CHAPTER VI 1788 1789 Lord Edward in New Brunswick-Second Love Affair-Letters L ORD EDWARD was more than eighteen months on the other side of the Atlantic. It was his last holiday before he set his hand in earnest to the plough and threw himself, for life and for death, into the cause to which his few remaining years were to be dedicated. Unknown to the public as he still was, except as a younger brother of the Duke of Leinster and an obscure member of the Irish Parliament, his own letters form almost the sole source of information we possess as to this period of his life. There are, fortunately, a greater number of them available for this purpose than at most other stages of his career, and they give a graphic picture of the manner after which his life was passed in New Brunswick. If it was a holiday shadowed by present disappointment, it was not unlightened by hope; and there is apparent, besides, throughout the time of his absence from home, a manly and spirited determination to keep the wolves of regret at bay, and to set himself courageously to face the future and whatever it might have in store for him. It may well have been that his second attachment was of a deeper nature than his boyish devotion to Lady Catherine Meade; but it is no less clear that he steadily refused to be wholly absorbed by it, and that he had ceased, at least in his normal condition, to look upon love-making love-making as the sole object of a man's life. Even in his confidences to his mother a new tone is perceptible; and the dawn is apparent of that obstinate determination not to be beaten which is so essential an element in the attitude with which the leader of a forlorn hope should meet the chances of life. "I love Georgina more than ever," he tells the Duchess, at a date when his absence had already lasted some months; "and if she likes me, can never change." He is still young enough to believe in immutability, but old enough by this time to make it provisional: "... I shall never, I think, be happy without her; neither do I say that I shall be absolutely unhappy." And again: "As long as there is the smallest hope of my being happy with Georgina, it is not possible to be happy with any one else. Dearest mother, after yourself, I think she is the most perfect creature on earth." It is not the language of a man who felt that life and death hung in the balances. It was well, as the event proved, that it was not so. He had not been without other causes of disturbance besides the uncertainty attending his love-affairs. To the grief he always felt at being parted from his mother there had been added in this instance the additional pain resulting from the consciousness that she had felt disapproval, or even in some degree displeasure, at his flight from England, decided upon without her sanction and unknown to her. It was only in the month of August that she withdrew her disapprobation of the step. His letters in the meantime had, however, been as full and confidential as ever. Depend upon it, dearest mother," he assures the Duchess in the first, written only three days after his arrival at Halifax, "I will not miss an opportunity of writing to you." The town was filled with Irish; the brogue was to be heard to perfection; and he was lodged at the house of a countryman, Mr. Cornelius O'Brien, who himself claimed relationship with the FitzGeralds. "I accept the relationship," added Lord Edward with a touch of humour, "and his horse, for thirty miles up the country." The regiment was stationed at St. Johns, New Brunswick; and by the middle of July, after a long and fatiguing journey, he had joined it. As usual, his interest in the new forms of life with which he had become acquainted on the way was keen; and he describes in especial a day during which he had been obliged to delay his journey, and which had been passed in the cabin of a couple of aged settlers, with whose history he had evidently, after his custom, become fully conversant before quitting their abode. "It was," he says, "I think, as odd and as pleasant a day (in its way) as ever I passed. . . . Conceive, dearest mother, arriving about twelve o'clock in a hot day at a little cabin upon the side of a rapid river, the banks all covered with woods, not a house in sight, and there finding a little, old, clean, tidy woman spinning, with an old man of the same appearance weeding salad. The old pair, on our arrival, got as active as if only five-and-twenty, the gentleman getting wood and water, the lady frying bacon and eggs, both talking a great deal, telling their story: how they had been there thirty years, and how their children were settled, and when either's back was turned remarking how old the other had grown; and at the same time all kindness, cheerfulness, and love to each other." Then he goes on to describe what followed the spirits of the old couple subsiding as night drew on; the evening passed in the "wild quietness" of the place; himself, Tony, and the guide, together with their hosts, sitting all on one log at the cabin door. It is clear that the charm of the woods had cast its spell upon the guest. "My dearest mother, if it was not for you, I believe I never should go home at least, I thought so at that moment." That, making his observations upon the conditions of life prevailing in a comparatively new country, he should have singled out for special commendation the absence of class distinctions, is worth noting as an indication, thus early, of the temper of mind which readily led to his future identification with the principles of the revolution. "The equality of everybody and of their manner of life," he says, "I like very much. "I like very much. There are no gentlemen. Everybody is on a footing, provided he works and wants nothing. Every man is exactly what he can make himself, or has made himself by industry. I own," reverting to more personal matters, "I often think how happy I could be with Georgina in some of the spots I see; and envied every young farmer I met, whom I saw sitting down with a young wife, whom he was going to work to maintain." He kept his promise and proved a good correspondent, Tony, in whose charge the Duchess had apparently placed the matter, being always at hand to remind his master of his duty in that respect. "There has not passed a day yet," Lord Edward writes, "without his telling me I had best write now, or I should go out and forget it." Indeed, the relations between master and servant would seem to have been rather those of friend with friend than the ordinary recognition of loyal service well rendered. "His black face," said Lord Edward again, "is the only thing that I yet feel attached to." "I have nothing more to say," he writes on another occasion, |