Sir Brook Fossbrooke Volume Ii Part 19

"What a const.i.tution he must have!"

"It's not that; at least, that's not the way I read him. My theory is, it is his temper--that violent, irascible, fervid temper--burning like a red-hot coal within him, sustains the heat that gives life and vigor to his nature. If he has a good-humored day,--it's not a very frequent occurrence, but it happens now and then,--he grows ten years older. I made that discovery lately. It seems as though if he could n't spite the world, he 'd have no objection to taking leave of it."

"That sounds rather severe," said Pemberton, cautiously; for though he liked the tone of the other's conversation, he was not exactly sure it was quite safe to show his concurrence.

"It's the fact, however, severe or not. There's nothing in our relations to each other that should prevent my speaking my mind about him. My mother had the bad luck to marry him, and being gifted with a temper not very unlike his own, they discovered the singular fact that two people who resemble each other can become perfectly incompatible. I used to think that she could n't be matched. I recant, however, and acknowledge candidly he could 'give her a distance.'"

Pemberton gave a little laugh, as it were of encouragement to go on, and the other proceeded.

"My wife understands him best of all. She gives way in everything; all he says is right, all he opines is wisdom, and it's astonishing how this yielding, compliant, submissive spirit breaks him down; he pines under it, just as a man accustomed to sharp exercise would waste and decay by a life of confinement. I declare there was one week here we had got him to a degree of gentleness that was quite edifying, but my mother came and paid a visit when we were out, and when we returned there he was!

violent, flaring, and vigorous as ever, wild with vanity, and mad to match himself with the first men of the day."

While Sewell talked in this open and indiscreet way of the old Judge, his meaning was to show with what perfect confidence he treated his companion, and at the same time how fair and natural it would be to expect frankness in return. The crafty lawyer, however, trained in the school where all these feints and false parries are the commonest tricks of fence, never ventured beyond an expression of well-got-up astonishment, or a laugh of enjoyment at some of Sewell's smartnesses.

"You want a light?" said Sewell, seeing that the other held his cigar still unlit in his fingers.

"Thanks. I was forgetting it. The fact is, you kept me so much amused, I never thought of smoking; nor am I much of a smoker at any time."

"It 's the vice of the idle man, and you are not in that category.

By the way, what a busy time you must have of it now, with all these commitments?"

"Not so much as one might think. The cases are numerous, but they are all the same. Indeed, the informations are identical in nearly every instance. Tim Branegan had two numbers of the 'Green Flag' newspaper, some loose powder in his waistcoat-pocket, and an American drill-book in the crown of his hat."

"And is that treason-felony?"

"With a little filling-up it becomes so. In the rank of life these men belong to, it's as easy to find a rebel as it would be in Africa to discover a man with a woolly head."

"And this present movement is entirely limited to that cla.s.s?" said Sewell, carelessly.

"So we thought till a couple of days ago, but we have now arrested one whose condition is that of a gentleman."

"With anything like strong evidence against him?"

"I have not seen the informations myself, but Burrowes, who has read them, calls them highly important; not alone as regards the prisoner, but a number of people whose loyalty was never so much as suspected.

Now the Viceroy is away, the Chief Secretary on the Continent, and even Balfour, who can always find out what the Cabinet wishes,--Balfour absent, we are actually puzzled whether the publicity attending the prosecution of such a man would not serve rather than damage the rebel cause, displaying, as it would, that there is a sympathy for this movement in a quarter far removed from the peasant."

"Is n't it strange that the Chief Baron should have, the other evening, in the course of talk, hit upon such a possibility as this, and said, 'I wonder would the Castle lawyers be crafty enough to see that such a case should not be brought to trial? One man of education, and whose motives might be ascribed to an exalted, however misdirected, patriotism,' said he, 'would lift this rabble out of the slough of their vulgar movement, and give it the character of a national rising.'"

"But what would he do? Did he say how he would act?"

"He said something about 'bail,' and he used a word I wasn't familiar with--like estreating: is there such a word?"

"Yes, yes, there is; but I don't see how it's to be done. Would it be possible to have a talk with him on the matter--informally, of course?"

"That would betray me, and he would never forgive my having told you his opinion already," said Sewell. "No, that is out of the question; but if you would confide to me the points you want his judgment on, I 'd manage to obtain it."

Pemberton seemed to reflect over this, and walked along some paces in silence.

"He mentioned a curious thing," said Sewell, laughingly; "he said that in Emmett's affair there were three or four men compromised, whom the Government were very unwilling to bring to trial, and that they actually provided the bail for them,--secretly, of course,--and indemnified the men for their losses on the forfeiture."

"It couldn't be done now," said Pemberton.

"That's what the Chief said. They could n't do it now, for they have not got M'Nally,--whoever M'Nally was."

Pemberton colored crimson, for M'Nally was the name of the Solicitor-General of that day, and he knew well that the sarcasm was in the comparison between that clever lawyer and himself.

"What I meant was, that Crown lawyers have a very different public to account to in the present day from what they had in those lawless times," said Pemberton, with irritation. "I 'm afraid the Chief Baron, with all his learning and all his wit, likes to go back to that period for every one of his ill.u.s.trations. You heard how he capped the Archbishop's allusion to the Prodigal Son to-day?--I don't think his Grace liked it--that it requires more tact to provide an escape for a criminal than to prosecute a guilty man to conviction."

"That's so like him!" said Sewell, with a bitter laugh. "Perhaps the great charm that attaches him to public life is to be able to utter his flippant impertinences _ex cathedra_. If you could hit upon some position from which he could fulminate his bolts of sarcasm with effect, I fancy he 'd not object to resign the Bench. I heard him once say, 'I cannot go to church without a transgression, for I envy the preacher, who has the congregation at his mercy for an hour.'"

"Ah, he 'll not resign," sighed Pemberton, deeply.

"_I_ don't know that."

"At least he 'll not do so on any terms they 'll make with him."

"Nor am I so sure of that," repeated the other, gravely. Sewell waited for some rejoinder to this speech, of which he hoped his companion would ask the explanation; but the cautious lawyer said not a word.

"No man with a sensitive, irascible, and vain disposition is to be turned from his course, whatever it be, by menace or bully," said Sewell. "The weak side of these people is their vanity, and to approach them by that you ought to know and to cultivate those who are about them. Now, I have no hesitation in saying there were moments--ay, there were hours--in which, if it had been any interest to me, I could have got him to resign. He is eminently a man of his word, and, once pledged, nothing would make him retire from his promise."

"I declare, after all," said Pemberton, "if he feels equal to the hard work of the Court, and likes it, I don't see why all this pressure should be put upon him. Do _you?_"

"I am the last man probably to see it," said Sewell, with an easy laugh.

"His abdication would, of course, not suit _me_, I suppose we had better stroll back into the house,--they 'll miss us." There was an evident coldness in the way these last words were spoken, and Sewell meant that the lawyer should see his irritation.

"Have you ever said anything to Balfour about what we have been talking of?" said Pemberton, as they moved towards the house.

"I may or I may not. I talk pretty freely on all sorts of things--and, unfortunately, with an incaution, too, that is not always profitable."

"Because if you were to show _him_ as clearly as awhile ago you showed _me_, the mode in which this matter might be negotiated, I have little doubt--that is, I have reason to suppose--or I might go farther and say that I know--"

"I 'll tell you what _I_ know, Mr. Solicitor, that I would n't give that end of a cigar," and he pitched it from him as he spoke, "to decide the question either way." And with this they pa.s.sed on and mingled with the company in the drawing-room. "I have hooked you at last, my shrewd friend; and if I know anything of mankind, I 'll see you, or hear from you, before twelve hours are over."

"Where have you been, Colonel, with my friend the Solicitor-General?"

said the Chief Baron.

"Cabinet-making, my Lord," said Sewell, laughingly.

"Take care, sir," said the Chief, sternly,--"take care of that pastime.

It has led more than one man to become a Joiner and a Turner!" And a buzz went through the room as men repeated this _mot_, and people asked each other, "Is this the man we are calling on to retire as worn-out, effete, and exhausted?"

CHAPTER XV. CHIEF SECRETARY BALFOUR

Mr. Balfour returned to Ireland a greater man than he left it. He had been advanced to the post of Chief Secretary, and had taken his seat in the House as member for Muddle-port. Political life was, therefore, dawning very graciously upon him, and his ambition was budding with every prospect of success.

The Secretary's lodge in the Phoenix Park is somewhat of a pretty residence, and with its gardens, its shrubberies, and conservatory, seen on a summer's day when broad cloud-shadows lie sleeping on the Dublin mountains, and the fragrant white thorn scents the air, must certainly be a pleasant change from the din, the crush, and the turmoil of "town"

at the f.a.g end of a season. English officials call it damp. Indeed, they have a trick of ascribing this quality to all things Irish; and national energy, national common-sense, and national loyalty seem to them to be ever in a diluted form. Even our drollery is not as dry as our neighbors'.