The Fortunes of Hector O'Halloran, and His Man, Mark Antony O'TooleMaxwell, W. H. (William Hamilton)
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The Fortunes of Hector O'Halloran, and His Man, Mark Antony O'Toole
Maxwell, W. H. (William Hamilton)
Ireland -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
I obeyed him. Rising from the table, he took a few turns across the
apartment; it seemed an exertion to regain composure; it was successful.
He resumed his seat, emptied his glass to the bottom, and thus
commenced, what was to me a narrative of perilous adventure, but
all-engrossing interest.
MY UNCLE’S STORY
The career of vice is generally a simple history; a progressive advance
from bad to worse, as the feelings deaden and the conscience, becomes
seared and callous, by degrees. My earlier follies might have been
easily arrested by parental intervention, but Mr. Clifford was reserved
and proud; his displeasure was evinced by frigid mannerism, and his
reproofs conveyed in the cold terms of general disapprobation. He never
reasoned to the understanding--never appealed to the heart. I listened
to him as I would to a lecture; and I came away without the slightest
impression having been made upon an ardent disposition, which under
better management might have been awakened and reclaimed.
My ruin at last was consummated. I was discarded by my father; avoided
by the good--deserted by the bad--and, finally, driven from the land,
dishonoured and disgraced, where, by inheritance and birth, I should
have held a proud position.
Months had passed since I had been alienated from an angry father. The
means by which I had managed, for a time, to obtain the sums of money
my extravagance demanded, had been overtaxed, and consequently, my
resources were completely exhausted. The woman who lured me on to crime
and ruin had heartlessly abandoned me, and those who had plundered me of
hundreds refused me a shilling to buy bread! For a whole day I had not
tasted food, and for two nights no roof had sheltered me--and without
any definite object in my wanderings, I had turned my steps to the home
from which I had been long since rejected. I was ashamed to let any who
had known me in the palmy days of youth witness the degradation that
crime had caused; and, after night-fall, avoiding the village, I stole
unperceived through a broken paling, and, like a thief and not the heir,
entered the grounds of Clifford Hall.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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