The remainder of the month of June and July passed at Ballinamoyle in various degrees of pleasure or tedium to its unusual inmates. Mrs. O'Sullivan and her three elder children saw the time originally fixed for their departure approach, with almost undissembled pleasure. Notwithstanding the anxious endeavours of their host and his circle, to show them the utmost respect and kindness, and to procure them every amusement within their reach, nothing pleased, nothing interested them; but if they could find little to admire in England beyond Hyde Park Corner, could they be expected to tolerate Irish barbarism? They associated much with the Desmond family; but, though this circumstance saved them many hours of ennui, it gave them none of real enjoyment. The Miss Webberlys saw Melicent's natural graces with too much contempt to envy them, and for once they associated with a lovely girl without being tormented by this passion. But her father and uncle they little short of hated; the one for his successful raillery, the other for his admiration of Adelaide; which circumstance rendered the latter equally obnoxious to their brother, who attributed to him the bad success of his suit to Miss Wildenheim, still more than to his sprained ancle, which had kept him a close prisoner, and enabled her effectually to shun his society. At home—Mr. O'Sullivan was dismal, Miss Fitzcarril insufferably proud; a Catholic priest was of course an object of illiberal aversion; and of all their associates, young Donolan was the only individual who found favour in their sight; but he had, by his heartless gallantries and fulsome flattery, ingratiated himself so much with both sisters, that he was a source of constant bickering between them.

They therefore so plagued and prejudiced their weak mother, that she was as much out of humour as themselves. She and Miss Fitzcarril almost quarrelled, though the one was nearly as anxious to court the cousin, as the other to win the son; and the ridiculous pride of ancestry in the spinster kept pace with the narrow-minded pride of riches in the matron. Mrs. O'Sullivan and her amiable children vented all their ill humour on their servants, who, in revenge, quarrelled with the domestics of the house, and expressed their own and their superiors' contempt of every person and thing they saw, without reserve. All this Miss Fitzcarril was mean enough to suffer to be repeated to her with those additional charges scandal-mongers are certain to lay on their retail goods; and she came sometimes full primed with rage from the kitchen, ready to discharge her fire-arms in the parlour, which would not unfrequently have happened, had not Adelaide dexterously managed to unload the offensive weapon.

Miss Fitzcarril found the amenity of her manners as invariable as the benignity of her heart. She would, boiling with passion, confide to her friendly ear some tale of horror she had been told by nurse, or the cook, the housemaid, or Black Frank himself; and always heard, in return, some extenuation of the offence, or expression of sorrow that purchased its forgiveness.

Mr. O'Sullivan's guests did not venture to treat him with disrespect, nor Miss Fitzcarril to annoy him with the recital of her various brouilleries; his uniformly dignified deportment preserved him from both: yet Mr. Webberly and his sisters he disliked for their airs of affected superiority to others; and had Caroline depended on her mother's powers of pleasing, to obtain her uncle's estate, her claims would not have met with much success. An Irish country gentleman, however unpolished he may be himself, is to an extreme fastidious in his ideas of female gentility. Every one has a code of his own, which he thinks it necessary a woman should follow, to be what he calls "ladylike." His punctilios are frequently unreasonable, and excessively troublesome to the female relatives, who are obliged to conform to them; but the warm affection, from which they derive so much happiness, is also the source of that pride they sometimes find so annoying. A writer of eminence has clearly shown the difference between rusticity and vulgarity. Many an unpolished rustic girl Mr. O'Sullivan might think ladylike: but a vulgar woman, such as his sister-in-law, was perhaps the object in the world the most disgusting to him; and it required all his good-nature, and all his hospitality, to make him conquer his involuntary repugnance sufficiently to treat her with the kindness due to his brother's widow. Though Maurice O'Sullivan had been only his step-brother by their father's marriage, very late in life, and there was twenty years' difference in their ages, he had always felt for him even more than the usual warmth of fraternal affection; and had, for a long series of years, been bountiful to him in a degree that but encouraged his extravagant dissipation; till the elder brother, at last provoked by his career of folly, finally discharged his debts, on condition of the entail being cut off, to enable him to bestow the family estate on some more worthy member of it. But the grave had now closed on all the faults of Maurice's character, whilst memory exaggerated all its virtues; and O'Sullivan would frequently contrast Caroline with her mother, saying in the pride of his heart, "How much of the father she has in her! She shows good blood runs in her veins."

To Adelaide Mr. O'Sullivan was unconsciously as kind as to Caroline. Before she had been many days in his house, he had made up his mind that she was "quite the lady," and of course possessed of every good quality necessarily consequent on that, in his mind, highly valued character. Besides he was much gratified by her inclination to be pleased with every thing that was worthy of commendation in his place, and in his country generally; and with the proper feeling and good breeding, which restrained her from wounding his pride by those offensive remarks he constantly heard from his sister-in-law and her elder children, which however were at least equalled by those of Mr. Donolan. Adelaide had moreover a strong claim on his gratitude for the kindness she showed to his niece. Caroline's father had lavished on her the most unlimited fondness, whilst her mother treated her with comparative coldness. Had she been left to herself, there is no doubt she would have felt the same love for her as for her other children; but she was unfortunately entirely guided by the Miss Webberlys. Cecilia she loved, and Amelia she also feared; and they contrived to alienate her affection from Caroline, whom they considered as an intruder, who would unjustly deprive them of a part of their lawful inheritance. It is not surprising, therefore, that Adelaide, mourning for the loss of a fond father, should see in Caroline a fellow-sufferer, and should bestow her affections on the only object around her that would receive or return them. The child, repulsed by every body else, flew into her open arms, and loved her with the most doting fondness. She could not bear now to lose sight of her, was the first that entered her room in the morning, and when she was busy, would sit for hours at her side, occupied in any employment Adelaide charitably provided for her. This little girl had naturally a fine understanding, which her friend's judicious management prevented running to waste. It was now with the utmost pain that friend thought of their approaching separation on her return to England; and this idea gave an increased tenderness to her looks, when she gazed with regret on the lovely child, and anticipated the probable blight of the fair promise, internally adding, "Alas! I may not venture to love any one; it is my fate to be torn from all my heart has ever cherished!" In consequence of this reciprocal attachment, every one associated Adelaide and Caroline in idea together; those who loved the one loved the other, and their united attractions gained them the good-will of every individual at Ballinamoyle.

But with none of its inmates was the former a greater favourite than with the venerable Father Dermoody: her manners to him were expressive of that deference she had been accustomed to see the Catholic clergy treated with abroad, and she willingly granted that respect, which the impressive, though mild sanctity of his deportment extorted from others; and when he saw once more under Mr. O'Sullivan's roof a young and lovely female all sweetness and intellect, he thought of his beloved pupil, Rose, and sometimes looked at Adelaide, till he fancied he traced a strong resemblance to her who had been the adopted child of his heart—his only earthly pride! He loved to converse with Adelaide as to the recent state of countries, he had visited in his youth, and he still more delightedly answered her inquiries regarding the history or customs of Ireland, or the antiquities the neighbouring country abounded with, to visit which, Mr. O'Sullivan had induced his guests to make many excursions, as one of the best means of amusing their time. To illustrate these remains, Father Dermoody produced from his patron's library many a musty manuscript and fabulous legend of ancient fame, which he read and explained to Adelaide, with an enthusiastic admiration that was delightful to her to behold; though she was sometimes almost tempted to smile at the excess of his patriotic credulity; for there is scarcely any thing on the subject of national glory too extravagant for ancient Irish manuscripts to assert, or for modern Irish feeling to believe. Adelaide and her venerable friend went one morning to the above-mentioned library, in search of a work relative to "Conaro the turbulent and swift footed," whose tomb at the foot of the altar of the sun they had lately visited. They long looked for the precious relick in vain, but at last Mr. Dermoody descried it on the very top shelf; it was out of his reach, but by the help of a number of boxes piled on one of the heavy old mahogany chairs, Adelaide possessed herself of the treasure, and was preparing to descend, when she heard a gentleman's voice and step in the passage leading to the room. This made her prefer the quickest method of reaching terra firma, and she instantly leaped into the middle of the floor; and Colonel Desmond entering at the same instant, exclaimed, "Inimitable, by Jove! Why, Miss Wildenheim, if the principal sauteuse of the Parisian opera had seen that graceful flight, she would, through all her rouge, have turned pale with envy. I should think you must find that preliminary much the pleasantest part of the proceedings attendant on the studies those loaded tables tell me you have lately been engaged in." "I hope," said Adelaide, laughing and blushing at his raillery, "you, as a true Milesian, are not inclined to slight their contents?" "Except to you, my revered friend," rejoined he, addressing himself to the priest, "who have charity to forgive even greater offences, I never dare own what a capacity of unbelief I have on such subjects; but, Miss Wildenheim," he continued, "I am at this moment much more anxious to hear what you think of the modern Irish, than to dive into the best accredited accounts of our ancient history. Come, confess to this worthy father—did you not expect to find us a set of demisavages, for whom you could feel little else but disgust?" "I am more than half affronted," replied Adelaide, "that you could possibly suppose me to be so illiberal." "And with justice," replied the priest; "wherever the human form is seen, there, I am sure, you find objects to love and reverence;—the Supreme has impressed on every being he has created some marks of his majesty and goodness." "Yes, my dear sir," rejoined his youthful auditor; "but the proud heart of man draws a line of circumvallation round the cities he has erected, within which he confines every thing that is admirable in the human race. Surely we should rather imitate the liberality of the ancient poets, who peopled every hill and dale with superior natures." "You must however acknowledge," said Colonel Desmond, "that those classic favourites of yours never imagined any thing half so beautiful as our northern fairies! I don't know which of those ill-behaved scolds, the goddesses, it would not be an affront to compare a modern ÉlÉgante to; and pray what are all the accomplishments of Minerva, the best amongst them, to those of a girl of fashion, unless indeed she could plume herself on speaking Greek, in the style of the simpleton who was lost in admiration at the acquirements of the Gallic ladies, who could all converse in French with so much fluency? But the pure, elegant Queen of Fairies is the very prototype of female loveliness! I suffer considerable uneasiness on your account, Miss Wildenheim," continued he, with much gravity. "On my account, Colonel Desmond?" "Yes; for I am informed by those most in her majesty's confidence, that, 'when to the banks of the dark rolling Danube fair Adela hied,' she was seen by some of the fairy court; and that very evening, 'late, late in the gloamin, Hillmerry came hame,' being thought insipid in comparison of the more charming Adela. And now behold her conducted to the chief seat of the fairy power! But if she could be tempted to show that a small portion of human malice lurks in her heart, we might hope to keep her still; therefore I am more than ever anxious she should answer the question I put regarding the mortal inhabitants of this island." "I could not presume," replied Adelaide, colouring as she spoke, "on a casual acquaintance, to suppose myself qualified to estimate fully the merits or defects of the Irish nation; perhaps national character is of all subjects the one on which a woman is least competent to form a correct judgment;—but the Irish character, as it has presented itself to my view, is one I most sincerely and warmly love." Colonel Desmond seizing her hand in delight, shook it almost unconsciously for a second or two, whilst Father Dermoody, in an emphatic tone, and with a complimentary bow, said—

Gentle reader, if you are not Irish, you will be perhaps much puzzled to find out what Adele said on this occasion, so marvellously wise. If you are an Hibernian, you will say, "The dear creature!" Be that as it may, Miss Wildenheim pleased her auditors better than if she had uttered three pages of Socratic sense. Poor Colonel Desmond felt but too deeply the admiration the priest had expressed; and putting up a prayer, that she might one day descend from generals to particulars, in the application of these sentiments, was suddenly most assiduous in the examination of the contemned manuscripts.

Adelaide, curtsying her thanks for Mr. Dermoody's flattering application of the lines he had repeated, was alleging some trifling excuse for retiring, when Mr. O'Sullivan came into the room to make his daily request, that she would join him and Caroline in a saunter round the garden, where he went every morning with them to gather the nicest fruit it contained for his two favourites.

The party had not proceeded many paces from the house, when they were joined by Mr. Webberly, who was now sufficiently recovered from his sprain to persecute Adelaide once more with his attentions. Mr. O'Sullivan, addressing him with much civility, said, "I am happy to say, Mr. Webberly, that your mother has consented to remain with me till after the first of September, in order to celebrate my dear little Caroline's birth-day; and bespeak for her the good wishes of my tenantry, who will assemble to congratulate us on the occasion." "Dear uncle, how I love you!" said the little girl, twisting her arms round him; "only for Adele, I think I should break my heart when I go away from you." He pressed her fondly in his arms, and said, "What will be your consolation, Caroline, will be an additional grief to me! My dear young lady," continued he, turning to Adelaide, "you know not the sorrow the idea that I may never see you again causes me; your society has given me more pleasure, than I thought I ever should have felt again. Your sweet attentive manners have reminded me of one whom even you might be proud to be compared with!"—He paused—his faltering voice had told how deeply he was affected, and a general silence prevailed for a few minutes, which was interrupted Mr. Webberly saying, "I'm sure you'll have no objection to celebrate Miss Wildenheim's birth-day too, Sir;—she will be of age on the thirty-first of August; that day one-and-twenty years, Sir, was a happy day for the world, Miss Adelaide!" "Happy! Good God!" exclaimed the old man; and dropping Adele's arm, which he had slipped within his, retreated to the house. "I had almost forgot—" said Colonel Desmond to the priest, much moved, "was that the day——" "Yes, the day," interrupted he: "Alas! a father's heart never forgets."