Hospitality

"Hospitality – no formality – there you'll ever see:" ²²⁴ – so runneth the old song. Quite true – true to the very letter; and there was not a more hospitable house, in the province of Leinster, than Barrytown. ²²⁵ "Kindly welcome" was visibly expressed by every countenance, and all things bore the stamp of – "Hospitality!" The master was large; the house was large; the trees were large; the entrance-gates were large: the servants were large; all the domestic animals were large; the worthy owner's heart was large – and so was his purse. He was cheerful and happy; his house, particularly in the shooting or summer season, was always full of company, more numerous than select, but all resolved to enjoy themselves, and Mr. Barry, their worthy host, determined to promote their enjoyment. I have said his house was large – it was almost magnificent. It stood on a gentle declivity, and commanded a pleasing, though not very extensive, prospect; the entrance-hall was lofty and wide; the walls well garnished with fowling-pieces, ²²⁶ fishing-rods, and, at the farthermost end, the antediluvian horns of a monstrous elk, which spread even to the ceiling's height. Of this extraordinary production of nature Mr. Barry ²²⁷ was very proud, and boldly challenged the Dublin Museum to produce its equal. The pavement of the hall was formed of beautiful Kilkenny marble; its polish certainly had departed, yet the rich and varied veins were distinctly visible. Dogs of various sizes – from the stately Dane, the graceful staghound, the shaggy Newfoundland – to the fawning spaniel, the little rat-catching, black-muzzled terrier, and the sleepy, silky Blenheim ²²⁸ – considered the hall as their own exclusive property, yet lived on terms of perfect good fellowship with a Killarney eagle, a Scotch raven, and a beautiful Angola cat, ²²⁹ who shared the same territory, the latter, indeed, looked upon a deer-skin-covered couch as dedicated to her sole use and benefit.