He was not, in reality, insensible to other and better influences; his affection for his father and sister was unbounded; he had a bold, manly spirit, unalloyed with any thing mean or sordid; a generous, candid nature, and straightforward earnestness of purpose, that often carried him farther by impulse, than he was followed by his convictions. Still a conventional cant, a tone of disparaging, half-contemptuous indifference to every thing which characterized his associates, had already infected him; and he felt ashamed to confess to those sentiments and opinions, to possess and to act upon which should have been his dearest pride.
“Well, Fred,” said Sybella, as they drew around the fire after dinner, in that happy home circle so suggestive of enjoyment, “let us hear what you thought of the scenery. Is not Glenflesk fine?”
“Matlock on a larger scale,” said he coolly. “Less timber and more rocks..”
“Matlock! dear friend. You might as well compare Keim-an-eigh with Holborn--you are only jesting.”
“Compare what? Repeat that droll name, I beg of you.”
“Keim-an-eigh. It is a mountain pass quite close to us here.”
“Admirably done! Why, Sybella dear, I shall not be surprised to see you take to the red petticoat and bare-feet soon. You have indoctrinated yourself wonderfully since your arrival.”
“I like the people with all my heart, Fred,” said she artlessly; “and if I could imitate many of their traits of forbearance and long-suffering patience by following their costume, I promise you I'd don the scarlet.”
“Ay, Fred,” said Sir Marmaduke, with a sententious gravity, “they don't know these Irish at all at our side of the water. They mistake them totally. They only want teaching, a little example--a little encouragement--that's all: and they are as docile and tractable as possible. I'll show you to-morrow what improvements a few months have effected. I'll bring you over a part of the estate, where there was not a hovel fit for a dog, and you shall see what comfortable dwellings they have. We hear nothing in England but the old songs about popery, and superstition, and all that. Why, my dear Fred, these people don't care a straw for the priest--they'd be any thing I asked them.”
“Devilish high principled that, any way,” said Fred, drily.