you his under agent. A nice job indeed it was, that transformed old drunken Tom Topertoe into Lord Cumber, and made his son, the present Lord, too proud to live on his own estate. However, I'd be glad to see the honest man that ever envied the same old Tom his title, when we all know that he got it for selling his country. As for you, Vulture, I defy and despise you; when my rent's due, thank God I am able to pay it, so you may do your worst. While Mr. Hickman's over you, the tenants have some protection, in spite of your villainy, you unprincipled scoundrel.”
“Our farms lie snugly together, Mr: M'Loughlin, and that's what I end with.”
It was from the town of Castle Cumber, which we have described at the opening of our narrative, that old Tom Topertoe, a squire of the true Irish kidney, took his title. Topertoe, or Lord Castle Cumber, as we must now call him, like many others, had the high honor of being a Union Lord—that, is to say his attachment to his principles was so steady, that he did not hesitate to sell his country for a title, and we may add, something besides. It is not our intention, at this distance of time, to discuss the merits of either the union or its repeal; but in justice to truth and honor, or, perhaps, we should rather say, fraud and profligacy, we are constrained to admit, that there is not to be found in the annals of all history, any political negotiation based upon such rank and festering corruption, as was the legislative union. Had the motives which actuated the English government towards this country been pure, and influenced by principles of equality and common justice, they would never have had recourse to such unparalleled profligacy. This is self-evident, for those who seek an honorable end will scorn to obtain it by foul and dishonorable means. The conduct of England, therefore, in this base and shameless traffic, is certainly a prima face evidence of her ultimate policy—a policy blacker in the very simplicity of its iniquity than its worst enemies can paint it, and so obvious in its character, that we question whether a man could be found, of ordinary information, belonging to any party, capable at this moment of deliberately and conscientiously defending it, so far as pertains to this transaction. But enough of this.
Before the union, old Topertoe was master of three votes—that is, he sat himself for the county, and returned members for two boroughs. He was known by the sobriquet of Pater Noster Tom—not from any disposition to devotion; but because, whether in parliament, on the hustings, or, indeed, anywhere else, he never made a speech longer than the Lord's Prayer. And yet, short as it was, it generally puzzled the shrewdest and most sagacious of his audience to understand it. Still, though not without his faults, he was by no means a bad landlord, as landlords went. 'Tis true he was fond of his wine and of his wench—as a proof of which, it was well known that he seldom or ever went to,bed with less than four or five bottles under his belt; and as touching the latter, that he had two agents in pay to cater for his passions. In both these propensities he was certainly countenanced by the usages and moral habits of the times; and the truth is, he grew rather popular than otherwise, precisely on account of them. He was bluff, boisterous, and not ill-natured—one of that bygone class who would horsewhip a tenant to-day and fight a duel for him to-morrow. Above all things, he resided on his estate, knew all his tenantry by name and person, and contracted, by degrees, a kind of anomalous attachment for them, merely because they were his property, and voted and fought for him at elections, and often fought with him touching their relative positions of landlord and tenant. Indeed, we question whether he would not enter into a quarrel as readily for a tenant as he would for a favorite dog or horse; and we are inclined to think, that to do him justice, he laid nearly as much value on the one as on the other—a circumstance which we dare say several of our modern landlords, both resident and absentee, will consider as, on our part, a good-humored stretch of fiction.
His speech at elections absolutely became a proverb in the country; and, indeed, when we remember the good-natured license of the times, as many still may, together with the singular blending of generosity and violence, horsewhipping and protection, mirth and mischief which characterized the bearing of such men as Topertoe, we are fain to think, to vary the proverb a little, that he might have spoken more and fared worse.
“Here I am again, ye blaggards; your own ould Topertoe, that never had a day's illness, but the gout, bad luck to it. Damn your bloods, ye affectionate rascals, sure you love me, and I love you, and 't isn't Gully Preston (his opponent) that can cut our loves in two. No, boys, he's not the blade to do that, at any rate! Hurra then, ye vagabones; ould Tom Topertoe for ever! He loves his bottle and his wench, and will make any rascal quiver on a daisy that would dare to say bow to your blankets. Now, Gully Preston, make a speech—if you can! Hurra for Tom Topertoe, that never had a day's illness, but the gout, bad luck to it! and don't listen to Gully Preston, boys! Hurra!”
This speech, from which he never varied, was waited for at elections with a vehemence of mirth and a force of popularity which no eloquence brought against him could withstand. Indeed, it was perfectly well known that it alone returned him, for when upon an occasion of considerable doubt and difficulty, the two parties of the county having been considered as equally balanced, he was advised by some foolish friend, or enemy in disguise, to address them in a serious speech, the consequences were near proving disastrous to his interests. When he commenced—“Gentlemen—upon an occasion of such important difficulty”—there was for about a quarter of a minute a dead silence—that of astonishment—Topertoe, however, who had stuck fast, was obliged to commence again—“Gentlemen—upon an occasion, of such—” but it would not do, the groaning, shouting, hooting, and yelling, were deafening for some minutes, much to the gratification of his opponent. At length there was something like a pause, and several voices shouted out—“what the divil do you mane, Tom?” “He's showin' the garran bane at last,” shouted another—“desartin' his colors!”—“oh! we're gintlemen now it seems, an' not his own blaggards, as we used to be—Tiper-to'e's vagabones that stood by him—oh no! Tom, to hell wid you and your gintlemen—three cheers for Gully Preston!”
Tom saw it was nearly over with him, and Preston's hopes ran high. “Aisy, boys,” said the other, resuming his old, and, indeed, his natural manner—“Aisy, ye vagabones—Topertoe's ould speech for ever! Here I am again, ye blaggards, that never had a day's illness but the gout, bad luck to it!” &c, &c. This was enough, the old feeling of fun and attachment kindled up—the multitude joined him in his speech, precisely as a popular singer is joined by the gods of the upper gallery in some favorite air, and no sooner was it concluded, than the cheering, throwing up of hats, and huzzaing, gave ample proof that he had completely recovered his lost ground, and set himself right with the people.
Such is a brief of old Topertoe, the first Lord of Castle Cumber, who, by the way, did not wear his honors long, the gout, to which he was a martyr, having taken him from under his coronet before he had it a year on his brow. He was one of the men peculiar to his times, or rather who aided in shaping them; easy, full of strong but gross impulses, quick and outrageous in resentment, but possessed of broad uncouth humor, and a sudden oblivion of his passion. Without reading or education—he was coarse, sensual, careless, and extravagant, having no stronger or purer principle to regulate him than that which originated in his passions or his necessities. Of shame or moral sanction he knew nothing, and consequently held himself amenable to the world on two points only—the laws of duelling and those of gaming. He would take an insult from no man, and always paid his gambling debts with honor; but beyond that, he neither feared nor cared for anything in this world—and being a member of the Hellfire Club, he did not believe in the other. In fact he was the very man on whose peculiar temperament and character a corrupt and wily politician might expect to impress his own principles with success. Topertoe was consequently not only the very man to sell his country, but to sell, it at the highest price, and be afterwards the first to laugh, as he did, at his own corruption.
Of his eldest son, who of course succeeded to his rank and property, there is not so much to be said at present, because he will appear, to some extent, as an actor in our drama. It is enough then to say here that he inherited his father's vices, purged of their vulgarity and grossness, without a single particle of his uncertain and capricious good nature. In his manners he appeared more of the gentleman; was lively, shallow, and versatile; but having been educated at an English school and an English college, he felt, or affected to feel, all the fashionable prejudices of the day and of his class against his native country. He was an absentee