colambre. 'Did he
not formerly live with gentlemen, his equals, in his own country; his
contemporaries? Men of the first station and character, whom I met in
Dublin, spoke of him in a manner that gratified the heart of his son;
he was respectable and respected at his own home; but when he was forced
away from that home, deprived of his objects, his occupations induced
him to live in London, or at watering-places, where he could find no
employments that were suitable to him--set down, late in life, in the
midst of strangers, to him cold and reserved--himself too proud to bend
to those who disdained him as an Irishman--is he not more to be pitied
than blamed for--yes, I, his son, must say the word-