My Lords of Strogue, Vol. 3 (of 3): A Chronicle of Ireland, from the Convention to the UnionWingfield, Lewis
History
My Lords of Strogue, Vol. 3 (of 3): A Chronicle of Ireland, from the Convention to the Union
Wingfield, Lewis
Historical fiction; Ireland -- History -- 18th century -- Fiction
Perhaps his uncertain future urged him to break his neck like a
gentleman; perhaps he only sought in oddity a refuge from his muddled
thoughts. At any rate, he soon became the talk of Dublin, and his
mother grew daily more haggard and more wan.
Among the men whom Shane met every day in the capital was Mr. Cassidy,
who, by dint of haymaking during the brief time when the sun shone,
had materially improved his position in life. Hand and glove with
Major Sirr, who watched young Robert like a lynx, and whose private
duties on behalf of union were no less important than they had been in
preceding years, he managed to stuff his nest with comfortable
wadding, manufactured chiefly from bank-notes. He took care that
Government should know that but for him Tone would have escaped, and
Terence possibly, and many others. He cultivated the powerful, bullied
the timid, flattered the vain, duped the credulous, amused the
convivial. He received a handsome pension (as depository of awkward
secrets), which raised him for ever above the rank of a half-mounted
to that of a gentleman to the backbone; received splendid presents
from suspected persons who quaked before a vision of Fort George; laid
money by; was altogether a prosperous individual, with a band of spies
under his own orders--the flower and pride of the Staghouse garden.
And prosperity sat well upon his jolly features. Impunity gave him
_aplomb_. His clothes were handsome, his entertainments festive. He
could sing a song or crack a bottle against any man alive. He was not
puffed up by success. It was but natural that he should be elected by
acclamation a Cherokee; a Blaster; that he should be welcomed among
the set of drunken, swearing, fighting daredevils by Shane, their
leader, who had always been his patron. The influence of so merry a
blade was sure to become great amongst the rackety M.P.'s, who would
shortly be called upon to vote. Promises of great things to come were
freely made by the chancellor and his colleague Castlereagh, if those
who inclined to backsliding were well kept to the sticking-point.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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