“Ah!” thought Lord Colambre, whilst he congratulated the bride, “shall I ever be as happy as these poor people are at this moment?” He longed to make them some little present, but all he could venture at this moment was to pay the priest’s dues. The priest positively refused to take any thing. “They are the best couple in my parish,” said he; “and I’ll take nothing, sir, from you, a stranger and my guest.” “Now, come what will, I’m a match for it. No trouble can touch me,” said Brian. “Oh, don’t be bragging,” said the widow. “Whatever trouble God sends, he has given one now will help to bear it, and sure I may be thankful,” said Grace. “Such good hearts must be happy,--shall be happy!” said Lord Colambre. “Oh, you’re very kind,” said the widow, smiling; “and I wouldn’t doubt you, if you had the power. I hope, then, the agent will give you encouragement about them mines, that we may keep you among us.” “I am determined to settle among you, warm-hearted, generous people!” cried Lord Colambre; “whether the agent gives me encouragement or not,” added he. It was a long walk to Clonbrony Castle; the old woman, as she said herself, would not have been able for it, but for a _lift_ given to her by a friendly carman, whom she overtook on the road with an empty car. This carman was Finnucan, who dissipated Lord Colambre’s fears of meeting and being recognized by Mrs. Raffarty; for he, in answer to the question of “Who is at the castle?” replied, “Mrs. Raffarty will be in it afore night; but she’s on the road still. There’s none but Old Nick in it yet; and he’s more of a _neger_ than ever; for think, that he would not pay me a farthing for the carriage of his _shister’s_ boxes and band-boxes down. If you’re going to have any dealings with him, God grant ye a safe deliverance!” “Amen!” said the widow, and her son and daughter. Lord Colambre’s attention was now engaged by the view of the castle and park of Clonbrony. He had not seen it since he was six years old. Some faint reminiscence from his childhood made him feel or fancy that he knew the place. It was a fine castle, spacious park; but all about it, from the broken piers at the great entrance, to the mossy gravel and loose steps at the hall-door, had an air of desertion and melancholy. Walks overgrown, shrubberies wild, plantations run up into bare poles; fine trees cut down, and lying on the ground in lots to be sold. A hill that had been covered with an oak wood, where in his childhood our hero used to play, and which he called the black forest, was gone; nothing to be seen but the white stumps of the trees, for it had been freshly cut down, to make up the last remittances.--“And how it went, when sold!--but no matter,” said Finnucan; “it’s all alike.--It’s the back way into the yard, I’ll take you, I suppose.” “And such a yard! but it’s no matter,” repeated Lord Colambre to himself; “it’s all alike.”