The Confessions of Harry Lorrequer — Volume 1Lever, Charles
General
The Confessions of Harry Lorrequer — Volume 1
Lever, Charles
Fiction
I looked for a few moments on the again silent street, and was almost
tempted to believe I was in a dream, so rapidly had the preceding moments
passed over; and so surprised was I to find that the proud Earl of
Callonby, who never did the "civil thing" any where, should think proper
to pay attention to a poor sub in a marching regiment, whose only claim
on his acquaintance was the suspicion of poaching on his manor. I
repeated over and over all his lordship's most polite speeches, trying to
solve the mystery of them; but in vain: a thousand explanations occurred,
but none of them I felt at all satisfactory; that there was some mystery
somewhere, I had no doubt; for I remarked all through that Lord Kilkee
laid some stress upon my identity, and even seemed surprised at my being
is such banishment. "Oh," thought I at last, "his lordship is about to
get up private theatricals, and has seen my Captain Absolute, or perhaps
my Hamlet"--I could not say "Othello" even to myself--"and is anxious to
get 'such unrivalled talent' even 'for one night only.'"
After many guesses this seemed the nearest I could think of; and by the
time I had finished my dressing for dinner, it was quite clear to me I
had solved all the secret of his lordship's attentions.
The road to "Callonby" was beautiful beyond any thing I had ever seen in
Ireland. For upwards of two miles it led along the margin of the lofty
cliffs of Moher, now jutting out into bold promontories, and again
retreating, and forming small bays and mimic harbours, into which the
heavy swell of the broad Atlantic was rolling its deep blue tide. The
evening was perfectly calm, and at a little distance from the shore the
surface of the sea was without a ripple. The only sound breaking the
solemn stillness of the hour, was the heavy plash of the waves, as in
minute peals they rolled in upon the pebbly beach, and brought back with
them at each retreat, some of the larger and smoother stones, whose
noise, as they fell back into old ocean's bed, mingled with the din of
the breaking surf. In one of the many little bays I passed, lay three or
four fishing smacks. The sails were drying, and flapped lazily against
the mast. I could see the figures of the men as they passed backwards ad
forwards upon the decks, and although the height was nearly eight hundred
feet, could hear their voices quite distinctly. Upon the golden strand,
which was still marked with a deeper tint, where the tide had washed,
stood a little white cottage of some fisherman--at least, so the net
before the door bespoke it. Around it, stood some children, whose merry
voices and laughing tones sometimes reached me where I was standing. I
could not but think, as I looked down from my lofty eyrie, upon that
little group of boats, and that lone hut, how much of the "world" to the
humble dweller beneath, lay in that secluded and narrow bay. There, the
deep sea, where their days were passed in "storm or sunshine,"--there,
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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