The World's Greatest Books [Volumes 1-15, 17-20]

I ought to bless that day when Sir Tallyhoo Rackrent lost a fine hunter and his life, all in one day's hunt, for the estate came straight into the family, upon one condition, that Sir Patrick O'Shaughlin (whose driver my grandfather was) should, by Act of Parliament, take the surname and arms of Rackrent.

Now it was the world could see what was in Sir Patrick. He gave the finest entertainments ever was heard of in the country; not a man could stand after supper but Sir Patrick himself. He had his house, from one year's end to another, as full of company as it would hold; and this went on, I can't tell you how long.

But one year, on his birthday, just as the company rose to drink his health, he fell down in a sort of fit, and in the morning it was all over with poor Sir Patrick.

Never did any gentleman die more beloved by rich and poor. All the gentlemen in the three counties came to his funeral; and happy the man who could get but a sight of the hearse!

Just as they were passing through his own town the body was seized for debt! Little gain had the creditors!

First and foremost, they had the curses of the country, and Sir Murtagh, the new heir, refused to pay a shilling on account of the insult to his father's body; in which he was countenanced by all the gentlemen of property of his acquaintance. He did not take at all after the old gentleman. The cellars were never filled, and no open house; even the tenants were sent away without their whiskey. I was ashamed myself, but put it all down to my lady; she was of the family of the Skinflints. I must say, she made the best of wives, being a notable, stirring woman, and looking close to everything. 'Tis surprising how cheap my lady got things done! What with fear of driving for rent, and Sir Murtagh's lawsuits, the tenants were kept in such good order they never came near Castle Rackrent without a present of something or other--nothing too much or too little for my lady. And Sir Murtagh taught 'em all, as he said, the law of landlord and tenant. No man ever loved the law as he did.

Out of the forty-nine suits he had, he never lost one, but seventeen.

Though he and my lady were much of a mind in most things, there was a deal of sparring and jarring between them. In a dispute about an abatement one day, my lady would have the last word, and Sir Murtagh grew mad. I was within hearing--he spoke so loud, all the kitchen was out on the stairs. All on a sudden he stopped, and my lady, too. Sir Murtagh, in his passion, had broken a blood-vessel. My lady sent for five physicians; but Sir Murtagh died. She had a fine jointure settled upon her, and took herself away, to the great joy of the tenantry.

II.--Sir Kit and his Wife

Then the house was all hurry-scurry, preparing for my new master, Sir Murtagh's younger brother, a dashing young officer. He came before I knew where I was, with another spark with him, and horses and dogs, and servants, and harum-scarum called for everything, as if he were in a public-house. I walk slow, and hate a bustle, and if it had not been for my pipe and tobacco, should, I verily believe, have broke my heart for poor Sir Murtagh.

But one morning my new master caught sight of me. "And is that Old Thady?" says he. I loved him from that day to this, his voice was so like the family, and I never saw a finer figure of a man.

A fine life we should have led had he stayed among us, God bless him! But, the sporting season over, he grew tired of the place, and was off in a whirlwind to town. A circular letter came next post from the new agent to say he must remit £500 to the master at Bath within a fortnight--bad news for the poor tenants. Sir Kit Rackrent, my new master, left it all to the agent, and now not a week without a call for money. Rents must be paid to the day, and afore--old tenants turned out, anything for the ready penny.

The agent was always very civil to me, and took a deal of notice of my son Jason, who, though he be my son, was a good scholar from his birth, and a very cute lad. Seeing he was a good clerk, the agent gave him the rent accounts to copy, which he did for nothing at first, being always proud to serve the family.

By-and-by, a good farm fell vacant, and my son put in a proposal for it. Why not? The master, knowing no more of the land than a child unborn, wrote over, leaving it to the agent, and he must send over £200 by return post. So my son's proposal was just the thing, and he a good tenant, and he got a promise of abatement after the first year for advancing the half-year's rent to make up the £200, and my master was satisfied. The agent told us then, as a great secret, that Sir Kit was a little too fond of play.

At last, at Christmas, the agent wrote he could raise no more money, anyhow, and desired to resign the agency. My son, Jason, who had corresponded privately with Sir Kit, was requested to take over the accounts forthwith. His honour also condescended to tell us he was going to be married in a fortnight to the grandest heiress in England, and had immediate occasion for £200 for travelling expenses home to Castle Rackrent, where he intended to be early next month. We soon saw his marriage in the paper, and news came of him and his bride being in Dublin on their way home. We had bonfires all over the country, expecting them all day, and were just thinking of giving them up for the night, when the carriage came thundering up. I got the first sight of the bride, and greatly shocked I was, for she was little better than a blackamoor. "You're kindly welcome, my lady," I says; but neither spoke a word, nor did he so much as hand her up the steps.