In the meantime, the ci-devant [9] Black Rod, Gold Stick, Royal Equerry, and Lord of the Bedchamber, was called away from his robes and his finery, to give an account of the manner in which he had renounced the pomps and vanities of this wicked world; and Frank became Lord Ballindine, with, as I have before said, an honourable mother, two sisters, a large red house, and a thousand a-year.  He was not at all a man after the pattern of his grandfather, but he appeared as little likely to redeem the old family acres.  He seemed to be a reviving chip of the old block of the O’Kellys.  During the two years he had been living at Kelly’s Court as Frank O’Kelly, he had won the hearts of all the tenants—­of all those who would have been tenants if the property had not been sold, and who still looked up to him as their “raal young masther”—­and of the whole country round.  The “thrue dhrop of the ould blood”, was in his veins; and, whatever faults he might have, he wasn’t likely to waste his time and his cash with furs, laces, and hangings.

     [Footnote 9:  ci-devant—­(French) former, previous]

This was a great comfort to the neighbourhood, which had learned heartily to despise the name of Lord Ballindine; and Frank was encouraged in shooting, hunting, racing—­in preparing to be a thorough Irish gentleman, and in determining to make good the prophecies of his friends, that he would be, at last, one more “raal O’Kelly to brighten the counthry.”

And if he could have continued to be Frank O’Kelly, or even “the O’Kelly”, he would probably have done well enough, for he was fond of his mother and sisters, and he might have continued to hunt, shoot, and farm on his remaining property without further encroaching on it.  But the title was sure to be his ruin.  When he felt himself to be a lord, he could not be content with the simple life of a country gentleman; or, at any rate, without taking the lead in the country.  So, as soon as the old man was buried, he bought a pack of harriers, and despatched a couple of race-horses to the skilful hands of old Jack Igoe, the Curragh trainer.

Frank was a very handsome fellow, full six feet high, with black hair, and jet-black silky whiskers, meeting under his chin;—­the men said he dyed them, and the women declared he did not.  I am inclined, myself, to think he must have done so, they were so very black.  He had an eye like a hawk, round, bright, and bold; a mouth and chin almost too well formed for a man; and that kind of broad forehead which conveys rather the idea of a generous, kind, open-hearted disposition, than of a deep mind or a commanding intellect.

Frank was a very handsome fellow, and he knew it; and when he commenced so many ill-authorised expenses immediately on his grandfather’s death, he consoled himself with the idea, that with his person and rank, he would soon be able, by some happy matrimonial speculation, to make up for what he wanted in wealth.  And he had not been long his own master, before he met with the lady to whom he destined the honour of doing so.