more than your head's worth, Terry.'
'I ask your pardon, my lord, it never cost him a farthing.'
'When he paid £7000 for the plate, to redeem it?'
'Well! and did not I make up for that at the races of —? The creditors
learned that my lord's horse, Naboclish, was to run at—races; and, as
the sheriff's officer knew he dare not touch him on the race-ground,
what does he do, but he comes down early in the morning on the
mail-coach, and walks straight down to the livery stables. He had
an exact description of the stables, and the stall, and the horse's
body-clothes.
'I was there, seeing the horse taken care of; and, knowing the cut
of the fellow's jib, what does I do, but whips the body-clothes off
Naboclish, and claps them upon a garrone that the priest would not ride.
'In comes the bailiff—"Good morrow to you, sir," says I, leading out of
the stable my lord's horse, with an OULD saddle and bridle on.
'"Tim Neal," says I to the groom, who was rubbing down the garrone's
heels, "mind your hits to-day, and WEE'L wet the plate to-night."
'"Not so fast, neither," says the bailiff—"here's my writ for seizing
the horse."
'"Och," says I, "you wouldn't be so cruel."'
"That's all my eye," says he, seizing the garrone, while I mounted
Naboclish, and rode him off deliberately to —'
'Ha! ha! ha!—That was neat, I grant you, Terry,' said Lord Clonbrony.
'But what a dolt of a born ignoramus must that sheriffs fellow have
been, not to know Naboclish when he saw him!'
'But stay, my lord—stay, Miss Nugent—I have more for you,' following
her wherever she moved. 'I did not let him off so, even. At the cant, I
bid and bid against them for the pretended Naboclish, till I, left him
on their hands for 500 guineas. Ha! ha! ha!—was not that famous?'
'But,' said Miss Nugent, 'I cannot believe you are in earnest, Sir
Terence. Surely this would be—'
'What?—out with it, my dear Miss Nugent.'
'I am afraid of offending you.'
'You can't, my dear, I defy you—say the word that came to the tongue's
end; it's always the best.'
'I was going to say, swindling,' said the young lady, colouring deeply.
'Oh! you was going to say wrong, then! It's not called swindling amongst
gentlemen who know the world—it's only jockeying—fine sport—and very
honourable to help a friend at a dead lift. Anything to get a friend out
of a present pressing difficulty.'
'And when the present difficulty is over, do your friends never think of
the future?'
The future! leave the future to posterity,' said Sir Terence; 'I'm
counsel only for the present; and when the evil comes, it's time enough
to think of it. I can't bring the guns of my wits to bear till the
enemy's alongside of me, or within sight of me at the least. And
besides, there never was a good commander yet, by sea or land, that
would tell his little expedients beforehand, or before the very day of
battle.'
'It must be a sad thing,' said Miss Nugent, sighing deeply, 'to be
reduced to live by little expedients—daily expedients.'
Lord Colambre struck his forehead, but said nothing.
'But if you are beating your brains about your own affairs, my Lord
Colambre, my dear,' said Sir Terence, 'there's an easy way of settling
your family affairs at once; and, since you don't like little daily
expedients, Miss Nugent, there's one great expedient, and an expedient
for life, that will settle it all to your satisfaction—and ours. I
hinted it delicately to you before, but, between friends, delicacy is
impertinent; so I tell you, in plain English, you've nothing to do but
go and propose yourself, just as you stand, to the heiress Miss B—,
that desires no better—'
'Sir!' cried Lord Colambre, stepping forward, red with sudden anger.
Miss Nugent laid her hand upon his arm—
'Oh, my lord!'
'Sir Terence O'Fay,' continued Lord Colambre, in a moderated tone, 'you
are wrong to mention that young lady's name in such a manner.'
'Why, then, I said only Miss B—, and there are a whole hive of
'I ask your pardon, my lord, it never cost him a farthing.'
'When he paid £7000 for the plate, to redeem it?'
'Well! and did not I make up for that at the races of —? The creditors
learned that my lord's horse, Naboclish, was to run at—races; and, as
the sheriff's officer knew he dare not touch him on the race-ground,
what does he do, but he comes down early in the morning on the
mail-coach, and walks straight down to the livery stables. He had
an exact description of the stables, and the stall, and the horse's
body-clothes.
'I was there, seeing the horse taken care of; and, knowing the cut
of the fellow's jib, what does I do, but whips the body-clothes off
Naboclish, and claps them upon a garrone that the priest would not ride.
'In comes the bailiff—"Good morrow to you, sir," says I, leading out of
the stable my lord's horse, with an OULD saddle and bridle on.
'"Tim Neal," says I to the groom, who was rubbing down the garrone's
heels, "mind your hits to-day, and WEE'L wet the plate to-night."
'"Not so fast, neither," says the bailiff—"here's my writ for seizing
the horse."
'"Och," says I, "you wouldn't be so cruel."'
"That's all my eye," says he, seizing the garrone, while I mounted
Naboclish, and rode him off deliberately to —'
'Ha! ha! ha!—That was neat, I grant you, Terry,' said Lord Clonbrony.
'But what a dolt of a born ignoramus must that sheriffs fellow have
been, not to know Naboclish when he saw him!'
'But stay, my lord—stay, Miss Nugent—I have more for you,' following
her wherever she moved. 'I did not let him off so, even. At the cant, I
bid and bid against them for the pretended Naboclish, till I, left him
on their hands for 500 guineas. Ha! ha! ha!—was not that famous?'
'But,' said Miss Nugent, 'I cannot believe you are in earnest, Sir
Terence. Surely this would be—'
'What?—out with it, my dear Miss Nugent.'
'I am afraid of offending you.'
'You can't, my dear, I defy you—say the word that came to the tongue's
end; it's always the best.'
'I was going to say, swindling,' said the young lady, colouring deeply.
'Oh! you was going to say wrong, then! It's not called swindling amongst
gentlemen who know the world—it's only jockeying—fine sport—and very
honourable to help a friend at a dead lift. Anything to get a friend out
of a present pressing difficulty.'
'And when the present difficulty is over, do your friends never think of
the future?'
The future! leave the future to posterity,' said Sir Terence; 'I'm
counsel only for the present; and when the evil comes, it's time enough
to think of it. I can't bring the guns of my wits to bear till the
enemy's alongside of me, or within sight of me at the least. And
besides, there never was a good commander yet, by sea or land, that
would tell his little expedients beforehand, or before the very day of
battle.'
'It must be a sad thing,' said Miss Nugent, sighing deeply, 'to be
reduced to live by little expedients—daily expedients.'
Lord Colambre struck his forehead, but said nothing.
'But if you are beating your brains about your own affairs, my Lord
Colambre, my dear,' said Sir Terence, 'there's an easy way of settling
your family affairs at once; and, since you don't like little daily
expedients, Miss Nugent, there's one great expedient, and an expedient
for life, that will settle it all to your satisfaction—and ours. I
hinted it delicately to you before, but, between friends, delicacy is
impertinent; so I tell you, in plain English, you've nothing to do but
go and propose yourself, just as you stand, to the heiress Miss B—,
that desires no better—'
'Sir!' cried Lord Colambre, stepping forward, red with sudden anger.
Miss Nugent laid her hand upon his arm—
'Oh, my lord!'
'Sir Terence O'Fay,' continued Lord Colambre, in a moderated tone, 'you
are wrong to mention that young lady's name in such a manner.'
'Why, then, I said only Miss B—, and there are a whole hive of
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