for
the country; and there were always hounds at Kelly's Court till my
grandfather got the property, and they looked upon him as no better
than an old woman, because he gave them up. Besides, I suppose I shall
be living at Kelly's Court soon, altogether, and I could never get on
then without hounds. It's bad enough, as it is."

"I haven't a doubt in the world it's bad enough. I know what
Castleblakeney is. But I doubt your living there. I've no doubt you'll
try; that is, if you _do_ marry Miss Wyndham; but she'll be sick of
it in three months, and you in six, and you'll go and live at Paris,
Florence, or Naples, and there'll be another end of the O'Kellys, for
thirty or forty years, as far as Ireland's concerned. You'll never do
for a poor country lord; you're not sufficiently proud, or stingy.
You'd do very well as a country gentleman, and you'd make a decent
nobleman with such a fortune as Lord Cashel's. But your game, if you
lived on your own property, would be a very difficult one, and one for
which you've neither tact nor temper."

"Well, I hope I'll never live out of Ireland. Though I mayn't have tact
to make one thousand go as far as five, I've sense enough to see that
a poor absentee landlord is a great curse to his country; and that's
what I hope I never shall be."

"My dear Lord Ballindine; all poor men are curses, to themselves or
some one else."

"A poor absentee's the worst of all. He leaves nothing behind, and can
leave nothing. He wants all he has for himself; and, if he doesn't give
his neighbours the profit which must arise somewhere, from his own
consumption, he can give nothing. A rich man can afford to leave three
or four thousand a year behind him, in the way of wages for labour."

"My gracious, Frank! You should put all that in a pamphlet, and not
inflict it on a poor devil waiting for his dinner. At present, give
your profit to Morrison, and come and consume some mock-turtle; and
I'll tell you what Sheil's going to do for us all."

Lord Ballindine did as he was bid, and left the room to prepare for
dinner. By the time that he had eaten his soup, and drank a glass of
wine, he had got rid of the fit of blue devils which the thoughts
of his poverty had brought on, and he spent the rest of the evening
comfortably enough, listening to his friend's comical version of
Shell's speech; receiving instruction from that great master of the art
as to the manner in which he should treat his Derby colt, a