order to bring it within our reach—for there is ingenuity in everything, as the proverb says, except in roasting of eggs.
“Come, then, Hickman, set to work at once. My yacht has been damaged by a foolish wager I made to run her through a creek of reefs at low water, so that the mere repairs will cost me a cool two hundred at least. Besides this, I have pledged myself to buy my charming little Signora a pair of Blenheim spaniels that she has fallen in love with, for which I shall have to fork out a hundred and fifty down. I say, then, again, my dear Hickman, money, money; money by any means, but by all means money; rem, sed quocunque modo rem.
“By the way is there not a man there, a kind of under-fellow in something—agent, I believe—some time appointed, named M'Snitchy, or M'Smatchey, M'Clutchy, or some such euphonious appellative? Somebody, old Deaker I think, once mentioned him to me in strong terms, and said he might become capable of being useful; and you know, Hickman, as well as I do, that every property circumstanced as mine is, requires a useful fellow of that particular description. For instance, I dare say, there are certain proceedings connected with your duty to which you have no great inclination, and, under these circumstances, would it not be prudent at least to resort to the agency of somebody like this M'Clutchy; a fellow not overburthened with too strong a perception of the necessary pressure. But the truth is, if I proceed in this manner, your humanity, as the cant goes, will take the alarm; you will say that my residence abroad has not improved my principles; and that I am rather strongly tainted with club morality, and the ethics of the gaming, house. So would you, perhaps, if you breathed my atmosphere, and were exposed to my temptations. But now I am preaching, and not to the right purpose either; so as I said before, I say again—money, money, money.
“I am, my dear Hickman, “Thy friend in distress, “Cumber.”
Henry Hickman, Esq., to the Right Honorable Lord Viscount Cumber:—
Primrose Hill, April 18—
“My Lord:
“I have had the honor of receiving both your communications, and have read them, especially that of the first instant, with great pain. I need not tell you, that I have been your father's friend—that I have been, and still am your friend, and as such, from my age and anxiety for your lordship's welfare and reputation, I must take the liberty of one who has both sincerely at heart, to write to you in terms which a mere agent could not with propriety use. As this letter, therefore, is written for your own eye only, you will be good enough to remember that in everything severe and home-spoken in it, the friend, and not the agent speaks—at the same time, I must admit, that it is from the knowledge gained as an agent that I remonstrate as a friend.
“It is now beyond a doubt, my Lord, that your position is one surrounded with difficulties scarcely to be surmounted, unless by measures which I, as an honest man, cannot permit myself to adopt. So long as the course of life, which it has pleased your lordship's better taste and judgment to pursue, did not bring within the compass of my duties as your agent, the exhibition of principles at variance with humanity and justice, so long did I fulfil those duties with all the ability and zeal for your just interests which I could exert. But now I perceive, that you have driven me to that line beyond which I cannot put my foot, without dishonor to myself. I have been the agent of your property, my Lord, but I shall never become the instrument of your vices; and believe me, this is a distinction which in our unhappy country, is too seldom observed. Many an agent, my Lord, has built himself a fortune out of the very necessities of his employer, and left to his children the honorable reflection that their independence originated from profligacy on the one hand and dishonesty on the other. You see, my Lord, I find it necessary to be very plain with you, and to say, that however you may feel yourself disposed to follow the one course, I shall not rival you in the other. I cannot become a scourge inflicted by your necessities, not to use a harsher word, upon a suffering people, who are already exhausted and provoked by an excess of severity and neglect. Think of the predicament in which you would have me stand—of the defence which you place, in my lips. Should your tenantry ask me—'why are you thus cruel and oppressive-upon us?' what reply could I make but this—'I am thus cruel because his lordship is profligate. He wants money to support his-mistress, to feed her vanities and excesses, and you must endure distress and privation, that the insatiable rapacity of a courtezan may be gratified. His lordship, too, has horses and dogs, in the welfare of which he feels a deep interest.' 'But why does he not feel an interest in us?' 'So he does, for are not you the persons by whose toil and labor he is enabled to support them all?' 'So that in point of fact, we are made indirectly the agents of his crimes. The privations which we suffer—the sweat of our brows—the labor of our hands, go to the-support of his wantonness, his luxury, and his extravagance! This, then, is his interest in us?' 'Yes—work, that you may feed them—starve, that his mistress may riot in wantonness; perish your children that his dogs may be fed!' In such a position as this, my Lord, I shall never place myself, but you may easily find many that will. The moment your necessities are known, knavery will be immediately at work, and assume its guardianship over folly. Indeed there is a monarchical spirit in knavery, which has never yet been observed. The knave keeps his fool, as did the kings of old, with this only difference, and a material one it is—that whilst the fool always lived at the king's expense, the knave lives at the fool's. How your lordship may feel under the new administration I cannot say, but I am inclined to think, you will not find it a distinction without a difference. By this, of course, you understand, my Lord, that I at once resign my agency.
“And now, my Lord, in addition to many other unavailable remonstrances made by me, not only against your licentious habits as a man, but against your still more indefensible conduct as a landlord, allow me to address you in a spirit of honesty, which I fear is not easily found among the class to which I belong. I look upon this as a duty which I owe less to you than to my country, because I am satisfied that the most important service which can be rendered to any man, not ashamed of either your habits or principles, is to lay before him a clear, but short and simple statement, of that which constitutes his duty as a landlord—I should say an Irish landlord—for there is a national idiosyncrasy of constitution about such a man, which appears to prevent him from properly discharging his duties, either as a friend to himself, or a just man to his tenantry.
“The first principle, therefore, which an Irish landlord—or, indeed any landlord—should lay down, as his fixed and unerring guide, is ever to remember that his tenantry are his best friends—his only patrons—and that instead of looking down upon them with contempt, neglect, or even indifference, he should feel that they are his chief benefactors, who prop his influence, maintain his rank, and support his authority.
“The second is—that the duties of the landlord to his tenantry are much greater, and far more important than those of his tenantry to him, and should at least be quite as equitably and attentively discharged.
“The third is—to remember that the great mass of the population in Ireland belong to one creed, and the great bulk of landed proprietors to another; and to take care that none of those fierce and iniquitous prerogatives of power, which are claimed and exercised by those who possess property, shall be suffered, in the name of religion, or politics, or prejudice of any kind, to disturb or abridge the civil or religious rights of the people, and thus weaken the bonds which should render the interests of landlord and tenant identical. Prejudice so exercised is tyranny. Every landlord should remember that the soil is of no religion.
“The fourth is—simply to remember that those who live upon our property have bodies and souls, passions, reflections, and feelings like ourselves. That they are susceptible of hunger, cold, grief, joy, sickness, and sorrow—that they love their children and domestic relatives, are attached to their religion, bound by strong and heartfelt ties to the soil they live on, and are, in fact, moved by all those general laws and principles of life and nature, which go to make up social and individual happiness—to remember, in short, that they are men who have higher destinies in life, than merely administering to the wants, excesses, or crimes of others; and that no condition has ever yet been known to subsist between landlord and tenant, or even between man and man, by which one party is required to surrender comfort, freedom, and enjoyment, in fact, all that life is good for, merely to gratify the wants, vices, or ambition of the other.