ith its din, and
turmoil, and gold-seeking, and "progress," men cannot divest themselves
of reverence for birth and blood, and the veneration for high descent
remains an instinct of humanity. Sneer as men will at "heaven-born
legislators," laugh as you may at the "tenth transmitter of a foolish
face," there is something eminently impressive in the fact of a position
acquired by deeds that date back to centuries, and preserved inviolate
to the successor of him who fought at Agincourt or at Cressy. If ever
this religion shall be impaired, the fault be with those who have
derogated from their great prerogative, and forgotten to make
illustrious by example what they have inherited illustrious by descent.

When the news first reached the neighborhood that a lord was about to
take up his residence in the Castle, the most extravagant expectations
were conceived of the benefits to arise from such a source. The very
humblest already speculated on the advantages his wealth was to diffuse,
and the thousand little channels into which his affluence would be
directed. The ancient traditions of the place spoke of a time of
boundless profusion, when troops of mounted followers used to accompany
the old barons, and when the lough itself used to be covered with boats,
with the armorial bearings of Glencore floating proudly from their
mastheads. There were old men then living who remembered as many as two
hundred laborers being daily employed on the grounds and gardens of the
Castle; and the most fabulous stories were told of fortunes accumulated
by those who were lucky enough to have saved the rich earnings of that
golden period.

Colored as such speculations were with all the imaginative warmth of the
west, it was a terrible shock to such sanguine fancies when they
beheld a middle-aged, sad-looking man arrive in a simple postchaise,
accompanied by his son, a child of six or seven years of age, and
a single servant,--a grim-looking old dragoon corporal, who neither
invited intimacy nor rewarded it. It was not, indeed, for a long time
that they could believe that this was "my lord," and that this solitary
attendant was the whole of that great retinue they had so long been
expecting; nor, indeed, could any evidence less strong than Mrs.
Mulcahy's, of the Post-office, completely satisfy them on the subject.
The address of certain letters and newspapers to the Lord Viscount
Glencore was, however, a testimony beyond dispute; so that nothing