‘Oh, my dear mother, you once loved your son,’ said he; ’loved him better than anything in this world; if one spark of affection for him remains, hear him now, and forgive him, if he pass the bounds—­bounds he never passed before of filial duty.  Mother, in compliance with your wishes my father left Ireland—­left his home, his duties, his friends, his natural connexions, and for many years he has lived in England, and you have spent many seasons in London.’

‘Yes, in the very best company—­in the very first circles,’ said Lady Clonbrony; ’cold as the high-bred English are said to be in general to strangers.’

‘Yes,’ replied Lord Colambre; ’the very best company (if you mean the most fashionable) have accepted of our entertainments.  We have forced our way into their frozen circles; we have been permitted to breathe in these elevated regions of fashion; we have it to say, that the duke of this, and my lady that, are of our acquaintance.  We may say more; we may boast that we have vied with those whom we could never equal.  And at what expense have we done all this?  For a single season, the last winter (I will go no farther), at the expense of a great part of your timber, the growth of a century—­swallowed in the entertainments of one winter in London!  Our hills to be bare for another half century to come!  But let the trees go; I think more of your tenants—­of those left under the tyranny of a bad agent, at the expense of every comfort, every hope they enjoyed!—­tenants, who were thriving and prosperous; who used to smile upon you, and to bless you both!  In one cottage, I have seen—­’

Here Lord Clonbrony, unable to restrain his emotion, hurried out of the room.

‘Then I am sure it is not my fault,’ said Lady Clonbrony; ’for I brought my lord a large fortune; and I am confident I have not, after all, spent more any season, in the best company, than he has among a set of low people, in his muddling, discreditable way.’

‘And how has he been reduced to this?’ said Lord Colambre.  ’Did he not formerly live with gentlemen, his equals, in his own country; his contemporaries?  Men of the first station and character, whom I met in Dublin, spoke of him in a manner that gratified the heart of his son; he was respectable and respected at his own home; but when he was forced away from that home, deprived of his objects, his occupations induced him to live in London, or at watering-places, where he could find no employments that were suitable to him—­set down, late in life, in the midst of strangers, to him cold and reserved—­himself too proud to bend to those who disdained him as an Irishman—­is he not more to be pitied than blamed for—­yes, I, his son, must say the word—­the degradation which has ensued?  And do not the feelings, which have this moment forced him to leave the room, show that he is capable?—­Oh, mother!’ cried Lord Colambre, throwing himself at Lady Clonbrony’s feet, ’restore my father to himself!  Should