character, it was certainly unjust to call him either a prig or a
pedant.

He was fond of the society of ladies, and was a great favourite with
his sisters, who thought that every girl who saw him must instantly
fall in love with him. He was goodnatured, and, as the only son of a
rich man, was generally well provided with money. Such a brother is
usually a favourite with his sisters. He was a great favourite too
with his aunt, whose heart, however, was daily sinking into her
shoes through the effect of one great terror which harassed her
respecting him. She feared that he had become a Puseyite. Now that
means much with some ladies in England; but with most ladies of the
Protestant religion in Ireland, it means, one may almost say, the
very Father of Mischief himself. In their minds, the pope, with his
lady of Babylon, his college of cardinals, and all his community of
pinchbeck saints, holds a sort of second head-quarters of his own at
Oxford. And there his high priest is supposed to be one wicked
infamous Pusey, and his worshippers are wicked infamous Puseyites.
Now, Miss Letty Fitzgerald was strong on this subject, and little
inklings had fallen from her nephew which robbed her of much of her
peace of mind.

It is impossible that these volumes should be graced by any hero,
for the story does not admit of one. But if there were to be a hero,
Herbert Fitzgerald would be the man.

Sir Thomas Fitzgerald at this period was an old man in appearance,
though by no means an old man in years, being hardly more than
fifty. Why he should have withered away, as it were, into premature
greyness, and loss of the muscle and energy of life, none knew;