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diff --git a/5240-0.txt b/5240-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..36773ee --- /dev/null +++ b/5240-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,20483 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Confessions of Harry Lorrequer, by Charles James Lever + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: The Confessions of Harry Lorrequer + +Author: Charles James Lever + +Release Date: June 10, 2002 [eBook #5240] +[Most recently updated: October 3, 2021] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: Mary Munarin and David Widger + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CONFESSIONS OF HARRY LORREQUER *** + + + + +The Confessions of Harry Lorrequer + +By Charles James Lever (1806-1872) + +Dublin + +MDCCCXXXIX. + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration: spine] + +[Illustration: titlepage] + +[Illustration: The Inn at Munich] + + + + +“We talked of pipe-clay regulation caps— + Long twenty-fours—short culverins and mortars— +Condemn’d the ‘Horse Guards’ for a set of raps, + And cursed our fate at being in such quarters. +Some smoked, some sighed, and some were heard to snore; + Some wished themselves five fathoms ’neath the Solway; +And some did pray—who never prayed before— + That they might get the ‘route’ for Cork or Galway.” + + + + + +CONTENTS + + CHAPTER I. Arrival in Cork—Civic Festivities—Private Theatricals + CHAPTER II. Detachment Duty—The Burton Arms—Callonby + CHAPTER III. Life at Callonby—Love-making—Miss O’Dowd’s Adventure + CHAPTER IV. Botanical Studies—The Natural System preferable to the Linnaean + CHAPTER V. Puzzled—Explanation—Makes bad worse—The Duel + CHAPTER VI. The Priest’s Supper—Father Malachi and the Coadjutor—Major Jones and the Abbé + CHAPTER VII. The Lady’s Letter—Peter and his Acquaintances—Too late + CHAPTER VIII. Congratulations—Sick Leave—How to pass the Board + CHAPTER IX. The Road—Travelling Acquaintances—A Packet Adventure + CHAPTER X. Upset—Mind and Body + CHAPTER XI. Cheltenham—Matrimonial Adventure—Showing how to make love for a friend + CHAPTER XII. Dublin—Tom O’Flaherty—A Reminiscence of the Peninsula + CHAPTER XIII. Dublin—The Boarding-house—Select Society + CHAPTER XIV. The Chase + CHAPTER XV. Mems Of the North Cork + CHAPTER XVI. Theatricals + CHAPTER XVII. (The chapter number is a repeat) The Wager + CHAPTER XVIII. The Elopement + CHAPTER XIX. Detachment Duty—An Assize Town + CHAPTER XX. The Assize Town + CHAPTER XXI. A Day in Dublin + CHAPTER XXII. A Night at Howth + CHAPTER XXIII. The Journey + CHAPTER XXIV. Calais + CHAPTER XXV. The Gen d’Arme + CHAPTER XXVI. The Inn at Chantraine + CHAPTER XXVII. Mr O’Leary + CHAPTER XXVIII. Paris + CHAPTER XXIX. Paris + CHAPTER XXX. Captain Trevanion’s Adventure + CHAPTER XXXI. Difficulties + CHAPTER XXXII. Explanation + CHAPTER XXXIII. Mr O’Leary’s First Love + CHAPTER XXXIV. Mr O’Leary’s Second Love + CHAPTER XXXV. The Duel + CHAPTER XXXVI. Early Recollections—A First Love + CHAPTER XXXVII. Wise Resolves + CHAPTER XXXVIII. The Proposal + CHAPTER XXXIX. Thoughts upon Matrimony in general, and in the Army in particular—The Knight of Kerry and Billy M’Cabe + CHAPTER XL. A Reminiscence + CHAPTER XLI. The Two Letters + CHAPTER XLII. Mr O’Leary’s Capture + CHAPTER XLIII. The Journey + CHAPTER XLIV. The Journey + CHAPTER XLV. A Reminscence of the East + CHAPTER XLVI. A Day in the Phœnix + CHAPTER XLVII. An Adventure in Canada + CHAPTER XLVIII. The Courier’s Passport + CHAPTER XLIX. A Night in Strasbourg + CHAPTER L. A Surprise + CHAPTER LI. Jack Waller’s Story + CHAPTER LII. Munich + CHAPTER LIII. Inn at Munich + CHAPTER LIV. The Ball + CHAPTER LV. A Discovery + CHAPTER LVI. Conclusion + + + + +LIST OF PLATES + + The Inn at Munich + Lorrequer on Parade + Nicholas Announcing Miss Betty O’Dowd’s Carriage + The Sentry Challenging Father Luke and the Abbé + The Supper at Father Malachi’s + Mrs. Mulrooney and Sir Stewart Moore + Lorrequer Making His Escape From Col. Kamworth’s + Mr. Cudmore Filling the Teapot + Dr. Finucane and the Grey Mare + Lorrequer Practising Physic + Mr. Burke’s Enthusiasm for the Duke of Wellington + The Passport Office + Lorrequer as Postillion + Mr. O’Leary Creating a Sensation at the Salon des Etranges + Trevanion Astonishing the Bully Gendemar + Mr. O’Leary Charges the Mob + Mr. O’Leary Imagines Himself Kilt + Harry Proves Himself a Man of Metal + Mr. O’Leary’s Double Capture + Mr. Malone and Friend + Lorrequer’s Debut at Strasburg + The Inn at Munich + Arrival of Charge d’Affairs + + + + +To Sir George Hamilton Seymour, G.C.H. +&c. &c. + +My Dear Sir Hamilton, + +If a feather will show how the wind blows, perhaps my dedicating to you +even as light matter as these Confessions may in some measure prove how +grateful I feel for the many kindnesses I have received from you in the +course of our intimacy. While thus acknowledging a debt, I must also +avow that another motive strongly prompts me upon this occasion. I am +not aware of any one, to whom with such propriety a volume of anecdote +and adventure should be inscribed, as to one, himself well known as an +inimitable narrator. Could I have stolen for my story, any portion of +the grace and humour with which I have heard you adorn many of your +own, while I should deem this offering more worthy of your acceptance, +I should also feel more confident of its reception by the public. + +With every sentiment of esteem and regard, +Believe me very faithfully yours, +THE AUTHOR. + +Bruxelles, December, 1839. + + + + +PREFATORY EPISTLE. + + +Dear Public, + +When first I set about recording the scenes which occupy these pages, I +had no intention of continuing them, except in such stray and scattered +fragments as the columns of a Magazine[*] permit of; and when at length +I discovered that some interest had attached not only to the +adventures, but to their narrator, I would gladly have retired with my +“little laurels” from a stage, on which, having only engaged to appear +between the acts, I was destined to come forward as a principal +character. + +* The Dublin University Magazine. + + +Among the “miseries of human life,” a most touching one is spoken +of—the being obliged to listen to the repetition of a badly sung song, +because some well-wishing, but not over discreet friend of the singer +has called loudly for an _encore_. + +I begin very much to fear that something of the kind has taken place +here, and that I should have acted a wiser part, had I been contented +with even the still small voice of a few partial friends, and retired +from the boards in the pleasing delusion of success; but unfortunately, +the same easy temperament that has so often involved me before, has +been faithful to me here; and when you pretended to be pleased, +unluckily, I believed you. + +So much of apology for the matter—a little now for the manner of my +offending, and I have done. I wrote as I felt—sometimes in good +spirits, sometimes in bad—always carelessly—for, God help me, I can do +no better. + +When the celibacy of the Fellows of Trinity College, Dublin, became an +active law in that University, the Board proceeded to enforce it, by +summoning to their presence all the individuals who it was well known +had transgressed the regulation, and among them figured Dr. S., many of +whose sons were at the same time students in the college. “Are you +married, Dr. S——r?” said the bachelor vice-provost, in all the dignity +and pride of conscious innocence. “Married!” said the father of ten +children, with a start of involuntary horror;—“married?” “Yes sir, +married.” “Why sir, I am no more married than the Provost.” This was +quite enough—no further questions were asked, and the head of the +University preferred a merciful course towards the offender, to +repudiating his wife and disowning his children. Now for the +application. Certain captious and incredulous people have doubted the +veracity of the adventures I have recorded in these pages; I do not +think it necessary to appeal to concurrent testimony and credible +witnesses for their proof, but I pledge myself to the fact that every +tittle I have related is as true as that my name is Lorrequer—need I +say more? + +Another objection has been made to my narrative, and I cannot pass it +by without a word of remark;—“these Confessions are wanting in scenes +of touching and pathetic interest”[*]—true, quite true; but I console +myself on this head, for I remember hearing of an author whose +paraphrase of the book of Job was refused by a publisher, if he could +not throw a little more humour into it; and if I have not been more +miserable and more unhappy, I am very sorry for it on _your_ account, +but you must excuse my regretting it on _my own_. Another story and I +have done;—the Newgate Calendar makes mention of a notorious +housebreaker, who closed his career of outrage and violence by the +murder of a whole family, whose house he robbed; on the scaffold he +entreated permission to speak a few words to the crowd beneath, and +thus addressed them:—“My friends, it is quite true I murdered this +family; in cold blood I did it—one by one they fell beneath my hand, +while I rifled their coffers, and took forth their effects; but one +thing is imputed to me, which I cannot die without denying—it is +asserted that I stole an extinguisher; the contemptible character of +this petty theft is a stain upon my reputation, that I cannot suffer to +disgrace my memory.” So would I now address you for all the graver +offences of my book; I stand forth guilty—miserably, palpably +guilty—they are mine every one of them; and I dare not, I cannot deny +them; but if you think that the blunders in French and the hash of +spelling so widely spread through these pages, are attributable to me; +on the faith of a gentleman I pledge myself you are wrong, and that I +had nothing to do with them. If my thanks for the kindness and +indulgence with which these hastily written and rashly conceived +sketches have been received by the press and the public, are of any +avail, let me add, in conclusion, that a more grateful author does not +exist than + +HARRY LORREQUER + +* We have the author’s permission to state, that all the pathetic and +moving incidents of his career he has reserved for a second series of +“Confessions,” to be entitled “Lorrequer _Married?_”—_Publisher’s +Note_. + + + + +A WORD OF INTRODUCTION. + + +“Story! God bless you; I have none to tell, sir.” + +It is now many—do not ask me to say how many—years since I received +from the Horse Guards the welcome intelligence that I was gazetted to +an ensigncy in his Majesty’s —th Foot, and that my name, which had +figured so long in the “Duke’s” list, with the words “a very hard case” +appended, should at length appear in the monthly record of promotions +and appointments. + +Since then my life has been passed in all the vicissitudes of war and +peace. The camp and the bivouac—the reckless gaiety of the +mess-table—the comfortless solitude of a French prison—the exciting +turmoils of active service—the wearisome monotony of garrison duty, I +have alike partaken of, and experienced. A career of this kind, with a +temperament ever ready to go with the humour of those about him will +always be sure of its meed of adventure. Such has mine been; and with +no greater pretension than to chronicle a few of the scenes in which I +have borne a part, and revive the memory of the other actors in +them—some, alas! now no more—I have ventured upon these “Confessions.” + +If I have not here selected that portion of my life which most abounded +in striking events and incidents most worthy of recording, my excuse is +simply, because being my first appearance upon the boards, _I_ +preferred accustoming myself to the look of the house, while performing +the “Cock,” to coming before the audience in the more difficult part of +Hamlet. + +As there are unhappily impracticable people in the world, who, as +Curran expressed it, are never content to know “who killed the gauger, +if you can’t inform them who wove his corduroys”—to all such I would, +in deep humility, say, that with my “Confessions” they have nothing to +do—I have neither story nor moral—my only pretension to the one, is the +detail of a passion which marked some years of my life; my only attempt +at the other, the effort to show how prolific in hair-breadth ‘scapes +may a man’s career become, who, with a warm imagination and easy +temper, believes too much, and rarely can feign a part without +forgetting that he is acting. Having said thus much, I must once more +bespeak the indulgence never withheld from a true penitent, and at once +begin my “Confessions.” + + + + + CHAPTER I. +ARRIVAL IN CORK—CIVIC FESTIVITIES—PRIVATE THEATRICALS. + +[Illustration: Lorrequer on Parade] + + +It was on a splendid morning in the autumn of the year 181— that the +Howard transport, with four hundred of his Majesty’s 4—th Regt., +dropped anchor in the beautiful harbour of Cove; the sea shone under +the purple light of the rising sun with a rich rosy hue, beautifully in +contrast with the different tints of the foliage of the deep woods +already tinged with the brown of autumn. Spike Island lay “sleeping +upon its broad shadow,” and the large ensign which crowns the battery +was wrapped around the flag-staff, there not being even air enough to +stir it. It was still so early, that but few persons were abroad; and +as we leaned over the bulwarks, and looked now, for the first time for +eight long years, upon British ground, many an eye filled, and many a +heaving breast told how full of recollections that short moment was, +and how different our feelings from the gay buoyancy with which we had +sailed from that same harbour for the Peninsula; many of our best and +bravest had we left behind us, and more than one native to the land we +were approaching had found his last rest in the soil of the stranger. +It was, then, with a mingled sense of pain and pleasure, we gazed upon +that peaceful little village, whose white cottages lay dotted along the +edge of the harbour. The moody silence our thoughts had shed over us +was soon broken: the preparations for disembarking had begun, and I +recollect well to this hour how, shaking off the load that oppressed my +heart, I descended the gangway, humming poor Wolfe’s well-known song— + +“Why, soldiers, why +Should we be melancholy, boys?” + + +And to this elasticity of spirits—whether the result of my profession, +or the gift of God—as Dogberry has it—I know not—I owe the greater +portion of the happiness I have enjoyed in a life, whose changes and +vicissitudes have equalled most men’s. + +Drawn up in a line along the shore, I could scarce refrain from a smile +at our appearance. Four weeks on board a transport will certainly not +contribute much to the “personnel” of any unfortunate therein confined; +but when, in addition to this, you take into account that we had not +received new clothes for three years—if I except caps for our +grenadiers, originally intended for a Scotch regiment, but found to be +all too small for the long-headed generation. Many a patch of brown and +grey, variegated the faded scarlet, “of our uniform,” and scarcely a +pair of knees in the entire regiment did not confess their obligations +to a blanket. But with all this, we shewed a stout, weather-beaten +front, that, disposed as the passer-by might feel to laugh at our +expense, very little caution would teach him it was fully as safe to +indulge it in his sleeve. + +The bells from every steeple and tower rung gaily out a peal of welcome +as we marched into “that beautiful city called Cork,” our band playing +“Garryowen”—for we had been originally raised in Ireland, and still +among our officers maintained a strong majority from that land of +punch, priests, and potatoes—the tattered flag of the regiment proudly +waving over our heads, and not a man amongst us whose warm heart did +not bound behind a Waterloo medal. Well—well! I am now—alas, that I +should say it—somewhat in the “sear and yellow;” and I confess, after +the experience of some moments of high, triumphant feeling, that I +never before felt within me, the same animating, spirit-filling glow of +delight, as rose within my heart that day, as I marched at the head of +my company down George’s-street. + +We were soon settled in barracks; and then began a series of +entertainments on the side of the civic dignities of Cork, which soon +led most of us to believe that we had only escaped shot and shell to +fall less gloriously beneath champagne and claret. I do not believe +there is a coroner in the island who would have pronounced but the one +verdict over the regiment—“Killed by the mayor and corporation,” had we +so fallen. + +First of all, we were dined by the citizens of Cork—and, to do them +justice, a harder drinking set of gentlemen no city need boast; then we +were feasted by the corporation; then by the sheriffs; then came the +mayor, solus; then an address, with a cold collation, that left eight +of us on the sick-list for a fortnight; but the climax of all was a +grand entertainment given in the mansion-house, and to which upwards of +two thousand were invited. It was a species of fancy ball, beginning by +a dejeune at three o’clock in the afternoon, and ending—I never yet met +the man who could tell when it ended; as for myself, my finale partook +a little of the adventurous, and I may as well relate it. + +After waltzing for about an hour with one of the prettiest girls I ever +set eyes upon, and getting a tender squeeze of the hand, as I restored +her to a most affable-looking old lady in a blue turban and a red +velvet gown who smiled most benignly on me, and called me “Meejor,” I +retired to recruit for a new attack, to a small table, where three of +ours were quaffing “ponche a la Romaine,” with a crowd of Corkagians +about them, eagerly inquiring after some heroes of their own city, +whose deeds of arms they were surprised did not obtain special mention +from “the Duke.” I soon ingratiated myself into this well-occupied +clique, and dosed them with glory to their hearts’ content. I resolved +at once to enter into their humour; and as the “ponche” mounted up to +my brain I gradually found my acquaintanceship extend to every family +and connexion in the country. + +“Did ye know Phil Beamish of the 3—th, sir?” said a tall, red-faced, +red-whiskered, well-looking gentleman, who bore no slight resemblance +to Feargus O’Connor. + +“Phil Beamish!” said I. “Indeed I did, sir, and do still; and there is +not a man in the British army I am prouder of knowing.” Here, by the +way, I may mention that I never heard the name till that moment. + +“You don’t say so, sir?” said Feargus—for so I must call him, for +shortness sake. “Has he any chance of the company yet, sir?” + +“Company!” said I, in astonishment. “He obtained his majority three +months since. You cannot possibly have heard from lately, or you would +have known that?” + +“That’s true, sir. I never heard since he quitted the 3—th to go to +Versailles, I think they call it, for his health. But how did he get +the step, sir?” + +“Why, as to the company, that was remarkable enough!” said I, quaffing +off a tumbler of champagne, to assist my invention. “You know it was +about four o’clock in the afternoon of the 18th that Napoleon ordered +Grouchy to advance with the first and second brigade of the Old Guard +and two regiments of chasseurs, and attack the position occupied by +Picton and the regiments under his command. Well, sir, on they came, +masked by the smoke of a terrific discharge of artillery, stationed on +a small eminence to our left, and which did tremendous execution among +our poor fellows—on they came, Sir; and as the smoke cleared partially +away we got a glimpse of them, and a more dangerous looking set I +should not desire to see: grizzle-bearded, hard-featured, bronzed +fellows, about five-and-thirty or forty years of age; their beauty not +a whit improved by the red glare thrown upon their faces and along the +whole line by each flash of the long twenty-fours that were playing +away to the right. Just at this moment Picton rode down the line with +his staff, and stopping within a few paces of me, said, ‘They’re coming +up; steady, boys; steady now: we shall have something to do soon.’ And +then, turning sharply round, he looked in the direction of the French +battery, that was thundering away again in full force, ‘Ah, that must +be silenced,’ said he, ‘Where’s Beamish?’—“Says Picton!” interrupted +Feargus, his eyes starting from their sockets, and his mouth growing +wider every moment, as he listed with the most intense interest. “Yes,” +said I, slowly; and then, with all the provoking nonchalance of an +Italian improvisatore, who always halts at the most exciting point of +his narrative, I begged a listener near me to fill my glass from the +iced punch beside him. Not a sound was heard as I lifted the bumper to +my lips; all were breathless in their wound-up anxiety to hear of their +countryman who had been selected by Picton—for what, too, they knew not +yet, and, indeed, at this instant I did not know myself, and nearly +laughed outright, for the two of our men who had remained at the table +had so well employed their interval of ease as to become very +pleasantly drunk, and were listening to my confounded story with all +the gravity and seriousness in the world. + +“‘Where’s Beamish?’ said Picton. ‘Here, sir,’ said Phil stepping out +from the line and touching his cap to the general, who, taking him +apart for a few minutes, spoke to him with great animation. We did not +know what he said; but before five minutes were over, there was Phil +with three companies of light-bobs drawn up at our left; their muskets +at the charge, they set off at a round trot down the little steep which +closed our flank. We had not much time to follow their movements, for +our own amusement began soon; but I well remember, after repelling the +French attack, and standing in square against two heavy charges of +cuirassiers, the first thing I saw where the French battery had stood, +was Phil Beamish and about a handful of brave fellows, all that +remained from the skirmish. He captured two of the enemy’s +field-pieces, and was ‘Captain Beamish’ on the day after.” + +“Long life to him,” said at least a dozen voices behind and about me, +while a general clinking of decanters and smacking of lips betokened +that Phil’s health with all the honours was being celebrated. For +myself, I was really so engrossed by my narrative, and so excited by +the “ponche,” that I saw or heard very little of what was passing +around, and have only a kind of dim recollection of being seized by the +hand by “Feargus,” who was Beamish’s brother, and who, in the fullness +of his heart, would have hugged me to his breast, if I had not +opportunely been so overpowered as to fall senseless under the table. + +When I first returned to consciousness, I found myself lying exactly +where I had fallen. Around me lay heaps of slain—the two of “ours” +amongst the number. One of them—I remember he was the adjutant—held in +his hand a wax candle (three to the pound). Whether he had himself +seized it in the enthusiasm of my narrative of flood and field, or it +had been put there by another, I know not, but he certainly cut a droll +figure. The room we were in was a small one off the great saloon, and +through the half open folding-door I could clearly perceive that the +festivities were still continued. The crash of fiddles and French +horns, and the tramp of feet, which had lost much of their elasticity +since the entertainments began, rang through my ears, mingled with the +sounds “down the middle,” “hands across,” “here’s your partner, +Captain.” What hour of the night or morning it then was, I could not +guess; but certainly the vigor of the party seemed little abated, if I +might judge from the specimens before me, and the testimony of a short +plethoric gentleman, who stood wiping his bald head, after conducting +his partner down twenty-eight couple, and who, turning to his friend, +said, “Oh, the distance is nothing, but it is the pace that kills.” + +The first evidence I shewed of any return to reason, was a strong +anxiety to be at my quarters; but how to get there I knew not. The +faint glimmering of sense I possessed told me that “to stand was to +fall,” and I was ashamed to go on all-fours, which prudence suggested. + +At this moment I remembered I had brought with me my cane, which, from +a perhaps pardonable vanity, I was fond of parading. It was a present +from the officers of my regiment—many of them, alas, since dead—and had +a most splendid gold head, with a stag at the top—the arms of the +regiment. This I would not have lost for any consideration I can +mention; and this now was gone! I looked around me on every side; I +groped beneath the table; I turned the sleeping sots who lay about in +no very gentle fashion; but, alas, it was gone. I sprang to my feet and +only then remembered how unfit I was to follow up the search, as +tables, chairs, lights, and people seemed all rocking and waving before +me. However, I succeeded in making my way, through one room into +another, sometimes guiding my steps along the walls; and once, as I +recollect, seeking the diagonal of a room, I bisected a quadrille with +such ill-directed speed, as to run foul of a Cork dandy and his partner +who were just performing the “en avant:” but though I saw them lie +tumbled in the dust by the shock of my encounter—for I had upset them—I +still held on the even tenor of my way. In fact, I had feeling for but +one loss; and, still in pursuit of my cane, I reached the hall-door. +Now, be it known that the architecture of the Cork Mansion House has +but one fault, but that fault is a grand one, and a strong evidence of +how unsuited English architects are to provide buildings for a people +whose tastes and habits they but imperfectly understand—be it known, +then, that the descent from the hall-door to the street was by a flight +of twelve stone steps. How I should ever get down these was now my +difficulty. If Falstaff deplored “eight yards of uneven ground as being +three score and ten miles a foot,” with equal truth did I feel that +these twelve awful steps were worse to me than would be M’Gillicuddy +Reeks in the day-light, and with a head clear from champagne. + +While I yet hesitated, the problem resolved itself; for, gazing down +upon the bright gravel, brilliantly lighted by the surrounding lamps, I +lost my balance, and came tumbling and rolling from top to bottom, +where I fell upon a large mass of some soft substance, to which, in all +probability, I owe my life. In a few seconds I recovered my senses, and +what was my surprise to find that the downy cushion beneath, snored +most audibly! I moved a little to one side, and then discovered that in +reality it was nothing less than an alderman of Cork, who, from his +position, I concluded had shared the same fate with myself; there he +lay, “like a warrior taking his rest,” but not with his “martial cloak +around him,” but a much more comfortable and far more costly robe—a +scarlet gown of office—with huge velvet cuffs and a great cape of the +same material. True courage consists in presence of mind; and here mine +came to my aid at once: recollecting the loss I had just sustained, and +perceiving that all was still about me, with that right Peninsular +maxim, that reprisals are fair in an enemy’s camp, I proceeded to strip +the slain; and with some little difficulty—partly, indeed, owing to my +unsteadiness on my legs—I succeeded in denuding the worthy alderman, +who gave no other sign of life during the operation than an abortive +effort to “hip, hip, hurra,” in which I left him, having put on the +spoil, and set out on my way to the barrack with as much dignity of +manner as I could assume in honour of my costume. And here I may +mention (en parenthese) that a more comfortable morning gown no man +ever possessed, and in its wide luxuriant folds I revel, while I write +these lines. + +When I awoke on the following day I had considerable difficulty in +tracing the events of the past evening. The great scarlet cloak, +however, unravelled much of the mystery, and gradually the whole of my +career became clear before me, with the single exception of the episode +of Phil Beamish, about which my memory was subsequently refreshed—but I +anticipate. Only five appeared that day at mess; and, Lord! What +spectres they were!—yellow as guineas; they called for soda water +without ceasing, and scarcely spoke a word to each other. It was plain +that the corporation of Cork was committing more havoc among us than +Corunna or Waterloo, and that if we did not change our quarters, there +would be quick promotion in the corps for such as were “seasoned +gentlemen.” After a day or two we met again together, and then what +adventures were told—each man had his own story to narrate; and from +the occurrences detailed, one would have supposed years had been +passing, instead of the short hours of an evening party. Mine were +indeed among the least remarkable; but I confess that the air of +vraisemblance produced by my production of the aldermanic gown gave me +the palm above all competitors. + +Such was our life in Cork—dining, drinking, dancing, riding steeple +chases, pigeon shooting, and tandem driving—filling up any little +interval that was found to exist between a late breakfast, and the time +to dress for dinner; and here I hope I shall not be accused of a +tendency to boasting, while I add, that among all ranks and degrees of +men, and women too, there never was a regiment more highly in +estimation than the 4—th. We felt the full value of all the attentions +we were receiving; and we endeavoured, as best we might, to repay them. +We got up Garrison Balls and Garrison Plays, and usually performed one +or twice a week during the winter. Here I shone conspicuously; in the +morning I was employed painting scenery and arranging the properties; +as it grew later, I regulated the lamps, and looked after the +foot-lights, mediating occasionally between angry litigants, whose +jealousies abound to the full as much, in private theatricals, as in +the regular corps dramatique. Then, I was also leader in the orchestra; +and had scarcely to speak the prologues. Such are the cares of +greatness: to do myself justice, I did not dislike them; though, to be +sure, my taste for the drama did cost me a little dear, as will be seen +in the sequel. + +We were then in the full career of popularity. Our balls pronounced the +very pleasantest; our plays far superior to any regular corps that had +ever honoured Cork with their talents; when an event occurred which +threw a gloom over all our proceedings, and finally put a stop to every +project for amusement, we had so completely given ourselves up to. This +was no less than the removal of our Lieutenant-Colonel. After thirty +years of active service in the regiment he then commanded, his age and +infirmities, increased by some severe wounds, demanded ease and repose; +he retired from us, bearing along with him the love and regard of every +man in the regiment. To the old officers he was endeared by long +companionship, and undeviating friendship; to the young, he was in +every respect as a father, assisting by his advice, and guiding by his +counsel; while to the men, the best estimate of his worth appeared in +the fact, that corporeal punishment was unknown in the corps. Such was +the man we lost; and it may well be supposed, that his successor, who, +or whatever he might be, came under circumstances of no common +difficulty amongst us; but, when I tell, that our new +Lieutenant-Colonel was in every respect his opposite, it may be +believed how little cordiality he met with. + +Lieutenant-Colonel Carden—for so I shall call him, although not his +real name—had not been a month at quarters, when he proved himself a +regular martinet; everlasting drills, continual reports, fatigue +parties, and ball practice, and heaven knows what besides, superseded +our former morning’s occupation; and, at the end of the time I have +metioned, we, who had fought our way from Albuera to Waterloo, under +some of the severest generals of division, were pronounced a most +disorderly and ill-disciplined regiment, by a Colonel, who had never +seen a shot fired but at a review in Hounslow, or a sham-battle in the +Fifteen Acres. The winter was now drawing to a close—already some +little touch of spring was appearing; as our last play for the season +was announced, every effort to close with some little additional effort +was made; and each performer in the expected piece was nerving himself +for an effort beyond his wont. The Colonel had most unequivocally +condemned these plays; but that mattered not; they came not within his +jurisdiction; and we took no notice of his displeasure, further than +sending him tickets, which were as immediately returned as received. +From being the chief offender, I had become particularly obnoxious; and +he had upon more than one occasion expressed his desire for an +opportunity to visit me with his vengeance; but being aware of his kind +intentions towards me, I took particular care to let no such +opportunity occur. + +On the morning in question, then, I had scarcely left my quarters, when +one of my brother officers informed me that the Colonel had made a +great uproar, that one of the bills of the play had been put up on his +door—which, with his avowed dislike to such representations, he +considered as intended to insult him: he added, too, that the Colonel +attributed it to me. In this, however, he was wrong—and, to this hour, +I never knew who did it. I had little time, and still less inclination, +to meditate upon the Colonel’s wrath—the theatre had all my thoughts; +and indeed it was a day of no common exertion, for our amusements were +to conclude with a grand supper on the stage, to which all the elite of +Cork were invited. Wherever I went through the city—and many were my +peregrinations—the great placard of the play stared me in the fact; and +every gate and shuttered window in Cork, proclaimed “THE PART OF +OTHELLO, BY MR. LORREQUER.” + +As evening drew near, my cares and occupations were redoubled. My Iago +I had fears for—’tis true he was an admirable Lord Grizzle in Tom +Thumb—but then—then I had to paint the whole company, and bear all +their abuse besides, for not making some of the most ill-looking +wretches, perfect Apollos; but, last of all, I was sent for, at a +quarter to seven, to lace Desdemona’s stays. Start not, gentle +reader—my fair Desdemona—she “who might lie by an emperor’s side, and +command him tasks”—was no other than the senior lieutenant of the +regiment, and who was a great a votary of the jolly god as honest +Cassio himself. But I must hasten on—I cannot delay to recount our +successes in detail. Let it suffice to say, that, by universal consent, +I was preferred to Kean; and the only fault the most critical observer +could find to the representative of Desdemona, was a rather unlady-like +fondness for snuff. But, whatever little demerits our acting might have +displayed, were speedily forgotten in a champagne supper. There I took +the head of the table; and, in the costume of the noble Moor, toasted, +made speeches, returned thanks, and sung songs, till I might have +exclaimed with Othello himself, “Chaos was come again;”—and I believe I +owe my ever reaching the barrack that night to the kind offices of +Desdemona, who carried me the greater part of the way on her back. + +The first waking thoughts of him who has indulged over-night, was not +among the most blissful of existence, and certainly the pleasure is not +increased by the consciousness that he is called on to the discharge of +duties to which a fevered pulse and throbbing temples are but +ill-suited. My sleep was suddenly broken in upon the morning after the +play, but a “row-dow-dow” beat beneath my window. I jumped hastily from +my bed, and looked out, and there, to my horror, perceived the regiment +under arms. It was one of our confounded colonel’s morning drills; and +there he stood himself with the poor adjutant, who had been up all +night, shivering beside him. Some two or three of the officers had +descended; and the drum was now summoning the others as it beat round +the barrack-square. I saw there was not a moment to lose, and proceeded +to dress with all despatch; but, to my misery, I discovered every where +nothing but theatrical robes and decorations—there lay a splendid +turban, here a pair of buskins—a spangled jacket glittered on one +table, and a jewelled scimitar on the other. At last I detected my +“regimental small-clothes,” &c. most ignominiously thrust into a +corner, in my ardour for my Moorish robes the preceding evening. + +I dressed myself with the speed of lightning; but as I proceeded in my +occupation—guess my annoyance to find that the toilet-table and glass, +ay, and even the basin-stand, had been removed to the dressing-room of +the theatre; and my servant, I suppose, following his master’s example, +was too tipsy to remember to bring them back; so that I was unable to +procure the luxury of cold water—for now not a moment more remained—the +drum had ceased, and the men had all fallen in. Hastily drawing on my +coat, I put on my shako, and buckling on my belt as dandy-like as might +be, hurried down the stairs to the barrack-yard. By the time I got +down, the men were all drawn up in line along the square; while the +adjutant was proceeding to examine their accoutrements, &c. as he +passed down. The colonel and the officers were standing in a group, but +no conversing. The anger of the commanding officer appeared still to +continue, and there was a dead silence maintained on both sides. To +reach the spot where they stood, I had to pass along part of the line. +In doing so, how shall I convey my amazement at the faces that met me—a +general titter ran along the entire rank, which not even their fears +for consequences seemed able to repress—for an effort, on the part of +many, to stifle the laugh, only ended in a still louder burst of +merriment. I looked to the far side of the yard for an explanation, but +there was nothing there to account for it. I now crossed over to where +the officers were standing, determining in my own mind to investigate +the occurrence thoroughly, when free from the presence of the colonel, +to whom any representation of ill conduct always brought a punishment +far exceeding the merits of the case. + +Scarcely had I formed this resolve, when I reached the group of +officers; but the moment I came near, one general roar of laughter +saluted me,—the like of which I never before heard—I looked down at my +costume, expecting to discover that, in my hurry to dress, I had put on +some of the garments of Othello—No: all was perfectly correct. I waited +for a moment, till the first burst of their merriment over, I should +obtain a clue to the jest. But their mirth appeared to increase. Indeed +poor G——, the senior major, one of the gravest men in Europe, laughed +till the tears ran down his cheeks; and such was the effect upon me, +that I was induced to laugh too—as men will sometimes, from the +infectious nature of that strange emotion; but, no sooner did I do +this, than their fun knew no bounds, and some almost screamed aloud, in +the excess of their merriment; just at this instant the Colonel, who +had been examining some of the men, approached our group, advancing +with an air of evident displeasure, as the shouts of loud laughter +continued. As he came up, I turned hastily round, and touching my cap, +wished him good morning. Never shall I forget the look he gave me. If a +glance could have annihilated any man, his would have finished me. For +a moment his face became purple with rage, his eye was almost hid +beneath his bent brow, and he absolutely shook with passion. + +“Go, Sir,” said he at length, as soon as he was able to find utterance +for his words; “Go, sir, to your quarters; and before you leave them, a +court-martial shall decide, if such continued insult to your commanding +officer, warrants your name being in the Army List.” + +“What the devil can all this mean?” I said, in a half-whisper, turning +to the others. But there they stood, their handkerchiefs to their +mouths, and evidently choking with suppressed laughter. + +“May I beg, Colonel C——,” said I—— + +“To your quarters, sir,” roared the little man, in the voice of a lion. +And with a haughty wave of his hand, prevented all further attempt on +my part to seek explanation. + +“They’re all mad, every man of them,” I muttered, as I betook byself +slowly back to my rooms, amid the same evidences of mirth my first +appearance had excited—which even the Colonel’s presence, feared as he +was, could not entirely subdue. + +With the air of a martyr I trod heavily up the stairs, and entered my +quarters, meditating within myself, awful schemes for vengeance, on the +now open tyranny of my Colonel; upon whom, I too, in my honest +rectitude of heart, vowed to have “a court-martial.” I threw myself +upon a chair, and endeavoured to recollect what circumstance of the +past evening could have possibly suggested all the mirth in which both +officers and men seemed to participate equally; but nothing could I +remember, capable of solving the mystery,—surely the cruel wrongs of +the manly Othello were no laughter-moving subject. + +I rang the bell hastily for my servant. The door opened. + +“Stubbes,” said I, “are you aware”—— + +I had only got so far in my question, when my servant, one of the most +discreet of men, put on a broad grin, and turned away towards the door +to hide his face. + +“What the devil does this mean?” said I, stamping with passion; “he is +as bad as the rest. Stubbes,” and this I spoke with the most grave and +severe tone, “what is the meaning of the insolence?” + +“Oh, sir,” said the man; “Oh, sir, surely you did not appear on parade +with that face?” and then he burst into a fit of the most +uncontrollable laughter. + +Like lightning a horrid doubt shot across my mind. I sprung over to the +dressing-glass, which had been replaced, and oh: horror of horrors! +There I stood as black as the king of Ashantee. The cursed dye which I +had put on for Othello, I had never washed off,—and there with a huge +bear-skin shako, and a pair of black, bushy whiskers, shone my huge, +black, and polished visage, glowering at itself in the looking-glass. + +My first impulse, after amazement had a little subsided, was to laugh +immoderately; in this I was joined by Stubbes, who, feeling that his +mirth was participated in, gave full vent to his risibility. And, +indeed, as I stood before the glass, grinning from ear to ear, I felt +very little surprise that my joining in the laughter of my brother +officers, a short time before, had caused an increase of their +merriment. I threw myself upon a sofa, and absolutely laughed till my +sides ached, when, the door opening, the adjutant made his appearance. +He looked for a moment at me, then at Stubbes, and then burst out +himself, as loud as either of us. When he had at length recovered +himself, he wiped his face with his handkerchief, and said, with a tone +of much gravity:— + +“But, my dear Lorrequer, this will be a serious—a devilish serious +affair. You know what kind of man Colonel C—— is; and you are aware, +too, you are not one of his prime favourites. He is firmly convinced +that you intended to insult him, and nothing will convince him to the +contrary. We told him how it must have occurred, but he will listen to +no explanation.” + +I thought for one second before I replied, my mind, with the practised +rapidity of an old campaigner, took in all the pros and cons of the +case; I saw at a glance, it were better to brave the anger of the +Colonel, come in what shape it might, than be the laughing-stock of the +mess for life, and with a face of the greatest gravity and +self-possession, said, + +“Well, adjutant, the Colonel is right. It was no mistake! You know I +sent him tickets yesterday for the theatre. Well, he returned them; +this did not annoy me, but on one account, I had made a wager with +Alderman Gullable, that the Colonel should see me in Othello—what was +to be done? Don’t you see, now, there was only one course, and I took +it, old boy, and have won my bet!” + +“And lost your commission for a dozen of champagne, I suppose,” said +the adjutant. + +“Never mind, my dear fellow,” I repled; “I shall get out of this +scrape, as I have done many others.” + +“But what do you intend doing?” + +“Oh, as to that,” said I, “I shall, of course, wait on the Colonel +immediately; pretend to him that it was a mere blunder, from the +inattention of my servant—hand over Stubbes to the powers that punish, +(here the poor fellow winced a little,) and make my peace as well as I +can. But, adjutant, mind,” said I, “and give the real version to all +our fellows, and tell them to make it public as much as they please.” + +“Never fear,” said he, as he left the room still laughing, “they shall +all know the true story; but I wish with all my heart you were well out +of it.” + +I now lost no time in making my toilet, and presented myself at the +Colonel’s quarters. It is no pleasure for me to recount these passages +in my life, in which I have had to hear the “proud man’s contumely.” I +shall therefore merely observe, that after a very long interview, the +Colonel accepted my apologies, and we parted. + +Before a week elapsed, the story had gone far and near; every +dinner-table in Cork had laughed at it. As for me, I attained immortal +honour for my tact and courage. Poor Gullable readily agreed to favour +the story, and gave us a dinner as the lost wager, and the Colonel was +so unmercifully quizzed on the subject, and such broad allusions to his +being humbugged were given in the Cork papers, that he was obliged to +negociate a change of quarters with another regiment, to get out of the +continual jesting, and in less than a month we marched to Limerick, to +relieve, as it was reported, the 9th, ordered for foreign service, but, +in reality, only to relieve Lieut.-Colonel C——, quizzed beyond +endurance. + +However, if the Colonel had seemed to forgive, he did not forget, for +the very second week after our arrival in Limerick, I received one +morning at my breakfast-table, the following brief note from our +adjutant:— + +“My Dear Lorrequer—The Colonel has received orders to despatch two +companies to some remote part of the county Clare; as you have ‘done +the state some service,’ you are selected for the beautiful town of +Kilrush, where, to use the eulogistic language of the geography books, +‘there is a good harbour, and a market plentifully supplied with fish.’ +I have just heard of the kind intention in store for you, and lose no +time in letting you know. + “God give you a good deliverance from the ‘garcons lances,’ as the + Moniteur calls the Whiteboys, and believe me ever your’s, Charles + Curzon.” + + +I had scarcely twice read over the adjutant’s epistle, when I received +an official notification from the Colonel, directing me to proceed to +Kilrush, then and there to afford all aid and assistance in suppressing +illicit distillation, when called on for that purpose; and other +similar duties too agreeable to recapitulate. Alas! Alas! Othello’s +occupation: was indeed gone! The next morning at sun-rise saw me on my +march, with what appearance of gaiety I could muster, but in reality +very much chopfallen at my banishment, and invoking sundry things upon +the devoted head of the Colonel, which he would by no means consider as +“blessings.” + +How short-sighted are we mortals, whether enjoying all the pump and +state of royalty, or marching like myself at the head of a company of +his Majesty’s 4—th. + +Little, indeed, did I anticipate that the Siberia to which I fancied I +was condemned should turn out the happiest quarters my fate ever threw +me into. But this, including as it does, one of the most important +events of my life, I reserve for another chapter.— + +“What is that place called, Sergeant?”—“Bunratty Castle, sir,” + +“Where do we breakfast?”—“At Clare Island, sir.” + +“March away, boys!” + + + + + CHAPTER II. +DETACHMENT DUTY—THE BURTON ARMS—CALLONBY. + + +For a week after my arrival at Kilrush, my life was one of the most +dreary monotony. The rain, which had begun to fall as I left Limerick, +continued to descend in torrents, and I found myself a close prisoner +in the sanded parlour of “mine inn.” At no time would such “durance +vile” have been agreeable; but now, when I contrasted it with all I had +left behind at head quarters, it was absolutely maddening. The pleasant +lounge in the morning, the social mess, and the agreeable evening +party, were all exchanged for a short promenade of fourteen feet in one +direction, and twelve in the other, such being the accurate measurement +of my “salle a manger.” A chicken, with legs as blue as a Highlander’s +in winter, for my dinner; and the hours that all Christian mankind were +devoting to pleasant intercourse, and agreeable chit-chat, spent in +beating that dead-march to time, “the Devil’s Tattoo,” upon my ricketty +table, and forming, between whiles, sundry valorous resolutions to +reform my life, and “eschew sack and loose company.” + +My front-window looked out upon a long, straggling, ill-paved street, +with its due proportion of mud-heaps, and duck pools; the houses on +either side were, for the most part, dingy-looking edifices, with +half-doors, and such pretension to being shops as a quart of meal, or +salt, displayed in the window, confers; or sometimes two tobacco-pipes, +placed “saltier-wise,” would appear the only vendible article in the +establishment. A more wretched, gloomy-looking picture of woe-begone +poverty, I never beheld. + +If I turned for consolation to the back of the house, my eyes fell upon +the dirty yard of a dirty inn; the half-thatched cow-shed, where two +famished animals mourned their hard fate,—“chewing the cud of sweet and +bitter fancy;” the chaise, the yellow post-chaise, once the pride and +glory of the establishment, now stood reduced from its wheels, and +ignominiously degraded to a hen-house; on the grass-grown roof a cock +had taken his stand, with an air of protective patronage to the +feathered inhabitants beneath: + +“To what base uses must we come at last.” + + +That chaise, which once had conveyed the blooming bride, all blushes +and tenderness, and the happy groom, on their honeymoon visit to +Ballybunion and its romantic caves, or to the gigantic cliffs and +sea-girt shores of Moher—or with more steady pace and becoming gravity +had borne along the “going judge of assize,”—was now become a lying-in +hospital for fowl, and a nursery for chickens. Fallen as I was myself +from my high estate, it afforded me a species of malicious satisfaction +to contemplate these sad reverses of fortune; and I verily believe—for +on such slight foundation our greatest resolves are built—that if the +rain had continued a week longer, I should have become a misanthropist +for life. I made many inquiries from my landlady as to the society of +the place, but the answers I received only led to greater despondence. +My predecessor here, it seemed, had been an officer of a veteran +battalion, with a wife, and that amount of children which is +algebraically expressed by an X (meaning an unknown quantity). He, good +man, in his two years’ sojourn here, had been much more solicitous +about his own affairs, than making acquaintance with his neighbours; +and at last, the few persons who had been in the habit of calling on +“the officer,” gave up the practice; and as there were no young ladies +to refresh Pa’s memory on the matter, they soon forgot completely that +such a person existed—and to this happy oblivion I, Harry Lorrequer, +succeeded, and was thus left without benefit of clergy to the tender +mercies of Mrs. Healy of the Burton arms. + +As during the inundation which deluged the whole country around I was +unable to stir from the house, I enjoyed abundant opportunity of +cultivating the acquaintance of my hostess, and it is but fair that my +reader, who has journeyed so far with me, should have an introduction. + +Mrs. Healy, the sole proprietor of the “Burton Arms,” was of some five +and fifty—“or by’r lady,” three score years, of a rubicund and hale +complexion; and though her short neck and corpulent figure might have +set her down as “doubly hazardous,” she looked a good life for many +years to come. In height and breadth she most nearly resembled a +sugar-hogshead, whose rolling, pitching motion, when trundled along on +edge, she emulated in her gait. To the ungainliness of her figure her +mode of dressing not a little contributed. She usually wore a thick +linsey-wolsey gown, with enormous pockets on either side, and, like +Nora Creina’s, it certainly inflicted no undue restrictions upon her +charms, but left + +“Every beauty free, +To sink or swell as heaven pleases.” + + +Her feet—ye gods! Such feet—were apparelled in listing slippers, over +which the upholstery of her ancles descended, and completely relieved +the mind of the spectator as to the superincumbent weight being +disproportioned to the support; I remember well my first impression on +seeing those feet and ancles reposing upon a straw footstool, while she +took her afternoon dose, and I wondered within myself if elephants were +liable to the gout. There are few countenances in the world, that if +wishing to convey an idea of, we cannot refer to some well-known +standard; and thus nothing is more common than to hear comparisons with +“Vulcan—Venus—Nicodemus,” and the like; but in the present case, I am +totally at a loss for any thing resembling the face of the worth Mrs. +Healy, except it be, perhaps, that most ancient and sour visage we used +to see upon old circular iron rappers formerly—they make none of them +now—the only difference being, that Mrs. Healy’s nose had no ring +through it; I am almost tempted to add, “more’s the pity.” + +Such was she in “the flesh;” would that I could say, she was more +fascinating in the “spirit!” but alas, truth, from which I never may +depart in these “my confessions,” constrains me to acknowledge the +reverse. Most persons in this miserable world of ours, have some +prevailing, predominating characteristic, which usually gives the tone +and colour to all their thoughts and actions, forming what we +denominate temperament; this we see actuating them, now more, now less; +but rarely, however, is this great spring of action without its moments +of repose. Not so with her of whom I have been speaking. She had but +one passion—but, like Aaron’s rod, it had a most consuming tendency—and +that was to scold, and abuse, all whom hard fate had brought within the +unfortunate limits of her tyranny. The English language, comprehensive +as it is, afforded not epithets strong enough for her wrath, and she +sought among the more classic beauties of her native Irish, such +additional ones as served her need, and with this holy alliance of +tongues, she had been for years long, the dread and terror of the +entire village. + +“The dawning of morn, the day-light sinking,” + +ay, and even the “night’s dull hours,” it was said, too, found her +labouring in her congenial occupation; and while thus she continued to +“scold and grow fat,” her inn, once a popular and frequented one, +became gradually less and less frequented, and the dragon of the +Rhine-fells did not more effectually lay waste the territory about him, +than did the evil influence of her tongue spread desolation and ruin +around her. Her inn, at the time of my visit, had not been troubled +with even a passing traveller for many months; and, indeed, if I had +any, even the least foreknowledge of the character of my hostess, its +privacy should have still remained uninvaded for some time longer. + +I had not been many hours installed, when I got a specimen of her +powers; and before the first week was over, so constant and unremitting +were her labours in this way, that I have upon the occasion of a slight +lull in the storm, occasioned by her falling asleep, actually left my +room to inquire if anything had gone wrong, in the same was as the +miller is said to awake, if the mill stops. I trust I have said enough, +to move the reader’s pity and compassion for my situation—one more +miserable it is difficult to conceive. It may be though that much might +be done by management, and that a slight exercise of the favourite Whig +plan of concilliation, might avail. Nothing of the kind. She was proof +against all such arts; and what was still worse, there was no subject, +no possible circumstance, no matter, past, present, or to come, that +she could not wind by her diabolical ingenuity, into some cause of +offence; and then came the quick transition to instant punishment. +Thus, my apparently harmless inquiry as to the society of the +neighbourhood, suggested to her—a wish on my part to make +acquaintance—therefore to dine out—therefore not to dine at +home—consequently to escape paying half-a-crown and devouring a +chicken—therefore to defraud her, and behave, as she would herself +observe, “like a beggarly scullion, with his four shillings a day, +setting up for a gentleman,” &c. + +By a quiet and Job-like endurance of all manner of taunting suspicions, +and unmerited sarcasms, to which I daily became more reconciled, I +absolutely rose into something like favour; and before the first month +of my banishment expired, had got the length of an invitation to tea, +in her own snuggery—an honour never known to be bestowed on any before, +with the exception of Father Malachi Brennan, her ghostly adviser; and +even he, it is said, never ventured on such an approximation to +intimacy, until he was, in Kilrush phrase, “half screwed,” thereby +meaning more than half tipsy. From time to time thus, I learned from my +hostess such particulars of the country and its inhabitants as I was +desirous of hearing; and among other matters, she gave me an account of +the great landed proprietor himself, Lord Callonby, who was daily +expected at his seat, within some miles of Kilrush, at the same time +assuring me that I need not be looking so “pleased and curling out my +whiskers;” “that they’d never take the trouble of asking even the name +of me.” This, though neither very courteous, nor altogether flattering +to listen to, was no more than I had already learned from some brother +officers who knew this quarter, and who informed me that the Earl of +Callonby, though only visiting his Irish estates every three or four +years, never took the slightest notice of any of the military in his +neighbourhood; nor, indeed did he mix with the country gentry, +confining himself to his own family, or the guests, who usually +accompanied him from England, and remained during his few weeks’ stay. +My impression of his lordship was therefore not calculated to cheer my +solitude by any prospect of his rendering it lighter. + +The Earl’s family consisted of her ladyship, an only son, nearly of +age, and two daughters; the eldest, Lady Jane, had the reputation of +being extremely beautiful; and I remembered when she came out in +London, only the year before, hearing nothing but praises of the grace +and elegance of her manner, united to the most classic beauty of her +face and figure. The second daughter was some years younger, and said +to be also very handsome; but as yet she had not been brought into +society. Of the son, Lord Kilkee, I only heard that he had been a very +gay fellow at Oxford, where he was much liked, and although not +particularly studious, had given evidence of talent. + +Such were the few particulars I obtained of my neighbours, and thus +little did I know of those who were so soon to exercise a most +important influence upon my future life. + +After some weeks’ close confinement, which, judging from my feelings +alone, I should have counted as many years, I eagerly seized the +opportunity of the first glimpse of sunshine to make a short excursion +along the coast; I started early in the morning, and after a long +stroll along the bold headlands of Kilkee, was returning late in the +evening to my lodgings. My path lay across a wild, bleak moor, dotted +with low clumps of furze, and not presenting on any side the least +trace of habitation. In wading through the tangled bushes, my dog +“Mouche” started a hare; and after a run “sharp, short, and decisive,” +killed it at the bottom of a little glen some hundred yards off. + +I was just patting my dog, and examining the prize, when I heard a +crackling among the low bushes near me; and on looking up, perceived, +about twenty paces distant, a short, thick-set man, whose fustian +jacket and leathern gaiters at once pronounced him the gamekeeper; he +stood leaning upon his gun, quietly awaiting, as it seemed, for any +movement on my part, before he interfered. With one glance I detected +how matters stood, and immediately adopting my usual policy of “taking +the bull by the horns,” called out, in a tone of very sufficient +authority, + +“I say, my man, are you his lordship’s gamekeeper?” + +Taking off his hat, the man approached me, and very respectfully +informed me that he was. + +“Well then,” said I, “present this hare to his lordship with my +respects; here is my card, and say I shall be most happy to wait on him +in the morning, and explain the circumstance.” + +The man took the card, and seemed for some moments undecided how to +act; he seemed to think that probably he might be ill-treating a friend +of his lordship’s if he refused; and on the other hand might be merely +“jockeyed” by some bold-faced poacher. Meanwhile I whistled my dog +close up, and humming an air, with great appearance of indifference, +stepped out homeward. By this piece of presence of mind I saved poor +“Mouche;” for I saw at a glance, that, with true gamekeeper’s law, he +had been destined to death the moment he had committed the offence. + +The following morning, as I sat at breakfast, meditating upon the +events of the preceding day, and not exactly determined how to act, +whether to write to his lordship explaining how the matter occurred, or +call personally, a loud rattling on the pavement drew me to the window. +As the house stood at the end of a street, I could not see in the +direction the noise came; but as I listened, a very handsome tandem +turned the corner of the narrow street, and came along towards the +hotel at a long, sling trot; the horses were dark chestnuts, well +matched, and shewing a deal of blood. The carriage was a dark drab, +with black wheels; the harness all of the same colour. The whole +turn-out—and I was an amateur of that sort of thing—was perfect; the +driver, for I come to him last, as he was the last I looked at, was a +fashionable looking young fellow, plainly, but knowingly, dressed, and +evidently handling the “ribbon,” like an experienced whip. + +After bringing his nags up to the inn door in very pretty style, he +gave the reins to his servant, and got down. Before I was well aware of +it, the door of my room opened, and the gentleman entered with a +certain easy air of good breeding, and saying, + +“Mr. Lorrequer, I presume—” introduced himself as Lord Kilkee. + +I immediately opened the conversation by an apology for my dog’s +misconduct on the day before, and assured his lordship that I knew the +value of a hare in a hunting country, and was really sorry for the +circumstance. + +“Then I must say,” replied his lordship, “Mr. Lorrequer is the only +person who regrets the matter; for had it not been for this, it is more +than probable we should never have known we were so near neighbours; in +fact, nothing could equal our amazement at hearing you were playing the +‘Solitaire’ down here. You must have found it dreadfully heavy, ‘and +have thought us downright savages.’ But then I must explain to you, +that my father has made some ‘rule absolute’ about visiting when down +here. And though I know you’ll not consider it a compliment, yet I can +assure you there is not another man I know of he would pay attention +to, but yourself. He made two efforts to get here this morning, but the +gout ‘would not be denied,’ and so he deputed a most inferior +‘diplomate;’ and now will you let me return with some character from my +first mission, and inform my friends that you will dine with us to-day +at seven—a mere family party; but make your arrangements to stop all +night and to-morrow: we shall find some work for my friend there on the +hearth; what do you call him, Mr. Lorrequer?” + +“‘Mouche’—come here, ‘Mouche.’” + +“Ah ‘Mouche,’ come here, my fine fellow—a splendid dog, indeed; very +tall for a thorough-bred; and now you’ll not forget, seven, ‘temps +militaire,’ and so, sans adieu.” + +And with these words his lordship shook me heartily by the hand; and +before two minutes had elapsed, had wrapped his box-coat once more +across him, and was round the corner. + +I looked for a few moments on the again silent street, and was almost +tempted to believe I was in a dream, so rapidly had the preceding +moments passed over; and so surprised was I to find that the proud Earl +of Callonby, who never did the “civil thing” any where, should think +proper to pay attention to a poor sub in a marching regiment, whose +only claim on his acquaintance was the suspicion of poaching on his +manor. I repeated over and over all his lordship’s most polite +speeches, trying to solve the mystery of them; but in vain: a thousand +explanations occurred, but none of them I felt at all satisfactory; +that there was some mystery somewhere, I had no doubt; for I remarked +all through that Lord Kilkee laid some stress upon my identity, and +even seemed surprised at _my_ being in such banishment. “Oh,” thought I +at last, “his lordship is about to get up private theatricals, and has +seen my Captain Absolute, or perhaps my Hamlet”—I could not say +“Othello” even to myself—“and is anxious to get ‘such unrivalled +talent’ even ‘for one night only.’” + +After many guesses this seemed the nearest I could think of; and by the +time I had finished my dressing for dinner, it was quite clear to me I +had solved all the secret of his lordship’s attentions. + +The road to “Callonby” was beautiful beyond any thing I had ever seen +in Ireland. For upwards of two miles it led along the margin of the +lofty cliffs of Moher, now jutting out into bold promontories, and +again retreating, and forming small bays and mimic harbours, into which +the heavy swell of the broad Atlantic was rolling its deep blue tide. +The evening was perfectly calm, and at a little distance from the shore +the surface of the sea was without a ripple. The only sound breaking +the solemn stillness of the hour, was the heavy plash of the waves, as +in minute peals they rolled in upon the pebbly beach, and brought back +with them at each retreat, some of the larger and smoother stones, +whose noise, as they fell back into old ocean’s bed, mingled with the +din of the breaking surf. In one of the many little bays I passed, lay +three or four fishing smacks. The sails were drying, and flapped lazily +against the mast. I could see the figures of the men as they passed +backwards and forwards upon the decks, and although the height was +nearly eight hundred feet, could hear their voices quite distinctly. +Upon the golden strand, which was still marked with a deeper tint, +where the tide had washed, stood a little white cottage of some +fisherman—at least, so the net before the door bespoke it. Around it, +stood some children, whose merry voices and laughing tones sometimes +reached me where I was standing. I could not but think, as I looked +down from my lofty eyrie, upon that little group of boats, and that +lone hut, how much of the “world” to the humble dweller beneath, lay in +that secluded and narrow bay. There, the deep sea, where their days +were passed in “storm or sunshine,”—there, the humble home, where at +night they rested, and around whose hearth lay all their cares and all +their joys. How far, how very far removed from the busy haunts of men, +and all the struggles and contentions of the ambitious world; and yet, +how short-sighted to suppose that even they had not their griefs and +sorrows, and that their humble lot was devoid of the inheritance of +those woes, which all are heirs to. + +I turned reluctantly, from the sea-shore to enter the gate of the park, +and my path in a few moments was as completely screened from all +prospect of the sea, as though it had lain miles inland. An avenue of +tall and ancient lime trees, so dense in their shadows as nearly to +conceal the road beneath, led for above a mile through a beautiful +lawn, whose surface, gently undulating, and studded with young clumps, +was dotted over with sheep. At length, descending by a very steep road, +I reached a beautiful little stream, over which a rustic bridge was +thrown. As I looked down upon the rippling stream beneath, on the +surface of which the dusky evening flies were dipping, I made a +resolve, if I prospered in his lordship’s good graces, to devote a day +to the “angle” there, before I left the country. It was now growing +late, and remember Lord Kilkee’s intimation of “sharp seven,” I threw +my reins over my cob, “Sir Roger’s” neck, (for I had hitherto been +walking,) and cantered up the steep hill before me. When I reached the +top, I found myself upon a broad table land, encircled by old and +well-grown timber, and at a distance, most tastefully half concealed by +ornamental planting, I could catch some glimpse of Callonby. Before, +however, I had time to look about me, I heard the tramp of horses’ feet +behind, and in another moment two ladies dashed up the steep behind, +and came towards me, at a smart gallop, followed by a groom, who, +neither himself nor his horse, seemed to relish the pace of his fair +mistresses. I moved off the road into the grass to permit them to pass; +but no sooner had they got abreast of me, than Sir Roger, anxious for a +fair start, flung up both heels at once, pricked up his ears, and with +a plunge that very nearly threw me from the saddle, set off at top +speed. My first thought was for the ladies beside me, and, to my utter +horror, I now saw them coming along in full gallop; their horses had +got off the road, and were, to my thinking, become quite unmanageable. +I endeavoured to pull up, but all in vain. Sir Roger had got the bit +between his teeth, a favourite trick of his, and I was perfectly +powerless to hold him by this time, they being mounted on +thoroughbreds, got a full neck before me, and the pace was now +tremendous, on we all came, each horse at his utmost stretch; they were +evidently gaining from the better stride of their cattle, and will it +be believed, or shall I venture to acknowledge it in these my +confessions, that I, who a moment before, would have given my best +chance of promotion, to be able to pull in my horse, would now have +“pledged my dukedom” to be able to give Sir Roger one cut of the whip +unobserved. I leave it to the wise to decipher the rationale, but such +is the fact. It was complete steeple-chasing, and my blood was up. + +On we came, and I now perceived that about two hundred yards before me +stood an iron gate and piers, without any hedge or wall on either side; +before I could conjecture the meaning of so strange a thing in the +midst of a large lawn, I saw the foremost horse, now two or three +lengths before the other, still in advance of me, take two or three +short strides, and fly about eight feet over a sunk fence—the second +followed in the same style, the riders sitting as steadily as in the +gallop. It was now my turn, and I confess, as I neared the dyke, I +heartily wished myself well over it, for the very possibility of a +“mistake” was maddening. Sir Roger came on at a slapping pace, and when +within two yards of the brink, rose to it, and cleared it like a deer. +By the time I had accomplished this feat, not the less to my +satisfaction, that both ladies had turned in the saddles to watch me, +they were already far in advance; they held on still at the same pace, +round a small copse which concealed them an instant from my view, and +which, when I passed, I perceived that they had just reached the hall +door, and were dismounting. + +On the steps stood a tall, elderly-looking, gentleman-like person, who +I rightly conjectured was his lordship. I heard him laughing heartily +as I came up. I at last succeeded in getting Sir Roger to a canter, and +when about twenty yards from where the group were standing, sprung off, +and hastened up to make my apologies as I best might, for my +unfortunate runaway. I was fortunately spared this awkwardness of an +explanation, for his lordship, approaching me with his hand extended, +said— + +“Mr. Lorrequer is most welcome at Callonby. I cannot be mistaken, I am +sure—I have the pleasure of addressing the nephew of my old friend, Sir +Guy Lorrequer of Elton. I am indeed most happy to see you, and not the +less so, that you are safe and sound, which, five minutes since, I +assure you I had my fears for—” + +Before I could assure his lordship that my fears were all for my +competitors in the race—for such in reality they were—he introduced me +to the two ladies, who were still standing beside him—“Lady Jane +Callonby; Mr. Lorrequer; Lady Catherine.” + +“Which of you, young ladies, may I ask, planned this escapade, for I +see by your looks, it was no accident?” + +“I think, papa,” said Lady Jane, “you must question Mr. Lorrequer on +that head; he certainly started first.” + +“I confess, indeed,” said I, “such was the case.” + +“Well, you must confess, too, you were distanced,” said Lady Jane, at +the same time, most terribly provoked, to be quizzed on such a matter; +that I, a steeple-chase horseman of the first water, should be twitted +by a couple of young ladies, on the score of a most manly exercise. +“But come,” said his lordship, “the first bell has rung long since, and +I am longing to ask Mr. Lorrequer all about my old college friend of +forty years ago. So, ladies, hasten your toilet, I beseech you.” + +With these words, his lordship, taking my arm, led me into the +drawing-room, where we had not been many minutes till we were joined by +her ladyship, a tall stately handsome woman, of a certain age; +resolutely bent upon being both young and beautiful, in spite of time +and wrinkles; her reception of me, though not possessing the frankness +of his lordship, was still very polite, and intended to be even +gracious. I now found by the reiterated inquiries for my old uncle, Sir +Guy, that he it was, and not Hamlet, to whom I owed my present notice, +and I must include it among my confessions, that it was about the first +advantage I ever derived from the relationship. After half an hour’s +agreeable chatting, the ladies entered, and then I had time to remark +the extreme beauty of their appearance; they were both wonderfully +like, and except that Lady Jane was taller and more womanly, it would +have been almost impossible to discriminate between them. + +Lady Jane Callonby was then about twenty years of age, rather above the +middle size, and slightly disposed towards embonpoint; her eye was of +the deepest and most liquid blue, and rendered apparently darker, by +long lashes of the blackest jet—for such was the colour of her hair; +her nose slightly, but slightly, deviated from the straightness of the +Greek, and her upper lip was faultless, as were her mouth and chin; the +whole lower part of the face, from the perfect “chiselling,” and from +the character of her head, had certainly a great air of hauteur, but +the extreme melting softness of her eyes took from this, and when she +spoke, there was a quiet earnestness in her mild and musical voice, +that disarmed you at once of connecting the idea of self with the +speaker; the word “fascinating,” more than any other I know of, conveys +the effect of her appearance, and to produce it, she had more than any +other woman I ever met, that wonderful gift, the “l’art de plaire.” + +I was roused from my perhaps too earnest, because unconscious gaze, at +the lovely figure before me, by his Lordship saying, “Mr. Lorrequer, +her Ladyship is waiting for you.” I accordingly bowed, and, offering my +arm, led her into the dinner-room. And here I draw rein for the +present, reserving for my next chapter—My Adventure at Callonby. + + + + + CHAPTER III. +LIFE AT CALLONBY—LOVE-MAKING—MISS O’DOWD’S ADVENTURE. + + +My first evening at Callonby passed off as nearly all first evenings do +every where. His lordship was most agreeable, talked much of my uncle, +Sir Guy, whose fag he had been at Eton half a century before, promised +me some capital shooting in his preserves, discussed the state of +politics; and, as the second decanter of port “waned apace,” grew +wondrous confidential, and told me of his intention to start his son +for the county at the next general election, such being the object +which had now conferred the honour of his presence on his Irish +estates. + +Her ladyship was most condescendingly civil, vouchsafed much tender +commiseration for my “exile,” as she termed my quarters in Kilrush; +wondered how _I_ could possibly exist in a marching regiment, (who had +never been in the cavalry in my life!) spoke quite feelingly on my +kindness in joining their stupid family party, for they were living, to +use her own phrase, “like hermits;” and wound up all by a playful +assurance that as she perceived, from all my answers, that I was bent +on preserving a strict incognito, she would tell no tales about me on +her return to “Town.” Now, it may readily be believed, that all this, +and many more of her ladyship’s allusions, were a “Chaldee manuscript” +to me; that she knew certain facts of my family and relations, was +certain; but that she had interwoven in the humble web of my history, a +very pretty embroidery of fiction was equally so; and while she thus +ran on, with innumerable allusions to Lady Marys and Lord Johns, who +she pretended to suppose were dying to hear from me, I could not help +muttering to myself with good Christopher Sly, “And all this be +true—then Lord be thanked for my good amends;” for up to that moment I +was an ungrateful man for all this high and noble solicitude. One dark +doubt shot for an instant across my brain. Maybe her ladyship had +“registered a vow” never to syllable a name unchronicled by Debrett, or +was actually only mystifying me for mere amusement. A minute’s +consideration dispelled this fear; for I found myself treated “en +Seigneur” by the whole family. As for the daughters of the house, +nothing could possibly be more engaging than their manner. The eldest, +Lady Jane, was pleased from my near relationship to her father’s oldest +friend to receive me, “from the first,” on the most friendly footing; +while, with the younger, Lady Catherine, from her being less ‘maniere’ +than her sister, my progress was even greater; and thus, before we +separated for the night, I contrived to “take up my position” in such a +fashion, as to be already looked upon as one of the family party, to +which object, Lord and indeed Lady Callonby seemed most willing to +contribute, and made me promise to spend the entire of the following +day at Callonby, and as many of the succeeding ones as my military +duties would permit. + +As his lordship was wishing me “good night” at the door of the +drawing-room, he said, in a half whisper, + +“We were ignorant yesterday, Mr. Lorrequer, how soon we should have had +the pleasure of seeing you here; and you are therefore condemned to a +small room off the library, it being the only one we can insure you as +being well aired. I must therefore apprize you that you are not to be +shocked at finding yourself surrounded by every member of my family, +hung up in frames around you. But as the room is usually my own +snuggery, I have resigned it without any alteration whatever.” + +The apartment for which his lordship had so strongly apologized, stood +in very pleasing contrast to my late one in Kilrush. The soft Persian +carpet, on which one’s feet sank to the very ankles; the brightly +polished dogs, upon which a blazing wood fire burned; the well +upholstered fauteuils which seemed to invite sleep without the trouble +of lying down for it; and last of all, the ample and luxurious bed, +upon whose rich purple hangings the ruddy glare of the fire threw a +most mellow light, was all a pleasing exchange for the “garniture” of +the “Hotel Healy.” + +“Certes, Harry Lorrequer,” said I, as I threw myself upon a small +ottoman before the fire in all the slippered ease, and abandon of a man +who has changed a dress-coat for a morning-gown; “Certes, thou art +destined for great things; even here, where fate had seemed ‘to do its +worst’ to thee, a little paradise opens, and what, to ordinary mortals +had proved but a ‘flat, stale, and most unprofitable’ quarter, presents +to thee all the accumulated delight of a hospitable mansion, a kind, +almost friendly, host, a condescending Madame Mere, and daughters too! +Ah ye Gods! But what is this;” and here, for the first time, lifting up +my eyes, I perceived a beautiful water-colour drawing in the style of +“Chalon,” which was placed above the chimney-piece. I rose at once, and +taking a candle, proceeded to examine it more minutely. It was a +portrait of Lady Jane, a full-length too, and wonderfully like; there +was more complexion, and perhaps more roundness in the figure than her +present appearance would justify; but if any thing was gained in +brilliancy, it was certainly lost in point of expression; and I +infinitely preferred her pale, but beautifully fair countenance, to the +rosy cheek of the picture; the figure was faultless; the same easy +grace, the result of perfect symmetry and refinement together, which +only one in a thousand of even handsome girls possess, was pourtrayed +to the life. The more I looked, the more I felt charmed with it. Never +had I seen any thing so truly characteristic as this sketch, for it was +scarcely more. It was after nearly an hour’s quiet contemplation, that +I began to remember the lateness of the night; an hour, in which my +thoughts had rambled from the lovely object before me, to wonder at the +situation in which I found myself placed; for there was so much of +“empressement” towards me, in the manner of every member of the family, +coupled with certain mistakes as to my habits and acquaintances, as +left me perfectly unable to unravel the mystery which so evidently +surrounded me. “Perhaps,” thought I, “Sir Guy has written in my behalf +to his lordship. Oh, he would never do any thing half so civil. Well, +to be sure, I shall astonish them at head quarters; they’ll not believe +this. I wonder if Lady Jane saw my ‘Hamlet;’ for they landed in Cork +from Bristol about that time. She is indeed a most beautiful girl. I +wish I were a marquis, if it were only for her sake. Well, my Lord +Callonby, you may be a very wise man in the House of Lords; but, I +would just ask, is it exactly prudent to introduce into your family on +terms of such perfect intimacy, a young, fascinating, well-looking +fellow, of four-and-twenty, albeit only a subaltern, with two such +daughters as you have? Peut etre! One thing is certain—_I_ have no +cause of complaint; and so, good night, Lady Jane”—and with those words +I fell asleep, to dream of the deepest blue eyes, and the most melting +tones that ever reduced a poor lieutenant in a marching regiment to +curse his fate, that he could not call the Commander of the Forces his +father. + +When I descended to the breakfast-room, I found the whole family +assembled in a group around Lord Kilkee, who had just returned from a +distant part of the county, where he had been canvassing the electors, +and spouting patriotism the day before. He was giving an account of his +progress with much spirit and humour as I entered, but, on seeing me, +immediately came forward, and shook hands with me like an old +acquaintance. By Lord Callonby and the ladies I was welcomed also with +much courtesy and kindness, and some slight badinage passed upon my +sleeping, in what Lord Kilkee called the “Picture Gallery,” which, for +all I knew to the contrary, contained but one fair portrait. I am not a +believer in Mesmer; but certainly there must have been some influence +at work—very like what we hear of “magnetism”—for before the breakfast +was concluded, there seemed at once to spring up a perfect +understanding between this family and myself, which made me feel as +much ‘chez moi’, as I had ever done in my life; and from that hour I +may date an intimacy which every succeeding day but served to increase. + +After breakfast Lord Callonby consigned me to the guidance of his son, +and we sallied forth to deal destruction amongst the pheasants, with +which the preserves were stocked; and here I may observe, ‘en passant’, +that with the single exception of fox-hunting, which was ever a passion +with me, I never could understand that inveterate pursuit of game to +which some men devote themselves—thus, grouse-shooting, and its +attendant pleasures, of stumping over a boggy mountain from day-light +till dark, never had much attraction for me; and, as to the delights of +widgeon and wild-duck shooting, when purchased by sitting up all night +in a barrel, with your eye to the bung, I’ll none of it—no, no! Give me +shooting or angling merely as a divertimento, a pleasant interlude +between breakfast and luncheon-time, when, consigning your Manton to a +corner, and the game keeper “to the dogs,” you once more humanize your +costume to take a canter with the daughters of the house; or, if the +day look loweringly, a match of billiards with the men. + +I have ever found that the happiest portions of existence are the most +difficult to chronicle. We may—nay, we must, impart our miseries and +annoyances to our many “dear friends,” whose forte is sympathy or +consolation—and all men are eloquent on the subject of their woes; not +so with their joys: some have a miser-like pleasure in hoarding them up +for their own private gratification; others—and they are prudent—feel +that the narrative is scarcely agreeable even to their best friends; +and a few, of whom I confess myself one, are content to be happy +without knowing why, and to have pleasant souvenirs, without being able +to explain them. + +Such must be my apology for not more minutely entering upon an account +of my life at Callonby. A fortnight had now seen me ‘enfonce’, the +daily companion of two beautiful girls in all their walks and rides, +through a romantic, unfrequented country, seeing but little of the +other members of the family; the gentlemen being entirely occupied by +their election tactics, and Lady Callonby being a late riser, seldom +appeared before the dinner hour. There was not a cliff upon the bold +and rocky coast we did not climb, not a cave upon the pebbly beach +unvisited; sometimes my fair companions would bring a volume of +Metastasio down to the little river where I used to angle; and the +“gentle craft” was often abandoned for the heart-thrilling verses of +that delightful poet. Yes, many years have passed over, and these +scenes are still as fresh in my memory as though they had been of +yesterday. In my memory, I say, as for thee + +“Qui sa si te +Ti sovrerai di me.” + + +At the end of three weeks the house became full of company, from the +garret to the cellar. Country gentlemen and their wives and daughters +came pouring in, on every species of conveyance known since the flood; +family coaches, which, but for their yellow panels, might have been +mistaken for hearses, and high barouches, the “entree” to which was +accomplished by a step-ladder, followed each other in what appeared a +never-ending succession; and here I may note an instance of the +anomalous character of the conveyances, from an incident to which I was +a witness at the time. + +Among the visitors on the second day came a maiden lady from the +neighbourhood of Ennistimon, Miss Elizabeth O’Dowd, the last of a very +old and highly respectable family in the county, and whose extensive +property, thickly studded with freeholders, was a strong reason for her +being paid every attention in Lord Callonby’s power to bestow; Miss +Betty O’Dowd—for so she was generally styled—was the very +personification of an old maid; stiff as a ramrod, and so rigid in +observance of the proprieties of female conduct, that in the estimation +of the Clare gentry, Diana was a hoyden compared to her. + +Miss Betty lived, as I have said, near Ennistimon, and the road from +thence to Callonby at the time I speak of—it was before Mr. Nimmo—was +as like the bed of a mountain torrent as a respectable highway; there +were holes that would have made a grave for any maiden lady within +fifty miles; and rocks thickly scattered, enough to prove fatal to the +strongest wheels that ever issued from “Hutton’s.” Miss O’Dowd knew +this well; she had upon one occasion been upset in travelling it—and a +slate-coloured silk dress bore the dye of every species of mud and mire +to be found there, for many a year after, to remind her of her +misfortune, and keep open the wound of her sorrow. When, therefore, the +invitation to Callonby arrived, a grave council of war was summoned, to +deliberate upon the mode of transit, for the honour could not be +declined, “coute qui coute.” The chariot was out of the question; +Nicholas declared it would never reach the “Moraan Beg,” as the first +precipice was called; the inside car was long since pronounced unfit +for hazardous enterprise; and the only resource left, was what is +called in Hibernian parlance, a “low-backed car,” that is, a car +without any back whatever; it being neither more nor less than the +common agricultural conveyance of the country, upon which, a feather +bed being laid, the farmers’ wives and daughters are generally conveyed +to fairs, wakes, and stations, &c. Putting her dignity, if not in her +pocket, at least wherever it could be most easily accommodated, Miss +O’Dowd placed her fair self, in all the plenitude of her charms and the +grandeur of a “bran new green silk,” a “little off the grass, and on +the bottle,” (I love to be particular,) upon this humble voiture, and +set out on her way, if not “rejoicing,” at least consoled by Nicholas, +that “It ‘id be black dark when they reached the house, and the devil a +one ‘id be the wiser than if she came in a coach and four.” Nicholas +was right; it was perfectly dark on their arrival at Callonby, and Miss +O’Dowd having dismounted, and shook her plumage, a little crumpled by +her half-recumbent position for eight miles, appeared in the +drawing-room, to receive the most courteous attentions from Lady +Callonby, and from his lordship the most flattering speeches for her +kindness in risking herself and bringing her horses on such a dreadful +road, and assured her of his getting a presentment the very next +assizes to repair it; “For we intend, Miss O’Dowd,” said he, “to be +most troublesome neighbours to you in future.” + +The evening passed off most happily. Miss O’Dowd was delighted with her +hosts, whose character she resolved to maintain in spite of their +reputation for pride and haughtiness. Lady Jane sang an Irish melody +for her, Lady Callonby gave her slips of a rose geranium she got from +the Princess Augusta, and Lord Kilkee won her heart by the performance +of that most graceful step ‘yclept “cover the buckle” in an Irish jig. +But, alas! how short-lived is human bliss, for while this estimable +lady revelled in the full enjoyment of the hour, the sword of Damocles +hung suspended above her head; in plain English, she had, on arriving +at Callonby, to prevent any unnecessary scrutiny into the nature of her +conveyance, ordered Nicholas to be at the door punctually at eleven; +and then to take an opportunity of quietly slipping open the +drawing-room door, and giving her an intimation of it, that she might +take her leave at once. Nicholas was up to time, and having disposed +the conveyance under the shadow of the porch, made his way to the door +of the drawing-room unseen and unobserved. He opened it gently and +noiselessly, merely sufficient to take a survey of the apartment, in +which, from the glare of the lights, and the busy hum of voices, he was +so bewildered that it was some minutes before he recognized his +mistress. At last he perceived her; she was seated at a card-table, +playing whist with Lord Callonby for her partner. Who the other players +were, he knew not. A proud man was Nicholas, as he saw his mistress +thus placed, actually sitting, as he afterwards expressed it, “forenint +the Lord,” but his thoughts were bent on other matters, and it was no +time to indulge his vauntings. + +He strove for some time patiently, to catch her eye, for she was so +situated as to permit of this, but without success. He then made a +slight attempt to attract her attention by beckoning with his finger; +all in vain. “Oh murther,” said he, “what is this for? I’ll have to +spake afther all.” + +“Four by honours,” said his lordship, “and the odd trick. Another +double, I believe, Miss O’Dowd.” + +Miss O’Dowd nodded a graceful assent, while a sharp-looking old dowager +at the side of the table called out, “a rubber of four on, my Lord;” +and now began an explanation from the whole party at once. Nicholas saw +this was his time, and thought that in the melee, his hint might reach +his mistress unobserved by the remainder of the company. He accordingly +protruded his head into the room, and placing his finger upon the side +of his nose, and shutting one eye knowingly, with an air of great +secrecy, whispered out, “Miss Betty—Miss Betty, alanah!” For some +minutes the hum of the voices drowned his admonitions—but as, by +degrees waxing warmer in the cause, he called out more loudly,—every +eye was turned to the spot from whence these extraordinary sounds +proceeded; and certainly the appearance of Nicholas at the moment was +well calculated to astonish the “elegans” of a drawing room. With his +one eye fixed eagerly in the direction of his mistress, his red scratch +wig pushed back off his forehead, in the eagerness of his endeavour to +be heard, there he stood, perfectly unmindful of all around, save Miss +O’Dowd herself. It may well be believed, that such an apparition could +not be witnessed with gravity, and, accordingly a general titter ran +through the room, the whist party still contending about odd tricks and +honours, being the only persons insensible to the mirth around +them—“Miss Betty, arrah, Miss Betty,” said Nicholas with a sigh that +converted the subdued laughter of the guests into a perfect burst of +mirth. + +“Eh,” said his lordship, turning round; “what is this? We are losing +something excellent, I fear.” + +At this moment, he caught a glimpse of Nicholas, and, throwing himself +back in this chair, laughed immoderately. It was now Miss Betty’s turn; +she was about to rise from the table, when the well-known accents of +Nicholas fell upon her ear. She fell back in her seat—there he was: the +messenger of the foul fiend himself would have been more welcome at +that moment. Her blood rushed to her face and temples; her hands +tingled; she closed her eyes, and when she opened them, there stood the +accursed Nicholas glowering at her still. + +“Man—man!” said she at length; “what do you mean, what do you want +here?” + +Poor Nicholas, little guessing that the question was intended to throw +a doubt upon her acquaintance with him, and conceiving that the hour +for the announcement had come, hesitated for an instant how he should +designate the conveyance. He could not call it a coach! It certainly +was not a buggy—neither was it a jaunting car—what should he say—he +looked earnestly, and even imploringly at his mistress, as if to convey +some sense of his difficulty, and then, as it were, catching a sudden +inspiration, winked once more—as he said:— + +“Miss Betty—the—the—the—,” and here he looked indescribably droll; “the +thing, you know, is at the door.” + +All his Lordship’s politeness was too little for the occasion, and Miss +O’Dowd’s tenantry were lost to the Callonby interest for ever. + + + + + CHAPTER IV. +BOTANICAL STUDIES—THE NATURAL SYSTEM PREFERABLE TO THE LINNEAN. + +[Illustration: Nicholas Announcing Miss Betty O’Dowds Carriage] + + +“The carriage is at the door, my lord,” said a servant, entering the +luncheon-room where we were all assembled. + +“Now then, Mr. Lorrequer,” said Lord Callonby, “allons, take another +glass of wine, and let us away. I expect you to make a most brilliant +speech, remember!” + +His lordship here alluded to our intention of visiting a remote barony, +where a meeting of the freeholders was that day to be held, and at +which I was pledged for a “neat and appropriate” oration in abuse of +the corn laws and the holy alliance. + +“I beg pardon, my lord,” said her ladyship in a most languishing tone; +“but Mr. Lorrequer is pre-engaged; he has for the last week been +promising and deterring his visit to the new conservatory with me; +where he is to find out four or five of the Swiss shrubs that Collins +cannot make out—and which I am dying to know all about.” + +“Mr. Lorrequer is a false man then,” said Lady Catherine, “for he said +at breakfast, that we should devote this afternoon to the chalk +caves—as the tide will be so far out, we can see them all perfectly.” + +“And I,” said Lord Kilkee, “must put in my plea, that the aforesaid Mr. +Lorrequer is booked for a coursing match—‘Mouche versus Jessie.’—Guilty +or not guilty?” + +Lady Jane alone of all said not a word. + +“Guilty on every count of the indictment,” said I; “I throw myself on +the mercy of the court.” + +“Let his sentence then be banishment,” said Lady Catherine with +affected anger, “and let him go with papa.” + +“I rather think,” said Lord Kilkee, “the better plan is to let him +visit the conservatory, for I’d wager a fifty he finds it more +difficult to invent botany, than canvass freeholders; eh?” + +“I am sure,” said Lady Jane, for the first time breaking silence, “that +mamma is infinitely flattered by the proposal that Mr. Lorrequer’s +company is to be conferred upon her for his sins.” + +“I am not to be affronted, nor quizzed out of my chaperon; here, Mr. +Lorrequer,” said Lady Callonby rising, “get Smith’s book there, and let +me have your arm; and now, young ladies, come along, and learn +something, if you can.” + +“An admirable proviso,” said Lord Kilkee, laughing; “if his botany be +only as authentic as the autographs he gave Mrs. MacDermot, and all of +which he wrote himself, in my dressing-room, in half an hour. Napoleon +was the only difficult one in the number.” + +Most fortunately this unfair disclosure did not reach her ladyship’s +ears, as she was busily engaged putting on her bonnet, and I was yet +unassailed in reputation to her. + +“Good bye, then,” said Lord Callonby; “we meet at seven;” and in a few +moments the little party were scattered to their several destinations. + +“How very hot you have this place, Collins,” said Lady Callonby as we +entered the conservatory. + +“Only seventy-five, my lady, and the Magnolias require heat.” + +I here dropped a little behind, as if to examine a plant, and in a +half-whisper said to Lady Jane— + +“How came it that you alone, Lady Jane, should forget I had made +another appointment? I thought you wished to make a sketch of +Craigmoran Abbey—did you forget that we were to ride there to-day?” + +Before she could reply, Lady Callonby called out—“Oh, here it is, Mr. +Lorrequer. Is this a heath? that is the question.” + +Here her ladyship pointed to a little scrubby thing, that looked very +like a birch rod. I proceeded to examine it most minutely, while +Collins waited with all the intense anxiety of a man whose character +depended on the sentence. + +“Collins will have it a jungermania,” said she. + +“And Collins is right,” said I, not trusting myself with the +pronunciation of the awful word her ladyship uttered. + +Collins looked ridiculously happy. + +“Now that is so delightful,” said Lady Callonby, as she stopped to look +for another puzzle. + +“What a wretch it is,” said Lady Catherine, covering her face with a +handkerchief. + +“What a beautiful little flower,” said Lady Jane, lifting up the bell +of a “lobelia splendens.” + +“You know, of course,” said I, “what they call that flower in +France—L’amour tendre.” + +“Indeed!” + +“True, I assure you; may I present you with this sprig of it,” cutting +off a small twig, and presenting it at the same instant unseen by the +others. + +She hesitated for an instant, and then extending her fair and taper +hand took it. I dared not look at her as she did so, but a proud +swelling triumph at my heart nearly choked me. + +“Now Collins,” said Lady Callonby, “I cannot find the Alpen tree I +brought home from the Grundenwald.” + +Collins hurried forward to her ladyship’s side. + +Lady Catherine was also called to assist in the search. + +I was alone with Lady Jane. + +“Now or never,” thought I; I hesitated—I stammered—my voice faltered. +She saw my agitation; she participated in, and increased it. At last I +summoned up courage to touch her hand; she gently withdrew it—but so +gently, it was not a repulse. + +“If Lady Jane,” said I at length, “if the devoted—” + +“Holloa, there,” said a deep voice without; “is Mr. Lorrequer there?” + +It was Lord Kilkee, returned from his coursing match. None but he who +has felt such an interruption, can feel for me. I shame to say that his +brotherhood to her, for whom I would have perilled my life, restrained +me not from something very like a hearty commendation of him to the +powers that burn— + +“Down, dogs, there—down,” continued he, and in a moment after entered +the conservatory flushed and heated with the chace. + +“Mouche is the winner—two to one—and so, Master Shallow, I owe you a +thousand pounds.” + +Would to heaven that I had lost the wager, had it only taken a little +longer to decide it! I of course appeared overjoyed at my dog’s +success, and listened with great pretence of interest to the narrative +of the “run;” the more so, because that though perhaps more my friend +than the older members of the family, Lord Kilkee evidently liked less +than them, my growing intimacy with his sister; and I was anxious to +blind him on the present occasion, when, but for his recent excitement, +very little penetration would have enabled him to detect that something +unusual had taken place. + +It was now so nearly dark, that her ladyship’s further search for the +alpine treasure became impossible, and so we turned our steps towards +the garden, where we continued to walk till joined by Lord Callonby. +And now began a most active discussion upon agriculture, rents, tithes, +and toryism, in which the ladies took but little part; and I had the +mortification to perceive that Lady Jane was excessively ‘ennuyée’, and +seized the first opportunity to leave the party and return to the +house; while her sister gave me from time to time certain knowing +glances, as if intimating that my knowledge of farming and political +economy was pretty much on a par with my proficiency in botany. + +One has discovered me at least, thought I; but the bell had rung to +dress for dinner, and I hastened to my room to think over future plans, +and once more wonder at the singular position into which fate and the +“rules of the service” had thrown me. + + + + + CHAPTER V. +PUZZLED—EXPLANATION—MAKES BAD WORSE—THE DEED + + +“Any letters?” said her ladyship to a servant, as she crossed the hall. + +“Only one, my lady—for Mr. Lorrequer, I believe.” + +“For me!” thought I; “how is this?” My letters had been hitherto always +left in Kilrush. Why was this forwarded here? I hurried to the +drawing-room, where I found a double letter awaiting me. The writing +was Curzon’s and contained the words “to be forwarded with haste” on +the direction. I opened and read as follows:— + +“Dear Lorrequer,—Have you any recollection, among your numerous +‘escapades’ at Cork, of having grievously insulted a certain Mr. Giles +Beamish, in thought, word, or deed? If you have, I say, let me know +with all convenient despatch, whether the offence be one admitting of +apology—for if not, the Lord have mercy on your soul—a more wrothy +gentleman than the aforesaid, it having rarely been my evil fortune to +foregather with. He called here yesterday to inquire your address, and +at my suggestion wrote a note, which I now enclose. I write in great +haste, and am ever yours faithfully, C. Curzon. + “N.B.—I have not seen his note, so explain all and every thing.” + + +The inclosed letter ran thus: + +“Sir,—It can scarcely have escaped your memory, though now nearly two +months since, that at the Mayor’s ‘dejeune’ in Cork, you were pleased +to make merry at my expense, and expose me and my family for your +amusement. This is to demand an immediate apology, or that satisfaction +which, as an officer, you will not refuse your most obedient servant, +Giles Beamish, Swinburne’s Hotel.” + + +“Giles Beamish! Giles Beamish!” said I, repeating the name in every +variety of emphasis, hoping to obtain some clue to the writer. Had I +been appointed the umpire between Dr. Wall and his reviewers, in the +late controversy about “phonetic signs,” I could not have been more +completely puzzled than by the contents of this note. “Make merry at +his expense!” a great offence truly—I suppose I have laughed at better +men than ever he was; and I can only say of such innocent amusement, as +Falstaff did of sack and sugar, if such be a sin, “then heaven help the +wicked.” But I wish I knew who he is, or what he alludes to, provided +he is not mad, which I begin to think not improbable. “By the bye, my +Lord, do you know any such person in the south as a Mr. Beamish—Giles +Beamish?” + +“To be sure,” said Lord Callonby, looking up from his newspaper, “there +are several of the name of the highest respectability. One is an +alderman of Cork—a very rich man, too—but I don’t remember his +Christian name.” + +“An alderman, did you say?” + +“Yes. Alderman Beamish is very well known. I have seen him frequently—a +short florid, little man.” + +“Oh, it must be him,” said I, musingly, “it must have been this worthy +alderman, from whose worshipful person I tore the robe of office on the +night of the fete. But what does he mean by ‘my exposing him and his +family?’ Why, zounds, his wife and children were not with him on the +pavement. Oh, I see it; it is the mansion-house school of eloquence; +did not Sir William Curtis apologise for not appearing at court, from +having lost an eye, which he designated as an awful ‘domestic +calamity.’” + +It being now settled to my satisfaction, that Mr. Beamish and the great +uncloaked were “convertible terms,” I set about making the ‘amende’ in +the most handsome manner possible. I wrote to the alderman a most +pacific epistle, regretting that my departure from Cork deprived me of +making reparation before, and expressing a most anxious hope that “he +caught no cold,” and a fervent wish that “he would live many years to +grace and ornament the dignity of which his becoming costume was the +emblem.” This I enclosed in a note to Curzon, telling him how the +matter occurred, and requesting that he would send it by his servant, +together with the scarlet vestment which he would find in my +dressing-room. Having folded and sealed this despatch, I turned to give +Lord Callonby an account of the business, and showed him Beamish’s +note, at which he was greatly amused: and, indeed, it furnished food +for mirth for the whole party during the evening. The next morning I +set out with Lord Callonby on the long-threatened canvassing +expedition—with the details of which I need not burden my +“Confessions.” Suffice it to say, that when Lord Kilkee was advocating +Toryism in the west, I, his accredited ambassador, was devoting to the +infernal gods the prelacy, the peerage, and the pension list—a mode of +canvass well worthy of imitation in these troublesome times; for, not +to speak of the great prospect of success from having friends on both +sides of the question, the principal can always divest himself of any +unpleasant consequences as regards inconsistency, by throing the blame +on this friend, “who went too far,” as the appropriate phrase is. + +Nothing could be more successful than our mission. Lord Callonby was +delighted beyond bounds with the prospect, and so completely carried +away by high spirits, and so perfectly assured that much of it was +owing to my exertions, that on the second morning of our tour—for we +proceeded through the county for three days—he came laughing into my +dressing-room, with a newspaper in his hand. + +“Here, Lorrequer,” said he, “here’s news for you. You certainly must +read this,” and he handed me a copy of the “Clare Herald,” with an +account of our meeting the evening before. + +After glancing my eye rapidly over the routine usual in such +cases—Humph, ha—nearly two hundred people—most respectable farmers—room +appropriately decorated—“Callonby Arms”—“after the usual loyal toasts, +the chairman rose”—Well, no matter. Ah! here it is: “Mr. Lorrequer here +addressed the meeting with a flow of eloquence it has rarely, if ever, +been our privilege to hear equalled. He began by”—humph— + +“Ah,” said his lordship, impatiently, “you will never find it out—look +here—‘Mr. Lorrequer, whom we have mentioned as having made the highly +exciting speech, to be found in our first page, is, we understand, the +son of Sir Guy Lorrequer, of Elton, in Shropshire—one of the wealthiest +baronets in England. If rumour speak truly, there is a very near +prospect of an alliance between this talented and promising young +gentleman, and the beautiful and accomplished daughter of a certain +noble earl, with whom he has been for some time domesticated.” + +“Eh, what think you? Son of Sir Guy Lorrequer. I always thought my old +friend a bachelor, but you see the ‘Clare Herald’ knows better. Not to +speak of the last piece of intelligence, it is very good, is it not?” + +“Capital, indeed,” said I, trying to laugh, and at the same time +blushing confoundedly, and looking as ridiculously as need be. + +It now struck me forcibly that there was something extremely odd in his +lordship’s mention of this paragraph, particularly when coupled with +his and Lady Callonby’s manner to me for the last two months. They knew +enough of my family, evidently, to be aware of my station and +prospects—or rather my want of both—and yet, in the face of this, they +not only encouraged me to prolong a most delightful visit, but by a +thousand daily and dangerous opportunities, absolutely threw me in the +way of one of the loveliest of her sex, seemingly without fear on their +parts. “‘Eh bien,’” thought I, with my old philosophy, “Time, that +‘pregnant old gentleman,’ will disclose all, and so ‘laisse, aller.’” + +My reveries on my good and evil fortune were suddenly interrupted by a +letter which reached me that evening, having been forwarded from +Callonby by a special messenger. “What! Another epistle from Curzon,” +said I, as my eye caught the address, and wondering not a little what +pressing emergency had called forth the words on the cover—“to be +forwarded with haste.” I eagerly broke the seal and read the following: + +“My Dear Harry,—I received yours on the 11th, and immediately +despatched your note and the raiment to Mr. Beamish. He was from home +at the time, but at eight o’clock I was sent for from the mess to see +two gentlemen on most pressing business. I hurried to my quarters, and +there found the aforesaid Mr. B. accompanied by a friend, whom he +introduced as Dr. De Courcy Finucane, of the North Cork Militia—as +warlike looking a gentleman, of his inches, some five feet three, as +you would wish to see. The moment I appeared, both rose, and commenced +a narrative, for such I judge it to be, but so energetically and so +completely together, that I could only bow politely, and at last +request that one, or the other, would inform me of the object of their +visit. Here began the tug of war, the Doctor saying, ‘Arrah, now +Giles’—Mr. Beamish interrupting by ‘Whisht, I tell ye—now, can’t you +let me! Ye see, Mr. Curzoin’—for so they both agreed to designate me. +At last, completely worn out, I said, ‘Perhaps you have not received my +friend’s note?’ At this Mr. Beamish reddened to the eyes, and with the +greatest volubility poured forth a flood of indignant eloquence, that I +thought it necessary to check; but in this I failed, for after +informing me pretty clearly, that he knew nothing of your story of the +alderman, or his cloak, added, that he firmly believed your pretended +reparation was only a renewed insult, and that—but in a word, he used +such language, that I was compelled to take him short; and the finale +is, that I agreed you should meet him, though still ignorant of what he +calls the ‘original offence.’—But heaven knows, his conduct here last +night demands a reprimand, and I hope you may give it; and if you shoot +him, we may worm out the secret from his executors. Nothing could +exceed the politeness of the parties on my consenting to this +arrangement. Dr. Finucane proposed Carrigaholt, as the rendezvous, +about 12 miles, I believe, from Kilrush, and Tuesday evening at six as +the time, which will be the very earliest moment we can arrive there. +So, pray be up to time, and believe me yours, C. Curzon, Saturday +Evening.” + + +It was late on Monday evening when this letter reached me, and there +was no time to be lost, as I was then about 40 Irish miles from the +place mentioned by Curzon; so after briefly acquainting Lord Callonby +that I was called off by duty, I hurried to my room to pack my clothes, +and again read over this extraordinary epistle. + +I confess it did appear something droll, how completely Curzon seemed +to imbibe the passion for fighting from these “blood-thirsty Irishmen.” +For by his own showing he was utterly ignorant of my ever having +offended this Mr. Beamish, of whom I recollected nothing whatever. Yet +when the gentleman waxes wrothy, rather than inconvenience him, or +perhaps anxious to get back to the mess, he coolly says, “Oh, my friend +shall meet you,” and then his pleasant jest, “find out the cause of +quarrel from his executors!” + +Truly, thought I, there is no equanimity like his who acts as your +second in a duel. The gentlemanlike urbanity with which he waits on the +opposite friend—the conciliating tone with which he proffers implacable +enmity—the killing kindness with which he refuses all accommodation—the +Talleyrand air of his short notes, dated from the “Travellers,” or +“Brookes,” with the words 3 o’clock or 5 o’clock on the cover, all +indicative of the friendly precipitancy of the negociation. Then, when +all is settled, the social style with which he asks you to take a +“cutlet” with him at the “Clarendon,” not to go home—are only to be +equalled by the admirable tact on the ground—the studiously elegant +salute to the adverse party, half a la Napoleon, and half Beau +Brummell—the politely offered snuff-box—the coquetting raillery about +10 paces or 12—are certainly the beau ideal of the stoicism which +preludes sending your friend out of the world like a gentleman. + +How very often is the face of external nature at variance with the +thoughts and actions—“the sayings and doings” we may be most intent +upon at the moment. How many a gay and brilliant bridal party has +wended its way to St. George’s, Hanover-square, amid a downpour of +rain, one would suppose sufficient to quench the torch of Hymen, though +it burned as brightly as Capt. Drummond’s oxygen light; and on the +other hand, how frequently are the bluest azure of heaven and the most +balmy airs shed upon the heart bursting with affliction, or the head +bowed with grief; and without any desire to impugn, as a much high +authority has done, the moral character of the moon, how many a scene +of blood and rapine has its mild radiance illumined. Such reflections +as these came thronging to my mind, as on the afternoon of Tuesday I +neared the little village of our rendezvous. + +The scene which in all its peaceful beauty lay before me, was truly a +bitter contrast to the occasion that led me thither. I stood upon a +little peninsula which separates the Shannon from the wide Atlantic. On +one side the placed river flowed on its course, between fields of +waving corn, or rich pasturage—the beautiful island of Scattery, with +its picturesque ruins reflected in the unrippled tide—the cheerful +voices of the reapers, and the merry laugh of the children were mingled +with the seaman’s cry of the sailors, who were “heaving short” on their +anchor, to take the evening tide. The village, which consisted of +merely a few small cabins, was still from its situation a pleasing +object in the picture, and the blue smoke that rose in slender columns +from the humble dwellings, took from the scene its character of +loneliness, and suggested feelings of home and homely enjoyments, which +human habitations, however lowly, never fail to do. + +“At any other time,” thought I, “and how I could have enjoyed all this, +but now—and, ha, I find it is already past five o’clock, and if I am +rightly informed I am still above a mile from ‘Carrigaholt,’ where we +were to meet.” + +I had dismissed my conveyance when nearing the village, to avoid +observation, and now took a foot-path over the hills. Before I had +proceeded half a mile, the scene changed completely. I found myself +traversing a small glen, grown over with a low oak scrub, and not +presenting, on any side, the slightest trace of habitation. I saw that +the ground had been selected by an adept. The glen, which grew narrow +as I advanced, suddenly disclosed to my view a glimpse of the Atlantic, +upon which the declining sun was pouring a flood of purple glory. I had +scarcely turned from the contemplation of this beautiful object, when a +long low whistle attracted my attention. I looked in the direction from +whence it proceeded, and discovered at some distance from me three +figures standing beside the ruin of an old Abbey, which I now for the +first time perceived. + +If I had entertained any doubt as to who they were, it had been +speedily resolved, for I now saw one of the party waving his hat to me, +whom, I soon recognized to be Curzon; he came forward to meet me, and, +in the few hundred yards that intervened before our reaching the +others, told me as much as he knew of the opposite party; which, after +all, was but little. Mr. Beamish, my adversary, he described as a +morose, fire-eating southern, that evidently longed for an “affair” +with a military man, then considered a circumstance of some eclat in +the south; his second, the doctor, on the contrary, was by far “the +best of the cut-throats,” a most amusing little personage, full of his +own importance, and profuse in his legends of his own doings in love +and war, and evidently disposed to take the pleasing side of every +occurrence in life; they both agreed in but one point—a firm and fixed +resolve to give no explanation of the quarrel with me. “So then,” said +I, as Curzon hurried over the preceding account, “you absolutely know +nothing whatever of the reason for which I am about to give this man a +meeting.” + +“No more than you,” said Curzon, with imperturbable gravity; “but one +thing I am certain of—had I not at once promised him such, he would +have posted you in Limerick the next morning; and as you know our mess +rule in the 4—th, I thought it best—” + +“Oh, certainly, quite right; but now are you quite certain I am the man +who offended him? For I solemnly assure you, I have not the most remote +recollection of having ever heard of him.” + +“That point,” said Curzon, “there can be no doubt of, for he not only +designated you as Mr. Harry Lorrequer, but the gentleman that made all +Cork laugh so heartily, by his representation of Othello.” + +“Stop!” said I, “say not a word more; I’m his man.” + +By this time we had reached the ruins, and turning a corner came in +full contact with the enemy; they had been resting themselves on a +tombstone as we approached. + +“Allow me,” said Curzon, stepping a little in advance of me; “allow me +to introduce my friend Mr. Lorrequer, Dr. Finicane,—Dr. Finicane, Mr. +Lorrequer.” + +“Finucane, if quite agreeable to you; Finucane,” said the little +gentleman, as he lifted his hat straight off his head, and replaced it +most accurately, by way of salute. “Mr. Lorrequer, it is with sincere +pleasure I make your acquaintance.” Here Mr. Beamish bowed stiffly, in +return to my salutation, and at the instant a kind of vague sensation +crossed my mind, that those red whiskers, and that fiery face were not +seen for the first time; but the thumbscrews of the holy office would +have been powerless to refresh my memory as to when. + +“Captain,” said the doctor, “may I request the favour of your company +this way, one minute;” they both walked aside; the only words which +reached me as I moved off, to permit their conference, being an +assurance on the part of the doctor, “that it was a sweet spot he +picked out, for, by having them placed north and south, neither need +have a patch of sky behind him.” Very few minutes sufficed for +preliminaries, and they both advanced, smirking and smiling, as if they +had just arranged a new plan for the amelioration of the poor, or the +benefit of the manufacturing classes, instead of making preparations +for sending a gentleman out of the world. + +“Then if I understand you, captain,” said the doctor, “you step the +distance, and I give the word.” + +“Exactly,” said Curzon. + +After a joking allusion to my friend’s length of limb, at which we all +laughed heartily, we were placed, Curzon and the doctor standing and +breaking the line between us; the pistols were then put into our hands, +the doctor saying—“Now, gentlemen, I’ll just retire six paces, and turn +round, which will be quite time enough to prepare, and at the word +‘fire,’ ye’ll blaze away; mind now.” With a knowing wink, the doctor +delivered this direction, and immediately moved off; the word “fire” +followed, and both pistols went off together. My hat was struck near +the top, and, as the smoke cleared away, I perceived that my ball had +taken effect upon my adversary; he was wounded a little below the knee +and appeared to steady himself with the greatest difficulty. “Your +friend is hit,” said Curzon, to the doctor, who now came forward with +another pistol. “Your friend is hit.” + +“So I perceive,” said he, placing his finger on the spot; “but it is no +harm in life; so we proceed, if you please.” + +“You don’t mean to demand another shot?” said Curzon. + +“Faith, do I,” said the doctor coolly. + +“Then,” said Curzon, “I must tell you most unequivocally, I refuse, and +shall now withdraw my friend; and had it not been for a regulation +peculiar to our regiment, but never intended to include cases of this +nature, we had not been here now; for up to this hour my principal and +myself are in utter ignorance of any cause of offence ever having been +offered by him to Mr. Beamish.” + +“Giles, do you hear this?” said the doctor. + +But Giles did not hear it, for the rapid loss of blood from his wound +had so weakened him, that he had fainted, and now lay peaceably on the +grass. Etiquette was now at an end, and we all ran forward to assist +the wounded man; for some minutes he lay apparently quite senseless, +and when he at last rallied and looked wildly about him, it appeared to +be with difficulty that he recalled any recollection of the place, and +the people around him; for a few seconds he fixed his eyes steadily +upon the doctor, and with a lip pale and bloodless, and a voice +quivering from weakness, said, + +“Fin! Didn’t I tell ye, that pistol always threw high—oh!” and this he +said with a sigh that nearly overpowered him, “Oh, Fin, if you had only +given me the saw-handled one, that _I am used to;_ but it is no good +talking now.” + +In my inmost heart I was grateful to the little doctor for his mistake, +for I plainly perceived what “the saw-handled one he was used to” might +have done for me, and could not help muttering to myself with good Sir +Andrew—“If I had known he was so cunning of fence, I’d have seen him +damned before that I fought with him.” + +Our first duty was now to remove the wounded man to the high road, +about which both he himself and his second seemed disposed to make some +difficulty; they spoke together for a few moments in a low tone of +voice, and then the doctor addressed us—“We feel, gentlemen, this is +not a time for any concealment; but the truth is, we have need of great +circumspection here, for I must inform you, we are both of us bound +over in heavy recognizances to keep the peace.” + +“Bound over to keep the peace!” said Curzon and myself together. + +“Nothing less; and although there is nobody hereabout would tell, yet +if the affair got into the papers by any means, why there are some +people in Cork would like to press my friend there, for he is a very +neat shot when he has the saw-handle,” and here the doctor winked. + +We had little time permitted us, to think upon the oddity of meeting a +man in such circumstances, for we were now obliged to contribute our +aid in conveying him to the road, where some means might be procured +for his transfer to Kilrush, or some other town in the neighbourhood, +for he was by this time totally unable to walk. + +After half an hour’s toiling, we at last did reach the highway, by +which time I had ample opportunity, short as the space was, to see +something of the character of our two opponents. It appeared the doctor +exercised the most absolute control over his large friend, dictating +and commanding in a tone which the other never ventured to resist; for +a moment or two Mr. Beamish expressed a great desire to be conveyed by +night to Kilrush, where he might find means to cross the Shannon into +Kerry; this, however, the doctor opposed strenuously, from the risque +of publicity; and finally settled that we should all go in a body to +his friend, Father Malachi Brennan’s house, only two miles off, where +the sick man would have the most tender care, and what the doctor +considered equally indispensable, we ourselves a most excellent supper, +and a hearty welcome. + +“You know Father Malachi, of course, Mr. Lorrequer?” + +“I am ashamed to say I do not.” + +“Not know Malachi Brennan and live in Clare! Well, well, that is +strange; sure he is the priest of this country for twelve miles in +every direction of you, and a better man, and a pleasanter, there does +not live in the diocese; though I’m his cousin that says it.” + +After professing all the possible pleasure it would afford my friend +and myself to make the acquaintance of Father Malachi, we proceeded to +place Mr. Beamish in a car that was passing at the time, and started +for the residence of the good priest. The whole of the way thither I +was occupied but by one thought, a burning anxiety to know the cause of +our quarrel, and I longed for the moment when I might get the doctor +apart from his friend, to make the inquiry. + +“There—look down to your left, where you see the lights shining so +brightly, that is Father Malachi’s house; as sure as my name is De +Courcy Finucane, there’s fun going on there this night.” + +“Why, there certainly does seem a great illumination in the valley +there,” said I. + +“May I never,” said the doctor, “if it isn’t a station—” + +“A station!—pray may I ask—” + +“You need not ask a word on the subject; for, if I am a true prophet, +you’ll know what it means before morning.” + +A little more chatting together, brought us to a narrow road, flanked +on either side by high hedges of hawthorn, and, in a few minutes more, +we stood before the priest’s residence, a long, white-washed, thatched +house, having great appearance of comfort and convenience. Arrived +here, the doctor seemed at once to take on him the arrangement of the +whole party; for, after raising the latch and entering the house, he +returned to us in a few minutes, and said, + +“Wait a while now; we’ll not go in to Father Malachi, ‘till we’ve put +Giles to bed.” + +We, accordingly, lifted him from off the car, and assisted him into the +house, and following Finucane down a narrow passage, at last reached a +most comfortable little chamber, with a neat bed; here we placed him, +while the doctor gave some directions to a bare-headed, red-legged +hussey, without shoes or stockings, and himself proceeded to examine +the wound, which was a more serious one than it at first appeared. + +After half an hour thus occupied, during which time, roars of merriment +and hearty peals of laughter burst upon us every time the door opened, +from a distant part of the house, where his reverence was entertaining +his friends, and which, as often as they were heard by the doctor +seemed to produce in him sensations not unlike those that afflicted the +“wedding guest” in the “Ancient Mariner,” when he heard the “loud +bassoon,” and as certainly imparted an equally longing desire to be a +partaker in the mirth. We arranged every thing satisfactorily for Mr. +Beamish’s comfort, and with a large basin of vinegar and water, to keep +his knee cool, and a strong tumbler of hot punch, to keep his heart +warm—homeopathic medicine is not half so new as Dr. Hahnneman would +make us believe—we left Mr. Beamish to his own meditations, and +doubtless regrets that he did not get “the saw-handled one, he was used +to,” while we proceeded to make our bows to Father Malachi Brennan. + +But, as I have no intention to treat the good priest with ingratitude, +I shall not present him to my readers at the tail of a chapter. + + + + + CHAPTER VI. +THE PRIEST’S SUPPER—FATHER MALACHI AND THE COADJUTOR—MAJOR JONES AND +THE ABBE + +[Illustration: The Sentry Challenging Father Luke and the Abbé] + + +At the conclusion of our last chapter we left our quondam antagonist, +Mr. Beamish, stretched at full length upon a bed practising homeopathy +by administering hot punch to his fever, while we followed our +chaperon, Doctor Finucane, into the presence of the Reverend Father +Brennan. + +The company into which we now, without any ceremony on our parts, +introduced ourselves, consisted of from five and twenty to thirty +persons, seated around a large oak table, plentifully provided with +materials for drinking, and cups, goblets, and glasses of every shape +and form. The moment we entered, the doctor stepped forward, and, +touching Father Malachi on the shoulder,—for so I rightly guessed him +to be,—presented himself to his relative, by whom he was welcomed with +every demonstration of joy. While their recognitions were exchanged, +and while the doctor explained the reasons of our visit, I was enabled, +undisturbed and unnoticed, to take a brief survey of the party. + +Father Malachi Brennan, P.P. of Carrigaholt, was what I had often +pictured to myself as the beau ideal of his caste; his figure was +short, fleshy, and enormously muscular, and displayed proportions which +wanted but height to constitute a perfect Hercules; his legs so thick +in the calf, so taper in the ancle, looked like nothing I know, except +perhaps, the metal balustrades of Carlisle-bridge; his face was large +and rosy, and the general expression, a mixture of unbounded good +humour and inexhaustible drollery, to which the restless activity of +his black and arched eye-brows greatly contributed; and his mouth, were +it not for a character of sensuality and voluptuousness about the +nether lip, had been actually handsome; his head was bald, except a +narrow circle close above the ears, which was marked by a ring of curly +dark hair, sadly insufficient however, to conceal a development behind, +that, if there be truth in phrenology, bodes but little happiness to +the disciples of Miss Martineau. + +Add to these external signs a voice rich, fluent, and racy, with the +mellow “doric” of his country, and you have some faint resemblance of +one “every inch a priest.” The very antipodes to the ‘bonhomie’ of this +figure, confronted him as croupier at the foot of the table. This, as I +afterwards learned, was no less a person than Mister Donovan, the +coadjutor or “curate;” he was a tall, spare, ungainly looking man of +about five and thirty, with a pale, ascetic countenance, the only +readable expression of which vibrated between low suspicion and intense +vulgarity: over his low, projecting forehead hung down a mass of +straight red hair; indeed—for nature is not a politician—it almost +approached an orange hue. This was cut close to the head all around, +and displayed in their full proportions a pair of enormous ears, which +stood out in “relief,” like turrets from a watch-tower, and with pretty +much the same object; his skin was of that peculiar colour and texture, +to which, not all “the water in great Neptune’s ocean” could impart a +look of cleanliness, while his very voice, hard, harsh, and inflexible, +was unprepossessing and unpleasant. And yet, strange as it may seem, +he, too, was a correct type of his order; the only difference being, +that Father Malachi was an older coinage, with the impress of Donay or +St. Omers, whereas Mister Donovan was the shining metal, fresh stamped +from the mint of Maynooth. + +[Illustration: Supper at Father Malachi’s] + +While thus occupied in my surveillance of the scene before me, I was +roused by the priest saying— + +“Ah, Fin, my darling, you needn’t deny it; you’re at the old game as +sure as my name is Malachi, and ye’ll never be easy nor quiet till +ye’re sent beyond the sea, or maybe have a record of your virtues on +half a ton of marble in the church-yard, yonder.” + +“Upon my honour, upon the sacred honour of a De Courcy—.” + +“Well, well, never mind it now; ye see ye’re just keeping your friends +cooling themselves there in the corner—introduce me at once.” + +“Mr. Lorrequer, I’m sure—.” + +“My name is Curzon,” said the adjutant, bowing. + +“A mighty pretty name, though a little profane; well, Mr. Curse-on,” +for so he pronounced it, “ye’re as welcome as the flowers in May; and +it’s mighty proud I am to see ye here. + +“Mr. Lorrequer, allow me to shake your hand—I’ve heard of ye before.” + +There seemed nothing very strange in that; for go where I would through +this country, I seemed as generally known as ever was Brummell in +Bond-street. + +“Fin tells me,” continued Father Malachi, “that ye’d rather not be +known down here, in regard of a reason,” and here he winked. “Make +yourselves quite easy; the king’s writ was never but once in these +parts; and the ‘original and true copy’ went back to Limerick in the +stomach of the server; they made him eat it, Mr. Lorrequer; but it’s as +well to be cautious, for there are a good number here. A little dinner, +a little quarterly dinner we have among us, Mr. Curseon, to be social +together, and raise a ‘thrifle’ for the Irish college at Rome, where we +have a probationer or two, ourselves.” + +“As good as a station, and more drink,” whispered Fin into my ear. + +“And now,” continued the priest, “ye must just permit me to re-christen +ye both, and the contribution will not be the less for what I’m going +to do; and I’m certain you’ll not be worse for the change Mr. +Curseon—though ’tis only for a few hours, ye’ll have a dacent name.” + +As I could see no possible objection to this proposal, nor did Curzon +either, our only desire being to maintain the secrecy necessary for our +antagonist’s safety, we at once assented; when Father Malachi took me +by the hand, but with such a total change in his whole air and +deportment that I was completely puzzled by it; he led me forward to +the company with a good deal of the ceremonious reverence I have often +admired in Sir Charles Vernon, when conducting some full-blown dowager +through the mazes of a castle minuet. The desire to laugh outright was +almost irresistible, as the Rev. Father stood at arm’s length from me, +still holding my hand, and bowing to the company pretty much in the +style of a manager introducing a blushing debutante to an audience. A +moment more, and I must have inevitably given way to a burst of +laughter, when what was my horror to hear the priest present me to the +company as their “excellent, worthy, generous, and patriotic young +landlord, Lord Kilkee. Cheer every mother’s son of ye; cheer I say;” +and certainly precept was never more strenuously backed by example, for +he huzzaed till I thought he would burst a blood-vessel; may I add, I +almost wished it, such was the insufferable annoyance, the chagrin, +this announcement gave me; and I waited with eager impatience for the +din and clamour to subside, to disclaim every syllable of the priest’s +announcement, and take the consequences of my baptismal epithet, cost +what it might. To this I was impelled by many and important reasons. +Situated as I was with respect to the Callonby family, my assumption of +their name at such a moment might get abroad, and the consequences to +me, be inevitable ruin; and independent of my natural repugnance to +such sailing under false colours, I saw Curzon laughing almost to +suffocation at my wretched predicament, and (so strong within me was +the dread of ridicule) I thought, “what a pretty narrative he is +concocting for the mess this minute.” I rose to reply; and whether +Father Malachi, with his intuitive quickness, guessed my purpose or +not, I cannot say, but he certainly resolved to out-maneuver me, and he +succeeded: while with one hand he motioned to the party to keep +silence, with the other he took hold of Curzon, but with no peculiar or +very measured respect, and introduced him as Mr. MacNeesh, the new +Scotch steward and improver—a character at that time whose popularity +might compete with a tithe proctor or an exciseman. So completely did +this tactique turn the tables upon the poor adjutant, who the moment +before was exulting over me, that I utterly forgot my own woes, and sat +down convulsed with mirth at his situation—an emotion certainly not +lessened as I saw Curzon passed from one to the other at table, “like a +pauper to his parish,” till he found an asylum at the very foot, in +juxta with the engaging Mister Donovan. A propinquity, if I might judge +from their countenances, uncoveted by either party. + +While this was performing, Doctor Finucane was making his recognitions +with several of the company, to whom he had been long known during his +visits to the neighbourhood. I now resumed my place on the right of the +Father, abandoning for the present all intention of disclaiming my +rank, and the campaign was opened. The priest now exerted himself to +the utmost to recall conversation with the original channels, and if +possible to draw off attention from me, which he still feared, might, +perhaps, elicit some unlucky announcement on my part. Failing in his +endeavours to bring matters to their former footing, he turned the +whole brunt of his attentions to the worthy doctor, who sat on his +left. + +“How goes on the law,” said he, “Fin? Any new proofs, as they call +them, forthcoming?” + +What Fin replied, I could not hear, but the allusion to the “suit” was +explained by Father Malachi informing us that the only impediment +between his cousin and the title of Kinsale lay in the unfortunate +fact, that his grandmother, “rest her sowl,” was not a man. + +Doctor Finucane winced a little under the manner in which this was +spoken: but returned the fire by asking if the bishop was down lately +in that quarter? The evasive way in which “the Father” replied having +stimulated my curiosity as to the reason, little entreaty was necessary +to persuade the doctor to relate the following anecdote, which was not +relished the less by his superior, that it told somewhat heavily on Mr. +Donovan. + +“It is about four years ago,” said the doctor, “since the Bishop, Dr. +Plunkett, took it into his head that he’d make a general inspection, ‘a +reconnoisance,’ as we’d call it, Mr. Lor—that is, my lord! through the +whole diocese, and leave no part far nor near without poking his nose +in it and seeing how matters were doing. He heard very queer stories +about his reverence here, and so down he came one morning in the month +of July, riding upon an old grey hack, looking just for all the world +like any other elderly gentleman in very rusty black. When he got near +the village he picked up a little boy to show him the short cut across +the fields to the house here; and as his lordship was a ‘sharp man and +a shrewd,’ he kept his eye on every thing as he went along, remarking +this, and noting down that. + +“‘Are ye regular in yer duties, my son?’ said he to the gossoon. + +“‘I never miss a Sunday,’ said the gossoon; ‘for it’s always walking +his reverence’s horse I am the whole time av prayers.’ + +“His lordship said no more for a little while, when he muttered between +his teeth, ‘Ah, it’s just slander—nothing but slander and lying +tongues.’ This soliloquy was caused by his remarking that on every gate +he passed, or from every cabin, two or three urchins would come out +half naked, but all with the finest heads of red hair he ever saw in +his life. + +“‘How is it, my son,’ said he, at length; ‘they tell very strange +stories about Father Malachi, and I see so many of these children with +red hair. Eh—now Father Malachi’s a dark man.’ + +“‘True for ye,’ said the boy; ‘true for ye, Father Malachi’s dark; but +the coadjutor!—the coadjutor’s as red as a fox.’” + +When the laugh this story caused had a little subsided, Father Malachi +called out, “Mickey Oulahan! Mickey, I say, hand his lordship over ‘the +groceries’”—thus he designated a square decanter, containing about two +quarts of whiskey, and a bowl heaped high with sugar—“a dacent boy is +Mickey, my lord, and I’m happy to be the means of making him known to +you.” I bowed with condescension, while Mr. Oulahan’s eyes sparkled +like diamonds at the recognition. + +“He has only two years of the lease to run, and a ‘long charge,’” +(anglicé, a large family,) continued the priest. + +“I’ll not forget him, you may depend upon it,” said I. + +“Do you hear that,” said Father Malachi, casting a glance of triumph +round the table, while a general buzz of commendation on priest and +patron went round, with many such phrases as, “Och thin, it’s his +riv’rance can do it,” “na bocklish,” “and why not,” &c. &c. As for me, +I have already “confessed” to my crying sin, a fatal, irresistible +inclination to follow the humour of the moment wherever it led me; and +now I found myself as active a partizan in quizzing Mickey Oulahan, as +though I was not myself a party included in the jest. I was thus fairly +launched into my inveterate habit, and nothing could arrest my +progress. + +One by one the different individuals round the table were presented to +me, and made known their various wants, with an implicit confidence in +my power of relieving them, which I with equal readiness ministered to. +I lowered the rent of every man at table. I made a general jail +delivery, an act of grace, (I blush to say,) which seemed to be +peculiarly interesting to the present company. I abolished all +arrears—made a new line of road through an impassable bog, and over an +inaccessible mountain—and conducted water to a mill, which (I learned +in the morning) was always worked by wind. The decanter had scarcely +completed its third circuit of the board, when I bid fair to be most +popular specimen of the peerage that ever visited the “far west.” In +the midst of my career of universal benevolence, I was interrupted by +Father Malachi, whom I found on his legs, pronouncing a glowing +eulogium on his cousin’s late regiment, the famous North Cork. + +“That was the corps!” said he. “Bid them do a thing, and they’d never +leave off; and so, when they got orders to retire from Wexford, it’s +little they cared for the comforts of baggage, like many another +regiment, for they threw away every thing but their canteens, and never +stopped till they ran to Ross, fifteen miles farther than the enemy +followed them. And when they were all in bed the same night, fatigued +and tired with their exertions, as ye may suppose, a drummer’s boy +called out in his sleep—‘here they are—they’re coming’—they all jumped +up and set off in their shirts, and got two miles out of town before +they discovered it was a false alarm.” + +Peal after peal of laughter followed the priest’s encomium on the +doctor’s regiment; and, indeed, he himself joined most heartily in the +mirth, as he might well afford to do, seeing that a braver or better +corps than the North Cork, Ireland did not possess. + +“Well,” said Fin, “it’s easy to see ye never can forget what they did +at Maynooth.” + +Father Malachi disclaimed all personal feeling on the subject; and I +was at last gratified by the following narrative, which I regret deeply +I am not enabled to give in the doctor’s own verbiage; but writing as I +do from memory, (in most instances,) I can only convey the substance: + +It was towards the latter end of the year ‘98—the year of the +troubles—that the North Cork was ordered, “for their sins” I believe, +to march from their snug quarters in Fermoy, and take up a position in +the town of Maynooth—a very considerable reverse of fortune to a set of +gentlemen extremely addicted to dining out, and living at large upon a +very pleasant neighbourhood. Fermoy abounded in gentry; Maynooth at +that, time had few, if any, excepting his Grace of Leinster, and he +lived very privately, and saw no company. Maynooth was stupid and +dull—there were neither belles nor balls; Fermoy (to use the doctor’s +well remembered words) had “great feeding,” and “very genteel young +ladies, that carried their handkerchiefs in bags, and danced with the +officers.” + +They had not been many weeks in their new quarters, when they began to +pine over their altered fortunes, and it was with a sense of delight, +which a few months before would have been incomprehensible to them, +they discovered, that one of their officers had a brother, a young +priest in the college: he introduced him to some of his confrères, and +the natural result followed. A visiting acquaintance began between the +regiment and such of the members of the college as had liberty to leave +the precincts: who, as time ripened the acquaintance into intimacy, +very naturally preferred the cuisine of the North Cork to the meagre +fare of “the refectory.” At last seldom a day went by, without one or +two of their reverences finding themselves guests at the mess. The +North Corkians were of a most hospitable turn, and the fathers were +determined the virtue should not rust for want of being exercised; they +would just drop in to say a word to “Captain O’Flaherty about leave to +shoot in the demesne,” as Carton was styled; or, they had a “frank from +the Duke for the Colonel,” or some other equally pressing reason; and +they would contrive to be caught in the middle of a very droll story +just as the “roast beef” was playing. Very little entreaty then +sufficed—a short apology for the “dereglements” of dress, and a few +minutes more found them seated at table without further ceremony on +either side. + +Among the favourite guests from the college, two were peculiarly held +in estimation—“the Professor of the Humanities,” Father Luke Mooney; +and the Abbé D’Array, “the Lecturer on Moral Philosophy, and Belles +Lettres;” and certain it is, pleasanter fellows, or more gifted with +the “convivial bump,” there never existed. He of the Humanities was a +droll dog—a member of the Curran club, the “monks of the screw,” told +an excellent story, and sang the “Cruiskeen Lawn” better than did any +before or since him;—the moral philosopher, though of a different +genre, was also a most agreeable companion, an Irishman transplanted in +his youth to St. Omers, and who had grafted upon his native humour a +considerable share of French smartness and repartee—such were the two, +who ruled supreme in all the festive arrangements of this jovial +regiment, and were at last as regular at table, as the adjutant and the +paymaster, and so might they have continued, had not prosperity, that +in its blighting influence upon the heart, spares neither priests nor +laymen, and is equally severe upon mice (see Æsop’s fable) and moral +philosophers, actually deprived them, for the “nonce” of reason, and +tempted them to their ruin. You naturally ask, what did they do? Did +they venture upon allusions to the retreat upon Ross? Nothing of the +kind. Did they, in that vanity which wine inspires, refer by word, act, +or inuendo, to the well-known order of their Colonel when reviewing his +regiment in “the Phœnix,” to “advance two steps backwards, and dress by +the gutter.” Far be it from them: though indeed either of these had +been esteemed light in the balance compared with their real crime. +“Then, what was their failing—come, tell it, and burn ye?” They +actually, “horresco referens,” quizzed the Major coram the whole +mess!—Now, Major John Jones had only lately exchanged into the North +Cork from the “Darry Ragement,” as he called it. He was a red-hot +orangeman, a deputy-grand something, and vice-chairman of the +“’Prentice Boys” beside. He broke his leg when a school-boy, by a fall +incurred in tying an orange handkerchief around King William’s August +neck in College-green, on one 12th of July, and three several times had +closed the gates of Derry with his own loyal hands, on the famed +anniversary; in a word, he was one, that if his church had enjoined +penance as an expiation for sin, would have looked upon a trip to +Jerusalem on his bare knees, as a very light punishment for the crime +on his conscience, that he sat at table with two buck priests from +Maynooth, and carved for them, like the rest of the company! + +Poor Major Jones, however, had no such solace, and the canker-worm eat +daily deeper and deeper into his pining heart. During the three or four +weeks of their intimacy with his regiment, his martyrdom was awful. His +figure wasted, and his colour became a deeper tinge of orange, and all +around averred that there would soon be a “move up” in the corps, for +the major had evidently “got his notice to quit” this world, and its +pomps and vanities. He felt “that he was dying,” to use Haines Bayley’s +beautiful and apposite words, and meditated an exchange, but that, from +circumstances, was out of the question. At last, subdued by grief, and +probably his spirit having chafed itself smooth by such constant +attrition, he became, to all seeming, calmer; but it was only the calm +of a broken and weary heart. Such was Major Jones at the time, when, +“suadente diabolo,” it seemed meet to Fathers Mooney and D’Array to +make him the butt of their raillery. At first, he could not believe it; +the thing was incredible—impossible; but when he looked around the +table, when he heard the roars of laughter, long, loud, and vociferous; +when he heard his name bandied from one to the other across the table, +with some vile jest tacked to it “like a tin kettle to a dog’s tail,” +he awoke to the full measure of his misery—the cup was full. Fate had +done her worst, and he might have exclaimed with Lear, “spit, +fire—spout, rain,” there was nothing in store for him of further +misfortune. + +A drum-head court-martial—a hint “to sell out”—ay, a sentence of +“dismissed the service,” had been mortal calamities, and, like a man, +he would have borne them; but that he, Major John Jones, D.G.S. C.P.B., +&c. &c., who had drank the “pious, glorious, and immortal,” sitting +astride of “the great gun of Athlone,” should come to this! Alas, and +alas! He retired that night to his chamber a “sadder if not a wiser +man;” he dreamed that the “statue” had given place to the unshapely +figure of Leo X., and that “Lundy now stood where Walker stood before.” +He humped from his bed in a moment of enthusiasm, he vowed his revenge, +and he kept his vow. + +That day the major was “acting field officer.” The various patroles, +sentries, picquets, and out-posts, were all under his especial control; +and it was remarked that he took peculiar pains in selecting the men +for night duty, which, in the prevailing quietness and peace of that +time, seemed scarcely warrantable. + +Evening drew near, and Major Jones, summoned by the “oft-heard beat,” +wended his way to the mess. The officers were dropping in, and true as +“the needle to the pole,” came Father Mooney and the Abbé. They were +welcomed with the usual warmth, and strange to say, by none more than +the major himself, whose hilarity knew no bounds. + +How the evening passed, I shall not stop to relate: suffice it to say, +that a more brilliant feast of wit and jollification, not even the +North Cork ever enjoyed. Father Luke’s drollest stories, his very +quaintest humour shone forth, and the Abbé sang a new “Chanson a +Boire,” that Beranger might have envied. + +“What are you about, my dear Father D’Array?” said the Colonel; “you +are surely not rising yet; here’s a fresh cooper of port just come in; +sit down, I entreat.” + +“I say it with grief, my dear colonel, we must away; the half-hour has +just chimed, and we must be within ‘the gates’ before twelve. The truth +is, the superior has been making himself very troublesome about our +‘carnal amusements’ as he calls our innocent mirth, and we must +therefore be upon our guard.” + +“Well, if it must be so, we shall not risk losing your society +altogether, for an hour or so now; so, one bumper to our next +meeting—to-morrow, mind, and now, M. D’Abbé, au revoir.” + +The worthy fathers finished their glasses, and taking a most +affectionate leave of their kind entertainers, sallied forth under the +guidance of Major Jones, who insisted upon accompanying them part of +the way, as, “from information he had received, the sentries were +doubled in some places, and the usual precautions against surprise all +taken.” Much as this polite attention surprised the objects of it, his +brother officers wondered still more, and no sooner did they perceive +the major and his companions issue forth, than they set out in a body +to watch where this most novel and unexpected complaisance would +terminate. + +When the priests reached the door of the barrack-yard, they again +turned to utter their thanks to the major, and entreat him once more, +“not to come a step farther. There now, major, we know the path well, +so just give us the pass, and don’t stay out in the night air.” + +“Ah oui, Monsieur Jones,” said the Abbé, “retournez, je vous prie. We +are, I must say, chez nous. Ces braves gens, les North Cork know us by +this time.” + +The major smiled, while he still pressed his services to see them past +the picquets, but they were resolved and would not be denied. + +“With the word for the night, we want nothing more,” said Father Luke. + +“Well, then,” said the major, in the gravest tone, and he was naturally +grave, “you shall have your way, but remember to call out loud, for the +first sentry is a little deaf, and a very passionate, ill-tempered +fellow to boot.” + +“Never fear,” said Father Mooney, laughing; “I’ll go bail he’ll hear +me.” + +“Well—the word for the night is—‘Bloody end to the Pope,’—don’t forget, +now, ‘Bloody end to the Pope,’” and with these words he banged the door +between him and the unfortunate priests; and, as bolt was fastened +after bolt, they heard him laughing to himself like a fiend over his +vengeance. + +“And big bad luck to ye, Major Jones, for the same, every day ye see a +paving stone,” was the faint sub-audible ejaculation of Father Luke, +when he was recovered enough to speak. + +“Sacristi! Que nous sommes attrappes,” said the Abbé, scarcely able to +avoid laughing at the situation in which they were placed. + +“Well, there’s the quarter chiming now; we’ve no time to lose—Major +Jones! Major, darling! Don’t now, ah, don’t! sure ye know we’ll be +ruined entirely—there now, just change it, like a dacent fellow—the +devil’s luck to him, he’s gone. Well, we can’t stay here in the rain +all night, and be expelled in the morning afterwards—so come along.” + +They jogged on for a few minutes in silence, till they came to that +part of the “Duke’s” demesne wall, where the first sentry was +stationed. By this time the officers, headed by the major, had quietly +slipped out of the gate, and were following their steps at a convenient +distance. + +The fathers had stopped to consult together, what they should do in +this trying emergency—when their whisper being overheard, the sentinel +called out gruffly, in the genuine dialect of his country, “who goes +that?” + +“Father Luke Mooney, and the Abbé D’Array,” said the former, in his +most bland and insinuating tone of voice, a quality he most eminently +possessed. + +“Stand and give the countersign.” + +“We are coming from the mess, and going home to the college,” said +Father Mooney, evading the question, and gradually advancing as he +spoke. + +“Stand, or I’ll shot ye,” said the North Corkian. + +Father Luke halted, while a muttered “Blessed Virgin” announced his +state of fear and trepidation. + +“D’Array, I say, what are we to do.” + +“The countersign,” said the sentry, whose figure they could perceive in +the dim distance of about thirty yards. + +“Sure ye’ll let us pass, my good lad, and ye’ll have a friend in Father +Luke the longest day ye live, and ye might have a worse in time of +need; ye understand.” + +Whether he did understand or not, he certainly did not heed, for his +only reply was the short click of his gun-lock, that bespeaks a +preparation to fire. + +“There’s no help now,” said Father Luke; “I see he’s a haythen; and bad +luck to the major, I say again;” and this in the fulness of his heart +he uttered aloud. + +“That’s not the countersign,” said the inexorable sentry, striking the +butt end of the musket on the ground with a crash that smote terror +into the hearts of the priests. + +Mumble—mumble—“to the Pope,” said Father Luke, pronouncing the last +words distinctly, after the approved practice of a Dublin watchman, on +being awoke from his dreams of row and riot by the last toll of the +Post-office, and not knowing whether it has struck “twelve” or “three,” +sings out the word “o’clock,” in a long sonorous drawl, that wakes +every sleeping citizen, and yet tells nothing how “time speeds on his +flight.” + +“Louder,” said the sentry, in a voice of impatience. + +——“to the Pope.” + +“I don’t hear the first part.” + +“Oh then,” said the priest, with a sigh that might have melted the +heart of anything but a sentry, “Bloody end to the Pope; and may the +saints in heaven forgive me for saying it.” + +“Again,” called out the soldier; “and no muttering.” + +“Bloody end to the Pope,” cried Father Luke in bitter desperation. + +“Bloody end to the Pope,” echoed the Abbé. + +“Pass bloody end to the Pope, and good night,” said the sentry, +resuming his rounds, while a loud and uproarious peal of laughter +behind, told the unlucky priests they were overheard by others, and +that the story would be over the whole town in the morning. + +Whether it was that the penance for their heresy took long in +accomplishing, or that they never could summon courage sufficient to +face their persecutor, certain it is, the North Cork saw them no more, +nor were they ever observed to pass the precincts of the college, while +that regiment occupied Maynooth. + +Major Jones himself, and his confederates, could not have more heartily +relished this story, than did the party to whom the doctor heartily +related it. Much, if not all the amusement it afforded, however, +resulted from his inimitable mode of telling, and the power of mimicry, +with which he conveyed the dialogue with the sentry: and this, alas, +must be lost to my readers, at least to that portion of them not +fortunate enough to possess Doctor Finucane’s acquaintance. + +“Fin! Fin! your long story has nearly famished me,” said the padre, as +the laugh subsided; “and there you sit now with the jug at your elbow +this half-hour; I never thought you would forget our old friend Martin +Hanegan’s aunt.” + +“Here’s to her health,” said Fin; “and your reverence will get us the +chant.” + +“Agreed,” said Father Malachi, finishing a bumper, and after giving a +few preparatory hems, he sang the following “singularly wild and +beautiful poem,” as some one calls Christabel:— + +“Here’s a health to Martin Hanegan’s aunt, + And I’ll tell ye the reason why! +She eats bekase she is hungry, + And drinks bekase she is dry. + + “And if ever a man, + Stopped the course of a can, +Martin Hanegan’s aunt would cry— + ‘Arrah, fill up your glass, + And let the jug pass; +How d’ye know but what your neighbour’s dhry?’” + + +“Come, my lord and gentlemen, da capo, if ye please—Fill up your +glass,” and the chanson was chorussed with a strength and vigour that +would have astonished the Philharmonic. + +The mirth and fun now grew “fast and furious;” and Father Malachi, +rising with the occasion, flung his reckless drollery and fun on every +side, sparing none, from his cousin to the coadjutor. It was not that +peculiar period in the evening’s enjoyment, when an expert and +practical chairman gives up all interference or management, and leaves +every thing to take its course; this then was the happy moment selected +by Father Malachi to propose the little “conthribution.” He brought a +plate from a side table, and placing it before him, addressed the +company in a very brief but sensible speech, detailing the object of +the institution he was advocating, and concluding with the following +words:—“and now ye’ll just give whatever ye like, according to your +means in life, and what ye can spare.” + +The admonition, like the “morale” of an income tax, having the +immediate effect of pitting each man against his neighbour, and +suggesting to their already excited spirits all the ardour of gambling, +without, however, a prospect of gain. The plate was first handed to me +in honour of my “rank,” and having deposited upon it a handful of small +silver, the priest ran his finger through the coin, and called out:— + +“Five pounds! at least; not a farthing less, as I am a sinner. Look, +then,—see now; they tell ye, the gentlemen don’t care for the like of +ye! but see for yourselves. May I trouble y’r lordship to pass the +plate to Mr. Mahony—he’s impatient, I see.” + +Mr. Mahony, about whom I perceived very little of the impatience +alluded to, was a grim-looking old Christian, in a rabbit-skin +waistcoat, with long flaps, who fumbled in the recesses of his breeches +pocket for five minutes, and then drew forth three shillings, which he +laid upon the plate, with what I fancied very much resembled a sigh. + +“Six and sixpence, is it? or five shillings?—all the same, Mr. Mahony, +and I’ll not forget the thrifle you were speaking about this morning +any way;” and here he leaned over as interceding with me for him, but +in reality to whisper into my ear, “the greatest miser from this to +Castlebar.” + +“Who’s that put down the half guinea in goold?” (And this time he spoke +truth.) “Who’s that, I say?” + +“Tim Kennedy, your reverence,” said Tim, stroking his hair down with +one hand, and looking proud and modest at the same moment. + +“Tim, ye’re a credit to us any day, and I always said so. It’s a gauger +he’d like to be, my lord,” said he, turning to me, in a kind of stage +whisper. I nodded and muttered something, when he thanked me most +profoundly as if his suit had prospered. + +“Mickey Oulahan—the lord’s looking at ye, Mickey.” This was said +piannisime across the table, and had the effect of increasing Mr. +Oulahan’s donation from five shillings to seven—the last two being +pitched in very much in the style of a gambler making his final coup, +and crying “va banque.” “The Oulahans were always dacent people—dacent +people, my lord.” + +“Be gorra, the Oulahans was niver dacenter nor the Molowneys, any how,” +said a tall athletic young fellow, as he threw down three crown pieces, +with an energy that made every coin leap from the plate. + +“They’ll do now,” said Father Brennan; “I’ll leave them to themselves;” +and truly the eagerness to get the plate and put down the subscription, +fully equalled the rapacious anxiety I have witnessed in an old maid at +loo, to get possession of a thirty-shilling pool, be the same more or +less, which lingered on its way to her, in the hands of many a fair +competitor. + +“Mr. M’Neesh”—Curzon had hitherto escaped all notice—“Mr. M’Neesh, to +your good health,” cried Father Brennan. “It’s many a secret they’ll be +getting out o’ye down there about the Scotch husbandry.” + +Whatever poor Curzon knew of “drills,” certainly did not extend to them +when occupied by turnips. This allusion of the priest’s being caught up +by the party at the foot of the table, they commenced a series of +inquiries into different Scotch plans of tillage—his brief and +unsatisfactory answers to which, they felt sure, were given in order to +evade imparting information. By degrees, as they continued to press him +with questions, his replies grew more short, and a general feeling of +dislike on both sides was not very long in following. + +The father saw this, and determining with his usual tact to repress it, +called on the adjutant for a song. Now, whether he had but one in the +world, or whether he took this mode of retaliating for the annoyances +he had suffered, I know not; but true it is, he finished his tumbler at +a draught, and with a voice of no very peculiar sweetness, though +abundantly loud, began “The Boyne Water.” + +He had just reached the word “battle,” in the second line upon which he +was bestowing what he meant to be a shake, when, as if the word +suggested it, it seemed the signal for a general engagement. Decanters, +glasses, jugs, candlesticks,—aye, and the money-dish, flew right and +left—all originally intended, it is true, for the head of the luckless +adjutant, but as they now and then missed their aim, and came in +contact with the “wrong man,” invariably provoked retaliation, and in a +very few minutes the battle became general. + +What may have been the doctor’s political sentiments on this occasion, +I cannot even guess; but he seemed bent upon performing the part of a +“convivial Lord Stanley,” and maintaining a dignified neutrality. With +this apparent object, he mounted upon the table, to raise himself, I +suppose, above the din and commotion of party clamour, and brandishing +a jug of scalding water, bestowed it with perfect impartiality on the +combatants on either side. This Whig plan of conciliation, however well +intended, seemed not to prosper with either party; and many were the +missiles directed at the ill-starred doctor. Meanwhile Father Malachi, +whether following the pacific instinct of his order, in seeking an +asylum in troublesome times, or equally moved by old habit to gather +coin in low places, (much of the money having fallen,) was +industriously endeavouring to insert himself beneath the table; in +this, with one vigorous push, he at last succeeded, but in so doing +lifted it from its legs, and thus destroying poor “Fin’s” gravity, +precipitated him, jug and all, into the thickest part of the fray, +where he met with that kind reception such a benefactor ever receives +at the hands of a grateful public. I meanwhile hurried to rescue poor +Curzon, who, having fallen to the ground, was getting a cast of his +features taken in pewter, for such seemed the operation a stout farmer +was performing on the adjutant’s face with a quart. With considerable +difficulty, notwithstanding my supposed “lordship,” I succeeded in +freeing him from his present position; and he concluding, probably, +that enough had been done for one “sitting,” most willingly permitted +me to lead him from the room. I was soon joined by the doctor, who +assisted me in getting my poor friend to bed; which being done, he most +eagerly entreated me to join the company. This, however, I firmly but +mildly declined, very much to his surprise; for as he remarked—“They’ll +all be like lambs now, for they don’t believe there’s a whole bone in +his body.” + +Expressing my deep sense of the Christian-like forbearance of the +party, I pleaded fatigue, and bidding him good night, adjourned to my +bed-room; and here, although the arrangements fell somewhat short of +the luxurious ones appertaining to my late apartment at Callonby, they +were most grateful at the moment; and having “addressed myself to +slumber,” fell fast asleep, and only awoke late on the following +morning to wonder where I was: from any doubts as to which I was +speedily relieved by the entrance of the priest’s bare-footed +“colleen,” to deposit on my table a bottle of soda water, and announce +breakfast, with his reverence’s compliments. + +Having made a hasty toilet, I proceeded to the parlour, which, however +late events might have impressed upon my memory, I could scarcely +recognise. Instead of the long oak table and the wassail bowl, there +stood near the fire a small round table, covered with a snow—white +cloth, upon which shone in unrivalled brightness a very handsome tea +equipage—the hissing kettle on one hob was vis a vis’d by a gridiron +with three newly taken trout, frying under the reverential care of +Father Malachi himself—a heap of eggs ranged like shot in an ordnance +yard, stood in the middle of the table, while a formidable pile of +buttered toast browned before the grate—the morning papers were airing +upon the hearth—every thing bespoke that attention to comfort and +enjoyment one likes to discover in the house where chance may have +domesticated him for a day or two. + +“Good morning, Mr. Lorrequer. I trust you have rested well,” said +Father Malachi as I entered. + +“Never better; but where are our friends?” + +“I have been visiting and comforting them in their affliction, and I +may with truth assert it is not often my fortune to have three as +sickly looking guests. That was a most unlucky affair last night, and I +must apologise.” + +“Don’t say a word, I entreat; I saw how it all occurred, and am quite +sure if it had not been for poor Curzon’s ill-timed melody—” + +“You are quite right,” said the father interrupting me. “Your friend’s +taste for music—bad luck to it—was the ‘teterrima causa belli.’” + +“And the subscription,” said I; “how did it succeed?” + +“Oh, the money went in the commotion; and although I have got some +seven pounds odd shillings of it, the war was a most expensive one to +me. I caught old Mahony very busy under the table during the fray; but +let us say no more about it now—draw over your chair. Tea or coffee? +there’s the rum if you like it ‘chasse.’” + +I immediately obeyed the injunction, and commenced a vigorous assault +upon the trout, caught, as he informed me, “within twenty perches of +the house.” + +“Your poor friend’s nose is scarcely regimental,” said he, “this +morning; and as for Fin, he was never remarkable for beauty, so, though +they might cut and hack, they could scarcely disfigure him, as Juvenal +says—isn’t it Juvenal? + +“‘Vacuus viator cantabit ante Latronem;’ + + +“or in the vernacular: + +“‘The empty traveller may whistle +Before the robber and his pistil’ (pistol).” + + +“There’s the Chili vinegar—another morsel of the trout?” + +“I thank you; what excellent coffee, Father Malachi!” + +“A secret I learned at St. Omer’s some thirty years since. Any letters, +Bridget?”—to a damsel that entered with a pacquet in her hand. + +“A gossoon from Kilrush, y’r reverence, with a bit of a note for the +gentleman there.” + +“For me!—ah, true enough. Harry Lorrequer, Esq. Kilrush—try +Carrigaholt.” So ran the superscription—the first part being in a +lady’s handwriting; the latter very like the “rustic paling” of the +worthy Mrs. Healy’s style. The seal was a large one, bearing a coronet +at top, and the motto in old Norman-French, told me it came from +Callonby. + +With what a trembling hand and beating heart I broke it open, and yet +feared to read it—so much of my destiny might be in that simple page. +For once in my life my sanguine spirit failed me; my mind could take in +but one casualty, that Lady Jane had divulged to her family the nature +of my attentions, and that in the letter before me lay a cold mandate +of dismissal from her presence for ever. + +At last I summoned courage to read it; but having scrupled to present +to my readers the Reverend Father Brennan at the tail of a chapter, let +me not be less punctilious in the introduction of her ladyship’s +billet. + + + + + CHAPTER VII. +THE LADY’S LETTER—PETER AND HIS ACQUAINTANCES—TOO LATE. + + +Her ladyship’s letter ran thus— + +“Callonby, Tuesday morning. + + +“My dear Mr. Lorrequer,—My lord has deputed me to convey to you our +adieus, and at the same time to express our very great regret that we +should not have seen you before out departure from Ireland. A sudden +call of the House, and some unexpected ministerial changes, require +Lord Callonby’s immediate presence in town; and probably before this +reaches you we shall be on the road. Lord Kilkee, who left us +yesterday, was much distressed at not having seen you—he desired me to +say you shall hear from him from Leamington. Although writing amid all +the haste and bustle of departure, I must not forget the principal part +of my commission, nor lady-like defer it to a postscript: my lord +entreats that you will, if possible, pass a month or two with us in +London this season; make any use of his name you think fit at the +Horse-Guards, where he has some influence. Knowing as I do, with what +kindness you ever accede to the wishes of your friends, I need not say +how much gratification this will afford us all; but, sans response, we +expect you. Believe me to remain, yours very sincerely, + + + “Charlotte Callonby.” + + +“P.S.—We are all quite well, except Lady Jane, who has a slight cold, +and has been feverish for the last day or two.” + + +Words cannot convey any idea of the torrent of contending emotions +under which I perused this letter. The suddenness of the departure, +without an opportunity of even a moment’s leave-taking, completely +unmanned me. What would I not have given to be able to see her once +more, even for an instant—to say “a good bye”—to watch the feeling with +which she parted from me, and augur from it either favourably to my +heart’s dearest hope, or darkest despair. As I continued to read on, +the kindly tone of the remainder reassured me, and when I came to the +invitation to London, which plainly argued a wish on their part to +perpetuate the intimacy, I was obliged to read it again and again, +before I could convince myself of its reality. There it was, however, +most distinctly and legibly impressed in her ladyship’s fairest +calligraphy; and certainly great as was its consequence to me at the +time, it by no means formed the principal part of the communication. +The two lines of postscript contained more, far more food for hopes and +fears than did all the rest of the epistle. + +Lady Jane was ill then, slightly however—a mere cold; true, but she was +feverish. I could not help asking myself what share had I causing that +flushed cheek and anxious eye, and pictured to myself, perhaps with +more vividness than reality, a thousand little traits of manner, all +proofs strong as holy writ to my sanguine mind, that my affection was +returned, and that I loved not in vain. Again and again I read over the +entire letter; never truly did a nisi prius lawyer con over a new act +of parliament with more searching ingenuity, to detect its hidden +meaning, than did I to unravel through its plain phraseology the secret +intention of the writer towards me. + +There is an old and not less true adage, that what we wish we readily +believe; and so with me—I found myself an easy convert to my own hopes +and desires, and actually ended by persuading myself—no very hard +task—that my Lord Callonby had not only witnessed but approved of my +attachment to his beautiful daughter, and for reasons probably known to +him, but concealed from me, opined that I was a suitable “parti,” and +gave all due encouragement to my suit. The hint about using his +lordship’s influence at the Horse guards I resolved to benefit by; not, +however, in obtaining leave of absence, which I hoped to accomplish +more easily, but with his good sanction in pushing my promotion, when I +claimed him as my right honorable father-in-law—a point, on the +propriety of which, I had now fully satisfied myself. What visions of +rising greatness burst upon my mind, as I thought on the prospect that +opened before me; but here let me do myself the justice to record, that +amid all my pleasure and exultation, my proudest thought, was in the +anticipation of possessing one in every way so much my superior—the +very consciousness of which imparted a thrill of fear to my heart, that +such good fortune was too much even to hope for. + +How long I might have luxuriated in such Chateaux en Espagne, heaven +knows; thick and thronging fancies came abundantly to my mind, and it +was with something of the feeling of the porter in the Arabian Nights, +as he surveyed the fragments of his broken ware, hurled down in a +moment of glorious dreaminess, that I turned to look at the squat and +unaristocratic figure of Father Malachi, as he sat reading his +newspaper before the fire. How came I in such company; methinks the +Dean of Windsor, or the Bishop of Durham had been a much more seemly +associate for one destined as I was for the flood-tide of the world’s +favour. + +My eye at this instant rested upon the date of the letter, which was +that of the preceding morning, and immediately a thought struck me +that, as the day was a louring and gloomy one, perhaps they might have +deferred their journey, and I at once determined to hasten to Callonby, +and, if possible, see them before their departure. + +“Father Brennan,” said I, at length, “I have just received a letter +which compels me to reach Kilrush as soon as possible. Is there any +public conveyance in the village?” + +“You don’t talk of leaving us, surely,” said the priest, “and a haunch +of mutton for dinner, and Fin says he’ll be down, and your friend, too, +and we’ll have poor Beamish in on a sofa.” + +“I am sorry to say my business will not admit of delay, but, if +possible, I shall return to thank you for all you kindness, in a day or +two—perhaps tomorrow.” + +“Oh, then,” said Father Brennan, “if it must be so, why you can have +‘Pether,’ my own pad, and a better you never laid leg over; only give +him his own time, and let him keep the ‘canter,’ and he’ll never draw +up from morning till night; and now I’ll just go and have him in +readiness for you.” + +After professing my warm acknowledgments to the good father for his +kindness, I hastened to take a hurried farewell of Curzon before going. +I found him sitting up in bed taking his breakfast; a large strip of +black plaster, extending from the corner of one eye across the nose, +and terminating near the mouth, denoted the locale of a goodly wound, +while the blue, purple and yellow patches into which his face was +partitioned out, left you in doubt whether he now resembled the knave +of clubs or a new map of the Ordnance survey; one hand was wrapped up +in a bandage, and altogether a more rueful and woe-begone looking +figure I have rarely looked upon; and most certainly I am of opinion +that the “glorious, pious and immortal memory” would have brought +pleasanter recollections to Daniel O’Connell himself, than it would on +that morning to the adjutant of his majesty’s 4—th. + +“Ah, Harry,” said he, as I entered, “what Pandemonium is this we’ve got +into? did you ever witness such a business as last night’s?” + +“Why truly,” said I, “I know of no one to blame but yourself; surely +you must have known what a fracas your infernal song would bring on.” + +“I don’t know now whether I knew it or not; but certainly at the moment +I should have preferred anything to the confounded cross-examination I +was under, and was glad to end it by any coup d’etat. One wretch was +persecuting me about green crops, and another about the feeding of +bullocks; about either of which I knew as much as a bear does of a +ballet.” + +“Well, truly, you caused a diversion at some expense to your +countenance, for I never beheld anything—” + +“Stop there,” said he, “you surely have not seen the doctor—he beats me +hollow—they have scarcely left so much hair on his head as would do for +an Indian’s scalp lock; and, of a verity, his aspect is awful this +morning; he has just been here, and by-the-bye has told me all about +your affair with Beamish. It appears that somewhere you met him at +dinner, and gave a very flourishing account of a relative of his who +you informed him was not only selected for some very dashing service, +but actually the personal friend of Picton; and, after the family +having blazed the matter all over Cork, and given a great entertainment +in honor of their kinsman, it turns out that, on the glorious 19th, he +ran away to Brussels faster than even the French to Charleroi; for +which act, however, there was no aspersion ever cast upon his courage, +that quality being defended at the expense of his honesty; in a word, +he was the paymaster of the company, and had what Theodore Hook calls +an ‘affection of his chest,’ that required change of air. Looking only +to the running away part of the matter, I unluckily expressed some +regret that he did not belong to the North Cork, and I remarked the +doctor did not seem to relish the allusion, and as _I_ only now +remember, it was _his_ regiment, I suppose I’m in for more mischief.” + +I had no time to enjoy Curzon’s dilemma, and had barely informed him of +my intended departure, when a voice from without the room proclaimed +that “Pether” was ready, and having commissioned the adjutant to say +the “proper” to Mr. Beamish and the doctor, hurried away, and after a +hearty shake of the hand from Father Brennan, and a faithful promise to +return soon, I mounted and set off. + +Peter’s pace was of all others the one least likely to disturb the +lucubrations of a castle-builder like myself; without any admonition +from whip or spur he maintained a steady and constant canter, which, I +am free to confess, was more agreeable to sit, than it was graceful to +behold; for his head being much lower than his tail, he every moment +appeared in the attitude of a diver about to plunge into the water, and +more than once I had misgivings that I would consult my safety better +if I sat with my face to the tail; however, what will not habit +accomplish? before I had gone a mile or two, I was so lost in my own +reveries and reflections, that I knew nothing of my mode of +progression, and had only thoughts and feelings for the destiny that +awaited me; sometimes I would fancy myself seated in the House of +Commons, (on the ministerial benches, of course,) while some leading +oppositionist was pronouncing a glowing panegyric upon the eloquent and +statesmanlike speech of the gallant colonel—myself; then I thought I +was making arrangements for setting out for my new appointment, and +Sancho Panza never coveted the government of an island more than I did, +though only a West Indian one; and, lastly, I saw myself the chosen +diplomate on a difficult mission, and was actually engaged in the easy +and agreeable occupation of outmaneuvering Talleyrand and Pozzo di +Borgo, when Peter suddenly drew up at the door of a small cabin, and +convinced me that I was still a mortal man, and a lieutenant in his +Majesty’s 4—th. Before I had time afforded me even to guess at the +reason of this sudden halt, an old man emerged from the cabin, which I +saw now was a road-side ale-house, and presented Peter with a bucket of +meal and water, a species of “viaticum” that he evidently was +accustomed to, at this place, whether bestrode by a priest or an +ambassador. Before me lay a long straggling street of cabins, +irregularly thrown, as if riddled over the ground; this I was informed +was Kilkee; while my good steed, therefore, was enjoying his potation, +I dismounted, to stretch my legs and look about me, and scarcely had I +done so when I found half the population of the village assembled round +Peter, whose claims to notoriety, I now learned, depended neither upon +his owner’s fame, nor even my temporary possession of him. Peter, in +fact, had been a racer, once—when, the wandering Jew might perhaps have +told, had he ever visited Clare—for not the oldest inhabitant knew the +date of his triumphs on the turf; though they were undisputed +traditions, and never did any man appear bold enough to call them in +question: whether it was from his patriarchal character, or that he was +the only race-horse ever known in his county I cannot say, but, of a +truth, the Grand Lama could scarcely be a greater object of reverence +in Thibet, than was Peter in Kilkee. + +“Musha, Peter, but it’s well y’r looking,” cried one. + +“Ah, thin, maybe ye an’t fat on the ribs,” cried another. + +“An’ cockin’ his tail like a coult,” said a third. + +I am very certain, if I might venture to judge from the faces about, +that, had the favourite for the St. Leger, passed through Kilkee at +that moment, comparisons very little to his favor had been drawn from +the assemblage around me. With some difficulty I was permitted to reach +my much admired steed, and with a cheer, which was sustained and caught +up by every denizen of the village as I passed through, I rode on my +way, not a little amused at my equivocal popularity. + +Being desirous to lose no time, I diverged from the straight road which +leads to Kilrush, and took a cross bridle-path to Callonby; this, I +afterwards discovered was a detour of a mile or two, and it was already +sun-set when I reached the entrance to the park. I entered the avenue, +and now my impatience became extreme, for although Peter continued to +move at the same uniform pace, I could not persuade myself that he was +not foundering at every step, and was quite sure we were scarcely +advancing; at last I reached the wooden bridge, and ascended the steep +slope, the spot where I had first met her, on whom my every thought now +rested. I turned the angle of the clump of beech trees from whence the +first view of the house is caught—I perceived to my inexpressible +delight that gleams of light shone from many of the windows, and could +trace their passing from one to the other. I now drew rein, and with a +heart relieved from a load of anxiety, pulled up my good steed, and +began to think of the position in which a few brief seconds would place +me. I reached the small flower-garden, sacred by a thousand endearing +recollections. Oh! of how very little account are the many words of +passing kindness, and moments of light-hearted pleasure, when spoken or +felt, compared to the memory of them when hallowed by time or distance. + +“The place, the hour, the sunshine and the shade,” all reminded me of +the happy past, and all brought vividly before me every portion of that +dream of happiness in which I was so utterly—so completely +steeped—every thought of the hopelessness of my passion was lost in the +intensity of it, and I did not, in the ardour of my loving, stop to +think of its possible success. + +It was strange enough that the extreme impatience, the hurried anxiety, +I had felt and suffered from, while riding up the avenue, had now fled +entirely, and in its place I felt nothing but a diffident distrust of +myself, and a vague sense of awkwardness about intruding thus +unexpectedly upon the family, while engaged in all the cares and +preparations for a speedy departure. The hall-door lay as usual wide +open, the hall itself was strewn and littered with trunks, imperials, +and packing-cases, and the hundred et ceteras of travelling baggage. I +hesitated a moment whether I should not ring, but at last resolved to +enter unannounced, and, presuming upon my intimacy, see what effect my +sudden appearance would have on Lady Jane, whose feelings towards me +would be thus most unequivocally tested. I passed along the wide +corridor, entered the music-room—it was still—I walked then to the door +of the drawing-room—I paused—I drew a full breath—my hand trembled +slightly as I turned the lock—I entered—the room was empty, but the +blazing fire upon the hearth, the large arm-chairs drawn around, the +scattered books upon the small tables, all told that it had been +inhabited a very short time before. Ah! thought I, looking at my watch, +they are at dinner, and I began at once to devise a hundred different +plans to account for my late absence and present visit. I knew that a +few minutes would probably bring them into the drawing-room, and I felt +flurried and heated as the time drew near. At last I heard voices +without—I started from the examination of a pencil drawing but partly +finished, but the artist of which I could not be deceived in—I +listened—the sounds drew near—I could not distinguish who were the +speakers—the door-lock turned, and I rose to make my well-conned, but +half-forgotten speech; and oh, confounded disappointment, Mrs. Herbert, +the house-keeper, entered. She started, not expecting to see me, and +immediately said, + +“Oh! Mr. Lorrequer! then you’ve missed them.” + +“Missed them!” said I; “how—when—where?” + +“Did you not get a note from my lord?” + +“No; when was it written?” + +“Oh, dear me, that is so very unfortunate. Why, sir, my lord sent off a +servant this morning to Kilrush, in Lord Kilkee’s tilbury, to request +you would meet them all in Ennis this evening, where they had intended +to stop for to-night; and they waited here till near four o’clock +to-day, but when the servant came back with the intelligence that you +were from home, and not expected to return soon, they were obliged to +set out, and are not going to make any delay now, till they reach +London. The last direction, however, my lord gave, was to forward her +ladyship’s letter to you as soon as possible.” + +What I thought, said, or felt, might be a good subject of confession to +Father Malachi, for I fear it may be recorded among my sins, as I doubt +not that the agony I suffered vented itself in no measured form of +speech or conduct; but I have nothing to confess here on the subject, +being so totally overwhelmed as not to know what I did or said. My +first gleam of reason elicited itself by asking, + +“Is there, then, no chance of their stopping in Ennis to-night?” As I +put the question my mind reverted to Peter and his eternal canter. + +“Oh, dear, no, sir; the horses are ordered to take them, since Tuesday; +and they only thought of staying in Ennis, if you came time enough to +meet them—and they will be so sorry.” + +“Do you think so, Mrs. Herbert? do you, indeed, think so?” said I, in a +most insinuating tone. + +“I am perfectly sure of it, sir.” + +“Oh, Mrs. Herbert, you are too kind to think so; but perhaps—that +is—may be, Mrs. Herbert, she said something—” + +“Who, sir?” + +“Lady Callonby, I mean; did her ladyship leave any message for me about +her plants? or did she remember—” + +Mrs. Herbert kept looking at me all the time, with her great wide grey +eyes, while I kept stammering and blushing like a school-boy. + +“No, sir; her ladyship said nothing, sir; but Lady Jane—” + +“Yes; well, what of Lady Jane, my dear Mrs. Herbert?” + +“Oh, sir! but you look pale; would not you like to have a little wine +and water—or perhaps—” + +“No, thank you, nothing whatever; I am just a little fatigued—but you +were mentioning—” + +“Yes, sir; I was saying that Lady Jane was mighty particular about a +small plant; she ordered it to be left in her dressing-room, though +Collins told her to have some of the handsome ones of the green-house, +she would have nothing but this; and if you were only to hear half the +directions she gave about keeping it watered, and taking off dead +leaves, you’d think her heart was set on it.” + +Mrs. Herbert would have had no cause to prescribe for my paleness had +she only looked at me this time; fortunately, however, she was engaged, +housekeeper-like, in bustling among books, papers, &c. which she had +come in for the purpose of arranging and packing up. She being left +behind to bring up the rear, and the heavy baggage. + +Very few moments’ consideration were sufficient to show me that pursuit +was hopeless; whatever might have been Peter’s performance in the reign +of “Queen Anne,” he had now become like the goose so pathetically +described by my friend Lover, rather “stiff in his limbs,” and the odds +were fearfully against his overtaking four horses, starting fresh every +ten miles, not to mention their being some hours in advance already. +Having declined all Mrs. Herbert’s many kind offers, anent food and +rest, I took a last lingering look at the beautiful pictures, which +still held its place in the room lately mine, and hurried from a place +so full of recollections; and, notwithstanding the many reasons I had +for self-gratulation, every object around and about, filled me with +sorrow and regret for hours that had passed—never, never to return. + +It was very late when I reached my old quarters at Kilrush; Mrs. Healy +fortunately was in bed asleep—fortunately I say, for had she selected +that occasion to vent her indignation for my long absence, I greatly +fear that, in my then temper I should have exhibited but little of that +Job-like endurance for which I was once esteemed; I entered my little +mean-looking parlour, with its three chairs and lame table, and, as I +flung myself upon the wretched substitute for a sofa, and thought upon +the varied events which a few weeks had brought about; it required the +aid of her ladyship’s letter, which I opened before me, to assure me I +was not dreaming. + +The entire of that night I could not sleep; my destiny seemed upon its +balance; and, whether the scale inclined to this side or that, good or +evil fortune seemed to betide me. How many were my plans and +resolutions, and how often abandoned; again to be pondered over, and +once more given up. The grey dawn of the morning was already breaking, +and found me still doubting and uncertain. At last the die was thrown; +I determined at once to apply for leave to my commanding officer, +(which he could, if he pleased, give me, without any application to the +Horse Guards,) set out for Elton, tell Sir Guy my whole adventure, and +endeavour, by a more moving love story than ever graced even the +Minerva Press, to induce him to make some settlement on me, and use his +influence with Lord Callonby in my behalf; this done, set out for +London, and then—and then—what then?—then for the Morning Post—“Cadeau +de noces”—“happy couple”—“Lord Callonby’s seat in Hampshire,” &c. &c. + +“You wished to be called at five, sir,” said Stubber. + +“Yes; is it five o’clock?” + +“No, sir; but I heard you call out something about ‘four horses,’ and I +thought you might be hurried, so I came a little earlier.” + +“Quite right, Stubber; let me have my breakfast as soon as possible, +and see that chestnut horse I brought here last night, fed.” + +“And now for it,” said I, after writing a hurried note to Curzon, +requesting him to take command of my party at Kilrush, till he heard +from me, and sending my kindest remembrance to my three friends; I +despatched the epistle by my servant on Peter, while I hastened to +acquire a place in the mail for Ennis, on the box seat of which let my +kind reader suppose me seated, as wrapping my box-coat around me, I lit +my cigar and turned my eyes towards Limerick. + + + + + CHAPTER VIII. +CONGRATULATIONS—SICK LEAVE—HOW TO PASS THE BOARD. + + +I had scarcely seated myself to breakfast at Swinburn’s hotel in +Limerick, when the waiter presented me with a letter. As my first +glance at the address showed it to be in Colonel Carden’s handwriting, +I felt not a little alarmed for the consequences of the rash step I had +taken in leaving my detachment; and, while quickly thronging fancies of +arrest and courtmartial flitted before me, I summoned resolution at +last to break the seal, and read as follows:— + +“My dear Lorrequer,” (“dear Lorrequer!” dear me, thought I; cool +certainly, from one I have ever regarded as an open enemy)—“My dear +Lorrequer, I have just accidentally heard of your arrival here, and +hasten to inform you, that, as it may not be impossible your reasons +for so abruptly leaving your detachment are known to me, I shall not +visit your breach of discipline very heavily. My old and worthy friend, +Lord Callonby, who passed through here yesterday, has so warmly +interested himself in your behalf, that I feel disposed to do all in my +power to serve you; independently of my desire to do so on your own +account. Come over here, then, as soon as possible, and let us talk +over your plans together. + + + “Believe me, most truly yours, +“Henry Carden. + + +“Barracks, 10 o’clock.” + + +How mysterious and difficult to unravel, have been some of the +circumstances narrated in these “Confessions,” I do not scruple to avow +that the preceding letter was to me by far the most inexplicable piece +of fortune I had hitherto met with. That Lord Callonby should have +converted one whom I believed an implacable foe, into a most obliging +friend, was intelligible enough, seeing that his lordship had through +life been the patron of the colonel; but why he had so done, and what +communications he could possibly have made with regard to me, that +Colonel Carden should speak of “my plans” and proffer assistance in +them was a perfect riddle; and the only solution, one so ridiculously +flattering that I dared not think of it. I read and re-read the note; +misplaced the stops; canvassed every expression; did all to detect a +meaning different from the obvious one, fearful of a self-deception +where so much was at stake. Yet there it stood forth, a plain +straightforward proffer of services, for some object evidently known to +the writer; and my only conclusion, from all, was this, that “my Lord +Callonby was the gem of his order, and had a most remarkable talent for +selecting a son-in-law.” + +I fell into a deep reverie upon my past life, and the prospects which I +now felt were opening before me. Nothing seemed extravagant to hopes so +well founded—to expectations so brilliant—and, in my mind’s eye, I +beheld myself at one moment leading my young and beautiful bride +through the crowded salons of Devonshire House; and, at the next, I was +contemplating the excellence and perfection of my stud arrangements at +Melton, for I resolved not to give up hunting. While in this +pleasurable exercise of my fancy, I was removing from before me some of +the breakfast equipage, or, as I then believed it, breaking the trees +into better groups upon my lawn, I was once more brought to the world +and its dull reality, by the following passage which my eye fell upon +in the newspaper before me—“We understand that the 4—th are daily +expecting the route for Cork, from whence they are to sail, early in +the ensuing month for Halifax, to relieve the 99th.” While it did not +take a moment’s consideration to show me that though the regiment there +mentioned was the one I belonged to, I could have no possible interest +in the announcement; it never coming into my calculation that I should +submit to such expatriation; yet it gave me a salutary warning that +there was no time to be lost in making my application for leave, which, +once obtained, I should have ample time to manage an exchange into +another corps. The wonderful revolution a few days had effected in all +my tastes and desires, did not escape me at this moment. But a week or +two before and I should have regarded an order for foreign service as +anything rather than unpleasant—now the thought was insupportable. Then +there would have been some charm to me in the very novelty of the +locale, and the indulgence of that vagrant spirit I have ever +possessed; for, like Justice Woodcock, “I certainly should have been a +vagabond if Providence had not made me a justice of the peace”—now, I +could not even contemplate the thing as possible; and would have +actually refused the command of a regiment, if the condition of its +acceptance were to sail for the colonies. + +Besides, I tried—and how ingenious is self-deception—I tried to find +arguments in support of my determination totally different from the +reasons which governed me. I affected to fear climate, and to dread the +effect of the tropics upon my health. It may do very well, thought I, +for men totally destitute of better prospects; with neither talent, +influence or powerful connexion, to roast their cheeks at Sierra Leone, +or suck a sugar-cane at St. Lucia. But that you, Harry Lorrequer, +should waste your sweetness upon planters’ daughters—that have only to +be known, to have the world at your feet! The thing is absurd, and not +to be thought of! Yes, said I half aloud—we read in the army list, that +Major A. is appointed to the 50th, and Capt. B. to the 12th; but how +much more near the truth would it be, to say—“That His Majesty, in +consideration of the distinguished services of the one, has been +graciously pleased to appoint him to—a case of blue and collapsed +cholera, in India; and also, for the bravery and gallant conduct of the +other, in his late affair with the ‘How-dow-dallah Indians,’ has +promoted him to the—yellow fever now devastating and desolating +Jamaica.” How far my zeal for the service might have carried me on this +point, I know not; for I was speedily aroused from my musings by the +loud tramp of feet upon the stairs, and the sound of many well-known +voices of my brother officers, who were coming to visit me. + +“So, Harry, my boy,” said the fat major as he entered; “is it true we +are not to have the pleasure of your company to Jamaica this time?” + +“He prefers a pale face, it seems, to a black one; and certainly, with +thirty thousand in the same scale, the taste is excusable.” + +“But, Lorrequer,” said a third, “we heard that you had canvassed the +county on the Callonby interest. Why, man, where do you mean to pull +up?” + +“As for me,” lisped a large-eyed, white-haired ensign of three months’ +standing, “I think it devilish hard, old Carden didn’t send ME down +there, too, for I hear there are two girls in the family. Eh, +Lorrequer?” + +Having with all that peculiar bashfulness such occasions are sure to +elicit, disclaimed the happiness my friends so clearly ascribed to me, +I yet pretty plainly let it be understood that the more brilliant they +supposed my present prospects to be, the more near were they to +estimate them justly. One thing certainly gratified me throughout. All +seemed rejoiced at my good fortune, and even the old Scotch paymaster +made no more caustic remark than that he “wad na wonder if the chiel’s +black whiskers wad get him made governor of Stirling Castle before he’d +dee.” + +Should any of my most patient listeners to these my humble confessions, +wonder either here, or elsewhere, upon what very slight foundations I +built these my “Chateaux en Espagne,” I have only one answer—“that from +my boyhood I have had a taste for florid architecture, and would rather +put up with any inconvenience of ground, than not build at all.” + +As it was growing late I hurriedly bade adieu to my friends, and +hastened to Colonel Carden’s quarters, where I found him waiting for +me, in company with my old friend, Fitzgerald, our regimental surgeon. +Our first greetings over, the colonel drew me aside into a window, and +said that, from certain expressions Lord Callonby had made use +of—certain hints he had dropped—he was perfectly aware of the delicate +position in which I stood with respect to his lordship’s family. “In +fact, my dear Lorrequer,” he continued, “without wishing in the least +to obtrude myself upon your confidence, I must yet be permitted to say, +you are the luckiest fellow in Europe, and I most sincerely +congratulate you on the prospect before you.” + +“But, my dear Colonel, I assure you—” + +“Well, well, there—not a word more; don’t blush now. I know there is +always a kind of secrecy thought necessary on these occasions, for the +sake of other parties; so let us pass to your plans. From what I have +collected, you have not yet proposed formally. But, of course you +desire a leave. You’ll not quit the army, I trust; no necessity for +that; such influence as yours can always appoint you to an unattached +commission.” + +“Once more let me protest, sir, that though for certain reasons most +desirous to obtain a leave of absence, I have not the most remote—” + +“That’s right, quite right; I am sincerely gratified to hear you say +so, and so will be Lord Callonby; for he likes the service.” + +And thus was my last effort at a disclaimer cut short by the loquacious +little colonel, who regarded my unfinished sentence as a concurrence +with his own opinion. + +“Allah il Allah,” thought I, “it is my Lord Callonby’s own plot; and +his friend Colonel Cardon aids and abets him.” + +“Now, Lorrequer,” resumed the colonel, “let us proceed. You have, of +course, heard that we are ordered abroad; mere newspaper report for the +present; nevertheless, it is extremely difficult—almost impossible, +without a sick certificate, to obtain a leave sufficiently long for +your purpose.” + +And here he smirked, and I blushed, selon les regles.. + +“A sick certificate,” said I in some surprise. + +“The only thing for you,” said Fitzgerald, taking a long pinch of +snuff; “and I grieve to say you have a most villainous look of good +health about you.” + +“I must acknowledge I have seldom felt better.” + +“So much the worse—so much the worse,” said Fitzgerald despondingly. +“Is there no family complaint; no respectable heir-loom of infirmity, +you can lay claim to from your kindred?” + +“None, that I know of, unless a very active performance on the several +occasions of breakfast, dinner, and supper, with a tendency towards +port, and an inclination to sleep ten in every twenty-four hours, be a +sign of sickness; these symptoms I have known many of the family suffer +for years, without the slightest alleviation, though, strange as it may +appear, they occasionally had medical advice.” + +Fitz. took no notice of my sneer at the faculty, but proceeded to +strike my chest several times, with his finger tips. “Try a short cough +now,” said he. “Ah, that will never do!” + +“Do you ever flush. Before dinner I mean?” + +“Occasionally, when I meet with a luncheon.” + +“I’m fairly puzzled,” said poor Fitz. throwing himself into a chair; +“gout is a very good thing; but, then, you see you are only a sub., and +it is clearly against the articles of war, to have it before being a +field officer at least. Apoplexy is the best I can do for you; and, to +say the truth, any one who witnesses your performance at mess, may put +faith in the likelihood of it. + +“Do you think you could get up a fit for the medical board,” said +Fitz., gravely. + +“Why, if absolutely indispensable,” said I, “and with good +instruction—something this way. Eh, is it not?” + +“Nothing of the kind: you are quite wrong.” + +“Is there not always a little laughing and crying,” said I. + +“Oh, no, no; take the cue from the paymaster any evening after mess, +and you’ll make no mistake—very florid about the cheeks; rather a lazy +look in one eye, the other closed up entirely; snore a little from time +to time, and don’t be too much disposed to talk.” + +“And you think I may pass muster in this way.” + +“Indeed you may, if old Camie, the inspector, happen to be (what he is +not often) in a good humour. But I confess I’d rather you were really +ill, for we’ve passed a great number of counterfeits latterly, and we +may be all pulled up ere long.” + +“Not the less grateful for your kindness,” said I; “but still, I’d +rather matters stood as they do.” + +Having, at length, obtained a very formidable statement of my ‘case’ +from the Doctor, and a strong letter from the Colonel, deploring the +temporary loss of so promising a young officer, I committed myself and +my portmanteau to the inside of his Majesty’s mail, and started for +Dublin with as light a heart and high spirits, as were consistent with +so much delicacy of health, and the directions of my Doctor. + + + + + CHAPTER IX. +THE ROAD—TRAVELLING ACQUAINTANCES—A PACKET ADVENTURE. + +[Illustration: Mrs. Mulrooney and Sir Stewart Moore] + + +I shall not stop now to narrate the particulars of my visit to the +worthies of the medical board; the rather, as some of my “confessions +to come” have reference to Dublin, and many of those that dwell +therein. I shall therefore content myself here with stating, that +without any difficulty I obtained a six months’ leave, and having +received much advice and more sympathy from many members of that body, +took a respectful leave of them, and adjourned to Bilton’s where I had +ordered dinner, and (as I was advised to live low) a bottle of Sneyd’s +claret. My hours in Dublin were numbered; at eight o’clock on the +evening of my arrival I hastened to the Pidgeon House pier, to take my +berth in the packet for Liverpool; and here, gentle reader, let me +implore you if you have bowels of compassion, to commiserate the +condition of a sorry mortal like myself. In the days of which I now +speak, steam packets were not—men knew not then, of the pleasure of +going to a comfortable bed in Kingstown harbour, and waking on the +morning after in the Clarence dock at Liverpool, with only the addition +of a little sharper appetite for breakfast, before they set out on an +excursion of forty miles per hour through the air. + +In the time I have now to commemorate, the intercourse between the two +countries was maintained by two sailing vessels of small tonnage, and +still scantier accommodation. Of the one now in question I well +recollect the name—she was called the “Alert,” and certainly a more +unfortunate misnomer could scarcely be conceived. Well, there was no +choice; so I took my place upon the crowded deck of the little craft, +and in a drizzling shower of chilly rain, and amid more noise, +confusion, and bustle, than would prelude the launch of a +line-of-battle ship, we “sidled,” goose-fashion, from the shore, and +began our voyage towards England. + +It is not my intention, in the present stage of “my Confessions,” to +delay on the road towards an event which influenced so powerfully, and +so permanently, my after life; yet I cannot refrain from chronicling a +slight incident which occurred on board the packet, and which, I have +no doubt, may be remembered by some of those who throw their eyes on +these pages. + +One of my fellow-passengers was a gentleman holding a high official +appointment in the viceregal court, either comptroller of the +household, master of the horse, or something else equally magnificent; +however, whatever the nature of the situation, one thing is certain—one +possessed of more courtly manners, and more polished address, cannot be +conceived, to which he added all the attractions of a very handsome +person and a most prepossessing countenance. The only thing the most +scrupulous critic could possibly detect as faulty in his whole air and +bearing, was a certain ultra refinement and fastidiousness, which in a +man of acknowledged family and connections was somewhat unaccountable, +and certainly unnecessary. The fastidiousness I speak of, extended to +everything round and about him; he never eat of the wrong dish, nor +spoke to the wrong man in his life, and that very consciousness gave +him a kind of horror of chance acquaintances, which made him shrink +within himself from persons in every respect his equals. Those who knew +Sir Stewart Moore, will know I do not exaggerate in either my praise or +censure, and to those who have not had that pleasure, I have only to +say, theirs was the loss, and they must take my word for the facts. + +The very antithesis to the person just mentioned, was another passenger +then on board. She, for even in sex they were different—she was a +short, squat, red-faced, vulgar-looking woman, of about fifty, +possessed of a most garrulous tendency, and talking indiscriminately +with every one about her, careless what reception her addresses met +with, and quite indifferent to the many rebuffs she momentarily +encountered. To me by what impulse driven Heaven knows this amorphous +piece of womanhood seemed determined to attach herself. Whether in the +smoky and almost impenetrable recesses of the cabin, or braving the +cold and penetrating rain upon deck, it mattered not, she was ever at +my side, and not only martyring me by the insufferable annoyance of her +vulgar loquacity, but actually, from the appearance of acquaintanceship +such constant association gave rise to, frightening any one else from +conversing with me, and rendering me, ere many hours, a perfect pariah +among the passengers. By not one were we—for, alas, we had become +Siamese—so thoroughly dreaded as by the refined baronet I have +mentioned; he appeared to shrink from our very approach, and avoided us +as though we had the plagues of Egypt about us. I saw this—I felt it +deeply, and as deeply and resolutely I vowed to be revenged, and the +time was not long distant in affording me the opportunity. + +The interesting Mrs. Mulrooney, for such was my fair companion called, +was on the present occasion making her debut on what she was pleased to +call the “says;” she was proceeding to the Liverpool market as +proprietor and supercargo over some legion of swine that occupied the +hold of the vessel, and whose mellifluous tones were occasionally heard +in all parts of the ship. Having informed me on these, together with +some circumstances of her birth and parentage, she proceeded to narrate +some of the cautions given by her friends as to her safety when making +such a long voyage, and also to detail some of the antiseptics to that +dread scourge, sea-sickness, in the fear and terror of which she had +come on board, and seemed every hour to be increasing in alarm about. + +“Do you think then sir, that pork is no good agin the sickness? Mickey, +that’s my husband, sir, says it’s the only thing in life for it, av +it’s toasted.” + +“Not the least use, I assure you.” + +“Nor sperits and wather?” + +“Worse and worse, ma’am.” + +“Oh, thin, maybe oaten mail tay would do? it’s a beautiful thing for +the stomick, any how.” + +“Rank poison on the present occasion, believe me.” + +“Oh, then, blessed Mary, what am I to do—what is to become of me?” + +“Go down at once to your berth, ma’am; lie still and without speaking +till we come in sight of land; or,” and here a bright thought seized +me, “if you really feel very ill, call for that man there, with the fur +collar on his coat; he can give you the only thing I ever knew of any +efficacy; he’s the steward, ma’am, Stewart Moore; but you must be on +your guard too as you are a stranger, for he’s a conceited fellow, and +has saved a trifle, and sets up for a half gentleman; so don’t be +surprised at his manner; though, after all, you may find him very +different; some people, I’ve heard, think him extremely civil.” + +“And he has a cure, ye say?” + +“The only one I ever heard of; it is a little cordial of which you +take, I don’t know how much, every ten or fifteen minutes.” + +“And the naygur doesn’t let the saycret out, bad manners to him?” + +“No, ma’am; he has refused every offer on the subject.’ + +“May I be so bowld as to ax his name again?” + +“Stewart Moore, ma’am. Moore is the name, but people always call him +Stewart Moore; just say that in a loud clear voice, and you’ll soon +have him.” + +With the most profuse protestations of gratitude and promises of pork +“at discretion,” if I ever sojourned at Ballinasloe, my fair friend +proceeded to follow my advice, and descended to the cabin. + +Some hours after, I also betook myself to my rest, from which, however, +towards midnight I was awoke by the heavy working and pitching of the +little vessel, as she laboured in a rough sea. As I looked forth from +my narrow crib, a more woe-begone picture can scarcely be imagined than +that before me. Here and there through the gloomy cabin lay the victims +of the fell malady, in every stage of suffering, and in every attitude +of misery. Their cries and lamentings mingled with the creaking of the +bulk-heads and the jarring twang of the dirty lamp, whose irregular +swing told plainly how oscillatory was our present motion. I turned +from the unpleasant sight, and was about again to address myself to +slumber with what success I might, when I started at the sound of a +voice in the very berth next to me—whose tones, once heard, there was +no forgetting. The words ran as nearly as I can recollect thus:— + +“Oh, then, bad luck to ye for pigs, that ever brought me into the like +of this. Oh, Lord, there it is again.” And here a slight interruption +to eloquence took place, during which I was enabled to reflect upon the +author of the complaint, who, I need not say, was Mrs. Mulrooney. + +“I think a little tay would settle my stomach, if I only could get it; +but what’s the use of talking in this horrid place? They never mind me +no more than if I was a pig. Steward, steward—oh, then, it’s wishing +you well I am for a steward. Steward, I say;” and this she really did +say, with an energy of voice and manner that startled more than one +sleeper. “Oh, you’re coming at last, steward.” + +“Ma’am,” said a little dapper and dirty personage, in a blue jacket, +with a greasy napkin negligently thrown over one arm “ex officio,” +“Ma’am, did you call?” + +“Call, is it call? No; but I’m roaring for you this half hour. Come +here. Have you any of the cordial dhrops agin the sickness?—you know +what I mean.” + +“Is it brandy, ma’am?” + +“No, it isn’t brandy;” + +“We have got gin, ma’am, and bottled porter—cider, ma’am, if you like.” + +“Agh, no! sure I want the dhrops agin the sickness.” + +“Don’t know indeed, ma’am.” + +“Ah, you stupid creature; maybe you’re not the real steward. What’s +your name?” + +“Smith, ma’am.” + +“Ah, I thought so; go away, man, go away.” + +This injunction, given in a diminuendo cadence, was quickly obeyed, and +all was silence for a moment or two. Once more was I dropping asleep, +when the same voice as before burst out with— + +“Am I to die here like a haythen, and nobody to come near me? Steward, +steward, steward Moore, I say,” + +“Who calls me?” said a deep sonorous voice from the opposite side of +the cabin, while at the same instant a tall green silk nightcap, +surmounting a very aristocratic-looking forehead, appeared between the +curtains of the opposite berth. + +“Steward Moore,” said the lady again, with her eyes straining in the +direction of the door by which she expected him to enter. + +“This is most strange,” muttered the baronet, half aloud. “Why, madam, +you are calling me!” + +“And if I am,” said Mrs. Mulrooney, “and if ye heerd me, have ye no +manners to answer your name, eh? Are ye steward Moore?” + +“Upon my soul ma’am I thought so last night, when I came on board; but +you really have contrived to make me doubt my own identity.” + +“And is it there ye’re lying on the broad of yer back, and me as sick +as a dog fornent ye?” + +“I concede ma’am the fact; the position is a most irksome one on every +account.” + +“Then why don’t ye come over to me?” and this Mrs. Mulrooney said with +a voice of something like tenderness—wishing at all hazards to +conciliate so important a functionary. + +“Why, really you are the most incomprehensible person I ever met.” + +“I’m what?” said Mrs. Mulrooney, her blood rushing to her face and +temples as she spoke—for the same reason as her fair townswoman is +reported to have borne with stoical fortitude every harsh epithet of +the language, until it occurred to her opponent to tell her that “the +divil a bit better she was nor a pronoun;” so Mrs. Mulrooney, taking +“omne ignotum pro horribili,” became perfectly beside herself at the +unlucky phrase. “I’m what? repate it av ye dare, and I’ll tear yer eyes +out? Ye dirty bla—guard, to be lying there at yer ease under the +blankets, grinning at me. What’s your thrade—answer me that—av it isn’t +to wait on the ladies, eh?” + +“Oh, the woman must be mad,” said Sir Stewart. + +“The devil a taste mad, my dear—I’m only sick. Now just come over to +me, like a decent creature, and give me the dhrop of comfort ye have. +Come, avick.” + +“Go over to you?” + +“Ay, and why not? or if it’s so lazy ye are, why then I’ll thry and +cross over to your side.” + +These words being accompanied by a certain indication of change of +residence on the part of Mrs. Mulrooney, Sir Stewart perceived there +was no time to lose, and springing from his berth, he rushed +half-dressed through the cabin, and up the companion-ladder, just as +Mrs. Mulrooney had protruded a pair of enormous legs from her couch, +and hung for a moment pendulous before she dropped upon the floor, and +followed him to the deck. A tremendous shout of laughter from the +sailors and deck passengers prevented my hearing the dialogue which +ensued; nor do I yet know how Mrs. Mulrooney learned her mistake. +Certain it is, she no more appeared among the passengers in the cabin, +and Sir Stewart’s manner the following morning at breakfast amply +satisfied me that I had had my revenge. + + + + + CHAPTER X. +UPSET—MIND—AND BODY. + + +No sooner in Liverpool, than I hastened to take my place in the +earliest conveyance for London. At that time the Umpire Coach was the +perfection of fast travelling; and seated behind the box, enveloped in +a sufficiency of broad-cloth, I turned my face towards town with as +much anxiety and as ardent expectations as most of those about me. All +went on in the regular monotonous routine of such matters until we +reached Northampton, passing down the steep street of which town, the +near wheel-horse stumbled and fell; the coach, after a tremendous roll +to one side, toppled over on the other, and with a tremendous crash, +and sudden shock, sent all the outsides, myself among the number, +flying through the air like sea-gulls. As for me, after describing a +very respectable parabola, my angle of incidence landed me in a +bonnet-maker’s shop, having passed through a large plate-glass window, +and destroyed more leghorns and dunstables than a year’s pay would +recompense. I have but light recollection of the details of that +occasion, until I found myself lying in a very spacious bed at the +George Inn, having been bled in both arms, and discovering by the +multitude of bandages in which I was enveloped, that at least some of +my bones were broken by the fall. That such fate had befallen my +collar-bone and three of my ribs I soon learned; and was horror-struck +at hearing from the surgeon who attended me, that four or five weeks +would be the very earliest period I could bear removal with safety. +Here then at once was a large deduction from my six months’ leave, not +to think of the misery that awaited me for such a time, confined to my +bed in an inn, without books, friends, or acquaintances. However even +this could be remedied by patience, and summoning up all I could +command, I “bided my time,” but not before I had completed a term of +two months’ imprisonment, and had become, from actual starvation, +something very like a living transparency. + +No sooner, however, did I feel myself once more on the road, than my +spirits rose, and I felt myself as full of high hope and buoyant +expectancy as ever. It was late at night when I arrived in London. I +drove to a quiet hotel in the west-end; and the following morning +proceeded to Portman-square, bursting with impatience to see my friends +the Callonbys, and recount all my adventures—for as I was too ill to +write from Northampton, and did not wish to entrust to a stranger the +office of communicating with them, I judged that they must be +exceedingly uneasy on my account, and pictured to myself the thousand +emotions my appearance so indicative of illness would give rise to; and +could scarcely avoid running in my impatience to be once more among +them. How Lady Jane would meet me, I thought of over again and again; +whether the same cautious reserve awaited me, or whether her family’s +approval would have wrought a change in her reception of me, I burned +to ascertain. As my thoughts ran on in this way, I found myself at the +door; but was much alarmed to perceive that the closed window-shutters +and dismantled look of the house proclaimed them from home. I rung the +bell, and soon learned from a servant, whose face I had not seen +before, that the family had gone to Paris about a month before, with +the intention of spending the winter there. I need not say how +grievously this piece of intelligence disappointed me, and for a minute +or two I could not collect my thoughts. At last the servant said: + +“If you have any thing very particular, sir, that my Lord’s lawyer can +do, I can give you his address.” + +“No, thank you—nothing;” at the same time I muttered to myself, “I’ll +have some occupation for him though ere long. The family were all quite +well, didn’t you say?” + +“Yes sir, perfectly well. My Lord had only a slight cold,” + +“Ah—yes—and there address is ‘Meurice;’ very well.” + +So saying I turned from the door, and with slower steps than I had +come, returned to my hotel. + +My immediate resolve was to set out for Paris; my second was to visit +my uncle, Sir Guy Lorrequer, first, and having explained to him the +nature of my position, and the advantageous prospects before me, +endeavour to induce him to make some settlement on Lady Jane, in the +event of my obtaining her family’s consent to our marriage. This, from +his liking great people much, and laying great stress upon the +advantages of connexion, I looked upon as a matter of no great +difficulty; so that, although my hopes of happiness were delayed in +their fulfilment, I believed they were only about to be the more +securely realized. The same day I set out for Elton, and by ten o’clock +at night reached my uncle’s house. I found the old gentleman looking +just as I had left him three years before, complaining a little of gout +in the left foot—praising his old specific, port-wine—abusing his +servants for robbing him—and drinking the Duke of Wellington’s health +every night after supper; which meal I had much pleasure in surprising +him at on my arrival—not having eaten since my departure from London. + +“Well, Harry,” said my uncle, when the servants had left the room, and +we drew over the spider table to the fire to discuss our wine with +comfort, “what good wind has blown you down to me, my boy? for it’s odd +enough, five minutes before I heard the wheels on the gravel I was just +wishing some good fellow would join me at the grouse—and you see I have +had my wish! The old story, I suppose, ‘out of cash.’ Would not come +down here for nothing—eh? Come, lad, tell truth; is it not so?” + +“Why, not exactly, sir; but I really had rather at present talk about +you, than about my own matters, which we can chat over tomorrow. How do +you get on, sir, with the Scotch steward?” + +“He’s a rogue, sir—a cheat—a scoundrel; but it is the same with them +all; and your cousin, Harry—your cousin, that I have reared from his +infancy to be my heir, (pleasant topic for me!) he cares no more for me +than the rest of them, and would never come near me, if it were not +that, like yourself, he was hard run for money, and wanted to wheedle +me out of a hundred or two.” + +“But you forget, sir—I told you I have not come with such an object.” + +“We’ll see that—we’ll see that in the morning,” replied he, with an +incredulous shake of the head. + +“But Guy, sir—what has Guy done?” + +“What has he not done? No sooner did he join that popinjay set of +fellows, the —th hussars, than he turned out, what he calls a +four-in-hand drag, which dragged nine hundred pounds out of my +pocket—then he has got a yacht at Cowes—a grouse mountain in +Scotland—and has actually given Tattersall an unlimited order to +purchase the Wreckinton pack of harriers, which he intends to keep for +the use of the corps. In a word, there is not an amusement of that +villanous regiment, not a flask of champagne drank at their mess, I +don’t bear my share in the cost of; all through the kind offices of +your worthy cousin, Guy Lorrequer.” + +This was an exceedingly pleasant expose for me, to hear of my cousin +indulged in every excess of foolish extravagance by his rich uncle, +while I, the son of an elder brother who unfortunately called me by his +own name, Harry, remained the sub. in a marching regiment, with not +three hundred pounds a year above my pay, and whom any extravagance, if +such had been proved against me would have deprived of even that small +allowance. My uncle however did not notice the chagrin with which I +heard his narrative, but continued to detail various instances of wild +and reckless expense the future possessor of his ample property had +already launched into. + +Anxious to say something without well-knowing what, I hinted that +probably my good cousin would reform some of these days, and marry. + +“Marry,” said my uncle; “yes, that, I believe, is the best thing we can +do with him; and I hope now the matter is in good train—so the latest +accounts say, at least.” + +“Ah, indeed,” said I, endeavouring to take an interest where I really +felt none—for my cousin and I had never been very intimate friends, and +the differences in our fortunes had not, at least to my thinking, been +compensated by any advances which he, under the circumstances, might +have made to me. + +“Why, Harry, did you not hear of it?” said my uncle. + +“No—not a word, sir.” + +“Very strange, indeed—a great match, Harry—a very great match, indeed.” + +“Some rich banker’s daughter,” thought I. “What will he say when he +hears of my fortune?” + +“A very fine young woman, too, I understand—quite the belle of +London—and a splendid property left by an aunt.” + +I was bursting to tell him of my affair, and that he had another +nephew, to whom if common justice were rendered, his fortune was as +certainly made for life. + +“Guy’s business happened this way,” continued my uncle, who was quite +engrossed by the thought of his favourite’s success. “The father of the +young lady met him in Ireland, or Scotland, or some such place, where +he was with his regiment—was greatly struck with his manner and +address—found him out to be my nephew—asked him to his house—and, in +fact, almost threw this lovely girl at his head before they were two +months acquainted.” + +“As nearly as possible my own adventure,” thought I, laughing to +myself. + +“But you have not told me who they are, sir,” said I, dying to have his +story finished, and to begin mine. + +“I’m coming to that—I’m coming to that. Guy came down here, but did not +tell me one word of his having ever met the family, but begged me to +give him an introduction to them, as they were in Paris, where he was +going on a short leave; and the first thing I heard of the matter was a +letter from the papa, demanding from me if Guy was to be my heir, and +asking ‘how far his attentions in his family, met with my approval.’” + +“Then how did you know sir that they were previously known to each +other?” + +“The family lawyer told me, who heard it all talked over.” + +“And why, then, did Guy get the letter of introduction from you, when +he was already acquainted with them?” + +“I am sure I cannot tell, except that you know he always does every +thing unlike every one else, and to be sure the letter seems to have +excited some amusement. I must show you his answer to my first note to +know how all was going on; for I felt very anxious about matters, when +I heard from some person who had met them, that Guy was everlastingly +in the house, and that Lord Callonby could not live without him.” + +“Lord who, sir?” said I in a voice that made the old man upset his +glass, and spring from his chair in horror. + +“What the devil is the matter with the boy. What makes you so pale?” + +“Whose name did you say at that moment, sir,” said I with a slowness of +speech that cost me agony. + +“Lord Callonby, my old schoolfellow and fag at Eton.” + +“And the lady’s name, sir?” said I, in scarcely an audible whisper. + +“I’m sure I forget her name; but here’s the letter from Guy, and I +think he mentions her name in the postscript.” + +I snatched rudely the half-opened letter from the old man, as he was +vainly endeavouring to detect the place he wanted, and read as follows: + +“My adored Jane is all your fondest wishes for my happiness could +picture, and longs to see her dear uncle, as she already calls you on +every occasion.” I read no more—my eyes swam—the paper, the candles, +every thing before me, was misty and confused; and although I heard my +uncle’s voice still going on, I knew nothing of what he said. + +For some time my mind could not take in the full extent of the base +treachery I had met with, and I sat speechless and stupified. By +degrees my faculties became clearer, and with one glance I read the +whole business, from my first meeting with them at Kilrush to the +present moment. I saw that in their attentions to me, they thought they +were winning the heir of Elton, the future proprietor of fifteen +thousand per annum. From this tangled web of heartless intrigue I +turned my thoughts to Lady Jane herself. How had she betrayed me! for +certainly she had not only received, but encouraged my addresses—and so +soon, too.—To think that at the very moment when my own precipitate +haste to see her had involved me in a nearly fatal accident, she was +actually receiving the attentions of another! Oh, it was too, too bad. + +But enough—even now I can scarcely dwell upon the memory of that +moment, when the hopes and dreams of many a long day and night were +destined to be thus rudely blighted. I seized the first opportunity of +bidding my uncle good night; and having promised him to reveal all my +plans on the morrow, hurried to my room. + +My plans! alas, I had none—that one fatal paragraph had scattered them +to the winds; and I threw myself upon my bed, wretched and almost +heart-broken. + +I have once before in these “Confessions” claimed to myself the +privilege, not inconsistent with a full disclosure of the memorabilia +of my life, to pass slightly over those passages, the burden of which +was unhappy, and whose memory is painful. I must now, therefore, claim +the “benefit of this act,” and beg of the reader to let me pass from +this sad portion of my history, and for the full expression of my +mingled rage, contempt, disappointment, and sorrow, let me beg of him +to receive instead, what a learned pope once gave as his apology for +not reading a rather polysyllabic word in a Latin letter—“As for this,” +said he, looking at the phrase in question, “soit qui’l dit,” so say I. +And now—en route. + + + + + CHAPTER XI. +CHELTENHAM—MATRIMONIAL ADVENTURE—SHOWING HOW TO MAKE LOVE FOR A FRIEND. + +[Illustration: Lorrequer Making His Escape From Col. Kamworth’s] + + +It was a cold raw evening in February as I sat in the coffee-room of +the Old Plough in Cheltenham, “Lucullus c. Lucullo”—no companion save +my half-finished decanter of port. I had drawn my chair to the corner +of the ample fire-place, and in a half dreamy state was reviewing the +incidents of my early life, and like most men who, however young, have +still to lament talents misapplied, opportunities neglected, profitless +labour, and disastrous idleness. The dreary aspect of the large and +ill-lighted room—the close-curtained boxes—the unsocial look of every +thing and body about suited the habit of my soul, and I was on the +verge of becoming excessively sentimental—the unbroken silence, where +several people were present, had also its effect upon me, and I felt +oppressed and dejected. So sat I for an hour; the clock over the mantel +ticked sharply on—the old man in the brown surtout had turned in his +chair, and now snored louder—the gentleman who read the Times had got +the Chronicle, and I thought I saw him nodding over the advertisements. +The father who, with a raw son of about nineteen, had dined at six, sat +still and motionless opposite his offspring, and only breaking the +silence around by the grating of the decanter as he posted it across +the table. The only thing denoting active existence was a little, +shrivelled man, who, with spectacles on his forehead, and hotel +slippers on his feet, rapidly walked up and down, occasionally stopping +at his table to sip a little weak-looking negus, which was his moderate +potation for two hours. I have been particular in chronicling these few +and apparently trivial circumstances, for by what mere trifles are our +greatest and most important movements induced—had the near wheeler of +the Umpire been only safe on his fore legs, and while I write this I +might—but let me continue. The gloom and melancholy which beset me, +momentarily increased. But three months before, and my prospects +presented every thing that was fairest and brightest—now all the future +was dark and dismal. Then my best friends could scarcely avoid envy at +my fortune—now my reverses might almost excite compassion even in an +enemy. It was singular enough, and I should not like to acknowledge it, +were not these Confessions in their very nature intended to disclose +the very penetralia of my heart; but singular it certainly was—and so I +have always felt it since, when reflecting on it—that although much and +warmly attached to Lady Jane Callonby, and feeling most acutely what I +must call her abandonment of me, yet, the most constantly recurring +idea of my mind on the subject was, what will the mess say—what will +they think at head-quarters?—the raillery, the jesting, the +half-concealed allusion, the tone of assumed compassion, which all +awaited me, as each of my comrades took up his line of behaving towards +me, was, after all, the most difficult thing to be borne, and I +absolutely dreaded to join my regiment, more thoroughly than did ever +schoolboy to return to his labour on the expiration of his holidays. I +had framed to myself all manner of ways of avoiding this dread event; +sometimes I meditated an exchange into an African corps—sometimes to +leave the army altogether. However, I turned the affair over in my +mind—innumerable difficulties presented themselves, and I was at last +reduced to that stand-still point, in which, after continual +vacillation, one only waits for the slightest impulse of persuasion +from another, to adopt any, no matter what suggestion. In this enviable +frame of mind I sat sipping my wine, and watching the clock for that +hour at which, with a safe conscience, I might retire to my bed, when +the waiter roused me by demanding if my name was Mr. Lorrequer, for +that a gentleman having seen my card in the bar, had been making +inquiry for the owner of it all through the hotel. + +“Yes,” said I, “such is my name; but I am not acquainted with any one +here, that I can remember.” + +“The gentleman has only arrived an hour since by the London mail, sir, +and here he is.” + +At this moment, a tall, dashing-looking, half-swaggering fellow, in a +very sufficient envelope of box-coats, entered the coffee-room, and +unwinding a shawl from his throat, showed me the honest and manly +countenance of my friend Jack Waller, of the —th dragoons, with whom I +had served in the Peninsula. + +Five minutes sufficed for Jack to tell me that he was come down on a +bold speculation at this unseasonable time for Cheltenham; that he was +quite sure his fortune was about to be made in a few weeks at farthest, +and what seemed nearly as engrossing a topic—that he was perfectly +famished, and desired a hot supper, “de suite.” + +Jack having despatched this agreeable meal with a traveller’s appetite, +proceeded to unfold his plans to me as follows: + +There resided somewhere near Cheltenham, in what direction he did not +absolutely know, an old East India colonel, who had returned from a +long career of successful staff-duties and government contracts, with +the moderate fortune of two hundred thousand. He possessed, in +addition, a son and a daughter; the former, being a rake and a gambler, +he had long since consigned to his own devices, and to the latter he +had avowed his intention of leaving all his wealth. That she was +beautiful as an angel—highly accomplished—gifted—agreeable—and all +that, Jack, who had never seen her, was firmly convinced; that she was +also bent resolutely on marrying him, or any other gentleman whose +claims were principally the want of money, he was quite ready to swear +to; and, in fact, so assured did he feel that “the whole affair was +feasible,” (I use his own expression,) that he had managed a two +months’ leave, and was come down express to see, make love to, and +carry her off at once. + +“But,” said I, with difficulty interrupting him, “how long have you +known her father?” + +“Known him? I never saw him.” + +“Well, that certainly is cool; and how do you propose making his +acquaintance. Do you intend to make him a “particeps criminis” in the +elopement of his own daughter, for a consideration to be hereafter paid +out of his own money?” + +“Now, Harry, you’ve touched upon the point in which, you must confess, +my genius always stood unrivalled—acknowledge, if you are not dead to +gratitude—acknowledge how often should you have gone supperless to bed +in our bivouacs in the Peninsula, had it not been for the ingenuity of +your humble servant—avow, that if mutton was to be had, and beef to be +purloined, within a circuit of twenty miles round, our mess certainly +kept no fast days. I need not remind you of the cold morning on the +retreat from Burgos, when the inexorable Lake brought five men to the +halberds for stealing turkeys, that at the same moment, I was engaged +in devising an ox-tail soup, from a heifer brought to our tent in +jack-boots the evening before, to escape detection by her foot tracks.” + +“True, Jack, I never questioned your Spartan talent; but this affair, +time considered, does appear rather difficult.” + +“And if it were not, should I have ever engaged in it? No, no, Harry. I +put all proper value upon the pretty girl, with her two hundred +thousand pounds pin-money. But I honestly own to you, the intrigue, the +scheme, has as great charm for me as any part of the transaction.” + +“Well, Jack, now for the plan, then!” + +“The plan! oh, the plan. Why, I have several; but since I have seen +you, and talked the matter over with you, I have begun to think of a +new mode of opening the trenches.” + +“Why, I don’t see how I can possibly have admitted a single new ray of +light upon the affair.” + +“There are you quite wrong. Just hear me out without interruption, and +I’ll explain. I’ll first discover the locale of this worthy +colonel—‘Hydrabad Cottage’ he calls it; good, eh?—then I shall proceed +to make a tour of the immediate vicinity, and either be taken +dangerously ill in his grounds, within ten yards of the hall-door, or +be thrown from my gig at the gate of his avenue, and fracture my skull; +I don’t much care which. Well, then, as I learn that the old gentleman +is the most kind, hospitable fellow in the world, he’ll admit me at +once; his daughter will tend my sick couch—nurse—read to me; glorious +fun, Harry. I’ll make fierce love to her; and now, the only point to be +decided is whether, having partaken of the colonel’s hospitality so +freely, I ought to carry her off, or marry her with papa’s consent. You +see there is much to be said for either line of proceeding.” + +“I certainly agree with you there; but since you seem to see your way +so clearly up to that point, why, I should advise you leaving that an +‘open question,’ as the ministers say, when they are hard pressed for +an opinion.” + +“Well, Harry, I consent; it shall remain so. Now for your part, for I +have not come to that.” + +“Mine,” said I, in amazement; “why how can I possibly have any +character assigned to me in the drama?” + +“I’ll tell you, Harry, you shall come with me in the gig in the +capacity of my valet.” + +“Your what?” said I, horror-struck at his impudence. + +“Come, no nonsense, Harry, you’ll have a glorious time of it—shall +choose as becoming a livery as you like—and you’ll have the whole +female world below stairs dying for you; and all I ask for such an +opportunity vouchsafed to you is to puff me, your master, in every +possible shape and form, and represent me as the finest and most +liberal fellow in the world, rolling in wealth, and only striving to +get rid of it.” + +The unparalleled effrontery of Master Jack, in assigning to me such an +office, absolutely left me unable to reply to him; while he continued +to expatiate upon the great field for exertion thus open to us both. At +last it occurred to me to benefit by an anecdote of a something similar +arrangement, of capturing, not a young lady, but a fortified town, by +retorting Jack’s proposition. + +“Come,” said I, “I agree, with one only difference—I’ll be the master +and you the man on this occasion.” + +To my utter confusion, and without a second’s consideration, Waller +grasped my hand, and cried, “done.” Of course I laughed heartily at the +utter absurdity of the whole scheme, and rallied my friend on his +prospects of Botany Bay for such an exploit; never contemplating in the +most remote degree the commission of such extravagance. + +Upon this Jack, to use the expressive French phrase, “pris la parole,” +touching with a master-like delicacy on my late defeat among the +Callonbys, (which up to this instant I believed him in ignorance of;) +he expatiated upon the prospect of my repairing that misfortune, and +obtaining a fortune considerably larger; he cautiously abstained from +mentioning the personal charms of the young lady, supposing, from my +lachrymose look, that my heart had not yet recovered the shock of Lady +Jane’s perfidy, and rather preferred to dwell upon the escape such a +marriage could open to me from the mockery of the mess-table, the +jesting of my brother officers, and the life-long raillery of the +service, wherever the story reached. + +The fatal facility of my disposition, so often and so frankly +chronicled in these Confessions—the openness to be led whither any one +might take the trouble to conduct me—the easy indifference to assume +any character which might be pressed upon me, by chance, accident, or +design, assisted by my share of three flasks of champagne, induced me +first to listen—then to attend to—soon after to suggest—and finally, +absolutely to concur in and agree to a proposal, which, at any other +moment, I must have regarded as downright insanity. As the clock struck +two, I had just affixed my name to an agreement, for Jack Waller had so +much of method in his madness, that, fearful of my retracting in the +morning, he had committed the whole to writing, which, as a specimen of +Jack’s legal talents I copy from the original document now in my +posession. + +“The Plough, Cheltenham, Tuesday night or morning, two o’clock—be the +same more or less. I, Harry Lorrequer, sub. in his Majesty’s —th +regiment of foot, on the one part; and I, John Waller, commonly called +Jack Waller, of the —th light dragoons on the other; hereby promise and +agree, each for himself, and not one for the other, to the following +conditions, which are hereafter subjoined, to wit, the aforesaid Jack +Waller is to serve, obey, and humbly follow the aforementioned Harry +Lorrequer, for the space of one month of four weeks; conducting himself +in all respects, modes, ways, manners, as his, the aforesaid +Lorrequer’s own man, skip, valet, or saucepan—duly praising, puffing, +and lauding the aforesaid Lorrequer, and in every way facilitating his +success to the hand and fortune of—” + + +“Shall we put in her name, Harry, here?” said Jack. + +“I think not; we’ll fill it up in pencil; that looks very knowing.” + +“—at the end of which period, if successful in his suit, the aforesaid +Harry Lorrequer is to render to the aforesaid Waller the sum of ten +thousand pounds three and a half per cent. with a faithful discharge in +writing for his services, as may be. If, on the other hand, and which +heaven forbid, the aforesaid Lorrequer fail in obtaining the hand of +——, that he will evacuate the territory within twelve hours, and +repairing to a convenient spot selected by the aforesaid Waller, then +and there duly invest himself with a livery chosen by the aforesaid +Waller—” + +“You know, each man uses his choice in this particular,” said Jack. + +“—and for the space of four calendar weeks, be unto the aforesaid +Waller, as his skip, or valet, receiving, in the event of success, the +like compensation, as aforesaid, each promising strictly to maintain +the terms of this agreement, and binding, by a solemn pledge, to divest +himself of every right appertaining to his former condition, for the +space of time there mentioned.” + +We signed and sealed it formally, and finished another flask to its +perfect ratification. This done, and after a hearty shake hands, we +parted and retired for the night. + +The first thing I saw on waking the following morning was Jack Waller +standing beside my bed, evidently in excellent spirits with himself and +all the world. + +“Harry, my boy, I have done it gloriously,” said he. “I only remembered +on parting with you last night, that one of the most marked features in +our old colonel’s character is a certain vague idea, he has somewhere +picked up, that he has been at some very remote period of his history a +most distinguished officer. This notion, it appears, haunts his mind, +and he absolutely believes he has been in every engagement from the +seven years war, down to the Battle of Waterloo. You cannot mention a +siege he did not lay down the first parallel for, nor a storming party +where he did not lead the forlorn hope; and there is not a regiment in +the service, from those that formed the fighting brigade of Picton, +down to the London trainbands, with which, to use his own phrase, he +has not fought and bled. This mania of heroism is droll enough, when +one considers that the sphere of his action was necessarily so limited; +but yet we have every reason to be thankful for the peculiarity, as +you’ll say, when I inform you that this morning I despatched a hasty +messenger to his villa, with a most polite note, setting forth that a +Mr. Lorrequer—ay, Harry, all above board—there is nothing like it—‘as +Mr. Lorrequer, of the —th, was collecting for publication, such +materials as might serve to commemorate the distinguished achievements +of British officers, who have, at any time, been in command—he most +respectfully requests an interview with Colonel Kamworth, whose +distinguished services, on many gallant occasions, have called forth +the unqualified approval of his majesty’s government. Mr. Lorrequer’s +stay is necessarily limited to a few days, as he proceeds from this to +visit Lord Anglesey; and, therefore, would humbly suggest as early a +meeting as may suit Colonel K.’s convenience.’ What think you now? Is +this a master-stroke or not?” + +“Why, certainly, we are in for it now,” said I, drawing a deep sigh. +“But Jack, what is all this? Why, you’re in livery already.” + +I now, for the first time, perceived that Waller was arrayed in a very +decorous suit of dark grey, with cord shorts and boots, and looked a +very knowing style of servant for the side of a tilbury. + +“You like it, don’t you? Well, I should have preferred something a +little more showy myself; but as you chose this last night, I, of +course, gave way, and after all, I believe you’re right, it certainly +is neat.” + +“Did I choose it last night? I have not the slightest recollection of +it.” + +“Yes, you were most particular about the length of the waistcoat, and +the height of the cockade, and you see I have followed your orders +tolerably close; and now, adieu to sweet equality for the season, and I +am your most obedient servant for four weeks—see that you make the most +of it.” + +While we were talking, the waiter entered with a note addressed to me, +which I rightly conjectured could only come from Colonel Kamworth. It +ran thus— + +“Colonel Kamworth feels highly flattered by the polite attention of Mr. +Lorrequer, and will esteem it a particular favour if Mr. L. can afford +him the few days his stay in this part of the country will permit, by +spending them at Hydrabad Cottage. Any information as to Colonel +Kamworth’s services in the four quarters of the globe, he need not say, +is entirely at Mr. L.’s disposal. + “Colonel K. dines at six precisely.” + + +When Waller had read the note through, he tossed his hat up in the air, +and, with something little sort of an Indian whoop, shouted out— + +“The game is won already. Harry, my man, give me the check for the ten +thousand: she is your own this minute.” + +Without participating entirely in Waller’s exceeding delight, I could +not help feeling a growing interest in the part I was advertised to +perform, and began my rehearsal with more spirit than I thought I +should have been able to command. + +That same evening, at the same hour as that in which on the preceding I +sat lone and comfortless by the coffee-room fire, I was seated opposite +a very pompous, respectable-looking old man, with a large, stiff queue +of white hair, who pressed me repeatedly to fill my glass and pass the +decanter. The room was a small library, with handsomely fitted shelves; +there were but four chairs, but each would have made at least three of +any modern one; the curtains of deep crimson cloth effectually secured +the room from draught; and the cheerful wood fire blazing on the +hearth, which was the only light in the apartment, gave a most inviting +look of comfort and snugness to every thing. This, thought I, is all +excellent; and however the adventure ends, this is certainly pleasant, +and I never tasted better Madeira. + +“And so, Mr. Lorrequer, you heard of my affair at Cantantrabad, when I +took the Rajah prisoner?” + +“Yes,” said I; “the governor-general mentioned the gallant business the +very last time I dined at Government-House.” + +“Ah, did he? kind of him though. Well, sir, I received two millions of +rupees on the morning after, and a promise of ten more if I would +permit him to escape—but no—I refused flatly.” + +“Is it possible; and what did you do with the two millions?—sent them, +of course—.” + +“No, that I didn’t; the wretches know nothing of the use of money. No, +no; I have them this moment in good government security. + +“I believe I never mentioned to you the storming of Java. Fill yourself +another glass, and I’ll describe it all to you, for it will be of +infinite consequence that a true narrative of this meets the public +eye—they really are quite ignorant of it. Here now is Fort Cornelius, +and there is the moat, the sugar-basin is the citadel, and the tongs is +the first trench, the decanter will represent the tall tower towards +the south-west angle, and here, the wine glass—this is me. Well, it was +a little after ten at night that I got the order from the general in +command to march upon this plate of figs, which was an open space +before Fort Cornelius, and to take up my position in front of the fort, +and with four pieces of field artillery—these walnuts here—to be ready +to open my fire at a moment’s warning upon the sou-west tower; but, my +dear sir, you have moved the tower; I thought you were drinking +Madeira. As I said before, to open my fire upon the sou-west tower, or +if necessary protect the sugar tongs, which I explained to you was the +trench. Just at the same time the besieged were making preparations for +a sortie to occupy this dish of almonds and raisins—the high ground to +the left of my position—put another log on the fire, if you please, +sir, for I cannot see myself—I thought I was up near the figs, and I +find myself down near the half moon.” + +“It is past nine,” said a servant entering the room; “shall I take the +carriage for Miss Kamworth, sir?” This being the first time the name of +the young lady was mentioned since my arrival, I felt somewhat anxious +to hear more of her, in which laudable desire I was not however to be +gratified, for the colonel, feeling considerably annoyed by the +interruption, dismissed the servant by saying— + +“What do you mean, sirrah, by coming in at this moment; don’t you see I +am preparing for the attack on the half moon? Mr. Lorrequer, I beg your +pardon for one moment, this fellow has completely put me out; and +besides, I perceive, you have eaten the flying artillery, and in fact, +my dear sir, I shall be obliged to lay down the position again.” + +With this praiseworthy interest the colonel proceeded to arrange the +“materiel” of our dessert in battle array, when the door was suddenly +thrown open, and a very handsome girl, in a most becoming demi +toilette, sprung into the room, and either not noticing, or not caring, +that a stranger was present, threw herself into the old gentleman’s +arms, with a degree of empressement, exceedingly vexatious for any +third and unoccupied party to witness. + +“Mary, my dear,” said the colonel, completely forgetting Java and Fort +Cornelius at once, “you don’t perceive I have a gentleman to introduce +to you, Mr. Lorrequer, my daughter, Miss Kamworth,” here the young lady +courtesied somewhat stiffly, and I bowed reverently; and we all resumed +places. I now found out that Miss Kamworth had been spending the +preceding four or five days at a friend’s in the neighbourhood; and had +preferred coming home somewhat unexpectedly, to waiting for her own +carriage. + +My confessions, if recorded verbatim, from the notes of that four +weeks’ sojourn, would only increase the already too prolix and +uninteresting details of this chapter in my life; I need only say, that +without falling in love with Mary Kamworth, I felt prodigiously +disposed thereto; she was extremely pretty; had a foot and ancle to +swear by, the most silvery toned voice I almost ever heard, and a +certain witchery and archness of manner that by its very tantalizing +uncertainty continually provoked attention, and by suggesting a +difficulty in the road to success, imparted a more than common zest in +the pursuit. She was little, a very little blue, rather a dabbler in +the “ologies,” than a real disciple. Yet she made collections of +minerals, and brown beetles, and cryptogamias, and various other +homeopathic doses of the creation, infinitessimally small in their +subdivision; in none of which I felt any interest, save in the excuse +they gave for accompanying her in her pony-phaeton. This was, however, +a rare pleasure, for every morning for at least three or four hours I +was obliged to sit opposite the colonel, engaged in the compilation of +that narrative of his “res gestae,” which was to eclipse the career of +Napoleon and leave Wellington’s laurels but a very faded lustre in +comparison. In this agreeable occupation did I pass the greater part of +my day, listening to the insufferable prolixity of the most prolix of +colonels, and at times, notwithstanding the propinquity of relationship +which awaited us, almost regretting that he was not blown up in any of +the numerous explosions his memoir abounded with. I may here mention, +that while my literary labour was thus progressing, the young lady +continued her avocations as before—not indeed with me for her +companion—but Waller; for Colonel Kamworth, “having remarked the +steadiness and propriety of my man, felt no scruple in sending him out +to drive Miss Kamworth,” particularly as I gave him a most excellent +character for every virtue under heaven. + +I must hasten on.—The last evening of my four weeks was drawing to a +close. Colonel Kamworth had pressed me to prolong my visit, and I only +waited for Waller’s return from Cheltenham, whither I had sent him for +my letters, to make arrangements with him to absolve me from my +ridiculous bond, and accept the invitation. We were sitting round the +library fire, the colonel, as usual, narrating his early deeds and +hair-breadth ‘scapes. Mary, embroidering an indescribable something, +which every evening made its appearance but seemed never to advance, +was rather in better spirits than usual, at the same time her manner +was nervous and uncertain; and I could perceive by her frequent absence +of mind, that her thoughts were not as much occupied by the siege of +Java as her worthy father believed them. Without laying any stress upon +the circumstance, I must yet avow that Waller’s not having returned +from Cheltenham gave me some uneasiness, and I more than once had +recourse to the bell to demand if “my servant had come back yet?” At +each of these times I well remember the peculiar expression of Mary’s +look, the half embarrassment, half drollery, with which she listened to +the question, and heard the answer in the negative. Supper at length +made its appearance; and I asked the servant who waited, “if my man had +brought me any letters,” varying my inquiry to conceal my anxiety; and +again, I heard he had not returned. Resolving now to propose in all +form for Miss Kamworth the next morning, and by referring the colonel +to my uncle Sir Guy, smooth, as far as I could, all difficulties, I +wished them good night and retired; not, however, before the colonel +had warned me that they were to have an excursion to some place in the +neighbourhood the next day; and begging that I might be in the +breakfast-room at nine, as they were to assemble there from all parts, +and start early on the expedition. I was in a sound sleep the following +morning, when a gentle tap at the door awoke me; at the same time I +recognised the voice of the colonel’s servant, saying, “Mr. Lorrequer, +breakfast is waiting, sir.” + +I sprung up at once, and replying, “Very well, I shall come down,” +proceeded to dress in all haste, but to my horror, I could not discern +a vestige of my clothes; nothing remained of the habiliments I +possessed only the day before—even my portmanteau had disappeared. +After a most diligent search, I discovered on a chair in a corner of +the room, a small bundle tied up in a handkerchief, on opening which I +perceived a new suit of livery of the most gaudy and showy description +and lace; of which colour was also the coat, which had a standing +collar and huge cuffs, deeply ornamented with worked button holes and +large buttons. As I turned the things over, without even a guess of +what they could mean, for I was scarcely well awake, I perceived a +small slip of paper fastened to the coat sleeve, upon which, in +Waller’s hand-writing, the following few words were written: + +“The livery I hope will fit you, as I am rather particular about how +you’ll look; get quietly down to the stable-yard and drive the tilbury +into Cheltenham, where wait for further orders from your kind master, + + +“John Waller.” + + +The horrible villany of this wild scamp actually paralysed me. That I +should put on such ridiculous trumpery was out of the question; yet +what was to be done? I rung the bell violently; “Where are my clothes, +Thomas?” + +“Don’t know, sir; I was out all the morning, sir, and never seed them.” + +“There, Thomas, be smart now and send them up, will you?” Thomas +disappeared, and speedily returned to say, “that my clothes could not +be found any where; no one knew any thing of them, and begged me to +come down, as Miss Kamworth desired him to say that they were still +waiting, and she begged Mr. Lorrequer would not make an elaborate +toilette, as they were going on a country excursion.” An elaborate +toilette! I wish to heaven she saw my costume; no, I’ll never do it. +“Thomas, you must tell the ladies and the colonel, too, that I feel +very ill; I am not able to leave my bed; I am subject to attacks—very +violent attacks in my head, and must always be left quiet and +alone—perfectly alone—mind me, Thomas—for a day at least.” Thomas +departed; and as I lay distracted in my bed, I heard, from the +breakfast room, the loud laughter of many persons evidently enjoying +some excellent joke; could it be me they were laughing at; the thought +was horrible. + +“Colonel Kamworth wishes to know if you’d like the doctor, sir,” said +Thomas, evidently suppressing a most inveterate fit of laughing, as he +again appeared at the door. + +“No, certainly not,” said I, in a voice of thunder; “what the devil are +you grinning at?” + +“You may as well come, my man; you’re found out; they all know it now,” +said the fellow with an odious grin. + +I jumped out of the bed, and hurled the boot-jack at him with all my +strength; but had only the satisfaction to hear him go down stairs +chuckling at his escape; and as he reached the parlour, the increase of +mirth and the loudness of the laughter told me that he was not the only +one who was merry at my expense. Any thing was preferable to this; down +stairs I resolved to go at once—but how; a blanket I thought would not +be a bad thing, and particularly as I had said I was ill; I could at +least get as far as Colonel Kamworth’s dressing-room, and explain to +him the whole affair; but then if I was detected en route, which I was +almost sure to be, with so many people parading about the house. No; +that would never do, there was but one alternative, and dreadful, +shocking as it was, I could not avoid it, and with a heavy heart, and +as much indignation at Waller for what I could not but consider a most +scurvy trick, I donned the yellow inexpressibles; next came the vest, +and last the coat, with its broad flaps and lace excrescenses, fifty +times more absurd and merry-andrew than any stage servant who makes off +with his table and two chairs amid the hisses and gibes of an upper +gallery. + +If my costume leaned towards the ridiculous, I resolved that my air and +bearing should be more than usually austere and haughty; and with +something of the stride of John Kemble in Coriolanus, I was leaving my +bed-room, when I accidentally caught a view of myself in the glass; and +so mortified, so shocked was I, that I sank into a chair, and almost +abandoned my resolution to go on; the very gesture I had assumed for +vindication only increased the ridicule of my appearance; and the +strange quaintness of the costume totally obliterated every trace of +any characteristic of the wearer, so infernally cunning was its +contrivance. I don’t think that the most saturnine martyr of gout and +dyspepsia could survey me without laughing. With a bold effort, I flung +open my door, hurried down the stairs, and reached the hall. The first +person I met was a kind of pantry boy, a beast only lately emancipated +from the plough, and destined after a dozen years’ training as a +servant, again to be turned back to his old employ for incapacity; he +grinned horribly for a minute, as I passed, and then in a half whisper +said— + +“Maester, I advise ye run for it; they’re a waiting for ye with the +constables in the justice’s room!” I gave him a look of contemptuous +superiority at which he grinned the more, and passed on. + +Without stopping to consider where I was going, I opened the door of +the breakfast-parlour, and found myself in one plunge among a room full +of people. My first impulse was to retreat again; but so shocked was I, +at the very first thing that met my sight, that I was perfectly +powerless to do any thing. Among a considerable number of people who +stood in small groups round the breakfast-table, I discerned Jack +Waller, habited in a very accurate black frock and dark trowsers, +supporting upon his arm—shall I confess—no less a person than Mary +Kamworth, who leaned on him with the familiarity of an old +acquaintance, and chatted gaily with him. The buzz of conversation +which filled the apartment when I entered, ceased for a second of deep +silence; and then followed a peal of laughter so long and so +vociferous, that in my momentary anger I prayed some one might burst a +blood-vessel, and frighten the rest. I put on a look of indescribable +indignation, and cast a glance of what I intended should be most +withering scorn on the assembly; but alas! my infernal harlequin +costume ruined the effect; and confound me, if they did not laugh the +louder. I turned from one to the other with the air of a man who marks +out victims for his future wrath; but with no better success; at last, +amid the continued mirth of the party, I made my way towards where +Waller stood absolutely suffocated with laughter, and scarcely able to +stand without support. + +“Waller,” said I, in a voice half tremulous with rage and shame +together; “Waller, if this rascally trick be yours, rest assured no +former term of intimacy between us shall—” + +Before I could conclude the sentence, a bustle at the door of the room, +called every attention in that direction; I turned and beheld Colonel +Kamworth, followed by a strong posse comitatus of constables, +tipstaffs, &c., armed to the teeth, and evidently prepared for vigorous +battle. Before I was able to point out my woes to my kind host, he +burst out with— + +“So you scoundrel, you impostor, you damned young villain, pretending +to be a gentleman, you get admission into a man’s house and dine at his +table, when your proper place had been behind his chair.—How far he +might have gone, heaven can tell, if that excellent young gentleman, +his master, had not traced him here this morning—but you’ll pay dearly +for it, you young rascal, that you shall.” + +“Colonel Kamworth,” said I, drawing myself proudly up, (and I confess +exciting new bursts of laughter,) “Colonel Kamworth, for the +expressions you have just applied to me, a heavy reckoning awaits you; +not, however, before another individual now present shall atone for the +insult he has dared to pass upon me.” Colonel Kamworth’s passion at +this declaration knew no bounds; he cursed and swore absolutely like a +madman, and vowed that transportation for life would be a mild sentence +for such iniquity. + +Waller at length wiping the tears of laughter from his eyes, interposed +between the colonel and his victim, and begged that I might be +forgiven; “for indeed my dear sir,” said he, “the poor fellow is of +rather respectable parentage, and such is his taste for good society +that he’d run any risk to be among his betters, although, as in the +present case the exposure brings a rather heavy retribution, however, +let me deal with him. Come, Henry,” said he, with an air of +insufferable superiority, “take my tilbury into town, and wait for me +at the George, I shall endeavour to make your peace with my excellent +friend, Colonel Kamworth; and the best mode you can contribute to that +object, is to let us have no more of your society.” + +I cannot attempt to picture my rage at these words; however, escape +from this diabolical predicament was my only present object; and I +rushed from the room, and springing into the tilbury at the door, drove +down the avenue at the rate of fifteen miles per hour, amid the united +cheers, groans, and yells of the whole servants’ hall, who seemed to +enjoy my “detection,” even more than their betters. Meditating +vengeance, sharp, short, and decisive on Waller, the colonel, and every +one else in the infernal conspiracy against me, for I utterly forgot +every vestige of our agreement in the surprise by which I was taken, I +reached Cheltenham. Unfortunately I had no friend there to whose +management I could commit the bearing of a message, and was obliged as +soon as I could procure suitable costume, to hasten up to Coventry +where the —th dragoons were then quartered. I lost no time in selecting +an adviser, and taking the necessary steps to bring Master Waller to a +reckoning; and on the third morning we again reached Cheltenham, I +thirsting for vengeance, and bursting still with anger; not so, my +friend, however, who never could discuss the affair with common +gravity, and even ventured every now and then on a sly allusion to my +yellow shorts. As we passed the last toll-bar, a travelling carriage +came whirling by with four horses at a tremendous pace; and as the +morning was frosty, and the sun scarcely risen, the whole team were +smoking and steaming so as to be half invisible. We both remarked on +the precipitancy of the party; for as our own pace was considerable, +the two vehicles passed like lightning. We had scarcely dressed, and +ordered breakfast, when a more than usual bustle in the yard called us +to the window; the waiter who came in at the same instant told us that +four horses were ordered out to pursue a young lady who had eloped that +morning with an officer. + +“Ah, our friend in the green travelling chariot, I’ll be bound,” said +my companion; but as neither of us knew that part of the country, and I +was too engrossed by my own thoughts, I never inquired further. As the +chaise in chase drove round to the door, I looked to see what the +pursuer was like; and as he issued from the inn, recognised my “ci +devant host,” Colonel Kamworth. I need not say my vengeance was sated +at once; he had lost his daughter, and Waller was on the road to be +married. Apologies and explanations came in due time, for all my +injuuries and sufferings; and I confess, the part which pleased me most +was, that I saw no more of Jack for a considerable period after; he +started for the continent, where he has lived ever since on a small +allowance, granted by his father-in-law, and never paying me the +stipulated sum, as I had clearly broken the compact. + +So much for my second attempt at matrimony; one would suppose that such +experience should be deemed sufficient to show that my talent did not +lie in that way. And here I must rest for the present, with the +additional confession, that so strong was the memory of that vile +adventure, that I refused a lucrative appointment under Lord Anglesey’s +government, when I discovered that his livery included “yellow plush +breeches;” to have such “souvenirs” flitting around and about me, at +dinner and elsewhere, would have left me without a pleasure in +existence. + + + + + CHAPTER XII. +DUBLIN—TOM O’FLAHERTY—A REMINISCENCE OF THE PENINSULA. + + +Dear, dirty Dublin—“Io te salute”—how many excellent things might be +said of thee, if, unfortunately, it did not happen that the theme is an +old one, and has been much better sung than it can ever now be said. +With thus much of apology for no more lengthened panegyric, let me beg +of my reader, if he be conversant with that most moving melody—the +Groves of Blarney—to hum the following lines, which I heard shortly +after my landing, and which well express my own feelings for the “loved +spot.” + +Oh! Dublin, sure, there is no doubtin’, + Beats every city upon the _say_. +’Tis there you’ll see O’Connell spouting, + And Lady Morgan making “_tay_.” +For ’tis the capital of the greatest nation + With finest peasantry on a fruitful sod, +Fighting like devils for conciliation, + And hating each other for the love of God. + + +Once more, then, I found myself in the “most car-drivingest city,” en +route to join on the expiration of my leave. Since my departure, my +regiment had been ordered to Kilkenny, that sweet city, so famed in +song for its “fire without smoke;” but which, were its character in any +way to be derived from its past or present representative, might +certainly, with more propriety, reverse the epithet, and read “smoke +without fire.” My last communication from head-quarters was full of +nothing but gay doings—balls, dinners, dejeunes, and more than all, +private theatricals, seemed to occupy the entire attention of every man +of the gallant —th. I was earnestly entreated to come, without waiting +for the end of my leave—that several of my old “parts were kept open +for me;” and that, in fact, the “boys of Kilkenny” were on tip-toe in +expectation of my arrival, as though his Majesty’s mail were to convey +a Kean or a Kemble. I shuddered a little as I read this, and +recollected “my last appearance on any stage,” little anticipating, at +the moment, that my next was to be nearly as productive of the +ludicrous, as time and my confessions will show. One circumstance, +however, gave me considerable pleasure. It was this:—I took it for +granted that, in the varied and agreeable occupations which so +pleasurable a career opened, my adventures in love would escape notice, +and that I should avoid the merciless raillery my two failures, in six +months, might reasonably be supposed to call forth. I therefore wrote a +hurried note to Curzon, setting forth the great interest all their +proceedings had for me, and assuring him that my stay in town should be +as short as possible, for that I longed once more to “strut the monarch +of the boards,” and concluded with a sly paragraph, artfully intended +to act as a “paratonnere” to the gibes and jests which I dreaded, by +endeavouring to make light of my matrimonial speculations. The +postscript ran somewhat thus—“Glorious fun have I had since we met; but +were it not that my good angel stood by me, I should write these +hurried lines with a wife at my elbow; but luck, that never yet +deserted, is still faithful to your old friend, H. Lorrequer.” + +My reader may suppose—for he is sufficiently behind the scenes with +me—with what feelings I penned these words; yet any thing was better +than the attack I looked forward to: and I should rather have changed +into the Cape Rifle Corps, or any other army of martyrs, than meet my +mess with all the ridicule my late proceedings exposed me to. Having +disburthened my conscience of this dread, I finished my breakfast, and +set out on a stroll through the town. + +I believe it is Coleridge who somewhere says, that to transmit the +first bright and early impressions of our youth, fresh and uninjured to +a remote period of life, constitutes one of the loftiest prerogatives +of genius. If this be true, and I am not disposed to dispute it—what a +gifted people must be the worthy inhabitants of Dublin; for I scruple +not to affirm, that of all cities of which we have any record in +history, sacred or profane, there is not one so little likely to +disturb the tranquil current of such reminiscences. “As it was of old, +so is it now,” enjoying a delightful permanency in all its habits and +customs, which no changes elsewhere disturb or affect; and in this +respect I defy O’Connell and all the tail to refuse it the epithet of +“Conservative.” + +Had the excellent Rip Van Winkle, instead of seeking his repose upon +the cold and barren acclivities of the Kaatskills—as we are veritably +informed by Irving—but betaken himself to a comfortable bed at +Morrison’s or the Bilton, not only would he have enjoyed a more +agreeable siesta, but, what the event showed of more consequence, the +pleasing satisfaction of not being disconcerted by novelty on his +awakening. It is possible that the waiter who brought him the water to +shave, for Rip’s beard, we are told, had grown uncommonly long—might +exhibit a little of that wear and tear to which humanity is liable from +time; but had he questioned him as to the ruling topics—the proper +amusements of the day—he would have heard, as he might have done twenty +years before, that there was a meeting to convert Jews at the Rotunda; +another to rob parsons at the Corn Exchange; that the Viceroy was +dining with the Corporation, and congratulating them on the prosperity +of Ireland, while the inhabitants were regaled with a procession of the +“broad ribbon weavers,” who had not weaved, heaven knows when! This, +with an occasional letter from Mr. O’Connell, and now and then a duel +in the “Phaynix,” constituted the current pastimes of the city. Such, +at least, were they in my day; and though far from the dear locale, an +odd flitting glance at the newspapers induces me to believe that +matters are not much changed since. + +I rambled through the streets for some hours, revolving such thoughts +as pressed upon me involuntarily by all I saw. The same little grey +homunculus that filled my “prince’s mixture” years before, stood behind +the counter at Lundy Foot’s, weighing out rappee and high toast, just +as I last saw him. The fat college porter, that I used to mistake in my +school-boy days for the Provost, God forgive me! was there as fat and +as ruddy as heretofore, and wore his Roman costume of helmet and plush +breeches, with an air as classic. The old state trumpeter at the +castle, another object of my youthful veneration, poor “old God save +the King” as we used to call him, walked the streets as of old; his +cheeks indeed, a little more lanky and tendinous; but then there had +been many viceregal changes, and the “one sole melody his heart +delighted in,” had been more frequently called in requisition, as he +marched in solemn state with the other antique gentlemen in tabards. As +I walked along, each moment some old and early association being +suggested by the objects around, I felt my arm suddenly seized. I +turned hastily round, and beheld a very old companion in many a +hard-fought field and merry bivouack, Tom O’Flaherty of the 8th. Poor +Tom was sadly changed since we last met, which was at a ball in Madrid. +He was then one of the best-looking fellows of his “style” I ever +met,—tall and athletic, with the easy bearing of a man of the world, +and a certain jauntiness that I have never seen but in Irishmen who +have mixed much in society. + +There was also a certain peculiar devil-may-care recklessness about the +self-satisfied swagger of his gait, and the free and easy glance of his +sharp black eye, united with a temper that nothing could ruffle, and a +courage nothing could daunt. With such qualities as these, he had been +the prime favourite of his mess, to which he never came without some +droll story to relate, or some choice expedient for future amusement. +Such had Tom once been; now he was much altered, and though the quiet +twinkle of his dark eye showed that the spirit of fun within was not +“dead, but only sleeping,”—to myself, who knew something of his +history, it seemed almost cruel to awaken him to any thing which might +bring him back to the memory of by-gone days. A momentary glance showed +me that he was no longer what he had been, and that the unfortunate +change in his condition, the loss of all his earliest and oldest +associates, and his blighted prospects, had nearly broken a heart that +never deserted a friend, nor quailed before an enemy. Poor O’Flaherty +was no more the delight of the circle he once adorned; the wit that +“set the table in a roar” was all but departed. He had been dismissed +the service!!—The story is a brief one:— + +In the retreat from Burgos, the —— Light Dragoons, after a most +fatiguing day’s march, halted at the wretched village of Cabenas. It +had been deserted by the inhabitants the day before, who, on leaving, +had set it on fire; and the blackened walls and fallen roof-trees were +nearly all that now remained to show where the little hamlet had once +stood. + +Amid a down-pour of rain, that had fallen for several hours, drenched +to the skin, cold, weary, and nearly starving, the gallant 8th reached +this melancholy spot at nightfall, with little better prospect of +protection from the storm than the barren heath through which their +road led might afford them. Among the many who muttered curses, not +loud but deep, on the wretched termination to their day’s suffering, +there was one who kept up his usual good spirits, and not only seemed +himself nearly regardless of the privations and miseries about him, but +actually succeeded in making the others who rode alongside as perfectly +forgetful of their annoyances and troubles as was possible under such +circumstances. Good stories, joking allusions to the more discontented +ones of the party, ridiculous plans for the night’s encampment, +followed each other so rapidly, that the weariness of the way was +forgotten; and while some were cursing their hard fate, that ever +betrayed them into such misfortunes, the little group round O’Flaherty +were almost convulsed with laughter at the wit and drollery of one, +over whom if the circumstances had any influence, they seemed only to +heighten his passion for amusement. In the early part of the morning he +had captured a turkey, which hung gracefully from his holster on one +side, while a small goat-skin of Valencia wine balanced it on the +other. These good things were destined to form a feast that evening, to +which he had invited four others; that being, according to his most +liberal calculation, the greatest number to whom he could afford a +reasonable supply of wine. + +When the halt was made, it took some time to arrange the dispositions +for the night; and it was nearly midnight before all the regiment had +got their billets and were housed, even with such scanty accommodation +as the place afforded. Tom’s guests had not yet arrived, and he himself +was busily engaged in roasting the turkey before a large fire, on which +stood a capacious vessel of spiced wine, when the party appeared. A +very cursory “reconnaissance” through the house, one of the only ones +untouched in the village, showed that from the late rain it would be +impossible to think of sleeping in the lower story, which already +showed signs of being flooded; they therefore proceeded in a body up +stairs, and what was their delight to find a most comfortable room, +neatly furnished with chairs, and a table; but, above all, a large +old-fashioned bed, an object of such luxury as only an old campaigner +can duly appreciate. The curtains were closely tucked in all round, +and, in their fleeting and hurried glance, they felt no inclination to +disturb them, and rather proceeded to draw up the table before the +hearth, to which they speedily removed the fire from below; and, ere +many minutes, with that activity which a bivouack life invariably +teaches, their supper smoked before them, and five happier fellows did +not sit down that night within a large circuit around. Tom was +unusually great; stories of drollery unlocked before, poured from him +unceasingly, and what with his high spirits to excite them, and the +reaction inevitable after a hard day’s severe march, the party soon +lost the little reason that usually sufficed to guide them, and became +as pleasantly tipsy as can well be conceived. However, all good things +must have an end, and so had the wine-skin. Tom had placed it +affectionately under his arm like a bag-pipe and failed, with even a +most energetic squeeze, to extract a drop; there was no nothing for it +but to go to rest, and indeed it seemed the most prudent thing for the +party. + +The bed became accordingly a subject of grave deliberation; for as it +could only hold two, and the party were five, there seemed some +difficulty in submitting their chances to lot, which all agreed was the +fairest way. While this was under discussion, one of the party had +approached the contested prize, and, taking up the curtains, proceeded +to jump in—when, what was his astonishment to discover that it was +already occupied. The exclamation of surprise he gave forth soon +brought the others to his side; and to their horror, drunk as they +were, they found that the body before them was that of a dead man, +arrayed in all the ghastly pomp of a corpse. A little nearer inspection +showed that he had been a priest, probably the Padre of the village; on +his head he had a small velvet skull cap, embroidered with a cross, and +his body was swathed in a vestment, such as priests usually wear at the +mass; in his hand he held a large wax taper, which appeared to have +burned only half down, and probably been extinguished by the current of +air on opening the door. After the first brief shock which this sudden +apparition had caused, the party recovered as much of their senses as +the wine had left them, and proceeded to discuss what was to be done +under the circumstances; for not one of them ever contemplated giving +up a bed to a dead priest, while five living men slept on the ground. +After much altercation, O’Flaherty, who had hitherto listened without +speaking, interrupted the contending parties, saying, “stop, lads, I +have it.” + +“Come,” said one of them, “let us hear Tom’s proposal.” + +“Oh,” said he, with difficulty steadying himself while he spoke, “we’ll +put him to bed with old Ridgeway, the quarter-master!” + +The roar of loud laughter that followed Tom’s device was renewed again +and again, till not a man could speak from absolute fatigue. There was +not a dissentient voice. Old Ridgeway was hated in the corps, and a +better way of disposing of the priest and paying off the quarter-master +could not be thought of. + +Very little time sufficed for their preparations; and if they had been +brought up under the Duke of Portland himself, they could not have +exhibited a greater taste for a “black job.” The door of the room was +quickly taken from its hinges, and the priest placed upon it at full +length; a moment more sufficed to lift the door upon their shoulders, +and, preceded by Tom, who lit a candle in honour of being, as he said, +“chief mourner,” they took their way through the camp towards +Ridgeway’s quarters. When they reached the hut where their victim lay, +Tom ordered a halt, and proceeded stealthily into the house to +reconnoitre. The old quarter-master he found stretched on his +sheep-skin before a large fire, the remnants of an ample supper strewed +about him, and two empty bottles standing on the hearth—his deep +snoring showed that all was safe, and that no fears of his awaking need +disturb them. His shako and sword lay near him, but his sabertasche was +under his head. Tom carefully withdrew the two former; and hastening to +his friends without, proceeded to decorate the priest with them; +expressing, at the same time, considerable regret that he feared it +might wake Ridgeway, if he were to put the velvet skull-cap on him for +a night-cap. + +Noiselessly and steadily they now entered, and proceeded to put down +their burden, which, after a moment’s discussion, they agreed to place +between the quarter-master and the fire, of which, hitherto, he had +reaped ample benefit. This done, they stealthily retreated, and hurried +back to their quarters, unable to speak with laughter at the success of +their plot, and their anticipation of Ridgeway’s rage on awakening in +the morning. + +It was in the dim twilight of a hazy morning, that the bugler of the +8th aroused the sleeping soldiers from their miserable couches, which, +wretched as they were, they, nevertheless, rose from reluctantly—so +wearied and fatigued had they been by the preceding day’s march; not +one among the number felt so indisposed to stir as the worthy +quarter-master; his peculiar avocations had demanded a more than usual +exertion on his part, and in the posture he had laid down at night, he +rested till morning, without stirring a limb. Twice the reveille had +rung through the little encampment, and twice the quarter-master had +essayed to open his eyes, but in vain; at last he made a tremendous +effort, and sat bolt upright on the floor, hoping that the sudden +effort might sufficiently arouse him; slowly his eyes opened, and the +first thing they beheld was the figure of the dead priest, with a light +cavalry helmet on his head, seated before him. Ridgeway, who was “bon +Catholique,” trembled in every joint—it might be a ghost, it might be a +warning, he knew not what to think—he imagined the lips moved, and so +overcome with terror was he at last, that he absolutely shouted like a +maniac, and never ceased till the hut was filled with officers and men, +who hearing the uproar ran to his aid—the surprise of the poor +quarter-master at the apparition, was scarcely greater than that of the +beholders—no one was able to afford any explanation of the +circumstance, though all were assured that it must have been done in +jest—the door upon which the priest had been conveyed, afforded the +clue—they had forgotten to restore it to its place—accordingly the +different billets were examined, and at last O’Flaherty was discovered +in a most commodious bed, in a large room without a door, still fast +asleep, and alone; how and when he had parted from his companions, he +never could precisely explain, though he has since confessed it was +part of his scheme to lead them astray in the village, and then retire +to the bed, which he had determined to appropriate to his sole use. + +Old Ridgeway’s rage knew no bounds; he absolutely foamed with passion, +and in proportion as he was laughed at his choler rose higher; had this +been the only result, it had been well for poor Tom, but unfortunately +the affair got to be rumoured through the country—the inhabitants of +the village learned the indignity with which the Padre had been +treated; they addressed a memorial to Lord Wellington—inquiry was +immediately instituted—O’Flaherty was tried by court martial, and found +guilty; nothing short of the heaviest punishment that could be +inflicted under the circumstances would satisfy the Spaniards, and at +that precise period it was part of our policy to conciliate their +esteem by every means in our power. The commander-in-chief resolved to +make what he called an “example,” and poor O’Flaherty—the life and soul +of his regiment—the darling of his mess, was broke, and pronounced +incapable of ever serving his Majesty again. Such was the event upon +which my poor friend’s fortune in life seemed to hinge—he returned to +Ireland, if not entirely broken-hearted, so altered that his best +friends scarcely knew him; his “occupation was gone;” the mess had been +his home; his brother officers were to him in place of relatives, and +he had lost all. His after life was spent in rambling from one watering +place to another, more with the air of one who seeks to consume than +enjoy his time; and with such a change in appearance as the alteration +in his fortune had effected, he now stood before me, but altogether so +different a man, that but for the well-known tones of a voice that had +often convulsed me with laughter, I should scarcely have recognised +him. + +“Lorrequer, my old friend, I never thought of seeing you here—this is +indeed a piece of good luck.” + +“Why, Tom? You surely knew that the —— were in Ireland, didn’t you?” + +“To be sure. I dined with them only a few days ago, but they told me +you were off to Paris, to marry something superlatively beautiful, and +most enormously rich, the daughter of a duke, if I remember right; but +certes, they said your fortune was made, and I need not tell you, there +was not a man among them better pleased than I was to hear it.” + +“Oh! they said so, did they? Droll dogs—always quizzing—I wonder you +did not perceive the hoax—eh—very good, was it not?” This I poured out +in short broken sentences, blushing like scarlet, and fidgeting like a +school girl with downright nervousness. + +“A hoax! devilish well done too,”—said Tom, “for old Carden believed +the whole story, and told me that he had obtained a six months’ leave +for you to make your ‘com.’ and, moreover, said that he had got a +letter from the nobleman, Lord —— confound his name.” + +“Lord Grey, is it?” said I, with a sly look at Tom. + +“No, my dear friend,” said he drily, “it was not Lord Grey—but to +continue—he had got a letter from him, dated from Paris, stating his +surprise that you had never joined them there, according to promise, +and that they knew your cousin Guy, and a great deal of other matter I +can’t remember—so what does all this mean? Did you hoax the noble Lord +as well as the Horse Guards, Harry?” + +This was indeed a piece of news for me; I stammered out some ridiculous +explanation, and promised a fuller detail. Could it be that I had done +the Callonbys injustice, and that they never intended to break off my +attention to Lady Jane—that she was still faithful, and that of all +concerned I alone had been to blame. Oh! how I hoped this might be the +case; heavily as my conscience might accuse, I longed ardently to +forgive and deal mercifully with myself. Tom continued to talk about +indifferent matters, as these thoughts flitted through my mind; +perceiving at last that I did not attend, he stopped suddenly and said— + +“Harry, I see clearly that something has gone wrong, and perhaps I can +make a guess at the mode too: but however, you can do nothing about it +now; come and dine with me to-day, and we’ll discuss the affair +together after dinner; or if you prefer a ‘distraction,’ as we used to +say in Dunkerque, why then I’ll arrange something fashionable for your +evening’s amusement. Come, what say you to hearing Father Keogh preach, +or would you like a supper at the Carlingford, or perhaps you prefer a +soiree chez Miladi; for all of these Dublin affords—all three good in +their way, and very intellectual.” + +“Well, Tom, I’m yours; but I should prefer your dining with me; I am at +Bilton’s; we’ll have our cutlet quite alone, and—” + +“And be heartily sick of each other, you were going to add. No, no, +Harry; you must dine with me; I have some remarkably nice people to +present you to—six is the hour—sharp six—number —— Molesworth-street, +Mrs. Clanfrizzle’s—easily find it—large fanlight over the door—huge +lamp in the hall, and a strong odour of mutton broth for thirty yards +on each side of the premises—and as good luck would have it, I see old +Daly the counsellor, as they call him, he’s the very man to get to meet +you, you always liked a character, eh!” + +Saying this, O’Flaherty disengaged himself from my arm, and hurried +across the street towards a portly middle-aged looking gentleman, with +the reddest face I ever beheld. After a brief but very animated +colloquy, Tom returned, and informed that that all was right; he had +secured Daly. + +“And who is Daly?” said I, inquiringly, for I was rather interested in +hearing what peculiar qualification as a diner-out the counsellor might +lay claim to, many of Tom’s friends being as remarkable for being the +quizzed as the quizzers. + +“Daly,” said he, “is the brother of a most distinguished member of the +Irish bar, of which he himself is also a follower, bearing however, no +other resemblance to the clever man than the name, for as assuredly as +the reputation of the one is inseparably linked with success, so +unerringly is the other coupled with failure, and strange to say, that +the stupid man is fairly convinced that his brother owes all his +success to him, and that to his disinterested kindness the other is +indebted for his present exalted station. Thus it is through life; +there seems ever to accompany dullness a sustaining power of vanity, +that like a life-buoy, keeps a mass afloat whose weight unassisted +would sink into obscurity. Do you know that my friend Denis there +imagines himself the first man that ever enlightened Sir Robert Peel as +to Irish affairs; and, upon my word, his reputation on this head stands +incontestably higher than on most others.” + +“You surely cannot mean that Sir Robert Peel ever consulted with, much +less relied upon, the statements of such a person, as you described +your friend Denis to be?” + +“He did both—and if he was a little puzzled by the information, the +only disgrace attaches to a government that send men to rule over us +unacquainted with our habits of thinking, and utterly ignorant of the +language—ay, I repeat it—but come, you shall judge for yourself; the +story is a short one, and fortunately so, for I must hasten home to +give timely notice of your coming to dine with me. When the present Sir +Robert Peel, then Mr. Peel, came over here, as secretary to Ireland, a +very distinguished political leader of the day invited a party to meet +him at dinner, consisting of men of different political leanings; among +whom were, as may be supposed, many members of the Irish bar; the elder +Daly was too remarkable a person to be omitted, but as the two brothers +resided together, there was a difficulty about getting him—however, he +must be had, and the only alternative that presented itself was +adopted—both were invited. When the party descended to the dining-room, +by one of those unfortunate accidents, which as the proverb informs us +occasionally take place in the best regulated establishments, the wrong +Mr. Daly got placed beside Mr. Peel, which post of honor had been +destined by the host for the more agreeable and talented brother. There +was now no help for it; and with a heart somewhat nervous for the +consequences of the proximity, the worthy entertainer sat down to do +the honors as best he might; he was consoled during dinner by observing +that the devotion bestowed by honest Denis on the viands before him +effectually absorbed his faculties, and thereby threw the entire of Mr. +Peel’s conversation towards the gentleman on his other flank. This +happiness was like most others, destined to be a brief one. As the +dessert made its appearance, Mr. Peel began to listen with some +attention to the conversation of the persons opposite; with one of whom +he was struck most forcibly—so happy a power of illustration, so vivid +a fancy, such logical precision in argument as he evinced, perfectly +charmed and surprised him. Anxious to learn the name of so gifted an +individual, he turned towards his hitherto silent neighbour and +demanded who he was. + +“‘Who is he, is it?’ said Denis, hesitatingly, as if he half doubted +such extent of ignorance as not to know the person alluded to. + +“Mr. Peel bowed in acquiescence. + +“‘That’s Bushe!’ said Denis, giving at the same time the same sound to +the vowel, u, as it obtains when occurring in the word ‘rush.’ + +“‘I beg pardon,’ said Mr. Peel, ‘I did not hear.’ + +“‘Bushe!’ replied Denis, with considerable energy of tone. + +“‘Oh, yes! I know,’ said the secretary, ‘Mr. Bushe, a very +distinguished member of your bar, I have heard.’ + +“‘Faith, you may say that!’ said Denis, tossing off his wine at what he +esteemed a very trite observation. + +“‘Pray,’ said Mr. Peel, again returning to the charge, though certainly +feeling not a little surprised at the singular laconicism of his +informant, no less than the mellifluous tones of an accent then +perfectly new to him. ‘Pray, may I ask, what is the peculiar character +of Mr. Bushe’s eloquence? I mean of course, in his professional +capacity.’ + +“‘Eh!’ said Denis, ‘I don’t comprehend you exactly.’ + +“‘I mean,’ said Mr. Peel, ‘in one word, what’s his forte?’ + +“‘His forte!’ + +“‘I mean what his peculiar gift consists in—’ + +“‘Oh, I perceave—I have ye now—the juries!’ + +“‘Ah! addressing a jury.’ + +“‘Ay, the juries.’ + +“‘Can you oblige me by giving me any idea of the manner in which he +obtains such signal success in this difficult branch of eloquence.’ + +“‘I’ll tell ye,’ said Denis, leisurely finishing his glass, and +smacking his lips, with the air of a man girding up his loins for a +mighty effort, ‘I’ll tell ye—well, ye see the way he has is this,’—here +Mr. Peel’s expectation rose to the highest degree of interest,—‘the way +he has is this—he first butthers them up, and then slithers them down! +that’s all, devil a more of a secret there’s in it.’” + +How much reason Denis had to boast of imparting early information to +the new secretary I leave my English readers to guess; my Irish ones I +may trust to do him ample justice. + +My friend now left me to my own devices to while away the hours till +time to dress for dinner. Heaven help the gentleman so left in Dublin, +say I. It is, perhaps, the only city of its size in the world, where +there is no lounge—no promenade. Very little experience of it will +convince you that it abounds in pretty women, and has its fair share of +agreeable men; but where are they in the morning? I wish Sir Dick +Lauder, instead of speculating where salmon spent the Christmas +holidays, would apply his most inquiring mind to such a question as +this. True it is, however, they are not to be found. The squares are +deserted—the streets are very nearly so—and all that is left to the +luckless wanderer in search of the beautiful, is to ogle the beauties +of Dame-street, who are shopkeepers in Grafton-street, or the beauties +of Grafton-street, who are shopkeepers in Dame-street. But, confound +it, how cranky I am getting—I must be tremendously hungry. True, it’s +past six. So now for my suit of sable, and then to dinner. + + + + + CHAPTER XIII. +DUBLIN—THE BOARDING-HOUSE—SELECT SOCIETY. + +[Illustration: Mr. Cudmore Filling the Teapot] + + +Punctual to my appointment with O’Flaherty, I found myself a very few +minutes after six o’clock at Mrs. Clanfrizzle’s door. My very +authoritative summons at the bell was answered by the appearance of a +young, pale-faced invalid, in a suit of livery the taste of which bore +a very unpleasant resemblance to the one I so lately figured in. It was +with considerable difficulty I persuaded this functionary to permit my +carrying my hat with me to the drawing-room, a species of caution on my +part—as he esteemed it—savouring much of distrust. This point however, +I carried, and followed him up a very ill-lighted stair to the +drawing-room; here I was announced by some faint resemblance to my real +name, but sufficiently near to bring my friend Tom at once to meet me, +who immediately congratulated me on my fortune in coming off so well, +for that the person who preceded me, Mr. Jones Blennerhasset, had been +just announced as Mr. Blatherhasit—a change the gentleman himself was +not disposed to adopt—“But come along, Harry, while we are waiting for +Daly, let me make you known to some of our party; this, you must know, +is a boarding-house, and always has some capital fun—queerest people +you ever met—I have only one hint—cut every man, woman, and child of +them, if you meet them hereafter—I do it myself, though I have lived +here these six months.” Pleasant people, thought I, these must be, with +whom such a line is advisable, much less practicable. + +“Mrs. Clanfrizzle, my friend Mr. Lorrequer; thinks he’ll stay the +summer in town. Mrs. Clan—, should like him to be one of us.” This +latter was said sotto voce, and was a practice he continued to adopt in +presenting me to his several friends through the room. + +Miss Riley, a horrid old fright, in a bird of paradise plume, and +corked eyebrows, gibbetted in gilt chains and pearl ornaments, and +looking as the grisettes say, “superbe en chrysolite”—“Miss Riley, +Captain Lorrequer, a friend I have long desired to present to +you—fifteen thousand a-year and a baronetcy, if he has sixpence”—sotto +again. “Surgeon M’Culloch—he likes the title,” said Tom in a +whisper—“Surgeon, Captain Lorrequer. By the by, lest I forget it, he +wishes to speak to you in the morning about his health; he is stopping +at Sandymount for the baths; you could go out there, eh!” The tall +thing in green spectacles bowed, and acknowledged Tom’s kindness by a +knowing touch of the elbow. In this way he made the tour of the room +for about ten minutes, during which brief space, I was according to the +kind arrangements of O’Flaherty, booked as a resident in the +boarding-house—a lover to at least five elderly, and three young +ladies—a patient—a client—a second in a duel to a clerk in the +post-office—and had also volunteered (through him always) to convey, by +all of his Majesty’s mails, as many parcels, packets, band-boxes, and +bird-cages, as would have comfortably filled one of Pickford’s vans. +All this he told me was requisite to my being well received, though no +one thought much of any breach of compact subsequently, except Mrs. +Clan—herself. The ladies had, alas! been often treated vilely before; +the doctor had never had a patient; and as for the belligerent knight +of the dead office, he’d rather die than fight any day. + +The last person to whom my friend deemed it necessary to introduce me, +was a Mr. Garret Cudmore, from the Reeks of Kerry, lately matriculated +to all the honors of freshmanship in the Dublin university. This latter +was a low-sized, dark-browed man, with round shoulders, and +particularly long arms, the disposal of which seemed sadly to distress +him. He possessed the most perfect brogue I ever listened to; but it +was difficult to get him to speak, for on coming up to town some weeks +before, he had been placed by some intelligent friend at Mrs. +Clanfrizzle’s establishment, with the express direction to mark and +thoroughly digest as much as he could of the habits and customs of the +circle about him, which he was rightly informed was the very focus of +good breeding and haut ton; but on no account, unless driven thereto by +the pressure of sickness, or the wants of nature, to trust himself with +speech, which, in his then uninformed state, he was assured would +inevitably ruin him among his fastidiously cultivated associates. + +To the letter and the spirit of the despatch he had received, the +worthy Garret acted rigidly, and his voice was scarcely ever known to +transgress the narrow limits prescribed by his friends. In more +respects that one, was this a good resolve; for so completely had he +identified himself with college habits, things, and phrases, that +whenever he conversed, he became little short of unintelligible to the +vulgar—a difficulty not decreased by his peculiar pronunciation. + +My round of presentation was just completed, when the pale figure in +light blue livery announced Counsellor Daly and dinner, for both came +fortunately together. Taking the post of honour, Miss Riley’s arm, I +followed Tom, who I soon perceived ruled the whole concern, as he led +the way with another ancient vestal in black satin and bugles. The long +procession wound its snake-like length down the narrow stair, and into +the dining-room, where at last we all got seated; and here let me +briefly vindicate the motives of my friend—should any unkind person be +found to impute to his selection of a residence, any base and +grovelling passion for gourmandaise, that day’s experience should be an +eternal vindication of him. The soup—alas! that I should so far +prostitute the word; for the black broth of Sparta was mock turtle in +comparison—retired to make way for a mass of beef, whose tenderness I +did not question; for it sank beneath the knife of the carver like a +feather bed—the skill of Saladin himself would have failed to divide +it. The fish was a most rebellious pike, and nearly killed every loyal +subject at table; and then down the sides were various comestibles of +chickens, with azure bosoms, and hams with hides like a rhinoceros; +covered dishes of decomposed vegetable matter, called spinach and +cabbage; potatoes arrayed in small masses, and browned, resembling +those ingenious architectural structures of mud, children raise in the +high ways, and call dirt-pies. Such were the chief constituents of the +“feed;” and such, I am bound to confess, waxed beautifully less under +the vigorous onslaught of the party. + +The conversation soon became both loud and general. That happy +familiarity—which I had long believed to be the exclusive prerogative +of a military mess, where constant daily association sustains the +interest of the veriest trifles—I here found in a perfection I had not +anticipated, with this striking difference, that there was no absurd +deference to any existing code of etiquette in the conduct of the party +generally, each person quizzing his neighbour in the most free and easy +style imaginable, and all, evidently from long habit and conventional +usage, seeming to enjoy the practice exceedingly. Thus, droll +allusions, good stories, and smart repartees, fell thick as hail, and +twice as harmless, which any where else that I had ever heard of, would +assuredly have called for more explanations, and perhaps gunpowder, in +the morning, than usually are deemed agreeable. Here, however, they +knew better; and though the lawyer quizzed the doctor for never having +another patient than the house dog, all of whose arteries he had tied +in the course of the winter for practice—and the doctor retorted as +heavily, by showing that the lawyer’s practice had been other than +beneficial to those for whom he was concerned—his one client being +found guilty, mainly through his ingenious defence of him; yet they +never showed the slightest irritation—on the contrary, such little +playful badinage ever led to some friendly passages of taking wine +together, or in arrangements for a party to the “Dargle,” or +“Dunleary;” and thus went on the entire party, the young ladies darting +an occasion slight at their elders, who certainly returned the fire, +often with advantage; all uniting now and then, however, in one common +cause, an attack of the whole line upon Mrs. Clanfrizzle herself, for +the beef, or the mutton, or the fish, or the poultry—each of which was +sure to find some sturdy defamer, ready and willing to give evidence in +dispraise. Yet even these, and I thought them rather dangerous sallies, +led to no more violent results than dignified replies from the worthy +hostess, upon the goodness of her fare, and the evident satisfaction it +afforded while being eaten, if the appetites of the party were a test. +While this was at its height, Tom stooped behind my chair, and +whispered gently— + +“This is good—isn’t it, eh?—life in a boarding-house—quite new to you; +but they are civilized now compared to what you’ll find them in the +drawing-room. When short whist for five-penny points sets in—then Greek +meets Greek, and we’ll have it.” + +During all this melee tournament, I perceived that the worthy jib as he +would be called in the parlance of Trinity, Mr. Cudmore, remained +perfectly silent, and apparently terrified. The noise, the din of +voices, and the laughing, so completely addled him, that he was like +one in a very horrid dream. The attention with which I had observed +him, having been remarked by my friend O’Flaherty, he informed me that +the scholar, as he was called there, was then under a kind of cloud—an +adventure which occurred only two nights before, being too fresh in his +memory to permit him enjoying himself even to the limited extent it had +been his wont to do. As illustrative, not only of Mr. Cudmore, but the +life I have been speaking of, I may as well relate it. + +Soon after Mr. Cudmore’s enlistment under the banners of the +Clanfrizzle, he had sought and found an asylum in the drawing-room of +the establishment, which promised, from its geographical relations, to +expose him less to the molestations of conversation than most other +parts of the room. This was a small recess beside the fire-place, not +uncommon in old-fashioned houses, and which, from its incapacity to +hold more than one, secured to the worthy recluse the privacy he longed +for; and here, among superannuated hearth-brushes, an old hand screen, +an asthmatic bellows, and a kettle-holder, sat the timid youth, “alone, +but in a crowd.” Not all the seductions of loo, limited to three pence, +nor even that most appropriately designated game, +beggar-my-neighbour—could withdraw him from his blest retreat. Like his +countryman, St. Kevin—my friend Petrie has ascertained that the saint +was a native of Tralee—he fled from the temptations of the world, and +the blandishments of the fair; but, alas! like the saint himself, the + +“poor jib little knew +All that wily sex can do;” + + +For while he hugged himself in the security of his fortress, the web of +his destiny was weaving. So true is it, as he himself used, no less +pathetically than poetically to express it, “misfortune will find you +out, if ye were hid in a tay chest.” + +It happened that in Mrs. Clanfrizzle’s establishment, the “enfant +bleu,” already mentioned, was the only individual of his sex retained; +and without for a moment disparaging the ability or attentions of this +gifted person, yet it may reasonably be credited, that in waiting on a +party of twenty-five or thirty persons at dinner, all of whom he had +admitted as porter, and announced as maitre d’hotel, with the +subsequent detail of his duties in the drawing-room, that Peter, blue +Peter—his boarding-house soubriquet—not enjoying the bird-like +privilege of “being in two places at once,” gave one rather the +impression of a person of hasty and fidgetty habits—for which nervous +tendency the treatment he underwent was certainly injudicious—it being +the invariable custom for each guest to put his services in +requisition, perfectly irrespective of all other claims upon him, from +whatsoever quarter coming—and then, at the precise moment that the +luckless valet was snuffing the candles, he was abused by one for not +bringing coal; by another for having carried off his tea-cup, sent on +an expedition for sugar; by a third for having left the door open, +which he had never been near; and so on to the end of the chapter. + +It chanced that a few evenings previous to my appearance at the house, +this indefatigable Caleb was ministering as usual to the various and +discrepant wants of the large party assembled in the drawing-room. With +his wonted alacrity he had withdrawn from their obscure retreat against +the wall, sundry little tables, destined for the players at whist, or +“spoil five”—the popular game of the establishment. With a dexterity +that savoured much of a stage education, he had arranged the candles, +the cards, the counters; he had poked the fire, settled the stool for +Miss Riley’s august feet, and was busily engaged in changing five +shillings into small silver for a desperate victim of loo—when Mrs. +Clanfrizzle’s third, and, as it appeared, last time, of asking for the +kettle smote upon his ear. His loyalty would have induced him at once +to desert every thing on such an occasion; but the other party engaged, +held him fast, saying— + +“Never mind HER, Peter—you have sixpence more to give me.” + +Poor Peter rummaged one pocket, then another—discovering at last three +pence in copper, and some farthings, with which he seemed endeavouring +to make a composition with his creditor for twelve shillings in the +pound; when Mrs. Clan’s patience finally becoming exhausted, she turned +towards Mr. Cudmore, the only unemployed person she could perceive, and +with her blandest smile said, + +“Mr. Cudmore, may I take the liberty of requesting you would hand me +the kettle beside you.” + +Now, though the kettle aforesaid was, as the hostess very properly +observed, beside him, yet the fact that in complying with the demand, +it was necessary for the bashful youth to leave the recess he occupied, +and, with the kettle, proceed to walk half across the room—there to +perform certain manual operations requiring skill and presence of mind, +before a large and crowded assembly—was horror to the mind of the poor +Jib; and he would nearly as soon have acceded to a desire to dance a +hornpipe, if such had been suggested as the wish of the company. +However, there was nothing for it; and summoning up all his +nerve—knitting his brows—clenching his teeth, like one prepared to “do +or die,” he seized the hissing cauldron, and strode through the room, +like the personified genius of steam, very much to the alarm of all the +old ladies in the vicinity, whose tasteful drapery benefitted but +little from his progress. Yet he felt but little of all this; he had +brought up his courage to the sticking place, and he was absolutely +half unconscious of the whole scene before him; nor was it till some +kind mediator had seized his arm, while another drew him back by the +skirts of the coat, that he desisted from the deluge of hot water, with +which, having filled the tea-pot, he proceeded to swamp every thing +else upon the tray, in his unfortunate abstraction. Mrs. Clanfrizzle +screamed—the old ladies accompanied her—the young ones tittered—the men +laughed—and, in a word, poor Cudmore, perfectly unconscious of any +thing extraordinary, felt himself the admired of all admirers,—very +little, it is true, to his own satisfaction. After some few minutes +exposure to these eclats de rire, he succeeded in depositing the source +of his griefs within the fender, and once more retired to his +sanctuary,—having registered a vow, which, should I speak it, would +forfeit his every claim to gallantry for ever. + +Whether in the vow aforesaid Mr. Cudmore had only been engaged in that +species of tesselating which furnishes the pavement so celebrated in +the lower regions, I know not; but true it is, that he retired that +night to his chamber very much discomfited at his debut in the great +world, and half disposed to believe that nature had neither intended +him for a Brummel nor a D’Orsay. While he was ruminating on such +matters, he was joined by O’Flaherty, with whom he had been always more +intimate than any other inmate of the house—Tom’s tact having entirely +concealed what the manners of the others too plainly evinced, the +perfect appreciation of the student’s oddity and singularity. After +some few observations on general matters, O’Flaherty began with a tone +of some seriousness to express towards Cudmore the warm interest he had +ever taken in him, since his first coming among them; his great anxiety +for his welfare, and his firm resolve that no chance or casual +inattention to mere ceremonial observances on his part should ever be +seized on by the other guests as a ground for detraction or an excuse +for ridicule of him. + +“Rely upon it, my dear boy,” said he, “I have watched over you like a +parent; and having partly foreseen that something like this affair of +to-night would take place sooner or later”— + +“What affair?” said Cudmore—his eyes staring half out of his head. + +“That business of the kettle.” + +“Kett—el. The kettle! What of that?” said Cudmore. + +“What of it? Why, if you don’t feel it, I am sure it is not my duty to +remind you; only”— + +“Feel it—oh, yes. I saw them laughing, because I spilled the water over +old Mrs. Jones, or something of that sort.” + +“No, no, my dear young friend, they were not laughing at that—their +mirth had another object.” + +“What the devil was it at, then?” + +“You don’t know, don’t you?” + +“No; I really do not.” + +“Nor can’t guess—eh?” + +“Confound me if I can.” + +“Well. I see, Mr. Cudmore, you are really too innocent for these +people. But come—it shall never be said that youth and inexperience +ever suffered from the unworthy ridicule and cold sarcasm of the base +world, while Tom O’Flaherty stood by a spectator. + +“Sir,” said Tom, striking his hand with energy on the table, and +darting a look of fiery indignation from his eye, “Sir, you were this +night trepanned—yes, sir, vilely, shamefully trepanned—I repeat the +expression—into the performance of a menial office—an office so +degrading, so offensive, so unbecoming the rank, the station, and the +habits of gentlemen, my very blood recoils when I only think of the +indignity.” + +The expression of increasing wonder and surprise depicted in Mr. +Cudmore’s face at these words, my friend Phiz might convey—I cannot +venture to describe it—suffice it to say, that even O’Flaherty himself +found it difficult to avoid a burst of laughter, as he looked at him +and resumed. + +“Witnessing, as I did, the entire occurrence; feeling deeply for the +inexperience which the heartless worldlings had dared to trample upon, +I resolved to stand by you, and here I am come for that purpose.” + +“Well, but what in the devil’s name have I done all this time?” + +“What! are you still ignorant?—is it possible? Did you not hand the +kettle from the fire-place, and fill the tea-pot?—answer me that!” + +“I did,” said Cudmore, with a voice already becoming tremulous. + +“Is that the duty of a gentleman?—answer me that.” + +A dead pause stood in place of a reply, while Tom proceeded— + +“Did you ever hear any one ask me, or Counsellor Daly, or Mr. Fogarty, +or any other person to do so?—answer me that.” + +“No; never” muttered Cudmore, with a sinking spirit. + +“Well then why may I ask, were you selected for an office that by your +own confession, no one else would stoop to perform? I’ll tell you, +because from your youth and inexperience, your innocence was deemed a +fit victim to the heartless sneers of a cold and unfeeling world.” And +here Tom broke forth into a very beautiful apostrophe, beginning— + +“Oh, virtue!” (this I am unfortunately unable to present to my readers; +and must only assure them that it was a very faithful imitation of the +well-known one delivered by Burke in the case of Warren Hastings,) and +concluding with an exhortation to Cudmore to wipe out the stain of his +wounded honour, by repelling with indignation the slightest future +attempt at such an insult. + +This done, O’Flaherty retired, leaving Cudmore to dig among Greek +roots, and chew over the cud of his misfortune. Punctual to the time +and place, that same evening beheld the injured Cudmore resume his +wonted corner, pretty much with the feeling with which a forlorn hope +stands match in hand to ignite the train destined to explode with ruin +to thousands—himself perhaps amongst the number: there he sat with a +brain as burning, and a heart as excited, as though, instead of sipping +his bohea beside a sea-coal fire, he was that instant trembling beneath +the frown of Dr. Elrington, for the blunders in his Latin theme, and +what terror to the mind of a “Jib” can equal that one? + +As luck would have it, this was a company night in the boarding-house. +Various young ladies in long blue sashes, and very broad ribbon +sandals, paraded the rooms, chatting gaily with very distinguished +looking young gentlemen, with gold brooches, and party-coloured inside +waistcoats; sundry elderly ladies sat at card-tables, discussing the +“lost honour by an odd trick they played,” with heads as large as those +of Jack or Jill in the pantomime; spruce clerks in public offices, +(whose vocation the expansive tendency of the right ear, from long +pen-carrying, betokened) discussed fashion, “and the musical glasses” +to some very over-dressed married ladies, who preferred flirting to +five-and-ten. The tea-table, over which the amiable hostess presided, +had also its standing votaries: mostly grave parliamentary-looking +gentlemen, with powdered heads, and very long-waisted black coats, +among whom the Sir Oracle was a functionary of his Majesty’s High Court +of Chancery, though I have reason to believe, not, Lord Manners: +meanwhile, in all parts of the room might be seen Blue Peter, +distributing tea, coffee, and biscuit, and occasionally interchanging a +joke with the dwellers in the house. While all these pleasing +occupations proceeded, the hour of Cudmore’s trial was approaching. The +tea-pot which had stood the attack of fourteen cups without flinching, +at last began to fail, and discovered to the prying eyes of Mrs. +Clanfrizzle, nothing but an olive-coloured deposit of soft matter, +closely analogous in appearance and chemical property to the residuary +precipitate in a drained fish-pond; she put down the lid with a gentle +sigh and turning towards the fire bestowed one of her very blandest and +most captivating looks on Mr. Cudmore, saying—as plainly as looks could +say—“Cudmore, you’re wanting.” Whether the youth did, or did not +understand, I am unable to record: I can only say, the appeal was made +without acknowledgment. Mrs. Clanfrizzle again essayed, and by a little +masonic movement of her hand to the tea-pot, and a sly glance at the +hob, intimated her wish—still hopelessly; at last there was nothing for +it but speaking; and she donned her very softest voice, and most +persuasive tone, saying— + +“Mr. Cudmore, I am really very troublesome: will you permit me to ask +you?”— + +“Is it for the kettle, ma’am?” said Cudmore, with a voice that startled +the whole room, disconcerting three whist parties, and so absorbing the +attention of the people at loo, that the pool disappeared without any +one being able to account for the circumstance. + +“Is it for the kettle, ma’am?” + +“If you will be so very kind,” lisped the hostess. + +“Well, then, upon my conscience, you are impudent,” said Cudmore, with +his face crimsoned to the ears, and his eyes flashing fire. + +“Why, Mr. Cudmore,” began the lady, “why, really, this is so strange. +Why sir, what can you mean?” + +“Just that,” said the imperturbable jib, who now that his courage was +up, dared every thing. + +“But sir, you must surely have misunderstood me. I only asked for the +kettle, Mr. Cudmore.” + +“The devil a more,” said Cud, with a sneer. + +“Well, then, of course”— + +“Well, then, I’ll tell you, of course,” said he, repeating her words; +“the sorrow taste of the kettle, I’ll give you. Call you own skip—Blue +Pether there—damn me, if I’ll be your skip any longer.” + +For the uninitiated I have only to add, that “skip” is the Trinity +College appellation for servant, which was therefore employed by Mr. +Cudmore, on this occasion, as expressing more contemptuously his sense +of the degradation of the office attempted to be put upon him. Having +already informed my reader on some particulars of the company, I leave +him to suppose how Mr. Cudmore’s speech was received. Whist itself was +at an end for that evening, and nothing but laughter, long, loud, and +reiterated, burst from every corner of the room for hours after. + +As I have so far travelled out of the record of my own peculiar +confessions, as to give a leaf from what might one day form the matter +of Mr. Cudmore’s, I must now make the only amende in my power, by +honestly narrating, that short as my visit was to the classic precincts +of this agreeable establishment, I did not escape without exciting my +share of ridicule, though, I certainly had not the worst of the joke, +and may, therefore, with better grace tell the story, which, happily +for my readers, is a very brief one. A custom prevailed in Mrs. +Clanfrizzle’s household, which from my unhappy ignorance of +boarding-houses, I am unable to predicate if it belong to the genera at +large, or this one specimen in particular, however, it is a +sufficiently curious fact, even though thereby hang no tale, for my +stating it here. The decanters on the dinner-table were never labelled, +with their more appropriate designation of contents, whether claret, +sherry, or port, but with the names of their respective owners, it +being a matter of much less consequence that any individual at table +should mix his wine, by pouring “port upon madeira,” than commit the +truly legal offence of appropriating to his own use and benefit, even +by mistake, his neighbour’s bottle. However well the system may work +among the regular members of the “domestic circle,” and I am assured +that it does succeed extremely—to the newly arrived guest, or +uninitiated visitor, the affair is perplexing, and leads occasionally +to awkward results. + +It so chanced, from my friend O’Flaherty’s habitual position at the +foot of the table, and my post of honour near the head, that on the +first day of my appearing there, the distance between us, not only +precluded all possible intercourse, but any of those gentle hints as to +habits and customs, a new arrival looks for at the hands of his better +informed friend. The only mode of recognition, to prove that we +belonged to each other, being by that excellent and truly English +custom of drinking wine together, Tom seized the first idle moment from +his avocation as carver to say, + +“Lorrequer, a glass of wine with you.” + +Having, of course, acceded, he again asked, + +“What wine do you drink?” intending thereby, as I afterwards learned, +to send me from his end of the table, what wine I selected. Not +conceiving the object of the inquiry, and having hitherto without +hesitation helped myself from the decanter, which bore some faint +resemblance to sherry, I immediately turned for correct information to +the bottle itself, upon whose slender neck was ticketed the usual slip +of paper. My endeavours to decypher the writing occupied time +sufficient again to make O’Flaherty ask, + +“Well, Harry, I’m waiting for you. Will you have port?” + +“No, I thank you,” I replied, having by this revealed the inscription. +“No, I thank you; I’ll just stick to my old friend here, Bob M’Grotty;” +for thus I rendered familiarly the name of Rt. M’Grotty on the +decanter, and which I in my ignorance believed to be the boarding-house +soubriquet for bad sherry. That Mr. M’Grotty himself little relished my +familiarity with either his name or property I had a very decisive +proof, for turning round upon his chair, and surveying my person from +head to foot with a look of fiery wrath, he thundered out in very broad +Scotch, + +“And by my saul, my freend, ye may just as weel finish it noo, for deil +a glass o’ his ain wine did Bob M’Grotty, as ye ca’ him, swallow this +day.” + +The convulsion of laughter into which my blunder and the Scotchman’s +passion threw the whole board, lasted till the cloth was withdrawn, and +the ladies had retired to the drawing-room, the only individual at +table not relishing the mistake being the injured proprietor of the +bottle, who was too proud to accept reparation from my friend’s +decanter, and would scarcely condescend to open his lips during the +evening; notwithstanding which display of honest indignation, we +contrived to become exceedingly merry and jocose, most of the party +communicating little episodes of their life, in which, it is true, they +frequently figured in situations that nothing but their native and +natural candour would venture to avow. One story I was considerably +amused at; it was told by the counsellor, Mr. Daly, in illustration of +the difficulty of rising at the bar, and which, as showing his own mode +of obviating the delay that young professional men submit to from hard +necessity, as well as in evidence of his strictly legal turn, I shall +certainly recount, one of these days, for the edification of the junior +bar. + + + + + CHAPTER XIV. +THE CHASE. + + +On the morning after my visit to the boarding-house, I received a few +hurried lines from Curzon, informing me that no time was to be lost in +joining the regiment—that a grand fancy ball was about to be given by +the officers of the Dwarf frigate, then stationed off Dunmore; who, +when inviting the ——, specially put in a demand for my well-known +services, to make it to go off, and concluding with an extract from the +Kilkenny Moderator, which ran thus— + +“An intimation has just reached us, from a quarter on which we can +place the fullest reliance, that the celebrated amateur performer, Mr. +Lorrequer, may shortly be expected amongst us; from the many accounts +we have received of this highly-gifted gentleman’s powers, we +anticipate a great treat to the lovers of the drama,” &c. &c. “So you +see, my dear Hal,” continued Curzon, “thy vocation calls thee; +therefore come, and come quickly—provide thyself with a black satin +costume, slashed with light blue—point lace collar and ruffles—a +Spanish hat looped in front—and, if possible, a long rapier, with a +flap hilt.—Carden is not here; so you may show your face under any +colour with perfect impunity.—Yours from the side scenes, + + +“C. Curzon.” + + +This clever epistle sufficed to show me that the gallant —th had gone +clean theatrical mad; and although from my “last appearance on any +stage,” it might be supposed I should feel no peculiar desire to repeat +the experiment, yet the opportunity of joining during Col. Carden’s +absence, was too tempting to resist, and I at once made up my mind to +set out, and, without a moment’s delay, hurried across the street to +the coach office, to book myself an inside in the mail of that night; +fortunately no difficulty existed in my securing the seat, for the +way-bill was a perfect blank, and I found myself the only person who +had, as yet, announced himself a passenger. On returning to my hotel, I +found O’Flaherty waiting for me; he was greatly distressed on hearing +my determination to leave town—explained how he had been catering for +my amusement for the week to come—that a picnic to the Dargle was +arranged in a committee of the whole house, and a boating party, with a +dinner at the Pigeon-house, was then under consideration; resisting, +however, such extreme temptations, I mentioned the necessity of my at +once proceeding to headquarters, and all other reasons for my +precipitancy failing, concluded with that really knock-down argument, +“I have taken my place;” this, I need scarcely add, finished the +matter—at least I have never known it fail in such cases. Tell your +friends that your wife is hourly expecting to be confined; your +favourite child is in the measles—you best friend waiting your aid in +an awkward scrape—your one vote only wanting to turn the scale in an +election. Tell them, I say, each or all of these, or a hundred more +like them, and to any one you so speak, the answer is—“Pooh, pooh, my +dear fellow, never fear—don’t fuss yourself—take it easy—to-morrow will +do just as well.” If, on the other hand, however, you reject such +flimsy excuses, and simply say, “I’m booked in the mail,” the +opposition at once falls to the ground, and your quondam antagonist, +who was ready to quarrel with you, is at once prepared to assist in +packing your portmanteau. + +Having soon satisfied my friend Tom that resistance was in vain, I +promised to eat an early dinner with him at Morrisson’s, and spent the +better part of the morning in putting down a few notes of my +Confessions, as well as the particulars of Mr. Daly’s story, which, I +believe, I half or wholly promised my readers at the conclusion of my +last chapter; but which I must defer to a more suitable opportunity, +when mentioning the next occasion of my meeting him on the southern +circuit. + +My dispositions were speedily made. I was fortunate in securing the +exact dress my friend’s letter alluded to among the stray costumes of +Fishamble-street; and rich in the possession of the only “properties” +it has been my lot to acquire, I despatched my treasure to the coach +office, and hastened to Morrisson’s, it being by this time nearly five +o’clock. There, true to time, I found O’Flaherty deep in the perusal of +the bill, along which figured the novel expedients for dining, I had +been in the habit of reading in every Dublin hotel since my boyhood. +“Mock turtle, mutton, gravy, roast beef and potatoes—shoulder of mutton +and potatoes!—ducks and peas, potatoes!! ham and chicken, cutlet steak +and potatoes!!! apple tart and cheese:” with a slight cadenza of a sigh +over the distant glories of Very, or still better the “Freres,” we sat +down to a very patriarchal repast, and what may be always had par +excellence in Dublin, a bottle of Sneyd’s claret. + +Poor Tom’s spirits were rather below their usual pitch; and although he +made many efforts to rally and appear gay, he could not accomplish it. +However, we chatted away over old times and old friends, and forgetting +all else but the topics we talked of, the time-piece over the chimney +first apprised me that two whole hours had gone by, and that it was now +seven o’clock, the very hour the coach was to start. I started up at +once, and notwithstanding all Tom’s representations of the +impossibility of my being in time, had despatched waiters in different +directions for a jarvey, more than ever determined upon going; so often +is it that when real reasons for our conduct are wanting, any casual or +chance opposition confirms us in an intention which before was but +uncertain. Seeing me so resolved, Tom, at length, gave way, and advised +my pursuing the mail, which must be now gone at least ten minutes, and +which, with smart driving, I should probably overtake before getting +free of the city, as they have usually many delays in so doing. I at +once ordered out the “yellow post-chaise,” and before many minutes had +elapsed, what, with imprecation and bribery, I started in pursuit of +his Majesty’s Cork and Kilkenny mail coach, then patiently waiting in +the court-yard of the Post Office. + +“Which way now, your honor?” said a shrill voice from the dark—for such +the night had already become, and threatened with a few heavy drops of +straight rain, the fall of a tremendous shower. + +“The Naas road,” said I; “and, harkye, my fine fellow, if you overtake +the coach in half an hour, I’ll double your fare.” + +“Be gorra, I’ll do my endayvour,” said the youth; at the same time +instant dashing in both spurs, we rattled down Nassau-street at a very +respectable pace for harriers. Street after street we passed, and at +last I perceived we had got clear of the city, and were leaving the +long line of lamp-lights behind us. The night was now pitch dark. I +could not see any thing whatever. The quick clattering of the wheels, +the sharp crack of the postillion’s whip, or the still sharper tone of +his “gee hup,” showed me we were going at a tremendous pace, had I not +even had the experience afforded by the frequent visits my head paid to +the roof of the chaise, so often as we bounded over a stone, or +splashed through a hollow. Dark and gloomy as it was, I constantly let +down the window, and with half my body protruded, endeavores to catch a +glimpse of the “Chase;” but nothing could I see. The rain now fell in +actual torrents; and a more miserable night it is impossible to +conceive. + +After about an hour so spent, he at last came to a check, so sudden and +unexpected on my part, that I was nearly precipitated, harlequin +fashion, through the front window. Perceiving that we no longer moved, +and suspecting that some part of our tackle had given way, I let down +the sash, and cried out—“Well now, my lad, any thing wrong?” My +questions was, however, unheard; and although, amid the steam arising +from the wet and smoking horses, I could perceive several figures +indistinctly moving about, I could not distinguish what they were +doing, nor what they said. A laugh I certainly did hear, and heartily +cursed the unfeeling wretch, as I supposed him to be, who was enjoying +himself at my disappointment. I again endeavoured to find out what had +happened, and called out still louder than before. + +“We are at Ra’coole, your honor,” said the boy, approaching the door of +the chaise, “and she’s only beat us by hafe a mile.” + +“Who the devil is she?” said I. + +“The mail, your honor, is always a female in Ireland.” + +“Then why do you stop now? You’re not going to feed I suppose?” + +“Of course not, your honor, it’s little feeding troubles these bastes, +any how, but they tell me the road is so heavy we’ll never take the +chaise over the next stage without leaders.” + +“Without leaders!” said I. “Pooh! my good fellow, no humbugging, four +horses for a light post-chaise and no luggage; come get up, and no +nonsense.” At this moment a man approached the window with a lantern in +his hand, and so strongly represented the dreadful state of the roads +from the late rains—the length of the stage—the frequency of accidents +latterly from under-horsing, &c. &c. that I yielded, a reluctant +assent, and ordered out the leaders, comforting myself the while, that +considering the inside fare of the coach, I made such efforts to +overtake, was under a pound, and that time was no object to me, I +certainly was paying somewhat dearly for my character for resolution. + +At last we got under way once more, and set off cheered by a tremendous +shout from at least a dozen persons, doubtless denizens of that +interesting locality, amid which I once again heard the laugh that had +so much annoyed me already. The rain was falling, if possible, more +heavily than before, and had evidently set in for the entire night. +Throwing myself back into a corner of the “leathern convenience,” I +gave myself up to the full enjoyment of the Rouchefoucauld maxim, that +there is always a pleasure felt in the misfortunes of even our best +friends, and certainly experienced no small comfort in my distress, by +contrasting my present position with that of my two friends in the +saddle, as they sweltered on through mud and mire, rain and storm. On +we went, splashing, bumping, rocking, and jolting, till I began at last +to have serious thoughts of abdicating the seat and betaking myself to +the bottom of the chaise, for safety and protection. Mile after mile +succeeded, and as after many a short and fitful slumber, which my +dreams gave an apparent length to, I woke only to find myself still in +pursuit—the time seemed so enormously protracted that I began to fancy +my whole life was to be passed in the dark, in chase of the Kilkenny +mail, as we read in the true history of the flying Dutchman, who, for +his sins of impatience—like mine—spent centuries vainly endeavouring to +double the Cape, or the Indian mariner in Moore’s beautiful ballad, of +whom we are told as— + +“Many a day to night gave way, + And many a morn succeeded, +Yet still his flight, by day and night, + That restless mariner speeded.” + + +This might have been all very well in the tropics, with a smart craft +and doubtless plenty of sea store—but in a chaise, at night, and on the +Naas road, I humbly suggest I had all the worse of the parallel. + +At last the altered sound of the wheels gave notice of our approach to +a town, and after about twenty minutes; rattling over the pavement we +entered what I supposed, correctly, to be Naas. Here I had long since +determined my pursuit should cease. I had done enough, and more than +enough, to vindicate my fame against any charge of irresolution as to +leaving Dublin, and was bethinking me of the various modes of +prosecuting my journey on the morrow, when we drew up suddenly at the +door of the Swan. The arrival of a chaise and four at a small country +town inn, suggests to the various employees therein, any thing rather +than the traveller in pursuit of the mail, and so the moment I arrived, +I was assailed with innumerable proffers of horses, supper, bed, &c. My +anxious query was thrice repeated in vain, “When did the coach pass?” + +“The mail,” replied the landlord at length. “Is it the down mail?” + +Not understanding the technical, I answered, “Of course not the +Down—the Kilkenny and Cork mail.” + +“From Dublin, sir?” + +“Yes, from Dublin.” + +“Not arrived yet, sir, nor will it for three quarters of an hour; they +never leave Dublin till a quarter past seven; that is, in fact, half +past, and their time here is twenty minutes to eleven.” + +“Why, you stupid son of a boot-top, we have been posting on all night +like the devil, and all this time the coach has been ten miles behind +us.” + +“Well, we’ve cotch them any how,” said the urchin, as he disengaged +himself from his wet saddle, and stood upon the ground; “and it is not +my fault that the coach is not before us.” + +With a satisfactory anathema upon all innkeepers, waiters, hostlers, +and post-boys, with a codicil including coach-proprietors, I followed +the smirking landlord into a well-lighted room, with a blazing fire, +when having ordered supper, I soon regained my equanimity. + +My rasher and poached eggs, all Naas could afford me, were speedily +despatched, and as my last glass, from my one pint of sherry, was +poured out, the long expected coach drew up. A minute after the +coachman entered to take his dram, followed by the guard; a more +lamentable spectacle of condensed moisture cannot be conceived; the +rain fell from the entire circumference of his broad-brimmed hat, like +the ever-flowing drop from the edge of an antique fountain; his +drab-coat had become a deep orange hue, while his huge figure loomed +still larger, as he stood amid a nebula of damp, that would have made +an atmosphere for the Georgium Sidus. + +“Going on to-night, sir?” said he, addressing me; “severe weather, and +no chance of its clearing, but of course you’re inside.” + +“Why, there is very little doubt of that,” said I. “Are you nearly full +inside?” + +“Only one, sir; but he seems a real queer chap; made fifty inquiries at +the office if he could not have the whole inside to himself, and when +he heard that one place had been taken—your’s, I believe, sir—he seemed +like a scalded bear.” + +“You don’t know his name then?” + +“No, sir, he never gave a name at the office, and his only luggage is +two brown paper parcels, without any ticket, and he has them inside; +indeed he never lets them from him even for a second.” + +Here the guard’s horn, announcing all ready, interrupted our colloquy, +and prevented my learning any thing further of my fellow-traveller, +whom, however, I at once set down in my own mind for some confounded +old churl that made himself comfortable every where, without ever +thinking of any one else’s convenience. + +As I passed from the inn door to the coach, I once more congratulated +myself that I was about to be housed from the terrific storm of wind +and rain that railed about. + +“Here’s the step, sir,” said the guard, “get in, sir, two minutes late +already.” + +“I beg your pardon, sir,” said I, as I half fell over the legs of my +unseen companion. “May I request leave to pass you?” While he made way +for me for this purpose, I perceived that he stooped down towards the +guard, and said something, who from his answer had evidently been +questioned as to who I was. “And how did he get here, if he took his +place in Dublin?” asked the unknown. + +“Came half an hour since, sir, in a chaise and four,” said the guard, +as he banged the door behind him, and closed the interview. + +Whatever might have been the reasons for my fellow-traveller’s anxiety +about my name and occupation, I knew not, yet could not help feeling +gratified at thinking that as I had not given my name at the coach +office, I was a great a puzzle to him as he to me. + +“A severe night, sir,” said I, endeavouring to break ground in +conversation. + +“Mighty severe,” briefly and half crustily replied the unknown, with a +richness of brogue, that might have stood for a certificate of baptism +in Cork or its vicinity. + +“And a bad road too, sir,” said I, remembering my lately accomplished +stage. + +“That’s the reason I always go armed,” said the unknown, clinking at +the same moment something like the barrel of a pistol. + +Wondering somewhat at his readiness to mistake my meaning, I felt +disposed to drop any further effort to draw him out, and was about to +address myself to sleep, as comfortably as I could. + +“I’ll jist trouble ye to lean aff that little parcel there, sir,” said +he, as he displaced from its position beneath my elbow, one of the +paper packages the guard had already alluded to. + +In complying with this rather gruff demand, one of my pocket pistols, +which I carried in my breast pocket, fell out upon his knee, upon which +he immediately started, and asked hurriedly—“and are you armed too?” + +“Why, yes,” said I, laughingly; “men of my trade seldom go without +something of this kind.” + +“Be gorra, I was just thinking that same,” said the traveller, with a +half sigh to himself. + +Why he should or should not have thought so, I never troubled myself to +canvass, and was once more settling myself in my corner, when I was +startled by a very melancholy groan, which seemed to come from the +bottom of my companion’s heart. + +“Are you ill, sir?” said I, in a voice of some anxiety. + +“You might say that,” replied he—“if you knew who you were talking +to—although maybe you’ve heard enough of me, though you never saw me +till now.” + +“Without having that pleasure even yet,” said I, “it would grieve me to +think you should be ill in the coach.” + +“May be it might,” briefly replied the unknown, with a species of +meaning in his words I could not then understand. “Did ye never hear +tell of Barney Doyle?” said he. + +“Not to my recollection.” + +“Then I’m Barney,” said he; “that’s in all the newspapers in the +metropolis; I’m seventeen weeks in Jervis-street hospital, and four in +the Lunatic, and the devil a better after all; you must be a stranger, +I’m thinking, or you’d know me now.” + +“Why I do confess, I’ve only been a few hours in Ireland for the last +six months.” + +“Ay, that’s the reason; I knew you would not be fond of travelling with +me, if you knew who it was.” + +“Why, really,” said I, beginning at the moment to fathom some of the +hints of my companion, “I did not anticipate the pleasure of meeting +you.” + +“It’s pleasure ye call it; then there’s no accountin’ for tastes, as +Dr. Colles said, when he saw me bite Cusack Rooney’s thumb off.” + +“Bite a man’s thumb off!” said I, in a horror. + +“Ay,” said he with a kind of fiendish animation, “in one chop; I wish +you’d see how I scattered the consultation; begad they didn’t wait to +ax for a fee.” + +Upon my soul, a very pleasant vicinity, though I. “And, may I ask sir,” +said I, in a very mild and soothing tone of voice, “may I ask the +reason for this singular propensity of yours?” + +“There it is now, my dear,” said he, laying his hand upon my knee +familiarly, “that’s just the very thing they can’t make out; Colles +says, it’s all the ceribellum, ye see, that’s inflamed and combusted, +and some of the others think it’s the spine; and more, the muscles; but +my real impression is, the devil a bit they know about it at all.” + +“And have they no name for the malady?” said I. + +“Oh sure enough they have a name for it.” + +“And, may I ask—” + +“Why, I think you’d better not, because ye see, maybe I might be +throublesome to ye in the night, though I’ll not, if I can help it; and +it might be uncomfortable to you to be here if I was to get one of the +fits.” + +“One of the fits! Why it’s not possible, sir,” said I, “you would +travel in a public conveyance in the state you mention; your friends +surely would not permit it?” + +“Why, if they knew, perhaps,” slily responded the interesting invalid, +“if they knew they might not exactly like it, but ye see, I escaped +only last night, and there’ll be a fine hub-bub in the morning, when +they find I’m off; though I’m thinking Rooney’s barking away by this +time.” + +“Rooney barking, why, what does that mean?” + +“They always bark for a day or two after they’re bit, if the infection +comes first from the dog.” + +“You are surely not speaking of hydrophobia,” said I, my hair actually +bristling with horror and consternation. + +“Ayn’t I?” replied he; “may be you’ve guessed it though.” + +“And have you the malady on you at present?” said I, trembling for the +answer. + +“This is the ninth day since I took to biting,” said he gravely, +perfectly unconscious as it appeared of the terror such information was +calculated to convey. + +“Any with such a propensity, sir, do you think yourself warranted in +travelling in a public coach, exposing others—” + +“You’d better not raise your voice, that way,” quietly responded he, +“if I’m roused, it ’ill be worse for ye, that’s all.” + +“Well but,” said I, moderating my zeal, “is it exactly prudent, in your +present delicate state, to undertake a journey?” + +“Ah,” said he, with a sigh, “I’ve been longing to see the fox hounds +throw off, near Kilkenny; these three weeks I’ve been thinking of +nothing else; but I’m not sure how my nerves will stand the cry; I +might be throublesome.” + +“Upon my soul,” thought I, “I shall not select that morning for my +debut in the field.” + +“I hope, sir, there’s no river, or watercourse on this road—any thing +else, I can, I hope, control myself against; but water—running water +particularly—makes me throublesome.” + +Well knowing what he meant by the latter phrase, I felt the cold +perspiration settling on my forehead, as I remembered that we must be +within about ten or twelve miles of Leighlin-bridge, where we should +have to pass a very wide river. I strictly concealed this fact from +him, however, and gave him to understand that there was not a well, +brook, or rivulet, for forty miles on either side of us. He now sunk +into a kind of moody silence, broken occasionally by a low muttering +noise, as if speaking to himself—what this might portend, I knew +not—but thought it better, under all circumstances, not to disturb him. +How comfortable my present condition was, I need scarcely +remark—sitting vis a vis to a lunatic, with a pair of pistols in his +possession—who had already avowed his consciousness of his tendency to +do mischief, and his inability to master it; all this in the dark, and +in the narrow limits of a mail-coach, where there was scarcely room for +defence, and no possibility of escape—how heartily I wished myself back +in the Coffee-room at Morrisson’s, with my poor friend Tom—the infernal +chaise, that I cursed a hundred times, would have been an “exchange,” +better than into the Life Guards—ay, even the outside of the coach, if +I could only reach it, would, under present circumstances, be a +glorious alternative to my existing misfortune. What were rain and +storm, thunder and lightning, compared with the chances that awaited me +here?—wet through I should inevitably be, but then I had not yet +contracted the horror of moisture my friend opposite laboured under. +“Ha! what is that? is it possible he can be asleep; is it really a +snore?—Heaven grant that little snort be not what the medical people +call a premonitory symptom—if so, he’ll be in upon me now in no time. +Ah, there it is again; he must be asleep surely; now then is my time or +never.” With these words, muttered to myself, and a heart throbbing +almost audibly at the risk of his awakening, I slowly let down the +window of the coach, and stretching forth my hand, turned the handle +cautiously and slowly; I next disengaged my legs, and by a long +continuous effort of creeping—which I had learned perfectly once, when +practising to go as a boa constrictor to a fancy ball—I withdrew myself +from the seat and reached the step, when I muttered something very like +a thanksgiving to Providence for my rescue. With little difficulty I +now climbed up beside the guard, whose astonishment at my appearance +was indeed considerable—that any man should prefer the out, to the +inside of a coach, in such a night, was rather remarkable; but that the +person so doing should be totally unprovided with a box-coat, or other +similar protection, argued something so strange, that I doubt not, if +he were to decide upon the applicability of the statute of lunacy to a +traveller in the mail, the palm would certainly have been awarded to +me, and not to my late companion. Well, on we rolled, and heavily as +the rain poured down, so relieved did I feel at my change of position, +that I soon fell fast asleep, and never awoke till the coach was +driving up Patrick-street. Whatever solace to my feelings reaching the +outside of the coach might have been attended with at night, the +pleasure I experienced on awaking, was really not unalloyed. More dead +than alive, I sat a mass of wet clothes, like nothing under heaven +except it be that morsel of black and spongy wet cotton at the bottom +of a schoolboy’s ink bottle, saturated with rain, and the black dye of +my coat. My hat too had contributed its share of colouring matter, and +several long black streaks coursed down my “wrinkled front,” giving me +very much the air of an Indian warrior, who had got the first priming +of his war paint. I certainly must have been rueful object, were I only +to judge from the faces of the waiters as they gazed on me when the +coach drew up at Rice and Walsh’s hotel. Cold, wet, and weary as I was, +my curiosity to learn more of my late agreeable companion was strong as +ever within me—perhaps stronger, from the sacrifices his acquaintance +had exacted from me. Before, however, I had disengaged myself from the +pile of trunks and carpet bags I had surrounded myself with—he had got +out of the coach, and all I could catch a glimpse of was the back of a +little short man in a kind of grey upper coat, and long galligaskins on +his legs. He carried his two bundles under his arm, and stepped nimbly +up the steps of the hotel, without turning his head to either side. + +“Don’t fancy you shall escape me now, my good friend,” I cried out, as +I sprung from the roof to the ground, with one jump, and hurried after +the great unknown into the coffee-room. By the time I reached it he had +approached the fire, on the table near which, having deposited the +mysterious paper parcels, he was now busily engaged in divesting +himself of his great coat; his face was still turned from me, so that I +had time to appear employed in divesting myself of my wet drapery +before he perceived me; at last the coat was unbuttoned, the gaiters +followed, and throwing them carelessly on a chair, he tucked up the +skirts of his coat; and spreading himself comfortably a l’Anglais, +before the fire, displayed to my wondering and stupified gaze, the +pleasant features of Doctor Finucane. + +“Why, Doctor—Doctor Finucane,” cried I, “is this possible? were you +really the inside in the mail last night.” + +“Devil a doubt of it, Mr. Lorrequer; and may I make bould to ask,—were +you the outside?” + +“Then what, may I beg to know, did you mean by your damned story about +Barney Doyle, and the hydrophobia, and Cusack Rooney’s thumb—eh?” + +“Oh, by the Lord,” said Finucane, “this will be the death of me; and it +was you that I drove outside in all the rain last night! Oh, it will +kill Father Malachi outright with laughing, when I tell him;” and he +burst out into a fit of merriment that nearly induced me to break his +head with the poker. + +“Am I to understand, then, Mr. Finucane, that this practical joke of +yours was contrived for _my_ benefit, and for the purpose of holding +_me_ up to the ridicule of your confounded acquaintances.” + +“Nothing of the kind, upon my conscience,” said Fin, drying his eyes, +and endeavouring to look sorry and sentimental. “If I had only the +least suspicion in life that it was you, upon my oath I’d not have had +the hydrophobia at all, and, to tell you the truth, you were not the +only one frightened—you alarmed me devilishly too.” + +“I alarmed you! Why, how can that be?” + +“Why, the real affair is this: I was bringing these two packages of +notes down to my cousin Callaghan’s bank in Cork—fifteen thousand +pounds—devil a less; and when you came into the coach at Naas, after +driving there with your four horses, I thought it was all up with me. +The guard just whispered in my ear, that he saw you look at the priming +of your pistols before getting in; and faith I said four paters, and a +hail Mary, before you’d count five. Well, when you got seated, the +thought came into my mind that maybe, highwayman as you were, you would +not like dying a natural death, more particularly if you were an +Irishman; and so I trumped up that long story about the hydrophobia, +and the gentleman’s thumb, and devil knows what besides; and, while I +was telling it, the cold perspiration was running down my head and +face, for every time you stirred, I said to myself, now he’ll do it. +Two or three times, do you know, I was going to offer you ten shillings +in the pound, and spare my life; and once, God forgive me, I thought it +would not be a bad plan to shoot you by ‘mistake,’ do you perceave?” + +“Why, upon my soul, I’m very much obliged to you for your excessively +kind intentions; but really I feel you have done quite enough for me on +the present occasion. But, come now, doctor, I must get to bed, and +before I go, promise me two things—to dine with us to-day at the mess, +and not to mention a syllable of what occurred last night—it tells, +believe me, very badly for both; so, keep the secret, for if these +confounded fellows of ours ever get hold of it, I may sell out, or quit +the army; I’ll never hear the end of it!” + +“Never fear, my boy; trust me. I’ll dine with you, and you’re as safe +as a church-mouse for any thing I’ll tell them; so, now you’d better +change your clothes, for I’m thinking it rained last night.” + +Muttering some very dubious blessings upon the learned Fin, I left the +room, infinitely more chagrined and chop-fallen at the discovery I had +made, than at all the misery and exposure the trick had consigned me +to; “however,” thought I, “if the doctor keep his word, it all goes +well; the whole affair is between us both solely; but, should it not be +so, I may shoot half the mess before the other half would give up +quizzing me.” Revolving such pleasant thought, I betook myself to bed, +and what with mulled port, and a blazing fire, became once more +conscious of being a warm-blooded animal, and feel sound asleep, to +dream of doctors, strait waistcoats, shaved heads, and all the pleasing +associations my late companion’s narrative so readily suggested. + + + + + CHAPTER XV. +MEMS. OF THE NORTH CORK. + +[Illustration: Dr. Finucane and the Grey Mare] + + +At six o’clock I had the pleasure of presenting the worthy Doctor +Finucane to our mess, taking at the same time an opportunity, +unobserved by him, to inform three or four of my brother officers that +my friend was really a character, abounding in native drollery, and +richer in good stories than even the generality of his countrymen. + +Nothing could possibly go on better than the early part of the evening. +Fin, true to his promise, never once alluded to what I could plainly +perceive was ever uppermost in his mind, and what with his fund of +humour, quaintness of expression, and quickness at reply, garnished +throughout by his most mellifluous brogue, the true “Bocca Corkana,” +kept us from one roar of laughter to another. It was just at the moment +in which his spirits seemed at their highest, that I had the misfortune +to call upon him for a story, which his cousin Father Malachi had +alluded to on the ever-memorable evening at his house, and which I had +a great desire to hear from Fin’s own lips. He seemed disposed to +escape telling it, and upon my continuing to press my request, drily +remarked, + +“You forget, surely, my dear Mr. Lorrequer, the weak condition I’m in; +and these gentlemen here, they don’t know what a severe illness I’ve +been labouring under lately, or they would not pass the decanter so +freely down this quarter.” + +I had barely time to throw a mingled look of entreaty and menace across +the table, when half-a-dozen others, rightly judging from the Doctor’s +tone and serio-comic expression, that his malady had many more symptoms +of fun than suffering about it, called out together— + +“Oh, Doctor, by all means, tell us the nature of your late attack—pray +relate it.” + +“With Mr. Lorrequer’s permission I’m your slave, gentlemen,” said Fin, +finishing off his glass. + +“Oh, as for me,” I cried, “Dr. Finucane has my full permission to +detail whatever he pleases to think a fit subject for your amusement.” + +“Come then, Doctor, Harry has no objection you see; so out with it, and +we are all prepared to sympathise with your woes and misfortunes, +whatever they be.” + +“Well, I am sure, I never could think of mentioning it without his +leave; but now that he sees no objection—Eh, do you though? if so, +then, don’t be winking and making faces at me; but say the word, and +devil a syllable of it I’ll tell to man or mortal.” + +The latter part of this delectable speech was addressed to me across +the table, in a species of stage whisper, in reply to some telegraphic +signals I had been throwing him, to induce him to turn the conversation +into any other channel. + +“Then, that’s enough,” continued he sotto voce—“I see you’d rather I’d +not tell it.” + +“Tell it and be d——d,” said I, wearied by the incorrigible pertinacity +with which the villain assailed me. My most unexpected energy threw the +whole table into a roar, at the conclusion of which Fin began his +narrative of the mail-coach adventure. + +I need not tell my reader, who has followed me throughout in these my +Confessions, that such a story lost nothing of its absurdity, when +entrusted to the Doctor’s powers of narration; he dwelt with a poet’s +feeling upon the description of his own sufferings, and my sincere +condolence and commiseration; he touched with the utmost delicacy upon +the distant hints by which he broke the news to me; but when he came to +describe my open and undisguised terror, and my secret and precipitate +retreat to the roof of the coach, there was not a man at table that was +not convulsed with laughter—-and, shall I acknowledge it, even I myself +was unable to withstand the effect, and joined in the general chorus +against myself. + +“Well,” said the remorseless wretch, as he finished his story, “if ye +haven’t the hard hearts to laugh at such a melancholy subject. Maybe, +however, you’re not so cruel after all—here’s a toast for you, ‘a +speedy recovery to Cusack Rooney.’” This was drank amid renewed peals, +with all the honors; and I had abundant time before the uproar was +over, to wish every man of them hanged. It was to no purpose that I +endeavoured to turn the tables, by describing Fin’s terror at my +supposed resemblance to a highwayman—his story had the precedence, and +I met nothing during my recital but sly allusions to mad dogs, muzzles, +and doctors; and contemptible puns were let off on every side at my +expense. + +“It’s little shame I take to myself for the mistake, any how,” said +Fin, “for putting the darkness of the night out of question, I’m not so +sure I would not have ugly suspicions of you by daylight.” + +“And besides, Doctor,” added I, “it would not be your first blunder in +the dark.” + +“True for you, Mr. Lorrequer,” said he, good-humouredly; “and now that +I have told them your story, I don’t care if they hear mine, though +maybe some of ye have heard it already—it’s pretty well known in the +North Cork.” + +We all gave our disclaimers on this point, and having ordered in a +fresh cooper of port, disposed ourselves in our most easy attitudes, +while the Doctor proceeded as follows:— + +“It was in the hard winter of the year —99, that we were quartered in +Maynooth, as many said, for our sins—for a more stupid place, the Lord +be merciful to it, never were men condemned to. The people at the +college were much better off than us—they had whatever was to be got in +the country, and never were disturbed by mounting guard, or night +patrols. Many of the professors were good fellows, that liked grog +fully as well as Greek, and understood short whist, and five and ten +quite as intimately as they knew the Vulgate, or the confessions of St. +Augustine—they made no ostentacious display of their pious zeal, but +whenever they were not fasting, or praying, or something of that kind, +they were always pleasant and agreeable; and to do them justice, never +refused, by any chance, an invitation to dinner—no matter at what +inconvenience. Well, even this little solace in our affliction we soon +lost, by an unfortunate mistake of that Orange rogue of the world, +Major Jones, that gave a wrong pass one night—Mr. Lorrequer knows the +story, (here he alluded to an adventure detailed in an early chapter of +my Confessions)—and from that day forward we never saw the pleasant +faces of the Abbé D’Array, or the Professor of the Humanities, at the +mess. Well, the only thing I could do, was just to take an opportunity +to drop in at the College in the evening, where we had a quiet rubber +of whist, and a little social and intellectual conversation, with maybe +an oyster and a glass of punch, just to season the thing, before we +separated; all done discreetly and quietly—no shouting nor even +singing, for the ‘superior’ had a prejudice about profane songs. Well, +one of those nights it was, about the first week in February, I was +detained by stress of weather from 11 o’clock, when we usually bade +good-night, to past twelve, and then to one o’clock, waiting for a dry +moment to get home to the barracks—a good mile and a half off. Every +time old Father Mahony went to look at the weather, he came back +saying, ‘It’s worse it’s getting; such a night of rain, glory be to +God, never was seen.’ So there was no good in going out to be drenched +to the skin, and I sat quietly waiting, taking, between times, a little +punch, just not to seem impatient, nor distress their rev’rances. At +last it struck two, and I thought—‘well, the decanter is empty now, and +I think, if I mean to walk, I’ve taken enough for the present;’ so, +wishing them all manner of happiness, and pleasant dreams, I stumbled +by way down stairs, and set out on my journey. I was always in the +habit of taking a short cut on my way home, across the ‘gurt na +brocha,’ the priest’s meadows, as they call them, it saved nearly half +a mile, although, on the present occasion, it exposed one wofully to +the rain, for there was nothing to shelter against the entire way, not +even a tree. Well, out I set in a half trot, for I staid so late I was +pressed for time; besides, I felt it easier to run than walk; I’m sure +I can’t tell why; maybe the drop of drink I took got into my head. +Well, I was just jogging on across the common; the rain beating hard in +my face, and my clothes pasted to me with the wet; notwithstanding, I +was singing to myself a verse of an old song, to lighten the road, when +I heard suddenly a noise near me, like a man sneezing. I stopped and +listened,—in fact, it was impossible to see your hand, the night was so +dark—but I could hear nothing; the thought then came over me, maybe +it’s something ‘not good,’ for there were very ugly stories going about +what the priests used to do formerly in these meadows; and bones were +often found in different parts of them. Just as I was thinking this, +another voice came nearer than the last; it might be only a sneeze, +after all; but in real earnest it was mighty like a groan. ‘The Lord be +about us,’ I said to myself, ‘what’s this?—have ye the pass?’ I cried +out, ‘have ye the pass? or what brings ye walking here, in nomine +patri?’ for I was so confused whether it was a ‘sperit’ or not, I was +going to address him in Latin—there’s nothing equal to the dead +languages to lay a ghost, every body knows. Faith the moment I said +these words he gave another groan, deeper and more melancholy like than +before. ‘If it’s uneasy ye are,’ says I, ‘for any neglect of your +friends,’ for I thought he might be in purgatory longer than he thought +convenient, ‘tell me what you wish, and go home peaceably out of the +rain, for this weather can do no good to living or dead; go home,’ said +I, ‘and, if it’s masses ye’d like, I’ll give you a day’s pay myself, +rather than you should fret yourself this way.’ The words were not well +out of my mouth, when he came so near me that the sigh he gave went +right through both my ears; ‘the Lord be merciful to me,’ said I, +trembling. ‘Amen,’ says he, ‘whether you’re joking or not.’ The moment +he said that my mind was relieved, for I knew it was not a sperit, and +I began to laugh heartily at my mistake; ‘and who are ye at all?’ said +I, ‘that’s roving about, at this hour of the night, ye can’t be Father +Luke, for I left him asleep on the carpet before I quitted the college, +and faith, my friend, if you hadn’t the taste for divarsion ye would +not be out now?’ He coughed then so hard that I could not make out well +what he said, but just perceived that he had lost his way on the +common, and was a little disguised in liquor. ‘It’s a good man’s case,’ +said I, ‘to take a little too much, though it’s what I don’t ever do +myself; so, take a hold of my hand, and I’ll see you safe.’ I stretched +out my hand, and got him, not by the arm, as I hoped, but by the hair +of the head, for he was all dripping with wet, and had lost his hat. +‘Well, you’ll not be better of this night’s excursion,’ thought I, ‘if +ye are liable to the rheumatism; and, now, whereabouts do you live, my +friend, for I’ll see you safe, before I leave you?’ What he said then I +never could clearly make out, for the wind and rain were both beating +so hard against my face that I could not hear a word; however, I was +able just to perceive that he was very much disguised in drink, and +spoke rather thick. ‘Well, never mind,’ said I, ‘it’s not a time of day +for much conversation; so, come along, and I’ll see you safe in the +guard-house, if you can’t remember your own place of abode in the +meanwhile.’ It was just at the moment I said this that I first +discovered he was not a gentleman. Well, now, you’d never guess how I +did it; and, faith I always thought it a very cute thing of me, and +both of us in the dark.” + +“Well, I really confess it must have been a very difficult thing, under +the circumstances; pray how did you contrive?” said the major. + +“Just guess how.” + +“By the tone of his voice perhaps, and his accent,” said Curzon. + +“Devil a bit, for he spoke remarkably well, considering how far gone he +was in liquor.” + +“Well, probably by the touch of his hand; no bad test.” + +“No; you’re wrong again, for it was by the hair I had a hold of him for +fear of falling, for he was always stooping down. Well, you’d never +guess it; it was just by the touch of his foot.” + +“His foot! Why how did that give you any information?” + +“There it is now; that’s just what only an Irishman would ever have +made any thing out of; for while he was stumbling about, he happened to +tread upon my toes, and never, since I was born, did I feel any thing +like the weight of him. ‘Well,’ said I, ‘the loss of your hat may give +you a cold, my friend; but upon my conscience you are in no danger of +wet feet with such a pair of strong brogues as you have on you.’ Well, +he laughed at that till I thought he’d split his sides, and, in good +truth, I could not help joining in the fun, although my foot was +smarting like mad, and so we jogged along through the rain, enjoying +the joke just as if we were sitting by a good fire, with a jorum of +punch between us. I am sure I can’t tell you how often we fell that +night, but my clothes the next morning were absolutely covered with +mud, and my hat crushed in two; for he was so confoundedly drunk it was +impossible to keep him up, and he always kept boring along with his +head down, so that my heart was almost broke in keeping him upon his +legs. I’m sure I never had a more fatiguing march in the whole +Peninsula, than that blessed mile and a half; but every misfortune has +an end at last, and it was four o’clock, striking by the college clock, +as we reached the barracks. After knocking a couple of times, and +giving the countersign, the sentry opened the small wicket, and my +heart actually leaped with joy that I had done with my friend; so, I +just called out the sergeant of the guard, and said, ‘will you put that +poor fellow on the guard-bed till morning, for I found him on the +common, and he could neither find his way home nor tell me where he +lived.’ ‘And where is he?’ said the sergeant. ‘He’s outside the gate +there,’ said I, ‘wet to the skin, and shaking as if he had the ague.’ +‘And is this him?’ said the sergeant as we went outside. ‘It is,’ said +I, ‘maybe you know him?’ ‘Maybe I’ve a guess,’ said he, bursting into a +fit of laughing, that I thought he’d choke with. ‘Well, sergeant,’ said +I, ‘I always took you for a humane man; but, if that’s the way you +treat a fellow-creature in distress.’ ‘A fellow-creature,’ said he, +laughing louder than before. ‘Ay, a fellow-creature,’ said I—for the +sergeant was an orangeman—‘and if he differs from you in matters of +religion, sure he’s your fellow-creature still.’ ‘Troth, Doctor, I +think there’s another trifling difference betune us,’ said he. ‘Damn +your politics,’ said I; ‘never let them interfere with true humanity.’ +Wasn’t I right, Major? ‘Take good care of him, and there’s a +half-a-crown for ye.’ So saying these words, I steered along by the +barrack wall, and, after a little groping about, got up stairs to my +quarters, when, thanks to a naturally good constitution, and regular +habits of life, I soon fell fast asleep.” + +When the Doctor had said thus much, he pushed his chair slightly from +the table, and, taking off his wine, looked about him with the +composure of a man who has brought his tale to a termination. + +“Well, but Doctor,” said the Major, “you are surely not done. You have +not yet told us who your interesting friend turned out to be.” + +“That’s the very thing, then, I’m not able to do.” + +“But, of course,” said another, “your story does not end there.” + +“And where the devil would you have it end?” replied he. “Didn’t I +bring my hero home, and go asleep afterwards myself, and then, with +virtue rewarded, how could I finish it better?” + +“Oh, of course; but still you have not accounted for a principal +character in the narrative,” said I. + +“Exactly so,” said Curzon. “We were all expecting some splendid +catastrophe in the morning; that your companion turned out to be the +Duke of Leinster, at least—or perhaps a rebel general, with an immense +price upon his head.” + +“Neither the one nor the other,” said Fin, drily. + +“And do you mean to say there never was any clue to the discovery of +him?” + +“The entire affair is wrapt in mystery to this hour,” said he. “There +was a joke about it, to be sure, among the officers; but the North Cork +never wanted something to laugh at.” + +“And what was the joke?” said several voices together. + +“Just a complaint from old Mickey Oulahan, the postmaster, to the +Colonel, in the morning, that some of the officers took away his blind +mare off the common, and that the letters were late in consequence.” + +“And so, Doctor,” called out seven or eight, “your friend turned out to +be—” + +“Upon my conscience they said so, and that rascal, the serjeant, would +take his oath of it; but my own impression I’ll never disclose to the +hour of my death.” + + + + + CHAPTER XVI. +THEATRICALS. + +[Illustration: Lorrequer Practising Physic] + + +Our seance at the mess that night was a late one, for after we had +discussed some coopers of claret, there was a very general public +feeling in favour of a broiled bone and some devilled kidneys, followed +by a very ample bowl of bishop, over which simple condiments we talked +“green room” till near the break of day. + +From having been so long away from the corps I had much to learn of +their doings and intentions to do, and heard with much pleasure that +they possessed an exceedingly handsome theatre, well stocked with +scenery, dresses, and decorations; that they were at the pinnacle of +public estimation, from what they had already accomplished, and +calculated on the result of my appearance to crown them with honour. I +had indeed very little choice left me in the matter; for not only had +they booked me for a particular part, but bills were already in +circulation, and sundry little three-cornered notes enveloping them, +were sent to the elite of the surrounding country, setting forth that +“on Friday evening the committee of the garrison theatricals, intending +to perform a dress rehearsal of the ‘Family Party,’ request the +pleasure of Mr. —— and Mrs. ——‘s company on the occasion. Mr. Lorrequer +will undertake the part of Captain Beauguarde. Supper at twelve. An +answer will oblige.” + +The sight of one of these pleasant little epistles, of which the +foregoing is a true copy—was presented to me as a great favour that +evening, it having been agreed upon that I was to know nothing of their +high and mighty resolves till the following morning. It was to little +purpose that I assured them all, collectively and individually, that of +Captain Beauguarde I absolutely knew nothing—had never read the +piece—nor even seen it performed. I felt, too, that my last appearance +in character in a “Family Party,” was any thing but successful; and I +trembled lest, in the discussion of the subject, some confounded +allusion to my adventure at Cheltenham might come out. Happily they +seemed all ignorant of this; and fearing to bring conversation in any +way to the matter of my late travels, I fell in with their humour, and +agreed that if it were possible, in the limited time allowed me to +manage it—I had but four days—I should undertake the character. My +concurrence failed to give the full satisfaction I expected, and they +so habitually did what they pleased with me, that, like all men so +disposed, I never got the credit for concession which a man more +niggardly of his services may always command. + +“To be sure you will do it, Harry,” said the Major, “why not? I could +learn the thing myself in a couple of hours, as for that.” + +Now, be it known that the aforesaid Major was so incorrigibly slow of +study, and dull of comprehension, that he had been successively +degraded at our theatrical board from the delivering of a stage message +to the office of check-taker. + +“He’s so devilish good in the love scene,” said the junior ensign, with +the white eyebrows. “I say, Curzon, you’ll be confoundedly jealous +though, for he is to play with Fanny.” + +“I rather think not,” said Curzon, who was a little tipsy. + +“Oh, yes,” said Frazer, “Hepton is right. Lorrequer has Fanny for his +‘Frou;’ and, upon my soul, I should feel tempted to take the part +myself upon the same terms; though I verily believe I should forget I +was acting, and make fierce love to her on the stage.” + +“And who may la charmante Fanny be?” said I, with something of the air +of the “Dey of Algiers” in my tone. + +“Let Curzon tell him,” said several voices together, “he is the only +man to do justice to such perfection.” + +“Quiz away, my merry men,” said Cruzon, “all I know is, that you are a +confoundedly envious set of fellows; and if so lovely a girl had thrown +her eyes on one amongst you--” + +“Hip! hip! hurrah!” said old Fitzgerald, “Curzon is a gone man. He’ll +be off to the palace for a license some fine morning, or I know nothing +of such matters.” + +“Well, Bat,” said I, “if matters are really as you all say, why does +not Curzon take the part you destine for me?” + +“We dare not trust him,” said the Major, “Lord bless you, when the +call-boy would sing out for Captain Beaugarde in the second act, we’d +find that he had Levanted with our best slashed trowsers, and a bird of +paradise feather in his cap.” + +“Well,” thought I, “this is better at least than I anticipated, for if +nothing else offers, I shall have rare fun teasing my friend +Charley”—for it was evident that he had been caught by the lady in +question. + +“And so you’ll stay with us; give me your hand—you are a real trump.” +These words, which proceeded from a voice at the lower end of the +table, were addressed to my friend Finucane. + +“I’ll stay with ye, upon my conscience,” said Fin; “ye have a most +seductive way about ye; and a very superior taste in milk punch.” + +“But, Doctor,” said I, “you must not be a drone in the hive; what will +ye do for us? You should be a capital Sir Lucius O’Trigger, if we could +get up the Rivals.” + +“My forte is the drum—the big drum; put me among what the Greeks call +the ‘Mousikoi,’ and I’ll astonish ye.” + +It was at once agreed that Fin should follow the bent of his genius; +and after some other arrangements for the rest of the party, we +separated for the night, having previously toasted the “Fanny,” to +which Curzon attempted to reply, but sank, overpowered by punch and +feelings, and looked unutterable things, without the power to frame a +sentence. + +During the time which intervened between the dinner and the night +appointed for our rehearsal, I had more business upon my hands than a +Chancellor of the Exchequer the week of the budget being produced. The +whole management of every department fell, as usual, to my share, and +all those who, previously to my arrival, had contributed their quota of +labour, did nothing whatever now but lounge about the stage, or sit +half the day in the orchestra, listening to some confounded story of +Finucane’s, who contrived to have an everlasting mob of actors, +scene-painters, fiddlers, and call-boys always about him, who, from +their uproarious mirth, and repeated shouts of merriment, nearly drove +me distracted, as I stood almost alone and unassisted in the whole +management. Of la belle Fanny, all I learned was, that she was a +professional actress of very considerable talent, and extremely pretty; +that Curzon had fallen desperately in love with her the only night she +had appeared on the boards there, and that to avoid his absurd +persecution of her, she had determined not to come into town until the +morning of the rehearsal, she being at that time on a visit to the +house of a country gentleman in the neighbourhood. Here was a new +difficulty I had to contend with—to go through my part alone was out of +the question to making it effective; and I felt so worried and harassed +that I often fairly resolved on taking the wings of the mail, and +flying away to the uttermost parts of the south of Ireland, till all +was tranquil again. By degrees, however, I got matters into better +train, and by getting our rehearsal early before Fin appeared, as he +usually slept somewhat later after his night at mess, I managed to have +things in something like order; he and his confounded drum, which, +whenever he was not story-telling, he was sure to be practising on, +being, in fact the greatest difficulties opposed to my managerial +functions. One property he possessed, so totally at variance with all +habits of order, that it completely baffled me. So numerous were his +narratives, that no occasion could possibly arise, no chance expression +be let fall on the stage, but Fin had something he deemed, apropos, and +which, sans facon, he at once related for the benefit of all whom it +might concern; that was usually the entire corps dramatique, who +eagerly turned from stage directions and groupings, to laugh at his +ridiculous jests. I shall give an instance of this habit of +interruption, and let the unhappy wight who has filled such an office +as mine pity my woes. + +I was standing one morning on the stage drilling my “corps” as usual. +One most refractory spirit, to whom but a few words were entrusted, and +who bungled even those, I was endeavouring to train into something like +his part. + +“Come now, Elsmore, try it again—just so. Yes, come forward in this +manner—take her hand tenderly—press it to your lips; retreat towards +the flat, and then bowing deferentially—thus, say ‘Good night, good +night’—that’s very simple, eh? Well, now that’s all you have to do, and +that brings you over here—so you make your exit at once.” + +“Exactly so, Mr. Elsmore, always contrive to be near the door under +such circumstances. That was the way with my poor friend, Curran. Poor +Philpot, when he dined with the Guild of Merchant Tailors, they gave +him a gold box with their arms upon it—a goose proper, with needles +saltier wise, or something of that kind; and they made him free of +their ‘ancient and loyal corporation,’ and gave him a very grand +dinner. Well, Curran was mighty pleasant and agreeable, and kept them +laughing all night, till the moment he rose to go away, and then he +told them that he never spent so happy an evening, and all that. ‘But, +gentlemen,’ said he, ‘business has its calls, and I must tear myself +away; so wishing you now’—there were just eighteen of them—‘wishing you +now every happiness and prosperity, permit me to take my leave’—and +here he stole near the door—‘to take my leave, and bid you both good +night.’” With a running fire of such stories, it may be supposed how +difficult was my task in getting any thing done upon the stage. + +Well, at last the long-expected Friday arrived, and I rose in the +morning with all that peculiar tourbillon of spirits that a man feels +when he is half pleased and whole frightened with the labour before +him. I had scarcely accomplished dressing when a servant tapped at my +door, and begged to know if I could spare a few moments to speak to +Miss Ersler, who was in the drawing-room. I replied, of course, in the +affirmative, and, rightly conjecturing that my fair friend must be the +lovely Fanny already alluded to, followed the servant down stairs. + +“Mr. Lorrequer,” said the servant, and closing the door behind me, left +me in sole possession of the lady. + +“Will you do me the favour to sit here, Mr. Lorrequer,” said one of the +sweetest voices in the world, as she made room for me on the sofa +beside her. “I am particularly short-sighted; so pray sit near me, as I +really cannot talk to any one I don’t see.” + +I blundered out some platitude of a compliment to her eyes—the fullest +and most lovely blue that ever man gazed into—at which she smiled as if +pleased, and continued, “Now, Mr. Lorrequer, I have really been longing +for your coming; for your friends of the 4—th are doubtless very +dashing, spirited young gentlemen, perfectly versed in war’s alarms; +but pardon me if I say that a more wretched company of strolling +wretches never graced a barn. Now, come, don’t be angry, but let me +proceed. Like all amateur people, they have the happy knack in +distributing the characters—to put every man in his most unsuitable +position—and then that poor dear thing Curzon—I hope he’s not a friend +of yours—by some dire fatality always plays the lover’s parts, ha! ha! +ha! True, I assure you, so that if you had not been announced as coming +this week, I should have left them and gone off to Bath.” + +Here she rose and adjusted her brown ringlets at the glass, giving me +ample time to admire one of the most perfect figures I ever beheld. She +was most becomingly dressed, and betrayed a foot and ancle which for +symmetry and “chaussure,” might have challenged the Rue Rivoli itself +to match it. + +My first thought was poor Curzon; my second, happy and trice fortunate +Harry Lorrequer. There was no time, however, for indulgence in such +very pardonable gratulation; so I at once proceeded “pour faire +l’aimable,” to profess my utter inability to do justice to her +undoubted talents, but slyly added, “that in the love making part of +the matter she should never be able to discover that I was not in +earnest.” We chatted then gaily for upwards of an hour, until the +arrival of her friend’s carriage was announced, when, tendering me most +graciously her hand, she smiled benignly and saying “au revoir, donc,” +drove off. + +As I stood upon the steps of the hotel, viewing her “out of the visible +horizon,” I was joined by Curzon, who evidently, from his +self-satisfied air, and jaunty gait, little knew how he stood in the +fair Fanny’s estimation. + +“Very pretty, very pretty, indeed, deeper and deeper still,” cried he, +alluding to my most courteous salutation as the carriage rounded the +corner, and its lovely occupant kissed her hand once more. “I say +Harry, my friend, you don’t think that was meant for you, I should +hope?” + +“What! the kiss of the hand? Yes, faith, but I do.” + +“Well, certainly that is good! why, man, she just saw me coming up that +instant. She and I—we understand each other—never mind, don’t be +cross—no fault of yours, you know.” + +“Ah, so she is taken with you,” said I. “Eh, Charley?” + +“Why, I believe that. I may confess to you the real state of matters. +She was devilishly struck with me the first time we rehearsed together. +We soon got up a little flirtation; but the other night when I played +Mirabel to her, it finished the affair. She was quite nervous, and +could scarcely go through with her part. I saw it, and upon my soul I +am sorry for it; she’s a prodigiously fine girl—such lips and such +teeth! Egad I was delighted when you came; for, you see, I was in a +manner obliged to take one line of character, and I saw pretty plainly +where it must end; and you know with you it’s quite different, she’ll +laugh and chat, and all that sort of thing, but she’ll not be carried +away by her feelings; you understand me?” + +“Oh, perfectly; it’s quite different, as you observed.” + +If I had not been supported internally during this short dialogue by +the recently expressed opinion of the dear Fanny herself upon my friend +Curzon’s merits, I think I should have been tempted to take the liberty +of wringing his neck off. However, the affair was much better as it +stood, as I had only to wait a little with proper patience, and I had +no fears but that my friend Charley would become the hero of a very +pretty episode for the mess. + +“So I suppose you must feel considerably bored by this kind of thing,” +I said, endeavouring to draw him out. + +“Why, I do,” replied he, “and I do not. The girl is very pretty. The +place is dull in the morning; and altogether it helps to fill up time.” + +“Well,” said I, “you are always fortunate, Curzon. You have ever your +share of what floating luck the world affords.” + +“It is not exactly all luck, my dear friend; for, as I shall explain to +you—” + +“Not now,” replied I, “for I have not yet breakfasted.” So saying I +turned into the coffee-room, leaving the worthy adjutant to revel in +his fancied conquest, and pity such unfortunates as myself. + +After an early dinner at the club-house, I hastened down to the +theatre, where numerous preparations for the night were going forward. +The green-room was devoted to the office of a supper-room, to which the +audience had been invited. The dressing-rooms were many of them filled +with the viands destined for the entertainment. Where, among the wooden +fowls and “impracticable” flagons, were to be seen very imposing +pasties and flasks of champaigne, littered together in most admirable +disorder. The confusion naturally incidental to all private +theatricals, was ten-fold increased by the circumstances of our +projected supper. Cooks and scene-shifters, fiddlers and waiters, were +most inextricably mingled; and as in all similar cases, the least +important functionaries took the greatest airs upon them, and +appropriated without hesitation whatever came to their hands—thus the +cook would not have scrupled to light a fire with the violoncello of +the orchestra; and I actually caught one of the “gens de cuisine” +making a “soufflet” in a brass helmet I had once worn when astonishing +the world as Coriolanus. + +Six o’clock struck. In another short hour and we begin, thought I, with +a sinking heart, as I looked upon the littered stage crowded with hosts +of fellows that had nothing to do there. Figaro himself never wished +for ubiquity more than I did, as I hastened from place to place, +entreating, cursing, begging, scolding, execrating, and imploring by +turns. To mend the matter, the devils in the orchestra had begun to +tune their instruments, and I had to bawl like a boatswain of a +man-of-war, to be heard by the person beside me. + +As seven o’clock struck, I peeped through the small aperture in the +curtain, and saw, to my satisfaction, mingled, I confess, with fear, +that the house was nearly filled—the lower tier of boxes entirely so. +There were a great many ladies handsomely dressed, chatting gaily with +their chaperons, and I recognised some of my acquaintances on every +side; in fact, there was scarcely a family of rank in the county that +had not at least some member of it present. As the orchestra struck up +the overture to Don Giovanni, I retired from my place to inspect the +arrangements behind. + +Before the performance of the “Family Party,” we were to have a little +one-act piece called “a day in Madrid,” written by myself—the principal +characters being expressly composed for “Miss Ersler and Mr. +Lorrequer.” + +The story of this trifle, it is not necessary to allude to; indeed, if +it were, I should scarcely have patience to do so, so connected is my +recollection of it with the distressing incident which followed. + +In the first scene of the piece, the curtain rising displays la belle +Fanny sitting at her embroidery in the midst of a beautiful garden, +surrounded with statues, fountains, &c. At the back is seen a pavillion +in the ancient Moorish style of architecture, over which hang the +branches of some large and shady trees—she comes forward, expressing +her impatience at the delay of her lover, whose absence she tortures +herself to account for by a hundred different suppositions, and after a +very sufficient exposè of her feelings, and some little explanatory +details of her private history, conveying a very clear intimation of +her own amiability, and her guardian’s cruelty, she proceeds, after the +fashion of other young ladies similarly situated, to give utterance to +her feelings by a song; after, therefore, a suitable prelude from the +orchestra, for which, considering the impassioned state of her mind, +she waits patiently, she comes forward and begins a melody— + +“Oh why is he far from the heart that adores him?” + + +in which, for two verses, she proceeds with sundry sol feggio’s, to +account for the circumstances, and show her disbelief of the +explanation in a very satisfactory manner,—meanwhile, for I must not +expose my reader to an anxiety on my account, similar to what the dear +Fanny here laboured under, I was making the necessary preparations for +flying to her presence, and clasping her to my heart—that is to say, I +had already gummed on a pair of mustachios, had corked and arched a +ferocious pair of eyebrows, which, with my rouged cheeks, gave me a +look half Whiskerando, half Grimaldi; these operations were performed, +from the stress of circumstances, sufficiently near the object of my +affections, to afford me the pleasing satisfaction of hearing from her +own sweet lips, her solicitude about me—in a word, all the +dressing-rooms but two were filled with hampers of provisions, glass, +china, and crockery, and from absolute necessity, I had no other spot +where I could attire myself unseen, except in the identical pavillion +already alluded to—here, however, I was quite secure, and had abundant +time also, for I was not to appear till scene the second, when I was to +come forward in full Spanish costume, “every inch a Hidalgo.” Meantime, +Fanny had been singing— + +“Oh why is he far,” &c. &c. + + +At the conclusion of the last verse, just as she repeats the words +“why, why, why,” in a very distracted and melting cadence, a voice +behind startles her—she turns and beholds her guardian—so at least run +the course of events in the real drama—that it should follow thus now +however, “Dus aliter visum”—for just as she came to the very moving +apostrophe alluded to, and called out, “why comes he not?”—a gruff +voice from behind answered in a strong Cork brogue—“ah! would ye have +him come in a state of nature?” at the instant a loud whistle rang +through the house, and the pavillion scene slowly drew up, discovering +me, Harry Lorrequer, seated on a small stool before a cracked +looking-glass, my only habiliments, as I am an honest man, being a pair +of long white silk stockings, and a very richly embroidered shirt with +point lace collar. The shouts of laughter are yet in my ears, the loud +roar of inextinguishable mirth, which after the first brief pause of +astonishment gave way, shook the entire building—my recollection may +well have been confused at such a moment of unutterable shame and +misery; yet, I clearly remember seeing Fanny, the sweet Fanny herself, +fall into an arm-chair nearly suffocated with convulsions of laughter. +I cannot go on; what I did I know not. I suppose my exit was +additionally ludicrous, for a new eclat de rire followed me out. I +rushed out of the theatre, and wrapping only my cloak round me, ran +without stopping to the barracks. But I must cease; these are woes too +sacred for even confessions like mine, so let me close the curtain of +my room and my chapter together, and say, adieu for a season. + + + + + CHAPTER XVII. +THE WAGER. + + +It might have been about six weeks after the events detailed in my last +chapter had occurred, that Curzon broke suddenly into my room one +morning before I had risen, and throwing a precautionary glance around, +as if to assure himself that we were alone, seized my hand with a most +unusual earnestness, and, steadfastly looking at me, said— + +“Harry Lorrequer, will you stand by me?” + +So sudden and unexpected was his appearance at the moment, that I +really felt but half awake, and kept puzzling myself for an explanation +of the scene, rather than thinking of a reply to his question; +perceiving which, and auguring but badly from my silence, he continued— + +“Am I then, really deceived in what I believed to be an old and tried +friend?” + +“Why, what the devil’s the matter?” I cried out. “If you are in a +scrape, why of course you know I’m your man; but, still, it’s only fair +to let one know something of the matter in the meanwhile.” + +“In a scrape!” said he, with a long-drawn sigh, intended to beat the +whole Minerva press in its romantic cadence. + +“Well, but get on a bit,” said I, rather impatiently; “who is the +fellow you’ve got the row with? Not one of ours, I trust?” + +“Ah, my dear Hal,” said he, in the same melting tone as before—“How +your imagination does run upon rows, and broils, and duelling +rencontres,” (he, the speaker, be it known to the reader, was the +fire-eater of the regiment,) “as if life had nothing better to offer +than the excitement of a challenge, or the mock heroism of a meeting.” + +As he made a dead pause here, after which he showed no disposition to +continue, I merely added— + +“Well, at this rate of proceeding we shall get at the matter in hand, +on our way out to Corfu, for I hear we are the next regiment for the +Mediterranean.” + +The observation seemed to have some effect in rousing him from his +lethargy, and he added— + +“If you only knew the nature of the attachment, and how completely all +my future hopes are concerned upon the issue—” + +“Ho!” said I, “so it’s a money affair, is it? and is it old Watson has +issued the writ? I’ll bet a hundred.” + +“Well, upon my soul, Lorrequer,” said he, jumping from his chair, and +speaking with more energy than he had before evinced, “you are, without +exception, the most worldly-minded, cold-blooded fellow I ever met. +What have I said that could have led you to suppose I had either a duel +or a law-suit upon my hands this morning? Learn, once and for all, man, +that I am in love—desperately and over head and ears in love.” + +“Et puis,” said I coolly. + +“And intend to marry immediately.” + +“Oh, very well,” said I; “the fighting and debt will come later, that’s +all. But to return—now for the lady.” + +“Come, you must make a guess.” + +“Why, then, I really must confess my utter inability; for your +attentions have been so generally and impartially distributed since our +arrival here, that it may be any fair one, from your venerable partner +at whist last evening, to Mrs. Henderson, the pastry-cook inclusive, +for whose macaroni and cherry-brandy your feelings have been as warm as +they are constant.” + +“Come, no more quizzing, Hal. You surely must have remarked that lovely +girl I waltzed with at Power’s ball on Tuesday last.” + +“Lovely girl! Why, in all seriousness, you don’t mean the small woman +with the tow wig?” + +“No, I do not mean any such thing—but a beautiful creature, with the +brightest locks in Christendom—the very light-brown waving ringlets, +Dominicheno loved to paint, and a foot—did you see her foot?” + +“No; that was rather difficult, for she kept continually bobbing up and +down, like a boy’s cork-float in a fish-pond.” + +“Stop there. I shall not permit this any longer—I came not here to +listen to—” + +“But, Curzon, my boy, you’re not angry?” + +“Yes, sir, I am angry.” + +“Why, surely, you have not been serious all this time?” + +“And why not, pray?” + +“Oh! I don’t exactly know—that is, faith I scarcely thought you were in +earnest, for if I did, of course I should honestly have confessed to +you that the lady in question struck me as one of the handsomest +persons I ever met.” + +“You think so really, Hal?” + +“Certainly I do, and the opinion is not mine alone; she is, in fact +universally admired.” + +“Come, Harry, excuse my bad temper. I ought to have known you +better—give me your hand, old boy, and wish me joy, for with you aiding +and abetting she is mine to-morrow morning.” + +I wrung his hand heartily—congratulating myself, meanwhile, how happily +I had got out of my scrape; as I now, for the first time, perceived +that Curzon was bona fide in earnest. + +“So, you will stand by me, Hal,” said he. + +“Of course. Only show me how, and I’m perfectly at your service. Any +thing from riding postillion on the leaders to officiating as +brides-maid, and I am your man. And if you are in want of such a +functionary, I shall stand in ‘loco parentis’ to the lady, and give her +away with as much ‘onction’ and tenderness as tho’ I had as many +marriageable daughters as king Priam himself. It is with me in marriage +as in duelling—I’ll be any thing rather than a principal; and I have +long since disapproved of either method as a means of ‘obtaining +satisfaction.’” + +“Ah, Harry, I shall not be discouraged by your sneers. You’ve been +rather unlucky, I’m aware; but now to return: Your office, on this +occasion, is an exceedingly simple one, and yet that which I could only +confide to one as much my friend as yourself. You must carry my dearest +Louisa off.” + +“Carry her off! Where?—when?—how?” + +“All that I have already arranged, as you shall hear.” + +“Yes. But first of all please to explain why, if going to run away with +the lady, you don’t accompany her yourself.” + +“Ah! I knew you would say that, I could have laid a wager you’d ask +that question, for it is just that very explanation will show all the +native delicacy and feminine propriety of my darling Loo; and first, I +must tell you, that old Sir Alfred Jonson, her father, has some +confounded prejudice against the army, and never would consent to her +marriage with a red-coat—so that, his consent being out of the +question, our only resource is an elopement. Louisa consents to this, +but only upon one condition—and this she insists upon so firmly—I had +almost said obstinately—that, notwithstanding all my arguments and +representations, and even entreaties against it, she remains +inflexible; so that I have at length yielded, and she is to have her +own way.” + +“Well, and what is the condition she lays such stress upon?” + +“Simply this—that we are never to travel a mile together until I obtain +my right to do so, by making her my wife. She has got some trumpery +notions in her head that any slight transgression over the bounds of +delicacy made by women before marriage is ever after remembered by the +husband to their disadvantage, and she is, therefore, resolved not to +sacrifice her principle even at such a crisis as the present.” + +“All very proper, I have no doubt; but still, pray explain what I +confess appears somewhat strange to me at present. How does so very +delicately-minded a person reconcile herself to travelling with a +perfect stranger under such circumstances?” + +“That I can explain perfectly to you. You must know that when my +darling Loo consented to take this step, which I induced her to do with +the greatest difficulty, she made the proviso I have just mentioned; I +at once showed her that I had no maiden aunt or married sister to +confide her to at such a moment, and what was to be done? She +immediately replied, ‘Have you no elderly brother officer, whose years +and discretion will put the transaction in such a light as to silence +the slanderous tongues of the world, for with such a man I am quite +ready and willing to trust myself.’ You see I was hard pushed there. +What could I do?—whom could I select? Old Hayes, the paymaster, is +always tipsy; Jones is five-and-forty—but egad! I’m not so sure I’d +have found my betrothed at the end of the stage. You were my only hope; +I knew I could rely upon you. You would carry on the whole affair with +tact and discretion; and as to age, your stage experience would enable +you, with a little assistance from costume, to pass muster; besides +that, I have always represented you as the very Methuselah of the +corps; and in the grey dawn of an autumnal morning—with maiden +bashfulness assisting—the scrutiny is not likely to be a close one. So, +now, your consent is alone wanting to complete the arrangements which, +before this time to-morrow, shall have made me the happiest of +mortals.” + +Having expressed, in fitting terms, my full sense of obligation for the +delicate flattery with which he pictured me as “Old Lorrequer” to the +Lady, I begged a more detailed account of his plan, which I shall +shorten for my reader’s sake, by the following brief expose. + +A post-chaise and four was to be in waiting at five o’clock in the +morning to convey me to Sir Alfred Jonson’s residence, about twelve +miles distant. There I was to be met by a lady at the gate-lodge, who +was subsequently to accompany me to a small village on the Nore, where +an old college friend of Curzon’s happened to reside, as parson, and by +whom the treaty was to be concluded. + +This was all simple and clear enough—the only condition necessary to +insure success being punctuality, particularly on the lady’s part. As +to mine I readily promised my best aid and warmest efforts in my +friend’s behalf. + +“There is only one thing more,” said Curzon. “Louisa’s younger brother +is a devilish hot-headed, wild sort of a fellow; and it would be as +well, just for precaution sake, to have your pistols along with you, +if, by any chance, he should make out what was going forward—not but +that you know if any thing serious was to take place, I should be the +person to take all that upon my hands.” + +“Oh! of course—I understand,” said I. Meanwhile I could not help +running over in my mind the pleasant possibilities such an adventure +presented, heartily wishing that Curzon had been content to marry by +bans or any other of the legitimate modes in use, without risking his +friend’s bones. The other pros and cons of the matter, with full and +accurate directions as to the road to be taken on obtaining possession +of the lady, being all arranged, we parted, I to settle my costume and +appearance for my first performance in an old man’s part, and Curzon to +obtain a short leave for a few days from the commanding officer of the +regiment. + +When we again met, which was at the mess-table, it was not without +evidence on either side of that peculiar consciousness which persons +feel who have, or think they have, some secret in common, which the +world wots not of. Curzon’s unusually quick and excited manner would at +once have struck any close observer as indicating the eve of some +important step, no less than continual allusions to whatever was going +on, by sly and equivocal jokes and ambiguous jests. Happily, however, +on the present occasion, the party were otherwise occupied than +watching him—being most profoundly and learnedly engaged in discussing +medicine and matters medical with all the acute and accurate knowledge +which characterises such discussions among the non-medical public. + +The present conversation originated from some mention our senior +surgeon Fitzgerald had just made of a consultation which he was invited +to attend on the next morning, at the distance of twenty miles, and +which necessitated him to start at a most uncomfortably early hour. +While he continued to deplore the hard fate of such men as himself, so +eagerly sought after by the world, that their own hours were eternally +broken in upon by external claims, the juniors were not sparing of +their mirth on the occasion, at the expense of the worthy doctor, who, +in plain truth, had never been disturbed by a request like the present +within any one’s memory. Some asserted that the whole thing was a puff, +got up by Fitz. himself, who was only going to have a day’s +partridge-shooting; others hinting that it was a blind to escape the +vigilance of Mrs. Fitzgerald—a well-known virago in the regiment—while +Fitz. enjoyed himself; and a third party, pretending to sympathise with +the doctor, suggested that a hundred pounds would be the least he could +possibly be offered for such services as his on so grave an occasion. + +“No, no, only fifty,” said Fitz. gravely. + +“Fifty! Why, you tremendous old humbug, you don’t mean to say you’ll +make fifty pounds before we are out of our beds in the morning?” cried +one. + +“I’ll take your bet on it,” said the doctor, who had, in this instance, +reason to suppose his fee would be a large one. + +During this discussion, the claret had been pushed round rather freely; +and fully bent, as I was, upon the adventure before me, I had taken my +share of it as a preparation. I thought of the amazing prize I was +about to be instrumental in securing for my friend—for the lady had +really thirty thousand pounds—and I could not conceal my triumph at +such a prospect of success in comparison with the meaner object of +ambition. They all seemed to envy poor Fitzgerald. I struggled with my +secret for some time—but my pride and the claret together got the +better of me, and I called out, “Fifty pounds on it, then, that before +ten to-morrow morning, I’ll make a better hit of it than you—and the +mess shall decide between us afterwards as to the winner.” + +“And if you will,” said I, seeing some reluctance on Fitz.’s part to +take the wager, and getting emboldened in consequence, “let the +judgment be pronounced over a couple of dozen of champaigne, paid by +the loser.” + +This was a coup d’etat on my part, for I knew at once there were so +many parties to benefit by the bet, terminate which way it might, there +could be no possibility of evading it. My ruse succeeded, and poor +Fitzgerald, fairly badgered into a wager, the terms of which he could +not in the least comprehend, was obliged to sign the conditions +inserted in the adjutant’s note-book—his greatest hope in so doing +being in the quantity of wine he had seen me drink during the evening. +As for myself, the bet was no sooner made than I began to think upon +the very little chance I had of winning it; for even supposing my +success perfect in the department allotted to me, it might with great +reason be doubted what peculiar benefit I myself derived as a +counterbalance to the fee of the doctor. For this, my only trust lay in +the justice of a decision which I conjectured would lean more towards +the goodness of a practical joke than the equity of the transaction. +The party at mess soon after separated, and I wished my friend good +night for the last time before meeting him as a bride-groom. + +I arranged every thing in order for my start. My pistol-case I placed +conspicuously before me, to avoid being forgotten in the haste of +departure; and, having ordered my servant to sit up all night in the +guard-room until he heard the carriage at the barrack-gate, threw +myself on my bed, but not to sleep. The adventure I was about to engage +in suggested to my mind a thousand associations, into which many of the +scenes I have already narrated entered. I thought how frequently I had +myself been on the verge of that state which Curzon was about to try, +and how it always happened that when nearest to success, failure had +intervened. From my very school-boy days my love adventures had the +same unfortunate abruptness in their issue; and there seemed to be +something very like a fatality in the invariable unsuccess of my +efforts at marriage. I feared, too, that my friend Curzon had placed +himself in very unfortunate hands—if augury were to be relied upon. +Something will surely happen, thought I, from my confounded ill luck, +and all will be blown up. Wearied at last with thinking I fell into a +sound sleep for about three-quarters of an hour, at the end of which I +was awoke by my servant informing me that a chaise and four were drawn +up at the end of the barrack lane. + +“Why, surely, they are too early, Stubber? It’s only four o’clock.” + +“Yes, sir; but they say that the road for eight miles is very bad, and +they must go it almost at a walk.” + +That is certainly pleasant, thought I, but I’m in for it now, so can’t +help it. + +In a few minutes I was up and dressed, and so perfectly transformed by +the addition of a brown scratch-wig and large green spectacles, and a +deep-flapped waistcoat, that my servant, on re-entering my room, could +not recognise me. I followed him now across the barrack-yard, as, with +my pistol-case under one arm and a lantern in his hand, he proceeded to +the barrack-gate. + +As I passed beneath the adjutant’s window, I saw a light—the sash was +quickly thrown open, and Curzon appeared. + +“Is that you, Harry?” + +“Yes—when do you start?” + +“In about two hours. I’ve only eight miles to go—you have upwards of +twelve, and no time to lose. God bless you, my boy—we’ll meet soon.” + +“Here’s the carriage, sir; this way.” + +“Well, my lads, you know the road I suppose?” + +“Every inch of it, your honour’s glory; we’re always coming it for +doctors and ‘pothecaries; they’re never a week without them.” + +I was soon seated, the door clapped to, and the words “all right” +given, and away we went. + +Little as I had slept during the night, my mind was too much occupied +with the adventure I was engaged in, to permit any thoughts of sleep +now, so that I had abundant opportunity afforded me of pondering over +all the bearings of the case, with much more of deliberation and +caution than I had yet bestowed upon it. One thing was certain, whether +success did or did not attend our undertaking, the risk was mine and +mine only; and if by any accident the affair should be already known to +the family, I stood a very fair chance of being shot by one of the +sons, or stoned to death by the tenantry; while my excellent friend +Curzon should be eating his breakfast with his reverend friend, and +only interrupting himself in his fourth muffin, to wonder “what could +keep them;” and besides for minor miseries will, like the little devils +in Don Giovanni, thrust up their heads among their better-grown +brethren, my fifty-pound bet looked rather blue; for even under the +most favourable light considered, however Curzon might be esteemed a +gainer, it might be well doubted how far I had succeeded better than +the doctor, when producing his fee in evidence. Well, well, I’m in for +it now; but it certainly is strange, all these very awkward +circumstances never struck me so forcibly before; and after all, it was +not quite fair of Curzon to put any man forward in such a transaction; +the more so, as such a representation might be made of it at the +Horse-Guards as to stop a man’s promotion, or seriously affect his +prospects for life, and I at last began to convince myself that many a +man so placed, would carry the lady off himself, and leave the adjutant +to settle the affair with the family. For two mortal hours did I +conjure up every possible disagreeable contingency that might arise. My +being mulcted of my fifty and laughed at by the mess seemed inevitable, +even were I fortunate enough to escape a duel with the fire-eating +brother. Meanwhile a thick misty rain continued to fall, adding so much +to the darkness of the early hour, that I could see nothing of the +country about me, and knew nothing of where I was. + +Troubles are like laudanum, a small dose only excites, a strong one +sets you to sleep—not a very comfortable sleep mayhap—but still it is +sleep, and often very sound sleep; so it now happened with me. I had +pondered over, weighed, and considered all the pros, cons, turnings, +and windings of this awkward predicament, till I had fairly convinced +myself that I was on the high road to a confounded scrape; and then, +having established that fact to my entire satisfaction, I fell +comfortably back in the chaise, and sunk into a most profound slumber. + +If to any of my readers I may appear here to have taken a very +despondent view of this whole affair, let him only call to mind my +invariable ill luck in such matters, and how always it had been my lot +to see myself on the fair road to success, only up to that point at +which it is certain, besides—but why explain? These are my confessions. +I may not alter what are matters of fact, and my reader must only take +me with all the imperfections of wrong motives and headlong impulses +upon my head, or abandon me at once. + +Meanwhile the chaise rolled along, and the road being better and the +pace faster, my sleep became more easy; thus, about an hour and a half +after I had fallen asleep, passed rapidly over, when the sharp turning +of an angle distended me from my leaning position, and I awoke. I +started up and rubbed my eyes; several seconds elapsed before I could +think where I was or whither going. Consciousness at last came, and I +perceived that we were driving up a thickly planted avenue. Why, +confound it, they can’t have mistaken it, thought I, or are we really +going up to the house, instead of waiting at the lodge? I at once +lowered the sash, and stretching out my head, cried out, “Do you know +what ye are about, lads; is this all right?” but unfortunately, amid +the rattling of the gravel and the clatter of the horses, my words were +unheard; and thinking I was addressing a request to go faster, the +villains cracked their whips, and breaking into a full gallop, before +five minutes flew over, they drew up with a jerk at the foot of a long +portico to a large and spacious cut-stone mansion. When I rallied from +the sudden check, which had nearly thrown me through the window, I gave +myself up for lost: here I was vis a vis to the very hall-door of the +man whose daughter I was about to elope with, whether so placed by the +awkwardness and blundering of the wretches who drove me, or delivered +up by their treachery, it mattered not, my fate seemed certain; before +I had time to determine upon any line of acting in this confounded +dilemma, the door was jerked open by a servant in a sombre livery; who, +protruding his head and shoulders into the chaise, looked at me +steadily for a moment, and said, “Ah! then, doctor darlin’, but ye’re +welcome.” With the speed with which sometimes the bar of an air long +since heard, or the passing glance of an old familiar fact can call up +the memory of our very earliest childhood, bright and vivid before us, +so that one single phrase explained the entire mystery of my present +position, and I saw in one rapid glance that I had got into the chaise +intended for Dr. Fitzgerald, and was absolutely at that moment before +the hall-door of the patient. My first impulse was an honest one, to +avow the mistake and retrace my steps, taking my chance to settle with +Curzon, whose matrimonial scheme I foresaw was doomed to the untimely +fate of all those I had ever been concerned in. My next thought, how +seldom is the adage true which says “that second thoughts are best,” +was upon my luckless wager; for, even supposing that Fitzgerald should +follow me in the other chaise, yet as I had the start of him, if I +could only pass muster for half an hour, I might secure the fee, and +evacuate the territory; besides that there was a great chance of Fitz’s +having gone on my errand, while I was journeying on his, in which case +I should be safe from interruption. Meanwhile, heaven only could tell, +what his interference in poor Curzon’s business might not involve. +These serious reflections took about ten seconds to pass through my +mind, as the grave-looking old servant proceeded to encumber himself +with my cloak and my pistol-case, remarking as he lifted the latter, +“And may the Lord grant ye won’t want the instruments this time, +doctor, for they say he is better this morning;” heartily wishing amen +to the benevolent prayer of the honest domestic, for more reasons than +one, I descended leisurely, as I conjectured a doctor ought to do, from +the chaise, and with a solemn pace and grave demeanour followed him +into the house. + +In the small parlour to which I was ushered, sat two gentlemen somewhat +advanced in years, who I rightly supposed were my medical confrères. +One of these was a tall, pale, ascetic-looking man, with grey hairs, +and retreating forehead, slow in speech, and lugubrious in demeanour. +The other, his antithesis, was a short, rosy-cheeked, +apoplectic-looking subject, with a laugh like a suffocating wheeze, and +a paunch like an alderman; his quick, restless eye, and full nether lip +denoting more of the bon vivant than the abstemious disciple of +Aesculapius. A moment’s glance satisfied me, that if I had only these +to deal with, I was safe, for I saw that they were of that stamp of +country practitioner, half-physician, half-apothecary, who rarely come +in contact with the higher orders of their art, and then only to be +dictated to, obey, and grumble. + +“Doctor, may I beg to intrude myself, Mr. Phipps, on your notice? Dr. +Phipps or Mr. It’s all one; but I have only a license in pharmacy, +though they call me doctor.” + +“Surgeon Riley, sir; a very respectable practitioner,” said he, waving +his hand towards his rubicund confrere. + +I at once expressed the great happiness it afforded me to meet such +highly informed and justly celebrated gentlemen; and fearing every +moment the arrival of the real Simon Pure should cover me with shame +and disgrace, begged they would afford me as soon as possible, some +history of the case we were concerned for. They accordingly proceeded +to expound in a species of duet, some curious particulars of an old +gentleman who had the evil fortune to have them for his doctors, and +who laboured under some swelling of the neck, which they differed as to +the treatment of, and in consequence of which, the aid of a third party +(myself, God bless the mark!) was requested. + +As I could by no means divest myself of the fear of Fitz.’s arrival, I +pleaded the multiplicity of my professional engagements as a reason for +at once seeing the patient; upon which I was conducted up stairs by my +two brethren, and introduced to a half-lighted chamber. In a large easy +chair sat a florid-looking old man, with a face in which pain and +habitual ill-temper had combined to absorb every expression. + +“This is the doctor of the regiment, sir, that you desired to see,” +said my tall coadjutor. + +“Oh! then very well; good morning, sir. I suppose you will find out +something new the matter, for them two there have been doing so every +day this two months.” + +“I trust, sir,” I replied stiffly, “that with the assistance of my +learned friends, much may be done for you. Ha! hem! So this is the +malady. Turn your head a little to that side;” here an awful groan +escaped the sick man, for I, it appears, had made considerable +impression upon rather a delicate part, not unintentionally I must +confess; for as I remembered Hoyle’s maxim at whist, “when in doubt +play a trump,” so I thought it might be true in physic, when posed by a +difficulty to do a bold thing also. “Does that hurt you, sir?” said I +in a soothing and affectionate tone of voice. “Like the devil,” growled +the patient. “And here?” said I. “Oh! oh! I can’t bear it any longer.” +“Oh! I perceive,” said I, “the thing is just as I expected.” Here I +raised my eyebrows, and looked indescribably wise at my confrères. + +“No aneurism, doctor,” said the tall one. + +“Certainly not.” + +“Maybe,” said the short man, “maybe it’s a stay-at-home-with-us tumour +after all;” so at least he appeared to pronounce a confounded +technical, which I afterwards learned was “steatomatous;” conceiving +that my rosy friend was disposed to jeer at me, I gave him a terrific +frown, and resumed, “this must not be touched.” + +“So you won’t operate upon it,” said the patient. + +“I would not take a thousand pounds and do so,” I replied. “Now if you +please gentlemen,” said I, making a step towards the door, as if to +withdraw for consultation; upon which they accompanied me down stairs +to the breakfast-room. As it was the only time in my life I had +performed in this character, I had some doubts as to the propriety of +indulging a very hearty breakfast appetite, not knowing if it were +unprofessional to eat; but from this doubt my learned friends speedily +relieved me, by the entire devotion which they bestowed for about +twenty minutes upon ham, rolls, eggs, and cutlets, barely interrupting +these important occupations by sly allusions to the old gentleman’s +malady, and his chance of recovery. + +“Well, doctor,” said the pale one, as at length he rested from his +labours, “what are we to do?” + +“Ay,” said the other,” there’s the question.” + +“Go on,” said I, “go on as before; I can’t advise you better.” Now, +this was a deep stroke of mine; for up to the present moment I do not +know what treatment they were practising; but it looked a shrewd thing +to guess it, and it certainly was civil to approve of it. + +“So you think that will be best.” + +“I am certain—I know nothing better,” I answered. + +“Well, I’m sure, sir, we have every reason to be gratified for the very +candid manner you have treated us. Sir, I’m your most obedient +servant,” said the fat one. + +“Gentlemen, both your good healths and professional success also:” here +I swallowed a petit verre of brandy; thinking all the while there were +worse things than the practice of physic. + +“I hope you are not going,” said one, as my chaise drew up at the door. + +“Business calls me,” said I, “and I can’t help it.” + +“Could not you manage to see our friend here again, in a day or two?” +said the rosy one. + +“I fear it will be impossible,” replied I; “besides I have a notion he +may not desire it.” + +“I have been commissioned to hand you this,” said the tall doctor, with +a half sigh, as he put a check into my hand. + +I bowed slightly, and stuffed the crumpled paper with a half careless +air into my waistcoat pocket, and wishing them both every species of +happiness and success, shook hands four times with each, and drove off; +never believing myself safe ‘till I saw the gate-lodge behind me, and +felt myself flying on the road to Kilkenny at about twelve miles Irish +an hour. + + + + + CHAPTER XVIII. +THE ELOPEMENT. + + +It was past two o’clock when I reached the town. On entering the +barrack-yard, I perceived a large group of officers chatting together, +and every moment breaking into immoderate fits of laughter. I went +over, and immediately learned the source of their mirth, which was +this: No sooner had it been known that Fitzgerald was about to go to a +distance, on a professional call, than a couple of young officers laid +their heads together, and wrote an anonymous note to Mrs. Fitz. who was +the very dragon of jealousy, informing her, that her husband had +feigned the whole history of the patient and consultation as an excuse +for absenting himself on an excursion of gallantry; and that if she +wished to satisfy herself of the truth of the statement, she had only +to follow him in the morning, and detect his entire scheme; the object +of these amiable friends being to give poor Mrs. Fitz. a twenty miles’ +jaunt, and confront her with her injured husband at the end of it. + +Having a mind actively alive to suspicions of this nature, the worthy +woman made all her arrangements for a start, and scarcely was the +chaise and four, with her husband, out of the town, than was she on the +track of it, with a heart bursting with jealousy, and vowing vengeance +to the knife, against all concerned in this scheme to wrong her. + +So far the plan of her persecutors had perfectly succeeded; they saw +her depart, on a trip of, as they supposed, twenty miles, and their +whole notions of the practical joke were limited to the eclaircissement +that must ensue at the end. Little, however, were they aware how much +more nearly the suspected crime, was the position of the poor doctor to +turn out; for, as by one blunder I had taken his chaise, so he, without +any inquiry whatever, had got into the one intended for me; and never +awoke from a most refreshing slumber, till shaken by the shoulder by +the postillion, who whispered in his ear—“here we are sir; this is the +gate.” + +“But why stop at the gate? Drive up the avenue, my boy.” + +“His honor told me, sir, not for the world to go farther than the +lodge; nor to make as much noise as a mouse.” + +“Ah! very true. He may be very irritable, poor man! Well stop here, and +I’ll get out.” + +Just as the doctor had reached the ground, a very smart-looking +soubrette tripped up, and said to him— + +“Beg pardon, sir; but you are the gentleman from the barrack, sir?” + +“Yes, my dear,” said Fitz., with a knowing look at the pretty face of +the damsel, “what can I do for you?” + +“Why sir, my mistress is here in the shrubbery; but she is so nervous, +and so frightened, I don’t know how she’ll go through it.” + +“Ah! she’s frightened, poor thing; is she? Oh! she must keep up her +spirits, while there’s life there’s hope.” + +“Sir.” + +“I say, my darling, she must not give way. I’ll speak to her a little. +Is not he rather advanced in life?” + +“Oh, Lord! no sir. Only two-and-thirty, my mistress tells me?” + +“Two-and-thirty! Why I thought he was above sixty.” + +“Above sixty! Law! sir. You have a bright fancy. This is the gentleman, +ma’am. Now sir, I’ll just slip aside for a moment, and let you talk to +her.” + +“I am grieved, ma’am, that I have not the happiness to make your +acquaintance under happier circumstances.” + +“I must confess, sir—though I am ashamed”— + +“Never be ashamed, ma’am. Your grief, although, I trust causeless, does +you infinite honor.” + +“Upon my soul she is rather pretty,” said the doctor to himself here. + +“Well, sir! as I have the most perfect confidence in you, from all I +have heard of you, I trust you will not think me abrupt in saying that +any longer delay here is dangerous.” + +“Dangerous! Is he in so critical a state as that then?” + +“Critical a state, sir! Why what do you mean?” + +“I mean, ma’am, do you think, then, it must be done to-day?” + +“Of course I do, sir, and I shall never leave the spot without your +assuring me of it.” + +“Oh! in that case make your mind easy. I have the instruments in the +chaise.” + +“The instruments in the chaise! Really, sir, if you are not jesting—I +trust you don’t think this is a fitting time for such—I entreat of you +to speak more plainly and intelligibly.” + +“Jesting, ma’am! I’m incapable of jesting at such a moment.” + +“Ma’am! ma’am! I see one of the rangers, ma’am, at a distance; so don’t +lose a moment, but get into the chaise at once.” + +“Well, sir, let us away; for I have now gone too far to retract.” + +“Help my mistress into the chaise, sir. Lord! what a man it is.” + +A moment more saw the poor doctor seated beside the young lady, while +the postillions plied whip and spur with their best energy; and the +road flew beneath them. Meanwhile the delay caused by this short +dialogue, enabled Mrs. Fitz.’s slower conveyance to come up with the +pursuit, and her chaise had just turned the angle of the road as she +caught a glimpse of a muslin dress stepping into the carriage with her +husband. + +There are no words capable of conveying the faintest idea of the +feelings that agitated Mrs. Fitz. at this moment. The fullest +confirmation to her worst fears was before her eyes—just at the very +instant when a doubt was beginning to cross over her mind that it might +have been merely a hoax that was practised on her, and that the worthy +Doctor was innocent and blameless. As for the poor Doctor himself, +there seemed little chance of his being enlightened as to the real +state of matters; for from the moment the young lady had taken her +place in the chaise, she had buried her face in her hands, and sobbed +continually. Meanwhile he concluded that they were approaching the +house by some back entrance, to avoid noise and confusion, and waited, +with due patience, for the journey’s end. + +As, however, her grief continued unabated, Fitz. at length began to +think of the many little consolatory acts he had successfully practised +in his professional career, and was just insinuating some very tender +speech on the score of resignation, with his head inclined towards the +weeping lady beside him, when the chaise of Mrs. Fitz. came up +along-side, and the postillions having yielded to the call to halt, +drew suddenly up, displaying to the enraged wife the tableau we have +mentioned. + +“So, wretch,” she screamed rather than spoke, “I have detected you at +last.” + +“Lord bless me! Why it is my wife.” + +“Yes, villain! your injured, much-wronged wife! And you, madam, may I +ask what you have to say for thus eloping with a married man?” + +“Shame! My dear Jemima,” said Fitz. “how can you possibly permit your +foolish jealousy so far to blind your reason. Don’t you see I am going +upon a professional call?” + +“Oh! you are. Are you? Quite professional, I’ll be bound.” + +“Oh, sir! Oh, madam! I beseech you, save me from the anger of my +relatives, and the disgrace of exposure. Pray bring me back at once.” + +“Why, my God! ma’am, what do you mean? You are not gone mad, as well as +my wife.” + +“Really, Mr. Fitz.” said Mrs. F. “this is carrying the joke too far. +Take your unfortunate victim—as I suppose she is such—home to her +parents, and prepare to accompany me to the barrack; and if there be +law and justice in—” + +“Well! may the Lord in his mercy preserve my senses, or you will both +drive me clean mad.” + +“Oh, dear! oh, dear!” sobbed the young lady, while Mrs. Fitzgerald +continued to upbraid at the top of her voice, heedless of the +disclaimers and protestations of innocence poured out with the +eloquence of despair, by the poor doctor. Matters were in this state, +when a man dressed in a fustian jacket, like a groom, drove up to the +side of the road, in a tax-cart; he immediately got down, and tearing +open the door of the doctor’s chaise, lifted out the young lady, and +deposited her safely in his own conveyance, merely adding— + +“I say, master, you’re in luck this morning, that Mr. William took the +lower road; for if he had come up with you instead of me, he’d blow the +roof off your scull, that’s all.” + +While these highly satisfactory words were being addressed to poor +Fitz. Mrs. Fitzgerald had removed from her carriage to that of her +husband, perhaps preferring four horses to two; or perhaps she had +still some unexplained views of the transaction, which might as well be +told on the road homeward. + +Whatever might have been the nature of Mrs. F.’s dissertation, nothing +is known. The chaise containing these turtle doves arrived late at +night at Kilkenny, and Fitz. was installed safely in his quarters +before any one knew of his having come back. The following morning he +was reported ill; and for three weeks he was but once seen, and at that +time only at his window, with a flannel night-cap on his head, looking +particularly pale, and rather dark under one eye. + +As for Curzon—the last thing known of him that luckless morning, was +his hiring a post-chaise for the Royal Oak, from whence he posted to +Dublin, and hastened on to England. In a few days we learned that the +adjutant had exchanged into a regiment in Canada; and to this hour +there are not three men in the —th who know the real secret of that +morning’s misadventures. + + + + + CHAPTER XIX. +DETACHMENT DUTY—AN ASSIZE TOWN. + + +As there appeared to be but little prospect of poor Fitzgerald ever +requiring any explanation from me as to the events of that morning, for +he feared to venture from his room, lest he might be recognised and +prosecuted for abduction, I thought it better to keep my own secret +also; and it was therefore with a feeling of any thing but regret, that +I received an order which, under other circumstances, would have +rendered me miserable—to march on detachment duty. To any one at all +conversant with the life we lead in the army, I need not say how +unpleasant such a change usually is. To surrender your capital mess, +with all its well-appointed equipments—your jovial brother +officers—hourly flirtations with the whole female population—never a +deficient one in a garrison town—not to speak of your matches at +trotting, coursing, and pigeon-shooting, and a hundred other delectable +modes of getting over the ground through life, till it please your +ungrateful country and the Horse Guards to make you a major-general—to +surrender all these, I say, for the noise, dust, and damp disagreeables +of a country inn, with bacon to eat, whiskey to drink, and the priest, +or the constabulary chief, to get drunk with—I speak of Ireland +here—and your only affair, par amours, being the occasional ogling of +the apothecary’s daughter opposite, as often as she visits the shop, in +the soi disant occupation of measuring out garden seeds and senna. +These are indeed, the exchanges with a difference, for which there is +no compensation; and, for my own part, I never went upon such duty, +that I did not exclaim with the honest Irishman, when the mail went +over him, “Oh, Lord! what is this for?”—firmly believing that in the +earthly purgatory of such duties, I was reaping the heavy retribution +attendant on past offences. + +Besides, from being rather a crack man in my corps, I thought it +somewhat hard that my turn for such duty should come round about twice +as often as that of my brother officers; but so it is—I never knew a +fellow a little smarter than his neighbours, that was not pounced upon +by his colonel for a victim. Now, however, I looked at these matters in +a very different light. To leave head-quarters was to escape being +questioned; while there was scarcely any post to which I could be sent, +where something strange or adventurous might not turn up, and serve me +to erase the memory of the past, and turn the attention of my +companions in any quarter rather than towards myself. + +My orders on the present occasion were to march to Clonmel; from whence +I was to proceed a short distance to the house of a magistrate, upon +whose information, transmitted to the Chief Secretary, the present +assistance of a military party had been obtained; and not without every +appearance of reason. The assizes of the town were about to be held, +and many capital offences stood for trial in the calendar; and as it +was strongly rumoured that, in the event of certain convictions being +obtained, a rescue would be attempted, a general attack upon the town +seemed a too natural consequence; and if so, the house of so obnoxious +a person as him I have alluded to, would be equally certain of being +assailed. Such, at least, is too frequently the history of such scenes, +beginning with no one definite object: sometimes a slight one—more +ample views and wider conceptions of mischief follow; and what has +begun in a drunken riot—a casual rencontre—may terminate in the +slaughter of a family, or the burning of a village. The finest +peasantry—God bless them—are a vif people, and quicker at taking a hint +than most others, and have, withal, a natural taste for fighting, that +no acquired habits of other nations can pretend to vie with. + +As the worthy person to whose house I was now about to proceed was, and +if I am rightly informed is, rather a remarkable character in the local +history of Irish politics, I may as well say a few words concerning +him. Mr. Joseph Larkins, Esq.—(for so he signed himself)—had only been +lately elevated to the bench of magistrates. He was originally one of +that large but intelligent class called in Ireland “small farmers;” +remarkable chiefly for a considerable tact in driving hard bargains—a +great skill in wethers—a rather national dislike to pay all species of +imposts, whether partaking of the nature of tax, tithe, grand jury +cess, or any thing of that nature whatsoever. So very accountable—I had +almost said, (for I have been long quartered in Ireland,) so very +laudable a propensity, excited but little of surprise or astonishment +in his neighbours, the majority of whom entertained very similar +views—none, however, possessing any thing like the able and lawyer-like +ability of the worthy Larkins, for the successful evasion of these +inroads upon the liberty of the subject. Such, in fact, was his talent, +and so great his success in this respect, that he had established what, +if it did not actually amount to a statute of exemption in law, served +equally well in reality; and for several years he enjoyed a perfect +immunity on the subject of money-paying in general. His “little +houldin’,” as he unostentatiously called some five hundred acres of +bog, mountain, and sheep-walk, lay in a remote part of the county, the +roads were nearly impassable for several miles in that direction, land +was of little value; the agent was a timid man, with a large family; of +three tithe-proctors who had penetrated into the forbidden territory, +two laboured under a dyspepsia for life, not being able to digest +parchment and sealing-wax, for they usually dined on their own writs; +and the third gave five pounds out of his pocket, to a large, +fresh-looking man, with brown whiskers and beard, that concealed him +two nights in a hay-loft, to escape the vengeance of the people, which +act of philanthropy should never be forgotten, if some ill-natured +people were not bold enough to say the kind individual in question was +no other man than— + +However this may be, true it is that this was the last attempt made to +bring within the responsibilities of the law so refractory a subject; +and so powerful is habit, that although he was to be met with at every +market and cattle-fair in the county, an arrest of his person was no +more contemplated than if he enjoyed the privilege of parliament to go +at large without danger. + +When the country became disturbed, and nightly meetings of the +peasantry were constantly held, followed by outrages against life and +property to the most frightful extent, the usual resources of the law +were employed unavailingly. It was in vain to offer high rewards. +Approvers could not be found; and so perfectly organized were the +secret associations, that few beyond the very ringleaders knew any +thing of consequence to communicate. Special commissions were sent down +from Dublin; additional police force, detachments of military; long +correspondences took place between the magistracy and the +government—but all in vain. The disturbances continued; and at last to +such a height had they risen, that the country was put under martial +law; and even this was ultimately found perfectly insufficient to repel +what now daily threatened to become an open rebellion rather than mere +agrarian disturbance. It was at this precise moment, when all resources +seemed to be fast exhausting themselves, that certain information +reached the Castle, of the most important nature. The individual who +obtained and transmitted it, had perilled his life in so doing—but the +result was a great one—no less than the capital conviction and +execution of seven of the most influential amongst the disaffected +peasantry. Confidence was at once shaken in the secrecy of their +associates; distrust and suspicion followed. Many of the boldest sunk +beneath the fear of betrayal, and themselves, became evidence for the +crown; and in five months, a county shaken with midnight meetings, and +blazing with insurrectionary fires, became almost the most tranquil in +its province. It may well be believed, that he who rendered this +important service on this trying emergency, could not be passed over, +and the name of J. Larkins soon after appeared in the Gazette as one of +his Majesty’s justices of the peace for the county; pretty much in the +same spirit in which a country gentleman converts the greatest poacher +in his neighbourhood by making him, his gamekeeper. + +In person he was a large and powerfully built man, considerably above +six feet in height, and possessing great activity, combined with powers +of enduring fatigue almost incredible. With an eye like a hawk, and a +heart that never knew fear, he was the person, of all others, +calculated to strike terror into the minds of the country people. The +reckless daring with which he threw himself into danger—the almost +impetuous quickness with which he followed up a scent, whenever +information reached him of an important character—had their full effect +upon a people who, long accustomed to the slowness and the uncertainty +of the law were almost paralyzed at beholding detection and punishment +follow on crime, as certainly as the thunder-crash follows the +lightning. + +His great instrument for this purpose was the obtaining information +from sworn members of the secret societies, and whose names never +appeared in the course of a trial or a prosecution, until the measure +of their iniquity was completed, when they usually received a couple of +hundred pounds, blood-money, as it was called, with which they took +themselves away to America or Australia—their lives being only secured +while they remained, by the shelter afforded them in the magistrate’s +own house. And so it happened that, constantly there numbered from ten +to twelve of these wretches, inmates of his family, each of whom had +the burden of participation in one murder at least, waiting for an +opportunity to leave the country, unnoticed and unwatched. + +Such a frightful and unnatural state of things, can hardly be +conceived; and yet, shocking as it was, it was a relief to that which +led to it. I have dwelt, perhaps too long upon this painful subject; +but let my reader now accompany me a little farther, and the scene +shall be changed. Does he see that long, low, white house, with a tall, +steep roof, perforated with innumerable narrow windows. There are a few +straggling beech trees, upon a low, bleak-looking field before the +house, which is called, par excellence, the lawn; a pig or two, some +geese, and a tethered goat are, here and there musing over the state of +Ireland, while some rosy curly-headed noisy and bare-legged urchins are +gamboling before the door. This is the dwelling of the worshipful +justice, to which myself and my party were now approaching, with that +degree of activity which attends on most marches of twenty miles, under +the oppressive closeness of a day in autumn. Fatigued and tired as I +was, yet I could not enter the little enclosure before the house, +without stopping for a moment to admire the view before me. A large +tract of rich country, undulating on every side, and teeming with corn +fields, in all the yellow gold of ripeness; here and there, almost hid +by small clumps of ash and alder, were scattered some cottages, from +which the blue smoke rose in a curling column into the calm evening’s +sky. All was graceful, and beautifully tranquil; and you might have +selected the picture as emblematic of that happiness and repose we so +constantly associate with our ideas of the country; and yet, before +that sun had even set, which now gilded the landscape, its glories +would be replaced by the lurid glare of nightly incendiarism, and—but +here, fortunately for my reader, and perhaps myself, I am interrupted +in my meditations by a rich, mellifluous accent saying, in the true +Doric of the south— + +“Mr. Loorequer! you’re welcome to Curryglass, sir. You’ve had a hot day +for your march. Maybe you’d take a taste of sherry before dinner? Well +then, we’ll not wait for Molowny, but order it up at once.” + +So saying, I was ushered into a long, low drawing-room, in which were +collected together about a dozen men, to whom I was specially and +severally presented, and among whom I was happy to find my +boarding-house acquaintance, Mr. Daly, who, with the others, had +arrived that same day, for the assizes, and who were all members of the +legal profession, either barristers, attorneys, or clerks of the peace. + +The hungry aspect of the convives, no less than the speed with which +dinner made its appearance after my arrival, showed me that my coming +was only waited for to complete the party—the Mr. Molowny before +alluded to, being unanimously voted present. The meal itself had but +slight pretensions to elegance; there were neither vol au vents, nor +croquettes; neither were there poulets aux truffes, nor cotelletes a la +soubise but in their place stood a lordly fish of some five-and-twenty +pounds weight, a massive sirloin, with all the usual armament of fowls, +ham, pigeon-pie, beef-steak, &c. lying in rather a promiscuous order +along either side of the table. The party were evidently disposed to be +satisfied, and I acknowledge, I did not prove an exception to the +learned individuals about me, either in my relish for the good things, +or my appetite to enjoy them. Dulce est desipere in loco, says some +one, by which I suppose is meant, that a rather slang company is +occasionally good fun. Whether from my taste for the “humanities” or +not, I am unable to say, but certainly in my then humour, I should not +have exchanged my position for one of much greater pretensions to +elegance and ton. There was first a general onslaught upon the viands, +crashing of plates, jingling of knives, mingling with requests for +“more beef,” “the hard side of the salmon,” or “another slice of ham.” +Then came a dropping fire of drinking wine, which quickly increased, +the decanters of sherry for about ten minutes resting upon the table, +about as long as Taglioni touches this mortal earth in one of her +flying ballets. Acquaintances were quickly formed between the members +of the bar and myself, and I found that my momentary popularity was +likely to terminate in my downfall; for, as each introduction was +followed by a bumper of strong sherry, I did not expect to last till +the end of the feast. The cloth at length disappeared, and I was just +thanking Providence for the respite from hob-nobbing which I imagined +was to follow, when a huge, square decanter of whiskey appeared, +flanked by an enormous jug of boiling water, and renewed preparations +for drinking upon a large scale seriously commenced. It was just at +this moment that I, for the first time, perceived the rather remarkable +figure who had waited upon us at dinner, and who, while I chronicle so +many things of little import, deserves a slight mention. He was a +little old man of about fifty-five or sixty years, wearing upon his +head a barrister’s wig, and habited in clothes which originally had +been the costume of a very large and bulky person, and which, +consequently, added much to the drollery of his appearance. He had +been, for forty years, the servant of Judge Vandeleur, and had entered +his present service rather in the light of a preceptor than a menial, +invariably dictating to the worthy justice upon every occasion of +etiquette or propriety, by a reference to what “the judge himself” did, +which always sufficed to carry the day in Nicholas’s favour, opposition +to so correct a standard, never being thought of by the justice. + +“That’s Billy Crow’s own whiskey, the ‘small still,’” said Nicholas, +placing the decanter upon the table, “make much of it, for there isn’t +such dew in the county.” + +With this commendation upon the liquor, Nicholas departed, and we +proceeded to fill our glasses. + +I cannot venture—perhaps it is so much the better that I cannot—to give +any idea of the conversation which at once broke out, as if the +barriers that restrained it had at length given way. But law talk in +all its plenitude, followed; and for two hours I heard of nothing but +writs, detainers, declarations, traverses in prox, and alibis, with +sundry hints for qui tam processes, interspersed, occasionally, with +sly jokes about packing juries and confusing witnesses, among which +figured the usual number of good things attributed to the Chief Baron +O’Grady and the other sayers of smart sayings at the bar. + +“Ah!” said Mr. Daly, drawing a deep sigh at the same instant—“the bar +is sadly fallen off since I was called in the year seventy-six. There +was not a leader in one of the circuits at that time that couldn’t +puzzle any jury that ever sat in a box; and as for driving through an +act of parliament, it was, as Sancho Panza says, cakes and gingerbread +to them. And then, there is one especial talent lost for ever to the +present generation—just like stained glass and illuminated manuscripts, +and slow poisons and the like—that were all known years ago—I mean the +beautiful art of addressing the judge before the jury, and not letting +them know you were quizzing them, if ye liked to do that same. Poor +Peter Purcell for that—rest his ashes—he could cheat the devil himself, +if he had need—and maybe he has had before now, Peter is sixteen years +dead last November.” + +“And what was Peter’s peculiar tact in that respect, Mr. Daly?” said I. + +“Oh, then I might try for hours to explain it to you in vain; but I’ll +just give you an instance that’ll show you better than all my +dissertations on the subject, and I was present myself when it +happened, more by token, it was the first time I ever met him on +circuit;— + +“I suppose there is scarcely any one here now, except myself, that +remembers the great cause of Mills versus Mulcahy, a widow and others, +that was tried in Ennis, in the year ‘82. It’s no matter if there is +not. Perhaps it may be more agreeable for me, for I can tell my story +my own version, and not be interrupted. Well, that was called the old +record, for they tried it seventeen times. I believe, on my conscience, +it killed old Jones, who was in the Common Pleas; he used to say, if he +put it for trial on the day of judgment, one of the parties would be +sure to lodge an appeal. Be that as it may, the Millses engaged Peter +special, and brought him down with a great retainer, in a chaise and +four, flags flying, and favors in the postillions’ hats, and a fiddler +on the roof playing the ‘hare in the corn.’ The inn was illuminated the +same evening, and Peter made a speech from the windows upon the liberty +of the press and religious freedom all over the globe, and there wasn’t +a man in the mob didn’t cheer him, which was the more civil, because +few of them knew a word of English, and the others thought he was a +play-actor. But it all went off well, nevertheless, for Peter was a +clever fellow; and although he liked money well, he liked popularity +more, and he never went any where special that he hadn’t a public +meeting of some kind or other, either to abolish rents, or suppress +parsons, or some such popular and beneficial scheme, which always made +him a great favourite with the people, and got him plenty of clients. +But I am wandering from the record. Purcell came down, as I said +before, special for Mills; and when he looked over his brief, and +thought of the case, he determined to have it tried by a gentlemen +jury, for although he was a great man with the mob, he liked the +country gentlemen better in the jury box, for he was always coming out +with quotations from the classics, which, whether the grand jury +understood or not, they always applauded very much. Well, when he came +into court that morning, you may guess his surprise and mortification +to find that the same jury that had tried a common ejectment case, were +still in the box, and waiting, by the chief justice’s direction, to try +Mills versus Mulcahy, the great case of the assizes. + +“I hear they were a set of common clod-hopping wretches, with frize +coats and brogues, that no man could get round at all, for they were as +cunning as foxes, and could tell blarney from good sense, rather better +than people with better coats on them. + +“Now, the moment that Mr. Purcell came into the court, after bowing +politely to the judge, he looked up to the box, and when he saw the +dirty faces of the dealers in pork and potatoes, and the unshaven chins +of the small farmers, his heart fell within him, and he knew in a +minute how little they’d care for the classics—if he quoted Caesar’s +Commentaries itself for them—ignorant creatures as they were! + +“Well, the cause was called, and up gets Peter, and he began to +‘express’, (as he always called it himself,) ‘the great distress his +client and himself would labour under, if the patient and most +intelligent jury then on the panel should come to the consideration of +so very tedious a case as this promised to be, after their already most +fatiguing exertions;’ he commented upon their absence from their wives +and families, their farms neglected, their crops hazarded, and in about +fifteen minutes he showed them they were, if not speedily released and +sent home, worse treated and harder used than many of the prisoners +condemned to three months imprisonment; and actually so far worked upon +the feelings of the chief himself, that he turned to the foreman of the +jury, and said, ‘that although it was a great deviation from his +habitual practice, if at this pressing season their prospects were +involved to the extent the learned counsel had pictured, why then, that +he would so far bend his practice on this occasion, and they should be +dismissed.’ Now Peter, I must confess, here showed the most culpable +ignorance in not knowing that a set of country fellows, put up in a +jury box, would rather let every glade of corn rot in the ground, than +give up what they always supposed so very respectable an appointment; +for they invariably imagine in these cases that they are something very +like my lord the judge, ‘barrin’ the ermine;’ besides, that on the +present occasion, Peter’s argument in their favour decided them upon +staying, for they now felt like martyrs, and firmly believed that they +were putting the chief justice under an obligation to them for life. + +“When, therefore, they heard the question of the court, it did not take +a moment’s time for the whole body to rise en masses and bowing to the +judge, call out, ‘We’ll stay, my lord, and try every mother’s son of +them for you; ay, if it lasted till Christmas. + +“‘I am sure, my lord,’ said Peter, collecting himself for an effort, ‘I +cannot sufficiently express my gratitude for the great sacrifice these +gifted and highly intelligent gentlemen are making in my client’s +behalf; for being persons who have great interests in the country at +stake, their conduct on the present occasion is the more praiseworthy; +and I am certain they fully appreciate, as does your lordship, the +difficulty of the case before us, when documents will be submitted, +requiring a certain degree of acquaintance with such testimonials +sufficiently to comprehend. Many of the title deeds, as your lordship +is aware, being obtained under old abbey charters, are in the learned +languages; and we all know how home to our hearts and bosoms comes the +beautiful line of the Greek poet ‘vacuus viator cantabit ante +latronem.’” The sound of the quotation roused the chief justice, who +had been in some measure inattentive to the preceding part of the +learned counsel’s address, and he called out rather sharply, ‘Greek! +Mr. Purcell—why I must have mistaken—will you repeat the passage?’ + +“‘With pleasure, my lord. I was just observing to your lordship and the +jury, with the eloquent poet Hergesius, ‘vacuus viator cantabit ante +latronem.’ + +“‘Greek, did you call it?’ + +“‘Yes, my lord, of course I did.’ + +“‘Why, Mr. Purcell, you are quoting Latin to me—and what do you mean by +talking of the learned Hergesius, and Greek all this time?—the line is +Juvenal’s.’ + +“‘My lord, with much submission to your lordship, and every deference +to your great attainments and very superior talents, let me still +assure you that I am quoting Greek, and that your lordship is in +error.’ + +“‘Mr. Purcell, I have only to remark, that if you are desirous of +making a jest of the court, you had better be cautious, I say, sir;’ +and here the judge waxed exceeding wroth. ‘I say the line is +Latin—Latin, sir, Juvenal’s Latin, sir—every schoolboy knows it.’ + +“‘Of course, my lord,’ said Peter, with great humility, ‘I bow myself +to the decision of your lordship; the line is, therefore, Latin. Yet I +may be permitted to hint that were your lordship disposed to submit +this question, as you are shortly about to do another and a similar +one, to those clear-sighted and intelligent gentlemen there, I am +satisfied, my lord, it would be Greek to every man of them.’ + +“The look, the voice, and the peculiar emphasis with which Peter gave +these words, were perfectly successful. The acute judge anticipated the +wish of the counsel—the jury were dismissed, and Peter proceeded to his +case before those he knew better how to deal with, and with whom the +result was more certain to be as he wished it.” + +To this anecdote of the counsellor, succeeded many others, of which, as +the whiskey was potent and the hour late, my memory is not over +retentive: the party did not break up till near four o’clock; and even +then, our seance only concluded, because some one gravely remarked +“that as we should be all actively engaged on the morrow, early hours +were advisable.” + + + + + CHAPTER XX. +THE ASSIZE TOWN. + + +I had not been above a week in my new quarters, when my servant +presented me, among my letters one morning, with a packet, which with +considerable pains, I at length recognised to be directed to me. The +entire envelope was covered with writing in various hands, among which +I detected something which bore a faint resemblance to my name; but the +address which followed was perfectly unreadable, not only to me, as it +appeared, but also to the “experts” of the different post-offices, for +it had been followed by sundry directions to try various places +beginning with T, which seemed to be the letter commencing the “great +unknown locality:” thus I read “try Tralee,” “try Tyrone,” “try +Tanderagee,” &c. &c. I wonder that they didn’t add, “try Teheran,” and +I suppose they would at last, rather than abandon the pursuit. + +“But, Stubber,” said I, as I conned over the various addresses on this +incomprehensible cover, “are you sure this is for me?” + +“The postmaster, sir, desired me to ask you if you’d have it, for he +has offered it to every one down in these parts lately; the waterguard +officers will take it at 8d. Cir, if you won’t, but I begged you might +have the refusal.” + +“Oh! very well; I am happy to find matters are managed so impartially +in the post-office here. Nothing like a public cant for making matters +find their true level. Tell the postmaster, then, I’ll keep the letter, +and the rather, as it happens, by good luck, to be intended for me.” + +“And now for the interior,” said I, as I broke the seal and read: + +“Paris, Rue Castiglione. + + +“My dear Mr. Lorrequer—As her ladyship and my son have in vain essayed +to get any thing from you in the shape of reply to their letters, it +has devolved upon me to try my fortune, which were I to augur from the +legibility of my writing, may not, I should fear, prove more successful +than the”—(what can the word be?) “the—the”—why, it can’t be damnable, +surely?—no, it is amiable, I see—“than the amiable epistle of my lady. +I cannot, however, permit myself to leave this without apprising you +that we are about to start for Baden, where we purpose remaining a +month or two. Your cousin Guy, who has been staying for some time with +us, has been obliged to set out for Geneva, but hopes to join in some +weeks hence. He is a great favourite with us all, but has not effaced +the memory of our older friend, yourself. Could you not find means to +come over and see us—if only a flying visit? Rotterdam is the route, +and a few days would bring you to our quarters. Hoping that you may +feel so disposed, I have enclosed herewith a letter to the Horse +Guards, which I trust may facilitate your obtaining leave of absence. I +know of no other mode of making your peace with the ladies, who are too +highly incensed at your desertion to send one civil postscript to this +letter; and Kilkee and myself are absolutely exhausted in our defence +of you. Believe me, yours truly, + + +“Callonby.” + + +Had I received an official notification of my being appointed paymaster +to the forces, or chaplain to Chelsea hospital, I believe I should have +received the information with less surprise than I perused this +letter—that after the long interval which had elapsed, during which I +had considered myself totally forgotten by this family, I should now +receive a letter—and such a letter, too—quite in the vein of our former +intimacy and good feeling, inviting me to their house, and again +professing their willingness that I should be on the terms of our old +familiarity—was little short of wonderful to me. I read, too—with what +pleasure?—that slight mention of my cousin, whom I had so long regarded +as my successful rival, but who I began now to hope had not been +preferred to me. Perhaps it was not yet too late to think that all was +not hopeless. It appeared, too, that several letters had been written +which had never reached me; so, while I accused them of neglect and +forgetfulness, I was really more amenable to the charge myself; for, +from the moment I had heard of my cousin Guy’s having been domesticated +amongst them, and the rumours of his marriage had reached me, I +suffered my absurd jealousy to blind my reason, and never wrote another +line after. I ought to have known how “bavarde” [boasting] Guy always +was—that he never met with the most commonplace attentions any where, +that he did not immediately write home about settlements and pin-money, +and portions for younger children, and all that sort of nonsense. Now I +saw it all plainly, and ten thousand times quicker than my hopes were +extinguished before were they again kindled, and I could not refrain +from regarding Lady Jane as a mirror of constancy, and myself the most +fortunate man in Europe. My old castle-building propensities came back +upon me in an instant, and I pictured myself, with Lady Jane as my +companion, wandering among the beautiful scenery of the Neckar, beneath +the lofty ruins of Heidelberg, or skimming the placid surface of the +Rhine, while, “mellowed by distance,” came the rich chorus of a +student’s melody, filling the air with its flood of song. How +delightful, I thought, to be reading the lyrics of Uhland, or Buerger, +with one so capable of appreciating them, with all the hallowed +associations of the “Vaterland” about us! Yes, said I aloud, repeating +the well-known line of a German “Lied”— + +“Bakranzt mit Laub, den lieben vollen Becher.” + + +“Upon my conscience,” said Mr. Daly, who had for some time past been in +silent admiration of my stage-struck appearance—“upon my conscience, +Mr. Lorrequer, I had no conception you knew Irish.” + +The mighty talisman of the Counsellor’s voice brought me back in a +moment to a consciousness of where I was then standing, and the still +more fortunate fact that I was only a subaltern in his majesty’s —th—. + +“Why, my dear Counsellor, that was German I was quoting, not Irish.” + +“With all my heart,” said Mr. Daly, breaking the top off his third +egg—“with all my heart; I’d rather you’d talk it than me. Much +conversation in that tongue, I’m thinking, would be mighty apt to +loosen one’s teeth.” + +“Not at all, it is the most beautiful language in Europe, and the most +musical too. Why, even for your own peculiar taste in such matters, +where can you find any language so rich in Bacchanalian songs as +German?” + +“I’d rather hear the “Cruiskeen Lawn” or the “Jug of Punch” as my old +friend Pat. Samson could sing them, than a score of your high Dutch +jawbreakers.” + +“Shame upon ye, Mr. Daly; and for pathos, for true feeling, where is +there anything equal to Schiller’s ballads?” + +“I don’t think I’ve ever heard any of his; but if you will talk of +ballads,” said the Counsellor, “give me old Mosey M’Garry’s: what’s +finer than”—and here began, with a most nasal twang and dolorous +emphasis, to sing— + +“‘And I stepp’d up unto her, + An’ I made a congee— +And I ax’d her, her pardon + For the making so free.’ + + +“And then the next verse, she says— + +“‘Are you goin’ to undo me, + In this desert alone?’— + + +“There’s a shake there.” + +“For Heaven’s sake,” I cried, “stop; when I spoke of ballads, I never +meant such infernal stuff as that.” + +“I’ll not give up my knowledge of ballads to any man breathing,” said +Mr. Daly; “and, with God’s blessing, I’ll sing you one this evening, +after dinner, that will give you a cramp in the stomach.” + +An animated discussion upon lyrical poetry was here interrupted by a +summons from our host to set out for the town. My party were, by the +desire of the magistracy, to be in readiness near the court-house, in +the event of any serious disturbance, which there existed but too much +reason to fear from the highly excited state of feeling on the subject +of the approaching trials. The soldiers were, under the guidance of Mr. +Larkins, safely ensconced in a tan-yard; and I myself, having consigned +them for the present to a non-commissioned officer, was left at perfect +liberty to dispose of my time and person as it might please me. + +While these arrangements were taking place, I had entirely lost sight +of Mr. Daly, under whose guidance and protection I trusted to obtain a +place within the bar to hear the trials; so that I was now perfectly +alone, for my host’s numerous avocations entirely precluded any thought +of my putting myself under his care. + +My first object was to reach the court-house, and there could be little +difficulty in finding it, for the throng of persons in the street were +all eagerly bending their way thither. I accordingly followed with the +stream, and soon found myself among an enormous multitude of +frize-coated and red-cloaked people, of both sexes, in a large open +square, which formed the market-place, one side of which was flanked by +the court-house—for as such I immediately recognized a massive-looking +grey stone building—in which the numerous windows, all open and filled +with people, exhaled a continued steam from the crowded atmosphere +within. To approach it was perfectly impossible: for the square was +packed so closely, that as the people approached, by the various +streets, they were obliged to stand in the avenues leading to it, and +regard what was going on from a distance. Of this large multitude I +soon became one, hoping that at length some fortunate opportunity might +enable me to obtain admission through some of my legal acquaintances. + +That the fate of those who were then upon their trial for their lives +absorbed the entire feelings of those without, a momentary glance at +the hundreds of anxious and care-worn faces in the crowd, would +completely satisfy. Motionless and silent they stood: they felt no +fatigue—no want of food or refreshment—their interest was one and +undivided—all their hopes and fears were centered in the events then +passing at a short distance from them, but to which their ignorance +imparted an additional and more painful excitement—the only information +of how matters were going on being by an occasional word, sometimes a +mere gesture from some one stationed in the windows to a friend in the +crowd. + +When the contemplation of this singularly impressive scene was +beginning to weary from the irksomeness of my position, I thought of +retiring: but soon discovered how impossible was such a step. The crowd +had blocked up so completely all the avenues of approach, that even had +I succeeded in getting from the market-place, it would be only to +remain firmly impacted among the mob in the street. + +It now also occurred to me, that although I had been assured by Larkins +no call could possibly be made upon my services or those of my party, +till after the trial, yet, were that to conclude at any moment, I +should be perfectly unable to regain the place where I had stationed +them, and the most serious consequences might ensue from the absence of +their officer, if the men were required to act. + +From the time this thought took possession of me, I became excessively +uncomfortable. Every expression of the people that denoted the progress +of the trial, only alarmed me for the conclusion, which I supposed, +might not be distant, and I began, with all my ingenuity, to attempt my +retreat, which, after half an hour’s severe struggle, I completely +abandoned, finding myself scarcely ten yards from where I started. + +At length, the counsel for the crown, who had been speaking to +evidence, ceased; and an indistinct murmur was heard through the +court-house, which was soon repressed by the voice of the crier calling +“silence.” All now seemed still and silent as the grave—yet, on +listening attentively, for some time, you could catch the low tones of +a voice speaking, as it appeared, with great deliberation and slowness. +This was the judge addressing the jury. In a short time this also +ceased; and, for about half an hour, the silence was perfectly +unbroken, and both within and without there reigned one intense and +aching sense of anxiety that absorbed every feeling, and imparted to +every face an expression of almost agonizing uncertainty. It was, +indeed, a space well calculated to excite such emotions. The jury had +retired to deliberate upon their verdict. At length a door was heard to +open, and the footsteps of the jury, as they resumed their places, +sounded through the court, and were heard by those without. How heavily +upon many a stout heart those footsteps fell! They had taken their +seats—then came another pause—after which the monotonous tones of the +clerk of the court were heard, addressing the jury for their verdict. +As the foreman rises every ear is bent—every eye strained—every +heart-string vibrates: his lips move, but he is not heard; he is +desired by the judge to speak louder; the colour mounts to his before +bloodless face; he appears to labour for a few seconds with a mighty +effort, and, at last, pronounces the words, “Guilty, my Lord—all +guilty!” + +I have heard the wild war-whoop of the red Indian, as, in his own pine +forest, he has unexpectedly come upon the track of his foe, and the +almost extinguished hope of vengeance has been kindled again in his +cruel heart—I have listened to the scarcely less savage hurra of a +storming party, as they have surmounted the crumbling ruins of a +breach, and devoted to fire and sword, with that one yell, all who +await them—and once in my life it has been my fortune to have heard the +last yell of defiance from a pirate crew, as they sunk beneath the +raking fire of a frigate, rather than surrender, and went down with a +cheer of defiance that rose even above the red artillery that destroyed +but could not subdue them;—but never, in any or all of these awful +moments, did my heart vibrate to such sounds as rent the air when the +fatal “Guilty” was heard by those within, and repeated to those +without. It was not grief—it was not despair—neither was it the cry of +sharp and irrepressible anguish, from a suddenly blighted hope—but it +was the long pent-up and carefully-concealed burst of feeling which +called aloud for vengeance—red and reeking revenge upon all who had +been instrumental in the sentence then delivered. It ceased, and I +looked towards the court-house, expecting that an immediate and +desperate attack upon the building and those whom it contained would at +once take place. But nothing of the kind ensued; the mob were already +beginning to disperse, and before I recovered perfectly from the +excitement of these few and terrible moments, the square was nearly +empty, and I almost felt as if the wild and frantic denunciation that +still rang through my ears, had been conjured up by a heated and +fevered imagination. + +When I again met our party at the dinner table, I could not help +feeling surprised on perceiving how little they sympathized in my +feeling for the events of the day; which, indeed, they only alluded to +in a professional point of view—criticising the speeches of the counsel +on both sides, and the character of the different witnesses who were +examined. + +“Well,” said Mr. Daly, addressing our host, “you never could have had a +conviction to-day if it wasn’t for Mike. He’s the best evidence I ever +heard. I’d like to know very much how you ever got so clever a fellow +completely in your clutches?” + +“By a mere accident, and very simply,” replied the justice. “It was +upon one of our most crowded fair days—half the county was in town, +when the information arrived that the Walshes were murdered the night +before, at the cross-roads above Telenamuck mills. The news reached me +as I was signing some tithe warrants, one of which was against Mickey. +I sent for him into the office, knowing that as he was in the secret of +all the evil doings, I might as well pretend to do him a service, and +offer to stop the warrant, out of kindness as it were. Well, one way or +another, he was kept waiting for several hours while I was engaged in +writing, and all the country people, as they passed the window, could +look in and see Mickey Sheehan standing before me, while I was employed +busily writing letters. It was just at this time, that a mounted +policeman rode in with the account of the murder; upon which I +immediately issued a warrant to arrest the two MacNeills and Owen +Shirley upon suspicion. I thought I saw Mike turn pale, as I said the +names over to the serjeant of police, and I at once determined to turn +it to account; so I immediately began talking to Mickey about his own +affairs, breaking off, every now and then, to give some directions +about the men to be captured. The crowd outside was increasing every +instant, and you need not have looked at their faces twice, to perceive +that they had regarded Mickey as an approver; and the same night that +saw the MacNeills in custody, witnessed the burning of Sheehan’s house +and haggart, and he only escaped by a miracle over to Curryglass, +where, once under my protection, with the imputation upon his character +of having turned King’s evidence, I had little trouble in persuading +him that he might as well benefit by the report as enjoy the name +without the gain. He soon complied, and the convictions of this day are +partly the result.” + +When the applause which greeted this clever stroke of our host had +subsided, I enquired what results might, in all likelihood, follow the +proceedings of which I had that day been a witness? + +“Nothing will be done immediately,” replied the justice, “because we +have a large force of police and military about us; but let either, or +unhappily both, be withdrawn, and the cry you heard given in the +market-place to-day will be the death-wail for more than one of those +who are well and hearty at this moment.” + +The train of thought inevitably forced upon me by all I had been a +spectator of during the day, but little disposed me to be a partaker in +the mirth and conviviality which, as usual, formed the staple of the +assize dinners of Mr. Larkins; and I accordingly took an early +opportunity to quit the company and retire for the night. + + + + + CHAPTER XXI. +A DAY IN DUBLIN. + +[Illustration: Mr. Burke’s Enthusiasm for the Duke of Wellington] + + +On the third day of my residence at Curryglass, arrived my friend, +Mortimer, to replace me, bringing my leave from the colonel, and a most +handsome letter, in which he again glanced at the prospect before me in +the Callonby family, and hinted at my destination, which I had not +alluded to, adding, that if I made the pretence of study in Germany the +reason for my application at the Horse Guards, I should be almost +certain to obtain a six months’ leave. With what spirits I ordered +Stubber to pack up my portmanteau, and secure our places in the Dublin +mail for that night, while I myself hurried to take leave of my kind +entertainer and his guests, as well as to recommend to their favor and +attention my excellent friend Mortimer, who, being a jovial fellow, not +at all in love, was a happy exchange for me, who, despite Daly’s +capital stories, had spent the last two days in watching the high road +for my successor’s arrival. + +Once more then, I bade adieu to Curryglass and its hospitable owner, +whose labours for “justice to Ireland” I shall long remember, and +depositing myself in the bowels of his majesty’s mail, gave way to the +full current of my hopes and imaginings, which at last ended in a sound +and refreshing sleep, from which I only awoke as we drew up at the door +of the Hibernian, in Dawson-street. + +Even at that early hour there was considerable bustle and activity of +preparation, which I was at some loss to account for, till informed by +the waiter that there were upwards of three hundred strangers in the +house, it being the day of his majesty’s expected arrival on his visit +to Ireland, and a very considerable section of the county Galway being +at that moment, with their wives and families, installed, for the +occasion, in this, their favourite hotel. + +Although I had been reading of this approaching event every day for the +last three months, I could not help feeling surprised at the intense +appearance of excitement it occasioned, and, in the few minutes’ +conversation I held with the waiter, learned the total impossibility of +procuring a lodging anywhere, and that I could not have a bed, even +were I to offer five guineas for it. Having, therefore, no inclination +for sleep, even upon easier terms, I ordered my breakfast to be ready +at ten, and set out upon a stroll through the town. I could not help, +in my short ramble through the streets, perceiving how admirably +adapted were the worthy Dublinites for all the honors that awaited +them; garlands of flowers, transparencies, flags, and the other +insignia of rejoicing, were everywhere in preparation, and, at the end +of Sackville-street, a considerable erection, very much resembling an +impromptu gallows, was being built, for the purpose, as I afterwards +learnt, of giving the worshipful the lord mayor the opportunity of +opening the city gates to royalty; creating the obstacle where none +existed; being a very ingenious conceit, and considerably Irish into +the bargain. I could not help feeling some desire to witness how all +should go off, to use the theatrical phrase; but, in my anxiety to get +on to the continent, I at once abandoned every thought of delay. When I +returned to the coffee-room of my hotel, I found it crowded to excess; +every little table, originally destined for the accommodation of one, +having at least two, and sometimes three occupants. In my hurried +glance round the room, to decide where I should place myself, I was +considerably struck with the appearance of a stout elderly gentleman, +with red whiskers, and a high, bald forehead; he had, although the day +was an oppressively hot one, three waistcoats on, and by the brown York +tan of his long topped boots, evinced a very considerable contempt +either for weather or fashion; in the quick glance of his sharp grey +eye, I read that he listened half doubtingly to the narrative of his +companion, whose back was turned towards me, but who appeared, from the +occasional words which reached me, to be giving a rather marvellous and +melodramatic version of the expected pleasures of the capital. There +was something in the tone of the speaker’s voice that I thought I +recognised; I accordingly drew near, and what was my surprise to +discover my friend Tom O’Flaherty. After our first salutation was over, +Tom presented me to his friend, Mr. Burke, of somewhere, who, he +continued to inform me, in a stage whisper, was a “regular dust,” and +never in Dublin in his life before. + +“And so, you say, sir, that his majesty cannot enter without the +permission of the lord mayor?” + +“And the aldermen, too,” replied Tom. “It is an old feudal ceremony; +when his majesty comes up to the gate, he demands admission, and the +lord mayor refuses, because he would be thus surrendering his great +prerogative of head of the city; then the aldermen get about him, and +cajole him, and by degrees he’s won over by the promise of being +knighted, and the king gains the day, and enters.” + +“Upon my conscience, a mighty ridiculous ceremony it is, after all,” +said Mr. Burke, “and very like a bargain for sheep in Ballinasloe fair, +when the buyer and seller appear to be going to fight, till a mutual +friend settles the bargain between them.” + +At this moment, Mr. Burke suddenly sprung from his chair, which was +nearest the window, to look out; I accordingly followed his example, +and beheld a rather ludicrous procession, if such it could be called, +consisting of so few persons. The principal individual in the group was +a florid, fat, happy-looking gentleman of about fifty, with a profusion +of nearly white whiskers, which met at his chin, mounted upon a sleek +charger, whose half-ambling, half-prancing pace, had evidently been +acquired by long habit of going in procession; this august figure was +habited in a scarlet coat and cocked hat, having aiguillettes, and all +the other appanage of a general officer; he also wore tight buckskin +breeches, and high jack-boots, like those of the Blues and Horse +Guards; as he looked from side to side, with a self-satisfied contented +air, he appeared quite insensible of the cortege which followed and +preceded him; the latter, consisting of some score of half-ragged boys, +yelling and shouting with all their might, and the former, being a kind +of instalment in hand of the Dublin Militia Band, and who, in numbers +and equipment, closely resembled the “army which accompanies the first +appearance of Bombastes.” The only difference, that these I speak of +did not play “the Rogue’s March,” which might have perhaps appeared +personal. + +As this goodly procession advanced, Mr. Burke’s eyes became riveted +upon it; it was the first wonder he had yet beheld, and he devoured it. +“May I ask, sir,” said he, at length, “who that is?” + +“Who that is!” said Tom, surveying him leisurely as he spoke; “why, +surely, sir, you must be jesting, or you would not ask such a question; +I trust, indeed, every one knows who he is. Eh, Harry,” said he, +looking at me for a confirmation of what he said, and to which, of +course, I assented by a look. + +“Well, but, my dear Mr. O’Flaherty, you forget how ignorant I am of +every thing here—” + +“Ah, true,” said Tom, interrupting; “I forgot you never saw him +before.” + +“And who is he, sir?” + +“Why, that’s the Duke of Wellington.” + +“Lord have mercy upon me, is it?” said Mr. Burke, as he upset the +table, and all its breakfast equipage, and rushed through the +coffee-room like one possessed. Before I could half recover from the +fit of laughing this event threw me into, I heard him as he ran full +speed down Dawson-street, waving his hat, and shouting out at the top +of his lungs, “God bless your grace—Long life to your grace—Hurra for +the hero of Waterloo; the great captain of the age,” &c. &c.; which I +grieve to say, for the ingratitude of the individual lauded, seemed not +to afford him half the pleasure, and none of the amusement it did the +mob, who reechoed the shouts and cheering till he was hid within the +precincts of the Mansion House. + +“And, now,” said Tom to me, “finish your breakfast as fast as possible; +for, when Burke comes back he will be boring me to dine with him, or +some such thing, as a kind of acknowledgment of his gratitude for +showing him the Duke. Do you know he has seen more wonders through my +poor instrumentality, within the last three days in Dublin than a six +months’ trip to the continent would show most men. I have made him +believe that Burke Bethel is Lord Brougham, and I am about to bring him +to a soiree at Mi-Ladi’s, who he supposes to be the Marchioness of +Conyngham. Apropos to the Bellissima, let me tell you of a ‘good hit’ I +was witness to a few nights since; you know, perhaps, old Sir Charles +Giesecke, eh?” + +“I have seen him once, I think—the professor of mineralogy.” + +“Well, poor old Sir Charles, one of the most modest and retiring men in +existence, was standing the other night among the mob, in one of the +drawing-rooms, while a waltzing-party were figuring away, at which, +with that fondness for ‘la danse’ that characterizes every German of +any age, he was looking with much interest, when my lady came tripping +up, and the following short dialogue ensued within my ear-shot:—” + +“Ah, mon cher, Sir Charles, ravi de vous voir. But why are you not +dancing?” + +“Ah, mi ladi, Je ne puis pas, c’est a dire, Ich kann es nicht; I am too +old; Ich bin—” + +“Oh, you horrid man; I understand you perfectly. You hate ladies, that +is the real reason. You do—you know you do.” + +“Ah, my ladi, Gnaedige frau; glauben sie mir; I do loave de ladies; I +do adore de sex. Do you know, my ladi, when I was in Greenland I did +keep four womans.” + +“Oh, shocking, horrid, vile Sir Charles, how could you tell me such a +story? I shall die of it.” + +“Ah, mine Gott, mi ladi; sie irren sich, vous, vous trompez. You are +quite in mistake; it was only to row my boat!” + +“I leave you to guess how my lady’s taste for the broad-side of the +story, and poor Sir Charles’s vindication of himself, in regard to his +estimation of ‘le beau sexe,’ amused all who heard it; as for me, I had +to leave the room, half-choked with suppressed laughter. And, now, let +us bolt, for I see Burke coming, and, upon my soul I am tired of +telling him lies, and must rest on my oars for a few hours at least.” + +“But where is the necessity for so doing?” said I, “surely, where there +is so much of novelty as a large city presents to a visitor for the +first time, there is little occasion to draw upon imagination for your +facts.” + +“Ah, my dear Harry, how little do you know of life; there is a kind of +man whose appetite for the marvellous is such, that he must be crammed +with miracles or he dies of inanition, and you might as well attempt to +feed a tiger upon pate de foie gras, as satisfy him by mere naked +unvarnished truth. I’ll just give you an easy illustration; you saw his +delight this morning when the ‘Duke’ rode past; well I’ll tell you the +converse of that proposition now. The night before last, having nothing +better to do, we went to the theatre; the piece was ‘La Perouse,’ which +they have been playing here for the last two months to crowded houses, +to exhibit some North American Indians whom some theatrical speculator +brought over ‘expres’, in all the horrors of fur, wampum, and yellow +ochre. Finding the ‘spectacle’ rather uninteresting I leaned back in my +box, and fell into a doze. Meanwhile, my inquiring friend, Mr. Burke, +who felt naturally anxious, as he always does, to get au fond at +matters, left his place to obtain information about the piece, the +audience, and, above all, the authenticity of the Indians, who +certainly astonished him considerably. + +“Now it so happened that about a fortnight previously some violent +passion to return home to their own country had seized these +interesting individuals, and they felt the most irresistible longing to +abandon the savage and unnatural condiments of roast beef and +Guinness’s porter, and resume their ancient and more civilized habits +of life. In fact, like the old African lady, mentioned by the +missionary at the Cape, they felt they could die happy if they ‘could +only once more have a roast child for supper,’ and as such luxuries are +dear in this country, stay another week they would not, whatever the +consequences might be; the manager reasoned, begged, implored and +threatened, by turns; all would not do, go they were determined, and +all that the unfortunate proprietor could accomplish was, to make a +purchase of their properties in fur, belts, bows, arrows, and feathers, +and get them away quietly, without the public being the wiser. The +piece was too profitable a one to abandon, so he looked about +anxiously, to supply the deficiency in his corps dramatique. For +several days nothing presented itself to his thoughts, and the public +were becoming more clamorous for the repetition of a drama which had +greatly delighted them. What was to be done? In a mood of doubt and +uncertainty the wretched manager was taking his accustomed walk upon +the light-house pier, while a number of unfortunate country fellows, +bare legged and lanky, with hay ropes fastening their old grey coats +around them, were standing beside a packet about to take their +departure for England, for the harvest. Their uncouth appearance, their +wild looks, their violent gestures, and, above all, their strange and +guttural language, for they were all speaking Irish, attracted the +attention of the manager; the effect, to his professional eye was good, +the thought struck him at once. Here were the very fellows he wanted. +It was scarcely necessary to alter any thing about them, they were +ready made to his hand, and in many respects better savages than their +prototypes. Through the mediation of some whiskey, the appropriate +liquor in all treaties of this nature, a bargain was readily struck, +and in two hours more, ‘these forty thieves’ were rehearsing upon the +classic boards of our theatre, and once more, La Perouse, in all the +glory of red capital letters, shone forth in the morning +advertisements. The run of the piece continued unabated; the Indians +were the rage; nothing else was thought or spoken of in Dublin, and +already the benefit of Ashewaballagh Ho was announced, who, by the by, +was a little fellow from Martin’s estate in Connemara, and one of the +drollest dogs I ever heard of. Well, it so happened that it was upon +one of their nights of performing that I found myself, with Mr. Burke, +a spectator of their proceedings; I had fallen into an easy slumber, +while a dreadful row in the box lobby roused me from my dream, and the +loud cry of ‘turn him out,’ ‘pitch him over,’ ‘beat his brains out,’ +and other humane proposals of the like nature, effectually restored me +to consciousness; I rushed out of the box into the lobby, and there, to +my astonishment, in the midst of a considerable crowd, beheld my +friend, Mr. Burke, belaboring the box-keeper with all his might with a +cotton umbrella of rather unpleasant proportions, accompanying each +blow with an exclamation of ‘well, are they Connaughtmen, now, you +rascal, eh? are they all west of Athlone, tell me that, no? I wonder +what’s preventing me beating the soul out of ye.’ After obtaining a +short cessation of hostilities, and restoring poor Sharkey to his legs, +much more dead than alive from pure fright, I learned, at last, the +teterrima causa belli. Mr. Burke, it seems, had entered into +conversation with Sharkey, the box-keeper, as to all the particulars of +the theatre, and the present piece, but especially as to the real and +authentic history of the Indians, whose language he remarked, in many +respects to resemble Irish. Poor Sharkey, whose benefit-night was +approaching, thought he might secure a friend for life, by imparting to +him an important state secret; and when, therefore, pressed rather +closely as to the ‘savages’ whereabout’ resolved to try a bold stroke, +and trust his unknown interrogator. ‘And so you don’t really know where +they come from, nor can’t guess?’ ‘Maybe, Peru,’ said Mr. Burke, +innocently. ‘Try again, sir,’ said Sharkey, with a knowing grin. ‘Is it +Behring’s Straits?’ said Mr. Burke. ‘What do you think of Galway, sir?’ +said Sharkey, with a leer intended to cement a friendship for life; the +words were no sooner out of his lips, than Burke, who immediately took +them as a piece of direct insolence to himself and his country, felled +him to the earth, and was in the act of continuing the discipline when +I arrived on the field of battle.” + + + + + CHAPTER XXII. +A NIGHT AT HOWTH. + + +“And must you really leave us so soon,” said Tom as we issued forth +into the street; “why I was just planning a whole week’s adventure for +you. Town is so full of all kinds of idle people, I think I could +manage to make your time pass pleasantly enough.” + +“Of that,” I replied, “I have little doubt; but for the reasons I have +just mentioned, it is absolutely necessary that I should not lose a +moment; and after arranging a few things here, I shall start to-morrow +by the earliest packet, and hasten up to London at once.” + +“By Jupiter,” said Tom, “how lucky. I just remember something, which +comes admirably apropos. You are going to Paris—is it not so?” + +“Yes, direct to Paris.” + +“Nothing could be better. There is a particularly nice person, a great +friend of mine, Mrs. Bingham, waiting for several days in hopes of a +chaperon to take care of herself and daughter—a lovely girl, only +nineteen, you wretch—to London, en route to the continent: the mamma a +delightful woman, and a widow, with a very satisfactory jointure—you +understand—but the daughter, a regular downright beauty, and a ward in +chancery, with how many thousand pounds I am afraid to trust myself to +say. You must know then they are the Binghams of—, upon my soul, I +forget where; but highly respectable.” + +“I regret I have not the pleasure of their acquaintance, and the more +because I shall not be able to make it now.” + +“As why?” said Tom gravely. + +“Because, in the first place, I am so confoundedly pressed for time +that I could not possibly delay under any contingency that might arise; +and your fair friends are, doubtless, not so eagerly determined upon +travelling night and day till they reach Paris. Secondly, to speak +candidly, with my present hopes and fears weighing upon my mind, I +should not be the most agreeable travelling companion to two ladies +with such pretensions as you speak of; and thirdly,—” + +“Confound your thirdly. I suppose we shall have sixteenthly, like a +Presbyterian minister’s sermon, if I let you go on. Why, they’ll not +delay you one hour. Mrs. Bingham, man, cares as little for the road as +yourself; and as for your petits soins, I suppose if you get the fair +ladies through the Custom-House, and see them safe in a London hotel, +it is all will be required at your hands.” + +“Notwithstanding all you say, I see the downright impossibility of my +taking such a charge at this moment, when my own affairs require all +the little attention I can bestow; and when, were I once involved with +your fair friends, it might be completely out of my power to prosecute +my own plans.” + +As I said this, we reached the door of a handsome looking house in +Kildare-street; upon which Tom left my arm, and informing me that he +desired to drop a card, knocked loudly. + +“Is Mrs. Bingham at home,” said he, as the servant opened the door. + +“No sir, she’s out in the carriage.” + +“Well, you see Harry, your ill luck befriends you; for I was resolved +on presenting you to my friends and leaving the rest to its merits.” + +“I can safely assure you that I should not have gone up stairs,” said +I. “Little as I know of myself, there is one point of my character I +have never been deceived in, the fatal facility by which every new +incident or adventure can turn me from following up my best matured and +longest digested plans; and as I feel this weakness and cannot correct +it; the next best thing I can do is fly the causes.” + +“Upon my soul,” said Tom, “you have become quite a philosopher since we +met. There is an old adage which says, ‘no king is ever thoroughly +gracious if he has not passed a year or two in dethronement;’ so I +believe your regular lady-killer—yourself for instance—becomes a very +quiet animal for being occasionally jilted. But now, as you have some +commissions to do, pray get done with them as fast as possible, and let +us meet at dinner. Where do you dine to-day?” + +“Why, upon that point, I am at your service completely.” + +“Well, then, I have got a plan which I think will suit you. You said +you wished to go by Holyhead, for fear of delay; so, we’ll drive down +at six o’clock to Skinner’s and dine with him on board the packet at +Howth. Bring your luggage with you, and it will save you a vast deal of +fuss and trouble in the morning.” + +Nothing could be better management for me than this, so I accordingly +promised acquiescence; and having appointed a rendezvous for six +o’clock, bade O’Flaherty good by, inwardly rejoicing that my plans were +so far forwarded, and that I was not to be embarrassed with either Mrs. +Bingham or her daughter, for whose acquaintance or society I had no +peculiar ambition. + +My commissions, though not very numerous, occupied the few hours which +remained, and it was already a few minutes past six o’clock when I took +my stand under the piazza of the Post Office to wait for O’Flaherty. I +had not long to do so, for immediately after I had reached the spot, he +arrived in an open barouche and four posters, with three other young +men, to whom he severally introduced me, but whose names I have totally +forgotten; I only remember that two of the party were military men then +quartered in town. + +When I had taken my seat, I could not help whispering to Tom, that +although his friend Skinner might be “bon” for a visitation or two at +his dinner, yet as we were now so strong a party, it might be as well +to dine at the hotel. + +“Oh,” said he, “I have arranged all that; I have sent him a special +messenger two hours since, and so make your mind easy—we shall not be +disappointed, nor be short-taken.” + +Our drive, although a long one, passed quickly over, and before we had +reached our destination, I had become tolerably intimate with all the +party, who were evidently picked men, selected by O’Flaherty for a +pleasant evening. + +We drove along the pier to the wharf, where the steamer lay, and were +received at once by Tom’s friend with all the warm welcome and +hospitality of a sailor, united with the address and polish of a very +finished gentleman. As we descended the companion-ladder to the cabin, +my mind became speedily divested of any fears I might have indulged in, +as to the want of preparation of our entertainer. The table was covered +with all the appanage of handsome plate and cut glass, while the +side-tables glittered with a magnificent dessert, and two large +wine-coolers presented an array of champagne necks shining with their +leaden cravats that would have tempted an anchorite. + +I remember very little else of that evening than the coup d’oeil I have +mentioned; besides, were my memory more retentive, I might scruple to +trespass farther on my reader’s patience, by the detail of those +pleasures, which, like love-letters, however agreeable to the parties +immediately concerned, are very unedifying to all others. I do +remember, certainly, that good stories and capital songs succeeded each +other with a rapidity only to be equalled by the popping of corks; and +have also a very vague and indistinct recollection of a dance round the +table, evidently to finish a chorus, but which, it appears, finished me +too, for I saw no more that night. + +How many men have commemorated the waking sensations of their +fellow-men, after a night’s debauch; yet at the same time, I am not +aware of any one having perfectly conveyed even a passing likeness to +the mingled throng of sensations which crowd one’s brain on such an +occasion. The doubt of what has passed, by degrees yielding to the +half-consciousness of the truth, the feeling of shame, inseparable +except to the habitually hard-goer, for the events thus dimly pictured, +the racking headache and intense thirst, with the horror of the +potation recently indulged in: the recurring sense of the fun or +drollery of a story or an incident which provokes us again to laugh +despite the jarring of our brain from the shaking. All this and more +most men have felt, and happy are they when their waking thoughts are +limited to such, at such times as these—the matter becomes considerably +worse, when the following morning calls for some considerable exertion, +for which even in your best and calmest moments, you only find yourself +equal. + +It is truly unpleasant, on rubbing your eyes and opening your ears, to +discover that the great bell is ringing the half-hour before your +quarterly examination at college, while Locke, Lloyd, and Lucian are +dancing a reel through your brain, little short of madness; scarcely +less agreeable is it, to learn that your friend Captain Wildfire is at +the door in his cab, to accompany you to the Phœnix, to stand within +twelve paces of a cool gentleman who has been sitting with his arm in +Eau de Cologne for the last half-hour, that he may pick you out +“artist-like.” There are, besides these, innumerable situations in +which our preparations of the night would appear, as none of the +wisest; but I prefer going at once to my own, which, although +considerably inferior in difficulty, was not without its own +“desagremens.” + +When I awoke, therefore, on board the “Fire-fly,” the morning after our +dinner-party, I was perfectly unable, by any mental process within my +reach, to discover where I was. On ship-board I felt I must be—the +narrow berth—the gilded and panelled cabin which met my eye, through my +half-open curtains, and that peculiar swelling motion inseparable from +a vessel in the water, all satisfied me of this fact. I looked about +me, but could see no one to give me the least idea of my position. +Could it be that we were on our way out to Corfu, and that I had been +ill for some time past? + +But this cabin had little resemblance to a transport; perhaps it might +be a frigate—I knew not. Then again, were we sailing, or at anchor, for +the ship was nearly motionless; at this instant a tremendous noise like +thunder crashed through my head, and for a moment I expected we had +exploded, and would be all blown up; but an instant after I discovered +it must be the escape of the steam, and that I was on board a packet +ship. Here, then, was some clue to my situation, and one which would +probably have elicited all in due season; but just at this moment a +voice on deck saved me from any further calculations. Two persons were +conversing whose voices were not altogether unknown to me, but why I +knew not. + +“Then, Captain, I suppose you consider this as an excellent passage.” + +“Yes, of course I do,” replied the captain, “it’s only five hours since +we left Howth, and now you see we are nearly in; if we have this run of +the tide we shall reach the Head before twelve o’clock.” + +“Ha! ha!” said I to myself, “now I begin to learn something. So we have +crossed the channel while I was sleeping—not the least agreeable thing +for a man to hear who suffers martyrdom from sea sickness—but let me +listen again.” + +“And that large mountain there—is that Snowdon?” + +“No. You cannot see Snowdon; there is too much mist about it; that +mountain is Capel Carrig; and there that bold bluff to the eastward, +that is Penmen Mawr.” + +“Come, there is no time to be lost,” thought I; so springing out of my +berth, accoutred as I was, in merely trowsers and slippers, with a red +handkerchief fastened night-cap fashion round my head, I took my way +through the cabin. + +My first thought on getting upon my legs was how tremendously the +vessel pitched, which I had not remarked while in my berth, but now I +could scarce keep myself from falling at every step. I was just about +to call the steward, when I again heard the voices on deck. + +“You have but few passengers this trip.” + +“I think only yourself and a Captain Lorrequer,” replied the captain, +“who, by-the-by, is losing all this fine coast, which is certainly a +great pity.” + +“He shall not do so much longer,” thought I; “for as I find that there +are no other passengers, I’ll make my toilet on deck, and enjoy the +view besides.” With this determination I ascended slowly and cautiously +the companion ladder, and stepped out upon the deck; but scarcely had I +done so, when a roar of the loudest laughter made me turn my head +towards the poop, and there to my horror of horrors, I beheld Tom +O’Flaherty seated between two ladies, whose most vociferous mirth I +soon perceived was elicited at my expense. + +All the party of the preceding night were also there, and as I turned +from their grinning faces to the land, I saw, to my shame and +confusion, that we were still lying beside the pier at Howth; while the +band-boxes, trunks, and imperials of new arrivals were incessantly +pouring in, as travelling carriages kept driving up to the place of +embarkation. I stood perfectly astounded and bewildered—shame for my +ridiculous costume would have made me fly at any other time—but there I +remained to be laughed at patiently, while that villain O’Flaherty +leading me passively forward, introduced me to his friends—“Mrs. +Bingham, Mr. Lorrequer; Mr. Lorrequer, Miss Bingham. Don’t be +prepossessed against him, ladies, for when not in love, and properly +dressed, he is a marvellously well-looking young gentleman; and as—” + +What the remainder of the sentence might be, I knew not, for I rushed +down into the cabin, and locking the door, never opened it till I could +perceive from the stern windows that we were really off on our way to +England, and recognized once more the laughing face of O’Flaherty, who, +as he waved his hat to his friends from the pier, reminded them that +“they were under the care and protection of his friend Lorrequer, who, +he trusted, would condescend to increase his wearing apparel under the +circumstances.” + + + + + CHAPTER XXIII. +THE JOURNEY. + +[Illustration: The Passport Office] + + +When I did at last venture upon deck, it was with a costume studiously +accurate, and as much of manner as I could possibly muster, to +endeavour at once to erase the unfortunate impression of my first +appearance; this, however, was not destined to be a perfectly +successful manoeuvre, and I was obliged after a few minutes to join the +laugh, which I found could not be repressed, at my expense. One good +result certainly followed from all this. I became almost immediately on +intimate terms with Mrs. Bingham and her daughter, and much of the +awkwardness in my position as their chaperon, which bon gre, mal gre I +was destined to be, was at once got over. Mrs. Bingham herself was of +that “genre” of widow which comes under the “fat, fair, and forty” +category, with a never-ceasing flow of high, almost boisterous, +spirits—an excellent temper, good health—and a well-stocked purse. Life +to her was like a game of her favourite “speculation.” When, as she +believed, the “company honest,” and knew her cards trumps, she was +tolerably easy for the result. She liked Kingstown—she liked short +whist—she liked the military—she liked “the junior bar,” of which she +knew a good number—she had a well furnished house in Kildare-street—and +a well cushioned pew in St. Anne’s—she was a favourite at the +castle—and Dr. Labatt “knew her constitution.” Why, with all these +advantages, she should ever have thought of leaving the “happy valley” +of her native city, it was somewhat hard to guess. Was it that thoughts +of matrimony, which the continent held out more prospect for, had +invaded the fair widow’s heart? was it that the altered condition to +which politics had greatly reduced Dublin, had effected this change of +opinion? or was it like that indescribable longing for the unknown +something, which we read of in the pathetic history of the fair lady +celebrated, I believe, by Petrarch, but I quote from memory: + +“Mrs. Gill is very ill, + Nothing can improve her, +But to see the Tuillerie, + And waddle through the Louvre.” + + +None of these, I believe, however good and valid reasons in themselves, +were the moving powers upon the present occasion; the all-sufficient +one being that Mrs. Bingham had a daughter. Now Miss Bingham was Dublin +too—but Dublin of a later edition—and a finer, more hot-pressed copy +than her mamma. She had been educated at Mrs. Somebody’s seminary in +Mountjoy-square—had been taught to dance by Montague—and had learned +French from a Swiss governess—with a number of similar advantages—a +very pretty figure—dark eyes—long eye-lashes and a dimple—and last, but +of course least, the deserved reputation of a large fortune. She had +made a most successful debut in the Dublin world, where she was much +admired and flattered, and which soon suggested to her quick mind, as +it has often done in similar cases to a young provincial debutante, not +to waste her “fraicheur” upon the minor theatres, but at once to appear +upon the “great boards;” so far evidencing a higher flight of +imagination and enterprise than is usually found among the clique of +her early associates, who may be characterized as that school of young +ladies, who like the “Corsair” and Dunleary, and say, “ah don’t!” + +She possessed much more common sense than her mamma, and promised under +proper advantages to become speedily quite sufficiently acquainted with +the world and its habitudes. In the meanwhile, I perceived that she ran +a very considerable risque of being carried off by some mustachoed +Pole, with a name like a sneeze, who might pretend to enjoy the entree +into the fashionable circles of the continent. + +Very little study of my two fair friends enabled me to see thus much; +and very little “usage” sufficed to render me speedily intimate with +both; the easy bonhommie of the mamma, who had a very methodistical +appreciation of what the “connexion” call “creature comforts,” amused +me much, and opened one ready path to her good graces by the +opportunity afforded of getting up a luncheon of veal cutlets and +London porter, of which I partook, not a little to the evident loss of +the fair daughter’s esteem. + +While, therefore, I made the tour of the steward’s cell in search of +Harvey’s sauce, I brushed up my memory of the Corsair and Childe +Harold, and alternately discussed Stilton and Southey, Lover and +lobsters, Haynes Bayley and ham. + +The day happened to be particularly calm and delightful, so that we +never left the deck; and the six hours which brought us from land to +land, quickly passed over in this manner; and ere we reached “the +Head,” I had become the warm friend and legal adviser of the mother; +and with the daughter I was installed as chief confidant of all her +griefs and sorrows, both of which appointments cost me a solemn promise +to take care of them till their arrival in Paris, where they had many +friends and acquaintances awaiting them. Here, then, as usual, was the +invincible facility with which I gave myself up to any one who took the +trouble to influence me. One thing, nevertheless, I was determined on, +to let no circumstance defer my arrival at Paris a day later than was +possible: therefore, though my office as chaperon might diminish my +comforts en route, it should not interfere with the object before me. +Had my mind not been so completely engaged with my own immediate +prospects, when hope suddenly and unexpectedly revived, had become so +tinged with fears and doubts as to be almost torture, I must have been +much amused with my present position, as I found myself seated with my +two fair friends, rolling along through Wales in their comfortable +travelling carriage—giving all the orders at the different +hotels—seeing after the luggage—and acting en maitre in every respect. + +The good widow enjoyed particularly the difficulty which my precise +position, with regard to her and her daughter, threw the different +innkeepers on the road into, sometimes supposing me to be her husband, +sometimes her son, and once her son-in-law; which very alarming +conjecture brought a crimson tinge to the fair daughter’s cheek, an +expression, which, in my ignorance, I thought looked very like an +inclination to faint in my arms. + +At length we reached London, and having been there safely installed at +“Mivart’s,” I sallied forth to present my letter to the Horse Guards, +and obtain our passport for the continent. + +“Number nine, Poland-street, sir” said the waiter, as I inquired the +address of the French Consul. Having discovered that my interview with +the commander-in-chief was appointed for four o’clock, I determined to +lose no time, but make every possible arrangement for leaving London in +the morning. + +A cab quietly conveyed me to the door of the Consul, around which stood +several other vehicles, of every shape and fashion, while in the +doorway were to be seen numbers of people, thronging and pressing, like +the Opera pit on a full night. Into the midst of this assemblage I soon +thrust myself, and, borne upon the current, at length reached a small +back parlour, filled also with people; a door opening into another +small room in the front, showed a similar mob there, with the addition +of a small elderly man, in a bag wig and spectacles, very much begrimed +with snuff, and speaking in a very choleric tone to the various +applicants for passports, who, totally ignorant of French, insisted +upon interlarding their demands with an occasional stray phrase, making +a kind of tesselated pavement of tongues, which would have shamed +Babel. Nearest to the table at which the functionary sat, stood a +mustachoed gentleman, in a blue frock and white trowsers, a white hat +jauntily set upon one side of his head, and primrose gloves. He cast a +momentary glance of a very undervaluing import upon the crowd around +him, and then, turning to the Consul, said in a very soprano tone— + +“Passport, monsieur!” + +“Que voulez vous que je fasse,” replied the old Frenchman, gruffly. + +“Je suis j’ai—that is, donnez moi passport.” + +“Where do you go?” replied the Consul. + +“Calai.” + +“Comment diable, speak Inglis, an I understan’ you as besser. Your +name?” + +“Lorraine Snaggs, gentilhomme.” + +“What age have you?—how old?” + +“Twenty-two.” + +“C’est ca,” said the old consul, flinging the passport across the +table, with the air of a man who thoroughly comprehended the +applicant’s pretension to the designation of gentilhomme Anglais. + +“Will you be seated ma’mselle?” said the polite old Frenchman, who had +hitherto been more like a bear than a human being—“Ou allez vous donc; +where to, ma chere?” + +“To Paris, sir.” + +“By Calais?” + +“No, sir; by Boulogne”— + +“C’est bon; quel age avez vous. What old, ma belle?” + +“Nineteen, sir, in June.” + +“And are you alone, quite, eh?” + +“No, sir, my little girl.” + +“Ah! your leetel girl—c’est fort bien—je m’appercois; and your name?” + +“Fanny Linwood, sir.” + +“C’est fini, ma chere, Mademoiselle Fanni Linwood,” said the old man, +as he wrote down the name. + +“Oh, sir, I beg your pardon, but you have put me down Mademoiselle, +and—and—you see, sir, I have my little girl.” + +“A c’est egal, mam’selle, they don’t mind these things in France—au +plaisir de vous voir. Adieu.” + +“They don’t mind these things in France,” said I to myself, repeating +the old consul’s phrase, which I could not help feeling as a whole +chapter on his nation. + +My business was soon settled, for I spoke nothing but English—very +little knowledge of the world teaching me that when we have any favour, +however slight, to ask, it is always good policy to make the amende by +gratifying the amour propre of the granter—if, happily, there be an +opportunity for so doing. + +When I returned to Mivart’s, I found a written answer to my letter of +the morning, stating that his lordship of the Horse Guards was leaving +town that afternoon, but would not delay my departure for the +continent, to visit which a four month’s leave was granted me, with a +recommendation to study at Weimar. + +The next day brought us to Dover, in time to stroll about the cliffs +during the evening, when I again talked sentiment with the daughter +till very late. The Madame herself was too tired to come out, so that +we had our walk quite alone. It is strange enough how quickly this +travelling together has shaken us into intimacy. Isabella says she +feels as if I were her brother; and I begin to think myself she is not +exactly like a sister. She has a marvellously pretty foot and ancle. + +The climbing of cliffs is a very dangerous pastime. How true the French +adage—“C’est plus facile de glisser sur la gazon que sur la glace.” But +still nothing can come of it; for if Lady Jane be not false, I must +consider myself an engaged man. + +“Well, but I hope,” said I, rousing myself from a reverie of some +minutes, and inadvertently pressing the arm which leaned upon me—“your +mamma will not be alarmed at our long absence?” + +“Oh! not in the least; for she knows I’m with you.” + +And here I felt a return of the pressure—perhaps also inadvertently +given, but which, whether or not, effectually set all my reasonings and +calculations astray; and we returned to the hotel, silent on both +sides. + +The appearance of la chere mamma beside the hissing tea-urn brought us +both back to ourselves; and, after an hour’s chatting, we wished good +night, to start on the morrow for the continent. + + + + + CHAPTER XXIV. +CALAIS. + + +It was upon a lovely evening in autumn, as the Dover steam-boat rounded +the wooden pier at Calais, amid a fleet of small boats filled with +eager and anxious faces, soliciting, in every species of bad English +and “patois” [vulgar] French, the attention and patronage of the +passengers. + +“Hotel de Bain, mi lor’.” + +“Hotel d’Angleterre,” said another, in a voice of the most imposing +superiority. “C’est superbe—pretty well.” + +“Hotel du Nord, votre Excellence—remise de poste and ‘delays’ (quere +relays) at all hours.” + +“Commissionaire, mi ladi,” sung out a small shrill treble from the +midst of a crowded cock-boat, nearly swamped beneath our paddle-wheel. + +What a scene of bustle, confusion, and excitement does the deck of a +steamer present upon such an occasion. Every one is running hither or +thither. “Sauve qui peut” is now the watch-word; and friendships, that +promised a life-long endurance only half an hour ago, find here a +speedy dissolution. The lady who slept all night upon deck, enveloped +in the folds of your Astracan cloak, scarcely deigns an acknowledgment +of you, as she adjusts her ringlets before the looking-glass over the +stove in the cabin. The polite gentleman, that would have flown for a +reticule or a smelling-bottle upon the high seas, won’t leave his +luggage in the harbour; and the gallantry and devotion that stood the +test of half a gale of wind and a wet jacket, is not proof when the +safety of a carpet-bag or the security of a “Mackintosh” is concerned. + +And thus here, as elsewhere, is prosperity the touchstone of good +feeling. All the various disguises which have been assumed, per +viaggio, are here immediately abandoned, and, stripped of the +travelling costume of urbanity and courtesy, which they put on for the +voyage, they stand forth in all the unblushing front of selfishness and +self-interest. + +Some tender scenes yet find their place amid the debris of this chaotic +state. Here may be seen a careful mother adjusting innumerable shawls +and handkerchiefs round the throat of a sea-green young lady with a +cough; her maid is at the same instant taking a tender farewell of the +steward in the after-cabin. + +Here is a very red-faced and hot individual, with punch-coloured +breeches and gaiters, disputing “one brandy too much” in his bill, and +vowing that the company shall hear of it when he returns to England. +There, a tall, elderly woman, with a Scotch-grey eye, and a sharp +cheek-bone, is depositing within her muff various seizable articles, +that, until now, had been lying quietly in her trunk. Yonder, that +raw-looking young gentleman, with the crumpled frock-coat, and loose +cravat, and sea-sick visage, is asking every one “if they think he may +land without a passport.” You scarcely recognise him for the +cigar-smoking dandy of yesterday, that talked as if he had lived half +his life on the continent. While there, a rather pretty girl is looking +intently at some object in the blue water, beside the rudder post. You +are surprised you cannot make it out; but then, she has the advantage +of you, for the tall, well-looking man, with the knowing whiskers, is +evidently whispering something in her ear. + +“Steward, this is not my trunk—mine was a leather—” + +“All the ‘leathers’ are gone in the first boat, sir.” + +“Most scandalous way of doing business.” + +“Trouble you for two-and-sixpence, sir.” + +“There’s Matilda coughing again,” says a thin, shrewish woman, with a +kind of triumphant scowl at her better half; “but you would have her +wear that thin shawl!” + +“Whatever may be the fault of the shawl, I fancy no one will reproach +her ancles for thinness,” murmurs a young Guard’s man, as he peeps up +the companion-ladder. + +Amid all the Babel of tongues, and uproar of voices, the thorough bass +of the escape steam keeps up its infernal thunders, till the very brain +reels, and, sick as you have been of the voyage, you half wish yourself +once more at sea, if only to have a moment of peace and tranquillity. + +Numbers now throng the deck who have never made their appearance +before. Pale, jaundiced, and crumpled, they have all the sea-sick look +and haggard cheek of the real martyr—all except one, a stout, swarthy, +brown-visaged man, of about forty, with a frame of iron, and a voice +like the fourth string of a violincello. You wonder why he should have +taken to his bed: learn, then, that he is his Majesty’s courier from +the foreign office, going with despatches to Constantinople, and that +as he is not destined to lie down in a bed for the next fourteen days, +he is glad even of the narrow resemblance to one, he finds in the berth +of a steam-boat. At length you are on shore, and marched off in a long +string, like a gang of convicts to the Bureau de l’octroi, and here is +begun an examination of the luggage, which promises, from its +minuteness, to last for the three months you destined to spend in +Switzerland. At the end of an hour you discover that the soi disant +commissionaire will transact all this affair for a few francs; and, +after a tiresome wait in a filthy room, jostled, elbowed, and trampled +upon, by boors with sabots, you adjourn to your inn, and begin to feel +that you are not in England. + +Our little party had but few of the miseries here recounted to contend +with. My “savoir faire,” with all modesty be it spoken, has been long +schooled in the art and practice of travelling; and while our less +experienced fellow-travellers were deep in the novel mysteries of +cotton stockings and petticoats, most ostentatiously displayed upon +every table of the Bureau, we were comfortably seated in the handsome +saloon of the Hotel du Nord, looking out upon a pretty grass plot, +surrounded with orange trees, and displaying in the middle a jet d’eau +about the size of a walking stick. + +“Now, Mr. Lorrequer,” said Mrs. Bingham, as she seated herself by the +open window, “never forget how totally dependent we are upon your kind +offices. Isabella has discovered already that the French of +Mountjoy-square, however intelligible in that neighbourhood, and even +as far as Mount-street, is Coptic and Sanscrit here; and as for myself, +I intend to affect deaf and dumbness till I reach Paris, where I hear +every one can speak English a little.” + +“Now, then, to begin my functions,” said I, as I rung for the waiter, +and ran over in my mind rapidly how many invaluable hints for my new +position my present trip might afford me, “always provided” (as the +lawyers say,) that Lady Jane Callonby might feel herself tempted to +become my travelling companion, in which case—But, confound it, how I +am castle-building again. Meanwhile, Mrs. Bingham is looking as hungry +and famished as though she would eat the waiter. Ha! this is the +“carte.” + +“Allons faire petit souper.” + +“Cotelettes d’Agneau.” + +“Maionnaise d’homard.” + +“Perdreaux rouges aux truffes—mark that, aux truffes.” + +“Gelee au maraschin.” + +“And the wine, sir,” said the waiter, with a look of approval at my +selection, “Champagne—no other wine, sir?” + +“No,” said I, “Champagne only. Frappe de glace, of course,” I added, +and the waiter departed with a bow that would have graced St. James’s. + +As long as our immaterial and better part shall be doomed to keep +company with its fleshy tabernacle, with all its attendant miseries of +gout and indigestion, how much of our enjoyment in this world is +dependent upon the mere accessory circumstances by which the business +of life is carried on and maintained, and to despise which is neither +good policy nor sound philosophy. In this conclusion a somewhat long +experience of the life of a traveller has fully established me. And no +where does it press more forcibly upon the mind than when first arrived +in a continental inn, after leaving the best hotels of England still +fresh in your memory. I do not for a moment dispute the very great +superiority in comfort of the latter, by which I would be understood to +mean all those resemblances to one’s own home which an English hotel so +eminently possesses, and every other one so markedly wants; but I mean +that in contrivances to elevate the spirit, cheer the jaded and tired +wayfarer by objects which, however they may appeal to the mere senses, +seem, at least, but little sensual, give me a foreign inn; let me have +a large spacious saloon, with its lofty walls and its airy, large-paned +windows, (I shall not object if the cornices and mouldings be gilded, +because such is usually the case,)—let the sun and heat of a summer’s +day come tempered through the deep lattices of a well-fitting +“jalousie,” bearing upon them the rich incense of a fragrant orange +tree in blossom—and the sparkling drops of a neighbouring fountain, the +gentle plash of which is faintly audible amid the hum of the +drone-bee—let such be the “agremens” without—while within, let the more +substantial joys of the table await, in such guise as only a French +cuisine can present them—give me these, I say, and I shall never sigh +for the far-famed and long-deplored comforts of a box in a coffee-room, +like a pew in a parish church, though certainly not so well cushioned, +and fully as dull, with a hot waiter and a cold beefsteak—the only +thing higher than your game being your bill, and the only thing less +drinkable than your port being the porter. + +With such exotic notions, figures vous, my dear reader, whether or not +I felt happy as I found myself seated between my two fair friends doing +the honours of a little supper, and assisting the exhilaration of our +champagne by such efforts of wit as, under favourable circumstances +like these, are ever successful—and which, being like the foaming +liquid which washes them down, to be swallowed without waiting, are +ever esteemed good, from the excitement that results, and never +seriously canvassed for any more sterling merit. Nothing ever makes a +man so agreeable as the belief that he is so: and certainly my fair +companions appeared to have the most excellent idea of my powers in +that respect; and I fancy, that I made more bon mots, hit off more +epigrams, and invented more choice incidents on that happy evening, +than, if now remembered, would suffice to pay my tailor’s bill, when +collated for Bentley’s Miscellany, and illustrated by Cruikshank—alas! +that, like the good liquor that seasoned them, both are gone by, and I +am left but to chronicle their memory of the fun, in dulness, and +counterfeit the effervescence of the grape juice, by soda water. One +thing, however, is certain—we formed a most agreeable party; and if a +feeling of gloom ever momentarily shot through my mind, it was, that +evenings like these came so rarely in this work-a-day world—that each +such should be looked on, as our last. + +If I had not already shown myself up to my reader as a garcon volage of +the first water, perhaps I should now hesitate about confessing that I +half regretted the short space during which it should be my privilege +to act as the guide and mentor of my two friends. The impetuous haste +which I before felt necessary to exercise in reaching Paris +immediately, was not tempered by prudent thoughts about travelling at +night, and reflections about sun-stroke by day; and even moments most +devoted to the object of my heart’s aspirations were fettered by the +very philosophic idea, that it could never detract from the pleasure of +the happiness that awaited me, if I travelled on the primrose path to +its attainment. I argued thus: if Lady Jane be true—if—if, in a word, I +am destined to have any success in the Callonby family, then will a day +or two more not risk it. My present friends I shall, of course, take +leave of at Paris, where their own acquaintances await them; and, on +the other hand, should I be doomed once more to disappointment, I am +equally certain I should feel no disposition to form a new attachment. +Thus did I reason, and thus I believed; and though I was a kind of +consultation opinion among my friends in “suits of love,” I was really +then unaware that at no time is a man so prone to fall in love as +immediately after his being jilted. If common sense will teach us not +to dance a bolero upon a sprained ancle, so might it also convey the +equally important lesson, not to expose our more vital and inflammatory +organ to the fire the day after its being singed. + +Reflections like these did not occur to me at this moment; besides that +I was “going the pace” with a forty-horse power of agreeability that +left me little time for thought—least of all, if serious. So stood +matters. I had just filled our tall slender glasses with the creaming +and “petillan” source of wit and inspiration, when the loud crack, +crack, crack of a postillion’s whip, accompanied by the shaking trot of +a heavy team, and the roll of wheels, announced a new arrival. “Here +they come,” said I, “only look at them—four horses and one postillion, +all apparently straggling and straying after their own fancy, but yet +going surprisingly straight notwithstanding. See how they come through +that narrow archway—it might puzzle the best four-in-hand in England to +do it better.” + +“What a handsome young man, if he had not those odious moustaches. Why, +Mr. Lorrequer, he knows you: see, he is bowing to you.” + +“Me! Oh! no. Why, surely, it must be—the devil—it is Kilkee, Lady +Jane’s brother. I know his temper well. One five minutes’ observation +of my present intimacy with my fair friends, and adieu to all hopes for +me of calling Lord Callonby my father-in-law. There is not therefore, a +moment to lose.” + +As these thoughts revolved through my mind, the confusion I felt had +covered my face with scarlet; and, with a species of blundering apology +for abruptly leaving them for a moment, I ran down stairs only in time +sufficient to anticipate Kilkee’s questions as to the number of my +apartments, to which he was desirous of proceeding at once. Our first +greetings over, Kilkee questioned me as to my route—adding, that his +now was necessarily an undecided one, for if his family happened not to +be at Paris, he should be obliged to seek after them among the German +watering-places. “In any case, Mr. Lorrequer,” said he, “we shall hunt +them in couples. I must insist upon your coming along with me.” + +“Oh! that,” said I, “you must not think of. Your carriage is a coupé, +and I cannot think of crowding you.” + +“Why, you don’t seriously want to affront me, I hope, for I flatter +myself that a more perfect carriage for two people cannot be built. +Hobson made it on a plan of my own, and I am excessively proud of it, I +assure you. Come, that matter is decided—now for supper. Are there many +English here just now?—By-the-by, those new ‘natives’ I think I saw you +standing with on the balcony—who are they?” + +“Oh! the ladies—oh! Yes, people I came over with—” + +“One was pretty, I fancied. Have you supped? Just order something, will +you—meanwhile, I shall write a few lines before the post +leaves.”—Saying which, he dashed up stairs after the waiter, and left +me to my meditations. + +“This begins to be pleasant,” thought I, as the door closed, leaving me +alone in the “salon.” In circumstances of such moment, I had never felt +so nonplussed as now, how to decline Kilkee’s invitation, without +discovering my intimacy with the Binghams—and yet I could not, by any +possibility, desert them thus abruptly. Such was the dilemma. “I see +but one thing for it,” said I, gloomily, as I strode through the +coffee-room, with my head sunk and my hands behind my back—“I see but +one thing left—I must be taken ill to-night, and not be able to leave +my bed in the morning—a fever—a contagious fever—blue and red spots all +over me—and be raving wildly before breakfast time; and if ever any +discovery takes place of my intimacy above stairs, I must only +establish it as a premonitory symptom of insanity, which seized me in +the packet. And now for a doctor that will understand my case, and +listen to reason, as they would call it in Ireland.” With this idea +uppermost, I walked out into the court-yard to look for a +commissionaire to guide me in my search. Around on every side of me +stood the various carriages and voitures of the hotel and its inmates, +to the full as distinctive and peculiar in character as their owners. +“Ah! there is Kilkee’s,” said I, as my eye lighted upon the +well-balanced and elegant little carriage which he had been only with +justice encomiumizing. “It is certainly perfect, and yet I’d give a +handful of louis-d’ors it was like that venerable cabriolet yonder, +with the one wheel and no shafts. But, alas! these springs give little +hope of a break down, and that confounded axle will outlive the +patentee. But still, can nothing be done?—eh? Come, the thought is a +good one—I say, garcon, who greases the wheels of the carriage here?” + +“C’est moi, monsieur,” said a great oaf, in wooden shoes and a blouse. + +“Well, then, do you understand these?” said I, touching the patent +axle-boxes with my cane. + +He shook his head. + +“Then who does, here?” + +“Ah! Michael understands them perfectly.” + +“Then bring him here,” said I. + +In a few minutes, a little shrewd old fellow, with a smith’s apron, +made his appearance, and introduced himself as M. Michael. I had not +much difficulty in making him master of my plan, which was, to detach +one of the wheels as if for the purpose of oiling the axle, and +afterwards render it incapable of being replaced—at least for +twenty-four hours. + +“This is my idea,” said I; “nevertheless, do not be influenced by me. +All I ask is, disable the carriage from proceeding to-morrow, and here +are three louis-d’ors at your service.” + +“Soyez bien tranquille, monsieur, mi lor’ shall spend to-morrow in +Calais, if I know any thing of my art”—saying which he set out in +search of his tools, while I returned to the salon with my mind +relieved, and fully prepared to press the urgency of my reaching Paris +without any delay. + +“Well, Mr. Lorrequer,” said Kilkee, as I entered, “here is supper +waiting, and I am as hungry as a wolf.” + +“Oh! I beg pardon—I’ve been getting every thing in readiness for our +start to-morrow morning, for I have not told you how anxious I am to +get to Paris before the 8th—some family business, which requires my +looking after, compelling me to do so.” + +“As to that, let your mind be at rest, for I shall travel to-morrow +night if you prefer it. Now for the Volnay. Why you are not drinking +your wine. What do you say to our paying our respects to the fair +ladies above stairs? I am sure the petits soins you have practised +coming over would permit the liberty.” + +“Oh! hang it, no. There’s neither of them pretty, and I should rather +avoid the risk of making a regular acquaintance with them” said I. + +“As you like, then—only, as you’ll not take any wine, let us have a +stroll through the town.” + +After a short stroll through the town, in which Kilkee talked the +entire time, but of what I know not, my thoughts being upon my own +immediate concerns, we returned to the hotel. As we entered the +porte-couchere, my friend Michael passed me, and as he took off his hat +in salutation, gave me one rapid glance of his knowing eye that +completely satisfied me that Hobson’s pride in my friend’s carriage had +by that time received quite sufficient provocation to throw him into an +apoplexy. + +“By-the-by,” said I, “let us see your carriage. I am curious to look at +it”—(and so I was.) + +“Well, then come along, this way; they have placed it under some of +these sheds, which they think coach-houses.” + +I followed my friend through the court till we arrived near the fatal +spot; but before reaching, he had caught a glimpse of the mischief, and +shouted out a most awful imprecation upon the author of the deed which +met his eye. The fore-wheel of the coupé had been taken from the axle, +and in the difficulty of so doing, from the excellence of the +workmanship, two of the spokes were broken—the patent box was a mass of +rent metal, and the end of the axle turned downwards like a hoe. + +I cannot convey any idea of poor Kilkee’s distraction; and, in reality, +my own was little short of it; for the wretch had so far out-stripped +my orders, that I became horrified at the cruel destruction before me. +We both, therefore, stormed in the most imposing English and French, +first separately and then together. We offered a reward for the +apprehension of the culprit, whom no one appeared to know, although, as +it happened, every one in a large household was aware of the +transaction but the proprietor himself. We abused all—innkeeper, +waiters, ostlers, and chambermaids, collectively and +individually—condemned Calais as a den of iniquity, and branded all +Frenchmen as rogues and vagabonds. This seemed to alleviate +considerably my friend’s grief, and excite my thirst—fortunately, +perhaps for us; for if our eloquence had held out much longer, I am +afraid our auditory might have lost their patience; and, indeed, I am +quite certain if our French had not been in nearly as disjointed a +condition as the spokes of the caleche, such must have been the case. + +“Well, Mr. Lorrequer, I suppose, then, we are not destined to be +fellow-travellers—for if you must go to-morrow—” + +“Alas! It is imperative,” said I. + +“Then in any case, let us arrange where we shall meet, for I hope to be +in Paris the day after you.” + +“I’ll stop at Meurice.” + +“Meurice, be it,” said he, “so now good night, till we meet in Paris.” + + + + + CHAPTER XXV. +THE GEN D’ARME. + + +I had fortunately sufficient influence upon my fair friends to persuade +them to leave Calais early on the morning following; and two hours +before Kilkee had opened his eyes upon this mortal life, we were far +upon the road to Paris. + +Having thus far perfectly succeeded in my plot, my spirit rose rapidly, +and I made every exertion to make the road appear short to my +fellow-travellers. This part of France is unfortunately deficient in +any interest from scenery; large undivided tracts of waving cornfields, +with a back-ground of apparently interminable forests, and +occasionally, but rarely, the glimpse of some old time-worn chateau, +with its pointed gable and terraced walk, are nearly all that the eye +can detect in the intervals between the small towns and villages. +Nothing, however, is “flat or unprofitable” to those who desire to make +it otherwise; good health, good spirits, and fine weather, are +wonderful travelling companions, and render one tolerably independent +of the charms of scenery. Every mile that separated me from Calais, and +took away the chance of being overtaken, added to my gaiety, and I +flatter myself that a happier party have rarely travelled that well +frequented road. + +We reached Abbeville to dinner, and adjourned to the beautiful little +garden of the inn for our coffee; the evening was so delightful that I +proposed to walk on the Paris road, until the coming up of the +carriage, which required a screw, or a washer, or some such trifle as +always occurs in French posting. To this la chere mamma objected, she +being tired, but added, that Isabella and I might go on, and that she +would take us up in half an hour. This was an arrangement so very +agreeable and unlooked for by me, that I pressed Miss Bingham as far as +I well could, and at last succeeded in overcoming her scruples, and +permitting me to shawl her. One has always a tremendous power of +argument with the uninitiated abroad, by a reference to a standard of +manners and habits totally different from our own. Thus the talismanic +words—“Oh! don’t be shocked; remember you are in France,” did more to +satisfy my young friend’s mind than all I could have said for an hour. +Little did she know that in England only, has an unmarried young lady +any liberty, and that the standard of foreign propriety on this head is +far, very far more rigid than our own. + +“La premiere Rue a gauche,” said an old man of whom I inquired the +road; “et puis,” added I. + +“And then quite straight; it is a chaussee all the way, and you cannot +mistake it.” + +“Now for it, mademoiselle,” said I. “Let us try if we cannot see a good +deal of the country before the carriage comes up.” + +We had soon left the town behind and reached a beautifully shaded high +road, with blossoming fruit trees, and honeysuckle-covered cottages; +there had been several light showers during the day, and the air had +all the fresh fragrant feeling of an autumn evening, so tranquillizing +and calming that few there are who have not felt at some time or other +of their lives, its influence upon their minds. I fancied my fair +companion did so, for, as she walked beside me, her silence, and the +gentle pressure of her arm, were far more eloquent than words. + +If that extraordinary flutter and flurry of sensations which will now +and then seize you, when walking upon a lonely country road with a +pretty girl for your companion, whose arm is linked in yours, and whose +thoughts, as far you can guess at least, are travelling the same path +with your own—if this be animal magnetism, or one of its phenomena, +then do I swear by Mesmer, whatever it be, delusion or otherwise, it +has given me the brightest moments of my life—these are the real +“winged dreams” of pleasures which outlive others of more absorbing and +actual interest at the time. After all, for how many of our happiest +feelings are we indebted to the weakness of our nature. The man that is +wise at nineteen, “Je l’en fais mon compliment,” but I assuredly do not +envy him; and now, even now, when I number more years than I should +like to “confess,” rather than suffer the suspicious watchfulness of +age to creep on me, I prefer to “go on believing,” even though every +hour of the day should show me, duped and deceived. While I plead +guilty to this impeachment, let me show mitigation, that it has its +enjoyments—first, although I am the most constant and devoted man +breathing, as a very cursory glance at these confessions may prove, yet +I have never been able to restrain myself from a propensity to make +love, merely as a pastime. The gambler that sits down to play cards, or +hazard against himself, may perhaps be the only person that can +comprehend this tendency of mine. We both of us are playing for nothing +(or love, which I suppose is synonymous;) we neither of us put forth +our strength; for that very reason, and in fact like the waiter at +Vauxhall who was complimented upon the dexterity with which he poured +out the lemonade, and confessed that he spent his mornings “practising +with vater,” we pass a considerable portion of our lives in a mimic +warfare, which, if it seem unprofitable, is, nevertheless, pleasant. + +After all this long tirade, need I say how our walk proceeded? We had +fallen into a kind of discussion upon the singular intimacy which had +so rapidly grown up amongst us, and which years long might have failed +to engender. Our attempts to analyse the reasons for, and the nature of +the friendship thus so suddenly established—a rather dangerous and +difficult topic, when the parties are both young—one eminently +handsome, and the other disposed to be most agreeable. Oh, my dear +young friends of either sex, whatever your feelings be for one another, +keep them to yourselves; I know of nothing half so hazardous as that +“comparing of notes” which sometimes happens. Analysis is a beautiful +thing in mathematics or chemistry, but it makes sad havoc when applied +to the “functions of the heart.” + +“Mamma appears to have forgotten us,” said Isabella, as she spoke, +after walking for some time in silence beside me. + +“Oh, depend upon it, the carriage has taken all this time to repair; +but are you tired?” + +“Oh, by no means; the evening is delightful, but—” + +“Then perhaps you are _ennuyée_,” said I, half pettishly, to provoke a +disclaimer if possible. To this insidiously put quere I received, as I +deserved, no answer, and again we sauntered on without speaking. + +“To whom does that chateau belong, my old friend?” said I addressing a +man on the road-side. + +“A Monsieur le Marquis, sir,” replied he. + +“But what’s his name, though?” + +“Ah, that I can’t tell you,” replied the man again. + +There you may perceive how, even yet, in provincial France, the old +respect for the aristocracy still survives; it is sufficient that the +possessor of that fine place is “Monsieur le Marquis;” but any other +knowledge of who he is, and what, is superfluous. “How far are we from +the next village, do you know?” + +“About a league.” + +“Indeed. Why I thought ‘La Scarpe’ was quite near us.” + +“Ah, you are thinking of the Amiens road.” + +“Yes, of course; and is not this the Amiens road?” + +“Oh, no; the Amiens road lies beyond those low hills to the right. You +passed the turn at the first ‘barriere’.” + +“Is it possible we could have come wrong?” + +“Oh, Mr. Lorrequer, don’t say so, I entreat of you.” + +“And what road is this, then, my friend?” + +“This is the road to Albert and Peronne.” + +“Unfortunately, I believe he is quite right. Is there any crossroad +from the village before us now, to the Amiens road?” + +“Yes; you can reach it about three leagues hence.” + +“And we can get a carriage at the inn probably?” + +“Ah, that I am not sure of—. Perhaps at the Lion d’or you may.” + +“But why not go back to Abbeville?” + +“Oh, Mrs. Bingham must have left long since, and beside you forget the +distance; we have been walking two hours.” + +“Now for the village,” said I, as I drew my friend’s arm closer within +mine, and we set out in a fast walk. + +Isabella seemed terribly frightened at the whole affair; what her mamma +might think, and what might be her fears at not finding us on the road, +and a hundred other encouraging reflections of this nature she poured +forth unceasingly. As for myself, I did not know well what to think of +it; my old fondness for adventure being ever sufficiently strong in me +to give a relish to any thing which bore the least resemblance to one. +This I now concealed, and sympathised with my fair friend upon our +mishap, and assuring her, at the same time, that there could be no +doubt of our overtaking Mrs. Bingham before her arrival at Amiens. + +“Ah, there is the village in the valley; how beautifully situated.” + +“Oh, I can’t admire any thing now, Mr. Lorrequer, I am so frightened.” + +“But surely without cause,” said I, looking tenderly beneath her +bonnet. + +“Is this,” she answered, “nothing,” and we walked on in silence again. + +On reaching the Lion d’or we discovered that the only conveyance to be +had was a species of open market-cart drawn by two horses, and in which +it was necessary that my fair friend and myself should seat ourselves +side by side upon straw: there was no choice, and as for Miss Bingham, +I believe if an ass with panniers had presented itself, she would have +preferred it to remaining where she was. We therefore took our places, +and she could not refrain from laughing as we set out upon our journey +in this absurd equipage, every jolt of which threw us from side to +side, and rendered every attention on my part requisite to prevent her +being upset. + +After about two hours’ travelling we arrived at the Amiens road, and +stopped at the barriere. I immediately inquired if a carriage had +passed, resembling Mrs. Bingham’s, and learned that it had, about an +hour before, and that the lady in it had been informed that two +persons, like those she asked after, had been seen in a caleche driving +rapidly to Amiens, upon which she set out as fast as possible in +pursuit. + +“Certainly,” said I, “the plot is thickening; but for that unlucky +mistake she might in all probability have waited here for us. Amiens is +only two leagues now, so our drive will not be long, and before six +o’clock we shall all be laughing over the matter as a very good joke.” + +On we rattled, and as the road became less frequented, and the shadows +lengthened, I could not but wonder at the strange situations which the +adventurous character of my life had so often involved me in. +Meanwhile, my fair friend’s spirits became more and more depressed, and +it was not without the greatest difficulty I was enabled to support her +courage. I assured her, and not altogether without reason, that though +so often in my eventful career accidents were occurring which rendered +it dubious and difficult to reach the goal I aimed at, yet the results +had so often been more pleasant than I could have anticipated, that I +always felt a kind of involuntary satisfaction at some apparent +obstacle to my path, setting it down as some especial means of fortune, +to heighten the pleasure awaiting me; “and now,” added I, “even here, +perhaps, in this very mistake of our road—the sentiments I have +heard—the feelings I have given utterance to—” What I was about to say, +heaven knows—perhaps nothing less than a downright proposal was coming; +but at that critical moment a gen-d’arme rode up to the side of our +waggon, and surveyed us with the peculiarly significant scowl his order +is gifted with. After trotting alongside for a few seconds he ordered +the driver to halt, and, turning abruptly to us, demanded our +passports. Now our passports were, at that precise moment, peaceably +reposing in the side pocket of Mrs. Bingham’s carriage; I therefore +explained to the gen-d’arme how we were circumstanced, and added, that +on arriving at Amiens the passport should be produced. To this he +replied that all might be perfectly true, but he did not believe a word +of it—that he had received an order for the apprehension of two English +persons travelling that road—and that he should accordingly request our +company back to Chantraine, the commissionaire of which place was his +officer. + +“But why not take us to Amiens,” said I; “particularly when I tell you +that we can then show our passports?” + +“I belong to the Chantraine district,” was the laconic answer; and like +the gentleman who could not weep at the sermon because he belonged to +another parish, this specimen of a French Dogberry would not hear +reason except in his own “commune.” + +No arguments which I could think of had any effect upon him, and amid a +volley of entreaty and imprecation, both equally vain, we saw ourselves +turn back upon the road to Amiens, and set out at a round trot to +Chantraine, on the road to Calais. + +Poor Isabella, I really pitied her; hitherto her courage had been +principally sustained by the prospect of soon reaching Amiens; now +there was no seeing where our adventure was to end. Besides that, +actual fatigue from the wretched conveyance began to distress her, and +she was scarcely able to support herself, though assisted by my arm. +What a perilous position mine, whispering consolation and comfort to a +pretty girl on a lonely road, the only person near being one who +comprehended nothing of the language we spoke in. Ah, how little do we +know of fate, and how often do we despise circumstances that determine +all our fortunes in the world. To think that a gen-d’arme should have +any thing to do with my future lot in life, and that the real want of a +passport to travel should involve the probable want of a licence to +marry. Yes, it is quite in keeping, thought I, with every step I have +taken through life. I may be brought before the “maire” as a culprit, +and leave him as a Benedict. + +On reaching the town, we were not permitted to drive to the inn, but at +once conveyed to the house of the “commissaire,” who was also the +“maire” of the district. The worthy functionary was long since in bed, +and it was only after ringing violently for half an hour that a head, +surmounted with a dirty cotton night-cap, peeped from an upper window, +and seemed to survey the assemblage beneath with patient attention. By +this time a considerable crowd had collected from the neighbouring +ale-houses and cabarets, who deemed it a most fitting occasion to +honour us with the most infernal yells and shouts, as indicating their +love of justice, and delight in detecting knavery; and that we were +both involved in such suspicion, we had not long to learn. Meanwhile +the poor old maire, who had been an employe in the stormy days of the +revolution, and also under Napoleon, and who full concurred with Swift +that “a crowd is a mob, if composed even of bishops,” firmly believed +that the uproar beneath in the street was the announcement of a new +change of affairs at Paris, determined to be early in the field, and +shouted therefore with all his lungs—“vive le peuple”—“Vive la +charte”—“A bas les autres.” A tremendous shout of laughter saluted this +exhibition of unexpected republicanism, and the poor maire retired from +the window, having learned his mistake, covered with shame and +confusion. + +Before the mirth caused by this blunder had subsided, the door had +opened, and we were ushered into the bureau of the commissaire, +accompanied by the anxious crowd, all curious to know the particulars +of our crime. + +The maire soon appeared, his night-cap being replaced by a small black +velvet skull-cap, and his lanky figure enveloped in a tarnished silk +dressing-gown; he permitted us to be seated, while the gen-d’arme +recounted the suspicious circumstances of our travelling, and produced +the order to arrest an Englishman and his wife who had arrived in one +of the late Boulogne packets, and who had carried off from some +banking-house money and bills for a large amount. + +“I have no doubt these are the people,” said the gen-d’arme; “and here +is the ‘carte descriptive.’ Let us compare it—‘Forty-two or forty-three +years of age.’” + +“I trust, M. le Maire,” said I, overhearing this, “that ladies do not +recognize me as so much.” + +“Of a pale and cadaverous aspect,” continued the gen-d’arme. + +Upon this the old functionary, wiping his spectacles with a snuffy +handkerchief, as if preparing them to examine an eclipse of the sun, +regarded me fixedly for several minutes, and said—“Oh, yes, I perceive +it plainly; continue the description.” + +“Five feet three inches,” said the gen-d’arme. + +“Six feet one in England, whatever this climate may have done since.” + +“Speaks broken and bad French.” + +“Like a native,” said I; “at least so said my friends in the chaussee +D’Antin, in the year fifteen.” + +Here the catalogue ended, and a short conference between the maire and +the gen-d’arme ensued, which ended in our being committed for +examination on the morrow; meanwhile we were to remain at the inn, +under the surveillance of the gen-d’arme. + +On reaching the inn my poor friend was so completely exhausted that she +at once retired to her room, and I proceeded to fulfil a promise I had +made her to despatch a note to Mrs. Bingham at Amiens by a special +messenger, acquainting her with all our mishaps, and requesting her to +come or send to our assistance. This done, and a good supper smoking +before me, of which with difficulty I persuaded Isabella to partake in +her own room, I again regained my equanimity, and felt once more at +ease. + +The gen-d’arme in whose guardianship I had been left was a fine +specimen of his caste; a large and powerfully built man of about fifty, +with an enormous beard of grizzly brown and grey hair, meeting above +and beneath his nether lip; his eyebrows were heavy and beetling, and +nearly concealed his sharp grey eyes, while a deep sabre-wound had left +upon his cheek a long white scar, giving a most warlike and ferocious +look to his features. + +As he sat apart from me for some time, silent and motionless, I could +not help imagining in how many a hard-fought day he had borne a part, +for he evidently, from his age and bearing, had been one of the +soldiers of the empire. I invited him to partake of my bottle of Medoc, +by which he seemed flattered. When the flask became low, and was +replaced by another, he appeared to have lost much of his constrained +air, and seemed forgetting rapidly the suspicious circumstances which +he supposed attached to me—waxed wondrous confidential and +communicative, and condescended to impart some traits of a life which +was not without its vicissitudes, for he had been, as I suspected, one +of the “Guarde”—the old guarde—was wounded at Marengo, and received the +croix d’honneur in the field of Wagram, from the hands of the Emperor +himself. The headlong enthusiasm of attachment to Napoleon, which his +brief and stormy career elicited even from those who suffered long and +deeply in his behalf, is not one of the least singular circumstances +which this portion of history displays. While the rigours of the +conscription had invaded every family in France, from Normandie to La +Vendee—while the untilled fields, the ruined granaries, the +half-deserted villages, all attested the depopulation of the land, +those talismanic words, “l’Empereur et la gloire,” by some magic +mechanism seemed all-sufficient not only to repress regret and +suffering, but even stimulate pride, and nourish valour; and even yet, +when it might be supposed that like the brilliant glass of a magic +lantern, the gaudy pageant had passed away, leaving only the darkness +and desolation behind it—the memory of those days under the empire +survives untarnished and unimpaired, and every sacrifice of friends or +fortune is accounted but little in the balance when the honour of La +Belle France, and the triumphs of the grand “armee,” are weighted +against them. The infatuated and enthusiastic followers of this great +man would seem, in some respects, to resemble the drunkard in the +“Vaudeville,” who alleged as his excuse for drinking, that whenever he +was sober his poverty disgusted him. “My cabin,” said he, “is a cell, +my wife a mass of old rags, my child a wretched object of misery and +malady. But give me brandy; let me only have that, and then my hut is a +palace, my wife is a princess, and my child the very picture of health +and happiness;” so with these people—intoxicated with the triumphs of +their nation, “tete monte” with victory—they cannot exist in the horror +of sobriety which peace necessarily enforces; and whenever the subject +turns in conversation upon the distresses of the time or the evil +prospects of the country, they call out, not like the drunkard, for +brandy, but in the same spirit they say—“Ah, if you would again see +France flourishing and happy, let us once more have our croix +d’honneur, our epaulettes, our voluntary contributions, our Murillos, +our Velasquez, our spoils from Venice, and our increased territories to +rule over.” This is the language of the Buonapartiste every where, and +at all seasons; and the mass of the nation is wonderfully disposed to +participate in the sentiment. The empire was the Aeneid of the nation, +and Napoleon the only hero they now believe in. You may satisfy +yourself of this easily. Every cafe will give evidence of it, every +society bears its testimony to it, and even the most wretched +Vaudeville, however, trivial the interest—however meagre the story, and +poor the diction, let the emperor but have his “role”—let him be as +laconic as possible, carry his hands behind his back, wear the +well-known low cocked-hat, and the “redingote gris”—the success is +certain—every sentence he utters is applauded, and not a single +allusion to the Pyramids, the sun of Austerlitz, l’honneur, et al +vieille garde, but is sure to bring down thunders of acclamation. But I +am forgetting myself, and perhaps my reader too; the conversation of +the old gen-d’arme accidentally led me into reflections like these, and +he was well calculated, in many ways, to call them forth. His devoted +attachment—his personal love of the emperor—of which he gave me some +touching instances, was admirably illustrated by an incident, which I +am inclined to tell, and hope it may amuse the reader as much as it did +myself on hearing it. + +When Napoleon had taken possession of the papal dominions, as he +virtually did, and carried off the pope, Pius VI, to Paris, this old +soldier, then a musketeer in the garde, formed part of the company that +mounted guard over the holy father. During the earlier months of the +holy father’s confinement he was at liberty to leave his apartments at +any hour he pleased, and cross the court-yard of the palace to the +chapel where he performed mass. At such moments the portion of the +Imperial Guard then on duty stood under arms, and received from the +august hand of the pope his benediction as he passed. But one morning a +hasty express arrived from the Tuilleries, and the officer on duty +communicated his instructions to his party, that the apostolic vicar +was not to be permitted to pass, as heretofore, to the chapel, and that +a most rigid superintendence was to be exercised over his movements. My +poor companion had his turn for duty on that ill-starred day; he had +not been long at his post when the sound of footsteps was heard +approaching, and he soon saw the procession which always attended the +holy father to his devotions, advancing towards him; he immediately +placed himself across the passage, and with his musket in rest barred +the exit, declaring, at the same time, that such were his orders. In +vain the priests who formed the cortege addressed themselves to his +heart, and spoke to his feelings, and at last finding little success by +these methods, explained to him the mortal sin and crime for which +eternal damnation itself might not be a too heavy retribution if he +persisted in preventing his holiness to pass, and thus be the means of +opposing an obstacle to the head of the whole Catholic church, for +celebrating the mass; the soldier remained firm and unmoved, the only +answer he returned being, “that he had his orders, and dared not +disobey them.” The pope, however, persisted in his resolution, and +endeavoured to get by, when the hardy veteran retreated a step, and +placing his musket and bayonet at the charge, called out “au nom de +l’Empereur,” when the pious party at last yielded and slowly retired +within the palace. + +Not many days after, this severe restriction was recalled, and once +more the father was permitted to go to and from the chapel of the +palace, at such times as he pleased, and again, as before, in passing +the corridor, the guards presented arms and received the holy +benediction, all except one; upon him the head of the church frowned +severely, and turned his back, while extending his pious hands towards +the others. “And yet,” said the poor fellow in concluding his story, +“and yet I could not have done otherwise; I had my orders and must have +followed them, and had the emperor commanded it, I should have run my +bayonet through the body of the holy father himself. + +“Thus, you see, my dear sir, how I have loved the emperor, for I have +many a day stood under fire for him in this world, ‘et il faut que +j’aille encore au feu pour lui apres ma mort.’.” + +He received in good part the consolations I offered him on this head, +but I plainly saw they did not, could not relieve his mind from the +horrible conviction he lay under, that his soul’s safety for ever had +been bartered for his attachment to the emperor. + +This story had brought us to the end of the third bottle of Medoc; and, +as I was neither the pope, nor had any very decided intentions of +saying mass, he offered no obstacle to my retiring for the night, and +betaking myself to my bed. + + + + + CHAPTER XXVI. +THE INN AT CHANTRAINE. + +[Illustration: Lorrequer as Postillion] + + +When contrasted with the comforts of an English bed-room in a good +hotel, how miserably short does the appearance of a French one fall in +the estimation of the tired traveller. In exchange for the carpeted +floor, the well-curtained windows, the richly tapestried bed, the well +cushioned arm-chair, and the innumerable other luxuries which await +him; he has nought but a narrow, uncurtained bed, a bare floor, +occasionally a flagged one, three hard cane-bottomed chairs, and a +looking-glass which may convey an idea of how you would look under the +combined influence of the cholera, and a stroke of apoplexy, one half +of your face being twice the length of the other, and the entire of it +of a bluish-green tint—pretty enough in one of Turner’s landscapes, but +not at all becoming when applied to the “human face divine.” Let no +late arrival from the continent contradict me here by his late +experiences, which a stray twenty pounds and the railroads—(confound +them for the same)—have enabled him to acquire. I speak of matters +before it occurred to all Charing-Cross and Cheapside to “take the +water” between Dover and Calais, and inundate the world with the wit of +the Cider Cellar, and the Hole in the Wall. No! In the days I write of, +the travelled were of another genus, and you might dine at Very’s or +have your loge at “Les Italiens,” without being dunned by your tailor +at the one, or confronted with your washer-woman at the other. Perhaps +I have written all this in the spite and malice of a man who feels that +his louis-d’or only goes half as far now as heretofore; and attributes +all his diminished enjoyments and restricted luxuries to the unceasing +current of his countrymen, whom fate, and the law of imprisonment for +debt, impel hither. Whether I am so far guilty or not, is not now the +question; suffice it to say, that Harry Lorrequer, for reasons best +known to himself, lives abroad, where he will be most happy to see any +of his old and former friends who take his quarters en route; and in +the words of a bellicose brother of the pen, but in a far different +spirit, he would add, “that any person who feels himself here alluded +to, may learn the author’s address at his publishers.” “Now let us go +back to our muttons,” as Barney Coyle used to say in the Dublin Library +formerly—for Barney was fond of French allusions, which occasionally +too he gave in their own tongue, as once describing an interview with +Lord Cloncurry, in which he broke off suddenly the conference, adding, +“I told him I never could consent to such a proposition, and putting my +chateau (chapeau) on my head, I left the house at once.” + +It was nearly three o’clock in the morning, as accompanied by the +waiter, who, like others of his tribe, had become a kind of +somnambulist ex-officio, I wended my way up one flight of stairs, and +down another, along a narrow corridor, down two steps, through an +antechamber, and into another corridor, to No. 82, my habitation for +the night. Why I should have been so far conducted from the habitable +portion of the house I had spent my evening in, I leave the learned in +such matters to explain; as for me, I have ever remarked it, while +asking for a chamber in a large roomy hotel, the singular pride with +which you are ushered up grand stair-cases, down passages, through +corridors, and up narrow back flights, till the blue sky is seen +through the sky-light, to No. 199, “the only spare bed-room in the +house,” while the silence and desolation of the whole establishment +would seem to imply far otherwise—the only evidence of occupation being +a pair of dirty Wellingtons at the door of No. 2. + +“Well, we have arrived at last,” said I, drawing a deep sigh, as I +threw myself upon a ricketty chair, and surveyed rapidly my +meagre-looking apartment. + +“Yes, this is Monsieur’s chamber,” said the waiter, with a very +peculiar look, half servile, half droll. “Madame se couche, No. 28.” + +“Very well, good night,” said I, closing the door hastily, and not +liking the farther scrutiny of the fellow’s eye, as he fastened it on +me, as if to search what precise degree of relationship existed between +myself and my fair friend, whom he had called “Madame” purposely to +elicit an observation from me. “Ten to one though,” said I, as I +undressed myself, “but they think she is my wife—how good—but again—ay, +it is very possible, considering we are in France. Numero vingt-huit, +quite far enough from this part of the house I should suppose from my +number,—that old gen-d’arme was a fine fellow—what strong attachment to +Napoleon; and the story of the pope; I hope I may remember that. +Isabella, poor girl—this adventure must really distress her—hope she is +not crying over it—what a devil of a hard bed—and it is not five feet +long too—and, bless my soul, is this all by way of covering; why I +shall be perished here. Oh! I must certainly put all my clothes over me +in addition, unfortunately there is no hearth-rug—well, there is no +help for it now—so let me try to sleep—numero vingt-huit.” + +How long I remained in a kind of uneasy, fitful slumber, I cannot tell; +but I awoke shivering with cold—puzzled to tell where I was, and my +brain addled with the broken fragments of half a dozen dreams, all +mingling and mixing themselves with the unpleasant realities of my +situation. What an infernal contrivance for a bed, thought I, as my +head came thump against the top, while my legs projected far beyond the +foot-rail; the miserable portion of clothing over me at the same time +being only sufficient to temper the night air, which in autumn is +occasionally severe and cutting. This will never do. I must ring the +bell and rouse the house, if only to get a fire, if they don’t possess +such a thing as blankets. I immediately rose, and groping my way along +the wall endeavoured to discover the bell, but in vain; and for the +same satisfactory reason that Von Troil did not devote one chapter of +his work on “Iceland” to “snakes,” because there were none such there. +What was now to be done? About the geography of my present abode I +knew, perhaps, as much as the public at large know about the Coppermine +river and Behring’s straits. The world, it was true, was before me, +“where top choose,” admirable things for an epic, but decidedly an +unfortunate circumstance for a very cold gentleman in search of a +blanket. Thus thinking, I opened the door of my chamber, and not in any +way resolved how I should proceed, I stepped forth into the long +corridor, which was dark as midnight itself. + +Tracing my path along the wall, I soon reached a door which I in vain +attempted to open; in another moment I found another and another, each +of which were locked. Thus along the entire corridor I felt my way, +making every effort to discover where any of the people of the house +might have concealed themselves, but without success. What was to be +done now? It was of no use to go back to my late abode, and find it +comfortless as I left it; so I resolved to proceed in my search; by +this time I had arrived at the top of a small flight of stairs, which I +remembered having come up, and which led to another long passage +similar to the one I had explored, but running in a transverse +direction, down this I now crept, and reached the landing, along the +wall of which I was guided by my hand, as well for safety as to +discover the architrave of some friendly door, where the inhabitant +might be sufficiently Samaritan to lend some portion of his +bed-clothes; door after door followed in succession along this +confounded passage, which I began to think as long as the gallery of +the lower one; at last, however, just as my heart was sinking within me +from disappointment, the handle of a lock turned, and I found myself +inside a chamber. How was I now to proceed? for if this apartment did +not contain any of the people of the hotel, I had but a sorry excuse +for disturbing the repose of any traveller who might have been more +fortunate than myself in the article of blankets. To go back however, +would be absurd, having already taken so much trouble to find out a +room that was inhabited—for that such was the case, a short, thick +snore assured me—so that my resolve was at once made, to waken the +sleeper, and endeavour to interest him in my destitute situation. I +accordingly approached the place where the nasal sounds seemed to issue +from, and soon reached the post of a bed. I waited for an instant, and +then began, + +“Monsier, voulez vous bien me permettre—” + +“As to short whist, I never could make it out, so there is an end of +it,” said my unknown friend, in a low, husky voice, which, strangely +enough, was not totally unfamiliar to me: but when or how I had heard +it before I could not then think. + +Well, thought I, he is an Englishman at all events, so I hope his +patriotism may forgive my intrusion, so here goes once more to rouse +him, though he seems a confoundedly heavy sleeper. “I beg your pardon, +sir, but unfortunately in a point like the present, perhaps—” + +“Well, do you mark the points, and I’ll score the rubber,” said he. + +“The devil take the gambling fellow’s dreaming,” thought I, raising my +voice at the same time. + +“Perhaps a cold night, sir, may suffice as my apology.” + +“Cold, oh, ay! put a hot poker to it,” muttered he; “a hot poker, a +little sugar, and a spice of nutmeg—nothing else—then it’s delicious.” + +“Upon my soul, this is too bad,” said I to myself. “Let us see what +shaking will do. Sir, sir, I shall feel obliged by—” + +“Well there, don’t shake me, and I’ll tell you where I hid the +cigars—they are under my straw hat in the window.” + +“Well, really,” thought I, “if this gentleman’s confessions were of an +interesting nature, this might be good fun; but as the night is cold, I +must shorten the ‘seance,’ so here goes for one effort more. + +“If, sir, you could kindly spare me even a small portion of your +bed-clothes.” + +“No, thank you, no more wine; but I’ll sing with pleasure;” and here +the wretch, in something like the voice of a frog with the quinsy, +began, “‘I’d mourn the hopes that leave me.’” + +“You shall mourn something else for the same reason,” said I, as losing +all patience, I seized quilts and blankets by the corner, and with one +vigourous pull wrenched them from the bed, and darted from the room—in +a second I was in the corridor, trailing my spoil behind—which in my +haste I had not time to collect in a bundle. I flew rather than ran +along the passage, reached the stairs, and in another minute had +reached the second gallery, but not before I heard the slam of a door +behind me, and the same instant the footsteps of a person running along +the corridor, who could be no other than my pursuer, effectually +aroused by my last appeal to his charity. I darted along the dark and +narrow passage; but soon to my horror discovered that I must have +passed the door of my chamber, for I had reached the foot of a narrow +back stair, which led to the grenier and the servants’ rooms, beneath +the roof. To turn now would only have led me plump in the face of my +injured countryman, of whose thew and sinew I was perfectly ignorant, +and did not much like to venture upon. There was little time for +reflection, for he had now reached the top of the stair, and was +evidently listening for some clue to guide him on; stealthily and +silently, and scarcely drawing breath, I mounted the narrow stairs step +by step, but before I had arrived at the landing, he heard the rustle +of the bed-clothes, and again gave chace. There was something in the +unrelenting ardour of his pursuit, which suggested to my mind the idea +of a most uncompromising foe; and as fear added speed to my steps, I +dashed along beneath the low-roofed passage, wondering what chance of +escape might yet present itself. Just at this instant, the hand by +which I had guided myself along the wall, touched the handle of a +door—I turned it—it opened—I drew in my precious bundle, and closing +the door noiselessly, sat down, breathless and still, upon the floor. + +Scarcely was this, the work of a second, accomplished, when the heavy +tread of my pursuer resounded on the floor. + +“Upon my conscience it’s strange if I haven’t you now, my friend,” said +he: “you’re in a cul de sac here, as they say, if I know any thing of +the house; and faith I’ll make a salad of you, when I get you, that’s +all. Devil a dirtier trick ever I heard tell of.” + +Need I say that these words had the true smack of an Irish accent, +which circumstance, from whatever cause, did not by any means tend to +assuage my fears in the event of discovery. + +However, from such a misfortune my good genius now delivered me; for +after traversing the passage to the end, he at last discovered another, +which led by a long flight to the second story, down which he +proceeded, venting at every step his determination for vengeance, and +his resolution not to desist from the pursuit, if it took the entire +night for it. + +“Well now,” thought I, “as he will scarcely venture up here again, and +as I may, by leaving this, be only incurring the risk of encountering +him, my best plan is to stay where I am if it be possible.” With this +intent I proceeded to explore the apartment, which from its perfect +stillness, I concluded to be unoccupied. After some few minutes groping +I reached a low bed, fortunately empty, and although the touch of the +bed-clothes led to no very favourable augury of its neatness or +elegance, there was little choice at this moment, so I rolled myself up +in my recent booty, and resolved to wait patiently for day-break to +regain my apartment. + +As always happens in such circumstances, sleep came on me unawares—so +at least every one’s experience I am sure can testify, that if you are +forced to awake early to start by some morning coach, and that +unfortunately you have not got to bed till late at night, the chances +are ten to one, that you get no sleep whatever, simply because you are +desirous for it; but make up your mind ever so resolutely, that you’ll +not sleep, and whether your determination be built on motives of +propriety, duty, convenience, or health, and the chances are just as +strong that you are sound and snoring before ten minutes. + +How many a man has found it impossible, with every effort of his heart +and brain aiding his good wishes, to sit with unclosed eyes and ears +through a dull sermon in the dog-days; how many an expectant, longing +heir has yielded to the drowsy influence when endeavouring to look +contrite under the severe correction of a lecture on extravagance from +his uncle. Who has not felt the irresistible tendency to “drop off” in +the half hour before dinner at a stupid country-house? I need not +catalogue the thousand other situations in life infinitely more +“sleep-compelling” than Morphine; for myself, my pleasantest and +soundest moments of perfect forgetfulness of this dreary world and all +its cares, have been taken in an oaken bench, seated bolt upright and +vis a vis to a lecturer on botany, whose calming accents, united with +the softened light of an autumnal day, piercing its difficult rays +through the narrow and cobwebbed windows, the odour of the recent +plants and flowers aiding and abetting, all combined to steep the soul +in sleep, and you sank by imperceptible and gradual steps into that +state of easy slumber, in which “come no dreams,” and the last sounds +of the lecturer’s “hypogenous and perigenous” died away, becoming +beautifully less, till your senses sank into rest, the syllables +“rigging us, rigging us,” seemed to melt away in the distance and fade +from your memory—Peace be with you, Doctor A. If I owe gratitude any +where I have my debt with you. The very memory I bear of you has saved +me no inconsiderable sum in hop and henbane. Without any assistance +from the sciences on the present occasion, I was soon asleep, and woke +not till the cracking of whips, and trampling of horses’ feet on the +pavement of the coach-yard apprised me that the world had risen to its +daily labour, and so should I. From the short survey of my present +chamber which I took on waking, I conjectured it must have been the den +of some of the servants of the house upon occasion—two low truckle-beds +of the meanest description lay along the wall opposite to mine; one of +them appeared to have been slept in during the past night, but by what +species of animal the Fates alone can tell. An old demi-peak saddle, +capped and tipped with brass, some rusty bits, and stray stirrup-irons +lay here and there upon the floor; while upon a species of +clothes-rack, attached to a rafter, hung a tarnished suit of +postillion’s livery, cap, jacket, leathers, and jack-boots, all ready +for use; and evidently from their arrangement supposed by the owner to +be a rather creditable “turn out.” + +I turned over these singular habiliments with much of the curiosity +with which an antiquary would survey a suit of chain armour; the long +epaulettes of yellow cotton cord, the heavy belt with its brass buckle, +the cumbrous boots, plaited and bound with iron like churns were in +rather a ludicrous contrast to the equipment of our light and +jockey-like boys in nankeen jackets and neat tops, that spin along over +our level “macadam.” + +“But,” thought I, “it is full time I should get back to No. 82, and +make my appearance below stairs;” though in what part of the building +my room lay, and how I was to reach it without my clothes, I had not +the slightest idea. A blanket is an excessively comfortable article of +wearing apparel when in bed, but as a walking costume is by no means +convenient or appropriate; while to making a sorti en sauvage, however +appropriate during the night, there were many serious objections if +done “en plein jour,” and with the whole establishment awake and +active; the noise of mopping, scrubbing, and polishing, which is +eternally going forward in a foreign inn amply testified there was +nothing which I could adopt in my present naked and forlorn condition, +save the bizarre and ridiculous dress of the postillion, and I need not +say the thought of so doing presented nothing agreeable. I looked from +the narrow window out upon the tiled roof, but without any prospect of +being heard if I called ever so loudly. + +The infernal noise of floor-cleansing, assisted by a Norman peasant’s +“chanson du pays,” the time being well marked by her heavy sabots, gave +even less chance to me within; so that after more than half an hour +passed in weighing difficulties, and canvassing plans, upon donning the +blue and yellow, and setting out for my own room without delay, hoping +sincerely, that with proper precaution, I should be able to reach it +unseen and unobserved. + +As I laid but little stress upon the figure I should make in my new +habiliments, it did not cause me much mortification to find that the +clothes were considerably too small, the jacket scarcely coming beneath +my arms, and the sleeves being so short that my hands and wrists +projected beyond the cuffs like two enormous claws; the leathers were +also limited in their length, and when drawn up to a proper height, +permitted my knees to be seen beneath, like the short costume of a +Spanish Tauridor, but scarcely as graceful; not wishing to encumber +myself in the heavy and noisy masses of wood, iron, and leather, they +call “les bottes forts,” I slipped my feet into my slippers, and stole +gently from the room. How I must have looked at the moment I leave my +reader to guess, as with anxious and stealthy pace I crept along the +low gallery that led to the narrow staircase, down which I proceeded, +step by step; but just as I reached the bottom, perceived a little +distance from me, with her back turned towards me, a short, squat +peasant on her knees, belabouring with a brush the well waxed floor; to +pass therefore, unobserved was impossible, so that I did not hesitate +to address her, and endeavour to interest her in my behalf, and enlist +her as my guide. + +“Bon jour, ma chere,” said I in a soft insinuating tone; she did not +hear me, so I repeated, + +“Bon jour, ma chere, bon jour.” + +Upon this she turned round, and looking fixedly at me for a second, +called out in a thick pathos, “Ah, le bon Dieu! qu’il est drole comme +ca, Francois, savez vous, mais ce n’est pas Francois;” saying which, +she sprang from her kneeling position to her feet, and with a speed +that her shape and sabots seemed little to promise, rushed down the +stairs as if she had seen the devil himself. + +“Why, what is the matter with the woman?” said I, “surely if I am not +Francois—which God be thanked is true—yet I cannot look so frightful as +all this would imply.” I had not much time given me for consideration +now, for before I had well deciphered the number over a door before me, +the loud noise of several voices on the floor beneath attracted my +attention, and the moment after the heavy tramp of feet followed, and +in an instant the gallery was thronged by the men and women of the +house—waiters, hostlers, cooks, scullions, filles de chambre, mingled +with gens-d’armes, peasants, and town’s people, all eagerly forcing +their way up stairs; yet all on arriving at the landing-place, seemed +disposed to keep at a respectful distance, and bundling themselves at +one end of the corridor, while I, feelingly alive to the ridiculous +appearance I made, occupied the other—the gravity with which they +seemed at first disposed to regard me soon gave way, and peal after +peal of laughter broke out, and young and old, men and women, even to +the most farouche gens-d’armes, all appearing incapable of controlling +the desire for merriment my most singular figure inspired; and +unfortunately this emotion seemed to promise no very speedy conclusion; +for the jokes and witticisms made upon my appearance threatened to +renew the festivities, ad libitum. + +“Regardez donc ses epaules,” said one. + +“Ah, mon Dieu! Il me fait l’idee d’une grenouille aves ses jambes +jaunes,” cried another. + +“Il vaut son pesant de fromage pour une Vaudeville,” said the director +of the strolling theatre of the place. + +“I’ll give seventy francs a week, ‘d’appointment,’ and ‘Scribe’ shall +write a piece express for himself, if he’ll take it.” + +“May the devil fly away with your grinning baboon faces,” said I, as I +rushed up the stairs again, pursued by the mob at full cry; scarcely, +however, had I reached the top step, when the rough hand of the +gen-d’arme seized me by the shoulder, while he said in a low, husky +voice, “c’est inutile, Monsieur, you cannot escape—the thing was well +contrived, it is true; but the gens-d’armes of France are not easily +outwitted, and you could not have long avoided detection, even in that +dress.” It was my turn to laugh now, which, to their very great +amazement, I did, loud and long; that I should have thought my present +costume could ever have been the means of screening me from +observation, however it might have been calculated to attract it, was +rather too absurd a supposition even for the mayor of a village to +entertain; besides, it only now occurred to me that I was figuring in +the character of a prisoner. The continued peals of laughing which this +mistake on their part elicited from me seemed to afford but slight +pleasure to my captor, who gruffly said— + +“When you have done amusing yourself, mon ami, perhaps you will do us +the favour to come before the mayor.” + +“Certainly,” I replied; “but you will first permit me to resume my own +clothes, I am quite sick of masquerading ‘en postillion.’” + +“Not so fast, my friend,” said the suspicious old follower of +Fouche—“not so fast; it is but right the maire should see you in the +disguise you attempted your escape in. It must be especially mentioned +in the proces verbal.” + +“Well, this is becoming too ludicrous,” said I. “It need not take five +minutes to satisfy you why, how, and where, I put on these confounded +rags—” + +“Then tell it to the maire, at the Bureau.” + +“But for that purpose it is not necessary I should be conducted through +the streets in broad day, to be laughed at. No, positively, I’ll not +go. In my own dress I’ll accompany you with pleasure.” + +“Victor, Henri, Guillame,” said the gen-d’arme, addressing his +companions, who immediately closed round me. “You see,” added he, +“there is no use in resisting.” + +Need I recount my own shame and ineffable disgrace? Alas! it is too, +too true. Harry Lorrequer—whom Stultze entreated to wear his coats, the +ornament of Hyde Park, the last appeal in dress, fashion, and +equipage—was obliged to parade through the mob of a market-town in +France, with four gens-d’armes for his companions, and he himself +habited in a mongrel character—half postillion, half Delaware Indian. +The incessant yells of laughter—the screams of the children, and the +outpouring of every species of sarcasm and ridicule, at my expense, +were not all—for, as I emerged from the porte-chochere I saw Isabella +in the window: her eyes were red with weeping; but no sooner had she +beheld me, than she broke out into a fit of laughter that was audible +even in the street. + +Rage had now taken such a hold upon me, that I forgot my ridiculous +appearance in my thirst for vengeance. I marched on through the +grinning crowd, with the step of a martyr. I suppose my heroic bearing +and warlike deportment must have heightened the drollery of the scene; +for the devils only laughed the more. The bureau of the maire could not +contain one-tenth of the anxious and curious individuals who thronged +the entrance, and for about twenty minutes the whole efforts of the +gens-d’armes were little enough to keep order and maintain silence. At +length the maire made his appearance, and accustomed as he had been for +a long life to scenes of an absurd and extraordinary nature, yet the +ridicule of my look and costume was too much, and he laughed outright. +This was of course the signal for renewed mirth for the crowd, while +those without doors, infected by the example, took up the jest, and I +had the pleasure of a short calculation, a la Babbage, of how many +maxillary jaws were at that same moment wagging at my expense. + +However, the examination commenced; and I at length obtained an +opportunity of explaining under what circumstances I had left my room, +and how and why I had been induced to don this confounded cause of all +my misery. + +“This may be very true,” said the mayor, “as it is very plausible; if +you have evidence to prove what you have stated—” + +“If it’s evidence only is wanting, Mr. Maire, I’ll confirm one part of +the story,” said a voice in the crowd, in an accent and tone that +assured me the speaker was the injured proprietor of the stolen +blankets. I turned round hastily to look at my victim, and what was my +surprise to recognize a very old Dublin acquaintance, Mr. Fitzmaurice +O’Leary. + +“Good morning, Mr. Lorrequer,” said he; “this is mighty like our ould +practices in College-green; but upon my conscience the maire has the +advantage of Gabbet. It’s lucky for you I know his worship, as we’d +call him at home, or this might be a serious business. Nothing would +persuade them that you were not Lucien Buonaparte, or the iron mask, or +something of that sort, if they took it into their heads.” + +Mr. O’Leary was as good as his word. In a species of French, that I’d +venture to say would be perfectly intelligible in Mullingar, he +contrived to explain to the maire that I was neither a runaway nor a +swindler, but a very old friend of his, and consequently sans reproche. +The official was now as profuse of his civilities as he had before been +of his suspicions, and most hospitably pressed us to stay for +breakfast. This, for many reasons, I was obliged to decline—not the +least of which was, my impatience to get out of my present costume. We +accordingly procured a carriage, and I returned to the hotel, screened +from the gaze but still accompanied by the shouts of the mob, who +evidently took a most lively interest in the entire proceeding. + +I lost no time in changing my costume, and was about to descend to the +saloon, when the master of the house came to inform me that Mrs. +Bingham’s courier had arrived with the carriage, and that she expected +us at Amiens as soon as possible. + +“That is all right. Now, Mr. O’Leary, I must pray you to forgive all +the liberty I have taken with you, and also permit me to defer the +explanation of many circumstances which seem at present strange, till—” + +“Till sine die, if the story be a long one, my dear sir—there’s nothing +I hate so much, except cold punch.” + +“You are going to Paris,” said I; “is it not so?” + +“Yes, I’m thinking of it. I was up at Trolhatten, in Norway, three +weeks ago, and I was obliged to leave it hastily, for I’ve an +appointment with a friend in Geneva.” + +“Then how do you travel?” + +“On foot, just as you see, except that I’ve a tobacco bag up stairs, +and an umbrella.” + +“Light equipment, certainly; but you must allow me to give you a set +down as far as Amiens, and also to present you to my friends there.” + +To this Mr. O’Leary made no objection; and as Miss Bingham could not +bear any delay, in her anxiety to join her mother, we set out at +once—the only thing to mar my full enjoyment at the moment being the +sight of the identical vestments I had so lately figured in, bobbing up +and down before my eyes for the whole length of the stage, and leading +to innumerable mischievous allusions from my friend Mr. O’Leary, which +were far too much relished by my fair companion. + +At twelve we arrived at Amiens, when I presented my friend Mr. O’Leary +to Mrs. Bingham. + + + + + CHAPTER XXVII. +MR. O’LEARY. + + +At the conclusion of my last chapter I was about to introduce to my +reader’s acquaintance my friend Mr. O’Leary; and, as he is destined to +occupy some place in the history of these Confessions, I may, perhaps, +be permitted to do so at more length than his intrinsic merit at first +sight might appear to warrant. + +Mr. O’Leary was, and I am induced to believe is, a particularly short, +fat, greasy-looking gentleman, with a head as free from phrenological +development as a billiard-ball, and a countenance which, in feature and +colour, nearly resembled the face of a cherub, carved in oak, as we see +them in old pulpits. + +Short as is his stature, his limbs compose the least part of it. His +hands and feet, forming some compensation by their ample proportions, +with short, thick fins, vulgarly called a cobbler’s thumb. His voice +varying in cadence from a deep barytone, to a high falsetto, maintains +throughout the distinctive characteristic of a Dublin accent and +pronunciation, and he talks of the “Veel of Ovoca, and a beef-steek,” +with some price of intonation. What part of the Island he came +originally from, or what may be his age, are questions I have the most +profound ignorance of; I have heard many anecdotes which would imply +his being what the French call “d’un age mur”—but his own observations +are generally limited to events occurring since the peace of “fifteen.” +To his personal attractions, such as they are, he has never been +solicitous of contributing by the meretricious aids of dress. His coat, +calculating from its length of waist, and ample skirt, would fit Bumbo +Green, while his trowsers, being made of some cheap and shrinking +material, have gradually contracted their limits, and look now exactly +like knee-breeches, without the usual buttons at the bottom. + +These, with the addition of a pair of green spectacles, the glass of +one being absent, and permitting the look-out of a sharp, grey eye, +twinkling with drollery and good humour, form the most palpable of his +externals. In point of character, they who best knew him represented +him as the best-tempered, best-hearted fellow breathing; ever ready to +assist a friend, and always postponing his own plans and his own views, +when he had any, to the wishes and intentions of others. Among the many +odd things about him, was a constant preference to travelling on foot, +and a great passion for living abroad, both of which tastes he +gratified, although his size might seem to offer obstacles to the one, +and his total ignorance of every continental language, would appear to +preclude the other; with a great liking for tobacco, which he smoked +all day—a fondness for whist and malt liquors—his antipathies were few; +so that except when called upon to shave more than once in the week, or +wash his hands twice on the same day, it was difficult to disconcert +him. His fortune was very ample; but although his mode of living was +neither very ostentatious nor costly, he contrived always to spend his +income. Such was the gentleman I now presented to my friends, who, I +must confess, appeared strangely puzzled by his manner and appearance. +This feeling, however, soon wore off; and before he had spent the +morning in their company, he had made more way in their good graces, +and gone farther to establish intimacy, than many a more accomplished +person, with an unexceptionable coat and accurate whisker might have +effected in a fortnight. What were his gifts in this way, I am, alas, +most deplorably ignorant of; it was not, heaven knows, that he +possessed any conversational talent—of successful flattery he knew as +much as a negro does of the national debt—and yet the “bon-hommie” of +his character seemed to tell at once; and I never knew him fail in any +one instance to establish an interest for himself before he had +completed the ordinary period of a visit. + +I think it is Washington Irving who has so admirably depicted the +mortification of a dandy angler, who, with his beaver garnished with +brown hackles, his well-posed rod, polished gaff, and handsome +landing-net, with every thing befitting, spends his long summer day +whipping a trout stream without a rise or even a ripple to reward him, +while a ragged urchin, with a willow wand, and a bent pin, not ten +yards distant, is covering the greensward with myriads of speckled and +scaly backs, from one pound weight to four; so it is in every +thing—“the race is not to the swift;” the elements of success in life, +whatever be the object of pursuit, are very, very different from what +we think them at first sight, and so it was with Mr. O’Leary, and I +have more than once witnessed the triumph of his homely manner and +blunt humour over the more polished and well-bred taste of his +competitors for favour; and what might have been the limit to such +success, heaven alone can tell, if it were not that he laboured under a +counter-balancing infirmity, sufficient to have swamped a +line-of-battle ship itself. It was simply this—a most unfortunate +propensity to talk of the wrong place, person, or time, in any society +he found himself; and this taste for the mal apropos, extended so far, +that no one ever ventured into company with him as his friend, without +trembling for the result; but even this, I believe his only fault, +resulted from the natural goodness of his character and intentions; +for, believing as he did, in his honest simplicity, that the arbitrary +distinctions of class and rank were held as cheaply by others as +himself, he felt small scruple at recounting to a duchess a scene in a +cabaret, and with as little hesitation would he, if asked, have sung +the “Cruiskeen lawn,” or the “Jug of Punch,” after Lablanche had +finished the “Al Idea,” from Figaro. ‘Mauvaise honte,’ he had none; +indeed I am not sure that he had any kind of shame whatever, except +possibly when detected with a coat that bore any appearance of newness, +or if overpersuaded to wear gloves, which he ever considered as a +special effeminacy. + +Such, in a few words, was the gentleman I now presented to my friends, +and how far he insinuated himself into their good graces, let the fact +tell, that on my return to the breakfast-room, after about an hour’s +absence, I heard him detailing the particulars of a route they were to +take by his advice, and also learned that he had been offered and had +accepted a seat in their carriage to Paris. + +“Then I’ll do myself the pleasure of joining your party, Mrs. Bingham,” +said he. “Bingham, I think, madam, is your name.” + +“Yes, Sir.” + +“Any relation, may I ask, of a most dear friend of mine, of the same +name, from Currynaslattery, in the county Wexford?” + +“I am really not aware,” said Mrs. Bingham. “My husband’s family are, I +believe, many of them from that county.” + +“Ah, what a pleasant fellow was Tom!” said Mr. O’Leary musingly, and +with that peculiar tone which made me tremble, for I knew well that a +reminiscence was coming. “A pleasant fellow indeed.” + +“Is he alive, sir, now?” + +“I believe so, ma’am; but I hear the climate does not agree with him.” + +“Ah, then, he’s abroad! In Italy probably?” + +“No, ma’am, in Botany Bay. His brother, they say, might have saved him, +but he left poor Tom to his fate, for he was just then paying court to +a Miss Crow, I think, with a large fortune. Oh, Lord, what have I said, +it’s always the luck of me!” The latter exclamation was the result of a +heavy saugh upon the floor, Mrs. Bingham having fallen in a faint—she +being the identical lady alluded to, and her husband the brother of +pleasant Tom Bingham. + +To hurl Mr. O’Leary out of the room by one hand, and ring the bell with +the other, was the work of a moment; and with proper care, and in due +time, Mrs. Bingham was brought to herself, when most fortunately, she +entirely forgot the cause of her sudden indisposition; and, of course, +neither her daughter nor myself suffered any clue to escape us which +might lead to its discovery. + +When we were once more upon the road, to efface if it might be +necessary any unpleasant recurrence to the late scene, I proceeded to +give Mrs. Bingham an account of my adventure at Chantraine, in which, +of course, I endeavoured to render my friend O’Leary all the honours of +being laughed at in preference to myself, laying little stress upon my +masquerading in the jack-boots. + +“You are quite right,” said O’Leary, joining in the hearty laugh +against him, “quite right, I was always a very heavy sleeper—indeed if +I wasn’t I wouldn’t be here now, travelling about en garcon, free as +air;” here he heaved a sigh, which from its incongruity with his jovial +look and happy expression, threw us all into renewed laughter. + +“But why, Mr. O’Leary—what can your sleepiness have to do with such +tender recollections, for such, I am sure, that sigh bespeaks them?” + +“Ah! ma’am, it may seem strange, but it is nevertheless true, if it +were not for that unfortunate tendency, I should now be the happy +possessor of a most accomplished and amiable lady, and eight hundred +per annum three and a half per cent. stock.” + +“You overslept yourself on the wedding-day, I suppose.” + +“You shall hear, ma’am, the story is a very short one: It is now about +eight years ago, I was rambling through the south of France, and had +just reached Lyons, where the confounded pavement, that sticks up like +pears, with the point upwards, had compelled me to rest some days and +recruit; for this purpose I installed myself in the pension of Madame +Gourgead, Rue de Petits Carmes, a quiet house—where we dined at twelve, +ten in number, upon about two pounds of stewed beef, with garlic and +carrots—a light soup, being the water which accompanied the same to +render it tender in stewing—some preserved cherries, and an omelette, +with a pint bottle of Beaune, 6me qualite, I believe—a species of +pyroligneous wine made from the vine stalks, but pleasant in summer +with your salad; then we played dominos in the evening, or whist for +sous points, leading altogether a very quiet and virtuous existence, or +as Madame herself expressed it, ‘une vie tout-a-fait patriarchale;’ of +this I cannot myself affirm how far she was right in supposing the +patriarchs did exactly like us. But to proceed, in the same +establishment there lived a widow whose late husband had been a wine +merchant at Dijon—he had also, I suppose from residing in that country, +been imitating the patriarchs, for he died one day. Well, the lady was +delayed at Lyons for some law business, and thus it came about, that +her husband’s testament and the sharp paving stones in the streets +determined we should be acquainted. I cannot express to you the delight +of my fair countrywoman at finding that a person who spoke English had +arrived at the ‘pension’—a feeling I myself somewhat participated in; +for to say truth, I was not at that time a very great proficient in +French. We soon became intimate, in less time probably than it could +otherwise have happened, for from the ignorance of all the others of +one word of English, I was enabled during dinner to say many soft and +tender things, which one does not usually venture on in company. + +“I recounted my travels, and told various adventures of my wanderings, +till at last, from being merely amused, I found that my fair friend +began to be interested in my narratives; and frequently when passing +the bouillon to her, I have seen a tear in the corner of her eye: in a +word, ‘she loved me for the dangers I had passed,’ as Othello says. +Well, laugh away if you like, but it’s truth I am telling you.” At this +part of Mr. O’Leary’s story we all found it impossible to withstand the +ludicrous mock heroic of his face and tone, and laughed loud and long. +When we at length became silent he resumed—“Before three weeks had +passed over, I had proposed and was accepted, just your own way, Mr. +Lorrequer, taking the ball at the hop, the very same way you did at +Cheltenham, the time the lady jilted you, and ran off with your friend +Mr. Waller; I read it all in the news, though I was then in Norway +fishing.” Here there was another interruption by a laugh, not, however, +at Mr. O’Leary’s expense. I gave him a most menacing look, while he +continued—“the settlements were soon drawn up, and consisted, like all +great diplomatic documents, of a series of ‘gains and compensations;’ +thus, she was not to taste any thing stronger than kirsch wasser, or +Nantz brandy; and I limited myself to a pound of short-cut weekly, and +so on: but to proceed, the lady being a good Catholic, insisted upon +being married by a priest of her own persuasion, before the performance +of the ceremony at the British embassy in Paris; to this I could offer +no objection, and we were accordingly united in the holy bonds the same +morning, after signing the law papers.” + +“Then, Mr. O’Leary, you are really a married man.” + +“That’s the very point I’m coming to, ma’am; for I’ve consulted all the +jurists upon the subject, and they never can agree. But you shall hear. +I despatched a polite note to Bishop Luscombe, and made every +arrangement for the approaching ceremony, took a quartier in the Rue +Helder, near the Estaminet, and looked forward with anxiety for the day +which was to make my happy; for our marriage in Lyons was only a kind +of betrothal. Now, my fair friend had but one difficulty remaining, +poor dear soul—I refrain from mentioning her name for delicacy sake; +but poor dear Mrs. Ram could not bear the notion of our going up to +Paris in the same conveyance, for long as she had lived abroad, she had +avoided every thing French, even the language, so she proposed that I +should go in the early ‘Diligence,’ which starts at four-o’clock in the +morning, while she took her departure at nine; thus I should be some +hours sooner in Paris, and ready to receive her on her arriving; +besides sparing her bashfulness all reproach of our travelling +together. It was no use my telling her that I always travelled on foot, +and hated a ‘Diligence;’ she coolly replied that at our time of life we +could not spare the time necessary for a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, for +so she supposed the journey from Lyons to Paris to be; so fearing lest +any doubt might be thrown upon the ardour of my attachment, I yielded +at once, remembering at the moment what my poor friend Tom Bing—Oh +Lord, I’m at it again!” + +“Sir, I did not hear.” + +“Nothing, ma’am, I was just going to observe, that ladies of a certain +time of life, and widows especially, like a lover that seems a little +ardent or so, all the better.” Here Mrs. Bingham blushed, her daughter +bridled, and I nearly suffocated with shame and suppressed laughter. + +“After a most tender farewell of my bride or wife, I don’t know which, +I retired for the night with a mind vacillating between my hopes of +happiness and my fears for the result of a journey so foreign to all my +habits of travelling, and in which I could not but tremble at the many +casualties my habitual laziness and dislike to any hours but of my own +choosing might involve me in. + +“I had scarcely lain down in bed, ere these thoughts took such +possession of me, that sleep for once in my life was out of the +question; and then the misery of getting up at four in the +morning—putting on your clothes by the flickering light of the porter’s +candle—getting your boots on the wrong feet, and all that kind of +annoyance—I am sure I fretted myself into the feeling of a downright +martyr before an hour was over. Well at least, thought I, one thing is +well done,—I have been quite right in coming to sleep here at the +Messagerie Hotel, where the diligence starts from, or the chances are +ten to one that I never should wake till the time was past. Now, +however, they are sure to call me; so I may sleep tranquilly till then. +Meanwhile I had forgotten to pack my trunk—my papers, &c. laying all +about the room in a state of considerable confusion. I rose at once +with all the despatch I could muster; this took a long time to effect, +and it was nearly two o’clock ere I finished, and sat down to smoke a +solitary pipe,—the last, as I supposed it might be my lot to enjoy for +heaven knows how long, Mrs. R. having expressed, rather late in our +intimacy I confess, strong opinions against tobacco within doors. + +“When I had finished my little sac of the ‘weed,’ the clock struck +three, and I started to think how little time I was destined to have in +bed. In bed! why, said I, there is no use thinking of it now, for I +shall scarcely have lain down ere I shall be obliged to get up again. +So thinking, I set about dressing myself for the road; and by the time +I had enveloped myself in a pair of long Hungarian gaiters, and a +kurtcha of sheep’s wool, with a brown bear-skin outside, with a Welsh +wig, and a pair of large dark glass goggles to defend the eyes from the +snow, I was not only perfectly impervious to all effects of the +weather, but so thoroughly defended from any influence of sight or +sound, that a volcano might be hissing and thundering within ten yards +of me, without attracting my slightest attention. Now, I thought, +instead of remaining here, I’ll just step down to the coach, and get +snugly in the diligence, and having secured the corner of the coupé, +resign myself to sleep with the certainty of not being left behind, +and, probably, too, be some miles on my journey before awaking. + +“I accordingly went down stairs, and to my surprise found, even at that +early hour, that many of the garcons of the house were stirring and +bustling about, getting all the luggage up in the huge wooden leviathan +that was to convey us on our road. There they stood, like bees around a +hive, clustering and buzzing, and all so engaged that with difficulty +could I get an answer to my question of, What diligence it was? ‘La +diligence pour Paris, Monsieur.’ + +“‘Ah, all right then,’ said I; so watching an opportunity to do so +unobserved, for I supposed they might have laughed at me, I stepped +quietly into the coupé; and amid the creaking of cordage, and the +thumping of feet on the roof, fell as sound asleep as ever I did in my +life—these sounds coming to my muffled ears, soft as the echoes on the +Rhine. When it was that I awoke I cannot say; but as I rubbed my eyes +and yawned after a most refreshing sleep, I perceived that it was still +quite dark all around, and that the diligence was standing before the +door of some inn and not moving. Ah, thought I, this is the first +stage; how naturally one always wakes at the change of horses,—a kind +of instinct implanted by Providence, I suppose, to direct us to a +little refreshment on the road. With these pious feelings I let down +the glass, and called out to the garcon for a glass of brandy and a +cigar. While he was bringing them, I had time to look about, and +perceived, to my very great delight, that I had the whole coupé to +myself. ‘Are there any passengers coming in here?’ said I, as the +waiter came forward with my petit verre. ‘I should think not, sir,’ +said the fellow with a leer. ‘Then I shall have the whole coupé to +myself?’ said I. ‘Monsieur need have no fear of being disturbed; I can +safely assure him that he will have no one there for the next +twenty-four hours.’ This was really pleasant intelligence; so I chucked +him a ten sous piece, and closing up the window as the morning was +cold, once more lay back to sleep with a success that has never failed +me. It was to a bright blue cloudless sky, and the sharp clear air of a +fine day in winter, that I at length opened my eyes. I pulled out my +watch, and discovered it was exactly two o’clock; I next lowered the +glass and looked about me, and very much to my surprise discovered that +the diligence was not moving, but standing very peaceably in a very +crowded congregation of other similar and dissimilar conveyances, all +of which seemed, I thought, to labour under some physical ailment, some +wanting a box, others a body, &c. &c. and in fact suggesting the idea +of an infirmary for old and disabled carriages of either sex, mails and +others. ‘Oh, I have it,’ cried I, ‘we are arrived at Mt. Geran, and +they are all at dinner, and from my being alone in the coupé, they have +forgotten to call me.’ I immediately opened the door and stepped out +into the innyard, crowded with conducteurs, grooms, and ostlers, who, I +thought, looked rather surprised at seeing me emerge from the +diligence. + +“‘You did not know I was there,’ said I, with a knowing wink at one of +them as I passed. + +“‘Assurement non,’ said the fellow with a laugh, that was the signal +for all the others to join in it. ‘Is the table d’hote over?’ said I, +regardless of the mirth around me. ‘Monsieur is just in time,’ said the +waiter, who happened to pass with a soup-tureen in his hand. ‘Have the +goodness to step this way.’ I had barely time to remark the close +resemblance of the waiter to the fellow who presented me with my brandy +and cigar in the morning, when he ushered me into a large room with +about forty persons sitting at a long table, evidently waiting with +impatience for the ‘Potage’ to begin their dinner. Whether it was they +enjoyed the joke of having neglected to call me, or that they were +laughing at my travelling costume, I cannot say, but the moment I came +in, I could perceive a general titter run through the assembly. ‘Not +too late, after all, gentlemen,’ said I, marching gravely up the table. + +“‘Monsieur is in excellent time,’ said the host, making room for me +beside his chair. Notwithstanding the incumbrance of my weighty +habiliments, I proceeded to do ample justice to the viands before me, +apologizing laughingly to the host, by pleading a traveller’s appetite. + +“‘Then you have perhaps come far this morning,’ said a gentleman +opposite. + +“‘Yes,’ said I, ‘I have been on the road since four o’clock.’ + +“‘And how are the roads?’ said another. ‘Very bad,’ said I, ‘the first +few stages from Lyons, afterwards much better.’ This was said at a +venture, as I began to be ashamed of being always asleep before my +fellow-travellers. They did not seem, however, to understand me +perfectly; and one old fellow putting down his spectacles from his +forehead, leaned over and said: ‘And where, may I ask, has Monsieur +come from this morning?’ + +“‘From Lyons,’ said I, with the proud air of a man who has done a stout +feat, and is not ashamed of the exploit. + +“‘From Lyons!’ said one. ‘From Lyons!’ cried another. ‘From Lyons!’ +repeated a third. + +“‘Yes,’ said I; ‘what the devil is so strange in it; travelling is so +quick now-a-days, one thinks nothing of twenty leagues before dinner.’ + +“The infernal shout of laughing that followed my explanation is still +in my ears; from one end of the table to the other there was one +continued ha, ha, ha—from the greasy host to the little hunchbacked +waiter, they were all grinning away. + +“‘And how did Monsieur travel?’ said the old gentleman, who seemed to +carry on the prosecution against me. + +“‘By the diligence, the “Aigle noir,”’ said I, giving the name with +some pride, that I was not altogether ignorant of the conveyance. + +“‘Then you should certainly not complain of the roads,’ said the host +chuckling; ‘for the only journey that diligence has made this day has +been from the street-door to the inn-yard; for as they found when the +luggage was nearly packed that the axle was almost broken through, they +wheeled it round to the court, and prepared another for the +travellers.’ + +“‘And where am I now?’ said I. + +“‘In Lyons,’ said twenty voices, half choked with laughter at my +question. + +“I was thunderstruck at the news at first; but as I proceeded with my +dinner, I joined in the mirth of the party, which certainly was not +diminished on my telling them the object of my intended journey. + +“‘I think, young man,’ said the old fellow with the spectacles, ‘that +you should take the occurrence as a warning of Providence that marriage +will not suit you.’ I began to be of the same opinion;—but then there +was the jointure. To be sure, I was to give up tobacco; and perhaps I +should not be as free to ramble about as when en garcon. So taking all +things into consideration, I ordered in another bottle of burgundy, to +drink Mrs. Ram’s health—got my passport vised for Barege—and set out +for the Pyrenees the same evening.” + +“And have you never heard any thing more of the lady?” said Mrs. +Bingham. + +“Oh, yes. She was faithful to the last; for I found out when at Rome +last winter that she had offered a reward for me in the newspapers, and +indeed had commenced a regular pursuit of me through the whole +continent. And to tell the real fact, I should not now fancy turning my +steps towards Paris, if I had not very tolerable information that she +is in full cry after me through the Wengen Alps, I having contrived a +paragraph in Galignani, to seduce her thither, and where, with the +blessing of Providence, if the snow set in early, she must pass the +winter.” + + + + + CHAPTER XXVIII. +PARIS. + +[Illustration: Mr. O’Leary Creating a Sensation at the Salon des +Etranges] + + +Nothing more worthy of recording occurred before our arrival at Meurice +on the third day of our journey. My friend O’Leary had, with his usual +good fortune, become indispensable to his new acquaintance, and it was +not altogether without some little lurking discontent that I perceived +how much less often my services were called in request since his having +joined our party; his information, notwithstanding its very scanty +extent, was continually relied upon, and his very imperfect French +everlastingly called into requisition to interpret a question for the +ladies. Yes, thought I, “Othello’s occupation’s gone;” one of two +things has certainly happened, either Mrs. Bingham and her daughter +have noticed my continued abstraction of mind, and have attributed it +to the real cause, the pre-occupation of my affections; or thinking, on +the other hand, that I am desperately in love with one or other of +them, have thought that a little show of preference to Mr. O’Leary may +stimulate me to a proposal at once. In either case I resolved to lose +no time in taking my leave, which there could be no difficulty in doing +now, as the ladies had reached their intended destination, and had +numerous friends in Paris to advise and assist them; besides that I had +too long neglected the real object of my trip, and should lose no time +in finding out the Callonbys, and at once learn what prospect of +success awaited me in that quarter. Leaving my fair friends then to +refresh themselves after the journey, and consigning Mr. O’Leary to the +enjoyment of his meershaum, through the aid of which he had rendered +his apartment like a Dutch swamp in autumn, the only portion of his own +figure visible through the mist being his short legs and heavy shoes. + +On reaching the house in the Rue de la Paix, where the Callonbys had +resided, I learned that they were still at Baden, and were not expected +in Paris for some weeks; that Lord Kilkee had arrived that morning, and +was then dining at the Embassy, having left an invitation for me to +dine with him on the following day, if I happened to call. As I turned +from the door, uncertain whither to turn my steps, I walked on +unconsciously towards the Boulevard, and occupied as I was, thinking +over all the chances before me, did not perceive where I stood till the +bright glare of a large gas lamp over my head apprised me that I was at +the door of the well known Salon des Etrangers, at the corner of the +Rue Richelieu; carriages, citadines, and vigilantes were crowding, +crashing, and clattering on all sides, as the host of fashion and the +gaming-table were hastening to their champ de bataille. Not being a +member of the Salon, and having little disposition to enter, if I had +been, I stood for some minutes looking at the crowd as it continued to +press on towards the splendid and brilliantly lighted stairs, which +leads from the very street to the rooms of the palace, for such, in the +magnificence and luxury of its decorations, it really is. As I was on +the very eve of turning away, a large and very handsome cab-horse +turned the corner from the balustrade, with the most perfect +appointment of harness and carriage I had seen for a long time. + +While I continued to admire the taste and propriety of the equipage, a +young man in deep mourning sprung from the inside and stood upon the +pavement before me. “A deux heures, Charles,” said he to his servant, +as the cab turned slowly around. The voice struck me as well known. I +waited till he approached the lamp, to catch a glimpse of the face; and +what was my surprise to recognise my cousin, Guy Lorrequer of the 10th, +whom I had not met with for six years before. My first impulse was not +to make myself known to him. Our mutual position with regard to Lady +Jane was so much a mystery, as regarded myself, that I feared the +result of any meeting, until I was sufficiently aware of how matters +stood, and whether we were to meet as friends and relations, or rivals, +and consequently enemies. + +Before I had time to take my resolution, Guy had recognised me, and +seizing me by the hand with both his, called, “Harry, my old friend, +how are you? how long have you been here, and never to call on me? Why +man, what is the meaning of this?” Before I had time to say that I was +only a few hours in Paris, he again interrupted me by saying: “And how +comes it that you are not in mourning? You must surely have heard it.” + +“Heard what?” I cried, nearly hoarse from agitation. “Our poor old +friend, Sir Guy, didn’t you know, is dead.” Only those who have felt +how strong the ties of kindred are, as they decrease in number, can +tell how this news fell upon my heart. All my poor uncle’s kindnesses +came one by one full upon my memory; his affectionate letters of +advice; his well-meant chidings, too, even dearer to me than his praise +and approval, completely unmanned me; and I stood speechless and +powerless before my cousin as he continued to detail to me the rapid +progress of Sir Guy’s malady, and attack of gout in the head, which +carried him off in three days. Letters had been sent to me in different +places, but none reached; and at the very moment the clerk of my +uncle’s lawyer was in pursuit of me through the highlands, where some +mistaken information had induced him to follow me. + +“You are, therefore,” continued Guy, “unaware that our uncle has dealt +so fairly by you, and indeed by both of us; I have got the +Somersetshire estates, which go with the baronetcy; but the Cumberland +property is all yours; and I heartily wish you joy of having nearly +eight thousand per annum, and one of the sweetest villas that ever man +fancied on Derwentwater. But come along here,” continued he, and he led +me through the crowded corridor and up the wide stair. “I have much to +tell you, and we can be perfectly alone here; no one will trouble +themselves with us.” Unconscious of all around me, I followed Guy along +the gilded and glittering lobby, which led to the Salon, and it was +only as the servant in rich livery came forward to take my hat and cane +that I remembered where I was. Then the full sense of all I had been +listening to rushed upon me, and the unfitness, and indeed the +indecency of the place for such communications as we were engaged in, +came most forcibly before me. Sir Guy, it is true, had always preferred +my cousin to me; he it was who was always destined to succeed both to +his title and his estates, and his wildness and extravagance had ever +met with a milder rebuke and weaker chastisement than my follies and my +misfortunes. Yet still he was my last remaining relative; the only one +I possessed in all the world to whom in any difficulty or trial I had +to look up; and I felt, in the very midst of my newly acquired wealth +and riches, poorer and more alone than ever I had done in my lifetime. +I followed Guy to a small and dimly lighted cabinet off the great +salon, where, having seated ourselves, he proceeded to detail to me the +various events which a few short weeks had accomplished. Of himself he +spoke but little, and never once alluded to the Callonbys at all; +indeed all I could learn was that he had left the army, and purposed +remaining for the winter at Paris, where he appeared to have entered +into all its gaiety and dissipation at once. + +“Of course,” said he, “you will give up ‘sodgering’ now; at the best it +is but poor sport after five and twenty, and is perfectly unendurable +when a man has the means of pushing himself in the gay world; and now, +Harry, let us mix a little among the mob here; for Messieurs les +Banquiers don’t hold people in estimation who come here only for the +‘chapons au riz.’ and the champagne glacee, as we should seem to do +were we to stay here much longer.” + +Such was the whirl of my thoughts, and so great the confusion in my +ideas from all I had just heard, that I felt myself implicitly +following every direction of my cousin with a child-like obedience, of +the full extent of which I became only conscious when I found myself +seated at the table of the Salon, between my cousin Guy and an old, +hard-visaged, pale-countenanced man, who he told me in a whisper was +Vilelle the Minister. + +What a study for the man who would watch the passions and emotions of +his fellow-men, would the table of a rouge et noir gambling-house +present—the skill and dexterity which games of other kinds require, +being here wanting, leave the player free to the full abandonment of +the passion. The interest is not a gradually increasing or vacillating +one, as fortune and knowledge of the game favour; the result is +uninfluenced by any thing of his doing; with the last turned card of +the croupier is he rich or ruined; and thus in the very abstraction of +the anxiety is this the most painfully exciting of all gambling +whatever; the very rattle of the dice-box to the hazard player is a +relief; and the thought that he is in some way instrumental in his good +or bad fortune gives a turn to his thoughts. There is something so like +the inevitable character of fate associated with the result of a +chance, which you can in no way affect or avert, that I have, +notwithstanding a strong bias for play, ever dreaded and avoided the +rouge et noir table; hitherto prudential motives had their share in the +resolve; a small loss at play becomes a matter of importance to a sub +in a marching regiment; and therefore I was firm in my determination to +avoid the gambling-table. Now my fortunes were altered; and as I looked +at the heap of shining louis d’or, which Guy pushed before me in +exchange for a billet de banque of large amount, I felt the full +importance of my altered position, mingling with the old and long +practised prejudices which years had been accumulating to fix. There is +besides some wonderful fascination to most men in the very aspect of +high play: to pit your fortune against that of another—to see whether +or not your luck shall not exceed some others—are feelings that have a +place in most bosoms, and are certainly, if not naturally existing, +most easily generated in the bustle and excitement of the +gambling-house. The splendour of the decorations; the rich profusion of +gilded ornaments; the large and gorgeously framed mirrors; the +sparkling lustres; mingling their effect with the perfumed air of the +apartment, filled with orange trees and other aromatic shrubs; the +dress of the company, among whom were many ladies in costumes not +inferior to those of a court; the glitter of diamonds; the sparkle of +stars and decorations, rendered more magical by knowing that the +wearers were names in history. There, with his round but ample +shoulder, and large massive head, covered with long snow-white hair, +stands Talleyrand, the maker and unmaker of kings, watching with a look +of ill-concealed anxiety the progress of his game. Here is Soult, with +his dogged look and beetled brow; there stands Balzac the author, his +gains here are less derived from the betting than the bettors; he is +evidently making his own of some of them, while in the seeming bon +hommie of his careless manners and easy abandon, they scruple not to +trust him with anecdotes and traits, that from the crucible of his +fiery imagination come forth, like the purified gold from the furnace. +And there, look at that old and weather-beaten man, with grey eyebrows, +and moustaches, who throws from the breast-pocket of his frock ever and +anon, a handful of gold pieces upon the table; he evidently neither +knows nor cares for the amount, for the banker himself is obliged to +count over the stake for him—that is Blucher, the never-wanting +attendant at the Salon; he has been an immense loser, but plays on with +the same stern perseverance with which he would pour his bold cavalry +through a ravine torn by artillery; he stands by the still waning +chance with a courage that never falters. + +One strong feature of the levelling character of a taste for play has +never ceased to impress me most forcibly—not only do the individual +peculiarities of the man give way before the all-absorbing passion—but +stranger still, the very boldest traits of nationality even fade and +disappear before it; and man seems, under the high-pressure power of +this greatest of all stimulants, resolved into a most abstract state. + +Among all the traits which distinguish Frenchmen from natives of every +country, none is more prominent than a kind of never-failing elasticity +of temperament, which seems almost to defy all the power of misfortune +to depress. Let what will happen, the Frenchman seems to possess some +strong resource within himself, in his ardent temperament, upon which +he can draw at will; and whether on the day after a defeat, the moment +of being deceived in his strongest hopes of returned affection—the +overthrow of some long-cherished wish—it matters not—he never gives way +entirely; but see him at the gaming-table—watch the intense, the aching +anxiety with which his eye follows every card as it falls from the hand +of the croupier—behold the look of cold despair that tracks his stake +as the banker rakes it in among his gains—and you will at once perceive +that here, at least, his wonted powers fail him. No jest escapes the +lips of one, that would badinet upon the steps of the guillotine. The +mocker who would jeer at the torments of revolution, stands like a +coward quailing before the impassive eye and pale cheek of a croupier. +While I continued to occupy myself by observing the different groups +about me, I had been almost mechanically following the game, placing at +each deal some gold upon the table; the result however had interested +me so slightly, that it was only by remarking the attention my game had +excited in others, that my own was drawn towards it. I then perceived +that I had permitted my winnings to accumulate upon the board, and that +in the very deal then commencing, I had a stake of nearly five hundred +pounds upon the deal. + +“Faites votre jeu, le jeu est fait,” said the croupier, “trente deux.” + +“You have lost, by Jove,” said Guy, in a low whisper, in which I could +detect some trait of agitation. + +“Trente et une,” added the croupier. “Rouge perd, et couleur.” + +There was a regular buz of wonder through the room at my extraordinary +luck, for thus, with every chance against me, I had won again. + +As the croupier placed the billets de banque upon the table, I +overheard the muttered commendations of an old veteran behind me, upon +the coolness and judgment of my play; so much for fortune, thought I, +my judgment consists in a perfect ignorance of the chances, and my +coolness is merely a thorough indifference to success; whether it was +now that the flattery had its effect upon me, or that the passion for +play, so long dormant, had suddenly seized hold upon me, I know not, +but my attention became from that moment rivetted upon the game, and I +played every deal. Guy, who had been from the first betting with the +indifferent success which I have so often observed to attend upon the +calculations of old and experienced gamblers, now gave up, and employed +himself merely in watching my game. + +“Harry,” said he at last, “I am completely puzzled as to whether you +are merely throwing down your louis at hazard, or are not the deepest +player I have ever met with.” + +“You shall see,” said I, as I stooped over towards the banker, and +whispered, “how far is the betting permitted?” + +“Fifteen thousand francs,” said the croupier, with a look of surprise. + +“Then be it,” said I; “quinze mille francs, rouge.” + +In a moment the rouge won, and the second deal I repeated the bet, and +so continuing on with the like success; when I was preparing my rouleau +for the fifth, the banquier rose, and saying— + +“Messiers, la banque est fermee pour ce soir,” proceeded to lock his +casette, and close the table. + +“You are satisfied now,” said Guy, rising, “you see you have broke the +banque, and a very pretty incident to commence with your first +introduction to a campaign in Paris.” + +Having changed my gold for notes, I stuffed them, with an air of +well-affected carelessness, into my pocket, and strolled through the +Salon, where I had now become an object of considerably more interest +than all the marshals and ministers about me. + +“Now, Hal,” said Guy, “I’ll just order our supper in the cabinet, and +join you in a moment.” + +As I remained for some minutes awaiting Guy’s return, my attention was +drawn towards a crowd, in a smaller salon, among whom the usual silent +decorum of the play-table seemed held in but small respect, for every +instant some burst of hearty laughter, or some open expression of joy +or anger burst forth, by which I immediately perceived that they were +the votaries of the roulette table, a game at which the strict +propriety and etiquette ever maintained at rouge et noir, are never +exacted. As I pressed nearer, to discover the cause of the mirth, which +every moment seemed to augment, guess my surprise to perceive among the +foremost rank of the players, my acquaintance, Mr. O’Leary, whom I at +that moment believed to be solacing himself with his meershaum at +Meurice. My astonishment at how he obtained admission to the Salon was +even less than my fear of his recognising me. At no time is it +agreeable to find that the man who is regarded as the buffo of a party +turns out to be your friend, but still less is this so, when the +individual claiming acquaintance with you presents any striking +absurdity in his dress or manner, strongly at contrast with the persons +and things about him; and thus it now happened—Mr. O’Leary’s external +man, as we met him on the Calais road, with its various accompaniments +of blouse-cap, spectacles, and tobacco-pipe, were nothing very outre or +remarkable, but when the same figure presented itself among the elegans +of the Parisian world, redolent of eau de Portugal, and superb in the +glories of brocade waistcoats and velvet coats, the thing was too +absurd, and I longed to steal away before any chance should present +itself of a recognition. This, however, was impossible, as the crowd +from the other table were all gathered round us, and I was obliged to +stand fast, and trust that the excitement of the game, in which he +appeared to be thoroughly occupied, might keep his eye fixed on another +quarter; I now observed that the same scene in which I had so lately +been occupied at the rouge et noir table, was enacting here, under +rather different circumstances. Mr. O’Leary was the only player, as I +had just been—not, however, because his success absorbed all the +interest of the bystanders, but that, unfortunately, his constant want +of it elicited some strong expression of discontent and mistrust from +him, which excited the loud laughter of the others; but of which, from +his great anxiety in his game, he seemed totally unconscious. + +“Faites votre jeu, Messieurs,” said the croupier. + +“Wait a bit till I change this,” said Mr. O’Leary, producing an English +sovereign; the action interpreted his wishes, and the money was +converted into coupons de jeu. + +I now discovered one great cause of the mirth of the bystanders, at +least the English portion of them. Mr. O’Leary, when placing his money +upon the table, observed the singular practice of announcing aloud the +amount of his bet, which, for his own information, he not only reduced +to English but also Irish currency; thus the stillness of the room was +every instant broken by a strong Irish accent pronouncing something of +this sort—“five francs,” “four and a penny”—“ten francs,” “eight and +three ha’pence.” The amusement thus caused was increased by the +excitement his losses threw him into. He now ceased to play for several +times, when at last, he made an offering of his usual stake. + +“Perd,” said the croupier, raking in the piece with a contemptuous air +at the smallness of the bet, and in no way pleased that the interest +Mr. O’Leary excited should prevent the other players from betting. + +“Perd,” said O’Leary, “again. Divil another song you sing than ‘perd,’ +and I’m not quite clear you’re not cheating all the while—only, God +help you if you are!” + +As he so said, the head of a huge black-thorn stick was half protruded +across the table, causing renewed mirth; for, among other regulations, +every cane, however trifling, is always demanded at the door; and thus +a new subject of astonishment arose as to how he had succeeded in +carrying it with him into the salon. + +“Here’s at you again,” said O’Leary, regardless of the laughter, and +covering three or four numbers with his jetons. + +Round went the ball once more, and once more he lost. + +“Look now, divil a lie in it, he makes them go wherever he pleases. +I’ll take a turn now at the tables; fair play’s a jewel—and we’ll see +how you’ll get on.” + +So saying, he proceeded to insinuate himself into the chair of the +croupier, whom he proposed to supersede by no very gentle means. This +was of course resisted, and as the loud mirth of the bystanders grew +more and more boisterous, the cries of “a la porte, a la porte,” from +the friends of the bank, rung through the crowd. + +“Go it, Pat—go it, Pat,” said Guy, over my shoulder, who seemed to take +a prodigious interest in the proceedings. + +At this unexpected recognition of his nativity, for Mr. O’Leary never +suspected he could be discovered by his accent; he looked across the +table, and caught my eye at once. + +“Oh, I’m safe now! stand by me, Mr. Lorrequer, and we’ll clear the +room.” + +So saying, and without any further provocation, he upset the croupier, +chair and all, with one sudden jerk upon the floor, and giving a +tremendous kick to the casette, sent all the five-franc pieces flying +over him; he then jumped upon the table, and brandishing his +black-thorn through the ormolu lustre, scattered the wax-lights on all +sides, accompanying the exploit by a yell that would have called up all +Connemara at midnight, if it had only been heard there; in an instant, +the gens d’armes, always sufficiently near to be called in if required, +came pouring into the room, and supposing the whole affair had been a +preconcerted thing to obtain possession of the money in the bank, +commenced capturing different members of the company who appeared, by +enjoying the confusion, to be favouring and assisting it. My cousin Guy +was one of the first so treated—a proceeding to which he responded by +an appeal rather in favour with most Englishmen, and at once knocked +down the gen d’arme; this was the signal for a general engagement, and +accordingly, before an explanation could possibly be attempted, a most +terrific combat ensued. The Frenchmen in the room siding with the gen +d’armerie, and making common cause against the English; who, although +greatly inferior in number, possessed considerable advantage, from long +habit in street-rows and boxing encounters. As for myself, I had the +good fortune to be pitted against a very pursy and unwieldy Frenchman, +who sacre’d to admiration, but never put in a single blow at me; while, +therefore, I amused myself practising what old Cribb called “the one, +two,” upon his fat carcase, I had abundant time and opportunity to +watch all that was doing about me, and truly a more ludicrous affair I +never beheld. Imagine about fifteen or sixteen young Englishmen, most +of them powerful, athletic fellows, driving an indiscriminate mob of +about five times their number before them, who, with courage enough to +resist, were yet so totally ignorant of the boxing art, that they +retreated, pell-mell, before the battering phalanx of their sturdy +opponents—the most ludicrous figure of all being Mr. O’Leary himself, +who, standing upon the table, laid about him with a brass lustre that +he had unstrung, and did considerable mischief with this novel +instrument of warfare, crying out the entire time, “murder every +mother’s son of them,” “give them another taste of Waterloo.” Just as +he had uttered the last patriotic sentiment, he received a slight +admonition from behind, by the point of a gen d’arme’s sword, which +made him leap from the table with the alacrity of a harlequin, and come +plump down among the thickest of the fray. My attention was now +directed elsewhere, for above all the din and “tapage” of the encounter +I could plainly hear the row-dow-dow of the drums, and the measured +tread of troops approaching, and at once guessed that a reinforcement +of the gen d’armerie were coming up. Behind me there was a large +window, with a heavy scarlet curtain before it; my resolution was at +once taken, I floored my antagonist, whom I had till now treated with +the most merciful forbearance, and immediately sprung behind the +curtain. A second’s consideration showed that in the search that must +ensue this would afford no refuge, so I at once opened the sash, and +endeavoured to ascertain at what height I was above the ground beneath +me; the night was so dark that I could see nothing, but judging from +the leaves and twigs that reached to the window, that it was a garden +beneath, and auguring from the perfumed smell of the shrubs, that they +could not be tall trees, I resolved to leap, a resolve I had little +time to come to, for the step of the soldiers was already heard upon +the stair. Fixing my hat then down upon my brows, and buttoning my coat +tightly, I let myself down from the window-stool by my hands, and fell +upon my legs in the soft earth of the garden, safe and unhurt. From the +increased clamour and din overhead, I could learn the affray was at its +height, and had little difficulty in detecting the sonorous accent and +wild threats of my friend Mr. O’Leary, high above all the other sounds +around him. I did not wait long, however, to enjoy them; but at once +set about securing my escape from my present bondage. In this I had +little difficulty, for I was directed by a light to a small door, +which, as I approached, found that it led into the den of the +Concierge, and also communicated by another door with the street. I +opened it, therefore, at once, and was in the act of opening the +second, when I felt myself seized by the collar by a strong hand; and +on turning round saw the sturdy figure of the Concierge himself, with a +drawn bayonet within a few inches of my throat, “Tenez, mon ami,” said +I quietly, and placing half a dozen louis, some of my recent spoils, in +his hand, at once satisfied him that, even if I were a robber, I was at +least one that understood and respected the conveniences of society. He +at once relinquished his hold and dropped his weapon, and pulling off +his cap with one hand, to draw the cord which opened the Porte Cochere +with the other, bowed me politely to the street. I had scarcely had +time to insinuate myself into the dense mass of people whom the noise +and confusion within had assembled around the house, when the double +door of the building opened, and a file of gens d’armerie came forth, +leading between them my friend Mr. O’Leary and some others of the +rioters—among whom I rejoiced to find my cousin did not figure. If I +were to judge from his disordered habiliments and scarred visage, Mr. +O’Leary’s resistance to the constituted authorities must have been a +vigorous one, and the drollery of his appearance was certainly not +decreased by his having lost the entire brim of his hat—the covering of +his head bearing, under these distressing circumstances, a strong +resemblance to a saucepan. + +As I could not at that moment contribute in any way to his rescue, I +determined on the following day to be present at his examination, and +render him all the assistance in my power. Meanwhile, I returned to +Meurice, thinking of every adventure of the evening much more than of +my own changed condition and altered fortunes. + + + + + CHAPTER XXIX. +PARIS. + + +The first thing which met my eye, when waking in the morning, after the +affair at the salon, was the rouleau of billets de banque which I had +won at play; and it took several minutes before I could persuade myself +that the entire recollection of the evening had any more solid +foundation than a heated brain and fevered imagination. The sudden +spring, from being a subaltern in the —th, with a few hundreds per +annum—“pour tout potage,” to becoming the veritable proprietor of +several thousands, with a handsome house in Cumberland, was a +consideration which I could scarcely admit into my mind—so fearful was +I, that the very first occurrence of the day should dispel the +illusion, and throw me back into the dull reality which I was hoping to +escape from. + +There is no adage more true than the old Latin one—“that what we wish, +we readily believe;” so, I had little difficulty in convincing myself +that all was as I desired—although, certainly, my confused memory of +the past evening contributed little to that conviction. It was, then, +amid a very whirl of anticipated pleasures, and new schemes for +enjoying life, that I sat down to a breakfast, at which, that I might +lose no time in commencing my race, I had ordered the most recherche +viands which even French cookery can accomplish for the occasion. + +My plans were soon decided upon. I resolved to remain only long enough +in Paris to provide myself with a comfortable travelling +carriage—secure a good courier—and start for Baden; when I trusted that +my pretensions, whatever favour they might have been once received +with, would certainly now, at least, be listened to with more prospect +of being successful. + +I opened the Galignani’s paper of the day, to direct me in my search, +and had scarcely read a few lines before a paragraph caught my eye, +which not a little amused me; it was headed—Serious riot at the Salon +des Etrangers, and attempt to rob the Bank:— + +“Last evening, among the persons who presented themselves at the table +of this fashionable resort, were certain individuals, who, by their +names and dress bespoke any thing rather than the rank and condition of +those who usually resort there, and whose admission is still +unexplained, notwithstanding the efforts of the police to unravel the +mystery. The proprietors of the bank did not fail to remark these +persons; but scrupled, from fear of disturbing the propriety of the +salon, to take the necessary steps for their exclusion—reserving their +attention to the adoption of precautions against such intrusion in +future—unfortunately, as it turned out eventually, for, towards eleven +o’clock, one of these individuals, having lost a considerable sum at +play, proceeded in a very violent and outrageous manner to denounce the +bank, and went so far as to accuse the croupier of cheating. This +language having failed to excite the disturbance it was evidently +intended to promote, was soon followed up by a most dreadful personal +attack upon the banquier, in which he was thrown from his seat, and the +cassette, containing several thousand francs in gold and notes, +immediately laid hold of. The confusion now became considerable, and it +was apparent, that the whole had been a pre-concerted scheme. Several +persons, leaping upon the table, attempted to extinguish the great +lustre of the salon, in which bold attempt, they were most spiritedly +resisted by some of the other players and the gens-d’arme, who had by +this time arrived in force. The riot was quelled after a prolonged and +desperate resistance, and the rioters, with the exception of two, were +captured, and conveyed to prison, where they await the result of a +judicial investigation—of which we shall not fail to lay the +particulars before our readers. + +“Since our going to press, we have learned that one of the ringleaders +in this vile scheme is a noted English escroc—a swindler, who was +already arrest at C—— for travelling with a false passport; but who +contrives, by some collusion with another of the gang, to evade the +local authorities. If this be the case, we trust he will speedily be +detected and brought to punishment.” + +Whatever amusement I had found in reading the commencing portion of +this ridiculous misstatement, the allusion in the latter part by no +means afforded me equal pleasure; and I saw, in one rapid glance, how +much annoyance, and how many delays and impediments—a charge even of +this ridiculous nature, might give rise to in my present circumstances. +My passport, however, will settle all—thought I—as I thrust my hand +towards my pocket, in which I had placed it along with some letters. + +Guess my misery, to discover that the whole of the pocket had been cut +away, probably in the hope of obtaining the billets de banque I had won +at play, but which I had changed from that pocket to a breast one on +leaving the table. This at once led me to suspect that there might be +some truth in the suspicion of the newspaper writer of a pre-concerted +scheme, and at once explained to me what had much puzzled me before—the +extreme rapidity with which the elements of discord were propagated, +for the whole affair was the work of a few seconds. While I continued +to meditate on these matters, the waiter entered with a small note in +an envelope, which a commissionaire had just left at the hotel for me, +and went away, saying there was no answer. I opened it hastily, and +read:— + +“Dear H.—The confounded affair of last night has induced me to leave +this for a few days; besides that I have obtained a most excellent +reason for absenting myself in the presence of a black eye, which will +prevent my appearance in public for a week to come. As you are a +stranger here, you need not fear being detected. With all its +desagremens, I can’t help laughing at the adventure, and I am heartily +glad to have had the opportunity of displaying old Jackson’s science +upon those wretched gens-d’arme. + + +“Your, truly, +“G.L.” + + +This, certainly, thought I, improves my position. Here is my cousin +Guy—the only one to whom, in any doubt or difficulty here, I could +refer—here he is—flown, without letting me know where to address him or +find him out. I rung my bell hastily, and having written a line on my +card, requesting Lord Kilkee to come to me as soon as he could, +despatched it to the Rue de la Paix. The messenger soon returned with +an answer, that Lord Kilkee had been obliged to leave Paris late the +evening before, having received some important letters from Baden. My +anxiety now became greater. I did not know but that the moment I +ventured to leave the hotel I should be recognised by some of the +witnesses of the evening’s fray; and all thoughts of succouring poor +O’Leary were completely forgotten in my fear for the annoyances the +whole of this ridiculous affair might involve me in. Without any +decision as to my future steps, I dressed myself, and proceeded to pay +my respects to Mrs. Bingham and her daughter, who were in the same +hotel, and whom I had not seen since our arrival. + +As I entered the drawing-room, I was surprised to find Miss Bingham +alone. She appeared to have been weeping—at least the efforts she made +to appear easy and in good spirits contrasted a good deal with the +expression of her features as I came in. To my inquiries for Mrs. +Bingham, I received for answer that the friends Mrs. Bingham had +expected having left a few days before for Baden, she had resolved on +following them, and had now merely driven out to make a few purchases +before her departure, which was to take place in the morning. + +There is something so sad in the thought of being deserted and left by +one’s friends under any circumstances, that I cannot express how much +this intelligence affected me. It seemed, too, like the last stroke of +bad news filling up the full measure, that I was to be suddenly +deprived of the society of the very few friends about me, just as I +stood most in need of them. + +Whether or not Miss Bingham noticed my embarrassment, I cannot say; but +certainly she seemed not displeased, and there was in the +half-encouraging tone of her manner something which led me to suspect +that she was not dissatisfied with the impression her news seemed to +produce upon me. + +Without at all alluding to my own improved fortune, or to the events of +the preceding night, I began to talk over the coming journey, and +expressed my sincere regret that, having lost my passport under +circumstances which might create some delay in retrieving it, I could +not join their party as I should otherwise have done. + +Miss Bingham heard this speech with rather more emotion than so simple +a declaration was calculated to produce; and, while she threw down her +eyes beneath their long dark lashes, and coloured slightly, asked— + +“And did you really wish to come with us?” + +“Undoubtedly,” said I. + +“And is there no other objection than the passport?” + +“None whatever,” said I, warming as I spoke, for the interest she +appeared to take in me completely upset all my calculations, besides +that I had never seen her looking so handsome, and that, as the French +wisely remark, “vaut toujours quelque chose.” + +“Oh, then, pray come with us, which you can do, for mamma has just got +her passport for her nephew along with her own; and as we really don’t +want him, nor he us, we shall both be better pleased to be free of each +other, and you can easily afterwards have your own forwarded to Baden +by post.” + +“Ah, but,” said I, “how shall I be certain, if I take so flattering an +offer, that you will forgive me for filling up the place of the dear +cousin; for, if I conjecture aright, it is ‘Le Cher Edouard’ that +purposes to be your companion.” + +“Yes, you have guessed quite correctly; but you must not tax me with +inconsistency, but really I have grown quite tired of my poor cousin, +since I saw him last night.” + +“And you used to admire him prodigiously.” + +“Well, well, that is all true, but I do so no longer.” + +“Eh! perche,” said I, looking cunningly in her eye. + +“For reasons that Mr. Lorrequer shall never know if he has to ask +them,” said the poor girl, covering her eyes with her hands, and +sobbing bitterly. + +What I thought, said, or did upon this occasion, with all my most +sincere desire to make a “clean breast of it in these confessions,” I +know not; but this I do know, that two hours after, I found myself +still sitting upon the sofa beside Miss Bingham, whom I had been +calling Emily all the while, and talking more of personal matters and +my own circumstances than is ever safe or prudent for a young man to do +with any lady under the age of his mother. + +All that I can now remember of this interview, is the fact of having +arranged my departure in the manner proposed by Miss Bingham—a +proposition to which I acceded with an affectation of satisfaction that +I fear went very far to deceive my fair friend. Not that the pleasure I +felt in the prospect was altogether feigned; but certainly the habit of +being led away by the whim and temper of the moment had so much become +part of my nature, that I had long since despaired of ever guarding +myself against the propensity I had acquired, of following every lead +which any one might throw out for me. And thus, as poor Harry Lorrequer +was ever the first man to get into a row at the suggestion of a friend, +so he only waited the least possible pressing on any occasion, to +involve himself in any scrape or misfortune that presented itself, +provided there was only some one good enough to advise him to do so. + +As I entered my own room, to make preparations for my departure, I +could not help thinking over all the events thus crowded into the space +of a few hours. My sudden possession of wealth—my prospects at Callonby +still undecided—my scrape at the Salon—my late interview with Miss +Bingham, in which I had only stopped short of a proposal to marry, were +almost sufficient to occupy any reasonable mind; and so I was beginning +to suspect, when the waiter informed me that the Commissaire of Police +was in waiting below, and wished to speak to me. Affecting some +surprise at the request which I at once perceived the object of, I +desired him to be introduced. I was quite correct in my guess. The +information of my being concerned in the affair at the Salon had been +communicated to the authorities, and the Commissaire had orders to +obtain bail for my appearance at the Tribunal de Justice, on that day +week, or commit me at once to prison. The Commissaire politely gave me +till evening to procure the required bail, satisfying himself that he +could adopt measures to prevent my escape, and took his leave. He had +scarcely gone when Mr. Edward Bingham was announced—the reason for this +visit I could not so easily divine; but I had little time allowed for +my conjectures, as the same instant a very smart, dapper little +gentleman presented himself, dressed in all the extravagance of French +mode. His hair, which was permitted to curl upon his shoulders, was +divided along the middle of the head; his moustaches were slightly +upturned and carefully waxed, and his small chin-tuft or Henri-quatre +most gracefully pointed; he wore three most happily contrasting +coloured waistcoats, and spurs of glittering brass. His visit was of +scarcely five minutes’ duration; but was evidently the opening of a +breaching battery by the Bingham family in all form—the object of which +I could at least guess at. + +My embarrassments were not destined to end here; for scarcely had I +returned Mr. Bingham’s eighth salutation at the head of the staircase, +when another individual presented himself before me. This figure was in +every respect the opposite of my last visitor. Although framed +perfectly upon the late Parisian school of dandyism, his, however, was +the “ecole militaire.” Le Capitaine Eugene de Joncourt, for so he +introduced himself, was a portly personage, of about five-and-thirty or +forty years of age, with that mixture of bon hommie and ferocity in his +features which the soldiers of Napoleon’s army either affected or +possessed naturally. His features, which were handsome, and the +expression of which was pleasing, were, as it seemed, perverted, by the +warlike turn of a most terrific pair of whiskers and moustaches, from +their naturally good-humoured bent; and the practised frown and quick +turn of his dark eye were evidently only the acquired advantages of his +military career; a handsome mouth, with singularly regular and good +teeth, took much away from the farouche look of the upper part of his +face; and contributed, with the aid of a most pleasing voice, to +impress you in his favour; his dress was a blue braided frock, +decorated with the cordon of the legion; but neither these, nor the +clink of his long cavalry spurs, were necessary to convince you that +the man was a soldier; besides that, there was that mixture of urbanity +and aplomb in his manner which showed him to be perfectly accustomed to +the usages of the best society. + +“May I beg to know,” said he, as he seated himself slowly, “if this +card contains your name and address,” handing me at the same moment one +of my visiting cards. I immediately replied in the affirmative. + +“You are then in the English service?” + +“Yes.” + +“Then, may I entreat your pardon for the trouble of these questions, +and explain the reason of my visit. I am the friend of Le Baron +D’Haulpenne, with whom you had the altercation last night in the Salon, +and in whose name I have come to request the address of a friend on +your part.” + +Ho, ho, thought I, the Baron is then the stout gentleman that I +pummelled so unmercifully near the window; but how came he by my card; +and besides, in a row of that kind, I am not aware how far the matter +can be conceived to go farther, than what happens at the moment. These +were the thoughts of a second of time, and before I could reply any +thing, the captain resumed. + +“You seem to have forgotten the circumstance, and so indeed should I +like to do; but unfortunately D’Haulpenne says that you struck him with +your walking-cane, so you know, under such a state of things, there is +but one course.” + +“But gently,” added I, “I had no cane whatever the last evening.” + +“Oh! I beg pardon,” interrupted he; “but my friend is most positive in +his account, and describes the altercation as having continued from the +Salon to the street, when you struck him, and at the same time threw +him your card. Two of our officers were also present; and although, as +it appears from your present forgetfulness, that the thing took place +in the heat and excitement of the moment, still—” + +“But still,” said I, catching up his last words, “I never did strike +the gentleman as you describe—never had any altercation in the +street—and—” + +“Is that your address?” said the Frenchman, with a slight bow. + +“Yes, certainly it is.” + +“Why then,” said he, with a slight curl of his upper lip—half smile, +half derision— + +“Oh! make yourself perfectly easy,” I replied. “If any one has by an +accident made use of my name, it shall not suffer by such a mistake. I +shall be quite at your service, the moment I can find out a friend to +refer you to.” + +I had much difficulty to utter these few words with a suitable degree +of temper, so stung was I by the insolent demeanour of the Frenchman, +whose coolness and urbanity seemed only to increase every moment. + +“Then I have the honour to salute you,” said he, rising with great +mildness in his voice; “and shall take the liberty to leave my card for +the information of your friend.” + +So saying, he placed his card upon the table—“Le Capitaine Eugene de +Joncourt, Cuirassiers de la Garde.” + +“I need not press upon Monsieur the value of despatch.” + +“I shall not lose a moment,” said I, as he clattered down the stairs of +the hotel, with that perfect swaggering nonchalance which a Frenchman +is always an adept in; and I returned to my room, to meditate upon my +numerous embarrassments, and think over the difficulties which every +moment was contributing to increase the number of. + +“The indictment has certainly many counts,” thought I. + +Imprimis—A half-implied, but fully comprehended promise to marry a +young lady, with whom, I confess, I only intend to journey this life—as +far as Baden. + +Secondly, a charge of swindling—for such the imputation goes to—at the +Salon. + +Thirdly, another unaccountable delay in joining the Callonbys, with +whom I am every hour in the risque of being “compromis;” and lastly, a +duel in perspective with some confounded Frenchman, who is at this very +moment practising at a pistol gallery. + +Such were the heads of my reflections, and such the agreeable +impressions my visit to Paris was destined to open with; how they were +to be followed up I reserve for another chapter. + + + + + CHAPTER XXX. +CAPTAIN TREVANION’S ADVENTURE. + +[Illustration: Trevanion Astonishing the Bully Gendemar] + + +As the day was now waning apace, and I was still unprovided with any +one who could act as my second, I set out upon a search through the +various large hotels in the neighbourhood, trusting that amid my +numerous acquaintance I should be fortunate enough to find some of them +at Paris. With a most anxious eye I scanned the lists of arrivals at +the usual haunts of my countrymen, in the Rue Rivoli, and the Place +Vendome, but without success; there were long catalogues of “Milors,” +with their “couriers,” &c. but not one name known to me in the number. + +I repaired to Galignani’s library, which, though crowded as ever with +English, did not present to me one familiar face. From thence I turned +into the Palais Royale, and at last, completely jaded by walking, and +sick from disappointment, I sat down upon a bench in the Tuilleries +Garden. + +I had scarcely been there many minutes when a gentleman accosted me in +English, saying, “May I ask if this be your property?” showing, at the +same time, a pocket-book which I had inadvertently dropped in pulling +out my handkerchief. As I thanked him for his attention, and was about +to turn away, I perceived that he continued to look very steadily at +me. At length he said, + +“I think I am not mistaken; I have the pleasure to see Mr. Lorrequer, +who may perhaps recollect my name, Trevanion of the 43rd. The last time +we met was at Malta.” + +“Oh, I remember perfectly. Indeed I should be very ungrateful if I did +not; for to your kind offices there I am indebted for my life. You must +surely recollect the street row at the ‘Caserne?’” + +“Yes; that was a rather brisk affair while it lasted; but, pray, how +long are you here?” + +“Merely a few days; and most anxious am I to leave as soon as possible; +for, independently of pressing reasons to wish myself elsewhere, I have +had nothing but trouble and worry since my arrival, and at this instant +am involved in a duel, without the slightest cause that I can discover, +and, what is still worse, without the aid of a single friend to +undertake the requisite negociation for me.” + +“If my services can in any way assist—” + +“Oh, my dear captain, this is really so great a favour that I cannot +say how much I thank you.” + +“Say nothing whatever, but rest quite assured that I am completely at +your disposal; for although we are not very old friends, yet I have +heard so much of you from some of ours, that I feel as if we had been +long acquainted.” + +This was an immense piece of good fortune to me; for, of all the +persons I knew, he was the most suited to aid me at this moment. In +addition to a thorough knowledge of the continent and its habits, he +spoke French fluently, and had been the most renomme authority in the +duello to a large military acquaintance; joining to a consummate tact +and cleverness in his diplomacy, a temper that never permitted itself +to be ruffled, and a most unexceptionable reputation for courage. In a +word, to have had Trevanion for your second, was not only to have +secured odds in your favour, but, still better, to have obtained the +certainty that, let the affair take what turn it might, you were sure +of coming out of it with credit. He was the only man I have ever met, +who had much mixed himself in transactions of this nature, and yet +never, by any chance, had degenerated into the fire-eater; more quiet, +unassuming manners it was impossible to meet with, and, in the various +anecdotes I have heard of him, I have always traced a degree of +forbearance, that men of less known bravery might not venture to +practise. At the same time, when once roused by any thing like +premeditated insult—or pre-determined affront—he became almost +ungovernable, and it would be safer to beard the lion in his den than +cross his path. Among the many stories, and there were a great many +current in his regiment concerning him, there was one so singularly +characteristic of the man, that, as I have passingly mentioned his name +here, I may as well relate it; at the same time premising that, as it +is well known, I may only be repeating an often-heard tale to many of +my readers. + +When the regiment to which Trevanion belonged became part of the army +of occupation in Paris, he was left at Versailles seriously ill from +the effects of a sabre-wound he received at Waterloo, and from which +his recovery at first was exceedingly doubtful. At the end of several +weeks, however, he became out of danger, and was able to receive the +visits of his brother officers, whenever they were fortunate enough to +obtain a day’s leave of absence, to run down and see him. From them he +learned that one of his oldest friends in the regiment had fallen in a +duel, during the time of his illness, and that two other officers were +dangerously wounded—one of whom was not expected to survive. When he +inquired as to the reasons of these many disasters, he was informed +that since the entrance of the allies into Paris, the French officers, +boiling with rage and indignation at their recent defeat, and smarting +under the hourly disgrace which the presence of their conquerors +suggested, sought out, by every means in their power, opportunities of +insult; but always so artfully contrived as to render the opposite +party the challenger, thus reserving to themselves the choice of +weapons. When therefore it is borne in mind that the French are the +most expert swordsmen in Europe, little doubt can exist as to the issue +of these combats; and, in fact, scarcely a morning passed without three +or four English or Prussian officers being carried through the Barriere +de l’Etoile, if not dead, at least seriously wounded, and condemned to +carry with them through life the inflictions of a sanguinary and savage +spirit of revenge. + +While Trevanion listened to this sad recital, and scarcely did a day +come without adding to the long catalogue of disasters, he at once +perceived that the quiet deportment and unassuming demeanour which so +strongly characterise the English officer, were construed by their +French opponents into evidences of want of courage, and saw that to so +systematic a plan for slaughter no common remedy could be applied, and +that some “coup d’etat” was absolutely necessary, to put it down once +and for ever. + +In the history of these sanguinary rencontres, one name was continually +recurring, generally as the principal, sometimes the instigator of the +quarrel. This was an officer of a chasseur regiment, who had the +reputation of being the best swordsman in the whole French army, and +was no less distinguished for his “skill at fence,” than his +uncompromising hatred of the British, with whom alone, of all the +allied forces, he was ever known to come in contact. So celebrated was +the “Capitaine Augustin Gendemar” for his pursuits, that it was well +known at that time in Paris that he was the president of a duelling +club, associated for the express and avowed object of provoking to +insult, and as certainly dooming to death every English officer upon +whom they could fasten a quarrel. + +The Cafe Philidor, at that period in the Rue Vivienne, was the +rendezvous of this reputable faction, and here “le Capitaine” reigned +supreme, receiving accounts of the various “affairs” which were +transacting—counselling and plotting for the future. His ascendancy +among his countrymen was perfectly undisputed, and being possessed of +great muscular strength, with that peculiarly “farouche” exterior, +without which courage is nothing in France, he was in every way +calculated for the infamous leadership he assumed. + +It was, unfortunately, to this same cafe, being situated in what was +called the English quarter, that the officers of the 43rd regiment were +in the habit of resorting, totally unaware of the plots by which they +were surrounded, and quite unsuspecting the tangled web of deliberate +and cold-blooded assassination in which they were involved, and here +took place the quarrel, the result of which was the death of +Trevanion’s friend, a young officer of great promise, and universally +beloved in his regiment. + +As Trevanion listened to these accounts, his impatience became daily +greater, that his weak state should prevent his being among his brother +officers, when his advice and assistance were so imperatively required, +and where, amid all the solicitude for his perfect recovery, he could +not but perceive they ardently wished for him. + +The day at last arrived, and restored to something like his former +self, Trevanion once more appeared in the mess-room of his regiment. +Amid the many sincere and hearty congratulations on his recovered +looks, were not a few half-expressed hints that he might not go much +out into the world for some little time to come. To these friendly +admonitions Trevanion replied by a good-humoured laugh, and a ready +assurance that he understood the intended kindness, and felt in no wise +disposed to be invalided again. “In fact,” said he, “I have come up +here to enjoy life a little, not to risque it; but, among the sights of +your gay capital, I must certainly have a peep at your famed captain, +of whom I have heard too much not to feel an interest in him.” + +Notwithstanding the many objections to this, made with a view to delay +his visit to the Philidor to a later period, it was at length agreed, +that they should all repair to the cafe that evening, but upon the +express understanding that every cause of quarrel should be strictly +avoided, and that their stay should be merely sufficient to satisfy +Trevanion’s curiosity as to the personnel of the renomme captain. + +It was rather before the usual hour of the cafe’s filling, that a +number of English officers, among whom was Trevanion, entered the +“salon” of the “Philidor;” having determined not to attract any unusual +attention, they broke into little knots and parties of threes and +fours, and dispersed through the room, where they either sipped their +coffee or played at dominoes, then, as now, the staple resource of a +French cafe. + +The clock over the “comptoir” struck eight, and, at the same instant, a +waiter made his appearance, carrying a small table, which he placed +beside the fire, and, having trimmed a lamp, and placed a large +fauteuil before it, was about to withdraw, when Trevanion, whose +curiosity was roused by the singularity of these arrangements, +determined upon asking for whose comfort they were intended. The waiter +stared for a moment at the question, with an air as if doubting the +seriousness of him who put it, and at last replied—“Pour Monsieur le +Capitaine, je crois,” with a certain tone of significance upon the +latter words. + +“Le Capitaine! but what captain?” said he, carelessly; “for I am a +captain, and that gentleman there—and there, too, is another,” at the +same instant throwing himself listlessly into the well-cushioned chair, +and stretching out his legs at full length upon the hearth. + +The look of horror which this quiet proceeding on his part, elicited +from the poor waiter, so astonished him that he could not help +saying—“is there any thing the matter with you, my friend; are you +ill?” + +“No, monsieur, not ill; nothing the matter with me; but you, sir; oh, +you, sir, pray come away.” + +“Me,” said Trevanion; “me! why, my good man, I was never better in my +life; so now just bring me my coffee and the Moniteur, if you have it; +there, don’t stare that way, but do as I bid you.” + +There was something in the assured tone of these few words that either +overawed or repressed every rising feeling of the waiter, for his +interrogator; for, silently handing his coffee and the newspaper, he +left the room; not, however, without bestowing a parting glance so full +of terror and dismay that our friend was obliged to smile at it. All +this was the work of a few minutes, and not until the noise of new +arrivals had attracted the attention of his brother officers, did they +perceive where he had installed himself, and to what danger he was +thus, as they supposed, unwittingly exposed. + +It was now, however, too late for remonstrance; for already several +French officers had noticed the circumstance, and by their interchange +of looks and signs, openly evinced their satisfaction at it, and their +delight at the catastrophe which seemed inevitable to the luckless +Englishman. + +In perfect misery at what they conceived their own fault, in not +apprising him of the sacred character of that place, they stood +silently looking at him as he continued to sip his coffee, apparently +unconscious of every thing and person about him. + +There was now a more than ordinary silence in the cafe, which at all +times was remarkable for the quiet and noiseless demeanour of its +frequenters, when the door was flung open by the ready waiter, and the +Capitaine Augustin Gendemar entered. He was a large, squarely-built +man, with a most savage expression of countenance, which a bushy beard +and shaggy overhanging moustache served successfully to assist; his +eyes were shaded by deep, projecting brows, and long eyebrows slanting +over them, and increasing their look of piercing sharpness; there was +in his whole air and demeanour that certain French air of swaggering +bullyism, which ever remained in those who, having risen from the +ranks, maintained the look of ruffianly defiance which gave their early +character for courage peculiar merit. + +To the friendly salutations of his countrymen he returned the slightest +and coldest acknowledgments, throwing a glance of disdain around him as +he wended his way to his accustomed place beside the fire; this he did +with as much of noise and swagger as he could well contrive; his sabre +and sabretasch clanking behind, his spurs jangling, and his heavy step, +made purposely heavier to draw upon him the notice and attention he +sought for. Trevanion alone testified no consciousness of his entrance, +and appeared totally engrossed by the columns of his newspaper, from +which he never lifted his eyes for an instant. Le Capitaine at length +reached the fire-place, when, no sooner did he behold his accustomed +seat in the possession of another, than he absolutely started back with +surprise and anger. + +What might have been his first impulse it is hard to say, for, as the +blood rushed to his face and forehead, he clenched his hands firmly, +and seemed for an instant, as he eyed the stranger, like a tiger about +to spring upon its victim; this was but for a second, for turning +rapidly round towards his party, he gave them a look of peculiar +meaning, showing two rows of white teeth, with a grin which seemed to +say, “I have taken my line;” and he had done so. He now ordered the +waiter, in a voice of thunder, to bring him a chair, this he took +roughly from him, and placed, with a crash, upon the floor, exactly +opposite that of Trevanion, and still so near as scarcely to permit of +his sitting down upon it. The noisy vehemence of this action at last +appeared to have roused Trevanion’s attention, for he now, for the +first time, looked up from his paper, and quietly regarded his +vis-a-vis. There could not in the world be a stronger contrast to the +bland look and courteous expression of Trevanion’s handsome features, +than the savage scowl of the enraged Frenchman, in whose features the +strong and ill-repressed workings of passion were twitching and +distorting every lineament and line; indeed no words could ever convey +one half so forcibly as did that look, insult—open, palpable, deep, +determined insult. + +Trevanion, whose eyes had been merely for a moment lifted from his +paper, again fell, and he appeared to take no notice whatever of the +extraordinary proximity of the Frenchman, still less of the savage and +insulting character of his looks. + +Le Capitaine, having thus failed to bring on the eclaircissement he +sought for, proceeded to accomplish it by other means; for, taking the +lamp, by the light of which Trevanion was still reading, he placed it +at his side of the table, and at the same instant stretching across his +arm, he plucked the newspaper from his hand, giving at the same moment +a glance of triumph towards the bystanders, as though he would say, +“you see what he must submit to.” Words cannot describe the +astonishment of the British officers, as they beheld Trevanion, under +this gross and open insult, content himself by a slight smile and half +bow, as if returning a courtesy, and then throw his eyes downward, as +if engaged in deep thought, while the triumphant sneer of the French, +at this unaccountable conduct, was absolutely maddening to them to +endure. + +But their patience was destined to submit to stronger proof, for at +this instant le Capitaine stretched forth one enormous leg, cased in +his massive jack-boot, and with a crash deposited the heel upon the +foot of their friend Trevanion. At length he is roused, thought they, +for a slight flush of crimson flitted across his cheek, and his upper +lip trembled with a quick spasmodic twitching; but both these signs +were over in a second, and his features were as calm and unmoved as +before, and his only appearance of consciousness of the affront, was +given by his drawing back his chair and placing his legs beneath it, as +for protection. + +This last insult, and the tame forbearance with which it was submitted +to, produced all their opposite effects upon the by-standers, and looks +of ungovernable rage and derisive contempt were every moment +interchanging; indeed, were it not for the all-absorbing interest which +the two great actors in the scene had concentrated upon themselves, the +two parties must have come at once into open conflict. + +The clock of the cafe struck nine, the hour at which Gendemar always +retired, so calling to the waiter for his petit verre of brandy, he +placed his newspaper upon the table, and putting both his elbows upon +it, and his chin upon his hands, he stared full in Trevanion’s face, +with a look of the most derisive triumph, meant to crown the +achievement of the evening. To this, as to all his former insults, +Trevanion appeared still insensible, and merely regarded him with his +never—changing half smile; the petite verre arrived; le Capitaine took +it in his hand, and, with a nod of most insulting familiarity, saluted +Trevanion, adding with a loud voice, so as to be heard on every side—“a +votre courage, Anglais.” He had scarcely swallowed the liqueur when +Trevanion rose slowly from his chair, displaying to the astonished gaze +of the Frenchman the immense proportions and gigantic frame of a man +well known as the largest officer in the British army; with one stride +he was beside the chair of the Frenchman, and with the speed of +lightening he seized his nose by one hand, while with the other he +grasped his lower jaw, and, wrenching open his mouth with the strength +of an ogre, he spat down his throat. + +So sudden was the movement, that before ten seconds had elapsed, all +was over, and the Frenchman rushed from the room, holding the fragments +of his jaw-bone, (for it was fractured!) And followed by his +countrymen, who, from that hour, deserted the Cafe Philidor, nor was +there ever any mention of the famous captain during the stay of the +regiment in Paris. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXI. +DIFFICULTIES. + + +While we walked together towards Meurice, I explained to Trevanion the +position in which I stood; and having detailed, at full length, the +fracas at the Salon, and the imprisonment of O’Leary, entreated his +assistance in behalf of him, as well as to free me from some of my many +embarrassments. + +It was strange enough—though at first so pre-occupied was I with other +thoughts, that I paid but little attention to it—that no part of my +eventful evening seemed to make so strong an impression on him as my +mention of having seen my cousin Guy, and heard from him of the death +of my uncle. At this portion of my story he smiled, with so much +significance of meaning, that I could not help asking his reason. + +“It is always an unpleasant task, Mr. Lorrequer, to speak in any way, +however delicately, in a tone of disparagement of a man’s relatives; +and, therefore, as we are not long enough acquainted—” + +“But pray,” said I, “waive that consideration, and only remember the +position in which I now am. If you know any thing of this business, I +entreat you to tell me—I promise to take whatever you may be disposed +to communicate, in the same good part it is intended.” + +“Well, then, I believe you are right; but, first, let me ask you, how +do you know of your uncle’s death; for I have reason to doubt it?” + +“From Guy; he told me himself.” + +“When did you see him, and where?” + +“Why, I have just told you; I saw him last night at the Salon.” + +“And you could not be mistaken?” + +“Impossible! Besides, he wrote to me a note which I received this +morning—here it is.” + +“Hem—ha. Well, are you satisfied that this is his handwriting?” said +Trevanion, as he perused the note slowly twice over. + +“Why, of course—but stop—you are right; it is not his hand, nor do I +know the writing, now that you direct my attention to it. But what can +that mean? You, surely, do not suppose that I have mistaken any one for +him; for, independent of all else, his knowledge of my family, and my +uncle’s affairs, would quite disprove that.” + +“This is really a complex affair,” said Trevanion, musingly. “How long +may it be since you saw your cousin—before last night, I mean?” + +“Several years; above six, certainly.” + +“Oh, it is quite possible, then,” said Trevanion, musingly; “do you +know, Mr. Lorrequer, this affair seems much more puzzling to me than to +you, and for this plain reason—I am disposed to think you never saw +your cousin last night.” + +“Why, confound it, there is one circumstance that I think may satisfy +you on that head. You will not deny that I saw some one, who very much +resembled him; and certainly, as he lent me above three thousand franks +to play with at the table, it looks rather more like his act than that +of a perfect stranger.” + +“Have you got the money?” asked Trevanion dryly. + +“Yes,” said I; “but certainly you are the most unbelieving of mortals, +and I am quite happy that I have yet in my possession two of the +billets de banque, for, I suppose, without them, you would scarcely +credit me.” I here opened my pocket-book, and produced the notes. + +He took them, examined them attentively for an instant, held them +between him and the light, refolded them, and, having placed them in my +pocket-book, said—“I thought as much—they are forgeries.” + +“Hold!” said I, “my cousin Guy, whatever wildness he may have +committed, is yet totally incapable of—” + +“I never said the contrary, replied Trevanion, in the same dry tone as +before. + +“Then what can you mean, for I see no alternative between that and +totally discrediting the evidence of my senses?” + +“Perhaps I can suggest a middle course,” said Trevanion; “lend me, +therefore, a patient hearing for a few moments, and I may be able to +throw some light upon this difficult matter. You may never have heard +that there is, in this same city of Paris, a person so extremely like +your cousin Guy, that his most intimate friends have daily mistaken one +for the other, and this mistake has the more often been made, from the +circumstances of their both being in the habit of frequenting the same +class in society, where, knowing and walking with the same people, the +difficulty of discriminating has been greatly increased. This +individual, who has too many aliases for one to know which to +particularise him by, is one of that numerous order of beings whom a +high state of civilization is always engendering and throwing up on the +surface of society; he is a man of low birth and mean connexions, but +gifted with most taking manners and an unexceptionable address and +appearance; these advantages, and the possession of apparently +independent means, have opened to him the access to a certain set of +people, who are well known and well received in society, and obtained +for him, what he prizes much more, the admission into several clubs +where high play is carried on. In this mixed assemblage, which sporting +habits and gambling, (that grand leveller of all distinctions,) have +brought together, this man and your cousin Guy met frequently, and, +from the constant allusion to the wonderful resemblance between them, +your eccentric cousin, who, I must say, was never too select in his +acquaintances, frequently amused himself by practical jokes upon their +friends, which served still more to nurture the intimacy between them; +and from this habit, Mr. Dudley Morewood, for such is his latest +patronymic, must have enjoyed frequent opportunities of hearing much of +your family and relations, a species of information he never neglected, +though at the moment it might appear not so immediately applicable to +his purposes. Now, this man, who knows of every new English arrival in +Paris, with as much certainty as the police itself, would at once be +aware of your being here, and having learned from Guy how little +intercourse there had been of late years between you, would not let +slip an opportunity of availing himself of the likeness, if any thing +could thereby turn to his profit.” + +“Stop,” cried I; “you have opened my eyes completely, for now I +remember that, as I continued to win last night, this man, who was +playing hazard at another table, constantly borrowed from me, but +always in gold, invariably refusing the billets de banque as too high +for his game.” + +“There his object was clear enough; for besides obtaining your gold, he +made you the means of disseminating his false billets de banque.” + +“So that I have been actually playing and winning upon this fellow’s +forgeries,” said I; “and am perhaps at this very instant inscribed in +the ‘Livre noir’ of the police, as a most accomplished swindler; but +what could be the intention of his note of this morning?” + +“As to that,” said Trevanion, “it is hard to say; one thing you may +assuredly rely upon—it is not an unnecessary epistle, whatever be its +object; he never wastes his powder when the game flies too high; so we +must only wait patiently for the unravelment of his plans, satisfied +that we, at least, know something. What most surprises me is, his +venturing, at present, to appear in public; for it is not above two +months since an escapade of his attracted so much attention of the play +world here, that he was obliged to leave, and it was supposed that he +would never return to Paris.” + +“One piece of good fortune there is at least,” said I, “which, I can +safely say repays me for any and all the annoyance this unhappy affair +may cause me; it is, that my poor old uncle is still alive and well. +Not all my anticipated pleasures, in newly acquired wealth, could have +afforded me the same gratification that this fact does, for, although +never so much his favourite as my cousin, yet the sense of +protection—the feeling of confidence, which is inseparable from the +degree of relationship between us—standing, as he has ever done, in the +light of a father to me, is infinitely more pleasurable than the +possession of riches, which must ever suggest to me, the recollection +of a kind friend lost to me for ever. But so many thoughts press on +me—so many effects of this affair are staring me in the face—I really +know not which way to turn, nor can I even collect my ideas +sufficiently, to determine what is first to be done.” + +“Leave all that to me,” said Trevanion; “it is a tangled web, but I +think I can unravel it; meanwhile, where does the Militaire reside? +for, among all your pressing engagements, this affair with the +Frenchman must come off first; and for this reason, although you are +not really obliged to give him satisfaction, by his merely producing +your card, and insisting that you are to be responsible for the +misdeeds of any one who might show it as his own address, yet I look +upon it as a most fortunate thing, while charges so heavy may be at +this moment hanging over your head, as the proceedings of last night +involve, that you have a public opportunity of meeting an antagonist in +the field—thereby evincing no fear of publicity, nor any intention of +absconding; for be assured, that the police are at this moment in +possession of what has occurred, and from the fracas which followed, +are well disposed to regard the whole as a concerted scheme to seize +upon the property of the banque, a not uncommon wind-up here after luck +fails. My advice is therefore, meet the man at once; I shall take care +that the prefect is informed that you have been imposed upon by a +person passing himself off as your relative, and enter bail for your +appearance, whenever you are called upon; that being done, we shall +have time for a moment’s respite to look around us, and consider the +other bearings of this difficult business.” + +“Here, then, is the card of address,” said I; “Eugene Dejoncourt +Capitaine de Cavalerie, No. 8, Chausse D’Antin.” + +“Dejoncourt! why, confound it, this is not so pleasant; he is about the +best shot in Paris, and a very steady swordsman besides, I don’t like +this.” + +“But you forget he is the friend, not the principal here.” + +“The more good fortune yours,” said Trevanion, drily; “for I +acknowledge I should not give much for your chance at twenty paces +opposite his pistol; then who is the other?” + +“Le Baron d’Haulpenne,” said I, “and his name is all that I know of +him; his very appearance is unknown to me.” + +“I believe I am acquainted with him,” said Trevanion; “but here we are +at Meurice. Now I shall just write a few lines to a legal friend, who +will manage to liberate Mr. O’Leary, whose services we shall need, two +persons are usual on each side in this country, and then, ‘a +l’ouvrage.’” + +The note written and despatched; Trevanion jumped into a cab, and set +out for the Chausse D’Antin; leaving me to think over, as well as I +could, the mass of trouble and confusion that twenty-four hours of life +in Paris had involved me in. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXII. +EXPLANATION. + + +It was past seven o’clock when Trevanion made his appearance, +accompanied by O’Leary; and having in few words informed me that a +meeting was fixed for the following morning, near St. Cloud, proposed +that we should go to dinner at Verey’s, after which we should have +plenty of time to discuss the various steps to be taken. As we were +leaving the hotel for this purpose, a waiter requested of me to permit +Mr. Meurice to speak a few words to me; which, having agreed to, I +entered the little bureau where this Czar of hotels sits enthroned, and +what was my surprise to learn the request he had to prefer, was nothing +less than that I would so far oblige him as to vacate the room I +possessed in the hotel, adding that my compliance would confer upon him +the power to accommodate a “milor” who had written for apartments, and +was coming with a large suite of servants. Suspecting that some rumour +of the late affair at Frescati might have influenced my friend Meurice +in this unusual demand, I abruptly refused, and was about to turn away, +when he, perhaps guessing that I had not believed his statements, +handed me an open letter, saying, “You see, sir, this is the letter; +and, as I am so pressed for spare room, I must now refuse the writer.” + +As my eye glanced at the writing, I started back with amazement to +perceive it was in my cousin Guy’s hand, requesting that apartments +might be retained for Sir Guy Lorrequer, my uncle, who was to arrive in +Paris by the end of the week. If any doubt had remained on my mind as +to the deception I had been duped by, this would completely have +dispelled it, but I had long before been convinced of the trick, and +only wondered how the false Guy—Mr. Dudley Morewood—had contrived to +present himself to me so opportunely, and by what means, in so short a +space of time, he had become acquainted with my personal appearance. + +As I mentioned this circumstance of the letter to Trevanion, he could +not conceal his satisfaction at his sagacity in unravelling the +mystery, while this new intelligence confirmed the justness and +accuracy of all his explanations. + +While we walked along towards the Palais Royale, Trevanion endeavoured +not very successfully, to explain to my friend O’Leary, the nature of +the trick which had been practised, promising, at another time, some +revelations concerning the accomplished individual who had planned it, +which, in boldness and daring, eclipsed even this. + +Any one who in waking has had the confused memory of a dream in which +events have been so mingled and mixed as to present no uniform +narrative, but only a mass of strange and incongruous occurrences, +without object or connexion, may form some notion of the state of +restless excitement my brain suffered from, as the many and conflicting +ideas my late adventures suggested, presented themselves to my mind in +rapid succession. + +The glare, the noise, and the clatter of a French cafe are certainly +not the agents most in request for restoring a man to the enjoyment of +his erring faculties; and, if I felt addled and confused before, I had +scarcely passed the threshold of Verey’s when I became absolutely like +one in a trance. The large salon was more than usually crowded, and it +was with difficulty that we obtained a place at a table where some +other English were seated, among whom I recognised my lately made +acquaintance, Mr. Edward Bingham. + +Excepting a cup of coffee I had taken nothing the entire day, and so +completely did my anxieties of different kinds subdue all appetite, +that the most recherche viands of this well-known restaurant did not in +the least tempt me. The champagne alone had any attraction for me; and, +seduced by the icy coldness of the wine, I drank copiously. This was +all that was wanting to complete the maddening confusion of my brain, +and the effect was instantaneous; the lights danced before my eyes; the +lustres whirled round; and, as the scattered fragments of +conversations, on either side met my ear, I was able to form some not +very inaccurate conception of what insanity may be. Politics and +literature, Mexican bonds and Noblet’s legs, Pates de perdreaux and the +quarantine laws, the extreme gauche and the “Bains Chinois,” Victor +Hugo and rouge et noir, had formed a species of grand ballet d’action +in my fevered brain, and I was perfectly beside myself; occasionally, +too, I would revert to my own concerns, although I was scarcely able to +follow up any train of thought for more than a few seconds together, +and totally inadequate to distinguish the false from the true. I +continued to confound the counterfeit with my cousin, and wonder how my +poor uncle, for whom I was about to put on the deepest mourning, could +possibly think of driving me out of my lodgings. Of my duel for the +morning, I had the most shadowy recollection, and could not perfectly +comprehend whether it was O’Leary or I was the principal, and indeed +cared but little. In this happy state of independent existence I must +have passed a considerable time, and as my total silence when spoken +to, or my irrelevant answers, appeared to have tired out my companions, +they left me to the uninterrupted enjoyment of my own pleasant +imaginings. + +“Do you hear, Lorrequer,” at last said Trevanion; “are you asleep, my +dear friend? This gentleman has been good enough to invite us to +breakfast to-morrow at St. Cloud.” + +I looked up, and was just able to recognise the well-trimmed moustache +of Mr. Edward Bingham, as he stood mumbling something before me. “St. +Cloud—what of St. Cloud?” said I. + +“We have something in that quarter to-morrow.” + +“What is it, O’Leary? Can we go?” + +“Oh! certainly—our engagement’s an early one.” + +“We shall accept your polite invitation with pleasure”— + +Here he stooped over, and whispered something in my ear; what, I cannot +say, but I know that my reply, now equally lost to me, produced a +hearty fit of laughing to my two friends. + +My next recollection is, finding myself in a crowded loge at the +theatre. It seems that O’Leary had acceded to a proposal from some of +the other party to accompany them to the Porte St. Martin, where Mrs. +Bingham and her daughter had engaged a box. Amid all the confusion +which troubled thoughts and wine produced in me, I could not help +perceiving a studied politeness and attention on the part of Mr. Edward +Bingham towards me; and my first sobering reflection came, on finding +that a place was reserved for me beside Miss Bingham, into which, by +some contrivance I can in no wise explain, I found myself almost +immediately installed. To all the excitements of champagne and punch, +let the attractions of a French ballet be added, and, with a singularly +pretty companion at your side, to whom you have already made sufficient +advances to be aware that you are no longer indifferent to her, and I +venture to predict, that it is much more likely your conversation will +incline to flirting than political economy; and, moreover, that you +make more progress during the performance of one single pas de deux +upon the stage, than you have hitherto done in ten morning calls, with +an unexceptionable whisker and the best fitting gloves in Paris. Alas! +alas! it is only the rich man that ever wins at rouge et noir. The +well-insured Indiaman, with her cargo of millions, comes safe into +port; while the whole venture of some hardy veteran of the wave, +founders within sight of his native shore. So is it ever; where success +would be all and every thing, it never comes—but only be indifferent or +regardless, and fortune is at your feet, suing and imploring your +acceptance of her favours. What would I not have given for one half of +that solicitude now so kindly expressed in my favour by Miss Bingham, +if syllabled by the lips of Lady Jane Callonby—how would my heart have +throbbed for one light smile from one, while I ungratefully basked in +the openly avowed preference of the other. These were my first +thoughts—what were the succeeding ones? + +“Comment elle est belle,” said a Frenchwoman, turning round in the box +next to us, and directing at the same moment the eyes of a moustached +hero upon my fair companion. + +What a turn to my thoughts did this unexpected ejaculation give rise +to! I now began to consider her more attentively, and certainly +concurred fully in the Frenchwoman’s verdict. I had never seen her look +half so well before. The great fault in her features, which were most +classically regular, lay in the monotony and uniform character of their +expression. Now this was quite changed. Her cheek was slightly flushed, +and her eyes more brilliant than ever; while her slightly parted lips +gave a degree of speaking earnestness to her expression, that made her +perfectly beautiful. + +Whether it was from this cause I cannot say, but I certainly never felt +so suddenly decided in my life from one course to its very opposite, as +I now did to make l’aimable to my lovely companion. And here, I fear, I +must acknowledge, in the honesty of these confessional details, that +vanity had also its share in the decision. To be the admitted and +preferred suitor of the prettiest woman in company, is generally a +strong inducement to fall desperately in love with her, independently +of other temptations for so doing. + +How far my successes tallied with my good intentions in this respect, I +cannot now say. I only remember, that more than once O’Leary whispered +to me something like a caution of some sort or other; but Emily’s +encouraging smiles and still more encouraging speeches had far more +effect upon me than all the eloquence of the united service, had it +been engaged in my behalf, would have effected. Mrs. Bingham, too—who, +to do her justice, seemed but little cognisant of our proceedings—from +time to time evinced that species of motherly satisfaction which very +young men rejoice much in, and older ones are considerably alarmed at. + +The play over O’Leary charged himself with the protection of madam, +while I enveloped Emily in her cachmere, and drew her arm within my +own. What my hand had to do with her’s I know not; it remains one of +the unexplained difficulties of that eventful evening. I have, it is +true, a hazy recollection of pressing some very taper and delicately +formed finger—and remember, too, the pain I felt next morning on +awaking, by the pressure of a too tight ring, which had, by some +strange accident, found its way to my finger, for which its size was +but ill adapted. + +“You will join us at supper, I hope,” said Mrs. Bingham, as Trevanion +handed her to her carriage. “Mr. Lorrequer, Mr. O’Leary, we shall +expect you.” + +I was about to promise to do so, when Trevanion, suddenly interrupted +me, saying that he had already accepted an invitation, which would, +unfortunately, prevent us; and having hastily wished the ladies good +night, hurried me away so abruptly, that I had not a moment given for +even one parting look at the fair Emily. + +“Why, Trevanion,” said I, “what invitation are you dreaming of? I, for +one, should have been delighted to have gone home with the Binghams.” + +“So I perceived,” said Trevanion, gravely; “and it was for that precise +reason I so firmly refused what, individually, I should have been most +happy to accept.” + +“Then, pray, have the goodness to explain.” + +“It is easily done. You have already, in recounting your manifold +embarrassments, told me enough of these people, to let me see that they +intend you should marry among them; and, indeed, you have gone quite +far enough to encourage such an expectation. Your present excited state +has led you sufficiently far this evening, and I could not answer for +your not proposing in all form before the supper was over; therefore, I +had no other course open to me than positively to refuse Mrs. Bingham’s +invitation. But here we are now at the ‘Cadran rouge;’ we shall have +our lobster and a glass of Moselle, and then to bed, for we must not +forget that we are to be at St. Cloud by seven.” + +“Ah! that is a good thought of yours about the lobster,” said O’Leary; +“and now, as you understand these matters, just order supper, and let +us enjoy ourselves.” + +With all the accustomed despatch of a restaurant, a most appetizing +petit souper made its speedy appearance; and although now perfectly +divested of the high excitement which had hitherto possessed me, my +spirits were excellent, and I never more relished our good fare and +good fellowship. + +After a full bumper to the health of the fair Emily had been proposed +and drained by all three, Trevanion again explained how much more +serious difficulty would result from any false step in that quarter +than from all my other scrapes collectively. + +This he represented so strongly, that for the first time I began to +perceive the train of ill consequences that must inevitably result, and +promised most faithfully to be guided by any counsel he might feel +disposed to give me. + +“Ah! what a pity,” said O’Leary, “it is not my case. It’s very little +trouble it would cost any one to break off a match for me. I had always +a most peculiar talent for those things. + +“Indeed!” said Trevanion. “Pray, may we know your secret? for, perhaps, +ere long we may have occasion for its employment.” + +“Tell it, by all means,” said I. + +“If I do,” said O’Leary, “it will cost you a patient hearing; for my +experiences are connected with two episodes in my early life, which, +although not very amusing, are certainly instructive.” + +“Oh! by all means, let us hear them,” said Trevanion; “for we have yet +two bottles of chambertin left, and must finish them ere we part.” + +“Well, agreed,” said O’Leary; “only, once for all, as what I am about +to confide is strictly confidential, you must promise never even to +allude to it hereafter in even the most remote manner, much less +indulge in any unseemly mirth at what I shall relate.” + +Having pledged ourselves to secrecy and a becoming seriousness, O’Leary +began his story as follows:— + + + + + CHAPTER XXXIII. +MR. O’LEARY’S FIRST LOVE. + + +“It was during the vice-royalty of the late Duke of Richmond that the +incidents I am about to mention took place. That was a few years since, +and I was rather younger, and a little more particular about my dress +than at present.” Here the little man cast an eye of stoical +satisfaction upon his uncouth habiliments, that nearly made us forget +our compact, and laugh outright. “Well, in those wild and headstrong +days of youthful ardour, I fell in love—desperately in love—and as +always is, I believe, the case with our early experiments in that +unfortunate passion, the object of my affection was in every way +unsuited to me. She was a tall, dark-haired, dark-eyed maiden, with a +romantic imagination, and a kind of a half-crazed poetic fervour, that +often made me fear for her intellect. I’m a short, rather fat—I was +always given this way”—here he patted a waistcoat that would fit Dame +Lambert—“happy-minded little fellow, that liked my supper of oysters at +the Pigeon-house, and my other creature-comforts, and hated every thing +that excited or put one out of one’s way, just as I would have hated a +blister. Then, the devil would have it—for as certainly as marriages +are made in heaven, flirtations have something to say to the other +place—that I should fall most irretrievably in love with Lady Agnes +Moreton. Bless my soul, it absolutely puts me in a perspiration this +hot day, just to think over all I went through on her account; for, +strange to say, the more I appeared to prosper in her good graces, the +more did she exact on my part; the pursuit was like Jacob’s ladder—if +it did lead to heaven it was certainly an awfully long journey, and +very hard on one’s legs. There was not an amusement she could think of, +no matter how unsuited to my tastes or my abilities, that she did not +immediately take a violent fancy to; and then there was no escaping, +and I was at once obliged to go with the tide, and heaven knows if it +would not have carried me to my grave if it were not for the fortunate +(I now call it) accident that broke off the affair for ever. One time +she took a fancy for yachting, and all the danglers about her—and she +always had a cordon of them—young aides-de-camp of her father the +general, and idle hussars, in clanking sabertasches and most absurd +mustachios—all approved of the taste, and so kept filling her mind with +anecdotes of corsairs and smugglers, that at last nothing would satisfy +her till I—I who always would rather have waited for low water, and +waded the Liffey in all its black mud, than cross over in the +ferry-boat, for fear of sickness—I was obliged to put an advertisement +in the newspaper for a pleasure-boat, and, before three weeks, saw +myself owner of a clinker-built schooner, of forty-eight tons, that by +some mockery of fortune was called ‘The Delight.’ I wish you saw me, as +you might have done every morning for about a month, as I stood on the +Custom-house quay, giving orders for the outfit of the little craft. At +first, as she bobbed and pitched with the flood-tide, I used to be a +little giddy and rather qualmish, but at last I learned to look on +without my head reeling. I began to fancy myself very much of a sailor, +a delusion considerably encouraged by a huge P. jacket and a +sou’-wester, both of which, though it was in the dog-days, Agnes +insisted upon my wearing, saying I looked more like Dirk Hatteraick, +who, I understood, was one of her favourite heroes in Walter Scott. In +fact, after she suggested this, she and all her friends called me +nothing but Dirk. + +“Well, at last, after heaven knows how many excuses on my part, and +entreaties for delay, a day was appointed for our first excursion. I +shall never forget that day—the entire night before it I did not close +my eyes; the skipper had told me in his confounded sea-jargon, that if +the wind was in one quarter we should have a short tossing sea; and if +in another a long rolling swell; and if in a third, a happy union of +both—in fact, he made it out that it could not possibly blow right, an +opinion I most heartily coincided in, and most devoutly did I pray for +a calm, that would not permit of our stirring from our moorings, and +thus mar our projected party of pleasure. My prayer was unheard, but my +hopes rose on the other hand, for it blew tremendously during the +entire night, and although there was a lull towards morning, the sea, +even in the river, was considerable. + +“I had just come to the conclusion that I was safe for this time, when +the steward poked his head into the room and said, + +“‘Mr. Brail wishes to know, sir, if he’ll bend the new mainsail to-day, +as it’s blowing rather fresh, and he thinks the spars light.’ + +“‘Why the devil take him, he would not have us go out in a hurricane; +surely, Pipes, we could not take out ladies to-day?’ + +“‘O, bless your heart, yes, sir; it blows a bit to be sure, but she’s a +good sea-boat, and we can run for Arklow or the Hook, if it comes +fresher.’ + +“‘Oh, nonsense, there’s no pleasure in that; besides I’m sure they +won’t like it—the ladies won’t venture, you’ll see.’ + +“‘Ay sir, but they’re all on board already: there’s eight ladies in the +cabin, and six on deck, and as many hampers of victuals and as much +crockery as if we were a-goin’ to Madeira. Captain Grantham, sir, the +soldier officer, with the big beard, is a mixing punch in the +grog-tub.’ + +“‘From the consequences of this day I proclaim myself innocent,’ said I +with a solemn voice, as I drew on my duck trowsers, and prepared to set +out. + +“‘And the mainsail, sir,’ said the steward, not understanding what I +said. + +“‘I care not which,’ said I, doggedly; ‘act or part in this wilful +proceeding I’ll not take.’ + +“‘Ay, ay, sir,’ said the stupid wretch, ‘then I’ll say you’re coming, +and he may stretch the large canvas; for the skipper says he likes a +wet jacket when he has gentlemen out.’ + +“Never did a victim put on a flame-coloured garment, the emblem of +fate, and set out on the march of death, with a heavier heart, than did +I put on my pilot-coat that morning to join my friends. + +“My last hope deserted me as I saw the little vessel lying beside the +quay; for I continued to trust that in getting out from the dock some +accident or mischance might occur to spoil our sport. But no; there she +lay, rolling and pitching in such a way that, even at anchor, they +could not stand on the deck without holding. Amid the torrent of +compliments for the perfection of all my arrangements, and innumerable +sweet things on my taste in the decoration and fitting up of my cabin, +I scarcely felt myself afloat for some minutes, and we got under weigh +amid a noise and uproar that absolutely prevented the possibility of +thought. + +“Hitherto our destination had not been mentioned, and as all the party +appealed to Lady Agnes, I could not be less gallant, and joined them in +their request. + +“‘Well then, what do you think of Lambay?’ said she, looking at the +same moment towards the skipper. + +“‘We can make it, my lady,’ said the man, ‘but we’ll have a roughish +sea of it, for there’s a strong point of westward in the wind.’ + +“‘Then don’t think of it,’ said I. ‘We have come out for pleasure, not +to make our friends sick, or terrify them. It does very well for us +men.’ + +“‘There you are, Dirk, with your insolent sneers about women’s nerves +and female cowardice. Now, nothing but Lambay will content me—what say +you, ladies?’ + +“A general reply of approval met this speech, and it was carried by +acclamation. + +“‘Lambay then be it,’ said I, with the voice of a man, who, entreating +to be shot, is informed that he cannot be afforded that pleasure, as +his sentence is to be hanged. But I must hasten over these painful +recollections. We dropped down the river, and soon left the light-house +and its long pier behind us, the mast bending like a whip, and the sea +boiling like barm over the lee gunwale. Still the spirit of our party +only rose the lighter, and nothing but eulogies upon the men and +sailing of the craft resounded on all sides; the din and buz of the +conversation went on only more loudly and less restrictedly than if the +party had been on shore, and all, even myself, seemed happy, for up to +this moment I had not been sea-sick, yet certain pleasant sensations, +that alternately evinced themselves in my stomach and my head, warned +me of what was in store for me. The word was now given to tack; I was +in the act of essaying a soft speech to Lady Agnes, when the confounded +cry of ‘ready about, starboard there, let go sheets and tacks, stand +by, hawl.’ The vessel plunged head-foremost into the boiling sea, which +hissed on either bow; the heavy boom swung over, carrying my hat along +with it—and almost my head too. The rest of the party, possibly better +informed than myself, speedily changed their places to the opposite +side of the boat, while I remained holding off fast by the gunwale, +till the sea rushing over, what was now becoming the lee-side, carried +me head over heels into the shingle ballast in the waist. Lord, how +they did laugh! Agnes, too, who never before could get beyond a very +faint smile, grew almost hysterical at my performance. As for me, I +only wanted this to complete my long threatened misfortune; sea +sickness in all its most miserable forms, set in upon me, and, ere half +an hour, I lay upon that heap of small stones, as indifferent to all +round and about me as though I were dead. Oh, the long, dreary hours of +that melancholy day; it seemed like a year. They tacked and tacked, +they were beat and tacked again, the sea washing over me, and the +ruffianly sailors trampling upon me without the slightest remorse, +whenever they had any occasion to pass back or forward. From my long +trance of suffering I was partly roused by the steward shaking my +shoulder, saying, + +“‘The gentlemen wish to know, sir, if you’d like summat to eat, as +they’re a goin’ to have a morsel; we are getting into slack water now.’ + +“‘Where are we?’ I replied, in a sepulchral voice. + +“‘Off the Hook, sir; we have had a most splendid run, but I fear we’ll +catch it soon; there’s some dirty weather to the westward.’ + +“‘God grant it,’ said I, piously and in a low tone. + +“‘Did you say you’d have a bit to eat. Sir?’ + +“‘No!—eat!—am I a cannibal?—eat—go away—mark me, my good fellow, I’ll +pay you your wages, if ever we get ashore; you’ll never set another +foot aboard with me.’ + +“The man looked perfectly astounded as he moved away, and my thoughts +were soon engrossed by the proceedings near me. The rattle of knives, +and the jingling of plates and glasses went on very briskly for some +time, accompanied by various pleasant observations of my guests, for +such I judged them, from the mirth which ever followed them. At last I +thought I heard my name, or at least what they pleased to use as its +substitute, mentioned; I strained my ears to listen, and learnt that +they were planning to talk over the pretended intention to run for +Cowes, and see the regatta. This they discussed then, for about twenty +minutes, in a very loud voice, purposely to see its effects upon me; +but as I was now aware of the trick, I gave no sign of any +intelligence. + +“‘Poor Dirk,’ said Grantham; ‘I believe by this time he cares very +little which way her head lies; but here comes something better than +all our discussions. Lady Agnes, sit here—Miss Pelham, here’s a dry +cushion for you—did you say a wing, Lady Mary?’ + +“Now began the crash and clatter of dinner; champagne corks popping, +glasses ringing, and all that peculiar admixture of fracas and fun, +which accompanies a scrambled meal. How they did laugh, and eat, ay, +and drink too. G’s punch seemed to have its success, for sick as I was, +I could perceive the voices of the men grow gradually louder, and +discovered that two gentlemen who had been remarkably timid in the +morning, and scarcely opened their lips, were now rather uproariously +given, and one even proposed to sing. + +“If any man, thought I, were to look for an instant at the little scene +now enacting here, what a moral might he reap from it; talk of the base +ingratitude of the world, you cannot say too much of it. Who would +suppose that it was my boat these people were assembled in; that it was +my champagne these people were drinking; that my venison and my +pheasants were feeding those lips, which rarely spoke, except to raise +a jest at my expense. My chagrin increased my sickness and my sickness +redoubled my chagrin. + +“‘Mr. Brail,’ said I, in a low whisper, ‘Mr. Brail.’ + +“‘Did you speak, sir?’ said he, with about as much surprise in his +manner, as though he had been addressed by a corpse. + +“‘Mr. Brail,’ said I, ‘is there any danger here?’ + +“‘Lord love you, no, sir, she’s walking Spanish, and the sea going +down; we shall have lovely weather, and they’re all enjoying it, +sir,—the ladies.’ + +“‘So I perceive,’ said I, with a groan; ‘so I perceive; but Mr. Brail, +could you do nothing—just to—to startle them a little, I mean for fun +only? Just ship a heavy sea or two, I don’t care for a little damage, +Mr. Brail, and if it were to wash over the dinner-service, and all the +wine, I should not like it worse.’ + +“‘Why, sir, you are getting quite funny, the sickness is going.’ + +“‘No, Mr. Brail, worse than ever; my head is in two pieces, and my +stomach in the back of my mouth; but I should like you to do this—so +just manage it, will you, and there’s twenty pounds in my pocket-book, +you can have it; there now, won’t you oblige me, and hark ye, Mr. +Brail—if Captain Grantham were to be washed over by mere accident it +cannot be helped; accidents are always occurring in boating parties. Go +now, you know what I mean.’ + +“‘But sir,’ began he. + +“‘Well, then, Mr. Brail, you won’t—very well: now all I have to say is +this: that the moment I can find strength to do it, I’ll stave out a +plank; I’ll scuttle the vessel, that’s all; I have made up my mind, and +look to yourselves now.’ + +“Saying these words, I again threw myself upon the ballast, and, as the +gay chorus of a drinking song was wafted across me, prayed devoutly +that we might all go down to the bottom. The song over, I heard a +harsh, gruff voice mixing with the more civilized tones of the party, +and soon perceived that Mr. Brail was recounting my proposal amid the +most uproarious shouts of laughter I ever listened to. Then followed a +number of pleasant suggestions for my future management; one proposing +to have me tried for mutiny, and sentenced to a ducking over the side, +another that I should be tarred on my back, to which latter most humane +notion, the fair Agnes subscribed, averring that she was resolved upon +my deserving my sobriquet of Dirk Hatteraick. My wrath was now the +master even of deadly sickness. I got upon my knees, and having in vain +tried to reach my legs, I struggled aft. In this posture did I reach +the quarter-deck. What my intention precisely was in this excursion, I +have no notion of now, but I have some very vague idea, that I meant to +re-enact the curse of Kehama upon the whole party. At last I mustered +strength to rise; but alas! I had scarcely reached the standing +position, when a tremendous heel of the boat to one side, threw me in +the gunwale, and before I was able to recover my balance, a second +lurch pitched me headlong into the sea. I have, thank God, no further +recollection of my misfortunes. When I again became conscious, I found +myself wrapped up in a pilot-coat, while my clothes were drying: the +vessel was at anchor in Wexford. My attached friends had started for +town with post-horses, leaving me no less cured of love than aquatics. + +“‘The Delight’ passed over in a few days, to some more favoured son of +Neptune, and I hid my shame and my misfortunes by a year’s tour on the +continent.” + +“Although I acknowledge,” said Trevanion, “that hitherto I have reaped +no aid from Mr. O’Leary’s narrative, yet I think it is not without a +moral.” + +“Well, but,” said I, “he has got another adventure to tell us; we have +quite time for it, so pray pass the wine and let us have it.” + +“I have just finished the burgundy,” said O’Leary, “and if you will +ring for another flask, I have no objection to let you hear the story +of my second love.” + + + + + CHAPTER XXXIV. +MR. O’LEARY’S SECOND LOVE. + +[Illustration: Mr. O’Leary Charges the Mob] + + +“You may easily suppose,” began Mr. O’Leary, “that the unhappy +termination of my first passion served as a shield to me for a long +time against my unfortunate tendencies towards the fair; and such was +really the case. I never spoke to a young lady for three years after, +without a reeling in my head, so associated in my mind was love and +sea-sickness. However, at last what will not time do. It was about four +years from the date of this adventure, when I became so, from oblivion +of my former failure, as again to tempt my fortune. My present choice, +in every way unlike the last, was a gay, lively girl, of great animal +spirits, and a considerable turn for raillery, that spared no one; the +members of her own family were not even sacred in her eyes; and her +father, a reverend dean, as frequently figured among the ludicrous as +his neighbours. + +“The Evershams had been very old friends of a rich aunt of mine, who +never, by the by, had condescended to notice me till I made their +acquaintance; but no sooner had I done so, than she sent for me, and +gave me to understand that in the event of my succeeding to the hand of +Fanny Eversham, I should be her heir, and the possessor of about sixty +thousand pounds. She did not stop here; but by canvassing the dean in +my favour, speedily put the matter on a most favourable footing, and in +less than two months I was received as the accepted suitor of the fair +Fanny, then one of the reigning belles of Dublin. + +“They lived at this time about three miles from town, in a very pretty +country, where I used to pass all my mornings, and many of my evenings +too, in a state of happiness that I should have considered perfect, if +it were not for two unhappy blots—one, the taste of my betrothed for +laughing at her friends; another the diabolical propensity to talk +politics of my intended father-in-law—to the former I could submit; but +with the latter, submission only made bad worse; for he invariably drew +up as I receded, drily observing that with men who had no avowed +opinions, it was ill agreeing; or that, with persons who kept their +politics as a school-boy does his pocket-money, never to spend, and +always ready to change, it was unpleasant to dispute. Such taunts as +these I submitted to as well as I might; secretly resolving, that as I +now knew the meaning of whig and tory, I’d contrive to spend my life, +after marriage, out of the worthy dean’s diocese. + +“Time wore on, and at length, to my most pressing solicitations, it was +conceded that a day for our marriage should be appointed. Not even the +unlucky termination of this my second love affair can deprive me of the +happy souvenir of the few weeks which were to intervene before our +destined union. + +“The mornings were passed in ransacking all the shops where wedding +finery could be procured—laces, blondes, velvets, and satins, littered +every corner of the deanery—and there was scarcely a carriage in a +coach-maker’s yard in the city that I had not sat and jumped in, to try +the springs, by the special directions of Mrs. Eversham; who never +ceased to impress me with the awful responsibility I was about to take +upon me, in marrying so great a prize as her daughter—a feeling I found +very general among many of my friends at the Kildare-street club. + +“Among the many indispensable purchases which I was to make, and about +which Fanny expressed herself more than commonly anxious, was a +saddle-horse for me. She was a great horsewoman, and hated riding with +only a servant; and had given me to understand as much about +half-a-dozen times each day for the last five weeks. How shall I +acknowledge it—equestrianism was never my forte. I had all my life +considerable respect for the horse as an animal, pretty much as I +dreaded a lion or a tiger; but as to my intention of mounting upon the +back of one, and taking a ride, I should as soon have dreamed of taking +an airing upon a giraffe; and as to the thought of buying, feeding, and +maintaining such a beast at my own proper cost, I should just as soon +have determined to purchase a pillory or a ducking-stool, by way of +amusing my leisure hours. + +“However, Fanny was obstinate—whether she suspected any thing or not I +cannot say—but nothing seemed to turn her from her purpose; and +although I pleaded a thousand things in delay, yet she each day grew +more impatient, and at last I saw that there was nothing for it but to +submit. + +“When I arrived at this last and bold resolve, I could not help feeling +that to possess a horse and not be able to mount him, was only +deferring the ridicule; and as I had so often expressed the difficulty +I felt in suiting myself as a cause of my delay, I could not possibly +come forward with any thing very objectionable, or I should be only the +more laughed at. There was then but one course to take; a fortnight +still intervened before the day which was to make me happy, and I +accordingly resolved to take lessons in riding during the intervals, +and by every endeavour in my power become, if possible, able to pass +muster on the saddle before my bride. + +“Poor old Lalouette understood but little of the urgency of the case, +when I requested his leave to take my lessons each morning at six +o’clock, for I dared not absent myself during the day without exciting +suspicion; and never, I will venture to assert, did knight-errant of +old strive harder for the hand of his lady-love than did I during that +weary fortnight, if a hippogriff had been the animal I bestrode, +instead of being, as it was, an old wall-eyed grey, I could not have +felt more misgivings at my temerity, or more proud of my achievement. +In the first three days the unaccustomed exercise proved so severe, +that when I reached the deanery I could hardly move, and crossed the +floor, pretty much as a pair of compasses might be supposed to do if +performing that exploit. Nothing, however, could equal the kindness of +my poor dear mother-in-law in embryo, and even the dean too. Fanny, +indeed, said nothing; but I rather think she was disposed to giggle a +little; but my rheumatism, as it was called, was daily inquired after, +and I was compelled to take some infernal stuff in my port wine at +dinner that nearly made me sick at table. + +“‘I am sure you walk too much,’ said Fanny, with one of her knowing +looks. ‘Papa, don’t you think he ought to ride; it would be much better +for him.’ + +“‘I do, my dear,’ said the dean. ‘But then you see he is so hard to be +pleased in a horse. Your old hunting days have spoiled you; but you +must forget Melton and Grantham, and condescend to keep a hack.’ + +“I must have looked confoundedly foolish here, for Fanny never took her +eyes off me, and continued to laugh in her own wicked way. + +“It was now about the ninth or tenth day of my purgatorial +performances; and certainly if there be any merit in fleshly +mortifications, these religious exercises of mine should stand my part +hereafter. A review had been announced in the Phœnix-park, which Fanny +had expressed herself most desirous to witness; and as the dean would +not permit her to go without a chaperon, I had no means of escape, and +promised to escort her. No sooner had I made this rash pledge, than I +hastened to my confidential friend, Lalouette, and having imparted to +him my entire secret, asked him in a solemn and imposing manner, ‘Can I +do it?’ The old man shook his head dubiously, looked grave, and +muttered at length, ‘Mosch depend on de horse.’ ‘I know it—I know it—I +feel it,’ said I eagerly—‘then where are we to find an animal that will +carry me peaceably through this awful day—I care not for his price?’ + +“‘Votre affaire ne sera pas trop chere,’ said he. + +“‘Why. How do you mean?’ said I. + +“He then proceeded to inform me, that by a singularly fortunate chance, +there took place that day an auction of ‘cast horses,’ as they are +termed, which had been used in the horse police force; and that from +long riding, and training to stand fire, nothing could be more suitable +than one of these; being both easy to ride, and not given to start at +noise. + +“I could have almost hugged the old fellow for his happy suggestion, +and waited with impatience for three o’clock to come, when we repaired +together to Essex-bridge, at that time the place selected for these +sales. + +“I was at first a little shocked at the look of the animals drawn up; +they were most miserably thin—most of them swelled in the legs—few +without sore backs—and not one eye, on an average, in every three; but +still they were all high steppers, and carried a great tail. ‘There’s +your affaire,’ said the old Frenchman, as a long-legged fiddle-headed +beast was led out; turning out his forelegs so as to endanger the man +who walked beside him. + +“‘Yes, there’s blood for you, said Charley Dycer, seeing my eye fixed +on the wretched beast; ‘equal to fifteen stone with any foxhounds; safe +in all his paces, and warranted sound; except,’ added he, in a whisper, +‘a slight spavin in both hind legs, ring gone, and a little touched in +the wind.’ Here the animal gave an approving cough. ‘Will any gentleman +say fifty pounds to begin?’ But no gentleman did. A hackney coachman, +however, said five, and the sale was opened; the beast trotting up and +down nearly over the bidders at every moment, and plunging on so that +it was impossible to know what was doing. + +“‘Five, ten—fifteen—six pounds—thank you, sir,—guineas’—‘seven pounds,’ +said I, bidding against myself, not perceiving that I had spoken last. +‘Thank you, Mr. Moriarty,’ said Dycer, turning towards an invisible +purchaser supposed to be in the crowd. ‘Thank you, sir, you’ll not let +a good one go that way.’ Every one here turned to find out the very +knowing gentleman; but he could no where be seen. + +“Dycer resumed, ‘Seven ten for Mr. Moriarty. Going for seven ten—a +cruel sacrifice—there’s action for you—playful beast.’ Here the devil +had stumbled and nearly killed a basket-woman with two children. + +“‘Eight,’ said I, with a loud voice. + +“‘Eight pounds, quite absurd,’ said Dycer, almost rudely; ‘a charger +like that for eight pounds—going for eight pounds—going—nothing above +eight pounds—no reserve, gentlemen, you are aware of that. They are all +as it were, his majesty’s stud—no reserve whatever—last time, eight +pounds—gone.’ + +“Amid a very hearty cheer from the mob—God knows why—but a Dublin mob +always cheer—I returned, accompanied by a ragged fellow, leading my new +purchase after me with a bay halter. ‘What is the meaning of those +letters,’ said I, pointing to a very conspicuous G.R. with sundry other +enigmatical signs, burned upon the animal’s hind quarter. + +“‘That’s to show he was a po-lice,’ said the fellow with a grin; ‘and +whin ye ride with ladies, ye must turn the decoy side.’ + +“The auspicious morning at last arrived; and strange to say that the +first waking thought was of the unlucky day that ushered in my yachting +excursion, four years before. Why this was so, I cannot pretend to +guess; there was but little analogy in the circumstances, at least so +far as any thing had then gone. ‘How is Marius?’ said I to my servant, +as he opened my shutters. Here let me mention that a friend of the +Kildare-street club had suggested this name from the remarkably classic +character of my steed’s countenance; his nose, he assured me, was +perfectly Roman. + +“‘Marius is doing finely, sir, barring his cough, and the thrifle that +ails his hind legs.’ + +“‘He’ll carry me quietly, Simon, eh?’ + +“‘Quietly. I’ll warrant he’ll carry you quietly, if that’s all.’ + +“Here was comfort. Certainly Simon had lived forty years as pantry boy +with my mother, and knew a great deal about horses. I dressed myself, +therefore, in high spirits; and if my pilot jacket and oil-skin cap in +former days had half persuaded me that I was born for marine +achievements, certainly my cords and tops, that morning, went far to +convince me that I must have once been a very keen sportsman somewhere, +without knowing it. It was a delightful July day that I set out to join +my friends, who having recruited a large party, were to rendezvous at +the corner of Stephen’s-green; thither I proceeded in a certain ambling +trot, which I have often observed is a very favourite pace with timid +horsemen, and gentlemen of the medical profession. I was hailed with a +most hearty welcome by a large party as I turned out of Grafton-street, +among whom I perceived several friends of Miss Eversham, and some young +dragoon officers, not of my acquaintance, but who appeared to know +Fanny intimately, and were laughing heartily with her as I rode up. + +“I don’t know if other men have experienced what I am about to mention +or not; but certainly to me there is no more painful sensation than to +find yourself among a number of well-mounted, well-equipped people, +while the animal you yourself bestride seems only fit for the kennel. +Every look that is cast at your unlucky steed—every whispered +observation about you are so many thorns in your flesh, till at last +you begin to feel that your appearance is for very little else than the +amusement and mirth of the assembly; and every time you rise in your +stirrups you excite a laugh. + +“‘Where for mercy’s sake did you find that creature?’ said Fanny, +surveying Marius through her glass. + +“‘Oh, him, eh? Why he is a handsome horse, if in condition—a charger +your know—that’s his style.’ + +“‘Indeed,’ lisped a young lancer, ‘I should be devilish sorry to charge +or be charged with him.’ And here they all chuckled at this puppy’s +silly joke, and I drew up to repress further liberties. + +“‘Is he anything of a fencer?’ said a young country gentleman. + +“‘To judge from his near eye, I should say much more of a boxer,’ said +another. + +“Here commenced a running fire of pleasantry at the expense of my poor +steed; which, not content with attacking his physical, extended to his +moral qualities. An old gentleman near me observing, ‘that I ought not +to have mounted him at all, seeing he was so damned groggy;’ to which I +replied, by insinuating, that if others present were as free from the +influence of ardent spirits, society would not be a sufferer; an +observation that I flatter myself turned the mirth against the old +fellow, for they all laughed for a quarter of an hour after. + +“Well, at last we set out in a brisk trot, and, placed near Fanny, I +speedily forgot all my annoyances in the prospect of figuring to +advantage before her. When we reached College-green the leaders of the +cortege suddenly drew up, and we soon found that the entire street +opposite the Bank was filled with a dense mob of people, who appeared +to be swayed hither and thither, like some mighty beast, as the +individuals composing it were engaged in close conflict. It was nothing +more nor less than one of those almost weekly rows, which then took +place between the students of the University and the town’s-people, and +which rarely ended without serious consequences. The numbers of people +pressing on to the scene of action soon blocked up our retreat, and we +found ourselves most unwilling spectators of the conflict. Political +watch-words were loudly shouted by each party; and at last the +students, who appeared to be yielding to superior numbers, called out +for the intervention of the police. The aid was nearer than they +expected; for at the same instant a body of mounted policemen, whose +high helmets rendered them sufficiently conspicuous, were seen trotting +at a sharp pace down Dame-street. On they came with drawn sabres, led +by a well-looking gentlemanlike personage in plain clothes, who dashed +at once into the midst of the fray, issuing his orders, and pointing +out to his followers to secure the ringleaders. Up to this moment I had +been a most patient, and rather amused spectator, of what was doing. +Now, however, my part was to commence, for at the word ‘charge,’ given +in a harsh, deep voice by the sergeant of the party, Marius, +remembering his ancient instinct, pricked up his ears, cocked his tail, +flung up both his hind legs till they nearly broke the Provost’s +windows, and plunged into the thickest of the fray like a devil +incarnate. + +“Self-preservation must be a strong instinct, for I well remember how +little pain it cost me to see the people tumbling and rolling before +and beneath me, while I continued to keep my seat. It was only the +moment before and that immense mass were in man to man encounter; now +all the indignation of both parties seemed turned upon me; brick-bats +were loudly implored, and paving stones begged to throw at my devoted +head; the wild huntsman of the German romance never created half the +terror, nor one-tenth of the mischief that I did in less than fifteen +minutes, for the ill-starred beast continued twining and twisting like +a serpent, plunging and kicking the entire time, and occasionally +biting too; all which accomplishments I afterwards learned, however +little in request in civil life, are highly prized in the horse police. + +“Every new order of the sergeant was followed in his own fashion by +Marius; who very soon contrived to concentrate in my unhappy person, +all the interest of about fifteen hundred people. + +“‘Secure that scoundrel,’ said the magistrate, pointing with his finger +towards me, as I rode over a respectable looking old lady, with a grey +muff. ‘Secure him. Cut him down.’ + +“‘Ah, devil’s luck to him, if ye do,’ said a newsmonger with a broken +shin. + +“On I went, however, and now, as the Fates would have it, instead of +bearing me out of further danger, the confounded brute dashed onwards +to where the magistrate was standing, surrounded by policemen. I +thought I saw him change colour as I came on. I suppose my own looks +were none of the pleasantest, for the worthy man liked them not. Into +the midst of them we plunged, upsetting a corporal, horse and all, and +appearing as if bent upon reaching the alderman. + +“‘Cut him down for heaven’s sake. Will nobody shoot him’ said he, with +a voice trembling with fear and anger. + +“At these words a wretch lifted up his sabre, and made a cut at my +head. I stooped suddenly, and throwing myself from the saddle, seized +the poor alderman round the neck, and we both came rolling to the +ground together. So completely was he possessed with the notion that I +meant to assassinate him, that while I was endeavouring to extricate +myself from his grasp, he continued to beg his life in the most +heartrending manner. + +“My story is now soon told. So effectually did they rescue the alderman +from his danger, that they left me insensible; and I only came to +myself some days after by finding myself in the dock in Green-street, +charged with an indictment of nineteen counts; the only word of truth +is what lay in the preamble, for the ‘devil inciting’ me only, would +ever have made me the owner of that infernal beast, the cause of all my +misfortunes. I was so stupified from my hearing, that I know little of +the course of the proceedings. My friends told me afterwards that I had +a narrow escape from transportation; but for the greatest influence +exerted in my behalf, I should certainly have passed the autumn in the +agreeable recreation of pounding oyster shells or carding wool; and it +certainly must have gone hard with me, for stupified as I was, I +remember the sensation in court, when the alderman made his appearance +with a patch over his eye. The affecting admonition of the little +judge—who, when passing sentence upon me, adverted to the former +respectability of my life, and the rank of my relatives—actually made +the galleries weep. + +“Four months in Newgate, and a fine to the king, then rewarded my taste +for horse-exercise; and it’s no wonder if I prefer going on foot. + +“As to Miss Eversham, the following short note from the dean concluded +my hopes in that quarter. + +“‘Deanery, Wednesday morning. + + +“‘Sir,—After the very distressing publicity to which your late conduct +has exposed you—the so open avowal of political opinion, at variance +with those (I will say) of every gentleman—and the recorded sentence of +a judge on the verdict of twelve of your countrymen—I should hope that +you will not feel my present admonition necessary to inform you, that +your visits at my house shall cease. + “‘The presents you made my daughter, when under our unfortunate + ignorance of your real character, have been addressed to your + hotel, and I am your most obedient, humble servant, + + +“‘Oliver Eversham.’ + + +“Here ended my second affair ‘par amours;’ and I freely confess to you +that if I can only obtain a wife in a sea voyage, or a steeple chase, I +am likely to fulfill one great condition in modern advertising—‘as +having no incumbrance, or any objection to travel.’” + + + + + CHAPTER XXXV. +THE DUEL. + +[Illustration: Mr. O’Leary Imagines Himself Kilt] + + +Mr. O’Leary had scarcely concluded the narrative of his second +adventure, when the grey light of the breaking day was seen faintly +struggling through the half-closed curtains, and apprising us of the +lateness of the hour. + +“I think we shall just have time for one finishing flask of +Chambertin,” said O’Leary, as he emptied the bottle into his glass. + +“I forbid the bans, for one,” cried Trevanion. “We have all had wine +enough, considering what we have before us this morning; and besides +you are not aware it is now past four o’clock. So garcon—garcon, +there—how soundly the poor fellow sleeps—let us have some coffee, and +then inquire if a carriage is in waiting at the corner of the Rue +Vivienne.” + +The coffee made its appearance, very much, as it seemed, to Mr. +O’Leary’s chagrin, who, however, solaced himself by sundry petits +verres, to correct the coldness of the wine he had drank, and at length +recovered his good humour. + +“Do you know, now,” said he, after a short pause, in which we had all +kept silence, “I think what we are about to do, is the very ugliest way +of finishing a pleasant evening. For my own part I like the wind up we +used to have in ‘Old Trinity’ formerly; when, after wringing off half a +dozen knockers, breaking the lamps at the post-office, and getting out +the fire engines of Werburgh’s parish, we beat a few watchmen, and went +peaceably to bed.” + +“Well, not being an Irishman,” said Trevanion, “I’m half disposed to +think that even our present purpose is nearly as favourable to life and +limb; but here comes my servant. Well, John, is all arranged, and the +carriage ready?” + +Having ascertained that the carriage was in waiting, and that the small +box—brass bound and Bramah-locked—reposed within, we paid our bill and +departed. A cold, raw, misty-looking morning, with masses of dark +louring clouds overhead, and channels of dark and murky water beneath, +were the pleasant prospects which met us as we issued forth from the +Cafe. The lamps, which hung suspended midway across the street, (we +speak of some years since,) creaked, with a low and plaintive sound, as +they swung backwards and forwards in the wind. Not a footstep was heard +in the street—nothing but the heavy patter of the rain as it fell +ceaselessly upon the broad pavement. It was, indeed, a most depressing +and dispiriting accompaniment to our intended excursion: and even +O’Leary, who seemed to have but slight sympathy with external +influences, felt it, for he spoke but little, and was scarcely ten +minutes in the carriage till he was sound asleep. This was, I confess, +a great relief to me; for, however impressed I was, and to this hour +am, with the many sterling qualitites of my poor friend, yet, I +acknowledge, that this was not precisely the time I should have cared +for their exercise, and would have much preferred the companionship of +a different order of person, even though less long acquainted with him. +Trevanion was, of all others, the most suitable for this purpose; and I +felt no embarrassment in opening my mind freely to him upon subjects +which, but twenty-four hours previous, I could not have imparted to a +brother. + +There is no such unlocker of the secrets of the heart as the possibly +near approach of death. Indeed, I question if a great deal of the +bitterness the thought of it inspires, does not depend upon that very +circumstance. The reflection that the long-treasured mystery of our +lives (and who is there without some such?) is about to become known, +and the secret of our inmost heart laid bare, is in itself depressing. +Not one kind word, nor one remembrancing adieu, to those we are to +leave for ever, can be spoken or written, without calling up its own +story of half-forgotten griefs or, still worse, at such a moment, of +happiness never again to be partaken of. + +“I cannot explain why,” said I to Trevanion, “but although it has +unfortunately been pretty often my lot to have gone out on occasions +like this, both as principal and friend, yet never before did I feel so +completely depressed and low-spirited—and never, in fact, did so many +thoughts of regret arise before me for much of the past, and sorrow for +the chance of abandoning the future”— + +“I can understand,” said Trevanion, interrupting—“I have heard of your +prospect in the Callonby family, and certainly, with such hopes, I can +well conceive how little one would be disposed to brook the slightest +incident which could interfere with their accomplishment; but, now that +your cousin Guy’s pretensions in that quarter are at an end, I suppose, +from all I have heard, that there can be no great obstacle to yours.” + +“Guy’s pretensions at an end! For heaven’s sake, tell me all you know +of this affair—for up to this moment I am in utter ignorance of every +thing regarding his position among the Callonby family.” + +“Unfortunately,” replied Trevanion, “I know but little, but still that +little is authentic—Guy himself having imparted the secret to a very +intimate friend of mine. It appears, then, that your cousin, having +heard that the Callonbys had been very civil to you in Ireland, and +made all manner of advances to you—had done so under the impression +that you were the other nephew of Sir Guy, and consequently the heir of +a large fortune—that is, Guy himself—and that they had never discovered +the mistake during the time they resided in Ireland, when they not only +permitted, but even encouraged the closest intimacy between you and +Lady Jane. Is so far true?” + +“I have long suspected it. Indeed in no other way can I account for the +reception I met with from the Callonbys. But is it possible that Lady +Jane could have lent herself to any thing so unworthy.”— + +“Pray, hear me out,” said Trevanion, who was evidently struck by the +despondency of my voice and manner. “Guy having heard of their mistake, +and auguring well to himself from this evidence of their disposition, +no sooner heard of their arrival in Paris, than he came over here and +got introduced to them. From that time he scarcely ever left their +house, except to accompany them into society, or to the theatres. It is +said that with Lady Jane he made no progress. Her manner, at the +beginning cold and formal, became daily more so; until, at last, he was +half disposed to abandon the pursuit—in which, by the by, he has since +confessed, monied views entered more than any affection for the +lady—when the thought struck him to benefit by what he supposed at +first to be the great bar to his success. He suddenly pretended to be +only desirous of intimacy with Lady Jane, from having heard so much of +her from you—affected to be greatly in your confidence—and, in fact, +assumed the character of a friend cognizant of all your feelings and +hopes, and ardently desiring, by every means in his power, to advance +your views—” + +“And was it thus he succeeded,” I broke in. + +“’Twas thus he endeavoured to succeed,” said Trevanion. + +“Ah, with what success I but too well know” said I. “My uncle himself +showed me a letter from Guy, in which he absolutely speaks of the +affair as settled, and talks of Lady Jane as about to be his wife.” + +“That may be all quite true; but a little consideration of Guy’s +tactics will show what he intended; for I find that he induced your +uncle, by some representations of his, to make the most handsome +proposals, with regard to the marriage, to the Callonbys; and that, to +make the story short, nothing but the decided refusal of Lady Jane, who +at length saw through his entire game prevented the match.” + +“And then she did refuse him,” said I, with ill-repressed exultation. + +“Of that there can be no doubt; for independently of all the gossip and +quizzing upon the subject, to which Guy was exposed in the coteries, he +made little secret of it himself—openly avowing that he did not +consider a repulse a defeat, and that he resolved to sustain the siege +as vigorously as ever.” + +However interested I felt in all Trevanion was telling me, I could not +help falling into a train of thinking on my first acquaintance with the +Callonbys. There are, perhaps, but few things more humiliating than the +knowledge that any attention or consideration we have met with, has +been paid us in mistake for another; and in the very proportion that +they were prized before, are they detested when the truth is known to +us. + +To all the depressing influences these thoughts suggested, came the +healing balm that Lady Jane was true to me—that she, at least, however +others might be biassed by worldly considerations—that she cared for +me—for myself alone. My reader (alas! for my character for judgment) +knows upon how little I founded the conviction; but I have often, in +these Confessions, avowed my failing, par excellence, to be a great +taste for self-deception; and here was a capital occasion for its +indulgence. + +“We shall have abundant time to discuss this later on,” said Trevanion, +laying his hand upon my shoulder to rouse my wandering attention—“for +now, I perceive, we have only eight minutes to spare.” + +As he spoke, a dragoon officer, in an undress, rode up to the window of +the carriage, and looking steadily at our party for a few seconds, +asked if we were “Messieurs les Anglais;” and, almost without waiting +for reply, added, “You had better not go any farther in your carriage, +for the next turn of the road will bring you in sight of the village.” + +We accordingly stopped the driver, and having (with) some difficulty +aroused O’Leary, got out upon the road. The militaire here gave his +horse to a groom, and proceeded to guide us through a corn-field by a +narrow path, with whose windings and crossings he appeared quite +conversant. We at length reached the brow of a little hill, from which +an extended view of the country lay before us, showing the Seine +winding its tranquil course between the richly tilled fields, dotted +with many a pretty cottage. Turning abruptly from this point, our guide +led us, by a narrow and steep path, into a little glen, planted with +poplar and willows. A small stream ran through this, and by the noise +we soon detected that a mill was not far distant, which another turning +brought us at once in front of. + +And here I cannot help dwelling upon the “tableau” which met our view. +In the porch of the little rural mill sat two gentlemen, one of whom I +immediately recognised as the person who had waited upon me, and the +other I rightly conjectured to be my adversary. Before them stood a +small table, covered with a spotless napkin, upon which a breakfast +equipage was spread—a most inviting melon and a long, slender-necked +bottle, reposing in a little ice-pail, forming part of the “materiel.” +My opponent was cooly enjoying his cigar—a half-finished cup of coffee +lay beside him—his friend was occupied in examining the caps of the +duelling pistols, which were placed upon a chair. No sooner had we +turned the angle which brought us in view, than they both rose, and, +taking off their hats with much courtesy, bade us good morning. + +“May I offer you a cup of coffee,” said Monsieur Derigny to me, as I +came up, at the same time filling it out, and pushing over a little +flask of Cogniac towards me. + +A look from Trevanion decided my acceptance of the proferred civility, +and I seated myself in the chair beside the baron. Trevanion meanwhile +had engaged my adversary in conversation along with the stranger, who +had been our guide, leaving O’Leary alone unoccupied, which, however, +he did not long remain; for, although uninvited by the others, he +seized a knife and fork, and commenced a vigorous attack upon a +partridge pie near him; and, with equal absence of ceremony, uncorked +the champaign and filled out a foaming goblet, nearly one-third of the +whole bottle, adding— + +“I think, Mr. Lorrequer, there’s nothing like showing them that we are +just as cool and unconcerned as themselves.” + +If I might judge from the looks of the party, a happier mode of +convincing them of our “free-and-easy” feelings could not possibly have +been discovered. From any mortification this proceeding might have +caused me, I was speedily relieved by Trevanion calling O’Leary to one +side, while he explained to him that he must nominally act as second on +the ground, as Trevanion, being a resident in Paris, might become +liable to a prosecution, should any thing serious arise, while O’Leary, +as a mere passer through, could cross the frontier into Germany, and +avoid all trouble. + +O’Leary at once acceded—perhaps the more readily because he expected to +be allowed to return to his breakfast—but in this he soon found himself +mistaken, for the whole party now rose, and preceded by the baron, +followed the course of the little stream. + +After about five minutes’ walking, we found ourselves at the outlet of +the glen, which was formed by a large stone quarry, making a species of +amphitheatre, with lofty walls of rugged granite, rising thirty or +forty feet on either side of us. The ground was smooth and level as a +boarded floor, and certainly to amateurs in these sort of matters, +presented a most perfect spot for a “meeting.” + +The stranger who had just joined us, could not help remarking our looks +of satisfaction at the choice of ground, and observed to me— + +“This is not the first affair that this little spot has witnessed; and +the moulinet of St. Cloud is, I think, the very best ‘meet’ about +Paris.” + +Trevanion who, during these few minutes, had been engaged with Derigny, +now drew me aside. + +“Well, Lorrequer, have you any recollection now of having seen your +opponent before? or can you make a guess at the source of all this?” + +“Never till this instant,” said I, “have I beheld him,” as I looked +towards the tall, stoutly-built figure of my adversary, who was very +leisurely detaching a cordon from his tightly fitting frock, doubtless +to prevent its attracting my aim. + +“Well, never mind, I shall manage every thing properly. What can you do +with the small sword, for they have rapiers at the mill?” + +“Nothing whatever; I have not fenced since I was a boy.” + +“N’importe—then we’ll fight at a barriere. I know they’re not prepared +for that from Englishmen; so just step on one side now, and leave me to +talk it over.” + +As the limited nature of the ground did not permit me to retire to a +distance, I became involuntarily aware of a dialogue, which even the +seriousness of the moment could scarcely keep me from laughing at +outright. + +It was necessary, for the sake of avoiding any possible legal +difficulty in the result, that O’Leary should give his assent to every +step of the arrangement; and being totally ignorant of French, +Trevanion had not only to translate for him, but also to render in +reply O’Leary’s own comments or objections to the propositions of the +others. + +“Then it is agreed—we fight at a barriere,” said the Captain Derigny. + +“What’s that, Trevanion?” + +“We have agreed to place them at a barriere,” replied Trevanion. + +“That’s strange,” muttered O’Leary to himself, who, knowing that the +word meant a “turnpike,” never supposed it had any other signification. + +“Vingt quatre pas, n’est pas,” said Derigny. + +“Too far,” interposed Trevanion. + +“What does he say now?” asked O’Leary. + +“Twenty-four paces for the distance.” + +“Twenty-four of my teeth he means,” said O’Leary, snapping his fingers. +“What does he think of the length of Sackville-street? Ask him that, +will ye?” + +“What says Monsieur?” said the Frenchman. + +“He thinks the distance much too great.” + +“He may be mistaken,” said the Captain, half sneeringly. “My friend is +‘de la premiere force.’” + +“That must be something impudent, from your looks, Mr. Trevanion. Isn’t +it a thousand pities I can’t speak French?” + +“What say you, then, to twelve paces? Fire together, and two shots +each, if the first fire be inconclusive,” said Trevanion. + +“And if necessary,” added the Frenchman, carelessly, “conclude with +these”—touching the swords with his foot as he spoke. + +“The choice of the weapon lies with us, I opine,” replied Trevanion. +“We have already named pistols, and by them we shall decide this +matter.” + +It was at length, after innumerable objections, agreed upon that we +should be placed back to back, and at a word given each walk forward to +a certain distance marked out by a stone, where we were to halt, and at +the signal, “une,” “deux,” turn round and fire. + +This, which is essentially a French invention in duelling, was +perfectly new to me, but by no means to Trevanion, who was fully aware +of the immense consequence of not giving even a momentary opportunity +for aim to my antagonist; and in this mode of firing the most practised +and deadly shot is liable to err—particularly if the signal be given +quickly. + +While Trevanion and the Captain were measuring out the ground, a little +circumstance which was enacted near me was certainly not over +calculated to strengthen my nerve. The stranger who had led us to the +ground had begun to examine the pistols, and finding that one of them +was loaded, turned towards my adversary, saying, “De Haultpenne, you +have forgotten to draw the charge. Come let us see what vein you are +in.” At the same time, drawing off his large cavalry glove, he handed +the pistol to his friend. + +“A double Napoleon you don’t hit the thumb.” + +“Done,” said the other, adjusting the weapon in his hand. + +The action was scarcely performed, when the bettor flung the glove into +the air with all his force. My opponent raised his pistol, waited for +an instant, till the glove, having attained its greatest height, turned +to fall again. Then click went the trigger—the glove turned round and +round half-a-dozen times, and fell about twenty yards off, and the +thumb was found cut clearly off at the juncture with the hand. + +This—which did not occupy half as long as I have spent in recounting +it—was certainly a pleasant introduction to standing at fifteen yards +from the principal actor; and I should doubtless have felt it in all +its force, had not my attention been drawn off by the ludicrous +expression of grief in O’Leary’s countenance, who evidently regarded me +as already defunct. + +“Now, Lorrequer, we are ready,” said Trevanion, coming forward; and +then, lowering his voice, added, “All is in your favour; I have won the +‘word,’ which I shall give the moment you halt. So turn and fire at +once: be sure not to go too far round in the turn—that is the +invariable error in this mode of firing; only no hurry—be calm.” + +“Now, Messieurs,” said Derigny, as he approached with his friend +leaning upon his arm, and placed him in the spot allotted to him. +Trevanion then took my arm, and placed me back to back to my +antagonist. As I took up my ground, it so chanced that my adversary’s +spur slightly grazed me, upon which he immediately turned round, and, +with the most engaging smile, begged a “thousand pardons,” and hoped I +was not hurt. + +O’Leary, who saw the incident, and guessed the action aright, called +out: + +“Oh, the cold-blooded villain; the devil a chance for you, Mr. +Lorrequer.” + +“Messieurs, your pistols,” said Le Capitaine la Garde, who, as he +handed the weapons, and repeated once more the conditions of the +combat, gave the word to march. + +I now walked slowly forward to the place marked out by the stone; but +it seemed that I must have been in advance of my opponent, for I +remember some seconds elapsed before Trevanion coughed slightly, and +then with a clear full voice called out “Une,” “Deux.” I had scarcely +turned myself half round, when my right arm was suddenly lifted up, as +if by a galvanic shock. My pistol jerked upwards, and exploded the same +moment, and then dropped powerlessly from my hand, which I now felt was +covered with warm blood from a wound near the elbow. From the acute but +momentary pang this gave me, my attention was soon called off; for +scarcely had my arm been struck, when a loud clattering noise to my +left induced me to turn, and then, to my astonishment, I saw my friend +O’Leary about twelve feet from the ground, hanging on by some ash twigs +that grew from the clefts of the granite. Fragments of broken rock were +falling around him, and his own position momentarily threatened a +downfall. He was screaming with all his might; but what he said was +entirely lost in the shouts of laughter of Trevanion and the Frenchmen, +who could scarcely stand with the immoderate exuberance of their mirth. + +I had not time to run to his aid—which, although wounded, I should have +done—when the branch he clung to, slowly yielded with his weight, and +the round, plump figure of my poor friend rolled over the little cleft +of rock, and, after a few faint struggles, came tumbling heavily down, +and at last lay peaceably in the deep heather at the bottom—his cries +the whole time being loud enough to rise even above the vociferous +laughter of the others. + +I now ran forward, as did Trevanion, when O’Leary, turning his eyes +towards me, said, in the most piteous manner— + +“Mr. Lorrequer, I forgive you—here is my hand—bad luck to their French +way of fighting, that’s all—it’s only good for killing one’s friend. I +thought I was safe up there, come what might.” + +“My dear O’Leary,” said I, in an agony, which prevented my minding the +laughing faces around me, “surely you don’t mean to say that I have +wounded you?” + +“No, dear, not wounded, only killed me outright—through the brain it +must be, from the torture I’m suffering.” + +The shout with which this speech was received, sufficiently aroused me; +while Trevanion, with a voice nearly choked with laughter, said— + +“Why, Lorrequer, did you not see that your pistol, on being struck, +threw your ball high up on the quarry; fortunately, however, about a +foot and a half above Mr. O’Leary’s head, whose most serious wounds are +his scratched hands and bruised bones from his tumble.” + +This explanation, which was perfectly satisfactory to me, was by no +means so consoling to poor O’Leary, who lay quite unconscious to all +around, moaning in the most melancholy manner. Some of the blood, which +continued to flow fast from my wound, having dropped upon his face, +roused him a little—but only to increase his lamentation for his own +destiny, which he believed was fast accomplishing. + +“Through the skull—clean through the skull—and preserving my senses to +the last! Mr. Lorrequer, stoop down—it is a dying man asks you—don’t +refuse me a last request. There’s neither luck nor grace, honor nor +glory in such a way of fighting—so just promise me you’ll shoot that +grinning baboon there, when he’s going off the ground, since it’s the +fashion to fire at a man with his back to you. Bring him down, and I’ll +die easy.” + +And with these words he closed his eyes, and straightened out his +legs—stretched his arm at either side, and arranged himself as much +corpse fashion as the circumstances of the ground would permit—while I +now freely participated in the mirth of the others, which, loud and +boisterous as it was, never reached the ears of O’Leary. + +My arm had now become so painful, that I was obliged to ask Trevanion +to assist me in getting off my coat. The surprise of the Frenchmen on +learning that I was wounded was very considerable—O’Leary’s catastrophe +having exclusively engaged all attention. My arm was now examined, when +it was discovered that the ball had passed through from one side to the +other, without apparently touching the bone; the bullet and the portion +of my coat carried in by it both lay in my sleeve. The only serious +consequence to be apprehended was the wound of the blood-vessel, which +continued to pour forth blood unceasingly, and I was just surgeon +enough to guess that an artery had been cut. + +Trevanion bound his handkerchief tightly across the wound, and assisted +me to the high road, which, so sudden was the loss of blood, I reached +with difficulty. During all these proceedings, nothing could be +possibly more kind and considerate than the conduct of our opponents. +All the farouche and swaggering air which they had deemed the “rigueur” +before, at once fled, and in its place we found the most gentlemanlike +attention and true politeness. + +As soon as I was enabled to speak upon the matter, I begged Trevanion +to look to poor O’Leary, who still lay upon the ground in a state of +perfect unconsciousness. Captain Derigny, on hearing my wish, at once +returned to the quarry, and, with the greatest difficulty, persuaded my +friend to rise and endeavour to walk, which at last he did attempt, +calling him to bear witness that it perhaps was the only case on record +where a man with a bullet in his brain had made such an exertion. + +With a view to my comfort and quiet, they put him into the cab of Le +Baron; and, having undertaken to send Dupuytrien to me immediately on +my reaching Paris, took their leave, and Trevanion and I set out +homeward. + +Not all my exhaustion and debility—nor even the acute pain I was +suffering, could prevent my laughing at O’Leary’s adventure; and it +required all Trevanion’s prudence to prevent my indulging too far in my +recollection of it. + +When we reached Meurice’s, I found Dupuytrien in waiting, who +immediately pronounced the main artery of the limb as wounded; and +almost as instantaneously proceeded to pass a ligature round it. This +painful business being concluded, I was placed upon a sofa, and being +plentifully supplied with lemonade, and enjoined to keep quiet, left to +my own meditations, such as they were, till evening—Trevanion having +taken upon him to apologize for our absence at Mrs. Bingham’s dejeune, +and O’Leary being fast asleep in his own apartments. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXVI. +EARLY RECOLLECTIONS—A FIRST LOVE. + + +I know of no sensations so very nearly alike, as those felt on awaking +after very sudden and profuse loss of blood, and those resulting from a +large dose of opium. The dizziness, the confusion, and the abstraction +at first, gradually yielding, as the senses became clearer, to a vague +and indistinct consciousness; then the strange mistiness, in which fact +and fiction are wrapped up—the confounding of persons, and places, and +times, not so as to embarrass and annoy—for the very debility you feel +subdues all irritation—but rather to present a panoramic picture of odd +and incongruous events more pleasing than otherwise. + +Of the circumstances by which I was thus brought to a sick couch, I had +not even the most vague recollection—the faces and the dress of all +those I had lately seen were vividly before me; but how, and for what +purpose I knew not. Something in their kindness and attention had left +an agreeable impression upon my mind, and without being able, or even +attempting to trace it, I felt happy in the thought. While thus the +“hour before” was dim and indistinct, the events of years past were +vividly and brightly pictured before me; and strange, too, the more +remote the period, the more did it seem palpable and present to my +imagination. For so it is, there is in memory a species of mental +long-sightedness, which, though blind to the object close beside you, +can reach the blue mountains and the starry skies, which lie full many +a league away. Is this a malady? or is it rather a providential gift to +alleviate the tedious hours of the sick bed, and cheer the lonely +sufferer, whose thoughts are his only realm? + +My school-boy days, in all their holiday excitement; the bank where I +had culled the earliest cowslips of the year; the clear but rapid +stream, where days long I have watched the speckled trout, as they swam +peacefully beneath, or shook their bright fins in the gay sunshine; the +gorgeous dragon-fly that played above the water, and dipped his bright +wings in its ripple—they were all before me. And then came the thought +of school itself, with its little world of boyish cares and emulations; +the early imbibed passion for success; the ardent longing for +superiority; the high and swelling feeling of the heart, as home drew +near, to think that I had gained the wished for prize—the object of +many an hour’s toil—the thought of many a long night’s dream; my +father’s smile; my mother’s kiss! Oh! what a very world of tender +memory that one thought suggests; for what are all our later successes +in life—how bright soever our fortune be—compared with the early +triumphs of our infancy? Where, among the jealous rivalry of some, the +cold and half-wrung praise of others, the selfish and unsympathising +regard of all, shall we find any thing to repay us for the swelling +extacy of our young hearts, as those who have cradled and loved us grow +proud in our successes? For myself, a life that has failed in every +prestige of those that prophesied favourably—years that have followed +on each other only to blight the promise that kind and well-wishing +friends foretold—leave but little to dwell upon, that can be reckoned +as success. And yet, some moments I have had, which half seemed to +realize my early dream of ambition, and rouse my spirit within me; but +what were they all compared to my boyish glories? what the passing +excitement one’s own heart inspires in the lonely and selfish solitude, +when compared with that little world of sympathy and love our early +home teemed with, as, proud in some trifling distinction, we fell into +a mother’s arms, and heard our father’s “God bless you, boy?” No, no; +the world has no requital for this. It is like the bright day-spring, +which, as its glories gild the east, display before us a whole world of +beauty and promise—blighted hopes have not withered, false friendships +have not scathed, cold, selfish interest has not yet hardened our +hearts, or dried up our affections, and we are indeed happy; but +equally like the burst of morning is it fleeting and short-lived; and +equally so, too, does it pass away, never, never to return. + +From thoughts like these my mind wandered on to more advanced years, +when, emerging from very boyhood, I half believed myself a man, and was +fully convinced I was in love. + +Perhaps, after all, for the time it lasted—ten days, I think—it was the +most sincere passion I ever felt. I had been spending some weeks at a +small watering-place in Wales with some relatives of my mother. There +were, as might be supposed, but few “distractions” in such a place, +save the scenery, and an occasional day’s fishing in the little river +of Dolgelly, which ran near. In all these little rambles which the +younger portion of the family made together, frequent mention was ever +being made of a visit from a very dear cousin, and to which all looked +forward with the greatest eagerness—the elder ones of the party with a +certain air of quiet pleasure, as though they knew more than they said, +and the younger with all the childish exuberance of youthful delight. +Clara Mourtray seemed to be, from all I was hourly hearing, the very +paragon and pattern of every thing. If any one was praised for beauty, +Clara was immediately pronounced much prettier—did any one sing, +Clara’s voice and taste were far superior. In our homeward walk, should +the shadows of the dark hills fall with a picturesque effect upon the +blue lake, some one was sure to say, “Oh! how Clara would like to +sketch that.” In short, there was no charm nor accomplishment ever the +gift of woman, that Clara did not possess; or, what amounted pretty +much to the same thing, that my relatives did not implicitly give her +credit for. The constantly recurring praises of the same person affect +us always differently as we go on in life. In youth the prevailing +sentiment is an ardent desire to see the prodigy of whom we have heard +so much—in after years, heartily to detest what hourly hurts our +self-love by comparisons. We would take any steps to avoid meeting what +we have inwardly decreed to be a “bore.” The former was my course; and +though my curiosity was certainly very great, I had made up my mind to +as great a disappointment, and half wished for the longed arrival as a +means of criticising what they could see no fault in. + +The wished-for evening at length came, and we all set out upon a walk +to meet the carriage which was to bring the bien aime Clara among us. +We had not walked above a mile when the eager eye of the foremost +detected a cloud of dust upon the road at some distance; and, after a +few minutes more, four posters were seen coming along at a tremendous +rate. The next moment she was making the tour of about a dozen uncles, +aunts, cousins, and cousines, none of whom, it appeared to me, felt any +peculiar desire to surrender the hearty embrace to the next of kin in +succession. At last she came to me, when, perhaps, in the confusion of +the moment, not exactly remembering whether or not she had seen me +before, she stood for a moment silent—a deep blush mantling her lovely +cheek—masses of waving brown hair disordered and floating upon her +shoulders—her large and liquid blue eyes beaming upon me. One look was +enough. I was deeply—irretrievably in love. + +“Our cousin Harry—Harry Lorrequer—wild Harry, as we used to call him, +Clara,” said one of the girls introducing me. + +She held out her hand, and said something with a smile. What, I know +not—nor can I tell how I replied; but something absurd it must have +been, for they all laughed heartily, and the worthy papa himself tapped +my shoulder jestingly, adding, + +“Never mind, Harry—you will do better one day, or I am much mistaken in +you.” + +Whether I was conscious that I had behaved foolishly or not, I cannot +well say; but the whole of that night I thought over plans innumerable +how I should succeed in putting myself forward before “Cousin Clara,” +and vindicating myself against any imputation of schoolboy mannerisms +that my first appearance might have caused. + +The next day we remained at home. Clara was too much fatigued to walk +out, and none of us would leave her. What a day of happiness that was! +I knew something of music, and could sing a second. Clara was delighted +at this, for the others had not cultivated singing much. We therefore +spent the whole morning in this way. Then she produced her sketch-book, +and I brought out mine, and we had a mutual interchange of prisoners. +What cutting out of leaves and detaching of rice-paper landscapes! Then +she came out upon the lawn to see my pony leap, and promised to ride +him the following day. She patted the greyhounds, and said Gipsy, which +was mine, was the prettiest. In a word, before night fell Clara had won +my heart in its every fibre, and I went to my room the very happiest of +mortals. + +I need not chronicle my next three days—to me the most glorious “trois +jours” of my life. Clara had evidently singled me out and preferred me +to all the rest. It was beside me she rode—upon my arm she leaned in +walking—and, to comble me with delight unutterable, I overheard her say +to my uncle, “Oh, I doat upon poor Harry! And it is so pleasant, for +I’m sure Mortimer will be so jealous.” + +“And who is Mortimer,” thought I; “he is a new character in the piece, +of whom we have seen nothing.” + +I was not long in doubt upon this head, for that very day, at dinner, +the identical Mortimer presented himself. He was a fine, +dashing-looking, soldier-like fellow, of about thirty-five, and with a +heavy moustache, and a bronzed cheek—rather grave in his manner, but +still perfectly good-natured, and when he smiled showing a most +handsome set of regular teeth. Clara seemed less pleased (I thought) at +his coming than the others, and took pleasure in tormenting him by a +thousand pettish and frivolous ways, which I was sorry for, as I +thought he did not like it; and used to look half chidingly at her from +time to time, but without any effect, for she just went on as before, +and generally ended by taking my arm and saying, “Come away, Harry; you +always are kind, and never look sulky. I can agree with you.” These +were delightful words for me to listen to, but I could not hear them +without feeling for him, who evidently was pained by Clara’s avowed +preference for me; and whose years—for I thought thirty-five at that +time a little verging upon the patriarchal—entitled him to more +respect. + +“Well,” thought I, one evening, as this game had been carried rather +farther than usual, “I hope she is content now, for certainly Mortimer +is jealous;” and the result proved it, for the whole of the following +day he absented himself, and never came back till late in the evening. +He had been, I found, from a chance observation I overheard, at the +bishop’s palace, and the bishop himself, I learned, was to breakfast +with us in the morning. + +“Harry, I have a commission for you,” said Clara. “You must get up very +early to-morrow, and climb the Cader mountain, and bring me a grand +bouquet of the blue and purple heath that I liked so much the last time +I was there. Mind very early, for I intend to surprise the bishop +to-morrow with my taste in a nosegay.” + +The sun had scarcely risen as I sprang from my bed, and started upon my +errand. Oh! the glorious beauty of that morning’s walk. As I climbed +the mountain, the deep mists lay upon all around, and except the path I +was treading, nothing was visible; but before I reached the top, the +heavy masses of vapour were yielding to the influence of the sun; and +as they rolled from the valleys up the mountain sides, were every +instant opening new glens and ravines beneath me—bright in all their +verdure, and speckled with sheep, whose tingling bells reached me even +where I stood. + +I counted above twenty lakes at different levels, below me; some +brilliant, and shining like polished mirrors; others not less +beautiful, dark and solemn with some mighty mountain shadow. As I +looked landward, the mountains reared their huge crests, one above the +other, to the farthest any eye could reach. Towards the opposite side, +the calm and tranquil sea lay beneath me, bathed in the yellow gold of +a rising sun; a few ships were peaceably lying at anchor in the bay; +and the only thing in motion was a row-boat, the heavy monotonous +stroke of whose oars rose in the stillness of the morning air. Not a +single habitation of man could I descry, nor any vestige of a human +being, except that mass of something upon the rock far down beneath be +one, and I think it is, for I see the sheep-dog ever returning again +and again to the same spot. + +My bouquet was gathered; the gentian of the Alps, which is found here, +also contributing its evidence to show where I had been to seek it, and +I turned home. + +The family were at breakfast as I entered; at least so the servants +said, for I only remembered then that the bishop was our guest, and +that I could not present myself without some slight attention to my +dress. I hastened to my room, and scarcely had I finished, when one of +my cousins, a little girl of eight years, came to the door and said, + +“Harry, come down; Clara wants you.” + +I rushed down stairs, and as I entered the breakfast parlour, stood +still with surprise. The ladies were all dressed in white, and even my +little cousin wore a gala costume that amazed me. + +“My bouquet, Harry; I hope you have not forgotten it,” said Clara, as I +approached. + +I presented it at once, when she gaily and coquettishly held out her +hand for me to kiss. This I did, my blood rushing to my face and +temples the while, and almost depriving me of consciousness. + +“Well, Clara, I am surprised at you,” said Mortimer. “How can you treat +the poor boy so?” + +I grew deadly pale at these words, and, turning round, looked at the +speaker full in the face. Poor fellow, thought I, he is jealous, and I +am really grieved for him; and turned again to Clara. + +“Here it is—oh! how handsome, papa,” said one of the younger children, +running eagerly to the window, as a very pretty open carriage with four +horses drew up before the house. + +“The bishop has taste,” I murmured to myself, scarcely deigning to give +a second look at the equipage. + +Clara now left the room, but speedily returned—her dress changed, and +shawled as if for a walk. What could all this mean?—and the whispering, +too, what is all that?—and why are they all so sad?—Clara has been +weeping. + +“God bless you, my child—good by,” said my aunt, as she folded her in +her arms for the third time. + +“Good by, good by,” I heard on every side. At length, approaching me, +Clara took my hand and said— + +“My poor Harry, so we are going to part. I am going to Italy.” + +“To Italy, Clara? Oh! no—say no. Italy! I shall never see you again.” + +“Won’t you wear this ring for me, Harry? It is an old favourite of +yours—and when we meet again”— + +“Oh! dearest Clara,” I said, “do not speak thus.” + +“Good by, my poor boy, good by,” said Clara hurriedly; and, rushing out +of the room, she was lifted by Mortimer into the carriage, who, +immediately jumping in after her, the whip cracked, the horses +clattered, and all was out of sight in a second. + +“Why is she gone with him?” said I, reproachfully, turning towards my +aunt. + +“Why, my dear, a very sufficient reason. She was married this morning.” + +This was my first love. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXVII. +WISE RESOLVES. + + +Musing over this boyish adventure, I fell into a deep slumber, and on +awakening it took me some minutes before I could recall my senses +sufficiently to know where I was. The whole face of things in my room +was completely changed. Flowers had been put in the china vases upon +the tables—two handsome lamps, shaded with gauzes, stood upon the +consoles—illustrated books, prints, and caricatures, were scattered +about. A piano-forte had also, by some witchcraft, insinuated itself +into a recess near the sofa—a handsome little tea service, of old +Dresden china, graced a marquetry table—and a little picquet table +stood most invitingly beside the fire. I had scarcely time to turn my +eyes from one to the other of these new occupants, when I heard the +handle of my door gently turn, as if by some cautious hand, and +immediately closed my eyes and feigned sleep. Through my half-shut lids +I perceived the door opened. After a pause of about a second, the skirt +of a white muslin dress appeared—then a pretty foot stole a little +farther—and at last the slight and graceful figure of Emily Bingham +advanced noiselessly into the room. Fear had rendered her deadly pale; +but the effect of her rich brown hair, braided plainly on either side +of her cheek, suited so well the character of her features, I thought +her far handsomer than ever. She came forward towards the table, and I +now could perceive that she had something in her hand resembling a +letter. This she placed near my hand—so near as almost to touch it. She +leaned over me—I felt her breath upon my brow, but never moved. At this +instant, a tress of her hair, becoming unfastened, fell over upon my +face. She started—the motion threw me off my guard, and I looked up. +She gave a faint, scarce audible shriek, and sank into the chair beside +me. Recovering, however, upon the instant, she grasped the letter she +had just laid down, and, having crushed it between her fingers, threw +it into the fire. This done—as if the effort had been too much for her +strength—she again fell back upon her seat, and looked so pale I almost +thought she had fainted. + +Before I had time to speak, she rose once more; and now her face was +bathed in blushes, her eyes swam with rising tears, and her lips +trembled with emotion as she spoke. + +“Oh, Mr. Lorrequer, what will you—what can you think of this? If you +but knew—;” and here she faltered and again grew pale, while I with +difficulty rising from the sofa, took her hand, and led her to the +chair beside it. + +“And may I not know?” said I; “may I not know, my dear”—I am not sure I +did not say dearest—“Miss Bingham, when, perhaps, the knowledge might +make me the happiest of mortals?” + +This was a pretty plunge as a sequel to my late resolutions. She hid +her face between her hands, and sobbed for some seconds. + +“At least,” said I, “as that letter was destined for me but a few +moments since, I trust that you will let me hear its contents.” + +“Oh no—not now—not now,” said she entreatingly; and, rising at the same +time, she turned to leave the room. I still held her hand, and pressed +it within mine. I thought she returned the pressure. I leaned forward +to catch her eye, when the door was opened hastily, and a most +extraordinary figure presented itself. + +It was a short, fat man, with a pair of enormous moustaches, of a fiery +red; huge bushy whiskers of the same colour; a blue frock covered with +braiding, and decorated with several crosses and ribbons; tight +pantaloons and Hessian boots, with long brass spurs. He held a large +gold-headed cane in his hand, and looked about with an expression of +very equivocal drollery, mingled with fear. + +“May I ask, sir,” said I, as this individual closed the door behind +him, “may I ask the reason for this intrusion?” + +“Oh, upon my conscience, I’ll do—I’m sure to pass muster now,” said the +well-known voice of Mr. O’Leary, whose pleasant features began to +dilate amid the forest of red hair he was disguised in. “But I see you +are engaged,” said he, with a sly look at Miss Bingham, whom he had not +yet recognised; “so I must contrive to hide myself elsewhere, I +suppose.” + +“It is Miss Bingham,” said I, “who has been kind enough to come here +with her maid, to bring me some flowers. Pray present my respectful +compliments to Mrs. Bingham, and say how deeply I feel her most kind +attention.” + +Emily rose at the instant, and recovering her self-possession at once, +said— + +“You forget, Mr. Lorrequer, it is a secret from whom the flowers came; +at least mamma hoped to place them in your vases without you knowing. +So, pray, don’t speak of it—and I’m sure Mr. O’Leary will not tell.” + +If Mr. O’Leary heard one word of this artful speech, I know not, but he +certainly paid no attention to it, nor the speaker, who left the room +without his appearing aware of it. + +“Now that she is gone—for which heaven be praised,” said I to myself; +“let me see what this fellow can mean.” + +As I turned from the door, I could scarcely avoid laughing aloud at the +figure before me. He stood opposite a large mirror, his hat on one side +of his head, one arm in his breast, and the other extended, leaning +upon his stick; a look of as much ferocity as such features could +accomplish had been assumed, and his whole attitude was a kind of +caricature of a melo-dramatic hero in a German drama. + +“Why, O’Leary, what is all this?” + +“Hush, hush,” said he, in a terrified whisper—“never mention that name +again, till we are over the frontier.” + +“But, man, explain—what do you mean?” + +“Can’t you guess,” said he drily. + +“Impossible; unless the affair at the saloon has induced you to take +this disguise, I cannot conceive the reason.” + +“Nothing farther from it, my dear friend; much worse than that.” + +“Out with it, then, at once.” + +“She’s come—she’s here—in this very house—No. 29, above the entre sol.” + +“Who is here, in No. 29, above the entre sol?” + +“Who, but Mrs. O’Leary herself. I was near saying bad luck to her.” + +“And does she know you are here?” + +“That is what I can’t exactly say,” said he, “but she has had the Livre +des Voyageurs brought up to her room, and has been making rather +unpleasant inquiries for the proprietor of certain hieroglyphics +beginning with O, which have given me great alarm—the more, as all the +waiters have been sent for in turn, and subjected to long examination +by her. So I have lost no time, but, under the auspices of your friend +Trevanion, have become the fascinating figure you find me, and am now +Compte O’Lieuki, a Pole of noble family, banished by the Russian +government, with a father in Siberia, and all that; and I hope, by the +end of the week, to be able to cheat at ecarte, and deceive the very +police itself.” + +The idea of O’Leary’s assuming such a metamorphosis was too absurd not +to throw me into a hearty fit of laughing, in which the worthy emigre +indulged also. + +“But why not leave this at once,” said I, “if you are so much in dread +of a recognition?” + +“You forget the trial,” added O’Leary, “I must be here on the 18th or +all my bail is forfeited.” + +“True—I had forgot that. Well, now, your plans?”— + +“Simply to keep very quiet here till the affair of the tribunal is +over, and then quit France at once. Meanwhile, Trevanion thinks that we +may, by a bold stratagem, send Mrs. O’Leary off on a wrong scent, and +has requested Mrs. Bingham to contrive to make her acquaintance, and +ask her to tea in her room, when she will see me, en Polonais, at a +distance, you know—hear something of my melancholy destiny from +Trevanion—and leave the hotel quite sure she has no claim on me. +Meanwhile, some others of the party are to mention incidentally having +met Mr. O’Leary somewhere, or heard of his decease, or any pleasant +little incident that may occur to them.” + +“The plan is excellent,” said I, “for in all probability she may never +come in your way again, if sent off on a good errand this time.” + +“That’s what I’m thinking,” said O’Leary; “and I am greatly disposed to +let her hear that I’m with Belzoni in Egypt, with an engagement to +spend the Christmas with the Dey of Algiers. That would give her a very +pretty tour for the remainder of the year, and show her the pyramids. +But, tell me fairly, am I a good Pole?” + +“Rather short,” said I, “and a little too fat, perhaps.” + +“That comes from the dash of Tartar blood, nothing more; and my mother +was a Fin,” said he, “she’ll never ask whether from Carlow or the +Caucasus. How I revel in the thought, that I may smoke in company +without a breach of the unities. But I must go: there is a gentleman +with a quinsey in No. 9, that gives me a lesson in Polish this morning. +So good-by, and don’t forget to be well enough to-night, for you must +be present at my debut.” + +O’Leary had scarcely gone, when my thoughts reverted to Emily Bingham. +I was not such a coxcomb as to fancy her in love with me; yet certainly +there was something in the affair which looked not unlike it; and +though, by such a circumstance, every embarrassment which pressed upon +me had become infinitely greater, I could not dissemble from myself a +sense of pleasure at the thought. She was really a very pretty girl, +and improved vastly upon acquaintance. “Le absens ont toujours torts” +is the truest proverb in any language, and I felt it in its fullest +force when Trevanion entered my room. + +“Well, Lorrequer,” said he, “your time is certainly not likely to hang +heavily on your hands in Paris, if occupation will prevent it, for I +find you are just now booked for a new scrape.” + +“What can you mean?” said I, starting up. + +“Why, O’Leary, who has been since your illness, the constant visiter at +the Binghams—dining there every day, and spending his evenings—has just +told me that the mamma is only waiting for the arrival of Sir Guy +Lorrequer in Paris to open the trenches in all form; and from what she +has heard of Sir Guy, she deems it most likely he will give her every +aid and support to making you the husband of the fair Emily.” + +“And with good reason, too,” said I; “for if my uncle were only given +to understand that I had once gone far in my attentions, nothing would +induce him to break off the match. He was crossed in love himself when +young, and has made a score of people miserable since, in the +benevolent idea of marrying them against every obstacle.” + +“How very smart you have become,” said Trevanion, taking a look round +my room, and surveying in turn each of the new occupants. “You must +certainly reckon upon seeing your fair friend here, or all this +propriete is sadly wasted.” + +This was the time to explain all about Miss Bingham’s visit; and I did +so, of course omitting any details which might seem to me needless, or +involving myself in inconsistency. + +Trevanion listened patiently to the end—was silent for some +moments—then added— + +“And you never saw the letter?” + +“Of course not. It was burned before my eyes.” + +“I think the affair looks very serious, Lorrequer. You may have won +this girl’s affections. It matters little whether the mamma be a +hacknied match-maker, or the cousin a bullying duellist. If the girl +have a heart, and that you have gained it”— + +“Then I must marry, you would say.” + +“Exactly so—without the prompting of your worthy uncle, I see no other +course open to you without dishonour. My advice, therefore, is, +ascertain—and that speedily—how far your attentions have been attended +with the success you dread—and then decide at once. Are you able to get +as far as Mrs. Bingham’s room this morning? If so, come along. I shall +take all the frais of la chere mamma off your hands, while you talk to +the daughter; and half-an-hour’s courage and resolution will do it +all.” + +Having made the most effective toilet my means would permit, my right +arm in a sling, and my step trembling from weakness, I sallied forth +with Trevanion to make love with as many fears for the result as the +most bashful admirer ever experienced, when pressing his suit upon some +haughty belle—but for a far different reason. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXVIII. +THE PROPOSAL. + + +On reaching Mrs. Bingham’s apartments, we found that she had just left +home to wait upon Mrs. O’Leary, and consequently, that Miss Bingham was +alone. Trevanion, therefore, having wished me a safe deliverance +through my trying mission, shook my hand warmly, and departed. + +I stood for some minutes irresolutely, with my hand upon the lock of +the door. To think that the next few moments may decide the fortune of +one’s after life, is a sufficiently anxious thought; but that your fate +may be so decided, by compelling you to finish in sorrow what you have +begun in folly, is still more insupportable. Such, then, was my +condition. I had resolved within myself, if the result of this meeting +should prove that I had won Miss Bingham’s affections, to propose for +her at once in all form, and make her my wife. If, on the other hand, I +only found that she too had amused herself with a little passing +flirtation, why then, I was a free man once more: but, on catechising +myself a little closer, also, one somewhat disposed to make love de +novo. + +With the speed of lightning, my mind ran over every passage of our +acquaintance—our first meeting—our solitary walks—our daily, hourly +associations—our travelling intimacy—the adventure at Chantraine.—There +was, it is true, nothing in all this which could establish the fact of +wooing, but every thing which should convince an old offender like +myself that the young lady was “en prise,” and that I myself—despite my +really strong attachment elsewhere—was not entirely scathless. + +“Yes,” said I, half aloud, as I once more reviewed the past, “it is but +another chapter in my history in keeping with all the rest—one step has +ever led me to a second, and so on to a third; what with other men have +passed for mere trifles, have ever with me become serious difficulties, +and the false enthusiasm with which I ever follow any object in life, +blinds me for the time, and mistaking zeal for inclination, I never +feel how little my heart is interested in success, till the fever of +pursuit is over.” + +These were pleasant thoughts for one about to throw himself at a pretty +girl’s feet, and pour out his “soul of love before her;” but that with +me was the least part of it. Curran, they say, usually picked up his +facts in a case from the opposite counsel’s statements; I always relied +for my conduct in carrying on any thing, to the chance circumstances of +the moment, and trusted to my animal spirits to give me an interest in +whatever for the time being engaged me. + +I opened the door. Miss Bingham was sitting at a table, her head +leaning upon her hands—some open letters which lay before her, +evidently so occupying her attention, that my approach was unheard. On +my addressing her, she turned round suddenly, and became at first deep +scarlet, then pale as death: while, turning to the table, she hurriedly +threw her letters into a drawer, and motioned me to a place beside her. + +After the first brief and common-place inquiry for my health, and hopes +for my speedy recovery, she became silent; and I too, primed with +topics innumerable to discuss—knowing how short my time might prove +before Mrs. Bingham’s return—could not say a word. + +“I hope, Mr. Lorrequer,” said she, at length, “that you have incurred +no risque by leaving your room so early.” + +“I have not,” I replied, “but, even were there a certainty of it, the +anxiety I laboured under to see and speak with you alone, would have +overcome all fears on this account. Since this unfortunate business has +confined me to my chamber, I have done nothing but think over +circumstances which have at length so entirely taken possession of me, +that I must, at any sacrifice, have sought an opportunity to explain to +you”—here Emily looked down, and I continued—“I need scarcely say what +my feelings must long since have betrayed, that to have enjoyed the +daily happiness of living in your society, of estimating your worth, of +feeling your fascinations, were not the means most in request for him, +who knew, too well, how little he deserved, either by fortune or +desert, to hope, to hope to make you his; and yet, how little has +prudence or caution to do with situations like this.” She did not guess +the animus of this speech. “I felt all I have described; and yet, and +yet, I lingered on, prizing too dearly the happiness of the present +hour, to risque it by any avowal of sentiments, which might have +banished me from your presence for ever. If the alteration of these +hopes and fears have proved too strong for my reason at last, I cannot +help it; and this it is which now leads me to make this avowal to you.” +Emily turned her head away from me; but her agitated manner showed how +deeply my words had affected her; and I too, now that I had finished, +felt that I had been “coming it rather strong.” + +“I hoped, Mr. Lorrequer,” said she, at length, “I hoped, I confess, to +have had an opportunity of speaking with you.” Then, thought I, the +game is over, and Bishop Luscombe is richer by five pounds, than I wish +him.—“Something, I know not what, in your manner, led me to suspect +that your affections might lean towards me; hints you have dropped, +and, now and then, your chance allusions strengthened the belief, and I +determined, at length, that no feeling of maidenly shame on my part +should endanger the happiness of either of us, and I determined to see +you; this was so difficult, that I wrote a letter, and that letter, +which might have saved me all distressing explanation, I burned before +you this morning.” + +“But, why, dearest girl,”—here was a plunge—“why, if the letter could +remove any misconstruction, or could be the means of dispelling any +doubt—why not let me see it?” + +“Hear me out,” cried she, eagerly, and evidently not heeding my +interruption, “I determined if your affections were indeed”—a flood of +tears here broke forth, and drowned her words; her head sank between +her hands, and she sobbed bitterly. + +“Corpo di Baccho!” said I to myself, “It is all over with me; the poor +girl is evidently jealous, and her heart will break.” + +“Dearest, dearest Emily,” said I, passing my arm round her, and +approaching my head close to her’s, “if you think that any other love +than yours could ever beat within this heart—that I could see you +hourly before me—live beneath your smile, and gaze upon your +beauty—and, still more than all—pardon the boldness of the thought—feel +that I was not indifferent to you.”— + +“Oh! spare me this at least,” said she, turning round her tearful eyes +upon me, and looking most bewitchingly beautiful. “Have I then showed +you this plainly?” + +“Yes, dearest girl! That instinct which tells us we are loved has +spoken within me. And here in this beating heart”— + +“Oh! say not more,” said she, “if I have, indeed, gained your +affections”— + +“If—if you have,” said I, clasping her to my heart, while she continued +to sob still violently, and I felt half disposed to blow my brains out +for my success. However, there is something in love-making as in +fox-hunting, which carries you along in spite of yourself; and I +continued to pour forth whole rhapsodies of love that the Pastor Fido +could not equal. + +“Enough,” said she, “it is enough that you love me and that I have +encouraged your so doing. But oh! tell me once more, and think how much +of future happiness may rest upon your answer—tell me, may not this be +some passing attachment, which circumstances have created, and others +may dispel? Say, might not absence, time, or another more worthy”— + +This was certainly a very rigid cross-examination when I thought the +trial was over; and not being exactly prepared for it, I felt no other +mode of reply than pressing her taper fingers alternately to my lips, +and muttering something that might pass for a declaration of love +unalterable, but, to my own ears, resembled a lament on my folly. + +“She is mine now,” thought I, “so we must e’en make the best of it; and +truly she is a very handsome girl, though not a Lady Jane Callonby. The +next step is the mamma; but I do not anticipate much difficulty in that +quarter.” + +“Leave me now,” said she, in a low and broken voice; “but promise not +to speak of this meeting to any one before we meet again. I have my +reasons; believe me they are sufficient ones, so promise me this before +we part.” + +Having readily given the pledge required, I again kissed her hand and +bade farewell, not a little puzzled the whole time at perceiving that +ever since my declaration and acceptance Emily seemed any thing but +happy, and evidently struggling against some secret feeling of which I +knew nothing. “Yes,” thought I, as I wended my way along the corridor, +“the poor girl is tremendously jealous, and I must have said may a +thing during our intimacy to hurt her. However, that is all past and +gone; and now comes a new character for me: my next appearance wil be +‘en bon mari.’” + + + + + CHAPTER XXXIX. +THOUGHTS UPON MATRIMONY IN GENERAL, AND IN THE ARMY IN PARTICULAR—THE +KNIGHT OF KERRY AND BILLY M’CABE. + + +“So,” thought I, as I closed the door of my room behind me, “I am +accepted—the die is cast which makes me a Benedict: yet heaven knows +that never was a man less disposed to be over joyous at his good +fortune!” What a happy invention it were, if when adopting any road in +life, we could only manage to forget that we had ever contemplated any +other! It is the eternal looking back in this world that forms the +staple of all our misery; and we are but ill-requited for such +unhappiness by the brightest anticipations we can conjure up for the +future. How much of all that “past” was now to become a source of +painful recollection, and to how little of the future could I look +forward with even hope! + +Our weaknesses are much more constantly the spring of all our +annoyances and troubles than even our vices. The one we have in some +sort of subjection: we are perfectly slaves to the others. This thought +came home most forcibly to my bosom, as I reflected upon the step which +led me on imperceptibly to my present embarrassment. “Well, c’est fini, +now,” said I, drawing upon that bountiful source of consolation ever +open to the man who mars his fortune—that “what is past can’t be +amended;” which piece of philosophy, as well as its twin brother, that +“all will be the same a hundred years hence,” have been golden rules to +me from my childhood. + +The transition from one mode of life to another perfectly different has +ever seemed to me a great trial of a man’s moral courage; besides that +the fact of quitting for ever any thing, no matter how insignificant or +valueless, is always attended with painful misgivings. My bachelor life +had its share of annoyances and disappointments, it is true; but, upon +the whole it was a most happy one—and now I was about to surrender it +for ever, not yielding to the impulse of affection and love for one +without whom life were valueless to me, but merely a recompense for the +indulgence of that fatal habit I had contracted of pursuing with +eagerness every shadow that crossed my path. All my early friends—all +my vagrant fancies—all my daydreams of the future I was now to +surrender—for, what becomes of any man’s bachelor friends when he is +once married? Where are his rambles in high and bye-ways when he has a +wife? and what is left for anticipation after his wedding except, +perhaps, to speculate upon the arrangement of his funeral? To a +military man more than to any other these are serious thoughts. All the +fascinations of an army life, in war or peace, lie in the daily, hourly +associations with your brother officers—the morning cigar, the +barrack-square lounge—the afternoon ride—the game of billiards before +dinner—the mess (that perfection of dinner society)—the plans for the +evening—the deviled kidney at twelve—forming so many points of +departure whence you sail out upon your daily voyage through life. +Versus those you have that awful perversion of all that is natural—an +officer’s wife. She has been a beauty when young, had black eyes and +high complexion, a good figure, rather inclined to embonpoint, and a +certain springiness in her walk, and a jauntiness in her air, that are +ever sure attractions to a sub in a marching regiment. She can play +backgammon, and sing “di tanti palpiti,” and, if an Irishwoman, is +certain to be able to ride a steeple-chase, and has an uncle a lord, +who (en parenthese) always turns out to be a creation made by King +James after his abdication. In conclusion, she breakfasts en +papillote—wears her shoes down at heel—calls every officer of the +regiment by his name—has a great taste for increasing his majesty’s +lieges, and delights in London porter. To this genus of Frow I have +never ceased to entertain the most thrilling abhorrence; and yet how +often have I seen what appeared to be pretty and interesting girls fall +into something of this sort! and how often have I vowed any fate to +myself rather than become the husband of a baggage-waggon wife! + +Had all my most sanguine hopes promised realizing—had my suit with Lady +Jane been favourable, I could scarcely have bid adieu to my bachelor +life without a sigh. No prospect of future happiness can ever perfectly +exclude all regret at quitting our present state for ever. I am sure if +I had been a caterpillar, it would have been with a heavy heart that I +would have donned my wings as a butterfly. Now the metamorphosis was +reversed: need it be wondered if I were sad? + +So completely was I absorbed in my thoughts upon this matter, that I +had not perceived the entrance of O’Leary and Trevanion, who, unaware +of my being in the apartment, as I was stretched upon a sofa in a dark +corner, drew their chairs towards the fire and began chatting. + +“Do you know, Mr. Trevanion,” said O’Leary, “I am half afraid of this +disguise of mine. I sometimes think I am not like a Pole; and if she +should discover me”— + +“No fear of that in the world; your costume is perfect, your beard +unexceptionable. I could, perhaps, have desired a little less paunch; +but then”— + +“That comes of fretting, as Falstaff says; and you must not forget that +I am banished from my country.” + +“Now, as to your conversation, I should advise you saying very +little—not one word in English. You may, if you like, call in the +assistance of Irish when hard pressed? + +“I have my fears on that score. There is no knowing where that might +lead to discovery. You know the story of the Knight of Kerry and Billy +McCabe?” + +“I fear I must confess my ignorance—I have never heard of it.” + +“Then may be you never knew Giles Daxon?” + +“I have not had that pleasure either.” + +“Lord bless me, how strange that is! I thought he was better known than +the Duke of Wellington or the travelling piper. Well, I must tell you +the story, for it has a moral, too—indeed several morals; but you’ll +find that out for yourself. Well, it seems that one day the Knight of +Kerry was walking along the Strand in London, killing an hour’s time, +till the house was done prayers, and Hume tired of hearing himself +speaking; his eye was caught by an enormous picture displayed upon the +wall of a house, representing a human figure covered with long dark +hair, with huge nails upon his hands, and a most fearful expression of +face. At first the Knight thought it was Dr. Bowring; but on coming +nearer he heard a man with a scarlet livery and a cocked hat, call out, +‘Walk in, ladies and gentlemen—the most vonderful curiosity ever +exhibited—only one shilling—the vild man from Chippoowango, in +Africay—eats raw wittles without being cooked, and many other +surprising and pleasing performances.’ + +“The knight paid his money, and was admitted. At first the crowd +prevented his seeing any thing—for the place was full to suffocation, +and the noise awful—for, besides the exclamations and applause of the +audience, there were three barrel-organs, playing ‘Home, sweet Home!’ +and ‘Cherry Ripe,’ and the wild man himself contributed his share to +the uproar. At last, the Knight obtained, by dint of squeezing, and +some pushing a place in the front, when, to his very great horror, he +beheld a figure that far eclipsed the portrait without doors. + +“It was a man nearly naked, covered with long, shaggy hair, that grew +even over his nose and cheek bones. He sprang about, sometimes on his +feet, sometimes, all-fours, but always uttering the most fearful yells, +and glaring upon the crowd, in a manner that was really dangerous. The +Knight did not feel exactly happy at the whole proceeding, and began +heartily to wish himself back in the ‘House,’ even upon a committee of +privileges, when, suddenly, the savage gave a more frantic scream than +before, and seized upon a morsel of raw beef, which a keeper extended +to him upon a long fork, like a tandem whip—he was not safe, it +appears, at close quarters;—this he tore to pieces eagerly and devoured +in the most voracious manner, amid great clapping of hands, and other +evidences of satisfaction from the audience. I’ll go, now, thought the +Knight: for, God knows whether, in his hungry moods, he might not fancy +to conclude his dinner by a member of parliament. Just at this instant, +some sounds struck upon his ear that surprised him not a little. He +listened more attentively; and, conceive if you can, his amazement, to +find that, amid his most fearful cries, and wild yells, the savage was +talking Irish. Laugh, if you like; but it’s truth I am telling you; +nothing less than Irish. There he was, jumping four feet high in the +air, eating his raw meat: pulling out his hair by handfuls; and, amid +all this, cursing the whole company to his heart’s content, in as good +Irish as ever was heard in Tralee. Now, though the Knight had heard of +red Jews and white Negroes, he had never happened to read any account +of an African Irishman; so, he listened very closely, and by degrees, +not only the words were known to him, but the very voice was familiar. +At length, something he heard, left no further doubt upon his mind, +and, turning to the savage, he addressed him in Irish, at the same time +fixing a look of most scrutinizing import upon him. + +“‘Who are you, you scoundrel’ said the Knight. + +“‘Billy M’Cabe your honour.’ + +“‘And what do you mean by playing off these tricks here, instead of +earning your bread like an honest man?’ + +“‘Whisht,’ said Billy, ‘and keep the secret. I’m earning the rent for +your honour. One must do many a queer thing that pays two pound ten an +acre for bad land.’ + +“This was enough: the Knight wished Billy every success, and left him +amid the vociferous applause of a well satisfied audience. This +adventure, it seems, has made the worthy Knight a great friend to the +introduction of poor laws; for, he remarks very truly, ‘more of Billy’s +countrymen might take a fancy to a savage life, if the secret was found +out.’” + +It was impossible for me to preserve my incognito, as Mr. O’Leary +concluded his story, and I was obliged to join in the mirth of +Trevanion, who laughed loud and long as he finished it. + + + + + CHAPTER XL. +A REMINISCENCE. + +[Illustration: Harry Proves Himself a Man of Metal] + + +O’Leary and Trevanion had scarcely left the room when the waiter +entered with two letters—the one bore a German post-mark, and was in +the well-known hand of Lady Callonby—the other in a writing with which +I was no less familiar—that of Emily Bingham. + +Let any one who has been patient enough to follow me through these +“Confessions,” conceive my agitation at this moment. There lay my fate +before me, coupled, in all likelihood, with a view of what it might +have been under happier auspices—at least so in anticipation did I read +the two unopened epistles. My late interview with Miss Bingham left no +doubt upon my mind that I had secured her affections; and acting in +accordance with the counsel of Trevanion, no less than of my own sense +of right, I resolved upon marrying her, with what prospect of happiness +I dared not to think of! + +Alas! and alas! there is no infatuation like the taste for +flirtation—mere empty, valueless, heartless flirtation. You hide the +dice-box and the billiard queue, lest your son become a gambler—you put +aside the racing calendar, lest he imbibe a jockey predilection—but you +never tremble at his fondness for white muslin and a satin slipper, far +more dangerous tastes though they be, and infinitely more perilous to a +man’s peace and prosperity than all the “queens of trumps” that ever +figured, whether on pasteboard or the Doncaster. “Woman’s my weakness, +yer honor,” said an honest Patlander, on being charged before the lord +mayor with having four wives living; and without having any such +“Algerine act” upon my conscience, I must, I fear, enter a somewhat +similar plea for my downfallings, and avow in humble gratitude, that I +have scarcely had a misfortune through life unattributable to them in +one way or another. And this I say without any reference to country, +class, or complexion, “black, brown or fair,” from my first step forth +into life, a raw sub. in the gallant 4—th, to this same hour, I have no +other avowal, no other confession to make. “Be always ready with the +pistol,” was the dying advice of an Irish statesman to his sons: mine, +in a similar circumstance, would rather be “Gardez vous des femmes,” +and more especially if they be Irish. + +There is something almost treacherous in the facility with which an +Irish girl receives your early attentions and appears to like them, +that invariably turns a young fellow’s head very long before he has any +prospect of touching her heart. She thinks it so natural to be made +love to, that there is neither any affected coyness nor any agitated +surprise. She listens to your declaration of love as quietly as the +chief justice would to one of law, and refers the decision to a packed +jury of her relatives, who rarely recommend you to mercy. Love and +fighting, too, are so intimately united in Ireland, that a courtship +rarely progresses without at least one exchange of shots between some +of the parties concerned. My first twenty-four hours in Dublin is so +pleasantly characteristic of this that I may as well relate it here, +while the subject is before us; besides, as these “Confessions” are +intended as warnings and guides to youth, I may convey a useful lesson, +showing why a man should not “make love in the dark.” + +It was upon a raw, cold, drizzling morning in February, 18—, that our +regiment landed on the North-wall from Liverpool, whence we had been +hurriedly ordered to repress some riots and disturbances then agitating +Dublin. + +We marched to the Royal Barracks, our band playing Patrick’s Day, to +the very considerable admiration of as naked a population as ever loved +music. The —th dragoons were at the same time quartered there—right +pleasant jovial fellows, who soon gave us to understand that the +troubles were over before we arrived, and that the great city +authorities were now returning thanks for their preservation from fire +and sword, by a series of entertainments of the most costly, but +somewhat incongruous kind—the company being scarce less melee than the +dishes. Peers and playactors, judges and jailors, archbishops, tailors, +attorneys, ropemakers and apothecaries, all uniting in the festive +delight of good feeding, and drinking the “glorious memory”—but of whom +half the company knew not, only surmising “it was something agin the +papists.” You may smile, but these were pleasant times, and I scarcely +care to go back there since they were changed. But to return. The —th +had just received an invitation to a ball, to be given by the high +sheriff, and to which they most considerately said we should also be +invited. This negociation was so well managed that before noon we all +received our cards from a green liveried youth, mounted on a very +emaciated pony—the whole turn-out not auguring flatteringly of the high +sheriff’s taste in equipage. + +We dined with the —th, and, as customary before going to an evening +party, took the “other bottle” of claret that lies beyond the frontier +of prudence. In fact, from the lieutenant-colonel down to the +newly-joined ensign, there was not a face in the party that did not +betray “signs of the times” that boded most favourably for the mirth of +the sheriff’s ball. We were so perfectly up to the mark, that our +major, a Connemara man, said, as we left the mess-room, “a liqueure +glass would spoil us.” + +In this acme of our intellectual wealth, we started about eleven +o’clock upon every species of conveyance that chance could press into +the service. Of hackney coaches there were few—but in jingles, noddies, +and jaunting-cars, with three on a side and “one in the well,” we +mustered strong—Down Barrack-street we galloped, the mob cheering us, +we laughing, and I’m afraid shouting a little, too—the watchmen +springing their rattles, as if instinctively at noise, and the whole +population up and awake, evidently entertaining a high opinion of our +convivial qualities. Our voices became gradually more decorous, +however, as we approached the more civilized quarter of the town; and +with only the slight stoppage of the procession to pick up an +occasional dropper-off, as he lapsed from the seat of a jaunting-car, +we arrived at length at our host’s residence, somewhere in +Sackville-street. + +Had our advent conferred the order of knighthood upon the host, he +could not have received us with more “empressement.” He shook us all in +turn by the hand, to the number of eight and thirty, and then presented +us seriatim to his spouse, a very bejewelled lady of some forty +years—who, what between bugles, feathers, and her turban, looked +excessively like a Chinese pagoda upon a saucer. The rooms were crowded +to suffocation—the noise awful—and the company crushing and elbowing +rather a little more than you expect where the moiety are of the softer +sex. However, “on s’habitue a tout,” sayeth the proverb, and with +truth, for we all so perfectly fell in with the habits of the place, +that ere half an hour, we squeezed, ogled, leered, and drank champagne +like the rest of the corporation. + +“Devilish hot work, this,” said the colonel, as he passed me with two +rosy-cheeked, smiling ladies on either arm; “the mayor—that little +fellow in the punch-coloured shorts—has very nearly put me hors de +combat with champagne; take care of him, I advise you.” + +Tipsy as I felt myself, I was yet sufficiently clear to be fully alive +to the drollery of the scene before me. Flirtations that, under other +circumstances, would demand the secrecy and solitude of a country green +lane, or some garden bower, were here conducted in all the open +effrontery of wax lights and lustres; looks were interchanged, hands +were squeezed, and soft things whispered, and smiles returned; till the +intoxication of “punch negus” and spiced port, gave way to the far +greater one of bright looks and tender glances. Quadrilles and country +dances—waltzing there was none, (perhaps all for the best)—whist, +backgammon, loo—unlimited for uproar—sandwiches, and warm liquors, +employed us pretty briskly till supper was announced, when a grand +squeeze took place on the stairs—the population tending thitherward +with an eagerness that a previous starvation of twenty-four hours could +alone justify. Among this dense mass of moving muslin, velvet and +broad-cloth, I found myself chaperoning an extremely tempting little +damsel, with a pair of laughing blue eyes and dark eyelashes, who had +been committed to my care and guidance for the passage. + +“Miss Moriarty, Mr. Lorrequer,” said an old lady in green and spangles, +who I afterwards found was the lady mayoress. + +“The nicest girl in the room,” said a gentleman with a Tipperary +accent, “and has a mighty nice place near Athlone.” + +The hint was not lost upon me, and I speedily began to faire l’amiable +to my charge; and before we reached the supper room, learned certain +particulars of her history, which I have not yet forgot. She was, it +seems, sister to a lady then in the room, the wife of an attorney, who +rejoiced in the pleasing and classical appellation of Mr. Mark Anthony +Fitzpatrick; the aforesaid Mark Anthony being a tall, raw-boned, +black-whiskered, ill-looking dog, that from time to time contrived to +throw very uncomfortable looking glances at me and Mary Anne, for she +was so named, the whole time of supper. After a few minutes, however, I +totally forgot him, and, indeed, every thing else, in the fascination +of my fair companion. She shared her chair with me, upon which I +supported her by my arm passed round the back; we eat our pickled +salmon, jelly, blanc mange, cold chicken, ham, and custard; off the +same plate, with an occasional squeeze of the finger, as our hands +met—her eyes making sad havoc with me all the while, as I poured my +tale of love—love, lasting, burning, all-consuming—into her not +unwilling ear. + +“Ah! now, ye’r not in earnest?” + +“Yes, Mary Anne, by all that’s”— + +“Well, there now, don’t swear, and take care—sure Mark Anthony is +looking.” + +“Mark Anthony be—” + +“Oh! how passionate you are; I’m sure I never could live easy with you. +There, now, give me some sponge cake, and don’t be squeezing me, or +they’ll see you.” + +“Yes, to my heart, dearest girl.” + +“Och, it’s cheese you’re giving me,” said she, with a grimace that +nearly cured my passion. + +“A cottage, a hut, with you—with you,” said I, in a cadence that I defy +Macready to rival—“what is worldly splendour, or the empty glitter of +rank.” + +I here glanced at my epaulettes, upon which I saw her eyes rivetted. + +“Isn’t the ginger beer beautiful,” said she, emptying a glass of +champagne. + +Still I was not to be roused from my trance, and continued my courtship +as warmly as ever. + +“I suppose you’ll come home now,” said a gruff voice behind Mary Anne. + +I turned and perceived Mark Anthony with a grim look of peculiar +import. + +“Oh, Mark dear, I’m engaged to dance another set with this gentleman.” + +“Ye are, are ye?” replied Mark, eyeing me askance. “Troth and I think +the gentleman would be better if he went off to his flea-bag himself.” + +In my then mystified intellect this west country synonyme for a bed a +little puzzled me. + +“Yes sir, the lady is engaged to me: have you any thing to say to +that?” + +“Nothing at present, at all,” said Mark, almost timidly. + +“Oh dear, oh dear,” sobbed Mary Anne; “they’re going to fight, and +he’ll be killed—I know he will.” + +For which of us this fate was destined, I stopped not to consider, but +amid a very sufficient patting upon the back, and thumping between the +shoulders, bestowed by members of the company who approved of my +proceedings. The three fiddles, the flute, and bassoon, that formed our +band, being by this time sufficiently drunk, played after a fashion of +their own, which by one of those strange sympathies of our nature, +imparted its influence to our legs, and a country dance was performed +in a style of free and easy gesticulation that defies description. At +the end of eighteen couple, tired of my exertions—and they were not +slight—I leaned my back against the wall of the room, which I now, for +the first time, perceived was covered with a very peculiar and novel +species of hanging—no less than a kind of rough, green baize cloth, +that moved and floated at every motion of the air. I paid little +attention to this, till suddenly turning my head, something gave way +behind it. I felt myself struck upon the back of the neck, and fell +forward into the room, covered by a perfect avalanche of fenders, +fire-irons, frying-pans, and copper kettles, mingled with the lesser +artillery of small nails, door keys, and holdfasts. There I lay amid +the most vociferous mirth I ever listened to, under the confounded +torrent of ironmongery that half-stunned me. The laughter over, I was +assisted to rise, and having drank about a pint of vinegar, and had my +face and temples washed in strong whiskey punch—the allocation of the +fluids being mistaken, I learned that our host, the high sheriff, was a +celebrated tin and iron man, and that his salles de reception were no +other than his magazine of metals, and that to conceal the well filled +shelves from the gaze of his aristocratic guests, they were clothed in +the manner related; which my unhappy head, by some misfortune, +displaced, and thus brought on a calamity scarcely less afflicting to +him than to myself. I should scarcely have stopped to mention this +here, were it not that Mary Anne’s gentle nursing of me in my misery +went far to complete what her fascination had begun; and although she +could not help laughing at the occurrence, I forgave her readily for +her kindness. + +“Remember,” said I, trying to ogle through a black eye, painted by the +angle of a register grate—“remember, Mary Anne, I am to see you home.” + +“Oh! dear, sir, sure I don’t know how you can manage it—” + +Here Mark Anthony’s entrance cut short this speech, for he came to +declare that some of the officers had taken his coach, and was, as +might be supposed, in a towering passion. + +“If, sir,” said I, with an air of the most balmy courtesy—“If I can be +of any use in assisting you to see your friends home—” + +“Ah! then, ye’r a nice looking article to see ladies home. I wish you +seen yourself this minute,” said he. + +As I felt it would be no breach of the unities—time, place, and every +thing considered—to smash his skull, I should certainly have proceeded +to do so, had not a look of the most imploring kind from Mary Anne +restrained me. By this time, he had taken her under the arm, and was +leading her away. I stood irresolute, till a glance from my charmer +caught me; when I rallied at once, and followed them down stairs. Here +the scene was the full as amusing as above; the cloaking, shawling, +shoeing, &c., of the ladies being certainly as mirth-moving a process +as I should wish to see. Here were mothers trying to collect their +daughters, as a hen her chickens, and as in that case, the pursuit of +one usually lost all the others; testy papas swearing, lovers leering, +as they twisted the boas round the fair throats of their sweethearts; +vows of love, mingling with lamentations for a lost slipper, or a stray +mantle. Sometimes the candles were extinguished, and the melee became +greater, till the order and light were restored together. Meanwhile, +each of our fellows had secured his fair one, save myself, and I was +exposed to no small ridicule for my want of savoir faire. Nettled at +this, I made a plunge to the corner of the room, where Mary Anne was +shawling; I recognized her pink sash, threw her cloak over her +shoulders, and at the very moment that Mark Anthony drew his wife’s arm +within his, I performed the same by my friend, and followed them to the +door. Here, the grim brother-in-law turned round to take Mary Anne’s +arm, and seeing her with me, merely gave a kind of hoarse chuckle, and +muttered, “Very well, sir: upon my conscience you will have it, I see.” +During this brief interval, so occupied was I in watching him, that I +never once looked in my fair friend’s face; but the gentle squeeze of +her arm, as she leaned upon me, assured me that I had her approval of +what I was doing. + +What were the precise train of my thoughts, and what the subjects of +conversation between us, I am unfortunately now unable to recollect. It +is sufficient to remember, that I could not believe five minutes had +elapsed, when we arrived at York-street. “Then you confess you love +me,” said I, as I squeezed her arm to my side. + +“Then, by this kiss,” said I, “I swear, never to relinquish.”— + +What I was about to add, I am sure I know not; but true it is, that a +certain smacking noise here attracted Mr. Mark Anthony’s attention, who +started round, looked as full in the face, and then gravely added, +“Enough is as good as a feast. I wish you pleasant drames, Mr. Larry +Kar, if that’s your name; and you’ll hear from me in the morning.” + +“I intend it,” said I. “Good night, dearest; think of—” The slam of the +street door in my face spoiled the peroration, and I turned towards +home. + +By the time I reached the barracks, the united effects of the +champagne, sherry, and Sheffield iron, had, in a good measure subsided, +and my head had become sufficiently clear to permit a slight retrospect +of the evening’s amusement. + +From two illusions I was at least awakened:—First, the high sheriff’s +ball was not the most accurate representation of high society; +secondly, I was not deeply enamoured of Mary Anne Moriarty. Strange as +it may seem, and how little soever the apparent connexion between those +two facts, the truth of one had a considerable influence in deciding +the other. N’importe, said I, the thing is over; it was rather good +fun, too, upon the whole—saving the “chute des casseroles;” and as to +the lady, she must have seen it was a joke as well as myself. At least, +so I am decided it shall be; and as there was no witness to our +conversation, the thing is easily got out of. + +The following day, as I was dressing to ride out, my servant announced +no less a person than Mr. Mark Anthony Fitzpatrick, who said “that he +came upon a little business, and must see me immediately.” + +Mr. Fitzpatrick, upon being announced, speedily opened his negociation +by asking in very terse and unequivocal phrase, my intentions regarding +his sister-in-law. After professing the most perfect astonishment at +the question, and its possible import, I replied, that she was a most +charming person, with whom I intended to have nothing whatever to do. + +“And maybe you never proposed for her at the ball last night?” + +“Propose for a lady at a ball the first time I ever met her!” + +“Just so. Can you carry your memory so far back? or, perhaps I had +better refresh it;” and he here repeated the whole substance of my +conversation on the way homeward, sometimes in the very words I used. + +“But, my dear sir, the young lady could never have supposed I used such +language as this you have repeated?” + +“So, then, you intend to break off? Well, then, it’s right to tell you +that you’re in a very ugly scrape, for it was my wife you took home +last night—not Miss Moriarty; and I leave you to choose at your leisure +whether you’d rather be defendant in a suit for breach of promise or +seduction; and, upon my conscience, I think it’s civil in me to give +you a choice.” + +What a pretty disclosure was here! So that while I was imaging myself +squeezing the hand and winning the heart of the fair Mary Anne, I was +merely making a case of strong evidence for a jury, that might expose +me to the world, and half ruin me in damages. There was but one course +open—to make a fight for it; and, from what I saw of my friend Mark +Anthony, this did not seem difficult. + +I accordingly assumed a high tone—laughed at the entire affair—said it +was a “way we had in the army”—that “we never meant any thing by it,” +&c. &c. + +In a few minutes I perceived the bait was taking. Mr. Fitzpatrick’s +west country blood was up: all thought of the legal resource was +abandoned; and he flung out of the room to find a friend, I having +given him the name of “one of ours” as mine upon the occasion. + +Very little time was lost, for before three o’clock that afternoon a +meeting was fixed for the following morning at the North Bull; and I +had the satisfaction of hearing that I only escaped the malignant +eloquence of Holmes in the King’s Bench, to be “blazed” at by the best +shot on the western circuit. The thought was no way agreeable, and I +indemnified myself for the scrape by a very satisfactory anathema upon +the high sheriff and his ball, and his confounded saucepans; for to the +lady’s sympathy for my sufferings I attributed much of my folly. + +At eight the next morning I found myself standing with Curzon and the +doctor upon that bleak portion of her majesty’s dominion they term the +North Bull, waiting in a chilly rain, and a raw fog, till it pleased +Mark Anthony Fitzpatrick, to come and shoot me—such being the precise +terms of our combat, in the opinion of all parties. + +The time, however, passed on, and half-past eight, three quarters, and +at last nine o’clock, without his appearing; when, just as Curzon had +resolved upon our leaving the ground, a hack jaunting-car was seen +driving at full speed along the road near us. It came nearer and at +length drew up; two men leaped off and came towards us; one of whom, as +he came forward, took off his hat politely, and introduced himself as +Mr. O’Gorman, the fighting friend of Mark Anthony. + +“It’s a mighty unpleasant business I’m come upon, gentlemen,” said he, +“Mr. Fitzpatrick has been unavoidedly prevented from having the +happiness to meet you this morning—” + +“Then you can’t expect us, sir, to dance attendance upon him here +to-morrow,” said Curzon, interrupting. + +“By no manner of means,” replied the other, placidly; “for it would be +equally inconvenient for him to be here then. But I have only to say, +maybe you’d have the kindness to waive all etiquette, and let me stand +in his place.” + +“Certainly and decidedly not,” said Curzon. “Waive etiquette!—why, sir, +we have no quarrel with you; never saw you before.” + +“Well, now, isn’t this hard?” said Mr. O’Gorman, addressing his friend, +who stood by with a pistol-case under his arm; “but I told Mark that I +was sure they’d be standing upon punctilio, for they were English. +Well, sir,” said he, turning towards Curzon, “there’s but one way to +arrange it now, that I see. Mr. Fitzpatrick, you must know, was +arrested this morning for a trifle of £140. If you or your friend +there, will join us in the bail we can get him out, and he’ll fight you +in the morning to your satisfaction.” + +When the astonishment this proposal had created subsided, we assured +Mr. O’Gorman that we were noways disposed to pay such a price for our +amusement—a fact that seemed considerably to surprise both him and his +friend—and adding, that to Mr. Fitzpatrick personally, we should feel +bound to hold ourselves pledged at a future period, we left the ground, +Curzon laughing heartily at the original expedient thus suggested, and +I inwardly pronounced a most glowing eulogy on the law of imprisonment +for debt. + +Before Mr. Fitzpatrick obtained the benefit of the act, we were ordered +abroad, and I have never since heard of him. + + + + + CHAPTER XLI. +THE TWO LETTERS. + + +From the digression of the last chapter I was recalled by the sight of +the two letters which lay during my reverie unopened before me. I first +broke the seal of Lady Callonby’s epistle, which ran thus: + +“Munich, La Croix Blanche, + + +“My dear Mr. Lorrequer—I have just heard from Kilkee, that you are at +length about to pay us your long promised visit, and write these few +lines to beg that before leaving Paris you will kindly execute for me +the commissions of which I enclose a formidable list, or at least as +many of them as you can conveniently accomplish. Our stay here now will +be short, that it will require all your despatch to overtake us before +reaching Milan, Lady Jane’s health requiring an immediate change of +climate. Our present plans are, to winter in Italy, although such will +interfere considerably with Lord Callonby, who is pressed much by his +friends to accept office. However, all this and our other gossip I +reserve for our meeting. Meanwhile, adieu, and if any of my tasks bore +you, omit them at once, except the white roses and the Brussels veil, +which Lady Jane is most anxious for. + + +“Sincerely yours, +“Charlotte Callonby.” + + +How much did these few and apparently common-place lines convey to me? +First, my visit was not only expected, but actually looked forward to, +canvassed—perhaps I might almost whisper to myself the flattery—wished +for. Again, Lady Jane’s health was spoken of as precarious, less actual +illness—I said to myself—than mere delicacy requiring the bluer sky and +warmer airs of Italy. Perhaps her spirits were affected—some mental +malady—some ill-placed passion—que sais je? In fact my brain run on so +fast in its devisings, that by a quick process, less logical than +pleasing, I satisfied myself that the lovely Lady Jane Callonby was +actually in love, with whom let the reader guess at. And Lord Callonby +too, about to join the ministry—well, all the better to have one’s +father-in-law in power—promotion is so cursed slow now a-days. And +lastly, the sly allusion to the commissions—the mechancete of +introducing her name to interest me. With such materials as these to +build upon, frail as they may seem to others, I found no difficulty in +regarding myself as the dear friend of the family, and the acknowledged +suitor of Lady Jane. + +In the midst, however, of all my self-gratulation, my eye fell upon the +letter of Emily Bingham, and I suddenly remembered how fatal to all +such happy anticipations it might prove. I tore it open in passionate +haste and read— + +“My dear Mr. Lorrequer—As from the interview we have had this morning I +am inclined to believe that I have gained your affections, I think that +I should ill requite such a state of your feeling for me, were I to +conceal that I cannot return you mine—in fact they are not mine to +bestow. This frank avowal, whatever pain it may have cost me, I think I +owe to you to make. You will perhaps say, the confession should have +been earlier; to which I reply, it should have been so, had I known, or +even guessed at the nature of your feelings for me. For—and I write it +in all truth, and perfect respect for you—I only saw in your attentions +the flirting habits of a man of the world, with a very uninformed and +ignorant girl of eighteen, with whom as it was his amusement to travel, +he deemed it worth his while to talk. I now see, and bitterly regret my +error, yet deem it better to make this painful confession than suffer +you to remain in a delusion which may involve your happiness in the +wreck of mine. I am most faithfully your friend, + + +“Emily Bingham.” + + +What a charming girl she is, I cried, as I finished the letter; how +full of true feeling, how honourably, how straight-forward: and yet it +is devilish strange how cunningly she played her part—and it seems now +that I never did touch her affections; Master Harry, I begin to fear +you are not altogether the awful lady-killer you have been thinking. +Thus did I meditate upon this singular note—my delight at being once +more “free” mingling with some chagrin that I was jockied, and by a +young miss of eighteen, too. Confoundedly disagreeable if the mess knew +it, thought I. Per Baccho—how they would quiz upon my difficulty to +break off a match, when the lady was only anxious to get rid of me. + +This affair must never come to their ears, or I am ruined; and now, the +sooner all negociations are concluded the better. I must obtain a +meeting with Emily. Acknowledge the truth and justice of all her views, +express my deep regret at the issue of the affair, slily hint that I +have been merely playing her own game back upon her; for it would be +the devil to let her go off with the idea that she had singed me, yet +never caught fire herself; so that we both shall draw stakes, and part +friends. + +This valiant resolution taken, I wrote a very short note, begging an +interview, and proceeded to make as formidable a toilet as I could for +the forthcoming meeting; before I had concluded which, a verbal answer +by her maid informed me, that “Miss Bingham was alone, and ready to +receive me.” + +As I took my way along the corridor, I could not help feeling that +among all my singular scrapes and embarassing situations through life, +my present mission was certainly not the least—the difficulty, such as +it was, being considerably increased by my own confounded “amour +propre,” that would not leave me satisfied with obtaining my liberty, +if I could not insist upon coming off scathless also. In fact, I was +not content to evacuate the fortress, if I were not to march out with +all the honours of war. This feeling I neither attempt to palliate nor +defend, I merely chronicle it as, are too many of these confessions, a +matter of truth, yet not the less a subject for sorrow. + +My hand was upon the lock of the door. I stopped, hesitated, and +listened. I certainly heard something. Yes, it is too true—she is +sobbing. What a total overthrow to all my selfish resolves, all my +egotistical plans, did that slight cadence give. She was crying—her +tears for the bitter pain she concluded I was suffering—mingling +doubtless with sorrow for her own sources of grief—for it was clear to +me that whoever may have been my favoured rival, the attachment was +either unknown to, or unsanctioned by the mother. I wished I had not +listened; all my determinations were completely routed and as I opened +the door I felt my heart beating almost audibly against my side. + +In a subdued half-light—tempered through the rose-coloured curtains, +with a small sevres cup of newly-plucked moss-roses upon the table—sat, +or rather leaned, Emily Bingham, her face buried in her hands as I +entered. She did not hear my approach, so that I had above a minute to +admire the graceful character of her head, and the fine undulating +curve of her neck and shoulders, before I spoke. + +“Miss Bingham,” said I— + +She started—looked up—her dark blue eyes, brilliant though tearful, +were fixed upon me for a second, as if searching my very inmost +thoughts. She held out her hand, and turning her head aside, made room +for me on the sofa beside her. Strange girl, thought I, that in the +very moment of breaking with a man for ever, puts on her most +fascinating toilette—arrays herself in her most bewitching manner, and +gives him a reception only calculated to turn his head, and render him +ten times more in love than ever. Her hand, which remained still in +mine, was burning as if in fever, and the convulsive movement of her +neck and shoulders showed me how much this meeting cost her. We were +both silent, till at length, feeling that any chance interruption might +leave us as far as ever from understanding each other, I resolved to +begin. + +“My dear, dear Emily,” I said, “do not I entreat of you add to the +misery I am this moment enduring by letting me see you thus. Whatever +your wrongs towards me, this is far too heavy a retribution. My object +was never to make you wretched, if I am not to obtain the bliss, to +strive and make you happy.” + +“Oh, Harry”—this was the first time she had ever so called me—“how like +you, to think of me—of me, at such a time, as if I was not the cause of +all our present unhappiness—but not wilfully, not intentionally. Oh, +no, no—your attentions—the flattery of your notice, took me at once, +and, in the gratification of my self-esteem, I forgot all else. I +heard, too, that you were engaged to another, and believing, as I did, +that you were trifling with my affections, I spared no effort to win +your’s. I confess it, I wished this with all my soul.” + +“And now,” said I, “that you have gained them”—Here was a pretty sequel +to my well matured plans!—“And now Emily”— + +“But have I really done so?” said she, hurriedly turning round and +fixing her large full eyes upon me, while one of her hands played +convulsively through my hair—“have I your heart? your whole heart?” + +“Can you doubt it, dearest,” said I, passionately pressing her to my +bosom; and at the same time muttering, “What the devil’s in the wind +now; we are surely not going to patch up our separation, and make love +in earnest.” + +There she lay, her head upon my shoulder, her long, brown, waving +ringlets falling loosely across my face and on my bosom, her hand in +mine. What were her thoughts I cannot guess—mine, God forgive me, were +a fervent wish either for her mother’s appearance, or that the hotel +would suddenly take fire, or some other extensive calamity arise to put +the finishing stroke to this embarassing situation. + +None of these, however, were destined to occur; and Emily lay still and +motionless as she was, scarce seeming to breathe, and pale as death. +What can this mean, said I, surely this is not the usual way to treat +with a rejected suitor; if it be, why then, by Jupiter the successful +one must have rather the worst of it—and I fervently hope that Lady +Jane be not at this moment giving his conge to some disappointed swain. +She slowly raised her long, black fringed eyelids, and looked into my +face, with an expression at once so tender and so plaintive, that I +felt a struggle within myself whether to press her to my heart, or—what +the deuce was the alternative. I hope my reader knows, for I really do +not. And after all, thought I, if we are to marry, I am only +anticipating a little; and if not, why then a “chaste salute,” as +Winifred Jenkins calls it, she’ll be none the worse for. Acting at once +upon this resolve, I leaned downwards, and passing back her ringlets +from her now flushed cheek, I was startled by my name, which I heard +called several times in the corridor. The door at the same instant was +burst suddenly open, and Trevanion appeared. + +“Harry, Harry Lorrequer,” cried he, as he entered; then suddenly +checking himself, added “a thousand, ten thousand pardons. But—” + +“But what,” cried I passionately, forgetting all save the situation of +poor Emily at the moment, “what can justify—” + +“Nothing certainly can justify such an intrusion,” said Trevanion, +finishing my sentence for me, “except the very near danger you run this +moment in being arrested. O’Leary’s imprudence has compromised your +safety, and you must leave Paris within an hour.” + +“Oh, Mr. Trevanion,” said Emily, who by this time had regained a more +befitting attitude, “pray speak out; what is it? is Harry—is Mr. +Lorrequer, I mean, in any danger?” + +“Nothing of consequence, Miss Bingham, if he only act with prudence, +and be guided by his friends. Lorrequer, you will find me in your +apartments in half an hour—till then, adieu.” + +While Emily poured forth question after question, as to the nature and +extent of my present difficulty, I could not help thinking of the tact +by which Trevanion escaped, leaving me to make my adieux to Emily as +best I might—for I saw in a glance that I must leave Paris at once. I, +therefore, briefly gave her to understand the affair at the salon—which +I suspected to be the cause of the threatened arrest—and was about to +profess my unaltered and unalterable attachment, when she suddenly +stopped me. + +“No, Mr. Lorrequer, no. All is over between us. We must never meet +again—never. We have been both playing a part. Good by—good by: do not +altogether forget me—and once more, Harry good by.” + +What I might have said, thought, or done, I know not; but the arrival +of Mrs. Bingham’s carriage at the door left no time for any thing but +escape. So, once more pressing her hand firmly to my lips, I said—“au +revoir, Emily, au revoir, not good by,” and rushing from the room, +regained my own, just as Mrs. Bingham reached the corridor. + + + + + CHAPTER XLII. +MR. O’LEARY’S CAPTURE. + +[Illustration: Mr. O’Leary’s Double Capture] + + +Does she really care for me? was my first question to myself as I left +the room. Is this story about pre-engaged affections merely a got up +thing, to try the force of my attachment for her? for, if not, her +conduct is most inexplicable; and great as my experience has been in +such affairs, I avow myself out maneuvered. While I thought over this +difficulty, Trevanion came up, and in a few words, informed me more +fully upon what he hinted at before. It appeared that O’Leary, much +more alive to the imperative necessity of avoiding detection by his +sposa, than of involving himself with the police, had thrown out most +dark and mysterious hints in the hotel as to the reason of his +residence at Paris; fully impressed with the idea that, to be a good +Pole, he need only talk “revolutionary;” devote to the powers below, +all kings, czars, and kaisers; weep over the wrongs of his nation; wear +rather seedy habiliments, and smoke profusely. The latter were with him +easy conditions, and he so completely acted the former to the life, +that he had been that morning arrested in the Tuilleries gardens, under +several treasonable charges—among others, the conspiracy, with some of +his compatriots to murder the minister of war. + +However laughable such an accusation against poor O’Leary, one +circumstance rendered the matter any thing but ludicrous. Although he +must come off free of this grave offence, yet, the salon transaction +would necessarily now become known; I should be immediately involved, +and my departure from Paris prevented. + +“So,” said Trevanion, as he briefly laid before me the difficulty of my +position, “you may perceive that however strongly your affections may +be engaged in a certain quarter, it is quite as well to think of +leaving Paris without delay. O’Leary’s arrest will be followed by +yours, depend upon it; and once under the surveillance of the police, +escape is impossible.” + +“But, seriously, Trevanion,” said I, nettled at the tone of raillery he +spoke in, “you must see that there is nothing whatever in that +business. I was merely taking my farewell of the fair Emily. Her +affections have been long since engaged, and I—” + +“Only endeavouring to support her in her attachment to the more +favoured rival. Is it not so?” + +“Come, no quizzing. Faith I began to feel very uncomfortable about +parting with her, the moment that I discovered that I must do so.” + +“So I guessed,” said Trevanion, with a dry look, “from the interesting +scene I so abruptly trespassed upon. But you are right; a little bit of +tendresse is never misplaced, so long as the object is young, pretty, +and still more than all, disposed for it.” + +“Quite out; perfectly mistaken, believe me. Emily not only never cared +for me; but she has gone far enough to tell me so.” + +“Then, from all I know of such matters,” replied he, “you were both in +a very fair way to repair that mistake on her part. But hark! what is +this?” A tremendous noise in the street here interrupted our colloquy, +and on opening the window, a strange scene presented itself to our +eyes. In the middle of a dense mass of moving rabble, shouting, +yelling, and screaming, with all their might, were two gens d’armes +with a prisoner between them. The unhappy man was followed by a rather +well-dressed, middle-aged looking woman, who appeared to be desirous of +bestowing the most _coram publico_ endearments upon the culprit, whom a +second glance showed us was O’Leary. + +“I tell you, my dear madam, you are mistaken,” said O’Leary, addressing +her with great sternness of manner and voice. + +“Mistaken! Never, never. How could I ever be mistaken in that dear +voice, those lovely eyes, that sweet little nose?” + +“Take her away; she’s deranged,” said O’Leary to the gens d’armes. +“Sure, if I’m a Pole, that’s enough of misfortune.” + +“I’ll follow him to the end of the earth, I will.” + +“I’m going to the galleys, God be praised,” said O’Leary. + +“To the galleys—to the guillotine—any where,” responded she, throwing +herself upon his neck, much less, as it seemed, to his gratification, +than that of the mob, who laughed and shouted most uproariously. + +“Mrs. Ram, ain’t you ashamed?” + +“He calls me by my name,” said she, “and he attempts to disown me. Ha! +ha! ha! ha!” and immediately fell off into a strong paroxysm of +kicking, and pinching, and punching the bystanders, a malady well known +under the name of hysterics; but being little more than a privileged +mode, among certain ladies, of paying off some scores, which it is not +thought decent to do in their more sober moments. + +“Lead me away—anywhere—convict me of what you like,” said he, “but +don’t let her follow me.” + +The gens d’armes, who little comprehended the nature of the scene +before them, were not sorry to anticipate a renewal of it on Mrs. Ram’s +recovery, and accordingly seized the opportunity to march on with +O’Leary, who turned the corner of the Rue Rivoli, under a shower of +“meurtriers” and “scelerats” from the mob, that fell fortunately most +unconsciously upon his ears. + +The possibility of figuring in such a procession contributed much to +the force of Trevanion’s reasonings, and I resolved to leave Paris at +once. + +“Promise me, then, to involve yourself in no more scrapes for +half-an-hour. Pack every thing you shall want with you, and, by seven +o’clock, I shall be here with your passport and all ready for a start.” + +With a beating brain, and in a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts, I +threw my clothes hither and thither into my trunk; Lady Jane and Emily +both flitting every instant before my imagination, and frequently an +irresolution to proceed stopping all my preparations for departure, I +sat down musing upon a chair, and half determined to stay where I was, +coute qui coute. Finally, the possibility of exposure in a trial, had +its weight. I continued my occupation till the last coat was folded, +and the lock turned, when I seated myself opposite my luggage, and +waited impatiently for my friend’s return. + + + + + CHAPTER XLIII. +THE JOURNEY. + + +Trevanion came at last. He had obtained my passport, and engaged a +carriage to convey me about eight miles, where I should overtake the +diligence—such a mode of travelling being judged more likely to favour +my escape, by attracting less attention than posting. It was past ten +when I left the Rue St. Honore, having shaken hands with Trevanion for +the last time, and charged him with ten thousand soft messages for the +“friends” I left behind me. + +When I arrived at the village of St. Jacques, the diligence had not +come up. To pass away the time, I ordered a little supper and a bottle +of St. Julien. Scarcely had I seated myself to my “cotelette,” when the +rapid whirl of wheels was heard without, and a cab drew up suddenly at +the door. So naturally does the fugitive suspect pursuit, that my +immediate impression was, that I was followed. In this notion I was +strengthened by the tones of a cracked, discordant voice, asking in +very peculiar French if the “diligence had passed?” Being answered in +the negative he walked into the room where I was, and speedily by his +appearance, removed any apprehensions I had felt as to my safety. +Nothing could less resemble the tall port and sturdy bearing of a +gendarme, than the diminutive and dwarfish individual before me. His +height could scarcely have reached five feet, of which the head formed +fully a fourth part; and even this was rendered in appearance still +greater by a mass of loosely floating black hair that fell upon his +neck and shoulders, and gave him much the air of a “black lion” on a +sign board. His black frock, fur-collared and braided—his ill-made +boots, his meerschaum projecting from his breast-pocket, above all, his +unwashed hands, and a heavy gold ring upon his thumb—all made up an +ensemble of evidences that showed he could be nothing but a German. His +manner was bustling, impatient, and had it not been ludicrous, would +certainly be considered as insolent to every one about him, for he +stared each person abruptly in the face, and mumbled some broken +expressions of his opinion of them half-aloud in German. His comments +ran on:—“Bon soir, Monsieur,” to the host: “Ein boesewicht, ganz +sicher”—“a scoundrel without doubt;” and then added, still lower, “Rob +you here as soon as look at you.” “Ah, postillion! comment va?”—“much +more like a brigand after all—I know which I’d take you for.” “Ver +fluchte fraw”—“how ugly the woman is.” This compliment was intended for +the hostess, who curtsied down to the ground in her ignorance. At last +approaching me, he stopped, and having steadily surveyed me, muttered, +“Ein echter Englander”—“a thorough Englishman, always eating.” I could +not resist the temptation to assure him that I was perfectly aware of +his flattering impression in my behalf, though I had speedily to regret +my precipitancy, for, less mindful of the rebuke than pleased at +finding some one who understood German, he drew his chair beside me and +entered into conversation. + +Every one has surely felt, some time or other in life, the insufferable +annoyance of having his thoughts and reflections interfered with, and +broken in upon by the vulgar impertinence and egotism of some “bore,” +who, mistaking your abstraction for attention and your despair for +delight, inflicts upon you his whole life and adventures, when your own +immediate destinies are perhaps vacillating in the scale. + +Such a doom was now mine! Occupied as I was by the hope of the future, +and my fears lest any impediment to my escape should blast my prospects +for ever, I preferred appearing to pay attention to this confounded +fellow’s “personal narrative” lest his questions, turning on my own +affairs, might excite suspicions as to the reasons of my journey. + +I longed most ardently for the arrival of the diligence, trusting that +with true German thrift, by friend might prefer the cheapness of the +“interieure” to the magnificence of the “coupé,” and that thus I should +see no more of him. But in this pleasing hope I was destined to be +disappointed, for I was scarcely seated in my place when I found him +beside me. The third occupant of this “privileged den,” as well as my +lamp-light survey of him permitted, afforded nothing to build on as a +compensation for the German. He was a tall, lanky, lantern-jawed man, +with a hook nose and projecting chin; his hair, which had only been +permitted to grow very lately, formed that curve upon his forehead we +see in certain old fashioned horse-shoe wigs; his compressed lip and +hard features gave the expression of one who had seen a good deal of +the world, and didn’t think the better of it in consequence. I observed +that he listened to the few words we spoke while getting in with some +attention, and then, like a person who did not comprehend the language, +turned his shoulder towards us, and soon fell asleep. I was now left to +the “tender mercies” of my talkative companion, who certainly spared me +not. Notwithstanding my vigorous resolves to turn a deaf ear to his +narratives, I could not avoid learning that he was the director of +music to some German prince—that he had been to Paris to bring out an +opera which having, as he said, a “succes pyramidal,” he was about to +repeat in Strasbourg. He further informed me that a depute from Alsace +had obtained for him a government permission to travel with the +courier; but that he being “social” withal, and no ways proud, +preferred the democracy of the diligence to the solitary grandeur of +the caleche, (for which heaven confound him,) and thus became my +present companion. + +Music, in all its shapes and forms made up the staple of the little +man’s talk. There was scarcely an opera or an overture, from Mozart to +Donizetti, that he did not insist upon singing a scene from; and wound +up all by a very pathetic lamentation over English insensibility to +music, which he in great part attributed to our having only one opera, +which he kindly informed me was “Bob et Joan.” However indisposed to +check the current of his loquacity by any effort of mine, I could not +avoid the temptation to translate for him a story which Sir Walter +Scott once related to me, and was so far apropos, as conveying my own +sense of the merits of our national music, such as we have it, by its +association with scenes, and persons, and places we are all familiar +with, however unintelligible to the ear of a stranger. + +A young French viscomte was fortunate enough to obtain in marriage the +hand of a singularly pretty Scotch heiress of an old family and good +fortune, who, amongst her other endowments, possessed a large +old-fashioned house in a remote district of the highlands, where her +ancestors had resided for centuries. Thither the young couple repaired +to pass their honeymoon; the enamoured bridegroom gladly availing +himself of the opportunity to ingratiate himself with his new +connexion, by adopting the seclusion he saw practised by the English on +such occasions. However consonant to our notions of happiness, and +however conducive to our enjoyment this custom be—and I have strong +doubts upon the subject—it certainly prospered ill with the volatile +Frenchman, who pined for Paris, its cafes, its boulevards, its maisons +de jeu, and its soirees. His days were passed in looking from the deep +and narrow windows of some oak-framed room upon the bare and heath-clad +moors, or watching the cloud’s shadows as they passed across the dark +pine trees that closed the distance. + +Ennuyee to death, and convinced that he had sacrificed enough and more +than enough to the barbarism which demanded such a “sejour,” he was +sitting one evening listlessly upon the terrace in front of the house, +plotting a speedy escape from his gloomy abode, and meditating upon the +life of pleasure that awaited him, when the discordant twang of some +savage music broke upon his ear, and roused him from his reverie. The +wild scream and fitful burst of a highland pibroch is certainly not the +most likely thing in nature to allay the irritable and ruffled feelings +of an irascible person—unless, perhaps, the hearer eschew breeches. So +thought the viscomte. He started hurriedly up, and straight before him, +upon the gravel-walk, beheld the stalwart figure and bony frame of an +old highlander, blowing, with all his lungs, the “Gathering of the +clans.” With all the speed he could muster, he rushed into the house, +and, calling his servants, ordered them to expel the intruder, and +drive him at once outside the demesne. When the mandate was made known +to the old piper, it was with the greatest difficulty he could be +brought to comprehend it—for, time out of mind, his approach had been +hailed with every demonstration of rejoicing; and now—but no; the thing +was impossible—there must be a mistake somewhere. He was accordingly +about to recommence, when a second and stronger hint suggested to him +that it were safer to depart. “Maybe the ‘carl’ did na like the pipes,” +said the highlander musingly, as he packed them up for his march. +“Maybe he did na like me;” “perhaps, too, he was na in the humour of +music.” He paused for an instant as if reflecting—not satisfied, +probably, that he had hit upon the true solution—when suddenly his eye +brightened, his lips curled, and fixing a look upon the angry +Frenchman, he said—“Maybe ye are right enow—ye heard them ower muckle +in Waterloo to like the skirl o’ them ever since;” with which +satisfactory explanation, made in no spirit of bitterness or raillery, +but in the simple belief that he had at last hit the mark of the +viscomte’s antipathy, the old man gathered up his plaid and departed. + +However disposed I might have felt towards sleep, the little German +resolved I should not obtain any, for when for half an hour together I +would preserve a rigid silence, he, nowise daunted, had recourse to +some German “lied,” which he gave forth with an energy of voice and +manner that must have aroused every sleeper in the diligence: so that, +fain to avoid this, I did my best to keep him on the subject of his +adventures, which, as a man of successful gallantry, were manifold +indeed. Wearying at last, even of this subordinate part, I fell into a +kind of half doze. The words of a student song he continued to sing +without ceasing for above an hour—being the last waking thought on my +memory. + +Less as a souvenir of the singer than a specimen of its class I give +here a rough translation of the well-known Burschen melody called + +THE POPE + + + I. +The Pope, he leads a happy life, +He fears not married care, nor strife, +He drinks the best of Rhenish wine, +I would the Pope’s gay lot were mine. + + CHORUS. +He drinks the best of Rhenish wine. +I would the Pope’s gay lot were mine. + + II. +But then all happy’s not his life, +He has not maid, nor blooming wife; +Nor child has he to raise his hope— +I would not wish to be the Pope. + + III. +The Sultan better pleases me, +His is a life of jollity; +His wives are many as he will— +I would the Sultan’s throne then fill. + + IV. +But even he’s a wretched man, +He must obey his Alcoran; +And dares not drink one drop of wine— +I would not change his lot for mine. + + V. +So then I’ll hold my lowly stand, +And live in German Vaterland; +I’ll kiss my maiden fair and fine, +And drink the best of Rhenish wine. + + VI. +Whene’er my maiden kisses me, +I’ll think that I the Sultan be; +And when my cheery glass I tope, +I’ll fancy then I am the Pope. + + + + + CHAPTER XLIV. +THE JOURNEY. + + +It was with a feeling of pleasure I cannot explain, that I awoke in the +morning, and found myself upon the road. The turmoil, the bustle, the +never-ending difficulties of my late life in Paris had so over-excited +and worried me, that I could neither think nor reflect. Now all these +cares and troubles were behind me, and I felt like a liberated prisoner +as I looked upon the grey dawn of the coming day, as it gradually +melted from its dull and leaden tint to the pink and yellow hue of the +rising sun. The broad and richly-coloured plains of “la belle France” +were before me—and it is “la belle France,” however inferior to parts +of England in rural beauty—the large tracts of waving yellow corn, +undulating like a sea in the morning breeze—the interminable reaches of +forest, upon which the shadows played and flitted, deepening the effect +and mellowing the mass, as we see them in Ruysdael’s pictures—while now +and then some tall-gabled, antiquated chateau, with its mutilated +terrace and dowager-like air of bye-gone grandeur, would peep forth at +the end of some long avenue of lime trees, all having their own +features of beauty—and a beauty with which every object around +harmonizes well. The sluggish peasant, in his blouse and striped +night-cap—the heavily caparisoned horse, shaking his head amidst a +Babel-tower of gaudy worsted tassels and brass bells—the deeply laden +waggon, creeping slowly along—are all in keeping with a scene, where +the very mist that rises from the valley seems indolent and lazy, and +unwilling to impart the rich perfume of verdure with which it is +loaded. Every land has its own peculiar character of beauty. The +glaciered mountain, the Alpine peak, the dashing cataract of +Switzerland and the Tyrol, are not finer in their way than the long +flat moorlands of a Flemish landscape, with its clump of stunted +willows cloistering over some limpid brook, in which the oxen are +standing for shelter from the noon-day heat—while, lower down, some +rude water-wheel is mingling its sounds with the summer bees and the +merry voices of the miller and his companions. So strayed my thoughts +as the German shook me by the arm, and asked if “I were not ready for +my breakfast?” Luckily to this question there is rarely but the one +answer. Who is not ready for his breakfast when on the road? How +delightful, if on the continent, to escape from the narrow limits of +the dungeon-like diligence, where you sit with your knees next your +collar-bone, fainting with heat and suffocated by dust, and find +yourself suddenly beside the tempting “plats” of a little French +dejeuné, with its cutlets, its fried fish, its poulet, its salad, and +its little entré of fruit, tempered with a not despicable bottle of +Beaune. If in England, the exchange is nearly as grateful—for though +our travelling be better, and our equipage less “genante,” still it is +no small alterative from the stage-coach to the inn parlour, redolent +of aromatic black tea, eggs, and hot toast, with a hospitable +side-board of red, raw surloins, and York hams, that would make a Jew’s +mouth water. While, in America, the change is greatest of all, as any +one can vouch for who has been suddenly emancipated from the stove-heat +of a “nine-inside” leathern “conveniency,” bumping ten miles an hour +over a corduroy road, the company smoking, if not worse; to the ample +display of luxurious viands displayed upon the breakfast-table, where, +what with buffalo steaks, pumpkin pie, gin cock-tail, and other +aristocratically called temptations, he must be indeed fastidious who +cannot employ his half-hour. Pity it is, when there is so much good to +eat, that people will not partake of it like civilized beings, and with +that air of cheerful thankfulness that all other nations more or less +express when enjoying the earth’s bounties. But true it is, that there +is a spirit of discontent in the Yankee, that seems to accept of +benefits with a tone of dissatisfaction, if not distrust. I once made +this remark to an excellent friend of mine now no more, who, however, +would not permit of my attributing this feature to the Americans +exclusively, adding, “Where have you more of this than in Ireland? and +surely you would not call the Irish ungrateful?” He illustrated his +first remark by the following short anecdote:— + +The rector of the parish my friend lived in was a man who added to the +income he derived from his living a very handsome private fortune, +which he devoted entirely to the benefit of the poor around him. Among +the objects of his bounty one old woman—a childless widow, was +remarkably distinguished. Whether commiserating her utter helplessness +or her complete isolation, he went farther to relieve her than to many, +if not all, the other poor. She frequently was in the habit of pleading +her poverty as a reason for not appearing in church among her +neighbours; and he gladly seized an opportunity of so improving her +condition, that on this score at least no impediment existed. When all +his little plans for her comfort had been carried into execution, he +took the opportunity one day of dropping in, as if accidentally, to +speak to her. By degrees he led the subject to her changed condition in +life—the alteration from a cold, damp, smoky hovel, to a warm, clean, +slated house—the cheerful garden before the door that replaced the +mud-heap and the duck-pool—and all the other happy changes which a few +weeks had effected. And he then asked, did she not feel grateful to a +bountiful Providence that had showered down so many blessings upon her +head? + +“Ah, troth, its thrue for yer honour, I am grateful,” she replied, in a +whining discordant tone, which astonished the worthy parson. + +“Of course you are, my good woman, of course you are—but I mean to say, +don’t you feel that every moment you live is too short to express your +thankfulness to this kind Providence for what he has done?” + +“Ah, darlin’, it’s all thrue, he’s very good, he’s mighty kind, so he +is.” + +“Why then, not acknowledge it in a different manner?” said the parson, +with some heat—“has he not housed you, and fed you, and clothed you?” + +“Yes, alanah, he done it all.” + +“Well, where is your gratitude for all these mercies?” + +“Ah, sure if he did,” said the old crone, roused at length by the +importunity of the questioner—“sure if he did, doesn’t he take it out +o’ me in the corns?” + + + + + CHAPTER XLV. +A REMINISCENCE OF THE EAST. + + +The breakfast-table assembled around it the three generations of men +who issued from the three subdivisions of the diligence, and presented +that motley and mixed assemblage of ranks, ages, and countries, which +forms so very amusing a part of a traveller’s experience. + +First came the “haute aristocratie” of the coupé, then the middle class +of the interieure, and lastly, the tiers etat of the rotonde, with its +melange of Jew money-lenders, under-officers and their wives, a Norman +nurse with a high cap and a red jupe; while, to close the procession, a +German student descended from the roof, with a beard, a blouse, and a +meerschaum. Of such materials was our party made up; and yet, differing +in all our objects and interests, we speedily amalgamated into a very +social state of intimacy, and chatted away over our breakfast with much +good humour and gaiety. Each person of the number seeming pleased at +the momentary opportunity of finding a new listener, save my tall +companion of the coupé. He preserved a dogged silence, unbroken by even +a chance expression to the waiter, who observed his wants and supplied +them by a species of quick instinct, evidently acquired by practice. As +I could not help feeling somewhat interested about the hermit-like +attachment he evinced for solitude, I watched him narrowly for some +time, and at length as the “roti” made its appearance before him, after +he had helped himself and tasted it, he caught my eye fixed upon him, +and looking at me intently for a few seconds, he seemed to be satisfied +in some passing doubt he laboured under, as he said with a most +peculiar shake of the head—“No mangez, no mangez cela.” + +“Ah,” said I, detecting in my friend’s French his English origin, “you +are an Englishman I find.” + +“The devil a doubt of it, darlin’,” said he half testily. + +“An Irishman, too—still better,” said I. + +“Why then isn’t it strange that my French always shows me to be +English, and my English proves me Irish? It’s lucky for me there’s no +going farther any how.” + +Delighted to have thus fallen upon a “character,” as the Irishman +evidently appeared, I moved my chair towards his; and finding, however, +he was not half pleased at the manner in which my acquaintance had been +made with him, and knowing his country’s susceptibility of being taken +by a story, I resolved to make my advances by narrating a circumstance +which had once befallen me in my early life. + +Our countrymen, English and Irish, travel so much now a days, that one +ought never to feel surprised at finding them anywhere. The instance I +am about to relate will verify to a certain extent the fact, by showing +that no situation is too odd or too unlikely to be within the verge of +calculation. + +When the 10th foot, to which I then belonged, were at Corfu, I obtained +with three other officers a short leave of absence, to make a hurried +tour of the Morea, and taking a passing glance at Constantinople—in +those days much less frequently visited by travellers than at present. + +After rambling pleasantly about for some weeks, we were about to +return, when we determined that before sailing we should accept an +invitation some officers of the “Dwarf” frigate, then stationed there, +had given us, to pass a day at Pera, and pic-nic in the mountain. + +One fine bright morning was therefore selected—a most appetizing little +dinner being carefully packed up—we set out, a party of fourteen, upon +our excursion. + +The weather was glorious, and the scene far finer than any of us had +anticipated—the view from the mountain extending over the entire city, +gorgeous in the rich colouring of its domes and minarets; while, at one +side, the golden horn was visible, crowded with ships of every nation, +and, at the other, a glimpse might be had of the sea of Marmora, blue +and tranquil as it lay beneath. The broad bosom of the Bosphorus was +sheeted out like a map before us—peaceful yet bustling with life and +animation. Here lay the union-jack of old England, floating beside the +lilies of France—we speak of times when lilies were and barricades were +not—the tall and taper spars of a Yankee frigate towering above the low +timbers and heavy hull of a Dutch schooner—the gilded poop and curved +galleries of a Turkish three-decker, anchored beside the raking mast +and curved deck of a suspicious looking craft, whose red-capped and +dark-visaged crew needed not the naked creese at their sides to bespeak +them Malays. The whole was redolent of life, and teeming with food for +one’s fancy to conjure from. + +While we were debating upon the choice of a spot for our luncheon, +which should command the chief points of view within our reach, one of +the party came to inform us that he had just discovered the very thing +we were in search of. It was a small kiosk, built upon a projecting +rock that looked down upon the Bosphorus and the city, and had +evidently, from the extended views it presented, been selected as the +spot to build upon. The building itself was a small octagon, open on +every side, and presenting a series of prospects, land and seaward, of +the most varied and magnificent kind. + +Seeing no one near, nor any trace of habitation, we resolved to avail +ourselves of the good taste of the founder; and spreading out the +contents of our hampers, proceeded to discuss a most excellent cold +dinner. When the good things had disappeared, and the wine began to +circulate, one of the party observed that we should not think of +enjoying ourselves before we had filled a bumper to the brim, to the +health of our good king, whose birth-day it chanced to be. Our homeward +thoughts and loyalty uniting, we filled our glasses, and gave so hearty +a “hip, hip, hurra,” to our toast, that I doubt if the echoes of those +old rocks ever heard the equal of it. + +Scarcely was the last cheer dying away in the distance, when the door +of the kiosk opened, and a negro dressed in white muslin appeared, his +arms and ancles bearing those huge rings of massive gold, which only +persons of rank distinguish their servants by. + +After a most profound obeisance to the party, he explained in very +tolerable French, that his master the Effendi, Ben Mustapha Al Halak, +at whose charge (in house rent) we were then resting, sent us +greetings, and begged that if not considered as contrary to our usages, +&c. we should permit him and his suite to approach the kiosk and +observe us at our meal. + +Independent of his politeness in the mode of conveying the request, as +he would prove fully as entertaining a sight to us as we could possibly +be to him, we immediately expressed our great willingness to receive +his visit, coupled with a half hint that perhaps he might honour us by +joining the party. + +After a half hour’s delay, the door was once more thrown open, and a +venerable old Turk entered: he salaamed three times most reverently, +and motioned to us to be seated, declining, at the same time, by a +gentle gesture of his hand, our invitation. He was followed by a train +of six persons, all splendidly attired, and attesting, by their costume +and manner, the rank and importance of their chief. Conceiving that his +visit had but one object—to observe our convivial customs—we +immediately reseated ourselves, and filled our glasses. + +As one after another the officers of the effendi’s household passed +round the apartments, we offered them a goblet of champagne, which they +severally declined, with a polite but solemn smile—all except one, a +large, savage-looking Turk, with a most ferocious scowl, and the +largest black beard I ever beheld. He did not content himself with a +mute refusal of our offer, but stopping suddenly, he raised up his +hands above his head, and muttered some words in Turkish, which one of +the party informed us was a very satisfactory recommendation of the +whole company to Satan for their heretic abomination. + +The procession moved slowly round the room, and when it reached the +door again retired, each member of it salaaming three times as they had +done on entering. Scarcely had they gone, when we burst into a loud fit +of laughter at the savage-looking fellow who thought proper to +excommunicate us, and were about to discuss his more than common +appearance of disgust at our proceedings, when again the door opened, +and a turbaned head peeped in, but so altered were the features, that +although seen but the moment before, we could hardly believe them the +same. The dark complexion—the long and bushy beard were there—but +instead of the sleepy and solemn character of the oriental, with heavy +eye and closed lip, there was a droll, half-devilry in the look, and +partly open mouth, that made a most laughable contrast with the +head-dress. He looked stealthily around him for an instant, as if to +see that all was right, and then, with an accent and expression I shall +never forget, said, “I’ll taste your wine, gentleman, an it be pleasing +to ye.” + + + + + CHAPTER XLVI. +A DAY IN THE PHŒNIX. + + +When we were once more in the coupé of the diligence, I directed my +entire attention towards my Irish acquaintance, as well because of his +apparent singularity, as to avoid the little German in the opposite +corner. + +“You have not been long in France, then, sir,” said I, as we resumed +our conversation. + +“Three weeks, and it seems like three years to me—nothing to +eat—nothing to drink—and nobody to speak to. But I’ll go back soon—I +only came abroad for a month.” + +“You’ll scarcely see much of the Continent in so short a time.” + +“Devil a much that will grieve me—I didn’t come to see it.” + +“Indeed!” + +“Nothing of the kind; I only came—to be away from home.” + +“Oh! I perceive.” + +“You’re quite out there,” said my companion, misinterpreting my +meaning. “It wasn’t any thing of that kind. I don’t owe sixpence. I was +laughed out of Ireland—that’s all, though that same is bad enough.” + +“Laughed out of it!” + +“Just so—and little you know of Ireland if that surprises you.” + +After acknowledging that such an event was perfectly possible, from +what I myself had seen of that country, I obtained the following very +brief account of my companion’s reasons for foreign travel: + +“Well, sir,” began he, “it is about four months since I brought up to +Dublin from Galway a little chesnut mare, with cropped ears and a short +tail, square-jointed, and rather low—just what you’d call a smart hack +for going to cover with—a lively thing on the road with a light weight. +Nobody ever suspected that she was a clean bred thing—own sister to +Jenny, that won the Corinthians, and ran second to Giles for the +Riddlesworth—but so she was, and a better bred mare never leaped the +pound in Ballinasloe. Well, I brought her to Dublin, and used to ride +her out two or three times a week, making little matches sometimes to +trot—and, for a thorough bred, she was a clipper at trotting—to trot a +mile or so on the grass—another day to gallop the length of the nine +acres opposite the Lodge—and then sometimes, back her for a ten pound +note, to jump the biggest furze bush that could be found—all or which +she could do with ease, nobody thinking, all the while, that the +cock-tailed pony was out of Scroggins, by a ‘Lamplighter mare.’ As +every fellow that was beat to-day was sure to come back to-morrow, with +something better, either of his own or a friend’s, I had matches booked +for every day in the week—for I always made my little boy that rode, +win by half a neck, or a nostril, and so we kept on day after day +pocketing from ten to thirty pounds or thereabouts. + +“It was mighty pleasant while it lasted, for besides winning the money, +I had my own fun laughing at the spoonies that never could book my bets +fast enough. Young infantry officers and the junior bar—they were for +the most part mighty nice to look at, but very raw about racing. How +long I might have gone on in this way I cannot say; but one morning I +fell in with a fat, elderly gentleman, in shorts and gaiters, mounted +on a dun cob pony, that was very fidgety and hot tempered, and appeared +to give the rider a great deal of uneasiness. + +“‘He’s a spicy hack you’re on, sir,’ said I, ‘and has a go in him, I’ll +be bound.’ + +“‘I rayther think he has,’ said the old gentleman, half testily. + +“‘And can trot a bit, too.’ + +“‘Twelve Irish miles in fifty minutes, with my weight.’ Here he looked +down at a paunch like a sugar hogshead. + +“‘Maybe he’s not bad across a country,’ said I, rather to humour the +old fellow, who, I saw, was proud of his poney. + +“‘I’d like to see his match, that’s all.’ Here he gave a rather +contemptuous glance at my hack. + +“Well, one word led to another, and it ended at last in our booking a +match, with which one party was no less pleased than the other. It was +this: each was to ride his own horse, starting from the school in the +Park, round the Fifteen Acres, outside the Monument, and back to the +start—just one heat, about a mile and a half—the ground good, and only +soft enough. In consideration, however, of his greater weight, I was to +give odds in the start; and as we could not well agree on how much, it +was at length decided that he was to get away first, and I to follow as +fast as I could, after drinking a pewter quart full of Guinness’s +double stout—droll odds, you’ll say, but it was the old fellow’s own +thought, and as the match was a soft one, I let him have his way. + +“The next morning the Phœnix was crowded as if for a review. There were +all the Dublin notorieties, swarming in barouches, and tilburies, and +outside jaunting-cars—smart clerks in the post-office, mounted upon +kicking devils from Dycer’s and Lalouette’s stables—attorney’s wives +and daughters from York-street, and a stray doctor or so on a hack that +looked as if it had been lectured on for the six winter months at the +College of Surgeons. My antagonist was half an hour late, which time I +occupied in booking bets on every side of me—offering odds of ten, +fifteen, and at last, to tempt the people, twenty-five to one against +the dun. At last, the fat gentleman came up on a jaunting-car, followed +by a groom leading the cob. I wish you heard the cheer that greeted him +on his arrival, for it appeared he was a well-known character in town, +and much in favour with the mob. When he got off the car, he bundled +into a tent, followed by a few of his friends, where they remained for +about five minutes, at the end of which he came out in full racing +costume—blue and yellow striped jacket, blue cap and leathers—looking +as funny a figure as ever you set eyes upon. I now thought it time to +throw off my white surtout, and show out in pink and orange, the +colours I had been winning in for two months past. While some of the +party were sent on to station themselves at different places round the +Fifteen Acres, to mark out the course, my fat friend was assisted into +his saddle, and gave a short preliminary gallop of a hundred yards or +so, that set us all a-laughing. The odds were now fifty to one in my +favour, and I gave them wherever I could find takers. ‘With you, sir, +if you please, in pounds, and the gentleman in the red whiskers, too, +if he likes—very well, in half sovereigns, if you prefer it.’ So I went +on, betting on every side, till the bell rung to mount. As I knew I had +plenty of time to spare, I took little notice, and merely giving a look +to my girths, I continued leisurely booking my bets. At last the time +came, and at the word ‘Away!’ off went the fat gentleman on the dun, at +a spluttering gallop, that flung the mud on every side of us, and once +more threw us all a-laughing. I waited patiently till he got near the +upper end of the park, taking bets every minute; and now that he was +away, every one offered to wager. At last, when I had let him get +nearly half round, and found no more money could be had, I called out +to his friends for the porter, and, throwing myself into the saddle, +gathered up the reins in my hand. The crowd fell back on each side, +while from the tent I have already mentioned came a thin fellow with +one eye, with a pewter quart in his hand: he lifted it up towards me, +and I took it; but what was my fright to find that the porter was +boiling, and the vessel so hot I could barely hold it. I endeavoured to +drink, however: the first mouthful took all the skin off my lips and +tongue—the second half choked, and the third nearly threw me into an +apoplectic fit—the mob cheering all the time like devils. Meantime, the +old fellow had reached the furze, and was going along like fun. Again I +tried the porter, and a fit of coughing came on that lasted five +minutes. The pewter was now so hot that the edge of the quart took away +a piece of my mouth at every effort. I ventured once more, and with the +desperation of a madman I threw down the hot liquid to its last drop. +My head reeled—my eyes glared—and my brain was on fire. I thought I +beheld fifty fat gentlemen galloping on every side of me, and all the +sky raining jackets in blue and yellow. Half mechanically I took the +reins, and put spurs to my horse; but before I got well away, a loud +cheer from the crowd assailed me. I turned, and saw the dun coming in +at a floundering gallop, covered with foam, and so dead blown that +neither himself nor the rider could have got twenty yards farther. The +race was, however, won. My odds were lost to every man on the field, +and, worse than all, I was so laughed at, that I could not venture out +in the streets, without hearing allusions to my misfortune; for a +certain friend of mine, one Tom O’Flaherty—” + +“Tom of the 11th light dragoons?” + +“The same—you know Tom, then? Maybe you have heard him mention +me—Maurice Malone?” + +“Not Mr. Malone, of Fort Peak?” + +“Bad luck to him. I am as well known in connexion with Fort Peak, as +the Duke is with Waterloo. There is not a part of the globe where he +has not told that confounded story.” + +As my readers may not possibly be all numbered in Mr. O’Flaherty’s +acquaintance, I shall venture to give the anecdote which Mr. Malone +accounted to be so widely circulated. + + + + + CHAPTER XLVII. +AN ADVENTURE IN CANADA. + +[Illustration: Mr. Malone and His Friend] + + +Towards the close of the last war with America, a small detachment of +military occupied the little block house of Fort Peak, which, about +eight miles from the Falls of Niagara, formed the last outpost on the +frontier. The Fort, in itself inconsiderable, was only of importance as +commanding a part of the river where it was practicable to ford, and +where the easy ascent of the bank offered a safe situation for the +enemy to cross over, whenever they felt disposed to carry the war into +our territory. + +There having been, however, no threat of invasion in this quarter, and +the natural strength of the position being considerable, a mere handful +of men, with two subaltern officers, were allotted for this duty—such +being conceived ample to maintain it till the arrival of succour from +head-quarters, then at Little York, on the opposite side of the lake. +The officers of this party were our old acquaintance Tom O’Flaherty, +and our newly-made one Maurice Malone. + +Whatever may be the merits of commanding officers, one virtue they +certainly can lay small claim to—viz. any insight into character, or at +least any regard for the knowledge. Seldom are two men sent off on +detachment duty to some remote quarter, to associate daily and hourly +for months together, that they are not, by some happy chance, the very +people who never, as the phrase is, “took to each other” in their +lives. The grey-headed, weather-beaten, disappointed “Peninsular” is +coupled with the essenced and dandified Adonis of the corps; the man of +literary tastes and cultivated pursuits, with the empty headed, ill +informed youth, fresh from Harrow or Westminster. This case offered no +exception to the rule; for though there were few men possessed of more +assimilating powers than O’Flaherty, yet certainly his companion did +put the faculty to the test, for any thing more unlike him, there never +existed. Tom all good humour and high spirits—making the best of every +thing—never non-plussed—never taken aback—perfectly at home, whether +flirting with a Lady Charlotte in her drawing-room, or crossing a +grouse mountain in the highlands—sufficiently well read to talk on any +ordinary topic—and always ready-witted enough to seem more so. A +thorough sportsman, whether showing forth in the “park” at Melton, +whipping a trout-stream in Wales, or filling a country-house with black +cock and moor-fowl; an unexceptionable judge of all the good things in +life, from a pretty ancle to a well hung tilbury—from the odds at +hazard to the “Comet vintage.” Such, in brief, was Tom. Now his +confrere was none of these; he had been drafted from the Galway militia +to the line, for some election services rendered by his family to the +government candidate; was of a saturnine and discontented habit; always +miserable about some trifle or other, and never at rest till he had +drowned his sorrows in Jamaica rum—which, since the regiment was +abroad, he had copiously used as a substitute for whiskey. To such an +extent had this passion gained upon him, that a corporal’s guard was +always in attendance whenever he dined out, to convey him home to the +barracks. + +The wearisome monotony of a close garrison, with so ungenial a +companion, would have damped any man’s spirits but O’Flaherty’s. He, +however, upon this, as other occasions in life, rallied himself to make +the best of it; and by short excursions within certain prescribed +limits along the river side, contrived to shoot and fish enough to get +through the day, and improve the meagre fare of his mess-table. Malone +never appeared before dinner—his late sittings at night requiring all +the following day to recruit him for a new attack upon the rum bottle. + +Now, although his seeing so little of his brother officer was any thing +but unpleasant to O’Flaherty, yet the ennui of such a life was +gradually wearing him, and all his wits were put in requisition to +furnish occupation for his time. Never a day passed without his praying +ardently for an attack from the enemy; any alternative, any reverse, +had been a blessing compared with his present life. No such spirit, +however, seemed to animate the Yankee troops; not a soldier was to be +seen for miles around, and every straggler that passed the Fort +concurred in saying that the Americans were not within four day’s march +of the frontier. + +Weeks passed over, and the same state of things remaining unchanged, +O’Flaherty gradually relaxed some of his strictness as to duty; small +foraging parties of three and four being daily permitted to leave the +Fort for a few hours, to which they usually returned laden with wild +turkeys and fish—both being found in great abundance near them. + +Such was the life of the little garrison for two or three long summer +months—each day so resembling its fellow, that no difference could be +found. + +As to how the war was faring, or what the aspect of affairs might be, +they absolutely knew nothing. Newspapers never reached them; and +whether from having so much occupation at head-quarters, or that the +difficulty of sending letters prevented, their friends never wrote a +line; and thus they jogged on, a very vegetable existence, till thought +at last was stagnating in their brains, and O’Flaherty half envied his +companion’s resource in the spirit flask. + +Such was the state of affairs at the Fort, when one evening O’Flaherty +appeared to pace the little rampart that looked towards Lake Ontario, +with an appearance of anxiety and impatience strangely at variance with +his daily phlegmatic look. It seemed that the corporal’s party he had +despatched that morning to forage, near the “Falls,” had not returned, +and already were four hours later than their time away. + +Every imaginable mode of accounting for their absence suggested itself +to his mind. Sometimes he feared that they had been attacked by the +Indian hunters, who were far from favourably disposed towards their +poaching neighbours. Then, again, it might be merely that they had +missed their track in the forest; or could it be that they had ventured +to reach Goat Island in a canoe, and had been carried down the rapids. +Such were the torturing doubts that passed as some shrill squirrel, or +hoarse night owl pierced the air with a cry, and then all was silent +again. While thus the hours went slowly by, his attention was attracted +by a bright light in the sky. It appeared as if part of the heavens +were reflecting some strong glare from beneath, for as he looked, the +light, at first pale and colourless, gradually deepened into a rich +mellow hue, and at length, through the murky blackness of the night, a +strong clear current of flame rose steadily upwards from the earth, and +pointed towards the sky. From the direction, it must have been either +at the Falls, or immediately near them; and now the horrible conviction +flashed upon his mind that the party had been waylaid by the Indians, +who were, as is their custom, making a war feast over their victims. + +Not an instant was to be lost. The little garrison beat to arms; and, +as the men fell in, O’Flaherty cast his eyes around, while he selected +a few brave fellows to accompany him. Scarcely had the men fallen out +from the ranks, when the sentinel at the gate was challenged by a +well-known voice, and in a moment more the corporal of the foraging +party was among them. Fatigue and exhaustion had so overcome him, that +for some minutes he was speechless. At length he recover sufficiently +to give the following brief account:— + +The little party having obtained their supply of venison above +Queenston, were returning to the Fort, when they suddenly came upon a +track of feet, and little experience in forest life soon proved that +some new arrivals had reached the hunting grounds, for on examining +them closely, they proved neither to be Indian tracks, nor yet those +made by the shoes of the Fort party. Proceeding with caution to trace +them backwards for three or four miles, they reached the bank of the +Niagara river, above the whirlpools, where the crossing is most easily +effected from the American side. The mystery was at once explained: it +was a surprise party of the Yankees, sent to attack Fort Peak; and now +the only thing to be done was to hasten back immediately to their +friends, and prepare for their reception. + +With this intent they took the river path as the shortest, but had not +proceeded far when their fears were confirmed; for in a little +embayment of the bank they perceived a party of twenty blue coats, who, +with their arms piled, were lying around as if waiting for the hour of +attack. The sight of this party added greatly to their alarm, for they +now perceived that the Americans had divided their force—the +foot-tracks first seen being evidently those of another division. As +the corporal and his few men continued, from the low and thick +brushwood, to make their reconnaisance of the enemy, they observed with +delight that they were not regulars, but a militia force. With this one +animating thought, they again, with noiseless step, regained the +forest, and proceeded upon their way. Scarcely, however, had they +marched a mile, when the sound of voices and loud laughter apprised +them that another party was near, which, as well as they could observe +in the increasing gloom, was still larger than the former. They were +now obliged to make a considerable circuit, and advance still deeper +into the forest—their anxiety hourly increasing, lest the enemy should +reach the Fort before themselves. In this dilemma it was resolved that +the party should separate—the corporal determining to proceed alone by +the river bank, while the others, by a detour of some miles, should +endeavour to learn the force of the Yankees, and, as far as they could, +their mode of attack. From that instant the corporal knew no more; for, +after two hours’ weary exertion, he reached the Fort, which, had it +been but another mile distant, his strength had not held out for him to +attain. + +However gladly poor O’Flaherty might have hailed such information under +other circumstances, now it came like a thunderbolt upon him. Six of +his small force were away, perhaps ere this made prisoners by the +enemy; the Yankees, as well as he could judge, were a numerous party; +and he himself totally without a single adviser—for Malone had dined, +and was, therefore, by this time in that pleasing state of +indifference, in which he could only recognise an enemy, in the man +that did not send round the decanter. + +In the half indulged hope that his state might permit some faint +exercise of the reasoning faculty, O’Flaherty walked towards the small +den they had designated as the mess-room, in search of his brother +officer. + +As he entered the apartment, little disposed as he felt to mirth at +such a moment, the tableau before him was too ridiculous not to laugh +at. At one side of the fire-place sat Malone, his face florid with +drinking, and his eyeballs projecting. Upon his head was a small Indian +skull cap, with two peacock feathers, and a piece of scarlet cloth +which hung down behind. In one hand he held a smoking goblet of rum +punch, and in the other a long, Indian Chibook pipe. Opposite to him, +but squatted upon the floor, reposed a red Indian, that lived in the +Fort as a guide, equally drunk, but preserving, even in his liquor, an +impassive, grave aspect, strangely contrasting with the high excitement +of Malone’s face. The red man wore Malone’s uniform coat, which he had +put on back foremost—his head-dress having, in all probability been +exchanged for it, as an amicable courtesy between the parties. There +they sat, looking fixedly at each other; neither spoke, nor even +smiled—the rum bottle, which at brief intervals passed from one to the +other, maintained a friendly intercourse that each was content with. + +To the hearty fit of laughing of O’Flaherty, Malone replied by a look +of drunken defiance, and then nodded to his red friend, who returned +the courtesy. As poor Tom left the room, he saw that nothing was to be +hoped for in this quarter, and determined to beat the garrison to arms +without any further delay. Scarcely had he closed the door behind him, +when a sudden thought flashed through his brain. He hesitated, walked +forward a few paces, stopped again, and calling out to the corporal, +said— + +“You are certain they were militia?” + +“Yes, sir; quite sure.” + +“Then, by Jove, I have it,” cried O’Flaherty. “If they should turn out +to be the Buffalo fencibles, we may get through this scrape better than +I hoped for.” + +“I believe you are right, sir; for I heard one of the men as I passed +observe, ‘what will they say in Buffalo when it’s over?’.” + +“Send Mathers here, corporal; and do you order four rank and file, with +side-arms to be in readiness immediately.” + +“Mathers, you have heard the news,” said O’Flaherty, as the sergeant +entered. “Can the Fort hold out against such a force as Jackson +reports? You doubt; well, so do I; so let’s see what’s to be done. Can +you remember, was it not the Buffalo militia that were so tremendously +thrashed by the Delawares last autumn?” + +“Yes, sir, they chased them for two days and nights, and had they not +reached the town of Buffalo, the Delawares would not have left a scalp +in the regiment.” + +“Can you recollect the chief’s name—it was Carran—something, eh?” + +“Caudan-dacwagae.” + +“Exactly. Where is he supposed to be now?” + +“Up in Detroit, sir, they say, but no one knows. Those fellows are here +to-day, and there to-morrow.” + +“Well then, sergeant, here’s my plan.” Saying these words, O’Flaherty +proceeded to walk towards his quarters, accompanied by the sergeant, +with whom he conversed for some time eagerly—occasionally replying, as +it appeared, to objections, and offering explanations as the other +seemed to require them. The colloquy lasted half an hour—and although +the veteran sergeant seemed difficult of conviction, it ended by his +saying, as he left the room, + +“Well, sir, as you say, it can only come to hard knocks at worst. Here +goes—I’ll send off the scout party to make the fires and choose the men +for the out picquets, for no time is to be lost.” + +In about an hour’s time from the scene I have mentioned, a number of +militia officers, of different grades, were seated round a bivouac +fire, upon the bank of the Niagara river. The conversation seemed of an +angry nature, for the voices of the speakers were loud and irrascible, +and their gestures evidenced a state of high excitement. + +“I see,” said one, who seemed the superior of the party—“I see well +where this will end. We shall have another Queenston affair, as we had +last fall with the Delawares.” + +“I only say,” replied another, “that if you wish our men to stand fire +to-morrow morning, the less you remind them of the Delawares the +better. What is that noise? Is not that a drum beating?” + +The party at these words sprung to their legs, and stood in an attitude +of listening for some seconds. + +“Who goes there?” sung out a sentinel from his post; and then, after a +moment’s delay, added—“Pass flag of truce to Major Brown’s quarters.” + +Scarcely were the words spoken, when three officers in scarlet, +preceded by a drummer with a white flag, stood before the American +party. + +“To whom may I address myself?” said one of the British—who, I may +inform my reader, en passant, was no other than O’Flaherty—“To whom may +I address myself as the officer in command?” + +“I am Major Brown,” said a short, plethoric little man, in a blue +uniform and round hat—“And who are you?” + +“Major O’Flaherty, of his majesty’s fifth foot,” said Tom, with a very +sonorous emphasis on each word—“the bearer of a flag of truce and an +amicable proposition from Major-General Allen, commanding the garrison +of Fort Peak.” + +The Americans, who were evidently taken by surprise at their intentions +of attack being known, were silent, while he continued— + +“Gentlemen, it may appear somewhat strange that a garrison, possessing +the natural strength of a powerful position—supplied with abundant +ammunition and every muniment of war—should despatch a flag of truce on +the eve of an attack, in preference to waiting for the moment, when a +sharp and well-prepared reception might best attest its vigilance and +discipline. But the reasons for this step are soon explained. In the +first place, you intend a surprise. We have been long aware of your +projected attack. Our spies have tracked you from your crossing the +river above the whirlpool to your present position. Every man of your +party is numbered by us; and, what is still more, numbered by our +allies—yes, gentlemen, I must repeat it, ‘allies’—though, as a Briton, +I blush at the word. Shame and disgrace for ever be that man’s portion, +who first associated the honourable usages of war with the atrocious +and bloody cruelties of the savage. Yet so it is: the Delawares of the +hills”—here the Yankees exchanged very peculiar looks—“have this +morning arrived at Fort Peak, with orders to ravage the whole of your +frontier, from Fort George to Lake Erie. They brought us the +information of your approach, and their chief is, while I speak, making +an infamous proposition, by which a price is to paid for every scalp he +produces in the morning. Now, as the general cannot refuse to +co-operate with the savages, without compromising himself with the +commander-in-chief, neither can he accept of such assistance without +some pangs of conscience. He has taken the only course open to him: he +has despatched myself and my brother officers here”—O’Flaherty glanced +at two privates dressed up in his regimentals—“to offer you terms”— + +O’Flaherty paused when he arrived thus far, expecting that the opposite +party would make some reply; but they continued silent: when suddenly, +from the dense forest, there rung forth a wild and savage yell, that +rose and fell several times, like the pibroch of the highlander, and +ended at last in a loud whoop, that was echoed and re-echoed again and +again for several seconds after. + +“Hark!” said O’Flaherty, with an accent of horror—“Hark! the war-cry of +the Delawares! The savages are eager for their prey. May it yet be time +enough to rescue you from such a fate! Time presses—our terms are +these—as they do not admit of discussion, and must be at once accepted +or rejected, to your own ear alone can I impart them.” + +Saying which, he took Major Brown aside, and, walking apart from the +others, led him, by slow steps, into the forest. While O’Flaherty +continued to dilate upon the atrocities of Indian war, and the +revengeful character of the savages, he contrived to be always +advancing towards the river side, till at length the glare of a fire +was perceptible through the gloom. Major Brown stopped suddenly, and +pointed in the direction of the flame. + +“It is the Indian picquet,” said O’Flaherty, calmly; “and as the facts +I have been detailing may be more palpable to your mind, you shall see +them with your own eyes. Yes, I repeat it, you shall, through the cover +of this brushwood, see Caudan-dacwagae himself—for he is with them in +person.” + +As O’Flaherty said this, he led Major Brown, now speechless with +terror, behind a massive cork tree, from which spot they could look +down upon the river side, where in a small creek sat five or six +persons in blankets, and scarlet head-dresses; their faces streaked +with patches of yellow and red paint, to which the glare of the fire +lent fresh horror. In the midst sat one, whose violent gestures and +savage cries gave him the very appearance of a demon, as he resisted +with all his might the efforts of the others to restrain him, shouting +like a maniac all the while, and struggling to rise. + +“It is the chief,” said O’Flaherty; “he will wait no longer. We have +bribed the others to keep him quiet, if possible, a little time; but I +see they cannot succeed.” + +A loud yell of triumph from below interrupted Tom’s speech. The +infuriated savage—who was no other than Mr. Malone—having obtained the +rum bottle, for which he was fighting with all his might—his temper not +being improved in the struggle by occasional admonitions from the red +end of a cigar, applied to his naked skin by the other Indians—who were +his own soldiers acting under O’Flaherty’s orders. + +“Now,” said Tom, “that you have convinced yourself, and can satisfy +your brother officers, will you take your chance? or will you accept +the honoured terms of the General—pile your arms, and retreat beyond +the river before day-break? Your muskets and ammunition will offer a +bribe to the cupidity of the savage, and delay his pursuit till you can +reach some place of safety.” + +Major Brown heard the proposal in silence, and at last determined upon +consulting his brother officers. + +“I have outstaid my time,” said O’Flaherty, “but stop; the lives of so +many are at stake, I consent.” Saying which, they walked on without +speaking, till they arrived where the others were standing around the +watch-fire. + +As Brown retired to consult with the officers, Tom heard with pleasure +how much his two companions had worked upon the Yankees’ fears, during +his absence, by details of the vindictive feelings of the Delawares, +and their vows to annihilate the Buffalo militia. + +Before five minutes they had decided. Upon a solemn pledge from +O’Flaherty that the terms of the compact were to be observed as he +stated them, they agreed to march with their arms to the ford, where, +having piled them, they were to cross over, and make the best of their +way home. + +By sunrise the next morning, all that remained of the threatened attack +on Fort Peak, were the smouldering ashes of some wood fires—eighty +muskets piled in the fort—and the yellow ochre, and red stripes that +still adorned the countenance of the late Indian chief,—but now snoring +Lieutenant Maurice Malone. + + + + + CHAPTER XLVIII. +THE COURIER’S PASSPORT. + + +A second night succeeded the long dreary day of the diligence, and the +only one agreeable reflection arose in the feeling that every mile +travelled, was diminishing the chance of pursuit, and removing me still +further from that scene of trouble and annoyance that was soon to +furnish gossip for Paris—under the title of “The Affaire O’Leary.” + +How he was ever to extricate himself from the numerous and embarrassing +difficulties of his position, gave me, I confess, less uneasiness than +the uncertainty of my own fortunes. Luck seemed ever to befriend him—me +it had always accompanied far enough through life to make its +subsequent desertion more painful. How far I should blame myself for +this, I stopped not to consider; but brooded over the fact in a +melancholy and discontented mood. The one thought uppermost in my mind +was, how will Lady Jane receive me—am I forgotten—or am I only +remembered as the subject of that unlucky mistake, when, under the +guise of an elder son, I was feted and made much of. What pretensions I +had, without fortune, rank, influence, or even expectations of any +kind, to seek the hand of the most beautiful girl of the day, with the +largest fortune as her dowry, I dare not ask myself—the reply would +have dashed all my hopes, and my pursuit would have at once been +abandoned. “Tell the people you are an excellent preacher,” was the +advice of an old and learned divine to a younger and less experienced +one—“tell them so every morning, and every noon, and every evening, and +at last they will begin to believe it.” So thought I. I shall impress +upon the Callonbys that I am a most unexceptionable “parti.” Upon every +occasion they shall hear it—as they open their newspapers at +breakfast—as they sip their soup at luncheon—as they adjust their +napkin at dinner—as they chat over their wine at night. My influence in +the house shall be unbounded—my pleasures consulted—my dislikes +remembered. The people in favour with me shall dine there three times +a-week—those less fortunate shall be put into schedule A. My opinions +on all subjects shall be a law—whether I pronounce upon politics, or +discuss a dinner: and all this I shall accomplish by a successful +flattery of my lady—a little bullying of my lord—a devoted attention to +the youngest sister—a special cultivation of Kilkee—and a very +“prononce” neglect of Lady Jane. These were my half-waking thoughts, as +the heavy diligence rumbled over the pave into Nancy; and I was aroused +by the door being suddenly jerked open, and a bronzed face, with a +black beard and moustache, being thrust in amongst us. + +“Your passports, Messieurs,” as a lantern was held up in succession +across our faces, and we handed forth our crumpled and worn papers to +the official. + +The night was stormy and dark—gusts of wind sweeping along, bearing +with them the tail of some thunder cloud—mingling their sounds with a +falling tile from the roofs, or a broken chimney-pot. The officer in +vain endeavoured to hold open the passports while he inscribed his +name; and just as the last scrawl was completed, the lantern went out. +Muttering a heavy curse upon the weather, he thrust them in upon us en +masse, and, banging the door to, called out to the conducteur, “en +route.” + +Again we rumbled on, and, ere we cleared the last lamps of the town, +the whole party were once more sunk in sleep, save myself. Hour after +hour rolled by, the rain pattering upon the roof, and the heavy plash +of the horses’ feet contributing their mournful sounds to the +melancholy that was stealing over me. At length we drew up at the door +of a little auberge; and, by the noise and bustle without, I perceived +there was a change of horses. Anxious to stretch my legs, and relieve, +if even for a moment, the wearisome monotony of the night, I got out +and strode into the little parlour of the inn. There was a cheerful +fire in an open stove, beside which stood a portly figure in a +sheepskin bunta and a cloth travelling cap, with a gold band; his legs +were cased in high Russia leather boots, all evident signs of the +profession of the wearer, had even his haste at supper not bespoke the +fact that he was a government courier. + +“You had better make haste with the horses, Antoine, if you don’t wish +the postmaster to hear of it,” said he, as I entered, his mouth filled +with pie crust and vin de Beaune, as he spoke. + +A lumbering peasant, with a blouse, sabots, and a striped nightcap, +replied in some unknown patois; when the courier again said— + +“Well, then, take the diligence horses; I must get on at all events; +they are not so presse, I’ll be bound; besides it will save the +gens-d’armes some miles of a ride if they overtake them here.” + +“Have we another vise of our passports here, then?” said I, addressing +the courier, “for we have already been examined at Nancy?” + +“Not exactly a vise,” said the courier, eyeing me most suspiciously as +he spoke, and then continuing to eat with his former voracity. + +“Then, what, may I ask, have we to do with the gens-d’armes?” + +“It is a search,” said the courier, gruffly, and with the air of one +who desired no further questioning. + +I immediately ordered a bottle of Burgundy, and filling the large +goblet before him, said, with much respect, + +“A votre bonne voyage, Monsier le Courier.” + +To this he at once replied, by taking off his cap and bowing politely +as he drank off the wine. + +“Have we any runaway felon or a stray galerien among us?” said I, +laughingly, “that they are going to search us?” + +“No, monsieur,” said the courier; “but there has been a government +order to arrest a person on this road connected with the dreadful +Polish plot, that has just eclated at Paris. I passed a vidette of +cavalry at Nancy, and they will be up here in half an hour.” + +“A Polish plot! Why, I left Paris only two days ago, and never heard of +it.” + +“C’est bien possible, Monsieur? Perhaps, after all, it may only be an +affair of the police; but they have certainly arrested one prisoner at +Meurice, charged with this, as well as the attempt to rob Frascati, and +murder the croupier.” + +“Alas,” said I, with a half-suppressed groan, “it is too true; that +infernal fellow O’Leary has ruined me, and I shall be brought back to +Paris, and only taken from prison to meet the open shame and ignominy +of a public trial.” + +What was to be done?—every moment was precious. I walked to the door to +conceal my agitation. All was dark and gloomy. The thought of escape +was my only one; but how to accomplish it! Every stir without suggested +to my anxious mind the approaching tread of horses—every rattle of the +harness seemed like the clink of accoutrements. + +While I yet hesitated, I felt that my fate was in the balance. +Concealment where I was, was impossible; there were no means of +obtaining horses to proceed. My last only hope then rested in the +courier; he perhaps might be bribed to assist me at this juncture. +Still his impression as to the enormity of the crime imputed, might +deter him; and there was no time for explanation, if even he would +listen to it. I returned to the room; he had finished his meal, and was +now engaged in all the preparations for encountering a wet and dreary +night. I hesitated; my fears that if he should refuse my offers, all +chance of my escape was gone, deterred me for a moment. At length as he +wound a large woollen shawl around his throat, and seemed to have +completed his costume, I summoned nerve for the effort, and with as +much boldness in my manner as I could muster, said— + +“Monsieur le Courier, one word with you.” I here closed the door, and +continued. “My fortunes—my whole prospects in life depend upon my +reaching Strasbourg by to-morrow night. You alone can be the means of +my doing so. Is there any price you can mention, for which you will +render me this service?—if so, name it.” + +“So then, Monsieur,” said the Courier, slowly—“so, then, you are the—” + +“You have guessed it,” said I, interrupting. “Do you accept my +proposal?” + +“It is impossible,” said he, “utterly impossible; for even should I be +disposed to run the risk on my own account, it would avail you nothing; +the first town we entered your passport would be demanded, and not +being vised by the minister to travel en courier, you would at once be +detained and arrested.” + +“Then am I lost,” said I, throwing myself upon a chair; at the same +instant my passport, which I carried in my breast pocket, fell out at +the feet of the courier. He lifted it and opened it leisurely. So +engrossed was I by my misfortunes, that for some minutes I did not +perceive, that as he continued to read the passport, he smiled from +time to time, till at length a hearty fit of laughing awoke me from my +abstraction. My first impulse was to seize him by the throat; +controlling my temper, however, with an effort, I said— + +“And pray, Monsieur, may I ask in what manner the position I stand in +at this moment affords you so much amusement? Is there any thing so +particularly droll—any thing so excessively ludicrous in my +situation—or what particular gift do you possess that shall prevent me +throwing you out of the window?” + +“Mais, Monsieur,” said he, half stifled with laughter, “do you know the +blunder I fell into? it is really too good. Could you only guess who I +took you for, you would laugh too.” + +Here he became so overcome with merriment, that he was obliged to sit +down, which he did opposite to me, and actually shook with laughter. + +“When this comedy is over,” thought I, “we may begin to understand each +other.” Seeing no prospect of this, I became at length impatient, and +jumping on my legs, said— + +“Enough, sir, quite enough of this foolery. Believe me, you have every +reason to be thankful that my present embarrassment should so far +engross me, that I cannot afford time to give you a thrashing.” + +“Pardon, mille pardons,” said he humbly; “but you will, I am sure, +forgive me when I tell you that I was stupid enough to mistake you for +the fugitive Englishman, whom the gens-d’armes are in pursuit of. How +good, eh?” + +“Oh! devilish good—but what do you mean?” + +“Why, the fellow that caused the attack at Frascati, and all that, +and—” + +“Yes—well, eh? Did you think I was him?” + +“To be sure I did, till I saw your passport.” + +“Till you saw my passport!” Why, what on earth can he mean? thought I. +“No, but,” said I, half jestingly, “how could you make such a blunder?” + +“Why, your confused manner—your impatience to get on—your hurried +questions, all convinced me. In fact, I’d have wagered any thing you +were the Englishman.” + +“And what, in heaven’s name, does he think me now?” thought I, as I +endeavoured to join the laugh so ludicrous a mistake occasioned. + +“But we are delaying sadly,” said the courier. “Are you ready?” + +“Ready?—ready for what?” + +“To go on with me, of course. Don’t you wish to get early to +Strasbourg?” + +“To be sure I do.” + +“Well, then, come along. But, pray, don’t mind your luggage, for my +caleche is loaded. Your instruments can come in the diligence.” + +“My instruments in the diligence! He’s mad—that’s flat.” + +“How they will laugh at Strasbourg at my mistake.” + +“That they will,” thought I. “The only doubt is, will you join in the +merriment?” + +So saying, I followed the courier to the door, jumped into his caleche, +and in another moment was hurrying over the pave at a pace that defied +pursuit, and promised soon to make up for all our late delay. Scarcely +was the fur-lined apron of the caleche buttoned around me, and the +German blinds let down, when I set to work to think over the +circumstance that had just befallen me. As I had never examined my +passport from the moment Trevanion handed it to me in Paris, I knew +nothing of its contents; therefore, as to what impression it might +convey of me, I was totally ignorant. To ask the courier for it now +might excite suspicion; so that I was totally at sea how to account for +his sudden change in my favour, or in what precise capacity I was +travelling beside him. Once, and once only, the thought of treachery +occurred to me. Is he about to hand me over to the gens-d’armes? and +are we now only retracing our steps towards Nancy? If so, Monsieur le +Courier, whatever be my fate, your’s is certainly an unenviable one. My +reflections on this head were soon broken in upon, for my companion +again returned to the subject of his “singular error,” and assured me +that he was as near as possible leaving me behind, under the mistaken +impression of my being “myself;” and informed me that all Strasbourg +would be delighted to see me, which latter piece of news was only the +more flattering, that I knew no one there, nor had ever been in that +city in my life; and after about an hour’s mystification as to my +tastes, habits, and pursuits, he fell fast asleep, leaving me to solve +the difficult problem as to whether I was not somebody else, or the +only alternative—whether travelling en courier might not be prescribed +by physicians as a mode of treating insane patients. + + + + + CHAPTER XLIX. +A NIGHT IN STRASBOURG. + +[Illustration: Lorrequer’s Debut at Strasburg] + + +With the dawn of day my miseries recommenced; for after letting down +the sash, and venting some very fervent imprecations upon the +postillion for not going faster than his horses were able, the courier +once more recurred to his last night’s blunder, and proceeded very +leisurely to catechise me as to my probable stay at Strasbourg, when I +should go from there, &c. As I was still in doubt what or whom he took +me for, I answered with the greatest circumspection—watching, the +while, for any clue that might lead me to a discovery of myself. Thus, +occasionally evading all pushing and home queries, and sometimes, when +hard pressed, feigning drowsiness, I passed the long and anxious +day—the fear of being overtaken ever mingling with the thoughts that +some unlucky admission of mine might discover my real character to the +courier, who, at any post station, might hand me over to the +authorities. Could I only guess at the part I am performing, thought I, +and I might manage to keep up the illusion; but my attention was so +entirely engrossed by fencing off all his threats, that I could find +out nothing. At last, as night drew near, the thought that we were +approaching Strasbourg rallied my spirits, suggesting an escape from +all pursuit, as well as the welcome prospect of getting rid of my +present torturer, who, whenever I awoke from a doze, reverted to our +singular meeting with a pertinacity that absolutely seemed like malice. + +“As I am aware that this is your first visit to Strasbourg,” said the +courier, “perhaps I can be of service to you in recommending a hotel. +Put up, I advise you, at the ‘Bear’—a capital hotel, and not ten +minutes’ distance from the theatre.” + +I thanked him for the counsel; and, rejoicing in the fact that my +prototype, whoever he might be, was unknown in the city, began to feel +some little hope of getting through this scrape, as I had done so many +others. + +“They have been keeping the ‘Huguenots’ for your arrival, and all +Strasbourg is impatient for your coming.” + +“Indeed!” said I, mumbling something meant to be modest. “Who the devil +am I, then, to cause all this fracas? Heaven grant, not the new +‘prefect,’ or the commander of the forces.” + +“I am told the ‘Zauberflotte’ is your favourite opera?” + +“I can’t say that I ever heard it—that is, I mean that I could say—well +got up.” + +Here I floundered on having so far forgot myself as to endanger every +thing. + +“How very unfortunate! Well, I hope you will not long have as much to +say. Meanwhile, here we are—this is the ‘Bear.’” + +We rattled into the ample porte cochere of a vast hotel—the postillion +cracking his enormous whip, and bells ringing on every side, as if the +crown prince of Russia had been the arrival, and not a poor sub. in the +—th. + +The courier jumped out, and running up to the landlord, whispered a few +words in his ear, to which the other answered by a deep “ah, vraiment!” +and then saluted me with an obsequiousness that made my flesh quake. + +“I shall make ‘mes hommages’ in the morning,” said the courier, as he +drove off at full speed to deliver his despatches, and left me to my +own devices to perform a character, without even being able to guess +what it might be. My passport, too, the only thing that could throw any +light upon the affair, he had taken along with him, promising to have +it vised, and save me any trouble. + +Of all my difficulties and puzzling situations in life, this was +certainly the worst; for however often my lot had been to personate +another, yet hitherto I had had the good fortune to be aware of what +and whom I was performing. Now I might be any body from Marshal Soult +to Monsieur Scribe; one thing only was certain, I must be a +“celebrity.” The confounded pains and trouble they were taking to +receive me, attested that fact, and left me to the pleasing reflection +that my detection, should it take place, would be sure of attracting a +very general publicity. Having ordered my supper from the landlord, +with a certain air of reserve, sufficient to prevent even an Alsace +host from obtruding any questions upon me, I took my opportunity to +stroll from the inn down to the river side. There lay the broad, rapid +Rhine, separating me, by how narrow a gulph, from that land, where, if +I once arrived, my safety was certain. Never did that great boundary of +nations strike me so forcibly, as now when my own petty interests and +fortunes were at stake. Night was fast settling upon the low flat banks +of the stream, and nothing stirred, save the ceaseless ripple of the +river. One fishing barque alone was on the water. I hailed the solitary +tenant of it, and after some little parley, induced him to ferry me +over. This, however, could only be done when the night was farther +advanced—it being against the law to cross the river except at certain +hours, and between two established points, where officers of the +revenue were stationed. The fisherman was easily bribed, however, to +evade the regulation, and only bargained that I should meet him on the +bank before daybreak. Having settled this point to my satisfaction, I +returned to my hotel in better spirits; and with a Strasbourg pate, and +a flask of Nierensteiner, drank to my speedy deliverance. + +How to consume the long, dreary hours between this time and that of my +departure, I knew not; for though greatly fatigued, I felt that sleep +was impossible; the usual resource of a gossip with the host was +equally out of the question; and all that remained was the theatre, +which I happily remembered was not far from the hotel. + +It was an opera night, and the house was crowded to excess; but with +some little management, I obtained a place in a box near the stage. The +piece was “Les Franc Macons,” which was certainly admirably supported, +and drew down from the audience—no mean one as judges of music—the +loudest thunders of applause. As for me, the house was a great a +curiosity as the opera. The novel spectacle of some hundred (thousand?) +people relishing and appreciating the highest order of musical genius, +was something totally new and surprising to me. The curtain at length +fell upon the fifth act. + +And now the deafening roar of acclamation was tremendous; and amid a +perfect shout of enthusiasm, the manager announced the opera for the +ensuing evening. Scarcely had this subsided, when a buzz ran through +the house; at first subdued, but gradually getting louder—extending +from the boxes to the balcone—from the balcone to the parterre—and +finally even to the galleries. Groups of people stood upon the benches, +and looked fixedly in one part of the house; then changed and regarded +as eagerly the other. + +What can this mean? thought I. Is the theatre on fire? Something surely +has gone wrong! + +In this conviction, with the contagious spirit of curiosity, I mounted +upon a seat, and looked about me on every side; but unable still to +catch the object which seemed to attract the rest, as I was about to +resume my place, my eyes fell upon a well-known face, which in an +instant I remembered was that of my late fellow-traveller the courier. +Anxious to avoid his recognition, I attempted to get down at once; but +before I could accomplish it, the wretch had perceived and recognised +me; and I saw him, even with a gesture of delight, point me out to some +friends beside him. + +“Confound the fellow,” muttered I; “I must leave this at once, or I +shall be involved in some trouble.” + +Scarcely was my my resolve taken, when a new burst of voices arose from +the pit—the words “l’Auteur,” “l’Auteur,” mingling with loud cries for +“Meerberger,” “Meerberger,” to appear. So, thought I, it seems the +great composer is here. Oh, by Jove! I must have a peep at him before I +go. So, leaning over the front rail of the box, I looked anxiously +about to catch one hasty glimpse of one of the great men of his day and +country. What was my surprise, however, to perceive that about two +thousand eyes were firmly rivetted upon the box I was seated in; while +about half the number of tongues called out unceasingly, “Mr. +Meerberger—vive Meerberger—vive l’Auteur des Franc Macons—vive Franc +Macons,” &c. Before I could turn to look for the hero of the scene, my +legs were taken from under me, and I felt myself lifted by several +strong men and held out in front of the box, while the whole audience, +rising en masse, saluted me—yes, me, Harry Lorrequer—with a cheer that +shook the building. Fearful of precipitating myself into the pit +beneath, if I made the least effort, and half wild with terror and +amazement, I stared about like a maniac, while a beautiful young woman +tripped along the edge of the box, supported by her companion’s hand, +and placed lightly upon my brow a chaplet of roses and laurel. Here the +applause was like an earthquake. + +“May the devil fly away with half of ye,” was my grateful response, to +as full a cheer of applause as ever the walls of the house re-echoed +to. + +“On the stage—on the stage!” shouted that portion of the audience who, +occupying the same side of the house as myself, preferred having a +better view of me; and to the stage I was accordingly hurried, down a +narrow stair, through a side scene, and over half the corps de ballet +who were waiting for their entree. Kicking, plunging, buffetting like a +madman, they carried me to the “flats,” when the manager led me forward +to the foot lights, my wreath of flowers contrasting rather ruefully +with my bruised cheeks and torn habiliments. Human beings, God be +praised, are only capable of certain efforts—so that one-half the +audience were coughing their sides out, while the other were hoarse as +bull-frogs from their enthusiasm in less than five minutes. + +“You’ll have what my friend Rooney calls a chronic bronchitis for this, +these three weeks,” said I, “that’s one comfort,” as I bowed my way +back to the “practicable” door, through which I made my exit, with the +thousand faces of the parterre shouting my name, or, as fancy dictated, +that of one of “my” operas. I retreated behind the scenes, to encounter +very nearly as much, and at closer quarters, too, as that lately +sustained before the audience. After an embrace of two minutes duration +from the manager, I ran the gauntlet from the prima donna to the last +triangle of the orchestra, who cut away a back button of my coat as a +“souvenir.” During all this, I must confess, very little acting was +needed on my part. They were so perfectly contented with their +self-deception, that if I had made an affidavit before the mayor—if +there be such a functionary in such an insane town—they would not have +believed me. Wearied and exhausted at length, by all I had gone +through, I sat down upon a bench, and, affecting to be overcome by my +feelings, concealed my face in my handkerchief. This was the first +moment of relief I experienced since my arrival; but it was not to last +long, for the manager, putting down his head close to my ear, +whispered— + +“Monsieur Meerberger, I have a surprise for you—such as you have not +had for some time, I venture to say”— + +“I defy you on this head,” thought I. “If they make me out king Solomon +now, it will not amaze me”— + +“And when I tell you my secret,” continued he, “you will acknowledge I +cannot be of a very jealous disposition. Madame Baptiste has just told +me she knew you formerly, and that—she—that is, you—were—in fact, you +understand—there had been—so to say—a little ‘amourette’ between you.” + +I groaned in spirit as I thought, now am I lost without a chance of +escape—the devil take her reminiscences. + +“I see,” continued le bon mari, “you cannot guess of whom I speak; but +when I tell you of Amelie Grandet, your memory will, perhaps, be +better.” + +“Amelie Grandet!” said I, with a stage start. I need not say that I had +never heard the name before. “Amelie Grandet here!” + +“Yes, that she is,” said the manager, rubbing his hands; “and my wife, +too”— + +“Married!—Amelie Grandet married! No, no; it is impossible—I cannot +believe it. But were it true—true, mark me—for worlds would I not meet +her.” + +“Comment il est drole,” said the manager, soliloquising aloud; “for my +wife takes it much easier, seeing they never met each other since they +were fifteen.” + +“Ho, ho!” thought I, “the affair is not so bad either—time makes great +changes in that space.” “And does she still remember me?” said I, in a +very Romeo-in-the-garden voice. + +“Why, so far as remembering the little boy that used to play with her +in the orchard at her mother’s cottage near Pirna, and with whom she +used to go boating upon the Elbe, I believe the recollection is +perfect. But come along—she insists upon seeing you, and is this very +moment waiting supper in our room for you.” + +“A thorough German she must be,” thought I, “with her sympathies and +her supper—her reminiscences and her Rhine wine hunting in couples +through her brain.” + +Summoning courage from the fact of our long absence from each other, I +followed the manager through a wilderness of pavilions, forests, clouds +and cataracts, and at length arrived at a little door, at which he +knocked gently. + +“Come in,” said a soft voice inside. We opened, and beheld a very +beautiful young woman, in Tyrolese costume. She was to perform in the +afterpiece—her low boddice and short scarlet petticoat displaying the +most perfect symmetry of form and roundness of proportion. She was +dressing her hair before a low glass as we came in, and scarcely turned +at our approach; but in an instant, as if some sudden thought had +struck her, she sprung fully round, and looking at me fixedly for above +a minute—a very trying one for me—she glanced at her husband, whose +countenance plainly indicated that she was right, and calling out, +“C’est lui—c’est bien lui,” threw herself into my arms, and sobbed +convulsively. + +“If this were to be the only fruits of my impersonation,” thought I, +“it is not so bad—but I am greatly afraid these good people will find +out a wife and seven babies for me before morning.” + +Whether the manager thought that enough had been done for stage effect, +I know not; but he gently disengaged the lovely Amelie, and deposited +her upon a sofa, to a place upon which she speedily motioned me by a +look from a pair of very seducing blue eyes. + +“Francois, mon cher, you must put off La Chaumiere. I can’t play +to-night.” + +“Put it off! But only think of the audience, ma mie—they will pull down +the house.” + +“C’est possible,” said she, carelessly. “If that give them any +pleasure, I suppose they must be indulged; but I, too, must have a +little of my own way. I shall not play.” + +The tone this was said in—the look—the easy gesture of command—no less +than the afflicted helplessness of the luckless husband, showed me that +Amelie, however docile as a sweetheart, had certainly her own way as +wife. + +While Le cher Francois then retired, to make his proposition to the +audience, of substituting something for the Chaumiere—the “sudden +illness of Madame Baptiste having prevented her appearance,”—we began +to renew our old acquaintance, by a thousand inquiries from that +long-past time, when we were sweethearts and lovers. + +“You remember me then so well?” said I. + +“As of yesterday. You are much taller, and your eyes darker; but +still—there is something. You know, however, I have been expecting to +see you these two days; and tell me frankly how do you find me +looking?” + +“More beautiful, a thousand times more beautiful than ever—all save in +one thing, Amelie.” + +“And that is—” + +“You are married.” + +“How you jest. But let us look back. Do you ever think on any of our +old compacts?” Here she pulled a leaf from a rose bud in her bouquet, +and kissed it. “I wager you have forgotten that.” + +How I should have replied to this masonic sign, God knows; but the +manager fortunately entered, to assure us that the audience had kindly +consented not to pull down the house, but to listen to a five act +tragedy instead, in which he had to perform the principal character. +“So, then, don’t wait supper, Amelie; but take care of Monsieur +Meerberger till my return.” + +Thus, once more were we left to our souvenirs, in which, whenever hard +pushed myself, I regularly carried the war into the enemy’s camp, by +allusions to incidents, which I need not observe had never occurred. +After a thousand stories of our early loves, mingled with an occasional +sigh over their fleeting character—now indulging a soft retrospect of +the once happy past—now moralising on the future—Amelie and I chatted +away the hours till the conclusion of the tragedy. + +By this time, the hour was approaching for my departure; so, after a +very tender leave-taking with my new friend and my old love, I left the +theatre, and walked slowly along to the river. + +“So much for early associations,” thought I; “and how much better +pleased are we ever to paint the past according to our own fancy, than +to remember it as it really was. Hence all the insufferable cant about +happy infancy, and ‘the glorious schoolboy days,’ which have generally +no more foundation in fact than have the ‘Chateaux en Espagne’ we build +up for the future. I wager that the real Amant d’enfance, when he +arrives, is not half so great a friend with the fair Amelie as his +unworthy shadow. At the same time, I had just as soon that Lady Jane +should have no ‘premiers amours’ to look back upon, except such as I +have performed a character in.” + +The plash of oars near me broke up my reflections, and the next moment +found me skimming the rapid Rhine, as I thought for the last time. What +will they say in Strasbourg to-morrow? How will they account for the +mysterious disappearance of Monsieur Meerberger? Poor Amelie Grandet! +For so completely had the late incidents engrossed my attention, that I +had for the moment lost sight of the most singular event of all—how I +came to be mistaken for the illustrious composer. + + + + + CHAPTER L. +A SURPRISE. + + +It was late upon the following day ere I awoke from the long deep sleep +that closed my labours in Strasbourg. In the confusion of my waking +thoughts, I imagined myself still before a crowded and enthusiastic +audience—the glare of the foot-lights—the crash of the orchestra—the +shouts of “l’Auteur,” “l’Auteur,” were all before me, and so completely +possessed me, that, as the waiter entered with hot water, I could not +resist the impulse to pull off my night-cap with one hand, and press +the other to my heart in the usual theatrical style of acknowledgments +for a most flattering reception. The startled look of the poor fellow +as he neared the door to escape, roused me from my hallucination, and +awakened me to the conviction that the suspicion of lunacy might be a +still heavier infliction than the personation of Monsieur Meerberger. + +With thoughts of this nature, I assumed my steadiest demeanour—ordered +my breakfast in the most orthodox fashion—eat it like a man in his +senses; and when I threw myself back in the wicker conveniency they +call a caleche, and bid adieu to Kehl, the whole fraternity of the inn +would have given me a certificate of sanity before any court in Europe. + +“Now for Munich,” said I, as we rattled along down the steep street of +the little town. “Now for Munich, with all the speed that first of +postmasters and slowest of men, the Prince of Tour and Taxis, will +afford us.” + +The future engrossed all my thoughts; and puzzling as my late +adventures had been to account for, I never for a moment reverted to +the past. “Is she to be mine?” was the ever-rising question in my mind. +The thousand difficulties that had crossed my path might long since +have terminated a pursuit where there was so little of promise, did I +not cherish the idea in my heart, that I was fated to succeed. Sheridan +answered the ribald sneers of his first auditory, by saying, “Laugh on; +but I have it in me, and by —— it shall come out.” So I whispered to +myself:—Go on Harry. Luck has been hitherto against you, it is true; +but you have yet one throw of the dice, and something seems to say, a +fortunate one in store; and, if so——, but I cannot trust myself with +such anticipations. I am well aware how little the world sympathises +with the man whose fortunes are the sport of his temperament—that +April-day frame of mind is ever the jest and scoff of those hardier and +sterner natures, who, if never overjoyed by success, are never much +depressed by failure. That I have been cast in the former mould, these +Confessions have, alas! plainly proved; but that I regret it, I fear +also, for my character for sound judgment, I must answer “No.” + +Better far to be + In utter darkness lying, +Than be blest with light, and see + That light for ever flying + + +Is, doubtless, very pretty poetry, but very poor philosophy. For +myself—and some glimpses of sunshine this fair world has afforded me, +fleeting and passing enough, in all conscience—and yet I am not so +ungrateful as to repine at my happiness, because it was not permanent, +as I am thankful for those bright hours of “Love’s young dream,” which, +if nothing more, are at least delightful souvenirs. They form the +golden thread in the tangled web of our existence, ever appearing amid +the darker surface around, and throwing a fair halo of brilliancy on +what, without it, were cold, bleak, and barren. No, no— + +The light that lies +In woman’s eyes, + + +were it twice as fleeting—as it is ten times more brilliant—than the +forked lightning, irradiates the dark gloom within us for many a long +day after it has ceased to shine upon us. As in boyhood it is the +humanizing influence that tempers the fierce and unruly passions of our +nature, so in manhood it forms the goal to which all our better and +higher aspirations tend, telling us there is something more worthy than +gold, and a more lofty pinnacle of ambition than the praise and envy of +our fellow-men; and we may rest assured, that when this feeling dies +within us, that all the ideal of life dies with it, and nothing remains +save the dull reality of our daily cares and occupations. “I have lived +and have loved,” saith Schiller; and if it were not that there seems +some tautology in the phrase, I should say, such is my own motto. If +Lady Jane but prove true—if I have really succeeded—if, in a word—but +why speculate upon such chances?—what pretensions have I?—what reasons +to look for such a prize? Alas! and alas! were I to catechise myself +too closely, I fear that my horses’ heads would face towards Calais, +and that I should turn my back upon the only prospect of happiness I +can picture to myself in this world. In reflections such as these, the +hours rolled over, and it was already late at night when we reached the +little village of Merchem. While fresh horses were being got ready, I +seized the occasion to partake of the table d’hote supper of the inn, +at the door of which the diligence was drawn up. Around the long, and +not over-scrupulously clean table, sat the usual assemblage of a German +“Eilwagen”—smoking, dressing salad, knitting, and occasionally picking +their teeth with their forks, until the soup should make its +appearance. Taking my place amid this motley assemblage of mustachioed +shopkeepers and voluminously-petticoated frows, I sat calculating how +long human patience could endure such companionship, when my attention +was aroused by hearing a person near me narrate to his friend the +circumstances of my debut at Strasbourg, with certain marginal notes of +his own that not a little surprised me. + +“And so it turned out not to be Meerberger, after all,”: said the +listener. + +“Of course not,” replied the other. “Meerberger’s passport was stolen +from him in the diligence by this English escroc, and the consequence +was, that our poor countryman was arrested, the other passport being +found upon him; while the Englishman, proceeding to Strasbourg, took +his benefit at the opera, and walked away with above twelve thousand +florins. + +“Sappermint” said the other, tossing off his beer. “He must have been a +clever fellow, though, to lead the orchestra in the Franc Macons.” + +“That is the most astonishing part of all; for they say in Strasbourg +that his performance upon the violin was far finer than Paganini’s; but +there seems some secret in it, after all: for Madame Baptiste swears +that he is Meerberger; and in fact the matter is far from being cleared +up—nor can it be till he is apprehended.” + +“Which shall not be for some time to come,” said I to myself, as, +slipping noiselessly from the room, I regained my “caleche,” and in ten +minutes more was proceeding on my journey. So much for correct +information, thought I. One thing, however, is certain—to the chance +interchange of passports I owe my safety, with the additional +satisfaction that my little German acquaintance is reaping a pleasant +retribution for all his worry and annoyance of me in the coupé. + +Only he who has toiled over the weary miles of a long +journey—exclusively occupied with one thought—one overpowering +feeling—can adequately commiserate my impatient anxiety as the days +rolled slowly over on the long tiresome road that leads from the Rhine +to the south of Germany. + +The morning was breaking on the fourth day of my journey as the tall +spires of Munich rose to my view, amid the dull and arid desert of sand +that city is placed in. At last! was my exclamation as the postilion +tapped at the window with his whip, and then pointed towards the city. +At last! Oh! what would be the extacy of my feelings now could I +exchange the torturing anxieties of suspense for the glorious certainty +my heart throbs for; now my journey is nearing its end to see me claim +as my own what I now barely aspire to in the sanguine hope of a heart +that will not despair. But cheer up, Harry. It is a noble stake you +play for; and it is ever the bold gambler that wins. Scarcely was this +reflection made half aloud, when a sudden shock threw me from my seat. +I fell towards the door, which, bursting open, launched me out upon the +road, at the same moment that the broken axletree of the caleche had +upset it on the opposite side, carrying one horse along with it, and +leaving the other with the postillion on his back, kicking and plunging +with all his might. After assisting the frightened fellow to dismount, +and having cut the traces of the restive animal, I then perceived that +in the melee I had not escaped scatheless. I could barely stand; and, +on passing my hand upon my instep, perceived I had sprained my ancle in +the fall. The day was only breaking, no one was in sight, so that after +a few minutes’ consideration, the best thing to do, appeared to get the +other horse upon his legs, and despatching the postillion to Munich, +then about three leagues distant, for a carriage, wait patiently on the +road-side for his return. No sooner was the resolve made than carried +into execution; and in less than a quarter of an hour from the moment +of the accident, I was seated upon the bank, watching the retiring +figure of the postillion, as he disappeared down a hill, on his way to +Munich. When the momentary burst of impatience was over, I could not +help congratulating myself, that I was so far fortunate in reaching the +end of my journey ere the mischance befell me. Had it occurred at +Stuttgard I really think that it would have half driven me distracted. + +I was not long in my present situation till a number of peasants, with +broad-brimmed hats, and many-buttoned coats, passed on their way to +work; they all saluted me respectfully; but although they saw the +broken carriage, and might well guess at the nature of my accident, yet +not one ever thought of proffering his services, or even indulging +curiosity, by way of inquiry. “How thoroughly German,” thought I; +“these people are the Turks of Europe, stupified with tobacco and +‘starkes bier.’ They have no thought for any thing but themselves, and +their own immediate occupations.” Perceiving at length one whose better +dress and more intelligent look bespoke a rank above the common, I made +the effort with such “platt deutsch,” as I could muster, to ask if +there were any house near, where I could remain till the postillion’s +return? and learned greatly to my gratification, that by taking the +path which led through a grove of pine trees near me, I should find a +chateau; but who was the proprietor he knew not; indeed the people were +only newly come, and he believed were foreigners. English he thought. +Oh, how my heart jumped as I said, “can they be the Callonbys; are they +many in family; are there ladies—young ladies, among them?”—he knew +not. Having hastily arranged with my new friend to watch the carriage +till my return, I took the path he showed me, and smarting with pain at +every step, hurried along as best I could towards the chateau. I had +not walked many minutes, when a break in the wood gave me a view of the +old mansion, and at once dispelled the illusion that was momentarily +gaining upon me. “They could not be the Callonbys.” The house was old; +and though it had once been a fine and handsome structure, exhibited +now abundant traces of decay; the rich cornices which supported the +roof had fallen in many places, and lay in fragments upon the terrace +beneath; the portico of the door was half tumbling; and the architraves +of the windows were broken and dismantled; the tall and once richly +ornamented chimnies, were bereft of all their tracery, and stood bolt +upright in all their nakedness above the high pitched roof. A +straggling “jet d’eau” was vigorously fighting its way amid a mass of +creeping shrubs and luxuriant lichens that had grown around and above a +richly carved fountain, and fell in a shower of sparkling dew upon the +rank grass and tall weeds around. The gentle murmur was the only sound +that broke the stillness of the morning. + +A few deities in lead and stone, mutilated and broken, stood like the +Genii loci, guarding the desolation about them, where an old, +superannuated peacock, with dropping, ragged tail was the only living +thing to be seen. All bespoke the wreck of what once was great and +noble, and all plainly told me that such could not be the abode of the +Callonbys. + +Half doubting that the house were inhabited, and half scrupling if so +to disturb its inmates from their rest, I sat down upon the terrace +steps and fell into a fit of musing on the objects about. That strange +propensity of my countrymen to settle down in remote and unfrequented +spots upon the continent, had never struck me so forcibly; for although +unquestionably there were evident traces of the former grandeur of the +place, yet it was a long past greatness; and in the dilapidated walls, +broken statues, weed grown walls, and dark and tangled pine grove, +there were more hints for sadness than I should willingly surround +myself by in a residence. The harsh grating of a heavy door behind +roused me; I turned and beheld an old man in a species of tarnished and +worm-eaten livery, who, holding the door, again gazed at me with a +mingled expression of fear and curiosity. Having briefly explained the +circumstances which had befallen me, and appealed to the broken caleche +upon the road to corroborate a testimony that I perceived needed such +aid, the old man invited me to enter, saying that his master and +mistress were not risen, but that he would himself give me some +breakfast, of which by this time I stood much in want. The room into +which I was ushered, corresponded well with the exterior of the house. +It was large, bleak, and ill furnished; the ample, uncurtained windows; +the cold, white pannelled walls; the uncarpeted floor; all giving it an +air of uninhabitable misery. A few chairs of the Louis-quatorze taste, +with blue velvet linings, faded and worn, a cracked marble table upon +legs that once had been gilt; two scarcely detectable portraits of a +mail-clad hero and a scarcely less formidable fair, with a dove upon +her wrist, formed the principal articles of furniture in the dismal +abode, where so “triste” and depressing did every thing appear, that I +half regretted the curiosity that had tempted me from the balmy air, +and cheerful morning without, to the gloom and solitude around me. + +The old man soon re-appeared with a not despicable cup of “Cafe noir,” +and a piece of bread as large as a teaspoon, and used by the Germans +pretty much in the same way. As the adage of the “gift horse” is of +tolerably general acceptation, I eat and was thankful, mingling my +acknowledgments from time to time with some questions about the owners +of the mansion, concerning whom I could not help feeling curious. The +ancient servitor, however, knew little or nothing of those he served; +his master was the honourable baron; but of his name he was ignorant; +his mistress was young; they had not been many months there; they knew +no one—had no visitors—he had heard they were English, but did not know +it himself; they were “Gute leute,” “good people,” and that was enough +for him. How strange did all this seem, that two people, young, too, +should separate themselves from all the attractions and pleasures of +the world, and settle down in the dark and dreary solitude, where every +association was of melancholy, every object a text for sad reflections. +Lost in these thoughts I sat down beside the window, and heeded not the +old man as he noiselessly left the room. My thoughts ran on over the +strange phases in which life presents itself, and how little after all +external influences have to do with that peace of mind whose origin is +within. The Indian, whose wigwam is beside the cataract, heeds not its +thunders, nor feels its sprays as they fall in everlasting dews upon +him; the Arab of the desert sees no bleakness in those never ending +plains, upon whose horizon his eye has rested from childhood to age. +Who knows but he who inhabits this lonely dwelling may have once shone +in the gay world, mixing in its follies, tasting of its fascination; +and to think that now—the low murmurs of the pine tops, the gentle +rustle of the water through the rank grass, and my own thoughts +combining, overcame me at length, and I slept—how long I know not; but +when I awoke, certain changes about showed me that some length of time +had elapsed; a gay wood fire was burning on the hearth; an ample +breakfast covered the table; and the broadsheet of the “Times” +newspaper was negligently reposing in the deep hollow of an arm chair. +Before I had well thought how to apologize for the cool insouciance of +my intrusion, the door opened, and a tall, well built man entered; his +shooting jacket and gaiters were evidence of his English origin, while +a bushy moustache and most ample “Henri quatre” nearly concealed +features, that still were not quite unknown to me; he stopped, looked +steadily at me, placed a hand on either shoulder, and calling out, +“Harry—Harry Lorrequer, by all that’s glorious!” rushed from the room +in a transport of laughter. + +If my escape from the gallows depended upon my guessing my friend, I +should have submitted to the last penalty of the law; never was I so +completely nonplussed. Confound him what does he mean by running away +in that fashion. It would serve him right were I to decamp by one of +the windows before he comes back; but hark! some one is approaching. + +“I tell you I cannot be mistaken,” said the man’s voice from without. + +“Oh, impossible!” said a lady-like accent that seemed not heard by me +for the first time. + +“Judge for yourself; though certainly the last time you saw him may +confuse your memory a little.” + +“What the devil does he mean by that?” said I, as the door opened, and +a very beautiful young woman came forward, who, after a moment’s +hesitation, called out— + +“True, indeed, it is Mr. Lorrequer, but he seems to have forgotten me.” + +The eyes, the lips, the tone of the voice, were all familiar. What! can +it be possible? Her companion who had now entered, stood behind her, +holding his sides with ill-suppressed mirth; and at length called out— + +“Harry, my boy, you scarcely were more discomposed the last morning we +parted, when the yellow plush—” + +“By Jove it is,” said I, as I sprang forward, and seizing my fair +friend in my arms, saluted upon both cheeks my quondam flame, Miss +Kamworth, now the wife of my old friend Jack Waller, of whom I have +made due mention in an early chapter of these Confessions. + +Were I given a muster roll of my acquaintance to say which of them +might inhabit this deserted mansion, Jack Waller would certainly have +been the last I should have selected—the gay, lively, dashing, +high-spirited Jack, fond of society, dress, equipage, living greatly in +the world, known to and liked by every body, of universal reputation. +Did you want a cavalier to see your wife through a crush at the opera, +a friend in a duel, a rider for your kicking horse in a stiff steeple +chase, a bow oar for your boat at a rowing match, Jack was your man. +Such then was my surprise at finding him here, that although there were +many things I longed to inquire about, my first question was— + +“And how came you here?” + +“Life has its vicissitudes,” replied Jack, laughing; “many stranger +things have come to pass than my reformation. But first of all let us +think of breakfast; you shall have ample satisfaction for all your +curiosity afterwards.” + +“Not now, I fear; I am hurrying on to Munich.” + +“Oh, I perceive; but you are aware that—your friends are not there.” + +“The Callonbys not at Munich!” said I, with a start. + +“No; they have been at Saltzburgh, in the Tyrol, for some weeks; but +don’t fret yourself, they are expected to-morrow in time for the court +masquerade; so that until then at least you are my guest.” + +Overjoyed at this information, I turned my attention towards madame, +whom I found much improved; the embonpoint of womanhood had still +farther increased the charms of one who had always been handsome; and I +could not help acknowledging that my friend Jack was warrantable in any +scheme for securing such a prize. + + + + + CHAPTER LI. +JACK WALLER’S STORY. + + +The day passed quickly over with my newly-found friends, whose +curiosity to learn my adventures since we parted, anticipated me in my +wish to learn theirs. After an early dinner, however, with a fresh log +upon the hearth, a crusty flask of red hermitage before us, Jack and I +found ourselves alone and at liberty to speak freely together. + +“I scarcely could have expected such would be our meeting, Jack,” said +I, “from the way we last parted.” + +“Yes, by Jove, Harry; I believe I behaved but shabbily to you in that +affair; but ‘Love and War,’ you know; and besides we had a distinct +agreement drawn up between us.” + +“All true; and after all you are perhaps less to blame than my own +miserable fortune that lies in wait to entrap and disappoint me at +every turn in life. Tell me what do you know of the Callonbys?” + +“Nothing personally; we have met them at dinner, a visit passed +subsequently between us, ‘et voila tout;’ they have been scenery +hunting, picture hunting, and all that sort of thing since their +arrival; and rarely much in Munich; but how do you stand there? to be +or not to be—eh?” + +“That is the very question of all others I would fain solve; and yet am +in most complete ignorance of all about it; but the time approaches +which must decide all. I have neither temper nor patience for further +contemplation of it; so here goes; success to the Enterprize.” + +“Or,” said Jack, tossing off his glass at the moment, “or, as they +would say in Ireland, ‘your health and inclinations, if they be +virtuous.’” + +“And now, Jack, tell me something of your own fortunes since the day +you passed me in the post-chaise and four.” + +“The story is soon told. You remember that when I carried off Mary, I +had no intention of leaving England whatever: my object was, after +making her my wife, to open negociations with the old colonel, and +after the approved routine of penitential letters, imploring +forgiveness, and setting forth happiness only wanting his sanction to +make it heaven itself, to have thrown ourselves at his feet ‘selon les +regles,’ sobbed, blubbered, blew our noses, and dressed for dinner, +very comfortable inmates of that particularly snug residence, ‘Hydrabad +Cottage.’ Now Mary, who behaved with great courage for a couple of +days, after that got low-spirited and depressed; the desertion of her +father, as she called it, weighed upon her mind, and all my endeavours +to rally and comfort her, were fruitless and unavailing. Each day, +however, I expected to hear something of, or from, the colonel, that +would put an end to this feeling of suspense; but no—three weeks rolled +on, and although I took care that he knew of our address, we never +received any communication. You are aware that when I married, I knew +Mary had, or was to have, a large fortune; and that I myself had not +more than enough in the world to pay the common expenses of our wedding +tour. My calculation was this—the reconciliation will possibly, what +with delays of post—distance—and deliberation, take a month—say five +weeks—now, at forty pounds per week, that makes exactly two hundred +pounds—such being the precise limit of my exchequer, when blessed with +a wife, a man, and a maid, three imperials, a cap-case, and a poodle, I +arrived at the Royal Hotel, in Edinburgh. Had I been Lord Francis +Egerton, with his hundred thousand a year, looking for a new +‘distraction,’ at any price; or still more—were I a London shopkeeper, +spending a Sunday in Boulogne sur Mer, and trying to find out something +expensive, as he had only one day to stay, I could not have more +industriously sought out opportunities for extravagance, and each day +contrived to find out some two or three acquaintances to bring home to +dinner. And as I affected to have been married for a long time, Mary +felt less genee among strangers, and we got on famously; still the +silence of the colonel weighed upon her mind, and although she partook +of none of my anxieties from that source, being perfectly ignorant of +the state of my finances, she dwelt so constantly upon this subject, +that I at length yielded to her repeated solicitations, and permitted +her to write to her father. Her letter was a most proper one; combining +a dutiful regret for leaving her home, with the hope that her choice +had been such as to excuse her rashness, or, at least, palliate her +fault. It went to say, that her father’s acknowledgment of her, was all +she needed or cared for, to complete her happiness, and asking for his +permission to seek it in person. This was the substance of the letter, +which upon the whole, satisfied me, and I waited anxiously for the +reply. At the end of five days the answer arrived. It was thus:— + +“‘Dear Mary, + “‘You have chosen your own path in life, and having done so, I have + neither the right nor inclination to interfere with your decision; + I shall neither receive you, nor the person you have made your + husband; and to prevent any further disappointment, inform you + that, as I leave this to-morrow, any future letters you might think + proper to address, will not reach me. + + +“‘Yours very faithful, +C. Kamworth, + + +Hydrabad Cottage.’ + + +“This was a tremendous coup, and not in the least anticipated by either +of us; upon me the effect was stunning, knowing, as I did, that our +fast-diminishing finances were nearly expended. Mary on the other hand, +who neither knew nor thought of the exchequer, rallied at once from her +depression, and after a hearty fit of crying, dried her eyes, and +putting her arm round my neck, said: + +“‘Well, Jack, I must only love you the more, since papa will not share +any of my affection.’ + +“‘I wish he would his purse though,’ muttered I, as I pressed her in my +arms, and strove to seem perfectly happy. + +“I shall not prolong my story by dwelling upon the agitation this +letter cost me; however, I had yet a hundred pounds left, and an aunt +in Harley-street, with whom I had always been a favourite. This +thought, the only rallying one I possessed, saved me for the time; and +as fretting was never my forte, I never let Mary perceive that any +thing had gone wrong, and managed so well in this respect, that my good +spirits raised her’s, and we set out for London one fine sunshiny +morning, as happy a looking couple as ever travelled the north road. + +“When we arrived at the ‘Clarendon,’ my first care was to get into a +cab, and drive to Harley-street. I rung the bell; and not waiting to +ask if my aunt was at home, I dashed up stairs to the drawing-room; in +I bolted, and instead of the precise old Lady Lilford, sitting at her +embroidery, with her fat poodle beside her, beheld a strapping looking +fellow, with a black moustache, making fierce love to a young lady on a +sofa beside him. + +“‘Why, how is this—I really—there must be some mistake here.’ In my +heart I knew that such doings in my good aunt’s dwelling were +impossible. + +“‘I should suspect there is, sir,’ drawled out he of the moustache, as +he took a very cool survey of me, through his glass. + +“‘Is Lady Lilford at home, may I ask,’ said I, in a very apologetic +tone of voice. + +“‘I haven’t the honor of her ladyship’s acquaintance,’ replied he in a +lisp, evidently enjoying my perplexity, which was every moment becoming +more evident. + +“‘But this is her house,’ said I, ‘at least—’ + +“‘Lady Lilford is at Paris, sir,’ said the young lady, who now spoke +for the first time. ‘Papa has taken the house for the season, and that +may perhaps account for your mistake.’ + +“What I muttered by way of apology for my intrusion, I know not; but I +stammered—the young lady blushed—the beau chuckled, and turned to the +window, and when I found myself in the street, I scarcely knew whether +to laugh at my blunder, or curse my disappointment. + +“The next morning I called upon my aunt’s lawyer, and having obtained +her address in Paris, sauntered to the ‘Junior Club,’ to write her a +letter before post hour. As I scanned over the morning papers, I could +not help smiling at the flaming paragraph which announced my marriage, +to the only daughter and heiress of the Millionaire, Colonel Kamworth. +Not well knowing how to open the correspondence with my worthy +relative, I folded the paper containing the news, and addressed it to +‘Lady Lilford, Hotel de Bristol, Paris.’ + +“When I arrived at the ‘Clarendon,’ I found my wife and her maid +surrounded by cases and band-boxes; laces, satins and velvets were +displayed on all sides, while an emissary from ‘Storr and Mortimer’ was +arranging a grand review of jewellery on a side table, one half of +which would have ruined the Rajah of Mysore, to purchase. My advice was +immediately called into requisition; and pressed into service, I had +nothing left for it, but to canvass, criticise, and praise, between +times, which I did, with a good grace, considering that I anticipated +the ‘Fleet,’ for every flounce of Valenciennes lace; and could not help +associating a rich diamond aigrette, with hard labour for life, and the +climate of New South Wales. The utter abstraction I was in, led to some +awkward contre temps; and as my wife’s enthusiasm for her purchases +increased, so did my reverie gain ground. + +“‘Is it not beautiful, Jack?—how delicately worked—it must have taken a +long time to do it.’ + +“‘Seven years,’ I muttered, as my thoughts ran upon a very different +topic. + +“‘Oh, no—not so much,’ said she laughing; ‘and it must be such a hard +thing to do.’ + +“‘Not half so hard as carding wool, or pounding oyster shells.’ + +“‘How absurd you are. Well, I’ll take this, it will look so well in—’ + +“‘Botany Bay,’ said I, with a sigh that set all the party laughing, +which at last roused me, and enabled me to join in the joke. + +“As, at length, one half of the room became filled with millinery, and +the other glittered with jewels and bijouterie, my wife grew weary with +her exertions, and we found ourselves alone. + +“When I told her that my aunt had taken up her residence in Paris, it +immediately occurred to her, how pleasant it would be to go there too; +and, although I concurred in the opinion for very different reasons, it +was at length decided we should do so; and the only difficulty now +existed as to the means, for although the daily papers teem with ‘four +ways to go from London to Paris;’ they all resolved themselves into +one, and that one, unfortunately to me, the most difficult and +impracticable—by money. + +“There was, however, one last resource open—the sale of my commission. +I will not dwell upon what it cost me to resolve upon this—the +determination was a painful one, but it was soon come to, and before +five-o’clock that day, Cox and Greenwood had got their instructions to +sell out for me, and had advanced a thousand pounds of the purchase. +Our bill settled—the waiters bowing to the ground (it is your ruined +man that is always most liberal)—the post-horses harnessed, and +impatient for the road, I took my place beside my wife, while my valet +held a parasol over the soubrette in the rumble, all in the approved +fashion of those who have an unlimited credit with Coutts and Drummond; +the whips cracked, the leaders capered, and with a patronizing bow to +the proprietor of the ‘Clarendon,’ away we rattled to Dover. + +“After the usual routine of sea sickness, fatigue, and poisonous +cookery, we reached Paris on the fifth day, and put up at the ‘Hotel de +Londres,’ Place Vendome. + +“To have an adequate idea of the state of my feelings as I trod the +splendid apartments of this princely Hotel, surrounded by every luxury +that wealth can procure, or taste suggest, you must imagine the +condition of a man, who is regaled with a sumptuous banquet on the eve +of his execution. The inevitable termination to all my present +splendour, was never for a moment absent from my thoughts, and the +secrecy with which I was obliged to conceal my feelings, formed one of +the greatest sources of my misery. The coup, when it does come, will be +sad enough, and poor Mary may as well have the comfort of the +deception, as long as it lasts, without suffering as I do. Such was the +reasoning by which I met every resolve to break to her the real state +of our finances, and such the frame of mind in which I spent my days at +Paris, the only really unhappy ones I can ever charge my memory with. + +“We had scarcely got settled in the hotel, when my aunt, who inhabited +the opposite side of the ‘Place,’ came over to see us and wish us joy. +She had seen the paragraph in the Post, and like all other people with +plenty of money, fully approved a match like mine. + +“She was delighted with Mary, and despite the natural reserve of the +old maiden lady, became actually cordial, and invited us to dine with +her that day, and every succeeding one we might feel disposed to do so. +So far so well, thought I, as I offered her my arm to see her home; but +if she knew of what value even this small attention is to us, am I +quite so sure she would offer it?—however, no time is to be lost; I +cannot live in this state of hourly agitation; I must make some one the +confidant of my sorrows, and none so fit as she who can relieve as well +as advise upon them. Although such was my determination, yet somehow I +could not pluck up courage for the effort. My aunt’s congratulations +upon my good luck, made me shrink from the avowal; and while she ran on +upon the beauty and grace of my wife, topics I fully concurred in, I +also chimed in with her satisfaction at the prudential and proper +motives which led to the match. Twenty times I was on the eve of +interrupting her, and saying, ‘But, madam, I am a beggar—my wife has +not a shilling—I have absolutely nothing—her father disowns us—my +commission is sold, and in three weeks, the ‘Hotel de Londres’ and the +‘Palais Royale,’ will be some hundred pounds the richer, and I without +the fare of a cab, to drive me to the Seine to drown myself.’ + +“Such were my thoughts; but whenever I endeavoured to speak them, some +confounded fulness in my throat nearly choked me; my temples throbbed, +my hands trembled, and whether it was shame, or the sickness of +despair, I cannot say; but the words would not come, and all that I +could get out was some flattery of my wife’s beauty, or some vapid +eulogy upon my own cleverness in securing such a prize. To give you in +one brief sentence an idea of my state, Harry—know, then, that though +loving Mary with all my heart and soul, as I felt she deserved to be +loved, fifty times a day I would have given my life itself that you had +been the successful man, on the morning I carried her off, and that +Jack Waller was once more a bachelor, to see the only woman he ever +loved, the wife of another. + +“But, this is growing tedious, Harry, I must get over the ground +faster; two months passed over at Paris, during which we continued to +live at the ‘Londres,’ giving dinners, soirees, dejeuners, with the +prettiest equipage in the ‘Champs Elysees,’ we were quite the mode; my +wife, which is rare enough for an Englishwoman, knew how to dress +herself. Our evening parties were the most recherche things going, and +if I were capable of partaking of any pleasure in the eclat, I had my +share, having won all the pigeon matches in the Bois de Boulegard, and +beat Lord Henry Seymour himself in a steeple chase. The continual round +of occupation in which pleasure involves a man, is certainly its +greatest attraction—reflection is impossible—the present is too full to +admit any of the past, and very little of the future; and even I, with +all my terrors awaiting me, began to feel a half indifference to the +result in the manifold cares of my then existence. To this state of +fatalism, for such it was becoming, had I arrived, when the vision was +dispelled in a moment, by a visit from my aunt, who came to say, that +some business requiring her immediate presence in London, she was to +set out that evening, but hoped to find us in Paris on her return. I +was thunderstruck at the news, for, although as yet I had obtained no +manner of assistance from the old lady, yet, I felt that her very +presence was a kind of security to us, and that in every sudden +emergency, she was there to apply to. My money was nearly expended, the +second and last instalment of my commission was all that remained, and +much of even that I owed to trades-people. I now resolved to speak +out—the worst must be known, thought I, in a few days—and now or never +be it. So saying, I drew my aunt’s arm within my own, and telling her +that I wished a few minutes conversation alone, led her to one of the +less frequented walks in the Tuilleries gardens. When we had got +sufficiently far to be removed from all listeners, I began then—‘my +dearest aunt, what I have suffered in concealing from you so long, the +subject of my present confession, will plead as my excuse in not making +you sooner my confidante.’ When I had got thus far, the agitation of my +aunt was such, that I could not venture to say more for a minute or +two. At length, she said, in a kind of hurried whisper, ‘go on;’ and +although then I would have given all I possessed in the world to have +continued, I could not speak a word. + +“‘Dear John, what is it, any thing about Mary—for heavens sake speak.’ + +“‘Yes,’ dearest aunt, ‘it is about Mary, and entirely about Mary.’ + +“‘Ah, dear me, I feared it long since; but then, John, consider she is +very handsome—very much admired—and—’ + +“‘That makes it all the heavier, my dear aunt—the prouder her present +position, the more severely will she feel the reverse.’ + +“‘Oh, but surely, John, your fears must exaggerate the danger.’ + +“‘Nothing of the kind—I have not words to tell you—’ + +“‘Oh dear, oh dear, don’t say so,’ said the old lady blushing, ‘for +though I have often remarked a kind of gay flirting manner she has with +men—I am sure she means nothing by it—she is so young—and so—’ + +“I stopped, stepped forward, and looking straight in my aunt’s face, +broke out into a fit of laughter, that she, mistaking for hysterical +from its violence, nearly fainted upon the spot. + +“As soon as I could sufficiently recover gravity to explain to my aunt +her mistake, I endeavoured to do so, but so ludicrous was the contre +temps, and so ashamed the old lady for her gratuitous suspicions, that +she would not listen to a word, and begged me to return to her hotel. +Such an unexpected turn to my communication routed all my plans, and +after a very awkward silence of some minutes on both sides, I mumbled +something about our expensive habits of life, costly equipage, number +of horses, &c., and hinted at the propriety of retrenchment. + +“‘Mary rides beautifully,’ said my aunt, drily.’ + +“‘Yes, but my dear aunt, it was not exactly of that I was going to +speak, for in fact—’ + +“Oh John,’ said she, interrupting—‘I know your delicacy too well to +suspect; but, in fact, I have myself perceived what you allude to, and +wished very much to have some conversation with you on the subject.’ + +“‘Thank God,’ said I to myself, ‘at length, we understand each +other—and the ice is broken at last.’ + +“‘Indeed, I think I have anticipated your wish in the matter; but as +time presses, and I must look after all my packing, I shall say good by +for a few weeks, and in the evening, Jepson, who stays here, will bring +you, “what I mean,” over to your hotel; once more, then, good by.’ + +“‘Good by, my dearest, kindest friend,’ said I, taking a most tender +adieu of the old lady. ‘What an excellent creature she is,’ said I, +half aloud, as I turned towards home—‘how considerate, how truly +kind—to spare me too all the pain of explanation.’ Now I begin to +breathe once more. ‘If there be a flask of Johannisberg in the +“Londres,” I’ll drink your health this day, and so shall Mary;’ so +saying, I entered the hotel with a lighter heart, and a firmer step +than ever it had been my fortune to do hitherto. + +“‘We shall miss the old lady, I’m sure, Mary, she is so kind.’ + +“‘Oh! indeed she is; but then, John, she is such a prude.’ + +“Now I could not help recurring in my mind to some of the conversation +in the Tuilleries garden, and did not feel exactly at ease. + +“‘Such a prude, and so very old-fashioned in her notions.’ + +“‘Yes, Mary,’ said I, with more gravity than she was prepared for, ‘she +is a prude; but I am not certain that in foreign society, where less +liberties are tolerated than in our country, if such a bearing be not +wiser.’ What I was going to plunge into, heaven knows, for the waiter +entered at the moment, and presenting me with a large and carefully +sealed package, said, ‘de la part de mi ladi Lilfore,’—‘but stay, here +comes, if I am not mistaken, a better eulogy upon my dear aunt, than +any I can pronounce.’ + +“How heavy it is, said I to myself, balancing the parcel in my hand. +‘There is no answer,’ said I, aloud to the waiter, who stood as if +expecting one. + +“‘The servant wishes to have some acknowledgment in writing, sir, that +it has been delivered into your own hands.’ + +“Jepson entered,—‘well, George, your parcel is all right, and here is a +Napoleon to drink my health.’ + +“Scarcely had the servants left the room, when Mary, whose curiosity +was fully roused, rushed over, and tried to get the packet from me; +after a short struggle, I yielded, and she flew to the end of the room, +and tearing open the seals, several papers fell to the ground; before I +could have time to snatch them up, she had read some lines written on +the envelope, and turning towards me, threw her arms around my neck, +and said, ‘yes Jack, she is, indeed, all you have said; look here,’ I +turned and read—with what feeling I leave to you to guess—the +following:— + +“‘DEAR NEPHEW AND NIECE, + + +“‘The enclosed will convey to you, with my warmest wishes for your +happiness, a ticket on the Francfort Lottery, of which I inclose the +scheme. I also take the opportunity of saying that I have purchased the +Hungarian pony for Mary—which we spoke of this morning. It is at +Johnston’s stable, and will be delivered on sending for it.’ + +“‘Think of that, Jack, the Borghese poney, with the silky tail; +mine—Oh! what a dear good old soul; it was the very thing of all others +I longed for, for they told me the princess had refused every offer for +it.’ + +“While Mary ran on in this strain, I sat mute and stupified; the sudden +reverse my hopes had sustained, deprived me, for a moment, of all +thought, and it was several minutes before I could rightly take in the +full extent of my misfortunes. + +“How that crazy old maid, for such, alas, I called her to myself now, +could have so blundered all my meaning—how she could so palpably have +mistaken, I could not conceive; what a remedy for a man overwhelmed +with debt—a ticket in a German lottery, and a cream-coloured pony, as +if my whole life had not been one continued lottery, with every day a +blank; and as to horses, I had eleven in my stables already. Perhaps +she thought twelve would read better in my schedule, when I, next week, +surrendered as insolvent. + +“Unable to bear the delight, the childish delight of Mary, on her new +acquisition, I rushed out of the house, and wandered for several hours +in the Boulevards. At last I summoned up courage to tell my wife. I +once more turned towards home, and entered her dressing-room, where she +was having her hair dressed for a ball at the Embassy. My resolution +failed me—not now thought I—to-morrow will do as well—one night more of +happiness for her and then—I looked on with pleasure and pride, as +ornament after ornament, brilliant with diamonds and emeralds, shone in +her hair, and upon her arms, still heightened her beauty, and lit up +with a dazzling brilliancy her lovely figure.—But it must come—and +whenever the hour arrives—the reverse will be fully as bitter; besides +I am able now—and when I may again be so, who can tell—now then be it, +said I, as I told the waiting-maid to retire; and taking a chair beside +my wife, put my arm round her. + +“‘There, John dearest, take care; don’t you see you’ll crush all that +great affair of Malines lace, that Rosette has been breaking her heart +to manage this half hour.’ + +“‘Et puis,’ said I. + +“‘Et puis. I could not go to the ball, naughty boy. I am bent on great +conquest to-night; so pray don’t mar such good intentions.’ + +“‘And you should be greatly disappointed were you not to go?’ + +“‘Of course I should; but what do you mean; is there any reason why I +should not? You are silent, John—speak—oh speak—has any thing occurred +to my—’ + +“‘No, no, dearest—nothing that I know has occurred to the Colonel.’ + +“‘Well then, who is it? Oh tell me at once.’ + +“‘Oh, my dear, there is no one in the case but ourselves;’ so saying, +despite the injunction about the lace, I drew her towards me, and in as +few words, but as clearly as I was able, explained all our +circumstances—my endeavour to better them—my hopes—my fears—and now my +bitter disappointment, if not despair. + +“The first shock over, Mary showed not only more courage, but more +sound sense than I could have believed. All the frivolity of her former +character vanished at the first touch of adversity; just as of old, +Harry, we left the tinsel of our gay jackets behind, when active +service called upon us for something more sterling. She advised, +counselled, and encouraged me by turns; and in half an hour the most +poignant regret I had was in not having sooner made her my confidante, +and checked the progress of our enormous expenditure somewhat earlier. + +“I shall not now detain you much longer. In three weeks we sold our +carriages and horses, our pictures, (we had begun this among our other +extravagances,) and our china followed; and under the plea of health +set out for Baden; not one among our Paris acquaintances ever +suspecting the real reason of our departure, and never attributing any +monied difficulties to us—for we paid our debts. + +“The same day we left Paris, I despatched a letter to my aunt, +explaining fully all about us, and suggesting that as I had now left +the army for ever, perhaps she would interest some of her friends—and +she has powerful ones—to do something for me. + +“After some little loitering on the Rhine, we fixed upon Hesse Cassel +for our residence. It was very quiet—very cheap. The country around +picturesque, and last but not least, there was not an Englishman in the +neighbourhood. The second week after our arrival brought us letters +from my aunt. She had settled four hundred a year upon us for the +present, and sent the first year in advance; promised us a visit as +soon as we were ready to receive her; and pledged herself not to forget +when an opportunity of serving me should offer. + +“From that moment to this,” said Jack, “all has gone well with us. We +have, it is true, not many luxuries, but we have no wants, and better +still, no debts. The dear old aunt is always making us some little +present or other; and somehow I have a kind of feeling that better luck +is still in store; but faith, Harry, as long as I have a happy home, +and a warm fireside, for a friend when he drops in upon me, I scarcely +can say that better luck need be wished for.” + +“There is only one point, Jack, you have not enlightened me upon, how +came you here? You are some hundred miles from Hesse, in your present +chateau.” + +“Oh! by Jove, that was a great omission in my narrative; but come, this +will explain it; see here”—so saying, he drew from a little drawer a +large lithographic print of a magnificent castellated building, with +towers and bastions, keep, moat, and even draw-bridge, and the walls +bristled with cannon, and an eagled banner floated proudly above them. + +“What in the name of the Sphynxes is this?” + +“There,” said Jack, “is the Schloss von Eberhausen; or, if you like it +in English, Eberhausen Castle, as it was the year of the deluge; for +the present mansion that we are now sipping our wine in bears no very +close resemblance to it. But to make the mystery clear, this was the +great prize in the Francfort lottery, the ticket of which my aunt’s +first note contained, and which we were fortunate enough to win. We +have only been here a few weeks, and though the affair looks somewhat +meagre, we have hopes that in a little time, and with some pains, much +may be done to make it habitable. There is a capital chasses of some +hundred acres; plenty of wood and innumerable rights, seignorial, +memorial, &c., which, fortunately for my neighbours, I neither +understand nor care for; and we are therefore the best friends in the +world. Among others I am styled the graf or count——.” + +“Well, then, Monsieur Le Comte, do you intend favouring me with your +company at coffee this evening; for already it is ten o’clock; and +considering my former claim upon Mr. Lorrequer, you have let me enjoy +very little of his society.” + +We now adjourned to the drawing-room, where we gossipped away till past +midnight; and I retired to my room, meditating over Jack’s adventures, +and praying in my heart, that despite all his mischances, my own might +end as happily. + + + + + CHAPTER LII. +MUNICH. + + +The rest and quietness of the preceding day had so far recovered me +from the effects of my accident, that I resolved, as soon as breakfast +was over, to take leave of my kind friends, and set out for Munich. + +“We shall meet to-night, Harry,” said Waller, as we parted—“we shall +meet at the Casino—and don’t forget that the Croix Blanche is your +hotel; and Schnetz, the tailor, in the Grande Place, will provide you +with every thing you need in the way of dress.” + +This latter piece of information was satisfactory, inasmuch as the +greater part of my luggage, containing my uniform, &c., had been left +in the French diligence; and as the ball was patronised by the court, I +was greatly puzzled how to make my appearance. + +Bad roads and worse horses made me feel the few leagues I had to go the +most tiresome part of my journey. But, of course, in this feeling +impatience had its share. A few hours more, and my fate should be +decided; and yet I thought the time would never come. If the Callonbys +should not arrive—if, again, my evil star be in the ascendant, and any +new impediment to our meeting arise—but I cannot, will not, think +this—Fortune must surely be tired of persecuting me by this time, and, +even to sustain her old character for fickleness, must befriend me now. +Ah! here we are in Munich—and this is the Croix Blanche—what a dingy +old mansion! Beneath a massive porch, supported by heavy stone pillars, +stood the stout figure of Andreas Behr, the host. A white napkin, +fastened in one button-hole, and hanging gracefully down beside him—a +soup-ladle held sceptre-wise in his right hand, and the grinding motion +of his nether jaw, all showed that he had risen from his table d’hote +to welcome the new arrival; and certainly, if noise and uproar might +explain the phenomenon, the clatter of my equipage over the pavement +might have risen the dead. + +[Illustration: The Inn at Munich] + +While my postillion was endeavouring, by mighty efforts, with a heavy +stone, to turn the handle of the door, and thus liberate me from my +cage, I perceived that the host came forward and said something to +him—on replying, to which, he ceased his endeavours to open the door, +and looked vacantly about him. Upon this I threw down the sash, and +called out— + +“I say, is not this the Croix Blanche?” + +“Ya,” said the man-mountain with the napkin. + +“Well, then, open the door, pray—I’m going to stop here.” + +“Nein.” + +“No! What do you mean by that? Has not Lord Callonby engaged rooms +here?” + +“Ya.” + +“Well, then, I am a particular friend of his, and will stay here also.” + +“Nein.” + +“What the devil are you at, with your ya and nein?” said I. “Has your +confounded tongue nothing better than a monosyllable to reply with.” + +Whether disliking the tone the controversy was assuming, or remembering +that his dinner waited, I know not, but at these words my fat friend +turned leisurely round, and waddled back into the house; where, in a +moment after, I had the pleasure of beholding him at the head of a long +table, distributing viands with a very different degree of activity +from what he displayed in dialogue. + +With one vigorous jerk, I dashed open the door, upsetting, at the same +time, the poor postillion, who had recommenced his operations on the +lock, and, foaming with passion, strode into the “salle a manger.” +Nothing is such an immediate damper to any sudden explosion of temper, +as the placid and unconcerned faces of a number of people, who, +ignorant of yourself and your peculiar miseries at the moment, seem +only to regard you as a madman. This I felt strongly, as, flushed in +face and tingling in my fingers, I entered the room. + +“Take my luggage,” said I to a gaping waiter, “and place a chair there, +do you hear?” + +There seemed, I suppose, something in my looks that did not admit of +much parley, for the man made room for me at once at the table, and +left the room, as if to discharge the other part of my injunction, +without saying a word. As I arranged my napkin before me, I was +collecting my energies and my German, as well as I was able, for the +attack of the host, which, I anticipated from his recent conduct, must +now ensue; but, greatly to my surprise, he sent me my soup without a +word, and the dinner went on without any interruption. When the desert +had made its appearance, I beckoned the waiter towards me, and asked +what the landlord meant by his singular reception of me. The man +shrugged his shoulders, and raised his eyebrows, without speaking, as +if to imply, “it’s his way.” + +“Well, then, no matter,” said I. “Have you sent my luggage up stairs?” + +“No, sir, there is no room—the house is full.” + +“The house full! Confound it—this is too provoking. I have most urgent +reasons for wishing to stay here. Cannot you make some arrangement—see +about it, waiter.” I here slipped a Napoleon into the fellow’s hand, +and hinted that as much more awaited the finale of the negociation. + +In about a minute after, I perceived him behind the host’s chair, +pleading my cause with considerable energy; but to my complete chagrin, +I heard the other answer all his eloquence by a loud “Nein,” that he +grunted out in such a manner as closed the conference. + +“I cannot succeed, sir,” said the man, as he passed behind me, “but +don’t leave the house till I speak with you again.” + +What confounded mystery is there in all this, thought I. Is there any +thing so suspicious in my look or appearance, that the old bear in the +fur cap will not even admit me. What can it all mean. One thing I’m +resolved upon—nothing less than force shall remove me. + +So saying I lit my cigar, and in order to give the waiter an +opportunity of conferring with me unobserved by his master, walked out +into the porch and sat down. + +In a few minutes he joined me, and after a stealthy look on each side, +said— + +“The Herr Andreas is a hard man to deal with, and when he says a thing, +never goes back of it. Now he has been expecting the new English Charge +d’Affaires here these last ten days, and has kept the hotel half empty +in consequence; and as mi Lor Callonby has engaged the other half, why +we have nothing to do; so that when he asked the postillion if you were +mi Lor, and found that you were not, he determined not to admit you.” + +“But why not have the civility to explain that?” + +“He seldom speaks, and when he does only a word or two at a time. He is +quite tired with what he has gone through to-day, and will retire very +early to bed; and for this reason I have requested you to remain, for +as he never ventures up stairs, I will then manage to give you one of +the ambassador’s rooms, which, even if he come, he’ll never miss. So +that if you keep quiet, and do not attract any particular attention +towards you, all will go well.” + +This advice seemed so reasonable, that I determined to follow it—any +inconvenience being preferable, provided I could be under the same roof +with my beloved Jane; and from the waiter’s account, there seemed no +doubt whatever of their arrival that evening. In order, therefore, to +follow his injunctions to the letter, I strolled out toward the Place +in search of the tailor, and also to deliver a letter from Waller to +the chamberlain, to provide me with a card for the ball. Monsieur +Schnetz, who was the very pinnacle of politeness, was nevertheless, in +fact, nearly as untractable as my host of the “Cross.” All his “sujets” +were engaged in preparing a suit for the English Charge d’Affaires, +whose trunks had been sent in a wrong direction, and who had despatched +a courier from Frankfort, to order a uniform. This second thwarting, +and from the same source, so nettled me, that I greatly fear, all my +respect for the foreign office and those who live thereby, would not +have saved them from something most unlike a blessing, had not Monsieur +Schnetz saved diplomacy from such desecration by saying, that if I +could content myself with a plain suit, such as civilians wore, he +would do his endeavour to accommodate me. + +“Any thing, Monsieur Schnetz—dress me like the Pope’s Nuncio, or the +Mayor of London, if you like, but only enable me to go.” + +Although my reply did not seem to convey a very exalted idea of my +taste in costume to the worthy artiste, it at least evinced my anxiety +for the ball; and running his measure over me, he assured me that the +dress he would provide was both well looking and becoming; adding, “At +nine o’clock, sir, you’ll have it—exactly the same size as his +Excellency the Charge d’Affaires.” + +“Confound the Charge d’Affaires!” I added, and left the house. + + + + + CHAPTER LIII. +INN AT MUNICH. + + +As I had never been in Munich before, I strolled about the town till +dusk. At that time the taste of the present king had not enriched the +capital with the innumerable objects of art which render it now second +to none in Europe. There were, indeed, then but few attractions—narrow +streets, tall, unarchitectural-looking houses, and gloomy, unimpressive +churches. Tired of this, I turned towards my inn, wondering in my mind +if Antoine had succeeded in procuring me the room, or whether yet I +should be obliged to seek my lodging elsewhere. Scarcely had I entered +the porch, when I found him waiting my arrival, candle in hand. He +conducted me at once up the wide oaken stair, then along the gallery, +into a large wainscotted room, with a most capacious bed. A cheerful +wood fire burned and crackled away in the grate—the cloth was already +spread for supper—(remember it was in Germany)—the newspapers of the +day were placed before me—and, in a word, every attention showed that I +had found the true avenue to Antoine’s good graces, who now stood +bowing before me, in apparent ecstasy at his own cleverness. + +“All very well done, Antoine, and now for supper—order it yourself for +me—I never can find my way in a German ‘carte de diner;’ and be sure to +have a fiacre here at nine—nine precisely.” + +Antoine withdrew, leaving me to my own reflections, which now, if not +gloomy, were still of the most anxious kind. + +Scarcely was the supper placed upon the table, when a tremendous +tramping of horses along the street, and loud cracking of whips, +announced a new arrival. + +“Here they are,” said I, as, springing up, I upset the soup, and nearly +threw the roti into Antoine’s face, as he was putting it before me. + +Down stairs I rushed, through the hall, pushing aside waiters and +overturning chambermaids in my course. The carriage was already at the +door. Now for a surprise, thought I, as I worked through the crowd in +the porch, and reached the door just as the steps were clattered down, +and a gentleman began to descend, whom twenty expectant voices, now +informed of his identity, welcomed as the new Charge d’Affaires. + +[Illustration: Arrival of Charge d’Affairs] + +“May all the—” + +What I wished for his excellency it would not be polite to repeat, nor +most discreet even to remember; but, certes, I mounted the stairs with +as little good will towards the envoy extraordinary as was consistent +with due loyalty. + +When once more in my room, I congratulated myself that now at least no +more “false starts” could occur—“the eternal Charge d’Affaires, of whom +I have been hearing since my arrival, cannot come twice—he is here now, +and I hope I’m done with him.” + +The supper—some greasiness apart—was good—the wine excellent. My +spirits were gradually rising, and I paced my room in that mingled +state of hope and fear, that amid all its anxieties, has such moments +of ecstasy. A new noise without—some rabble in the street; hark, it +comes nearer—I hear the sound of wheels; yes, there go the +horses—nearer and nearer. Ah, it is dying away again—stay—yes, yes—here +it is—here they are. The noise and tumult without now increased every +instant—the heavy trot of six or eight horses shook the very street, +and I heard the round, dull, rumbling sound of a heavy carriage, as it +drew up at last at the door of the inn. Why it was I know not, but this +time I could not stir—my heart beat almost loud enough for me to +hear—my temples throbbed, and then a cold and clammy perspiration came +over me, and I sank into a chair. Fearing that I was about to faint, +sick as I was, I felt angry with myself, and tried to rally, but could +not, and only at length was roused by hearing that the steps were let +down, and shortly after the tread of feet coming along the gallery +towards my room. + +They are coming—she is coming, thought I. Now then for my doom! + +There was some noise of voices outside. I listened, for I still felt +unable to rise. The talking grew louder—doors were opened and shut—then +came a lull—then more slamming of doors, and more talking—then all was +still again—and at last I heard the steps of people as if retiring, and +in a few minutes after the carriage door was jammed to, and again the +heavy tramp of the horses rattled over the pave. At this instant +Antoine entered. + +“Well, Antoine,” said I, in a voice trembling with weakness and +agitation, “not them yet?” + +“It was his Grace the Grand Mareschal,” said Antoine, scarcely heeding +my question, in the importance of the illustrious visitor who had +arrived. + +“Ah, the Grand Mareschal,” said I, carelessly; “does he live here?” + +“Sappermint nein, Mein Herr; but he has just been to pay his respects +to his Excellency the new Charge d’Affaires.” + +In the name of all patience, I ask, who could endure this? From the +hour of my arrival I am haunted by this one image—the Charge +d’Affaires. For him I have been almost condemned to go houseless, and +naked; and now the very most sacred feelings of my heart are subject to +his influence. I walked up and down in an agony. Another such +disappointment, and my brain will turn, thought I, and they may write +my epitaph—“Died of love and a Charge d’Affaires.” + +“It is time to dress,” said the waiter. + +“I could strangle him with my own hands,” muttered I, worked up into a +real heat by the excitement of my passion. + +“The Charge—” + +“Say that name again, villain, and I’ll blow your brains out,” cried I, +seizing Antoine by the throat, and pinning him against the wall; “only +dare to mutter it, and you’ll ever breathe another syllable.” + +The poor fellow grew green with terror, and fell upon his knees before +me. + +“Get my dressing things ready,” said I, in a more subdued tone. “I did +not mean to terrify you—but beware of what I told you.” + +While Antoine occupied himself with the preparations for my toilette, I +sat broodingly over the wood embers, thinking of my fate. + +A knock came to the door. It was the tailor’s servant with my clothes. +He laid down the parcel and retired, while Antoine proceeded to open +it, and exhibit before me a blue uniform with embroidered collar and +cuffs—the whole, without being gaudy, being sufficiently handsome, and +quite as showy as I could wish. + +The poor waiter expressed his unqualified approval of the costume, and +talked away about the approaching ball as something pre-eminently +magnificent. + +“You had better look after the fiacre, Antoine,” said I; “it is past +nine.” + +He walked towards the door, opened it, and then, turning round, said, +in a kind of low, confidential whisper, pointing, with the thumb of his +left hand, towards the wall of the room as he spoke— + +“He won’t go—very strange that.” + +“Who do you mean?” said I, quite unconscious of the allusion. + +“The Charge d’Aff—” + +I made one spring at him, but he slammed the door to, and before I +could reach the lobby, I heard him rolling from top to bottom of the +oak staircase, making noise enough in his fall to account for the +fracture of every bone in his body. + + + + + CHAPTER LIV. +THE BALL. + + +As I was informed that the King would himself be present at the ball, I +knew that German etiquette required that the company should arrive +before his Majesty; and although now every minute I expected the +arrival of the Callonbys, I dared not defer my departure any longer. + +“They are certain to be at the ball,” said Waller, and that sentence +never left my mind. + +So saying, I jumped into the fiacre, and in a few minutes found myself +in the long line of carriages that led to the “Hof saal.” Any one who +has been in Munich will testify for me, that the ball room is one of +the most beautiful in Europe, and to me who for some time had not been +living much in the world, its splendour was positively dazzling. The +glare of the chandeliers—the clang of the music—the magnificence of the +dresses—the beauty of the Bavarian women too, all surprized and amazed +me. There were several hundred people present, but the king not having +yet arrived, dancing had not commenced. Feeling as I then did, it was +rather a relief to me than otherwise, that I knew no one. There was +quite amusement enough in walking through the saloons, observing the +strange costumes, and remarking the various groups as they congregated +around the trays of ices and the champagne glacee. The buzz of talking +and the sounds of laughter and merriment prevailed over even the +orchestra; and, as the gay crowds paraded the rooms, all seemed +pleasure and excitement. Suddenly a tremendous noise was heard +without—then came a loud roll of the drums, which lasted for several +seconds, and the clank of musketry—then a cheer;—it is the king. + +The king! resounded on all sides; and in another moment the large +folding-doors at the end of the saal were thrown open, and the music +struck up the national anthem of Bavaria. + +His majesty entered, accompanied by the queen, his brother, two or +three archduchesses, and a long suite of officers. + +I could not help remarking upon the singular good taste with which the +assembly—all anxious and eager to catch a glimpse of his +majesty—behaved on this occasion. There was no pressing forward to the +“estrade” where he stood,—no vulgar curiosity evinced by any one, but +the group continued, as before, to gather and scatter. The only +difference being, that the velvet chair and cushion, which had +attracted some observers before, were, now that they were tenanted by +royalty, passed with a deep and respectful salutation. How proper this, +thought I, and what an inducement for a monarch to come among his +people, who remember to receive him with such true politeness. While +these thoughts were passing through my mind, as I was leaning against a +pillar that supported the gallery of the orchestra, a gentleman whose +dress, covered with gold and embroidery, bespoke him as belonging to +the court, eyed me aside with his lorgnette and then passed rapidly on. +A quadrille was now forming near me, and I was watching, with some +interest, the proceeding, when the same figure that I remarked before, +approached me, bowing deeply at every step, and shaking a very halo of +powder from his hair at each reverence. + +“May I take the liberty of introducing myself to you?” said he.—“Le +Comte Benningsen.” Here he bowed again, and I returned the obeisance +still deeper. “Regretted much that I was not fortunate enough to make +your acquaintance this evening, when I called upon you.” + +“Never heard of that,” said I to myself. + +“Your excellency arrived this evening?” + +“Yes,” said I, “only a few hours since.” + +“How fond these Germans are of titles,” thought I. Remembering that in +Vienna every one is “his grace,” I thought it might be Bavarian +politeness to call every one his excellency. + +“You have not been presented, I believe?” + +“No,” said I; “but I hope to take an early opportunity of paying ‘mes +homages’ to his majesty.” + +“I have just received his orders to present you now,” replied he, with +another bow. + +“The devil, you have,” thought I. “How very civil that.” And, although +I had heard innumerable anecdotes of the free-and-easy habits of the +Bavarian court, this certainly surprized me, so that I actually, to +prevent a blunder, said, “Am I to understand you, Monsieur le Comte, +that his majesty was graciously pleased”— + +“If you will follow me,” replied the courtier, motioning with his +chapeau; and in another moment I was elbowing my way through the mob of +marquisses and duchesses, on my way to the raised platform where the +king was standing. + +“Heaven grant I have not misunderstood all he has been saying,” was my +last thought as the crowd of courtiers fell back on either side, and I +found myself bowing before his majesty. How the grand mareschal +entitled me I heard not; but when the king addressed me immediately in +English, saying, + +“I hope your excellency has had a good journey?” + +I felt, “Come, there is no mistake here, Harry; and it is only another +freak of fortune, who is now in good humour with you.” + +The king, who was a fine, tall, well-built man, with a large, bushy +moustache, possessed, though not handsome, a most pleasing expression; +his utterance was very rapid, and his English none of the best, so that +it was with the greatest difficulty I contrived to follow his +questions, which came thick as hail upon me. After some commonplaces +about the roads, the weather, and the season, his majesty said, + +“My Lord Callonby has been residing some time here. You know him?” And +then, not waiting for a reply, added, “Pleasant person—well +informed—like him much, and his daughters, too, how handsome they are.” +Here I blushed, and felt most awkwardly, while the king continued. + +“Hope they will remain some time—quite an ornament to our court. +Monsieur le Comte, his excellency will dance?” I here muttered an +apology about my sprained ankle, and the king turned to converse with +some of the ladies of the court. His majesty’s notice brought several +persons now around me, who introduced themselves; and, in a quarter of +an hour, I felt myself surrounded by acquaintances, each vieing with +the other in showing me attention. + +Worse places than Munich, Master Harry, thought I, as I chaperoned a +fat duchess, with fourteen quarterings, towards the refreshment-room, +and had just accepted invitations enough to occupy me three weeks in +advance. + +“I have been looking every where for your excellency,” said the grand +mareschal, bustling his way to me, breathless and panting. “His majesty +desires you will make one of his party at whist, so pray come at once.” + +“Figaro qua, Figaro la,” muttered I. “Never was man in such request. +God grant the whole royal family of Bavaria be not mad, for this looks +very like it. Lady Jane had better look sharp, for I have only to throw +my eyes on an archduchess, to be king of the Tyrol some fine morning.” + +“You play whist, of course; every Englishman does,” said the king. “You +shall be my partner.” + +Our adversaries were the Prince Maximilian, brother to his Majesty and +the Prussian Ambassador. As I sat down at the table, I could not help +saying in my heart, “now is your time, Harry, if my Lord Callonby +should see you, your fortune is made.” Waller passed at this moment, +and as he saluted the king, I saw him actually start with amazement as +he beheld me—“better fun this than figuring in the yellow plush, Master +Jack,” I muttered as he passed on actually thunder-struck with +amazement. But the game was begun, and I was obliged to be attentive. +We won the first game, and the king was in immense good humour as he +took some franc pieces from the Prussian minister, who, small as the +stake was, seemed not to relish losing. His majesty now complimented me +upon my play, and was about to add something when he perceived some one +in the crowd, and sent an Aide de camp for him. + +“Ah, my Lord, we expected you earlier,” and then said some words in too +low a tone for me to hear, motioning towards me as he spoke. If Waller +was surprised at seeing me where I was, it was nothing to the effect +produced upon the present party, whom I now recognized as Lord +Callonby. Respect for the presence we were in, restrained any +expression on either side, and a more ludicrous tableau than we +presented can scarcely be conceived. What I would have given that the +whist party was over, I need not say, and certainly his majesty’s +eulogy upon my play came too soon, for I was now so “destrait and +unhinged,” my eyes wandering from the table to see if Lady Jane was +near, that I lost every trick, and finished by revoking. The king rose +half pettishly, observing that “Son Excellence a apparement perdu la +tete,” and I rushed forward to shake hands with Lord Callonby, totally +forgetting the royal censure in my delight at discovering my friend. + +“Lorrequer, I am indeed rejoiced to see you, and when did you arrive.” + +“This evening.” + +“This evening! and how the deuce have you contrived already, eh? why +you seem quite chez vous here?” + +“You shall hear all,” said I hastily, “but is Lady Callonby here?” + +“No. Kilkee only is with me, there he is figuranting away in a gallope. +The ladies were too tired to come, particularly as they dine at court +to-morrow, the fatigue would be rather much.” + +“I have his majesty’s order to invite your Excellency to dinner +to-morrow,” said the grand Mareschal coming up at this instant. + +I bowed my acknowledgments, and turned again to Lord Callonby, whose +surprise now seemed to have reached the climax. + +“Why Lorrequer, I never heard of this? when did you adopt this new +career?” + +Not understanding the gist of the question, and conceiving that it +applied to my success at court, I answered at random, something about +“falling upon my legs, good luck, &c.,” and once more returned to the +charge, enquiring most anxiously for Lady Callonby’s health. + +“Ah! she is tolerably well. Jane is the only invalid, but then we hope +Italy will restore her.” Just at this instant, Kilkee caught my eye, +and rushing over from his place beside his partner, shook me by both +hands, saying, + +“Delighted to see you here Lorrequer, but as I can’t stay now, promise +to sup with me to-night at the ‘Cross’.” + +I accepted of course, and the next instant, he was whirling along in +his waltze, with one of the most lovely German girls I ever saw. Lord +Callonby saw my admiration of her, and as it were replying to my gaze, +remarked, + +“Yes, very handsome indeed, but really Kilkee is going too far with it. +I rely upon you very much to reason him out of his folly, and we have +all agreed that you have most influence over him, and are most likely +to be listened to patiently.” + +Here was a new character assigned me, the confidential friend and +adviser of the family, trusted with a most delicate and important +secret, likely to bring me into most intimate terms of intercourse with +them all, for the “we” of Lord Callonby bespoke a family consultation, +in which I was deputed as the negociator. I at once promised my +assistance, saying, at the same time, that if Kilkee really was +strongly attached, and had also reason to suppose that the Lady liked +him, it was not exactly fair; that in short, if the matter had gone +beyond flirtation, any interference of mine would be imprudent, if not +impertinent. Lord Callonby smiled slightly as he replied, + +“Quite right, Lorrequer, I am just as much against constraint as +yourself, if only no great barriers exist; but here with a difference +of religion, country, language, habits, in fact, everything that can +create disparity, the thing is not to be thought of.” + +I suspected that his Lordship read in my partial defence of Kilkee, a +slight attempt to prop up my own case, and felt confused and +embarrassed beyond measure at the detection. + +“Well, we shall have time enough for all this. Now let us hear +something of my old friend Sir Guy. How is he looking?” + +“I am unfortunately unable to give you any account of him. I left Paris +the very day before he was expected to arrive there.” + +“Oh then, I have all the news myself in that case, for in his letter +which I received yesterday, he mentions that we are not to expect him +before Tuesday.” + +“Expect him. Is he coming here then?” + +“Yes. Why, I thought you were aware of that, he has been long promising +to pay us a visit, and at last, by great persuasion, we have succeeded +in getting him across the sea, and, indeed, were it not that he was +coming, we should have been in Florence before this.” + +A gleam of hope shot through my heart as I said to myself, what can +this visit mean? and the moment after I felt sick, almost to fainting, +as I asked if “my cousin Guy were also expected.” + +“Oh yes. We shall want him I should think” said Lord Callonby with a +very peculiar smile. + +I thought I should have fallen at these few words. Come, Harry, thought +I, it is better to learn your fate at once. Now or never; death itself +were preferable to this continued suspense. If the blow is to fall, it +can scarcely sink me lower than I now feel: so reasoning, I laid my +hand upon Lord Callonby’s arm, and with a face pale as death, and a +voice all but inarticulate, said, + +“My Lord, you will pardon, I am sure—” + +“My dear Lorrequer,” said his lordship interrupting me, “for heaven’s +sake sit down. How ill you are looking, we must nurse you, my poor +fellow.” + +I sank upon a bench—the light danced before my eyes—the clang of the +music sounded like the roar of a waterfall, and I felt a cold +perspiration burst over my face and forehead; at the same instant, I +recognized Kilkee’s voice, and without well knowing why, or how, +discovered myself in the open air. + +“Come, you are better now,” said Kilkee, “and will be quite well when +you get some supper, and a little of the tokay, his majesty has been +good enough to send us.” + +“His majesty desires to know if his excellency is better,” said an aide +de camp. + +I muttered my most grateful acknowledgments. + +“One of the court carriages is in waiting for your excellency,” said a +venerable old gentleman in a tie wig, whom I recognized as the minister +for foreign affairs—as he added in a lower tone to Lord Callonby, “I +fear he has been greatly overworked lately—his exertions on the subject +of the Greek loan are well known to his majesty.” + +“Indeed,” said Lord Callonby, with a start of surprise, “I never heard +of that before.” + +If it had not been for that start of amazement, I should have died of +terror. It was the only thing that showed me I was not out of my +senses, which I now concluded the old gentleman must be, for I never +had heard of the Greek loan in my life before. + +“Farewell, mon cher colleague,” said the venerable minister as I got +into the carriage, wondering as well I might what singular band of +brotherhood united one of his majesty’s —th with the minister for +foreign affairs of the Court of Bavaria. + +When I arrived at the White-cross, I found my nerves, usually proof to +any thing, so shaken and shattered, that fearing with the difficult +game before me any mistake, however trivial, might mar all my fortunes +for ever, I said a good night to my friends, and went to bed. + + + + + CHAPTER LV. +A DISCOVERY. + + +“A note for Monsieur,” said the waiter, awaking me at the same time +from the soundest sleep and most delightful dream. The billet was +thus:— + +“If your excellency does not intend to slumber during the next +twenty-four hours, it might be as well to remember that we are waiting +breakfast. Ever yours, + + +“Kilkee.” + + +“It is true, then,” said I—following up the delusion of my dream. “It +is true, I am really domesticated once more with the Callonbys. My suit +is prospering, and at length the long-sought, long-hoped for moment is +come—” + +“Well, Harry,” said Kilkee, as he dashed open the door. “Well, Harry, +how are you, better than last night, I hope?” + +“Oh yes, considerably. In fact, I can’t think what could have been the +matter with me; but I felt confoundedly uncomfortable.” + +“You did! Why, man, what can you mean; was it not a joke?” + +“A joke,” said I, with a start. + +“Yes, to be sure. I thought it was only the sequel of the other +humbug.” + +“The sequel of the other humbug!” Gracious mercy! thought I, getting +pale with horror, is it thus he ventures to designate my attachment to +his sister? + +“Come, come, it’s all over now. What the devil could have persuaded you +to push the thing so far?” + +“Really, I am so completely in the dark as to your meaning that I only +get deeper in mystery by my chance replies. What do you mean?” + +“What do I mean! Why, the affair of last night of course. All Munich is +full of it, and most fortunately for you, the king has taken it all in +the most good-humoured way, and laughs more than any one else about +it.” + +Oh, then, thought I, I must have done or said something last night +during my illness, that I can’t remember now. “Come, Kilkee, out with +it. What happened last night, that has served to amuse the good people +of Munich? for as I am a true man, I forget all you are alluding to.” + +“And don’t remember the Greek Loan—eh?” + +“The Greek Loan!” + +“And your Excellency’s marked reception by his Majesty? By Jove though, +it was the rarest piece of impudence I ever heard of; hoaxing a crowned +head, quizzing one of the Lord’s anointed is un peu trop fort.” + +“If you really do not wish to render me insane at once, for the love of +mercy say, in plain terms, what all this means.” + +“Come, come, I see you are incorrigible; but as breakfast is waiting +all this time, we shall have your explanations below stairs.” + +Before I had time for another question Kilkee passed his arm within +mine, and led me along the corridor, pouring out, the entire time a +whole rhapsody about the practical joke of my late illness, which he +was pleased to say would ring from one end of Europe to the other. + +Lord Callonby was alone in the breakfast-room when we entered, and the +moment he perceived me called out, + +“Eh, Lorrequer, you here still? Why, man, I thought you’d have been +over the frontier early this morning?” + +“Indeed, my lord, I am not exactly aware of any urgent reason for so +rapid a flight.” + +“You are not! The devil, you are not. Why, you must surely have known +his majesty to be the best tempered man in his dominions then, or you +would never have played off such a ruse, though I must say, there never +was anything better done. Old Heldersteen, the minister for foreign +affairs, is nearly deranged this morning about it—it seems that he was +the first that fell into the trap; but seriously speaking, I think it +would be better if you got away from this; the king, it is true, has +behaved with the best possible good feeling; but—” + +“My lord, I have a favour to ask, perhaps, indeed in all likelihood the +last I shall ever ask of your lordship, it is this—what are you +alluding to all this while, and for what especial reason do you suggest +my immediate departure from Munich?” + +“Bless my heart and soul—you surely cannot mean to carry the thing on +any further—you never can intend to assume your ministerial functions +by daylight?” + +“My what!—my ministerial functions.” + +“Oh no, that were too much—even though his majesty did say—that you +were the most agreeable diplomate he had met for a long time.” + +“I, a diplomate.” + +“You, certainly. Surely you cannot be acting now; why, gracious mercy, +Lorrequer! can it be possible that you were not doing it by design, do +you really not know in what character you appeared last night?” + +“If in any other than that of Harry Lorrequer, my lord, I pledge my +honour, I am ignorant.” + +“Nor the uniform you wore, don’t you know what it meant?” + +“The tailor sent it to my room.” + +“Why, man, by Jove, this will kill me,” said Lord Callonby, bursting +into a fit of laughter, in which Kilkee, a hitherto silent spectator of +our colloquy, joined to such an extent, that I thought he should burst +a bloodvessel. “Why man, you went as the Charge d’Affaires.” + +“I, the Charge d’Affaires!” + +“That you did, and a most successful debut you made of it.” + +While shame and confusion covered me from head to foot at the absurd +and ludicrous blunder I had been guilty of, the sense of the ridiculous +was so strong in me, that I fell upon a sofa and laughed on with the +others for full ten minutes. + +“Your Excellency is, I am rejoiced to find, in good spirits,” said Lady +Callonby, entering and presenting her hand. + +“He is so glad to have finished the Greek Loan,” said Lady Catherine, +smiling with a half malicious twinkle of the eye. Just at this instant +another door opened, and Lady Jane appeared. Luckily for me, the +increased mirth of the party, as Lord Callonby informed them of my +blunder, prevented their paying any attention to me, for as I half +sprung forward toward her, my agitation would have revealed to any +observer, the whole state of my feelings. I took her hand which she +extended to me, without speaking, and bowing deeply over it, raised my +head and looked into her eyes, as if to read at one glance, my fate, +and when I let fall her hand, I would not have exchanged my fortune for +a kingdom. + +“You have heard, Jane, how our friend opened his campaign in Munich +last night.” + +“Oh, I hope, Mr. Lorrequer, they are only quizzing. You surely could +not—” + +“Could not. What he could not—what he would not do, is beyond my +calculation to make out,” said Kilkee, laughing, “anything in life, +from breaking an axletree to hoaxing a king;” I turned, as may be +imagined, a deaf ear to this allusion, which really frightened me, not +knowing how far Kilkee’s information might lead, nor how he might feel +disposed to use it. Lady Jane turned a half reproachful glance at me, +as if rebuking my folly; but in the interest she thus took in me, I +should not have bartered it for the smile of the proudest queen in +Christendom. + +Breakfast over, Lord Callonby undertook to explain to the Court the +blunder, by which I had unwittingly been betrayed into personating the +newly arrived minister, and as the mistake was more of their causing +than my own, my excuses were accepted, and when his lordship returned +to the hotel, he brought with him an invitation for me to dine at Court +in my own unaccredited character. By this time I had been carrying on +the siege as briskly as circumstances permitted; Lady Callonby being +deeply interested in her newly arrived purchases, and Lady Catherine +being good-natured enough to pretend to be so also, left me, at +intervals, many opportunities of speaking to Lady Jane. + +As I feared that such occasions would not often present themselves, I +determined on making the best use of my time, and at once led the +conversation towards the goal I aimed at, by asking, “if Lady Jane had +completely forgotten the wild cliffs and rocky coast of Clare, amid the +tall mountains and glaciered peaks of the Tyrol?” + +“Far from it,” she replied. “I have a most clear remembrance of bold +Mogher and the rolling swell of the blue Atlantic, and long to feel its +spray once more upon my cheek; but then, I knew it in childhood—your +acquaintance with it was of a later date, and connected with fewer +happy associations.” + +“Fewer happy associations—how can you say so? Was it not there the +brightest hours of my whole life were passed, was it not there I first +met—” + +“Kilkee tells me,” said Lady Jane, interrupting me shortly, “that Miss +Bingham is extremely pretty.” + +This was turning my flank with a vengeance; so I muttered something +about differences of tastes, &c. and continued, “I understand my worthy +cousin Guy, had the good fortune to make your acquaintance in Paris.” + +It was now her turn to blush, which she did deeply, and said nothing. + +“He is expected, I believe, in a few days at Munich,” said I, fixing my +eyes upon her, and endeavouring to read her thoughts; she blushed more +deeply, and the blood at my own heart ran cold, as I thought over all I +had heard, and I muttered to myself “she loves him.” + +“Mr. Lorrequer, the carriage is waiting, and as we are going to the +Gallery this morning, and have much to see, pray let us have your +escort.” + +“Oh, I am sure,” said Catherine, “his assistance will be +considerable—particularly if his knowledge of art only equals his tact +in botany. Don’t you think so, Jane?”—But Jane was gone. + +They left the room to dress, and I was alone—alone with my anxious, now +half despairing thoughts, crowding and rushing upon my beating brain. +She loves him, and I have only come to witness her becoming the wife of +another. I see it all, too plainly;—my Uncle’s arrival—Lord Callonby’s +familiar manner—Jane’s own confession. All—all convince me, that my +fate is decided. Now, then, for one last brief explanation, and I leave +Munich, never to see her more. Just as I had so spoken, she entered. +Her gloves had been forgotten in the room, and she came in not knowing +that I was there. What would I not have given at that moment, for the +ready witted assurance, the easy self-possession, with which I should +have made my advances had my heart not been as deeply engaged as I now +felt it. Alas! My courage was gone; there was too much at stake, and I +preferred, now, that the time was come, any suspense, any vacillation, +to the dreadful certainty of refusal. + +These were my first thoughts, as she entered; how they were followed, I +cannot say. The same evident confusion of my brain, which I once felt +when mounting the breach in a storm-party, now completely beset me; and +as then, when death and destruction raged on every side, I held on my +way regardless of every obstacle, and forgetting all save the goal +before me; so did I now, in the intensity of my excitement, disregard +every thing, save the story of my love, which I poured forth with that +fervour which truth only can give. But she spoke not,—her averted +head,—her cold and tremulous hand, and half-drawn sigh were all that +replied to me, as I waited for that one word upon which hung all my +fortune. At length her hand, which I scarcely held within my own, was +gently withdrawn. She lifted it to her eyes, but still was silent. + +“Enough,” said I, “I seek not to pain you more. The daring ambition +that prompted me to love you, has met its heaviest retribution. +Farewell,—You, Lady Jane, have nothing to reproach yourself with—You +never encouraged, you never deceived me. I, and I alone have been to +blame, and mine must be the suffering. Adieu, then once more, and now +for ever.” + +She turned slowly round, and as the handkerchief fell from her +hand,—her features were pale as marble,—I saw that she was endeavouring +to speak, but could not; and at length, as the colour came slowly back +to her cheek, her lips moved, and just as I leaned forward, with a +beating heart to hear, her sister came running forward, and suddenly +checked herself in her career, as she said, laughingly,— + +“Mille pardons, Jane, but his Excellency must take another occasion to +explain the quadruple alliance, for mamma has been waiting in the +carriage these ten minutes.” + +I followed them to the door, placed them in the carriage, and was +turning again towards the house, when Lady Callonby said— + +“Oh, Mr. Lorrequer, we count upon you—you must not desert us.” + +I muttered something about not feeling well. + +“And then, perhaps, the Greek loan is engaging your attention,” said +Catherine; “or, mayhap, some reciprocity treaty is not prospering.” + +The malice of this last sally told, for Jane blushed deeply, and I felt +overwhelmed with confusion. + +“But pray come—the drive will do you good.” + +“Your ladyship will, I am certain, excuse”— + +Just as I had got so far, I caught Lady Jane’s eye, for the first time +since we had left the drawing-room. What I read there, I could not, for +the life of me, say; but, instead of finishing my sentence, I got into +the carriage, and drove off, very much to the surprise of Lady +Callonby, who, never having studied magnetism, knew very little the +cause of my sudden recovery. + +The thrill of hope that shot through my heart succeeding so rapidly the +dark gloom of my despairing thoughts, buoyed me up, and while I +whispered to myself, “all may not yet be lost,” I summoned my best +energies to my aid. Luckily for me, I was better qualified to act as +cicerone in a gallery than as a guide in a green-house; and with the +confidence that knowledge of a subject ever inspires, I rattled away +about art and artists, greatly to the edification of Lady Callonby—much +to the surprise of Lady Catherine—and, better than all, evidently to +the satisfaction of her, to win whose praise I would gladly have risked +my life. + +“There,” said I, as I placed my fair friend before a delicious little +madonna of Carl Dolci—“there is, perhaps, the triumph of colouring—for +the downy softness of that cheek—the luscious depth of that blue +eye—the waving richness of those sunny locks, all is +perfect—fortunately so beautiful a head is not a monopoly, for he +painted many copies of this picture.” + +“Quite true,” said a voice behind, “and mine at Elton is, I think, if +anything, better than this.” + +I turned, and beheld my good old uncle, Sir Guy, who was standing +beside Lady Callonby. While I welcomed my worthy relative, I could not +help casting a glance around to see if Guy were also there, and not +perceiving him, my heart beat freely again. + +My uncle, it appeared, had just arrived, and lost no time in joining us +at the gallery. His manner to me was cordial to a degree; and I +perceived that, immediately upon being introduced to Lady Jane, he took +considerable pains to observe her, and paid her the most marked +attention. + +The first moment I could steal unnoticed, I took the opportunity of +asking if Guy were come. That one fact were to me all, and upon the +answer to my question, I hung with deep anxiety. + +“Guy here!—no, not yet. The fact is, Harry, my boy, Guy has not got on +here as well as I could have wished. Everything had been arranged among +us—Callonby behaved most handsomely—and, as far as regarded myself, I +threw no impediment in the way. But still, I don’t know how it was, but +Guy did not advance, and the matter now”— + +“Pray, how does it stand? Have you any hopes to put all to rights +again?” + +“Yes, Harry, I think, with your assistance, much may be done.” + +“Oh, count upon me by all means,” said I, with a sneering bitterness, +that my uncle could not have escaped remarking, had his attention not +been drawn off by Lady Callonby. + +What have I done—what sin did I meditate before I was born, that I +should come into the world branded with failure in all I attempt? Is it +not enough that my cousin, my elder by some months, should be rich +while I am poor—honoured and titled, while I am unknown and +unnoticed?—but is he also to be preferred to me in every station in +life? Is there no feeling of the heart so sacred that it must not +succumb to primogeniture? + +“What a dear old man Sir Guy is,” said Catherine, interrupting my sad +reflections, “and how gallant; he is absolutely flirting with Lady +Jane.” + +And quite true it was. The old gentleman was paying his devoirs with a +studied anxiety to please, that went to my very heart as I witnessed +it. The remainder of that day to me was a painful and suffering one. My +intention of suddenly leaving Munich had been abandoned, why, I knew +not. I felt that I was hoping against hope, and that my stay was only +to confirm, by the most “damning proof,” how surely I was fated to +disappointment. My reasonings all ended in one point. If she really +love Guy, then my present attentions can only be a source of +unhappiness to her; if she do not, is there any prospect that from the +bare fact of my attachment, so proud a family as the Callonbys will +suffer their daughter to make a mere “marriage d’inclination?” + +There was but one answer to this question, and I had at last the +courage to make it: and yet the Callonbys had marked me out for their +attentions, and had gone unusually out of their way to inflict injury +upon me, if all were meant to end in nothing. If I only could bring +myself to think that this was a systematic game adopted by them, to +lead to the subsequent arrangement with my cousin!—if I could but +satisfy my doubts on this head——What threats of vengeance I muttered, I +cannot remember, for I was summoned at that critical moment to attend +the party to the palace. + +The state of excitement I was in, was an ill preparative for the rigid +etiquette of a court dinner. All passed off, however, happily, and the +king, by a most good-natured allusion to the blunder of the night +before, set me perfectly at ease on that head. + +I was placed next to Lady Jane at dinner; and half from wounded pride, +half from the momentarily increasing conviction that all was lost, +chatted away gaily, without any evidence of a stronger feeling than the +mere vicinity of a pretty person is sure to inspire. What success this +game was attended with I know not; but the suffering it cost me, I +shall never cease to remember. One satisfaction I certainly did +experience—she was manifestly piqued, and several times turned towards +the person on the other side of her, to avoid the tone of indifference +in which I discussed matters that were actually wringing my own heart +at the moment. Yet such was the bitterness of my spirit, that I set +down this conduct on her part as coquetry; and quite convinced myself +that any slight encouragement she might ever have given my attentions, +was only meant to indulge a spirit of vanity, by adding another to the +list of her conquests. + +As the feeling grew upon me, I suppose my manner to her became more +palpably cutting, for it ended at last in our discontinuing to speak, +and when we retired from the palace, I accompanied her to the carriage +in silence, and wished her a cold and distant good night, without any +advance to touch her hand at parting—and yet that parting, I had +destined for our last. + +The greater part of that night I spent in writing letters. One was to +Jane herself owning my affection, confessing that even the “rudesse” of +my late conduct was the fruit of it, and finally assuring her that +failing to win from her any return of my passion, I had resolved never +to meet her more—I also wrote a short note to my uncle, thanking him +for all he had formerly done in my behalf, but coldly declining for the +future, any assistance upon his part, resolving that upon my own +efforts alone should I now rest my fortunes. To Lord Callonby I wrote +at greater length, recapitulating the history of our early intimacy, +and accusing him of encouraging me in expectations, which, as he never +intended to confirm them, were fated to prove my ruin. More—much more I +said, which to avow, I should gladly shrink from, were it not that I +have pledged myself to honesty in these “Confessions,” and as they +depict the bitterness and misery of my spirit, I must plead guilty to +them here. In a word, I felt myself injured. I saw no outlet for +redress, and the only consolation open to my wounded pride and crushed +affection, was to show, that if I felt myself a victim, at least I was +not a dupe. I set about packing up for the journey, whither, I knew +not. My leave was nearly expired, yet I could not bear the thought of +rejoining the regiment. My only desire was to leave Munich, and that +speedily. When all my arrangements were completed I went down +noiselessly to the inn yard to order post-horses by day-break, there to +my surprise I found all activity and bustle. Though so late at night, a +courier had arrived from England for Lord Callonby, with some important +dispatches from the Government; this would, at any other time, have +interested me deeply; now I heard the news without a particle of +feeling, and I made all the necessary dispositions for my journey, +without paying the slightest attention to what was going on about me. I +had just finished, when Lord Callonby’s valet came to say, that his +lordship wished to see me immediately in his dressing room. Though I +would gladly have declined any further interview, I saw no means of +escape, and followed the servant to his lordship’s room. + +There I found Lord Callonby in his dressing gown and night cap, +surrounded by papers, letters, despatch boxes, and red tape-tied +parcels, that all bespoke business. + +“Lorrequer, sit down, my boy, I have much to say to you, and as we have +no time to lose, you must forego a little sleep. Is the door closed? I +have just received most important news from England, and to begin,” +here his lordship opened a letter and read as follows:— + +“My Lord—They are out at last—the majority on Friday increased to forty +yesterday evening, when they resigned; the Duke has, meanwhile, assumed +the reins till further arrangements can be perfected, and despatches +are now preparing to bring all our friends about us. The only rumours +as yet are, L——, for the Colonies, H——, to the Foreign Office, W—— +President of the Council, and we anxiously hope yourself Viceroy to +Ireland. In any case lose no time in coming back to England. The +struggle will be a sharp one, as the outs are distracted, and we shall +want you much. Ever yours, my dear lord, + + +“Henry ——.” + + +“This is much sooner than I looked for, Lorrequer, perhaps almost than +I wished; but as it has taken place, we must not decline the battle; +now what I wanted with you is this—if I go to Ireland I should like +your acceptance of the Private Secretary’s Office. Come, come, no +objections; you know that you need not leave the army, you can become +unattached, I’ll arrange all that; apropos, this concerns you, it is +from the Horse Guards, you need not read it now though, it is merely +your gazette to the company; your promotion, however, shall not stop +there; however, the important thing I want with you is this, I wish you +to start for England to-morrow; circumstances prevent my going from +this for a few days. You can see L—— and W——, &c., and explain all I +have to say; I shall write a few letters, and some hints for your own +guidance; and as Kilkee never would have head for these matters, I look +to your friendship to do it for me.” + +Looking only to the post, as the proposal suited my already made +resolve to quit Munich, I acceded at once, and assured Lord Callonby +that I should be ready in an hour. + +“Quite right, Lorrequer, but still I shall not need this, you cannot +leave before eleven or twelve o’clock, in fact I have another service +to exact at your hands before we part with you; meanwhile, try and get +some sleep, you are not likely to know anything of a bed before you +reach the Clarendon.” So saying, he hurried me from the room, and as he +closed the door, I heard him muttering his satisfaction, that already +so far all had been well arranged. + + + + + CHAPTER LVI. +CONCLUSION. + + +Sleep came on me, without my feeling it, and amid all the distracting +cares and pressing thoughts that embarrassed me, I only awoke when the +roll of the caleche sounded beneath my window, and warned me that I +must be stirring and ready for the road. + +Since it is to be thus, thought I, it is much better that this +opportunity should occur of my getting away at once, and thus obviate +all the unpleasantness of my future meeting with Lady Jane; and the +thousand conjectures that my departure, so sudden and unannounced might +give rise to. So be it, and I have now only one hope more—that the +terms we last parted on, may prevent her appearing at the breakfast +table; with these words I entered the room, where the Callonbys were +assembled, all save Lady Jane. + +“This is too provoking; really, Mr. Lorrequer,” said Lady Callonby, +with her sweetest smile, and most civil manner, “quite too bad to lose +you now, that you have just joined us.” + +“Come, no tampering with our party,” said Lord Callonby, “my friend +here must not be seduced by honied words and soft speeches, from the +high road that leads to honours and distinctions—now for your +instructions.” Here his lordship entered into a very deep discussion as +to the conditions upon which his support might be expected, and relied +upon, which Kilkee from time to time interrupted by certain quizzing +allusions to the low price he put upon his services, and suggested that +a mission for myself should certainly enter into the compact. + +At length breakfast was over, and Lord Callonby said, “now make your +adieux, and let me see you for a moment in Sir Guy’s room, we have a +little discussion there, in which your assistance is wanting.” I +accordingly took my farewell of Lady Callonby, and approached to do so +to Lady Jane, but much to my surprise, she made me a very distant +salute, and said in her coldest tone, “I hope you may have a pleasant +journey.” Before I had recovered my surprise at this movement, Kilkee +came forward and offered to accompany me a few miles of the road. I +accepted readily the kind offer, and once more bowing to the ladies, +withdrew. And thus it is, thought I, that I leave all my long dreamed +of happiness, and such is the end of many a long day’s ardent +expectation. When I entered my uncle’s room, my temper was certainly +not in the mood most fit for further trials, though it was doomed to +meet them. + +“Harry, my boy, we are in great want of you here, and as time presses, +we must state our case very briefly. You are aware, Sir Guy tells me, +that your cousin Guy has been received among us as the suitor of my +eldest daughter. It has been an old compact between us to unite our +families by ties still stronger than our very ancient friendship, and +this match has been accordingly looked to, by us both with much +anxiety. Now, although on our parts I think no obstacle intervenes, yet +I am sorry to say, there appear difficulties in other quarters. In +fact, certain stories have reached Lady Jane’s ears concerning your +cousin, which have greatly prejudiced her against him, and we have +reason to think most unfairly; for we have succeeded in tracing some of +the offences in question, not to Guy, but to a Mr. Morewood, who it +seems has personated your cousin upon more than one occasion, and not a +little to his disadvantage. Now we wish you to sift these matters to +the bottom, by your going to Paris as soon as you can venture to leave +London—find out this man, and if possible, make all straight; if money +is wanting, he must of course have it; but bear one thing in mind, that +any possible step which may remove this unhappy impression from my +daughter’s mind, will be of infinite service, and never forgotten by +us. Kilkee too has taken some dislike to Guy. You have only, however, +to talk to him on the matter, and he is sure to pay attention to you.” + +“And, Harry,” said my uncle, “tell Guy, I am much displeased that he is +not here, I expected him to leave Paris with me, but some absurd wager +at the Jockey Club detained him.” + +“Another thing, Harry, you may as well mention to your cousin, that Sir +Guy has complied with every suggestion that he formerly threw out—he +will understand the allusion.” + +“Oh yes,” said my uncle, “tell him roundly, he shall have Elton Hall; I +have fitted up Marsden for myself; so no difficulty lies in that +quarter.” + +“You may add, if you like, that my present position with the government +enables me to offer him a speedy prospect of a Regiment, and that I +think he had better not leave the army.” + +“And say that by next post Hamercloth’s bond for the six thousand shall +be paid off, and let him send me a note of any other large sum he +owes.” + +“And above all things, no more delays. I must leave this for England +inevitably, and as the ladies will probably prefer wintering in Italy—” + +“Oh certainly,” said my uncle, “the wedding must take place.” + +“I scarcely can ask you to come to us on the occasion, though I need +not say how greatly we should all feel gratified if you could do so,” +said my Lord. + +While this cross fire went on from both sides, I looked from one to the +other of the speakers. My first impression being, that having perceived +and disliked my attention to Lady Jane, they adopted this “mauvaise +plaisanterie” as a kind of smart lesson for my future guidance. My next +impression was that they were really in earnest, but about the very +stupidest pair of old gentlemen that ever wore hair powder. + +“And this is all,” said I, drawing a long breath, and inwardly uttering +a short prayer for patience. + +“Why, I believe, I have mentioned everything,” said Lord Callonby, +“except that if anything occurs to yourself that offers a prospect of +forwarding this affair, we leave you a carte blanche to adopt it.” + +“Of course, then,” said I, “I am to understand that as no other +difficulties lie in the way than those your Lordship has mentioned, the +feelings of the parties, their affections are mutual.” + +“Oh, of course, your cousin, I suppose, has made himself agreeable; he +is a good looking fellow, and in fact, I am not aware, why they should +not like each other, eh Sir Guy?” + +“To be sure, and the Elton estates run half the shire with your +Gloucester property; never was there a more suitable match.” + +“Then only one point remains, and that being complied with, you may +reckon upon my services; nay, more, I promise you success. Lady Jane’s +own consent must be previously assured to me, without this, I most +positively decline moving a step in the matter; that once obtained, +freely and without constraint, I pledge myself to do all you require.” + +“Quite fair, Harry, I perfectly approve of your scruples,” so saying, +his Lordship rose and left the room. + +“Well, Harry, and yourself, what is to be done for you, has Callonby +offered you anything yet?” + +“Yes sir, his Lordship has most kindly offered me the under +secretaryship in Ireland, but I have resolved on declining it, though I +shall not at present say so, lest he should feel any delicacy in +employing me upon the present occasion.” + +“Why, is the boy deranged—decline it—what have you got in the world, +that you should refuse such an appointment.” + +The colour mounted to my cheeks, my temples burned, and what I should +have replied to this taunt, I know not, for passion had completely +mastered me. When Lord Callonby again entered the room, his usually +calm and pale face was agitated and flushed; and his manner tremulous +and hurried; for an instant he was silent, then turning towards my +uncle, he took his hand affectionately, and said, + +“My good old friend, I am deeply, deeply grieved; but we must abandon +this scheme. I have just seen my daughter, and from the few words which +we have had together, I find that her dislike to the match is +invincible, and in fact, she has obtained my promise never again to +allude to it. If I were willing to constrain the feelings of my child, +you yourself would not permit it. So here let us forget that we ever +hoped for, ever calculated on a plan in which both our hearts were so +deeply interested.” + +These words, few as they were, were spoken with deep feeling, and for +the first time, I looked upon the speaker with sincere regard. They +were both silent for some minutes; Sir Guy, who was himself much +agitated, spoke first. + +“So be it then, Callonby, and thus do I relinquish one—perhaps the only +cheering prospect my advanced age held out to me. I have long wished to +have your daughter for my niece, and since I have known her, the wish +has increased tenfold.” + +“It was the chosen dream of all my anticipations,” said Lord Callonby, +“and now Jane’s affections only—but let it pass.” + +“And is there then really no remedy, can nothing be struck out?” + +“Nothing.” + +“I am not quite so sure, my Lord,” said I tremulously. + +“No, no, Lorrequer, you are a ready witted fellow I know, but this +passes even your ingenuity, besides I have given her my word.” + +“Even so.” + +“Why, what do you mean, speak out man,” said Sir Guy, “I’ll give you +ten thousand pounds on the spot if you suggest a means of overcoming +this difficulty.” + +“Perhaps you might not accede afterwards.” + +“I pledge myself to it.” + +“And I too,” said Lord Callonby, “if no unfair stratagem be resorted to +towards my daughter. If she only give her free and willing consent, I +agree.” + +“Then you must bid higher, uncle, ten thousand won’t do, for the +bargain is well worth the money.” + +“Name your price, boy, and keep your word.” + +“Agreed then,” holding my uncle to his promise, “I pledge myself that +his nephew shall be husband of Lady Jane Callonby, and now, my Lord, +read Harry vice Guy in the contract, and I am certain my uncle is too +faithful to his plighted word, and too true to his promise not to say +it shall be.” + +The suddenness of this rash declaration absolutely stunned them both, +and then recovering at the same moment, their eyes met. + +“Fairly caught, Guy” said Lord Callonby, “a bold stroke if it only +succeeds.” + +“And it shall, by G—,” said my uncle, “Elton is yours, Harry, and with +seven thousand a year, and my nephew to boot, Callonby won’t refuse +you.” + +There are moments in life in which conviction will follow a bold “coup +de main,” that never would have ensued from the slow process of +reasoning. Luckily for me, this was one of those happy intervals. Lord +Callonby catching my uncle’s enthusiasm, seized me by the hand and +said, + +“With her consent, Lorrequer, you may count upon mine, and faith if +truth must be told, I always preferred you to the other.” + +What my uncle added, I waited not to listen to; but with one bound +sprung from the room—dashed up stairs to Lady Callonby’s +drawing-room—looked rapidly around to see if SHE were there, and then +without paying the slightest attention to the questions of Lady +Callonby and her younger daughter, was turning to leave the room, when +my eye caught the flutter of a Cachmere shawl in the garden beneath. In +an instant the window was torn open—I stood upon the sill, and though +the fall was some twenty feet, with one spring I took it, and before +the ladies had recovered from their first surprise at my unaccountable +conduct, put the finishing stroke to their amazement, by throwing my +arms around Lady Jane, and clasping her to my heart. + +I cannot remember by what process I explained the change that had taken +place in my fortunes. I had some very vague recollection of vows of +eternal love being mingled with praises of my worthy uncle, and the +state of my affections and finances were jumbled up together, but still +sufficiently intelligible to satisfy my beloved Jane—that this time at +least, I made love with something more than my own consent to support +me. Before we had walked half round the garden, she had promised to be +mine; and Harry Lorrequer, who rose that morning with nothing but +despair and darkness before him, was now the happiest of men. + +Dear reader, I have little more to confess. Lord Callonby’s politics +were fortunately deemed of more moment than maidenly scruples, and the +treasury benches more respected than the trousseau. Our wedding was +therefore settled for the following week. Meanwhile, every day seemed +to teem with its own meed of good fortune. My good uncle, under whose +patronage, forty odd years before, Colonel Kamworth had obtained his +commission, undertook to effect the reconciliation between him and the +Wallers, who now only waited for our wedding, before they set out for +Hydrabad cottage, that snug receptacle of Curry and Madeira, Jack +confessing that he had rather listen to the siege of Java, by that +fire-side, than hear an account of Waterloo from the lips of the great +Duke himself. + +I wrote to Trevanion to invite him to Munich for the ceremony, and the +same post which informed me that he was en route to join us, brought +also a letter from my eccentric friend O’Leary, whose name having so +often occurred in these confessions, I am tempted to read aloud, the +more so as its contents are no secret, Kilkee having insisted upon +reading it to a committee of the whole family assembled after dinner. + +“Dear Lorrequer, + “The trial is over, and I am acquitted, but still in St. Pelagie; + for as the government were determined to cut my head off if guilty, + so the mob resolved to murder me if innocent. A pleasant place + this: before the trial, I was the most popular man in Paris; my + face was in every print shop; plaster busts of me, with a great + organ behind the ear, in all the thoroughfares; my autograph + selling at six and twenty sous, and a lock of my hair at five + francs. Now that it is proved I did not murder the “minister at + war,” (who is in excellent health and spirits) the popular feeling + against me is very violent; and I am looked upon as an imposter, + who obtained his notoriety under false pretences; and Vernet, who + had begun my picture for a Judas, has left off in disgust. Your + friend Trevanion is a trump; he procured a Tipperary gentleman to + run away with Mrs. Ram, and they were married at Frankfort, on + Tuesday last. By the by, what an escape you had of Emily: she was + only quizzing you all the time. She is engaged to be married to Tom + O’Flaherty, who is here now. Emily’s imitation of you, with the hat + a little on one side, and a handkerchief flourishing away in one + hand, is capital; but when she kneels down and says, ‘dearest + Emily, &c.’ you’d swear it was yourself.”—[Here the laughter of the + auditory prevented Kilkee proceeding, who, to my utter confusion, + resumed after a little.]—“Don’t be losing your time making up to + Lord Callonby’s daughter”—[here came another burst of + laughter]—“they say here you have not a chance, and moreover she’s + a downright flirt.”—[“It is your turn now, Jane,” said Kilkee, + scarcely able to proceed.]—“Besides that, her father’s a pompous + old Tory, that won’t give a sixpence with her; and the old + curmudgeon, your uncle, has as much idea of providing for you, as + he has of dying.”—[This last sally absolutely convulsed all + parties.]—“To be sure Kilkee’s a fool, but he is no use to + you.”—[“Begad I thought I was going to escape,” said the individual + alluded to, “but your friend O’Leary cuts on every side of him.”] + The letter, after some very grave reflections upon the hopelessness + of my pursuit, concluded with a kind pledge to meet me soon, and + become my travelling companion. Meanwhile, added he, “I must cross + over to London, and look after my new work, which is to come out + soon, under the title of ‘the Loiterings of Arthur O’Leary.’” + + +This elegant epistle formed the subject of much laughter and +conversation amongst us long after it was concluded; and little triumph +could be claimed by any party, when nearly all were so roughly handled. +So passed the last evening I spent in Munich—the next morning I was +married. + +THE END. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CONFESSIONS OF HARRY LORREQUER *** + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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