But one year, on his birthday, just as the company rose to drink his health, he fell down in a sort of fit, and in the morning it was all over with poor Sir Patrick.

Never did any gentleman die more beloved by rich and poor.  All the gentlemen in the three counties came to his funeral; and happy the man who could get but a sight of the hearse!

Just as they were passing through his own town the body was seized for debt!  Little gain had the creditors!

First and foremost, they had the curses of the country, and Sir Murtagh, the new heir, refused to pay a shilling on account of the insult to his father’s body; in which he was countenanced by all the gentlemen of property of his acquaintance.  He did not take at all after the old gentleman.  The cellars were never filled, and no open house; even the tenants were sent away without their whiskey.  I was ashamed myself, but put it all down to my lady; she was of the family of the Skinflints.  I must say, she made the best of wives, being a notable, stirring woman, and looking close to everything.  ’Tis surprising how cheap my lady got things done!  What with fear of driving for rent, and Sir Murtagh’s lawsuits, the tenants were kept in such good order they never came near Castle Rackrent without a present of something or other—­nothing too much or too little for my lady.  And Sir Murtagh taught ’em all, as he said, the law of landlord and tenant.  No man ever loved the law as he did.

Out of the forty-nine suits he had, he never lost one, but seventeen.

Though he and my lady were much of a mind in most things, there was a deal of sparring and jarring between them.  In a dispute about an abatement one day, my lady would have the last word, and Sir Murtagh grew mad.  I was within hearing—­he spoke so loud, all the kitchen was out on the stairs.  All on a sudden he stopped, and my lady, too.  Sir Murtagh, in his passion, had broken a blood-vessel.  My lady sent for five physicians; but Sir Murtagh died.  She had a fine jointure settled upon her, and took herself away, to the great joy of the tenantry.

II.—­Sir Kit and his Wife

Then the house was all hurry-scurry, preparing for my new master, Sir Murtagh’s younger brother, a dashing young officer.  He came before I knew where I was, with another spark with him, and horses and dogs, and servants, and harum-scarum called for everything, as if he were in a public-house.  I walk slow, and hate a bustle, and if it had not been for my pipe and tobacco, should, I verily believe, have broke my heart for poor Sir Murtagh.

But one morning my new master caught sight of me.  “And is that Old Thady?” says he.  I loved him from that day to this, his voice was so like the family, and I never saw a finer figure of a man.

A fine life we should have led had he stayed among us, God bless him!  But, the sporting season over, he grew tired of the place, and was off in a whirlwind to town.  A circular letter came next post from the new agent to say he must remit L500 to the master at Bath within a fortnight—­bad news for the poor tenants.  Sir Kit Rackrent, my new master, left it all to the agent, and now not a week without a call for money.  Rents must be paid to the day, and afore—­old tenants turned out, anything for the ready penny.