Castle Rackrent: A Tale of Other Times

My father was an under-keeper to Sir Patrick O’Shaughlin, of County Clare, who used to keep his hounds, two coach-horses, and two carriages. My grandfather was a Protestant; he was a gentleman as the phrase goes, and he died worth a hundred a year. My own father, about forty years ago, married a woman who, like myself, was of the Roman Catholic persuasion; and, though she had neither fortune nor family, she had a face and a wit, which procured her, for a season, the notice of more than one gentleman in the neighbourhood.

I was born at Castle Rackrent, hard by the Shannon, in a little room up stairs, which looks towards the garden. I had the luck to be bred by an aunt, the sister of my mother, who brought me up in some notions of decency, and taught me to read and write at a very early age. She used to say that a domestic is a gentleman’s counsellor, and that he should be a man that knows to observe, and to conceal; and, when I began to speak plain, she would take care that I should speak truth only, and not be too free of my tongue.

I cannot pretend to give any account of the origin of the family of the Rackrents; I only know that, in my grandfather’s time, they were a very thriving set, and that Sir Patrick, the present baronet, had succeeded to a large estate by the marriage of his father with an heiress. The Rackrents were originally of Norman extraction: they came into this country with the conqueror; and, from the time that they settled, they always lived at Castle Rackrent, and were looked upon as something superior to their neighbours.

Sir Patrick was a man of a very great temper, and of a most violent disposition. He loved hunting, drinking, and gaming; and his passions were indulged without control. He would squander his estate in a few years, and never scruple to sell the plate, or mortgage the lands, or borrow upon the credit of his family. His lady was a very meek woman, and bore all her sufferings with patience; but she had a large family of children, and Sir Patrick took no care to provide for them.

The first thing that I remember of the baronet was an old cast of his, with a great scar over his right eye, which he got at a fox-chase. He used to ride a grey horse, and to wear a great horseman’s cloak, with a spear of lace at his wrist, and a large gold watch hanging at his fob. He was a very showy man in his appearance; but, when you got into his conversation, you soon discovered that he was a man of little sense.

During the time that Sir Patrick had his estate in his own management, he used to set up a great deal of hospitality, and keep as many as he could at his table. He was always glad to have company, especially from the neighbouring gentry; and he used to make a joke of every thing that was serious. He had a great deal of humour in his way; but it was the humour of a man who could not reason, but laughed at what he did not understand.

Sir Patrick’s steward was a shrewd man, and took every advantage of his master’s weakness. He would persuade Sir Patrick to give away leases to his friends, to let the land for short terms, and to prefer tenants that would pay him in kind rather than in money. Thus the estate ran into confusion, and the tenants grew insolent, and the rack-rents were let more and more, until the very name of Rackrent came to signify a species of folly and profusion.