summaryrefslogtreecommitdiff
path: root/old/files/relative.htm
blob: b1968ef543533899340d9b1a50bfa4d00cab99ea (plain) 
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    <title>
      The Confessions of Harry Lorrequer, Complete
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    <h2>
      THE CONFESSIONS OF HARRY LORREQUER
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">

The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Confessions of Harry Lorrequer, Complete
by Charles James Lever (1806-1872)

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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.net


Title: The Confessions of Harry Lorrequer, Complete

Author: Charles James Lever (1806-1872)

Release Date: October 27, 2006 [EBook #5240]
Last Updated: July 20, 2014

Language: English

Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HARRY LORREQUER, COMPLETE ***




Produced by Mary Munarin and David Widger





</pre>
    <div class="mynote">
      <i><a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/5240/old/orig5240-h/main.htm">
      LINK TO THE ORIGINAL HTML FILE: This Ebook Has Been Reformatted For Better
      Appearance In Mobile Viewers Such As Kindles And Others. The Original
      Format, Which The Editor Believes Has A More Attractive Appearance For
      Laptops And Other Computers, May Be Viewed By Clicking On This Box.</a></i>
    </div>


    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      THE CONFESSIONS OF HARRY LORREQUER
    </h2>
    <h3>
      [By Charles James Lever (1806-1872)]
    </h3>
    <h3>
      Dublin
    </h3>
    <h3>
      MDCCCXXXIX.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img alt="bookcover.jpg (95K)" src="images/bookcover.jpg" width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <p>
      <br /><br /> <br /><br />
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img alt="spine.jpg (51K)" src="images/spine.jpg" width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img alt="titlepage.jpg (48K)" src="images/titlepage.jpg" width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [Note: Though the title page has no author's name inscribed,<br /> this
        work is widely attributed to Charles James Lever.]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <h3>
      <a name="The_Inn_at_Munich" id="The_Inn_at_Munich">The Inn at Munich</a>
    </h3>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img alt="00a The Inn at Munich (96K)"
      src="images/00a%20The%20Inn%20at%20Munich.jpg" width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <p>
      <a href="images2/00a%20The%20Inn%20at%20Munich.jpg">BLACK AND WHITE IMAGE</a>
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        Click on this box here or with any of the following images to view the
        engraving in sharper black and white detail.
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        "We talked of pipe-clay regulation caps&mdash;<br /> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
        Long twenty-fours&mdash;short culverins and mortars&mdash;<br />
        Condemn'd the 'Horse Guards' for a set of raps,<br /> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
        And cursed our fate at being in such quarters.<br /> Some smoked, some
        sighed, and some were heard to snore;<br /> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Some
        wished themselves five fathoms 'neat the Solway;<br /> And some did pray&mdash;who
        never prayed before&mdash;<br /> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; That they might get
        the 'route' for Cork or Galway."<br />
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      PLATES:
    </h3>
    <ol>
      <li>
        <a href="#The_Inn_at_Munich">The Inn at Munich</a><br />
      </li>
      <li>
        <a href="#Lorrequer_On_Parade">Lorrequer on Parade</a><br />
      </li>
      <li>
        <a href="#Nicholas_Announcing_Miss_Betty_ODowds_Carriage">Nicholas
        Announcing Miss Betty O'Dowd's Carriage</a><br />
      </li>
      <li>
        <a href="#The_Sentry_Challenging_Father_Luke_and_the_Abbe">The Sentry
        Challenging Father Luke and the Abbe</a><br />
      </li>
      <li>
        <a href="#Supper_at_Father_Malachis">The Supper at Father Malachi's</a><br />
      </li>
      <li>
        <a href="#Mrs._Mulrooney_and_Sir_Stewart_Moore">Mrs. Mulrooney and Sir
        Stewart Moore</a><br />
      </li>
      <li>
        <a href="#Lorrequer_Making_His_Escape_From_Col._Kamworths">Lorrequer
        Making His Escape From Col. Kamworth's</a><br />
      </li>
      <li>
        <a href="#Mr._Cudmore_Filling_the_Teapot">Mr. Cudmore Filling the Teapot</a><br />
      </li>
      <li>
        <a href="#Dr._Finucane_and_the_Grey_Mare">Dr. Finucane and the Grey Mare</a><br />
      </li>
      <li>
        <a href="#Lorrequer_Practising_Physic">Lorrequer Practising Physic</a><br />
      </li>
      <li>
        <a href="#Mr._Burkes_Enthusiasm_for_the_Duke_of_Wellington">Mr. Burke's
        Enthusiasm for the Duke of Wellington</a><br />
      </li>
      <li>
        <a href="#The_Passport_Office">The Passport Office</a><br />
      </li>
      <li>
        <a href="#The_Inn_at_Munich">The Inn at Munich</a><br />
      </li>
      <li>
        <a href="#Lorrequer_as_Postillion">Lorrequer as Postillion</a><br />
      </li>
      <li>
        <a href="#Mr._OLeary_Creating_a_Sensation_at_the_Salon_des_Etranges">Mr.
        O'Leary Creating a Sensation at the Salon des Etranges</a><br />
      </li>
      <li>
        <a href="#The_Inn_at_Munich">The Inn at Munich</a><br />
      </li>
      <li>
        <a href="#Trevanion_Astonishing_the_Bully_Gendemar">Trevanion
        Astonishing the Bully Gendemar</a><br />
      </li>
      <li>
        <a href="#Mr._OLeary_Charges_the_Mob">Mr. O'Leary Charges the Mob</a><br />
      </li>
      <li>
        <a href="#Mr._OLeary_Imagines_Himself_Kilt">Mr. O'Leary Imagines Himself
        Kilt</a><br />
      </li>
      <li>
        <a href="#Harry_Proves_Himself_a_Man_of_Metal">Harry Proves Himself a
        Man of Metal</a><br />
      </li>
      <li>
        <a href="#Mr._OLearys_Double_Capture">Mr. O'Leary's Double Capture</a><br />
      </li>
      <li>
        <a href="#The_Inn_at_Munich">The Inn at Munich</a><br />
      </li>
      <li>
        <a href="#Mr._Malone_and_His_Friend">Mr. Malone and Friend</a><br />
      </li>
      <li>
        <a href="#Lorrequers_Debut_at_Strasburg">Lorrequer's Debut at Strasburg</a>
      </li>
    </ol>
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      CONTENTS:
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <a href="#ch1">CHAPTER I</a> <br /> Arrival in Cork&mdash;Civic
      Festivities&mdash;Private Theatricals <br /> <br /> <a href="#ch2">CHAPTER
      II</a> <br /> Detachment Duty&mdash;The Burton Arms&mdash;Callonby <br />
      <br /> <a href="#ch3">CHAPTER III</a> <br /> Life at Callonby&mdash;Love-making&mdash;Miss
      O'Dowd's Adventure <br /> <br /> <a href="#ch4">CHAPTER IV</a> <br />
      Botanical Studies&mdash;The Natural System preferable to the Linnaean
      <br /> <br /> <a href="#ch5">CHAPTER V</a> <br /> Puzzled&mdash;Explanation&mdash;Makes
      bad worse&mdash;The Duel <br /> <br /> <a href="#ch6">CHAPTER VI</a> <br />
      The Priest's Supper&mdash;Father Malachi and the Coadjutor&mdash;Major
      Jones and the Abbe <br /> <br /> <a href="#ch7">CHAPTER VII</a> <br /> The
      Lady's Letter&mdash;Peter and his Acquaintances&mdash;Too late <br /> <br />
      <a href="#ch8">CHAPTER VIII</a> <br /> Congratulations&mdash;Sick Leave&mdash;How
      to pass the Board <br /> <br /> <a href="#ch9">CHAPTER IX</a> <br /> The Road&mdash;Travelling
      Acquaintances&mdash;A Packet Adventure <br /> <br /> <a href="#ch10">CHAPTER
      X</a> <br /> Upset&mdash;Mind and Body <br /> <br /> <a href="#ch11">CHAPTER
      XI</a> <br /> Cheltenham&mdash;Matrimonial Adventure&mdash;Showing how to
      make love for a friend <br /> <br /> <a href="#ch12">CHAPTER XII</a> <br />
      Dublin&mdash;Tom O'Flaherty&mdash;A Reminiscence of the Peninsula <br />
      <br /> <a href="#ch13">CHAPTER XIII</a> <br /> Dublin&mdash;The
      Boarding-house&mdash;Select Society <br /> <br /> <a href="#ch14">CHAPTER
      XIV</a> <br /> The Chase <br /> <br /> <a href="#ch15">CHAPTER XV</a> <br />
      Mems Of the North Cork <br /> <br /> <a href="#ch16">CHAPTER XVI</a> <br />
      Theatricals <br /> <br /> <a href="#ch16b">CHAPTER XVI b</a> (The chapter
      number is a repeat) <br /> The Wager <br /> <br /> <a href="#ch17">CHAPTER
      XVII</a> <br /> The Elopement <br /> <br /> <a href="#ch18">CHAPTER XVIII</a>
      Detachment Duty&mdash;An Assize Town <br /> <br /> <a href="#ch19">CHAPTER
      XIX</a> <br /> The Assize Town <br /> <br /> <a href="#ch20">CHAPTER XX</a> A
      Day in Dublin <br /> <br /> <a href="#ch21">CHAPTER XXI</a> <br /> A Night at
      Howth <br /> <br /> <a href="#ch22">CHAPTER XXII</a> <br /> The Journey <br />
      <br /> <a href="#ch23">CHAPTER XXIII</a> <br /> Calais <br /> <br /> <a
      href="#ch24">CHAPTER XXIV</a> <br /> The Gen d'Arme <br /> <br /> <a
      href="#ch25">CHAPTER XXV</a> <br /> The Inn at Chantraine <br /> <br /> <a
      href="#ch26">CHAPTER XXVI</a> <br /> Mr O'Leary <br /> <br /> <a href="#ch27">CHAPTER
      XXVII</a> <br /> Paris <br /> <br /> <a href="#ch28">CHAPTER XXVIII</a> <br />
      Paris <br /> <br /> <a href="#ch29">CHAPTER XXIX</a> <br /> Captain
      Trevanion's Adventure <br /> <br /> <a href="#ch30">CHAPTER XXX</a> <br />
      Difficulties <br /> <br /> <a href="#ch31">CHAPTER XXXI</a> <br />
      Explanation <br /> <br /> <a href="#ch32">CHAPTER XXXII</a> <br /> Mr
      O'Leary's First Love <br /> <br /> <a href="#ch33">CHAPTER XXXIII</a> <br />
      Mr O'Leary's Second Love <br /> <br /> <a href="#ch34">CHAPTER XXXIV</a> The
      Duel <br /> <br /> <a href="#ch35">CHAPTER XXXV</a> <br /> Early
      Recollections&mdash;A First Love <br /> <br /> <a href="#ch36">CHAPTER XXXVI</a>
      Wise Resolves <br /> <br /> <a href="#ch37">CHAPTER XXXVII</a> <br /> The
      Proposal <br /> <br /> <a href="#ch38">CHAPTER XXXVIII</a> <br /> Thoughts
      upon Matrimony in general, and in the Army <br />in particular&mdash;The
      Knight of Kerry and Billy M'Cabe <br /> <br /> <a href="#ch39">CHAPTER XXXIX</a>
      A Reminiscence <br /> <br /> <a href="#ch40">CHAPTER XL</a> <br /> The Two
      Letters <br /> <br /> <a href="#ch41">CHAPTER XLI</a> <br /> Mr O'Leary's
      Capture <br /> <br /> <a href="#ch42">CHAPTER XLII</a> <br /> The Journey
      <br /> <br /> <a href="#ch43">CHAPTER XLIII</a> <br /> The Journey <br />
      <br /> <a href="#ch44">CHAPTER XLIV</a> <br /> A Reminscence of the East
      <br /> <br /> <a href="#ch45">CHAPTER XLV</a> <br /> A Day in the Phoenix
      <br /> <br /> <a href="#ch46">CHAPTER XLVI</a> <br /> An Adventure in Canada
      <br /> <br /> <a href="#ch47">CHAPTER XLVII</a> <br /> The Courier's Passport
      <br /> <br /> <a href="#ch48">CHAPTER XLVIII</a> <br /> A Night in Strasbourg
      <br /> <br /> <a href="#ch49">CHAPTER XLIX</a> <br /> A Surprise <br /> <br />
      <a href="#ch50">CHAPTER L</a> <br /> Jack Waller's Story <br /> <br /> <a
      href="#ch51">CHAPTER LI</a> <br /> Munich <br /> <br /> <a href="#ch52">CHAPTER
      LII</a> <br /> Inn at Munich <br /> <br /> <a href="#ch53">CHAPTER LIII</a>
      The Ball <br /> <br /> <a href="#ch54">CHAPTER LIV</a> <br /> A Discovery
      <br /> <br /> <a href="#ch55">CHAPTER LV</a> <br /> Conclusion <br /> <br />
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      To Sir George Hamilton Seymour, G.C.H.
    </p>
    <p>
      My Dear Sir Hamilton,
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      With every sentiment of esteem and regard, Believe me very faithfully
      yours, THE AUTHOR Bruxelles, December, 1839. <br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      PREFATORY EPISTLE.
    </h3>
    <p>
      Dear Public,
    </p>
    <p>
      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 (FOOTNOTE: The Dublin University
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      Among the "miseries of human life," a most touching one is spoken of&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      So much of apology for the matter&mdash;a little now for the manner of my
      offending, and I have done. I wrote as I felt&mdash;sometimes in good
      spirits, sometimes in bad&mdash;always carelessly&mdash;for, God help me,
      I can do no better.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;&mdash;-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;&mdash;"married?" "Yes sir, married."
      "Why sir, I am no more married than the Provost." This was quite enough&mdash;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&mdash;need I say more?
    </p>
    <p>
      Another objection has been made to my narrative, and I cannot pass it by
      without a word of remark;&mdash;"these Confessions are wanting in scenes
      of touching and pathetic interest" (FOOTNOTE: 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?"&mdash;Publisher's Note.)&mdash;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;&mdash;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:&mdash;"My friends, it is quite true I murdered this family; in cold
      blood I did it&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;miserably, palpably guilty&mdash;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
    </p>
    <p>
      HARRY LORREQUER <br /> <br /> <br /><br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      A WORD OF INTRODUCTION.
    </h3>
    <p>
      "Story! God bless you; I have none to tell, sir."
    </p>
    <p>
      It is now many&mdash;do not ask me to say how many&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      Since then my life has been passed in all the vicissitudes of war and
      peace. The camp and the bivouac&mdash;the reckless gaiety of the
      mess-table&mdash;the comfortless solitude of a French prison&mdash;the
      exciting turmoils of active service&mdash;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&mdash;some,
      alas! Now no more&mdash;I have ventured upon these "Confessions."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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"&mdash;to all such I would, in
      deep humility, say, that with my "Confessions" they have nothing to do&mdash;I
      have neither story nor moral&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch1" id="ch1"></a>CHAPTER I.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      ARRIVAL IN CORK&mdash;CIVIC FESTIVITIES&mdash;PRIVATE THEATRICALS.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      <a name="Lorrequer_On_Parade" id="Lorrequer_On_Parade">Lorrequer On Parade</a>
    </h3>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img alt="Ch 01 Lorrequer on Parade.jpg (69K)"
      src="images/Ch%2001%20%20Lorrequer%20on%20Parade.jpg" width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <p>
      <a href="images2/Ch%2001%20%20Lorrequer%20on%20Parade.jpg">BLACK AND WHITE
      IMAGE</a>
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;
    </p>
    <table summary="">
      <tr>
        <td>
          "Why, soldiers, why<br /> Should we be melancholy, boys?"<br />
        </td>
      </tr>
    </table>
    <p>
      And to this elasticity of spirits&mdash;whether the result of my
      profession, or the gift of God&mdash;as Dogberry has it&mdash;I know not&mdash;I
      owe the greater portion of the happiness I have enjoyed in a life, whose
      changes and vicissitudes have equalled most men's.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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"&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;well! I am now&mdash;alas, that
      I should say it&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;"Killed by the mayor and corporation," had we so
      fallen.
    </p>
    <p>
      First of all, we were dined by the citizens of Cork&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You don't say so, sir?" said Feargus&mdash;for so I must call him, for
      shortness sake. "Has he any chance of the company yet, sir?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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?'&mdash;"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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      When I first returned to consciousness, I found myself lying exactly where
      I had fallen. Around me lay heaps of slain&mdash;the two of "ours" amongst
      the number. One of them&mdash;I remember he was the adjutant&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;many of them, alas, since dead&mdash;and
      had a most splendid gold head, with a stag at the top&mdash;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&mdash;for I had upset them&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;a scarlet gown of office&mdash;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&mdash;partly, indeed, owing to my unsteadiness on my legs&mdash;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 the 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;but I
      anticipate. Only five appeared that day at mess; and, Lord! What spectres
      they were!&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      Such was our life in Cork&mdash;dining, drinking, dancing, riding steeple
      chases, pigeon shooting, and tandem driving&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      Lieutenant-Colonel Carden&mdash;for so I shall call him, although not his
      real name&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;and many were my peregrinations&mdash;the
      great placard of the play stared me in the fact; and every gate and
      shuttered window in Cork, proclaimed, <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      "THE PART OF OTHELLO, BY MR. LORREQUER."
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      As evening drew near, my cares and occupations were redoubled. My Iago I
      had fears for&mdash;'tis true he was an admirable Lord Grizzle in Tom
      Thumb&mdash;but then&mdash;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&mdash;my
      fair Desdemona&mdash;she "who might lie by an emperor's side, and command
      him tasks"&mdash;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&mdash;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;"&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;there lay a splendid turban, here a pair of buskins&mdash;a
      spangled jacket glittered on one table, and a jewelled scimitar on the
      other. At last I detected my "regimental small-clothes," Most
      ignominiously thrust into a corner, in my ardour for my Moorish robes the
      preceding evening.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;for now not a moment more remained&mdash;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, 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&mdash;a general titter ran along the
      entire rank, which not even their fears for consequences seemed able to
      repress&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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,&mdash;the
      like of which I never before heard&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;&mdash;,
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "May I beg, Colonel C_____," said I&mdash;&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;which even the Colonel's presence, feared as
      he was, could not entirely subdue.
    </p>
    <p>
      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,&mdash;surely the cruel wrongs of the manly Othello
      were no laughter-moving subject.
    </p>
    <p>
      I rang the bell hastily for my servant. The door opened.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Stubbes," said I, "are you aware"&mdash;&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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,&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "But, my dear Lorrequer, this will be a serious&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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,
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "And lost your commission for a dozen of champagne, I suppose," said the
      adjutant.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Never mind, my dear fellow," I repled; "I shall get out of this scrape,
      as I have done many others."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But what do you intend doing?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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:&mdash;
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <blockquote>
        <p>
          "My Dear Lorrequer&mdash;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.
        </p>
        <p>
          "God give you a good deliverance from the 'garcons lances,' as the
          Moniteur calls the Whiteboys, and believe me ever your's, Charles
          Curzon."
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "What is that place called, Sergeant?"&mdash;"Bunratty Castle, sir,"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Where do we breakfast?"&mdash;"At Clare Island, sir."
    </p>
    <p>
      "March away, boys!"
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch2" id="ch2"></a>CHAPTER II.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      DETACHMENT DUTY&mdash;THE BURTON ARMS&mdash;CALLONBY.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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,&mdash;"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: <br /> "To what base uses must we come at last." <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;or with more steady pace and becoming gravity had borne along
      the "going judge of assize,"&mdash;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&mdash;for on such
      slight foundation our greatest resolves are built&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Healy, the sole proprietor of the "Burton Arms," was of some five and
      fifty&mdash;"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,<br /> To sink or swell as heaven pleases."<br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Her feet&mdash;ye gods! Such feet&mdash;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&mdash;Venus&mdash;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&mdash;they
      make none of them now&mdash;the only difference being, that Mrs. Healy's
      nose had no ring through it; I am almost tempted to add, "more's the
      pity."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;but,
      like Aaron's rod, it had a most consuming tendency&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;a
      wish on my part to make acquaintance&mdash;therefore to dine out&mdash;therefore
      not to dine at home&mdash;consequently to escape paying half-a-crown and
      devouring a chicken&mdash;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,"
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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,
    </p>
    <p>
      "I say, my man, are you his lordship's gamekeeper?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Taking off his hat, the man approached me, and very respectfully informed
      me that he was.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;and I was an amateur of that sort of
      thing&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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,
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mr. Lorrequer, I presume&mdash;" introduced himself as Lord Kilkee.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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, 'ad 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&mdash;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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Mouche'&mdash;come here, 'Mouche.'"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah 'Mouche,' come here, my fine fellow&mdash;a splendid dog, indeed; very
      tall for a thorough-bred; and now you'll not forget, seven, 'temps
      militaire,' and so, sans adieu."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 is 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"&mdash;I could not say "Othello" even to myself&mdash;"and is
      anxious to get 'such unrivalled talent' even 'for one night only.'"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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,"&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mr. Lorrequer is most welcome at Callonby. I cannot be mistaken, I am
      sure&mdash;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&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      Before I could assure his lordship that my fears were all for my
      competitors in the race&mdash;for such in reality they were&mdash;he
      introduced me to the two ladies, who were still standing beside him&mdash;"Lady
      Jane Callonby; Mr. Lorrequer; Lady Catherine."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Which of you, young ladies, may I ask, planned this escapade, for I see
      by your looks, it was no accident?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I think, papa," said Lady Jane, "you must question Mr. Lorrequer on that
      head; he certainly started first."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I confess, indeed," said I, "such was the case."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;My Adventure at Callonby.
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch3" id="ch3"></a>CHAPTER III.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      LIFE AT CALLONBY&mdash;LOVE-MAKING&mdash;MISS O'DOWD'S ADVENTURE.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      As his lordship was wishing me "good night" at the door of the
      drawing-room, he said, in a half whisper,
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;I have no cause of complaint; and so, good night, Lady Jane"&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;very like
      what we hear of "magnetism"&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      I have ever found that the happiest portions of existence are the most
      difficult to chronicle. We may&mdash;nay, we must, impart our miseries and
      annoyances to our many "dear friends," whose forte is sympathy or
      consolation&mdash;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&mdash;and they are prudent&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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<br />
      Ti sovrerai di me."<br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;for
      so she was generally styled&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      Miss Betty lived, as I have said, near Ennistimon, and the road from
      thence to Callonby at the time I speak of&mdash;it was before Mr. Nimmo&mdash;was
      a 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&mdash;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, 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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Four by honours," said his lordship, "and the odd trick. Another double,
      I believe, Miss O'Dowd."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;Miss Betty, alanah!" For some minutes the hum of the
      voices drowned his admonitions&mdash;but as, by degrees waxing warmer in
      the cause, he called out more loudly,&mdash;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&mdash;"Miss Betty, arrah, Miss Betty,"
      said Nicholas with a sigh that converted the subdued laughter of the
      guests into a perfect burst of mirth.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Eh," said his lordship, turning round; "what is this? We are losing
      something excellent, I fear."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Man&mdash;man!" said she at length; "what do you mean, what do you want
      here?"
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;neither
      was it a jaunting car&mdash;what should he say&mdash;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&mdash;as he said:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Miss Betty&mdash;the&mdash;the&mdash;the&mdash;," and here he looked
      indescribably droll; "the thing, you know, is at the door."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch4" id="ch4"></a>CHAPTER IV.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      BOTANICAL STUDIES&mdash;THE NATURAL SYSTEM PREFERABLE TO THE LINNEAN.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      <a name="Nicholas_Announcing_Miss_Betty_ODowds_Carriage"
      id="Nicholas_Announcing_Miss_Betty_ODowds_Carriage">Nicholas Announcing
      Miss Betty O'Dowds Carriage</a>
    </h3>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img alt="Ch 04 Nicholas Announcing Carriage.jpg (72K)"
      src="images/Ch%2004%20%20Nicholas%20Announcing%20Carriage.jpg" width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <p>
      <a href="images2/Ch%2004%20%20Nicholas%20Announcing%20Carriage.jpg">BLACK
      AND WHITE IMAGE</a>
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      "The carriage is at the door, my lord," said a servant, entering the
      luncheon-room where we were all assembled.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;and
      which I am dying to know all about."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;as
      the tide will be so far out, we can see them all perfectly."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And I," said Lord Kilkee, "must put in my plea, that the aforesaid Mr.
      Lorrequer is booked for a coursing match&mdash;'Mouche versus Jessie.'&mdash;Guilty
      or not guilty?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Lady Jane alone of all said not a word.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Guilty on every count of the indictment," said I; "I throw myself on the
      mercy of the court."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Let his sentence then be banishment," said Lady Catherine with affected
      anger, "and let him go with papa."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good bye, then," said Lord Callonby; "we meet at seven;" and in a few
      moments the little party were scattered to their several destinations.
    </p>
    <p>
      "How very hot you have this place, Collins," said Lady Callonby as we
      entered the conservatory.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Only seventy-five, my lady, and the Magnolias require heat."
    </p>
    <p>
      I here dropped a little behind, as if to examine a plant, and in a
      half-whisper said to Lady Jane&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;did
      you forget that we were to ride there to-day?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Before she could reply, Lady Callonby called out&mdash;"Oh, here it is,
      Mr. Lorrequer. Is this a heath? that is the question."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Collins will have it a jungermania," said she.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And Collins is right," said I, not trusting myself with the pronunciation
      of the awful word her ladyship uttered.
    </p>
    <p>
      Collins looked ridiculously happy.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Now that is so delightful," said Lady Callonby, as she stopped to look
      for another puzzle.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What a wretch it is," said Lady Catherine, covering her face with a
      handkerchief.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What a beautiful little flower," said Lady Jane, lifting up the bell of a
      "lobelia splendens."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You know, of course," said I, "what they call that flower in France&mdash;L'amour
      tendre."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Indeed!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Now Collins," said Lady Callonby, "I cannot find the Alpen tree I brought
      home from the Grundenwald."
    </p>
    <p>
      Collins hurried forward to her ladyship's side.
    </p>
    <p>
      Lady Catherine was also called to assist in the search.
    </p>
    <p>
      I was alone with Lady Jane.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Now or never," thought I; I hesitated&mdash;I stammered&mdash;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&mdash;but
      so gently, it was not a repulse.
    </p>
    <p>
      "If Lady Jane," said I at length, "if the devoted&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Holloa, there," said a deep voice without; "is Mr. Lorrequer there?"
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Down, dogs, there&mdash;down," continued he, and in a moment after
      entered the conservatory flushed and heated with the chace.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mouche is the winner&mdash;two to one&mdash;and so, Master Shallow, I owe
      you a thousand pounds."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 'ennuyee', 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch5" id="ch5"></a>CHAPTER V.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      PUZZLED&mdash;EXPLANATION&mdash;MAKES BAD WORSE&mdash;THE DEED
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      "Any letters?" said her ladyship to a servant, as she crossed the hall.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Only one, my lady&mdash;for Mr. Lorrequer, I believe."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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:&mdash;
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <blockquote>
        <p>
          "Dear Lorrequer,&mdash;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&mdash;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.
        </p>
        <p>
          "N.B.&mdash;I have not seen his note, so explain all and every thing."
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      The inclosed letter ran thus:
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <blockquote>
        <p>
          "Sir,&mdash;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."
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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&mdash;Giles Beamish?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;a very rich man, too&mdash;but I don't remember his
      Christian name."
    </p>
    <p>
      "An alderman, did you say?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes. Alderman Beamish is very well known. I have seen him frequently&mdash;a
      short florid, little man."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.'"
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;for we proceeded
      through the county for three days&mdash;he came laughing into my
      dressing-room, with a newspaper in his hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      After glancing my eye rapidly over the routine usual in such cases&mdash;Humph,
      ha&mdash;nearly two hundred people&mdash;most respectable farmers&mdash;room
      appropriately decorated&mdash;"Callonby Arms"&mdash;"after the usual loyal
      toasts, the chairman rose"&mdash;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"&mdash;humph&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah," said his lordship, impatiently, "you will never find it out&mdash;look
      here&mdash;'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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Capital, indeed," said I, trying to laugh, and at the same time blushing
      confoundedly, and looking as ridiculously as need be.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;or
      rather my want of both&mdash;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.'"
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;"to be forwarded with
      haste." I eagerly broke the seal and read the following:
    </p>
    <p>
      "My Dear Harry,&mdash;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&mdash;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'&mdash;Mr. Beamish interrupting by
      'Whisht, I tell ye&mdash;now, can't you let me! Ye see, Mr. Curzoin'&mdash;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&mdash;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.'&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;the conciliating tone with which he proffers implacable
      enmity&mdash;the killing kindness with which he refuses all accommodation&mdash;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&mdash;are only to be equalled
      by the admirable tact on the ground&mdash;the studiously elegant salute to
      the adverse party, half a la Napoleon, and half Beau Brummell&mdash;the
      politely offered snuff-box&mdash;the coquetting raillery about 10 paces or
      12&mdash;are certainly the beau ideal of the stoicism which preludes
      sending your friend out of the world like a gentleman.
    </p>
    <p>
      How very often is the face of external nature at variance with the
      thoughts and actions&mdash;"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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;the beautiful island of Scattery, with its
      picturesque ruins reflected in the unrippled tide&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "At any other time," thought I, "and how I could have enjoyed all this,
      but now&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No more than you," said Curzon, with imperturbable gravity; "but one
      thing I am certain of&mdash;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&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Stop!" said I, "say not a word more; I'm his man."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Allow me," said Curzon, stepping a little in advance of me; "allow me to
      introduce my friend Mr. Lorrequer, Dr. Finicane,&mdash;Dr. Finicane, Mr.
      Lorrequer."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then if I understand you, captain," said the doctor, "you step the
      distance, and I give the word."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Exactly," said Curzon.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;"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. "You friend is
      hit," said Curzon, to the doctor, who now came forward with another
      pistol. "You friend is hit."
    </p>
    <p>
      "So I perceive," said he, placing his finger on the spot; "but it is no
      harm in life; so we proceed, if you please."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You don't mean to demand another shot?" said Curzon.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Faith, do I," said the doctor coolly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Giles, do you hear this?" said the doctor.
    </p>
    <p>
      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,
    </p>
    <p>
      "Fin! Didn't I tell ye, that pistol always threw high&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;"If I had known he was so cunning of fence, I'd have seen him
      damned before that I fought with him."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;"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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Bound over to keep the peace!" said Curzon and myself together.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You know Father Malachi, of course, Mr. Lorrequer?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am ashamed to say I do not."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, there certainly does seem a great illumination in the valley there,"
      said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "May I never," said the doctor, "if it isn't a station&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "A station!&mdash;pray may I ask&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You need not ask a word on the subject; for, if I am a true prophet,
      you'll know what it means before morning."
    </p>
    <p>
      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,
    </p>
    <p>
      "Wait a while now; we'll not go in to Father Malachi, 'till we've put
      Giles to bed."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;homeopathic
      medicine is not half so new as Dr. Hahnneman would make us believe&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch6" id="ch6"></a>CHAPTER VI.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      THE PRIEST'S SUPPER&mdash;FATHER MALACHI AND THE COADJUTOR <br /> &mdash;MAJOR
      JONES AND THE ABBE
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      <a name="The_Sentry_Challenging_Father_Luke_and_the_Abbe"
      id="The_Sentry_Challenging_Father_Luke_and_the_Abbe">The Sentry
      Challenging Father Luke and the Abbe</a>
    </h3>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img alt="Ch 06a Sentry Challenging the Abbe.jpg (76K)"
      src="images/Ch%2006a%20%20Sentry%20Challenging%20the%20Abbe.jpg"
      width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <p>
      <a href="images2/Ch%2006a%20%20Sentry%20Challenging%20the%20Abbe.jpg">BLACK
      AND WHITE IMAGE</a>
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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,&mdash;for so I rightly guessed him to be,&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;for nature is not a politician&mdash;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. <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      <a name="Supper_at_Father_Malachis" id="Supper_at_Father_Malachis">Supper
      at Father Malachi's</a>
    </h3>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img alt="Ch 06b Supper at Father Malachi's.jpg (77K)"
      src="images/Ch%2006b%20Supper%20at%20Father%20Malachis.jpg" width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <p>
      <a href="images2/Ch%2006b%20Supper%20at%20Father%20Malachis.jpg">BLACK AND
      WHITE IMAGE</a>
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      While thus occupied in my surveillance of the scene before me, I was
      roused by the priest saying&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Upon my honour, upon the sacred honour of a De Courcy&mdash;."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, well, never mind it now; ye see ye're just keeping your friends
      cooling themselves there in the corner&mdash;introduce me at once."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mr. Lorrequer, I'm sure&mdash;."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My name is Curzon," said the adjutant, bowing.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mr. Lorrequer, allow me to shake your hand&mdash;I've heard of ye
      before."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;though
      'tis only for a few hours, ye'll have a dacent name."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "How goes on the law," said he, "Fin? Any new proofs, as they call them,
      forthcoming?"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Are ye regular in yer duties, my son?' said he to the gossoon.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I never miss a Sunday,' said the gossoon; 'for it's always walking his
      reverence's horse I am the whole time av prayers.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "His lordship said no more for a little while, when he muttered between
      his teeth, 'Ah, it's just slander&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'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&mdash;now Father Malachi's a dark man.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'True for ye,' said the boy; 'true for ye, Father Malachi's dark; but the
      coadjutor!&mdash;the coadjutor's as red as a fox.'"
    </p>
    <p>
      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'"&mdash;thus he designated a square decanter, containing about
      two quarts of whiskey, and a bowl heaped high with sugar&mdash;"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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "He has only two years of the lease to run, and a 'long charge,' (anglice,
      a large family,) continued the priest.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I'll not forget him, you may depend upon it," said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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," 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;made a new line of
      road through an impassable bog, and over an inaccessible mountain&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;'here
      they are&mdash;they're coming'&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well," said Fin, "it's easy to see ye never can forget what they did at
      Maynooth."
    </p>
    <p>
      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:
    </p>
    <p>
      It was towards the latter end of the year '98&mdash;the year of the
      troubles&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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 confreres, 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&mdash;a short apology for the
      "dereglements" of dress, and a few minutes more found them seated at table
      without further ceremony on either side.
    </p>
    <p>
      Among the favourite guests from the college, two were peculiarly held in
      estimation&mdash;"the Professor of the Humanities," Father Luke Mooney;
      and the Abbe 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&mdash;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;&mdash;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&mdash;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 Aesop'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
      Phoenix," 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&mdash;come,
      tell it, and burn ye?" They actually, "horresco referens," quizzed the
      Major coram the whole mess!&mdash;Now, Major John Jones had only lately
      exchanged into the North Cork from the "Darry Ragement," as he called it.
      He was a red&mdash;hot orangeman, a deputy&mdash;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!
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;the cup was full. Fate had
      done her worst, and he might have exclaimed with Lear, "spit, fire&mdash;spout,
      rain," there was nothing in store for him of further misfortune.
    </p>
    <p>
      A drum-head court-martial&mdash;a hint "to sell out"&mdash;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.,
      etc. 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 Abbe. They were
      welcomed with the usual warmth, and strange to say, by none more than the
      major himself, whose hilarity knew no bounds.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 Abbe sang a new "Chanson a Boire," that
      Beranger might have envied.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;to-morrow,
      mind, and now, M. D'Abbe, au revoir."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah oui, Monsieur Jones," said the Abbe, "retournez, je vous prie. We are,
      I must say, chez nous. Ces braves gens, les North Cork know us by this
      time."
    </p>
    <p>
      The major smiled, while he still pressed his services to see them past the
      picquets, but they were resolved and would not be denied.
    </p>
    <p>
      "With the word for the night, we want nothing more," said Father Luke.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Never fear," said Father Mooney, laughing; "I'll go bail he'll hear me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well&mdash;the word for the night is&mdash;'Bloody end to the Pope,'&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sacristi! Que nous sommes attrappes," said the Abbe, scarcely able to
      avoid laughing at the situation in which they were placed.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, there's the quarter chiming now; we've no time to lose&mdash;Major
      Jones! Major, darling! Don't now, ah, don't! sure ye know we'll be ruined
      entirely&mdash;there now, just change it, like a dacent fellow&mdash;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&mdash;so come along."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      The fathers had stopped to consult together, what they should do in this
      trying emergency&mdash;when their whisper being overheard, the sentinel
      called out gruffly, in the genuine dialect of his country, "who goes
      that?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Father Luke Mooney, and the Abbe D'Array," said the former, in his most
      bland and insinuating tone of voice, a quality he most eminently
      possessed.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Stand and give the countersign."
    </p>
    <p>
      "We are coming from the mess, and going home to the college," said Father
      Mooney, evading the question, and gradually advancing as he spoke.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Stand, or I'll shot ye," said the North Corkian.
    </p>
    <p>
      Father Luke halted, while a muttered "Blessed Virgin" announced his state
      of fear and trepidation.
    </p>
    <p>
      "D'Array, I say, what are we to do."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The countersign," said the sentry, whose figure they could perceive in
      the dim distance of about thirty yards.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mumble&mdash;mumble&mdash;"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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Louder," said the sentry, in a voice of impatience.
    </p>
    <p>
      _____ "to the Pope."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I don't hear the first part."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Again," called out the soldier; "and no muttering."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Bloody end to the Pope," cried Father Luke in bitter desperation.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Bloody end to the Pope," echoed the Abbe.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Here's to her health," said Fin; "and your reverence will get us the
      chant."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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:&mdash;
    </p>
    <table summary="">
      <tr>
        <td>
          "Here's a health to Martin Hanegan's aunt,<br /> And I'll tell ye the
          reason why!<br /> She eats bekase she is hungry,<br /> And drinks bekase
          she is dry.<br /> <br /> "And if ever a man,<br /> Stopped the course of
          a can,<br /> Martin Hanegan's aunt would cry&mdash;<br /> 'Arrah, fill
          up your glass,<br /> And let the jug pass;<br /> How d'ye know but what
          your neighbour's dhry?"<br />
        </td>
      </tr>
    </table>
    <p>
      "Come, my lord and gentlemen, da capo, if ye please&mdash;Fill up your
      glass," and the chanson was chorussed with a strength and vigour that
      would have astonished the Philharmonic.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 "contrhibution." 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:&mdash;"and now ye'll
      just give whatever ye like, according to your means in life, and what ye
      can spare."
    </p>
    <p>
      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:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Five pounds! at least; not a farthing less, as I am a sinner. Look, then,&mdash;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&mdash;he's
      impatient, I see."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Six and sixpence, is it? or five shillings?&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Who's that put down the half guinea in goold?" (And this time he spoke
      truth.) "Who's that, I say?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tim Kennedy, your reverence," said Tim, stroking his hair down with one
      hand, and looking proud and modest at the same moment.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mickey Oulahan&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;dacent
      people, my lord."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mr. M'Neesh"&mdash;Curzon had hitherto escaped all notice&mdash;"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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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,&mdash;aye, and the money-dish, flew right and left&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;"They'll
      all be like lambs now, for they don't believe there's a whole bone in his
      body."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;white cloth,
      upon which shone in unrivalled brightness a very handsome tea equipage&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;the morning papers were airing upon the hearth&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good morning, Mr. Lorrequer. I trust you have rested well," said Father
      Malachi as I entered.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Never better; but where are our friends?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are quite right," said the father interrupting me. "Your friend's
      taste for music&mdash;bad luck to it&mdash;was the 'teterrima causa
      belli.'"
    </p>
    <p>
      "And the subscription," said I; "how did it succeed?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;draw over your chair. Tea or coffee?
      there's the rum if you like it 'chasse.'"
    </p>
    <p>
      I immediately obeyed the injunction, and commenced a vigorous assault upon
      the trout, caught, as he informed me, "within twenty perches of the
      house."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;isn't
      it Juvenal?
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Vacuus viator cantabit ante Latronem;'
    </p>
    <p>
      "or in the vernacular:
    </p>
    <p>
      "'The empty traveller may whistle Before the robber and his pistil'
      (pistol)."
    </p>
    <p>
      "There's the Chili vinegar&mdash;another morsel of the trout?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I thank you; what excellent coffee, Father Malachi!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "A secret I learned at St. Omer's some thirty years since. Any letters,
      Bridget?"&mdash;to a damsel that entered with a pacquet in her hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      "A gossoon from Kilrush, y'r reverence, with a bit of a note for the
      gentleman there."
    </p>
    <p>
      "For me!&mdash;ah, true enough. Harry Lorrequer, Esq. Kilrush&mdash;try
      Carrigaholt." So ran the superscription&mdash;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&mdash;French, told me it came from Callonby.
    </p>
    <p>
      With what a trembling hand and beating heart I broke it open, and yet
      feared to read it&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch7" id="ch7"></a>CHAPTER VII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      THE LADY'S LETTER&mdash;PETER AND HIS ACQUAINTANCES&mdash;TOO LATE.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Her ladyship's letter ran thus&mdash;
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <blockquote>
        <p>
          "Callonby, Tuesday morning.
        </p>
        <p>
          "My dear Mr. Lorrequer,&mdash;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&mdash;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,
        </p>
        <p>
          "Charlotte Callonby."
        </p>
        <p>
          "P.S.&mdash;We are all quite well, except Lady Jane, who has a slight
          cold, and has been feverish for the last day or two."
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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&mdash;to say "a good bye"&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      Lady Jane was ill then, slightly however&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      There is an old and not less true adage, that what we wish we readily
      believe; and so with me&mdash;I found myself an easy convert to my own
      hopes and desires, and actually ended by persuading myself&mdash;no very
      hard task &mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;the very consciousness of which
      imparted a thrill of fear to my heart, that such good fortune was too much
      even to hope for.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;
      perhaps tomorrow."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, truly, you caused a diversion at some expense to your countenance,
      for I never beheld anything&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Stop there," said he, "you surely have not seen the doctor&mdash;he beats
      me hollow&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;when, the
      wandering Jew might perhaps have told, had he ever visited Clare&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Musha, Peter, but it's well y'r looking," cried one.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, thin, maybe ye an't fat on the ribs," cried another.
    </p>
    <p>
      "An' cockin' his tail like a coult," said a third.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;so completely steeped&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;it was still&mdash;I
      walked then to the door of the drawing-room&mdash;I paused&mdash;I drew a
      full breath&mdash;my hand trembled slightly as I turned the lock&mdash;I
      entered&mdash;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&mdash;I started from the examination of a
      pencil drawing but partly finished, but the artist of which I could not be
      deceived in&mdash;I listened &mdash;the sounds drew near&mdash;I could not
      distinguish who were the speakers&mdash;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,
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh! Mr. Lorrequer! then you've missed them."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Missed them!" said I; "how&mdash;when&mdash;where?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Did you not get a note from my lord?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No; when was it written?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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,
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;and they will be so sorry."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do you think so, Mrs. Herbert? do you, indeed, think so?" said I, in a
      most insinuating tone.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am perfectly sure of it, sir."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, Mrs. Herbert, you are too kind to think so; but perhaps&mdash;that is&mdash;may
      be, Mrs. Herbert, she said something&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Who, sir?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Lady Callonby, I mean; did her ladyship leave any message for me about
      her plants? or did she remember&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, sir; her ladyship said nothing, sir; but Lady Jane&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes; well, what of Lady Jane, my dear Mrs. Herbert?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, sir! but you look pale; would not you like to have a little wine and
      water&mdash;or perhaps&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, thank you, nothing whatever; I am just a little fatigued&mdash;but
      you were mentioning&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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, 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;never, never to return.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was very late when I reached my old quarters at Kilrush; Mrs. Healy
      fortunately was in bed asleep&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 &mdash;and then&mdash;what
      then?&mdash;then for the Morning Post&mdash;"Cadeau de noces"&mdash;"happy
      couple"&mdash;"Lord Callonby's seat in Hampshire,"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You wished to be called at five, sir," said Stubber.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes; is it five o'clock?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Quite right, Stubber; let me have my breakfast as soon as possible, and
      see that chestnut horse I brought here last night, fed."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch8" id="ch8"></a>CHAPTER VIII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      CONGRATULATIONS&mdash;SICK LEAVE&mdash;HOW TO PASS THE BOARD.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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:&mdash;
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <blockquote>
        <p>
          "My dear Lorrequer," ("dear Lorrequer!" dear me, thought I; cool
          certainly, from one I have ever regarded as an open enemy)&mdash;"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.
        </p>
        <p>
          "Believe me, most truly yours,<br /> "Henry Carden.<br /> "Barracks, 10
          o'clock."
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      However 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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;to expectations so brilliant&mdash;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&mdash;"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&mdash;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"&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      Besides, I tried&mdash;and how ingenious is self-deception&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;"That His Majesty, in
      consideration of the distinguished services of the one, has been
      graciously pleased to appoint him to&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "He prefers a pale face, it seems, to a black one; and certainly, with
      thirty thousand in the same scale, the taste is excusable."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;"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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;certain hints
      he had dropped&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But, my dear Colonel, I assure you&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, well, there&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Allah il Allah," thought I, "it is my Lord Callonby's own plot; and his
      friend Colonel Cardon aids and abets him."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;almost impossible,
      without a sick certificate, to obtain a leave sufficiently long for your
      purpose."
    </p>
    <p>
      And here he smirked, and I blushed, selon les regles..
    </p>
    <p>
      "A sick certificate," said I in some surprise.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I must acknowledge I have seldom felt better."
    </p>
    <p>
      "So much the worse&mdash;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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do you ever flush. Before dinner I mean?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Occasionally, when I meet with a luncheon."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do you think you could get up a fit for the medical board," said Fitz.,
      gravely.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, if absolutely indispensable," said I, "and with good instruction&mdash;something
      this way. Eh, is it not?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nothing of the kind: you are quite wrong."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Is there not always a little laughing and crying," said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, no, no; take the cue from the paymaster any evening after mess, and
      you'll make no mistake&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And you think I may pass muster in this way."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not the less grateful for your kindness," said I; "but still, I'd rather
      matters stood as they do."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch9" id="ch9"></a>CHAPTER IX.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      THE ROAD&mdash;TRAVELLING ACQUAINTANCES&mdash;A PACKET ADVENTURE.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      <a name="Mrs._Mulrooney_and_Sir_Stewart_Moore"
      id="Mrs._Mulrooney_and_Sir_Stewart_Moore">Mrs. Mulrooney and Sir Stewart
      Moore</a>
    </h3>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img alt="Ch 09 Mrs. Mulrooney.jpg (86K)"
      src="images/Ch%2009%20%20Mrs%20Mulrooney.jpg" width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <p>
      <a href="images2/Ch%2009%20%20Mrs%20Mulrooney.jpg">BLACK AND WHITE IMAGE</a>
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      The very antithesis to the person just mentioned, was another passenger
      then on board. She, for even in sex they were different&mdash;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&mdash;for,
      alas, we had become Siamese&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not the least use, I assure you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nor sperits and wather?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Worse and worse, ma'am."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, thin, maybe oaten mail tay would do? it's a beautiful thing for the
      stomick, any how."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Rank poison on the present occasion, believe me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, then, blessed Mary, what am I to do&mdash;what is to become of me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And he has a cure, ye say?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And the naygur doesn't let the saycret out, bad manners to him?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, ma'am; he has refused every offer on the subject.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "May I be so bowld as to ax his name again?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;whose tones, once heard, there was no forgetting. The words ran
      as nearly as I can recollect thus:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?&mdash;you know what
      I mean."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Is it brandy, ma'am?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, it isn't brandy;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "We have got gin, ma'am, and bottled porter&mdash;cider, ma'am, if you
      like."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Agh, no! sure I want the dhrops agin the sickness."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Don't know indeed, ma'am."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, you stupid creature; maybe you're not the real steward. What's your
      name?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Smith, ma'am."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, I thought so; go away, man, go away."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Am I to die here like a haythen, and nobody to come near me? Steward,
      steward, steward Moore, I say,"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Steward Moore," said the lady again, with her eyes straining in the
      direction of the door by which she expected him to enter.
    </p>
    <p>
      "This is most strange," muttered the baronet, half aloud. "Why, madam, you
      are calling me!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And is it there ye're lying on the broad of yer back, and me as sick as a
      dog fornent ye?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I concede ma'am the fact; the position is a most irksome one on every
      account."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then why don't ye come over to me?" and this Mrs. Mulrooney said with a
      voice of something like tenderness&mdash;wishing at all hazards to
      conciliate so important a functionary.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, really you are the most incomprehensible person I ever met."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I'm what?" said Mrs. Mulrooney, her blood rushing to her face and temples
      as she spoke&mdash;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&mdash;guard,
      to be lying there at yer ease under the blankets, grinning at me. What's
      your thrade&mdash;answer me that&mdash;av it isn't to wait on the ladies,
      eh?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, the woman must be mad," said Sir Stewart.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The devil a taste mad, my dear&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Go over to you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, and why not? or if it's so lazy ye are, why then I'll thry and cross
      over to your side."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch10" id="ch10"></a>CHAPTER X.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      UPSET&mdash;MIND&mdash;AND BODY.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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:
    </p>
    <p>
      "If you have any thing very particular, sir, that my Lord's lawyer can do,
      I can give you his address."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, thank you&mdash;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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes sir, perfectly well. My Lord had only a slight cold,"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah&mdash;yes&mdash;and there address is 'Meurice;' very well."
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying I turned from the door, and with slower steps than I had come,
      returned to my hotel.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;praising his old specific, port-wine&mdash;abusing
      his servants for robbing him&mdash;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&mdash;not having eaten since my departure
      from London.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;and you see I have had
      my wish! The old story, I suppose, 'out of cash.' Would not come down here
      for nothing&mdash;eh? Come, lad, tell truth; is it not so?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "He's a rogue, sir&mdash;a cheat&mdash;a scoundrel; but it is the same
      with them all; and your cousin, Harry&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But you forget, sir&mdash;I told you I have not come with such an
      object."
    </p>
    <p>
      "We'll see that&mdash;we'll see that in the morning," replied he, with an
      incredulous shake of the head.
    </p>
    <p>
      "But Guy, sir&mdash;what has Guy done?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;then he has got a
      yacht at Cowes&mdash;a grouse mountain in Scotland&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      Anxious to say something without well-knowing what, I hinted that probably
      my good cousin would reform some of these days, and marry.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;so the latest
      accounts say, at least."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, indeed," said I, endeavouring to take an interest where I really felt
      none&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, Harry, did you not hear of it?" said my uncle.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No&mdash;not a word, sir."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Very strange, indeed&mdash;a great match, Harry&mdash;a very great match,
      indeed."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Some rich banker's daughter," thought I. "What will he say when he hears
      of my fortune?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "A very fine young woman, too, I understand&mdash;quite the belle of
      London&mdash;and a splendid property left by an aunt."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;was greatly struck with his manner and address&mdash;found
      him out to be my nephew&mdash;asked him to his house&mdash;and, in fact,
      almost threw this lovely girl at his head before they were two months
      acquainted."
    </p>
    <p>
      "As nearly as possible my own adventure," thought I, laughing to myself.
    </p>
    <p>
      "But you have not told me who they are, sir," said I, dying to have his
      story finished, and to begin mine.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I'm coming to that&mdash;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.'"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then how did you know sir that they were previously known to each other?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "The family lawyer told me, who heard it all talked over."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And why, then, did Guy get the letter of introduction from you, when he
      was already acquainted with them?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Lord who, sir?" said I in a voice that made the old man upset his glass,
      and spring from his chair in horror.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What the devil is the matter with the boy. What makes you so pale?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Whose name did you say at that moment, sir," said I with a slowness of
      speech that cost me agony.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Lord Callonby, my old schoolfellow and fag at Eton."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And the lady's name, sir?" said I, in scarcely an audible whisper.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I'm sure I forget her name; but here's the letter from Guy, and I think
      he mentions her name in the postscript."
    </p>
    <p>
      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:
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;my eyes swam&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;and so soon, too.&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      But enough&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      My plans! alas, I had none&mdash;that one fatal paragraph had scattered
      them to the winds; and I threw myself upon my bed, wretched and almost
      heart-broken.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;"As for this," said he, looking
      at the phrase in question, "soit qui'l dit," so say I. And now&mdash;en
      route. <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch11" id="ch11"></a>CHAPTER XI.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      CHELTENHAM&mdash;MATRIMONIAL ADVENTURE&mdash;SHOWING HOW TO MAKE LOVE FOR
      A FRIEND.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      <a name="Lorrequer_Making_His_Escape_From_Col._Kamworths"
      id="Lorrequer_Making_His_Escape_From_Col._Kamworths">Lorrequer Making His
      Escape From Col. Kamworth's</a>
    </h3>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img alt="Ch 11 Lorrrequer Making His Escape.jpg (88K)"
      src="images/Ch%2011%20%20Lorrrequer%20Making%20His%20Escape.jpg"
      width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <p>
      <a href="images2/Ch%2011%20%20Lorrrequer%20Making%20His%20Escape.jpg">BLACK
      AND WHITE IMAGE</a>
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      It was a cold raw evening in February as I sat in the coffee-room of the
      Old Plough in Cheltenham, "Lucullus c. Lucullo"&mdash;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&mdash;the
      close-curtained boxes&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;the old man in the brown surtout had turned in his chair, and now
      snored louder&mdash;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&mdash;had the near wheeler of the Umpire been
      only safe on his fore legs, and while I write this I might&mdash;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&mdash;now all the future was dark and
      dismal. Then my best friends could scarcely avoid envy at my fortune&mdash;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&mdash;and so I have always felt
      it since, when reflecting on it&mdash;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&mdash;what will they think at
      head-quarters?&mdash;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&mdash;sometimes to leave the army altogether. However, I
      turned the affair over in my mind&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes," said I, "such is my name; but I am not acquainted with any one
      here, that I can remember."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The gentleman has ony arrived an hour since by the London mail, sir, and
      here he is."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;that he was perfectly famished,
      and desired a hot supper, "de suite."
    </p>
    <p>
      Jack having despatched this agreeable meal with a traveller's appetite,
      proceeded to unfold his plans to me as follows:
    </p>
    <p>
      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
      &mdash;highly accomplished&mdash;gifted&mdash;agreeable&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "But," said I, with difficulty interrupting him, "how long have you known
      her father?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Known him? I never saw him."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Now, Harry, you've touched upon the point in which, you must confess, my
      genius always stood unrivalled&mdash;acknowledge, if you are not dead to
      gratitude&mdash;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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "True, Jack, I never questioned your Spartan talent; but this affair, time
      considered, does appear rather difficult."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, Jack, now for the plan, then!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, I don't see how I can possibly have admitted a single new ray of
      light upon the affair."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;'Hydrabad
      Cottage' he calls it; good, eh?&mdash;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&mdash;nurse&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, Harry, I consent; it shall remain so. Now for your part, for I have
      not come to that."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mine," said I, in amazement; "why how can I possibly have any character
      assigned to me in the drama?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I'll tell you, Harry, you shall come with me in the gig in the capacity
      of my valet."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your what?" said I, horror-struck at his impudence.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Come, no nonsense, Harry, you'll have a glorious time of it&mdash;shall
      choose as becoming a livery as you like&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Come," said I, "I agree, with one only difference&mdash;I'll be the
      master and you the man on this occasion."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      The fatal facility of my disposition, so often and so frankly chronicled
      in these Confessions&mdash;the openness to be led whither any one might
      take the trouble to conduct me&mdash;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&mdash;then to attend to&mdash;soon after to suggest&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <blockquote>
        <p>
          "The Plough, Cheltenham, Tuesday night or morning, two o'clock&mdash;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&mdash;duly
          praising, puffing, and lauding the aforesaid Lorrequer, and in every
          way facilitating his success to the hand and fortune of&mdash;"
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      "Shall we put in her name, Harry, here?" said Jack.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I think not; we'll fill it up in pencil; that looks very knowing."
    </p>
    <p>
      "&mdash;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&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You know, each man uses his choice in this particular," said Jack.
    </p>
    <p>
      "&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;ay, Harry, all above
      board&mdash;there is nothing like it&mdash;'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&mdash;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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Did I choose it last night? I have not the slightest recollection of it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;see that you make the most of it."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <blockquote>
        <p>
          "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.
        </p>
        <p>
          "Colonel K. dines at six precisely."
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "The game is won already. Harry, my man, give me the check for the ten
      thousand: she is your own this minute."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And so, Mr. Lorrequer, you heard of my affair at Cantantrabad, when I
      took the Rajah prisoner?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes," said I; "the governor-general mentioned the gallant business the
      very last time I dined at Government-House."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;but no&mdash;I refused flatly."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Is it possible; and what did you do with the two millions?&mdash;sent
      them, of course&mdash;."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;they
      really are quire 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&mdash;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&mdash;these walnuts here&mdash;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&mdash;the high ground to the left of my
      position&mdash;put another log on the fire, if you please, sir, for I
      cannot see myself&mdash;I thought I was up near the figs, and I find
      myself down near the half moon."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;not
      indeed with me for her companion&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      I must hasten on.&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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:
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <blockquote>
        <p>
          "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,
        </p>
        <p>
          "John Waller."
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Don't know, sir; I was out all the morning, sir, and never seed them."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;very violent attacks in my
      head, and must always be left quiet and alone&mdash;perfectly alone&mdash;mind
      me, Thomas&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, certainly not," said I, in a voice of thunder; "what the devil are
      you grinning at?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You may as well come, my man; you're found out; they all know it now,"
      said the fellow with an odious grin.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;shall
      I confess&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      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, ,
      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&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.&mdash;How far he
      might have gone, heaven can tell, if that excellent young gentleman, his
      master, had not traced him here this morning&mdash;but you'll pay dearly
      for it, you young rascal, that you shall."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch12" id="ch12"></a>CHAPTER XII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      DUBLIN&mdash;TOM O'FLAHERTY&mdash;A REMINISCENCE OF THE PENINSULA.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Dear, dirty Dublin&mdash;"Io te salute"&mdash;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&mdash;the
      Groves of Blarney&mdash;to hum the following lines, which I heard shortly
      after my landing, and which well express my own feelings for the "loved
      spot."
    </p>
    <table summary="">
      <tr>
        <td>
          Oh! Dublin, sure, there is no doubtin',<br /> Beats every city upon the
          say.<br /> 'Tis there you'll see O'Connell spouting,<br /> And Lady
          Morgan making "tay."<br /> For 'tis the capital of the greatest nation<br />
          With finest peasantry on a fruitful sod,<br /> Fighting like devils for
          conciliation,<br /> And hating each other for the love of God.<br />
        </td>
      </tr>
    </table>
    <p>
      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
      &mdash;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&mdash;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:&mdash;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&mdash;"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."
    </p>
    <p>
      My reader may suppose&mdash;for he is sufficiently behind the scenes with
      me&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      Had the excellent Rip Van Winkle, instead of seeking his repose upon the
      cold and barren acclivities of the Kaatskills&mdash;as we are veritably
      informed by Irving&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;the proper amusements of the
      day &mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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,&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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,"&mdash;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!!&mdash;The story is a brief
      one:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Come," said one of them, "let us hear Tom's proposal."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh," said he, with difficulty steadying himself while he spoke, "we'll
      put him to bed with old Ridgeway, the quarter-master!"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;it might be a ghost, it might be a warning, he knew not what
      to think&mdash;he imagined the lips moved, and so overcome with terror was
      he at last, that he absolutely shouted like a maniac, and never cased till
      the hut was filled with officers and men, who hearing the uproar ran to
      his aid&mdash;the surprise of the poor quarter-master at the apparition,
      was scarcely greater than that of the beholders&mdash;no one was able to
      afford any explanation of the circumstance, though all were assured that
      it must have been done in jest&mdash;the door upon which the priest had
      been conveyed, afforded the clue&mdash;they had forgotten to restore it to
      its place&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;the inhabitants of the
      village learned the indignity with which the Padre had been treated; they
      addressed a memorial to Lord Wellington&mdash;inquiry was immediately
      instituted&mdash;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&mdash;the life and soul of his regiment&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Lorrequer, my old friend, I never thought of seeing you here&mdash;this
      is indeed a piece of good luck."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, Tom? You surely knew that the __ were in Ireland, didn't you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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 that I was to hear it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh! they said so, did they? Droll dogs&mdash;always quizzing&mdash;I
      wonder you did not perceive the hoax&mdash;eh&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "A hoax! devilish well done too,"&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Lord Grey, is it?" said I, with a sly look at Tom.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, my dear friend," said he drily, "it was not Lord Grey&mdash;but to
      continue&mdash;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&mdash;so what does all this mean? Did you hoax the noble Lord as
      well as the Horse Guards, Harry?"
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;all three good in their way,
      and very intellectual."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;six is the hour&mdash;sharp six&mdash;number ___
      Molesworth-street, Mrs. Clanfrizzle's&mdash;easily find it&mdash;large
      fanlight over the door&mdash;huge lamp in the hall, and a strong odour of
      mutton broth for thirty yards on each side of the premises&mdash;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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You surely cannot mean that Sir Roert Peel ever consulted with, much less
      relied upon, the statements of such a person, as you described you friend
      Denis to be?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "He did both&mdash;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&mdash;ay, I repeat it&mdash;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&mdash;however,
      he must be had, and the only alternative that presented itself was adopted
      &mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mr. Peel bowed in acquiescence.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'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.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I beg pardon,' said Mr. Peel, 'I did not hear.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Bushe!' replied Denis, with considerable energy of tone.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Oh, yes! I know,' said the secretary, 'Mr. Bushe, a very distinguished
      member of your bar, I have heard.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Faith, you may say that!' said Denis, tossing off his wine at what he
      esteemed a very trite observation.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'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.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Eh!' said Denis, 'I don't comprehend you exactly.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I mean,' said Mr. Peel, 'in one word, what's his forte?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'His forte!'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I mean what his peculiar gift consists in&mdash;'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Oh, I perceave&mdash;I have ye now&mdash;the juries!'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Ah! addressing a jury.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Ay, the juries.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'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.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'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&mdash;well, ye see the way he has is this,'&mdash;here Mr.
      Peel's expectation rose to the highest degree of interest,&mdash;'the way
      he has is this&mdash;he first butthers them up, and then slithers them
      down! that's all, devil a more of a secret there's in it.'"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;the streets are very
      nearly so&mdash;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&mdash;I must be
      tremendously hungry. True, it's past six. So now for my suit of sable, and
      then to dinner.
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch13" id="ch13"></a>CHAPTER XIII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      DUBLIN&mdash;THE BOARDING-HOUSE&mdash;SELECT SOCIETY.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      <a name="Mr._Cudmore_Filling_the_Teapot"
      id="Mr._Cudmore_Filling_the_Teapot">Mr. Cudmore Filling the Teapot</a>
    </h3>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img alt="Ch 13 Mr. Cudmore Filling Teapot.jpg (68K)"
      src="images/Ch%2013%20%20Mr.%20Cudmore%20Filling%20Teapot.jpg" width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <p>
      <a href="images2/Ch%2013%20%20Mr.%20Cudmore%20Filling%20Teapot.jpg">BLACK
      AND WHITE IMAGE</a>
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;as
      he esteemed it&mdash;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&mdash;a change the gentleman himself was not
      disposed to adopt&mdash;"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&mdash;queerest people
      you ever met&mdash;I have only one hint&mdash;cut every man, woman, and
      child of them, if you meet them hereafter&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mrs. Clanfrizzle, my friend Mr. Lorrequer; thinks he'll stay the summer
      in town. Mrs. Clan&mdash;, 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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"&mdash;"Miss Riley, Captain
      Lorrequer, a friend I have long desired to present to you&mdash;fifteen
      thousand a-year and a baronetcy, if he has sixpence"&mdash;sotto again.
      "Surgeon M'Culloch&mdash;he likes the title," said Tom in a whisper&mdash;"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&mdash;a lover to at least five
      elderly, and three young ladies&mdash;a patient&mdash;a client&mdash;a
      second in a duel to a clerk in the post-office&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;a difficulty not
      decreased by his peculiar pronunciation.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;alas! that I should so far prostitute the word; for
      the black broth of Sparta was mock turtle in comparison&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      The conversation soon became both loud and general. That happy familiarity&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;his
      one client being found guilty, mainly through his ingenious defence of
      him; yet they never showed the slightest irritation&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "This is good&mdash;isn't it, eh?&mdash;life in a boarding-house&mdash;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&mdash;then
      Greek meets Greek, and we'll have it."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;could
      withdraw him from his blest retreat. Like his countryman, St. Kevin&mdash;my
      friend Petrie has ascertained that the saint was a native of Tralee&mdash;he
      fled from the temptations of the world, and the blandishments of the fair;
      but, alas! like the saint himself, the
    </p>
    <p>
      "poor jib little knew<br /> All that wily sex can do;"
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;his
      boarding-house soubriquet&mdash;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&mdash;for which nervous tendency the
      treatment he underwent was certainly injudicious&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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"&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Never mind HER, Peter&mdash;you have sixpence more to give me."
    </p>
    <p>
      Poor Peter rummaged one pocket, then another&mdash;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,
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mr. Cudmore, may I take the liberty of requesting you would hand me the
      kettle beside you."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;there to
      perform certain manual operations requiring skill and presence of mind,
      before a large and crowded assembly&mdash;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&mdash;knitting
      his brows&mdash;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&mdash;the old ladies
      accompanied her &mdash;the young ones tittered&mdash;the men laughed&mdash;and,
      in a word, poor Cudmore, perfectly unconscious of any thing extraordinary,
      felt himself the admired of all admirers,&mdash;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,&mdash;having registered a
      vow, which, should I speak it, would forfeit his every claim to gallantry
      for ever.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "What affair?" said Cudmore&mdash;his eyes staring half out of his head.
    </p>
    <p>
      "That business of the kettle."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Kett&mdash;el. The kettle! What of that?" said Cudmore.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What of it? Why, if you don't feel it, I am sure it is not my duty to
      remind you; only"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Feel it&mdash;oh, yes. I saw them laughing, because I spilled the water
      over old Mrs. Jones, or something of that sort."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, no, my dear young friend, they were not laughing at that&mdash;their
      mirth had another object."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What the devil was it at, then?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You don't know, don't you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No; I really do not."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nor can't guess&mdash;eh?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Confound me if I can."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well. I see, Mr. Cudmore, you are really too innocent for these people.
      But come&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;yes, sir, vilely, shamefully trepanned&mdash;I repeat the
      expression&mdash;into the performance of a menial office&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      The expression of increasing wonder and surprise depicted in Mr. Cudmore's
      face at these words, my friend Phiz might convey&mdash;I cannot venture to
      describe it&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, but what in the devil's name have I done all this time?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "What! are you still ignorant?&mdash;is it possible? Did you not hand the
      kettle from the fire-place, and fill the tea-pot?&mdash;answer me that!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I did," said Cudmore, with a voice already becoming tremulous.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Is that the duty of a gentleman?&mdash;answer me that."
    </p>
    <p>
      A dead pause stood in place of a reply, while Tom proceeded&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Did you ever hear any one ask me, or Counsellor Daly, or Mr. Fogarty, or
      any other person to do so?&mdash;answer me that."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No; never" muttered Cudmore, with a sinking spirit.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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?
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;as plainly as
      looks could say&mdash;"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&mdash;still hopelessly; at last there was
      nothing for it but speaking; and she donned her very softest voice, and
      most persuasive tone, saying&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mr. Cudmore, I am really very troublesome: will you permit me to ask
      you?"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Is it for the kettle, ma'am?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "If you will be so very kind," lisped the hostess.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, then, upon my conscience, you are impudent," said Cudmore, with his
      face crimsoned to the ears, and his eyes flashing fire.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, Mr. Cudmore," began the lady, "why, really, this is so strange. Why
      sir, what can you mean?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Just that," said the imperturbable jib, who now that his courage was up,
      dared every thing.
    </p>
    <p>
      "But sir, you must surely have misunderstood me. I only asked for the
      kettle, Mr. Cudmore."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The devil a more," said Cud, with a sneer.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, then, of course"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;Blue
      Pether there&mdash;damn me, if I'll be your skip any longer."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;to the newly arrived guest,
      or uninitiated visitor, the affair is perplexing, and leads occasionally
      to awkward results.
    </p>
    <p>
      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,
    </p>
    <p>
      "Lorrequer, a glass of wine with you."
    </p>
    <p>
      Having, of course, acceded, he again asked,
    </p>
    <p>
      "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,
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, Harry, I'm waiting for you. Will you have port?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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,
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch14" id="ch14"></a>CHAPTER XIV.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      THE CHASE.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <blockquote>
        <p>
          "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," "So you see, my
          dear Hal," continued Curzon, "thy vocation calls thee; therefore come,
          and come quickly&mdash;provide thyself with a black satin costume,
          slashed with light blue&mdash;point lace collar and ruffles&mdash;a
          Spanish hat looped in front&mdash;and, if possible, a long rapier,
          with a flap hilt.&mdash;Carden is not here; so you may show your face
          under any colour with perfect impunity.&mdash;Yours from the side
          scenes,
        </p>
        <p>
          "C. Curzon."
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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&mdash;explained how he had been catering for my amusement for the
      week to come&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;you
      best friend waiting your aid in an awkward scrape&mdash;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&mdash;"Pooh, pooh, my dear fellow, never fear&mdash;don't fuss
      yourself &mdash;take it easy&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;shoulder of mutton and
      potatoes! &mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Which way now, your honor?" said a shrill voice from the dark&mdash;for
      such the night had already become, and threatened with a few heavy drops
      of straight rain, the fall of a tremendous shower.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The Naas road," said I; "and, harkye, my fine fellow, if you overtake the
      coach in half an hour, I'll double your fare."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;"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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Who the devil is she?" said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The mail, your honor, is always a female in Ireland."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then why do you stop now? You're not going to feed I suppose?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;the length of the stage&mdash;the frequency of
      accidents latterly from under-horsing, 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;like mine&mdash;spent
      centuries vainly endeavouring to double the Cape, or the Indian mariner in
      Moore's beautiful ballad, of whom we are told as&mdash;
    </p>
    <table summary="">
      <tr>
        <td>
          "Many a day to night gave way,<br /> And many a morn succeeded,<br />
          Yet still his flight, by day and night,<br /> That restless mariner
          speeded."<br />
        </td>
      </tr>
    </table>
    <p>
      This might have been all very well in the tropics, with a smart craft and
      doubtless plenty of sea store&mdash;but in a chaise, at night, and on the
      Naas road, I humbly suggest I had all the worse of the parallel.
    </p>
    <p>
      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, My anxious
      query was thrice repeated in vain, "When did the coach pass?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "The mail," replied the landlord at length. "Is it the down mail?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Not understanding the technical, I answered, "Of course not the Down&mdash;the
      Kilkenny and Cork mail."
    </p>
    <p>
      "From Dublin, sir?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, from Dublin."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Going on to-night, sir?" said he, addressing me; "severe weather, and no
      chance of its clearing, but of course you're inside."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, there is very little doubt of that," said I. "Are you nearly full
      inside?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;your's, I believe, sir&mdash;he
      seemed like a scalded bear."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You don't know his name then?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Here's the step, sir," said the guard, "get in, sir, two minutes late
      already."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "A severe night, sir," said I, endeavouring to break ground in
      conversation.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And a bad road too, sir," said I, remembering my lately accomplished
      stage.
    </p>
    <p>
      "That's the reason I always go armed," said the unknown, clinking at the
      same moment something like the barrel of a pistol.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;"and are you armed too?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, yes," said I, laughingly; "men of my trade seldom go without
      something of this kind."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Be gorra, I was just thinking that same," said the traveller, with a half
      sigh to himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Are you ill, sir?" said I, in a voice of some anxiety.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You might say that," replied he&mdash;"if you knew who you were talking
      to&mdash;although maybe you've heard enough of me, though you never saw me
      till now."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Without having that pleasure even yet," said I, "it would grieve me to
      think you should be ill in the coach."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not to my recollection."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why I do confess, I've only been a few hours in Ireland for the last six
      months."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, that's the reason; I knew you would not be fond of travelling with
      me, if you knew who it was."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Bite a man's thumb off!" said I, in a horror.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And have they no name for the malady?" said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh sure enough they have a name for it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And, may I ask&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Rooney barking, why, what does that mean?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "They always bark for a day or two after they're bit, if the infection
      comes first from the dog."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are surely not speaking of hydrophobia," said I, my hair actually
      bristling with horror and consternation.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ayn't I?" replied he; "may be you've guessed it though."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And have you the malady on you at present?" said I, trembling for the
      answer.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Any with such a propensity, sir, do you think yourself warranted in
      travelling in a public coach, exposing others&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You'd better not raise your voice, that way," quietly responded he, "if
      I'm roused, it 'll be worse for ye, that's all."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well but," said I, moderating my zeal, "is it exactly prudent, in your
      present delicate state, to undertake a journey?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Upon my soul," thought I, "I shall not select that morning for my debut
      in the field."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I hope, sir, there's no river, or watercourse on this road&mdash;any
      thing else, I can, I hope, control myself against; but water&mdash;running
      water particularly&mdash;makes me throublesome."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;what this might portend, I knew not&mdash;but
      thought it better, under all circumstances, not to disturb him. How
      comfortable my present condition was, I need scarcely remark&mdash;sitting
      vis a vis to a lunatic, with a pair of pistols in his possession&mdash;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&mdash;how heartily I wished myself back in the
      Coffee-room at Morrisson's, with my poor friend Tom&mdash;the infernal
      chaise, that I cursed a hundred times, would have been an "exchange,"
      better than into the Life Guards&mdash;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?&mdash;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?&mdash;Heaven grant
      that little snort be not what the medical people call a premonitory
      symptom&mdash;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&mdash;which
      I had learned perfectly once, when practising to go as a boa constrictor
      to a fancy ball&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, Doctor&mdash;Doctor Finucane," cried I, "is this possible? were you
      really the inside in the mail last night."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Devil a doubt of it, Mr. Lorrequer; and may I make bould to ask,&mdash;were
      you the outside?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;eh?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Am I to understand, then, Mr. Finucane, that this practical joke of your
      was contrived for my benefit, and for the purpose of holding me up to the
      ridicule of your confounded acquaintances."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;you alarmed me devilishly too."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I alarmed you! Why, how can that be?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, the real affair is this: I was bringing these two packages of notes
      down to my cousin Callaghan's bank in Cork&mdash;fifteen thousand pounds&mdash;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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;to dine with us to-day at the mess, and
      not to mention a syllable of what occurred last night&mdash;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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch15" id="ch15"></a>CHAPTER XV.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      MEMS. OF THE NORTH CORK.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      <a name="Dr._Finucane_and_the_Grey_Mare"
      id="Dr._Finucane_and_the_Grey_Mare">Dr. Finucane and the Grey Mare</a>
    </h3>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img alt="Ch 15 Dr Finucane and Grey Mare.jpg (84K)"
      src="images/Ch%2015%20%20Dr%20Finucane%20and%20Grey%20Mare.jpg"
      width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <p>
      <a href="images2/Ch%2015%20%20Dr%20Finucane%20and%20Grey%20Mare.jpg">BLACK
      AND WHITE IMAGE</a>
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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,
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, Doctor, by all means, tell us the nature of your late attack&mdash;pray
      relate it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "With Mr. Lorrequer's permission I'm your slave, gentlemen," said Fin,
      finishing off his glass.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, I am sure, I never could think of mentioning it without his leave;
      but now that he sees no objection&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then, that's enough," continued he sotto voce&mdash;"I see you'd rather
      I'd not tell it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;-and, shall I acknowledge it, even I
      myself was unable to withstand the effect, and joined in the general
      chorus against myself.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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&mdash;-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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And besides, Doctor," added I, "it would not be your first blunder in the
      dark."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;it's pretty well known in the North
      Cork."
    </p>
    <p>
      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:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "It was in the hard winter of the year __99, that we were quartered in
      Maynooth, as many said, for our sins&mdash;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&mdash;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
      &mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;Mr. Lorrequer knows the story, (here he
      alluded to an adventure detailed in an early chapter of my Confessions)&mdash;and
      from that day forward we never saw the pleasant faces of the Abbe 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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;'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,&mdash;in fact, it was impossible to see
      your hand, the night was so dark&mdash;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?&mdash;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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, I really confess it must have been a very difficult thing, under
      the circumstances; pray how did you contrive?" said the major.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Just guess how."
    </p>
    <p>
      "By the tone of his voice perhaps, and his accent," said Curzon.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Devil a bit, for he spoke remarkably well, considering how far gone he
      was in liquor."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, probably by the touch of his hand; no bad test."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "His foot! Why how did that give you any information?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;for the sergeant was an orangeman&mdash;'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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That's the very thing, then, I'm not able to do."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But, of course," said another, "your story does not end there."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, of course; but still you have not accounted for a principal character
      in the narrative," said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;or perhaps a rebel general, with an immense
      price upon his head."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Neither the one nor the other," said Fin, drily.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And do you mean to say there never was any clue to the discovery of him?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And what was the joke?" said several voices together.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And so, Doctor," called out seven or eight, "your friend turned out to be&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch16" id="ch16"></a>CHAPTER XVI.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      THEATRICALS.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      <a name="Lorrequer_Practising_Physic" id="Lorrequer_Practising_Physic">Lorrequer
      Practising Physic</a>
    </h3>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img alt="Ch 16 Lorrequer Practising Physic.jpg (88K)"
      src="images/Ch%2016%20%20Lorrequer%20Practising%20Physic.jpg" width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <p>
      <a href="images2/Ch%2016%20%20Lorrequer%20Practising%20Physic.jpg">BLACK
      AND WHITE IMAGE</a>
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      The sight of one of these pleasant little epistles, of which the foregoing
      is a true copy&mdash;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&mdash;had never read the piece&mdash;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&mdash;I had but four days&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I rather think not," said Curzon, who was a little tipsy.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And who may la charmante Fanny be?" said I, with something of the air of
      the "Dey of Algiers" in my tone.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Let Curzon tell him," said several voices together, "he is the only man to
      do justice to such perfection."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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--"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, Bat," said I, "if matters are really as you all say, why does not
      Curzon take the part you destine for me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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"&mdash;for
      it was evident that he had been caught by the lady in question.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And so you'll stay with us; give me your hand&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My forte is the drum&mdash;the big drum; put me among what the Greeks
      call the 'Mousikoi,' and I'll astonish ye."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Come now, Elsmore, try it again&mdash;just so. Yes, come forward in this
      manner&mdash;take her hand tenderly&mdash;press it to your lips; retreat
      towards the flat, and then bowing deferentially&mdash;thus, say 'Good
      night, good night'&mdash;that's very simple, eh? Well, now that's all you
      have to do, and that brings you over here&mdash;so you make your exit at
      once."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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'&mdash;there
      were just eighteen of them&mdash;'wishing you now every happiness and
      prosperity, permit me to take my leave'&mdash;and here he stole near the
      door&mdash;'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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mr. Lorrequer," said the servant, and closing the door behind me, left me
      in sole possession of the lady.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      I blundered out some platitude of a compliment to her eyes&mdash;the
      fullest and most lovely blue that ever man gazed into&mdash;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&mdash;to put every man in his most unsuitable position&mdash;and
      then that poor dear thing Curzon&mdash;I hope he's not a friend of yours&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Very pretty, very pretty, indeed, deeper and deeper still," cried he,
      alluding to my most courteous salutation as the carriage rounded the
      corner, and it lovely occupant kissed her hand once more. "I say Harry, my
      friend, you don't think that was meant for you, I should hope?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "What! the kiss of the hand? Yes, faith, but I do."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, certainly that is good! why, man, she just saw me coming up that
      instant. She and I&mdash;we understand each other&mdash;never mind, don't
      be cross&mdash;no fault of yours, you know."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, so she is taken with you," said I. "Eh, Charley?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, perfectly; it's quite different, as you observed."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "So I suppose you must feel considerably bored by this kind of thing," I
      said, endeavouring to draw him out.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well," said I, "you are always fortunate, Curzon. You have ever your
      share of what floating luck the world affords."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is not exactly all luck, my dear friend; for, as I shall explain to
      you&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      Before the performance of the "Family Party," we were to have a little
      one-act piece called "a day in Madrid," written by myself&mdash;the
      principal characters being expressly composed for "Miss Ersler and Mr.
      Lorrequer."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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, 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&mdash;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 expose 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&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh why is he far from the heart that adores him?"
    </p>
    <p>
      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,&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh why is he far,"
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;she turns and beholds her guardian&mdash;so at least
      run the course of events in the real drama&mdash;that it should follow
      thus now however, "Dus aliter visum"&mdash;for just as she came to the
      very moving apostrophe alluded to, and called out, "why comes he not?"&mdash;a
      gruff voice from behind answered in a strong Cork brogue&mdash;"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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch16b" id="ch16b"></a>CHAPTER XVIb.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h4>
      [Note: There are two Chapter XVIs. In the table of contents,
    </h4>
    <h4>
      this one has an asterisk but no explanation.]
    </h4>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      THE WAGER.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Harry Lorrequer, will you stand by me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Am I then, really deceived in what I believed to be an old and tried
      friend?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "In a scrape!" said he, with a long-drawn sigh, intended to beat the whole
      Minerva press in its romantic cadence.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, my dear Hal," said he, in the same melting tone as before&mdash;"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."
    </p>
    <p>
      As he made a dead pause here, after which he showed no disposition to
      continue, I merely added&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      The observation seemed to have some effect in rousing him from his
      lethargy, and he added&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "If you only knew the nature of the attachment, and how completely all my
      future hopes are concerned upon the issue&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;desperately and over head and ears in love."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Et puis," said I coolly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And intend to marry immediately."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, very well," said I; "the fighting and debt will come later, that's
      all. But to return&mdash;now for the lady."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Come, you must make a guess."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Come, no more quizzing, Hal. You surely must have remarked that lovely
      girl I waltzed with at Power's ball on Tuesday last."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Lovely girl! Why, in all seriousness, you don't mean the small woman with
      the tow wig?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, I do not mean any such thing&mdash;but a beautiful creature, with the
      brightest locks in Christendom&mdash;the very light-brown waving ringlets,
      Dominicheno loved to paint, and a foot&mdash;did you see her foot?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No; that was rather difficult, for she kept continually bobbing up and
      down, like a boy's cork-float in a fish-pond."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Stop there. I shall not permit this any longer&mdash;I came not here to
      listen to&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "But, Curzon, my boy, you're not angry?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, sir, I am angry."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, surely, you have not been serious all this time?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "And why not, pray?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh! I don't exactly know&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You think so really, Hal?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Certainly I do, and the opinion is not mine alone; she is, in fact
      universally admired."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Come, Harry, excuse my bad temper. I ought to have known you better&mdash;give
      me your hand, old boy, and wish me joy, for with you aiding and abetting
      she is mine to-morrow morning."
    </p>
    <p>
      I wrung his hand heartily&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "So, you will stand by me, Hal," said he.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;I'll be any thing
      rather than a principal; and I have long since disapproved of either
      method as a means of 'obtaining satisfaction.'"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Carry her off! Where?&mdash;when?&mdash;how?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "All that I have already arranged, as you shall hear."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes. But first of all please to explain why, if going to run away with
      the lady, you don't accompany her yourself."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;so
      that, his consent being out of the question, our only resource is an
      elopement. Louisa consents to this, but only upon one condition&mdash;and
      this she insists upon so firmly&mdash;I had almost said obstinately&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, and what is the condition she lays such stress upon?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Simply this&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?&mdash;whom could I
      select? Old Hayes, the paymaster, is always tipsy; Jones is five-and-forty&mdash;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&mdash;with
      maiden bashfulness assisting&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      This was all simple and clear enough&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh! of course&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;a
      well-known virago in the regiment&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, no, only fifty," said Fitz. gravely.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;for the lady had really
      thirty thousand pounds&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;and the mess shall
      decide between us afterwards as to the winner."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, surely, they are too early, Stubber? It's only four o'clock."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, sir; but they say that the road for eight miles is very bad, and
      they must go it almost at a walk."
    </p>
    <p>
      That is certainly pleasant, thought I, but I'm in for it now, so can't
      help it.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      As I passed beneath the adjutant's window, I saw a light&mdash;the sash
      was quickly thrown open, and Curzon appeared.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Is that you, Harry?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes&mdash;when do you start?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "In about two hours. I've only eight miles to go&mdash;you have upwards of
      twelve, and no time to lose. God bless you, my boy&mdash;we'll meet soon."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Here's the carriage, sir; this way."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, my lads, you know the road I suppose?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Every inch of it, your honour's glory; we're always coming it for doctors
      and 'pothecaries; they're never a week without them."
    </p>
    <p>
      I was soon seated, the door clapped to, and the words "all right" given,
      and away we went.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      Troubles are like laudanum, a small dose only excites, a strong one sets
      you to sleep&mdash;not a very comfortable sleep mayhap&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the small parlour to which I was ushered, sat two gentlemen somewhat
      advanced in years, who I rightly supposed were my medical confreres. 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Surgeon Riley, sir; a very respectable practitioner," said he, waving his
      hand towards his rubicund confrere.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "This is the doctor of the regiment, sir, that you desired to see," said
      my tall coadjutor.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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 confreres.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No aneurism, doctor," said the tall one.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Certainly not."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "So you won't operate upon it," said the patient.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, doctor," said the pale one, as at length he rested from his
      labours, "what are we to do?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay," said the other," there's the question."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "So you think that will be best."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am certain&mdash;I know nothing better," I answered.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I hope you are not going," said one, as my chaise drew up at the door.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Business calls me," said I, "and I can't help it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Could not you manage to see our friend here again, in a day or two?" said
      the rosy one.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I fear it will be impossible," replied I; "besides I have a notion he may
      not desire it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have been commissioned to hand you this," said the tall doctor, with a
      half sigh, as he put a check into my hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch17" id="ch17"></a>CHAPTER XVII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      THE ELOPEMENT.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;"here we are sir; this is the
      gate."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But why stop at the gate? Drive up the avenue, my boy."
    </p>
    <p>
      "His honor told me, sir, not for the world to go farther than the lodge;
      nor to make as much noise as a mouse."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah! very true. He may be very irritable, poor man! Well stop here, and
      I'll get out."
    </p>
    <p>
      Just as the doctor had reached the ground, a very smart-looking soubrette
      tripped up, and said to him&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Beg pardon, sir; but you are the gentleman from the barrack, sir?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, my dear," said Fitz., with a knowing look at the pretty face of the
      damsel, "what can I do for you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah! she's frightened, poor thing; is she? Oh! she must keep up her
      spirits, while there's life there's hope."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sir."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I say, my darling, she must not give way. I'll speak to her a little. Is
      not he rather advanced in life?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, Lord! no sir. Only two-and-thirty, my mistress tells me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Two-and-thirty! Why I thought he was above sixty."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am grieved, ma'am, that I have not the happiness to make your
      acquaintance under happier circumstances."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I must confess, sir&mdash;though I am ashamed"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Never be ashamed, ma'am. Your grief, although, I trust causeless, does
      you infinite honor."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Upon my soul she is rather pretty," said the doctor to himself here.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Dangerous! Is he in so critical a state as that then?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Critical a state, sir! Why what do you mean?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I mean, ma'am, do you think, then, it must be done to-day?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Of course I do, sir, and I shall never leave the spot without your
      assuring me of it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh! in that case make your mind easy. I have the instruments in the
      chaise."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The instruments in the chaise! Really, sir, if you are not jesting&mdash;I
      trust you don't think this is a fitting time for such&mdash;I entreat of
      you to speak more plainly and intelligibly."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Jesting, ma'am! I'm incapable of jesting at such a moment."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, sir, let us away; for I have now gone too far to retract."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Help my mistress into the chaise, sir. Lord! what a man it is."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "So, wretch," she screamed rather than spoke, "I have detected you at
      last."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Lord bless me! Why it is my wife."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh! you are. Are you? Quite professional, I'll be bound."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, my God! ma'am, what do you mean? You are not gone mad, as well as my
      wife."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Really, Mr. Fitz." said Mrs. F. "this is carrying the joke too far. Take
      your unfortunate victim&mdash;as I suppose she is such&mdash;home to her
      parents, and prepare to accompany me to the barrack; and if there be law
      and justice in&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well! may the Lord in his mercy preserve my senses, or you will both
      drive me clean mad."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      As for Curzon&mdash;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. <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch18" id="ch18"></a>CHAPTER XVIII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      DETACHMENT DUTY&mdash;AN ASSIZE TOWN.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;your jovial brother officers&mdash;hourly
      flirtations with the whole female population&mdash;never a deficient one
      in a garrison town&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;I speak of Ireland here&mdash;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?"&mdash;firmly believing that in the earthly
      purgatory of such duties, I was reaping the heavy retribution attendant on
      past offences.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;more ample views and wider
      conceptions of mischief follow; and what has begun in a drunken riot&mdash;a
      casual rencontre&mdash;may terminate in the slaughter of a family, or the
      burning of a village. The finest peasantry&mdash;God bless them&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.&mdash;(for so he signed himself)&mdash;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&mdash;a
      great skill in wethers&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;but the result was a great one&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;the almost impetuous
      quickness with which he followed up a scent, whenever information reached
      him of an important character&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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, 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      With this commendation upon the liquor, Nicholas departed, and we
      proceeded to fill our glasses.
    </p>
    <p>
      I cannot venture&mdash;perhaps it is so much the better that I cannot&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah!" said Mr. Daly, drawing a deep sigh at the same instant&mdash;"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&mdash;just like stained glass and illuminated manuscripts, and
      slow poisons and the like&mdash;that were all known years ago&mdash;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&mdash;rest his ashes&mdash;he could cheat the devil
      himself, if he had need&mdash;and maybe he has had before now, Peter is
      sixteen years dead last November."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And what was Peter's peculiar tact in that respect, Mr. Daly?" said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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;&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;if he quoted Caesar's
      Commentaries itself for them&mdash;ignorant creatures as they were!
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'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&mdash;why I must have mistaken&mdash;will you repeat
      the passage?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'With pleasure, my lord. I was just observing to your lordship and the
      jury, with the eloquent poet Hergesius, 'vacuus viator cantabit ante
      latronem.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Greek, did you call it?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Yes, my lord, of course I did.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Why, Mr. Purcell, you are quoting Latin to me&mdash;and what do you mean
      by talking of the learned Hergesius, and Greek all this time?&mdash;the
      line is Juvenal's.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'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.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'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&mdash;Latin, sir,
      Juvenal's Latin, sir&mdash;every schoolboy knows it.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'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.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch19" id="ch19"></a>CHAPTER XIX.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      THE ASSIZE TOWN.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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," I wonder that
      they didn't add, "try Teheran," and I suppose they would at last, rather
      than abandon the pursuit.
    </p>
    <p>
      "But, Stubber," said I, as I conned over the various addresses on this
      incomprehensible cover, "are you sure this is for me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And now for the interior," said I, as I broke the seal and read:
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <blockquote>
        <p>
          "Paris, Rue Castiglione.
        </p>
        <p>
          "My dear Mr. Lorrequer&mdash;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"&mdash;(what can the word be?) "the&mdash;the"
          &mdash;why, it can't be damnable, surely?&mdash;no, it is amiable, I
          see&mdash;"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&mdash;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,
        </p>
        <p>
          "Callonby."
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;and
      such a letter, too&mdash;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&mdash;was
      little short of wonderful to me. I read, too&mdash;with what pleasure?&mdash;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&mdash;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"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Bakranzt mit Laub, den lieben vollen Becher."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Upon my conscience," said Mr. Daly, who had for some time past been in
      silent admiration of my stage-struck appearance&mdash;"upon my conscience,
      Mr. Lorrequer, I had no conception you knew Irish."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, my dear Counsellor, that was German I was quoting, not Irish."
    </p>
    <p>
      "With all my heart," said Mr. Daly, breaking the top off his third egg&mdash;"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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Shame upon ye, Mr. Daly; and for pathos, for true feeling, where is there
      anything equal to Schiller's ballads?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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"&mdash;and here began, with a most nasal twang and dolorous emphasis,
      to sing&mdash;
    </p>
    <table summary="">
      <tr>
        <td>
          "'And I stepp'd up unto her,<br /> An' I made a congee&mdash;<br /> And
          I ax'd her, her pardon<br /> For the making so free.'<br />
        </td>
      </tr>
    </table>
    <p>
      "And then the next verse, she says&mdash;
    </p>
    <table summary="">
      <tr>
        <td>
          "'Are you goin' to undo me,<br /> In this desert alone?'&mdash;<br />
        </td>
      </tr>
    </table>
    <p>
      "There's a shake there."
    </p>
    <p>
      "For Heaven's sake," I cried, "stop; when I spoke of ballads, I never
      meant such infernal stuff as that."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;for
      as such I immediately recognized a massive-looking grey stone building&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;no
      want of food or refreshment&mdash;their interest was one and undivided&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;then came another pause&mdash;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&mdash;every eye strained&mdash;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&mdash;all guilty!"
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;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;&mdash;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&mdash;it was not despair&mdash;neither
      was it the cry of sharp and irrepressible anguish, from a suddenly
      blighted hope&mdash;but it was the long pent-up and carefully-concealed
      burst of feeling which called aloud for vengeance&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;criticising the speeches of the counsel on both sides,
      and the character of the different witnesses who were examined.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "By a mere accident, and very simply," replied the justice. "It was upon
      one of our most crowded fair days&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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?
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch20" id="ch20"></a>CHAPTER XX.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      A DAY IN DUBLIN.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      <a name="Mr._Burkes_Enthusiasm_for_the_Duke_of_Wellington"
      id="Mr._Burkes_Enthusiasm_for_the_Duke_of_Wellington">Mr. Burke's
      Enthusiasm for the Duke of Wellington</a>
    </h3>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img alt="Ch 20 Mr Burke's Enthusiasm.jpg (77K)"
      src="images/Ch%2020%20%20Mr%20Burkes%20Enthusiasm.jpg" width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <p>
      <a href="images2/Ch%2020%20%20Mr%20Burkes%20Enthusiasm.jpg">BLACK AND
      WHITE IMAGE</a>
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And so, you say, sir, that his majesty cannot enter without the
      permission of the lord mayor?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, but, my dear Mr. O'Flaherty, you forget how ignorant I am of every
      thing here&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, true," said Tom, interrupting; "I forgot you never saw him before."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And who is he, sir?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, that's the Duke of Wellington."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;Long life to your grace&mdash;Hurra for the hero of Waterloo;
      the great captain of the age," ; 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have seen him once, I think&mdash;the professor of mineralogy."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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:&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, mon cher, Sir Charles, ravi de vous voir. But why are you not
      dancing?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, mi ladi, Je ne puis pas, c'est a dire, Ich kann es nicht; I am too
      old; Ich bin&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, you horrid man; I understand you perfectly. You hate ladies, that is
      the real reason. You do&mdash;you know you do."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, shocking, horrid, vile Sir Charles, how could you tell me such a
      story? I shall die of it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, mine Gott, mi ladi; sie irren sich, vous, vous trompez. You are quite
      in mistake; it was only to row my boat!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch21" id="ch21"></a>CHAPTER XXI.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      A NIGHT AT HOWTH.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "By Jupiter," said Tom, "how lucky. I just remember something, which comes
      admirably apropos. You are going to Paris&mdash;is it not so?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, direct to Paris."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;a lovely girl, only
      nineteen, you wretch&mdash;to London, en route to the continent: the mamma
      a delightful woman, and a widow, with a very satisfactory jointure&mdash;you
      understand&mdash;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&mdash;, upon my soul, I
      forget where; but highly respectable."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I regret I have not the pleasure of their acquaintance, and the more
      because I shall not be able to make it now."
    </p>
    <p>
      "As why?" said Tom gravely.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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,&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Is Mrs. Bingham at home," said he, as the servant opened the door.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No sir, she's out in the carriage."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;yourself for instance&mdash;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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, upon that point, I am at your service completely."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh," said he, "I have arranged all that; I have sent him a special
      messenger two hours since, and so make your mind easy&mdash;we shall not
      be disappointed, nor be short-taken."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 Phoenix, 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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;the
      narrow berth&mdash;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?
    </p>
    <p>
      But this cabin had little resemblance to a transport; perhaps it might be
      a frigate&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then, Captain, I suppose you consider this as an excellent passage."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ha! ha!" said I to myself, "now I begin to learn something. So we have
      crossed the channel while I was sleeping&mdash;not the least agreeable
      thing for a man to hear who suffers martyrdom from sea sickness&mdash;but
      let me listen again."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And that large mountain there&mdash;is that Snowdon?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You have but few passengers this trip."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;shame for my ridiculous costume
      would have made me fly at any other time&mdash;but there I remained to be
      laughed at patiently, while that villain O'Flaherty leading me passively
      forward, introduced me to his friends&mdash;"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&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch22" id="ch22"></a>CHAPTER XXII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      THE JOURNEY.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      <a name="The_Passport_Office" id="The_Passport_Office">The PassportOffice</a>
    </h3>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img alt="Ch 22 The Passport Office.jpg (70K)"
      src="images/Ch%2022%20%20The%20Passport%20Office.jpg" width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <p>
      <a href="images2/Ch%2022%20%20The%20Passport%20Office.jpg">BLACK AND WHITE
      IMAGE</a>
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;an excellent temper, good health&mdash;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&mdash;she
      liked short whist&mdash;she liked the military&mdash;she liked "the junior
      bar," of which she knew a good number&mdash;she had a well furnished house
      in Kildare-street&mdash;and a well cushioned pew in St. Anne's&mdash;she
      was a favourite at the castle&mdash;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:
    </p>
    <table summary="">
      <tr>
        <td>
          "Mrs. Gill is very ill,<br /> Nothing can improve her,<br /> But to see
          the Tuillerie,<br /> And waddle through the Louvre."<br />
        </td>
      </tr>
    </table>
    <p>
      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
      &mdash;but Dublin of a later edition&mdash;and a finer, more hot-pressed
      copy than her mamma. She had been educated at Mrs. Somebody's seminary in
      Mountjoy-square&mdash;had been taught to dance by Montague&mdash;and had
      learned French from a Swiss governess&mdash;with a number of similar
      advantages&mdash;a very pretty figure&mdash;dark eyes&mdash;long
      eye-lashes and a dimple&mdash;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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;giving all the orders
      at the different hotels&mdash;seeing after the luggage &mdash;and acting
      en maitre in every respect.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Passport, monsieur!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Que voulez vous que je fasse," replied the old Frenchman, gruffly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Je suis j'ai&mdash;that is, donnez moi passport."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Where do you go?" replied the Consul.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Calai."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Comment diable, speak Inglis, an I understan' you as besser. Your name?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Lorraine Snaggs, gentilhomme."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What age have you?&mdash;how old?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Twenty-two."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Will you be seated ma'mselle?" said the polite old Frenchman, who had
      hitherto been more like a bear than a human being&mdash;"Ou allez vous
      donc; where to, ma chere?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "To Paris, sir."
    </p>
    <p>
      "By Calais?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, sir; by Boulogne"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "C'est bon; quel age avez vous. What old, ma belle?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nineteen, sir, in June."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And are you alone, quite, eh?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, sir, my little girl."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah! your leetel girl&mdash;c'est fort bien&mdash;je m'appercois; and your
      name?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Fanny Linwood, sir."
    </p>
    <p>
      "C'est fini, ma chere, Mademoiselle Fanni Linwood," said the old man, as
      he wrote down the name.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, sir, I beg your pardon, but you have put me down Mademoiselle, and&mdash;
      and&mdash;you see, sir, I have my little girl."
    </p>
    <p>
      "A c'est egal, mam'selle, they don't mind these things in France&mdash;au
      plaisir de vous voir. Adieu."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      My business was soon settled, for I spoke nothing but English&mdash;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&mdash;if, happily, there be an
      opportunity for so doing.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      The climbing of cliffs is a very dangerous pastime. How true the French
      adage&mdash;"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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, but I hope," said I, rousing myself from a reverie of some minutes,
      and inadvertently pressing the arm which leaned upon me&mdash;"your mamma
      will not be alarmed at our long absence?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh! not in the least; for she knows I'm with you."
    </p>
    <p>
      And here I felt a return of the pressure&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch23" id="ch23"></a>CHAPTER XXIII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      CALAIS.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hotel de Bain, mi lor'."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hotel d'Angleterre," said another, in a voice of the most imposing
      superiority. "C'est superbe&mdash;pretty well."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hotel du Nord, votre Excellence&mdash;remise de poste and 'delays' (quere
      relays) at all hours."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Commissionaire, mi ladi," sung out a small shrill treble from the midst
      of a crowded cock-boat, nearly swamped beneath our paddle-wheel.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Steward, this is not my trunk&mdash;mine was a leather&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "All the 'leathers' are gone in the first boat, sir."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Most scandalous way of doing business."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Trouble you for two-and-sixpence, sir."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Allons faire petit souper."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Cotelettes d'Agneau."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Maionnaise d'homard."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Perdreaux rouges aux truffes&mdash;mark that, aux truffes."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Gelee au maraschin."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And the wine, sir," said the waiter, with a look of approval at my
      selection, "Champagne&mdash;no other wine, sir?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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,)&mdash;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&mdash;and the sparkling drops of a neighbouring
      fountain, the gentle plash of which is faintly audible amid the hum of the
      drone-bee&mdash;let such be the "agremens" without&mdash;while within, let
      the more substantial joys of the table await, in such guise as only a
      French cuisine can present them&mdash;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&mdash;the
      only thing higher than your game being your bill, and the only thing less
      drinkable than your port being the porter.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;that each such should be looked on, as our last.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;if&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;it might puzzle the best four-in-hand in England to
      do it better."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What a handsome young man, if he had not those odious moustaches. Why,
      Mr. Lorrequer, he knows you: see, he is bowing to you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Me! Oh! no. Why, surely, it must be&mdash;the devil&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh! that," said I, "you must not think of. Your carriage is a coupe, and
      I cannot think of crowding you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;now for supper. Are there many English
      here just now?&mdash;By-the-by, those new 'natives' I think I saw you
      standing with on the balcony&mdash;who are they?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh! the ladies&mdash;oh! Yes, people I came over with&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "One was pretty, I fancied. Have you supped? Just order something, will
      you&mdash;meanwhile, I shall write a few lines before the post leaves."&mdash;Saying
      which, he dashed up stairs after the waiter, and left me to my
      meditations.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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&mdash;"I see but one thing
      left&mdash;I must be taken ill to-night, and not be able to leave my bed
      in the morning&mdash;a fever&mdash;a contagious fever&mdash;blue and red
      spots all over me&mdash;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?&mdash;eh? Come, the thought is a
      good one&mdash;I say, garcon, who greases the wheels of the carriage
      here?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "C'est moi, monsieur," said a great oaf, in wooden shoes and a blouse.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, then, do you understand these?" said I, touching the patent
      axle-boxes with my cane.
    </p>
    <p>
      He shook his head.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then who does, here?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah! Michael understands them perfectly."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then bring him here," said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;at least for twenty-four hours.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Soyez bien tranquille, monsieur, mi lor' shall spend to-morrow in Calais,
      if I know any thing of my art"&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, Mr. Lorrequer," said Kilkee, as I entered, "here is supper waiting,
      and I am as hungry as a wolf."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh! I beg pardon&mdash;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&mdash;some family business, which requires my
      looking after, compelling me to do so."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "As you like, then&mdash;only, as you'll not take any wine, let us have a
      stroll through the town."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "By-the-by," said I, "let us see your carriage. I am curious to look at
      it"&mdash;(and so I was.)
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, then come along, this way; they have placed it under some of these
      sheds, which they think coach-houses."
    </p>
    <p>
      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 coupe 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&mdash;the patent box was a mass of rent metal, and
      the end of the axle turned downwards like a hoe.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;innkeeper, waiters, ostlers, and
      chambermaids, collectively and individually&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, Mr. Lorrequer, I suppose, then, we are not destined to be
      fellow-travellers&mdash;for if you must go to-morrow&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Alas! It is imperative," said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then in any case, let us arrange where we shall meet, for I hope to be in
      Paris the day after you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I'll stop at Meurice."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Meurice, be it," said he, "so now good night, till we meet in Paris."
      <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch24" id="ch24"></a>CHAPTER XXIV.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      THE GEN D'ARME.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;"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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "La premiere Rue a gauche," said an old man of whom I inquired the road;
      "et puis," added I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And then quite straight; it is a chaussee all the way, and you cannot
      mistake it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Now for it, mademoiselle," said I. "Let us try if we cannot see a good
      deal of the country before the carriage comes up."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;a rather dangerous and
      difficult topic, when the parties are both young&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mamma appears to have forgotten us," said Isabella, as she spoke, after
      walking for some time in silence beside me.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, depend upon it, the carriage has taken all this time to repair; but
      are you tired?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, by no means; the evening is delightful, but&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then perhaps you are ennuyee," 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "To whom does that chateau belong, my old friend?" said I addressing a man
      on the road-side.
    </p>
    <p>
      "A Monsieur le Marquis, sir," replied he.
    </p>
    <p>
      "But what's his name, though?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, that I can't tell you," replied the man again.
    </p>
    <p>
      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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "About a league."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Indeed. Why I thought 'La Scarpe' was quite near us."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, you are thinking of the Amiens road."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, of course; and is not this the Amiens road?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, no; the Amiens road lies beyond those low hills to the right. You
      passed the turn at the first 'barriere'."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Is it possible we could have come wrong?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, Mr. Lorrequer, don't say so, I entreat of you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And what road is this, then, my friend?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "This is the road to Albert and Peronne."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Unfortunately, I believe he is quite right. Is there any crossroad from
      the village before us now, to the Amiens road?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes; you can reach it about three leagues hence."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And we can get a carriage at the inn probably?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, that I am not sure of&mdash;. Perhaps at the Lion d'or you may."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But why not go back to Abbeville?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, Mrs. Bingham must have left long since, and beside you forget the
      distance; we have been walking two hours."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Now for the village," said I, as I drew my friend's arm closer within
      mine, and we set out in a fast walk.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, there is the village in the valley; how beautifully situated."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, I can't admire any thing now, Mr. Lorrequer, I am so frightened."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But surely without cause," said I, looking tenderly beneath her bonnet.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Is this," she answered, "nothing," and we walked on in silence again.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;the sentiments I have heard&mdash;the feelings I have given
      utterance to&mdash;" What I was about to say, heaven knows&mdash;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&mdash;that he had received an order for the
      apprehension of two English persons travelling that road&mdash;and that he
      should accordingly request our company back to Chantraine, the
      commissionaire of which place was his officer.
    </p>
    <p>
      "But why not take us to Amiens," said I; "particularly when I tell you
      that we can then show our passports?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;"vive le peuple"&mdash;"Vive la charte"&mdash;"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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have no doubt these are the people," said the gen-d'arme; "and here is
      the 'carte descriptive.' Let us compare it&mdash;'Forty-two or forty-three
      years of age.'"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I trust, M. le Maire," said I, overhearing this, "that ladies do not
      recognize me as so much."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Of a pale and cadaverous aspect," continued the gen-d'arme.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;"Oh, yes, I
      perceive it plainly; continue the description."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Five feet three inches," said the gen-d'arme.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Six feet one in England, whatever this climate may have done since."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Speaks broken and bad French."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Like a native," said I; "at least so said my friends in the chaussee
      D'Antin, in the year fifteen."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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"&mdash;the old guarde&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;intoxicated
      with the triumphs of their nation, "tete monte" with victory&mdash;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&mdash;"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 &mdash;however meagre the story, and poor
      the diction, let the emperor but have his "role"&mdash;let him be as
      laconic as possible, carry his hands behind his back, wear the well-known
      low cocked-hat, and the "redingote gris"&mdash;the success is certain&mdash;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&mdash;his
      personal love of the emperor&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.'."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch25" id="ch25"></a>CHAPTER XXV.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      THE INN AT CHANTRAINE.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      <a name="Lorrequer_as_Postillion" id="Lorrequer_as_Postillion">Lorrequer
      as Postillion</a>
    </h3>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img alt="Ch 25 Lorrequer as Postillion.jpg (74K)"
      src="images/Ch%2025%20Lorrequer%20as%20Postillion.jpg" width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <p>
      <a href="images2/Ch%2025%20Lorrequer%20as%20Postillion.jpg">BLACK AND
      WHITE IMAGE</a>
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;(confound them for the same)&mdash;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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;the only
      evidence of occupation being a pair of dirty Wellingtons at the door of
      No. 2.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, this is Monsieur's chamber," said the waiter, with a very peculiar
      look, half servile, half droll. "Madame se couche, No. 28."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;how good&mdash;but again&mdash;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,&mdash;that
      old gen-d'arme was a fine fellow&mdash;what strong attachment to Napoleon;
      and the story of the pope; I hope I may remember that. Isabella, poor girl&mdash;this
      adventure must really distress her&mdash;hope she is not crying over it&mdash;what
      a devil of a hard bed&mdash;and it is not five feet long too&mdash;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&mdash;well, there is no help for it
      now &mdash;so let me try to sleep&mdash;numero vingt-huit."
    </p>
    <p>
      How long I remained in a kind of uneasy, fitful slumber, I cannot tell;
      but I awoke shivering with cold&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;for
      that such was the case, a short, thick snore assured me&mdash;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,
    </p>
    <p>
      "Monsier, voulez vous bien me permettre&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, do you mark the points, and I'll score the rubber," said he.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The devil take the gambling fellow's dreaming," thought I, raising my
      voice at the same time.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Perhaps a cold night, sir, may suffice as my apology."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Cold, oh, ay! put a hot poker to it," muttered he; "a hot poker, a little
      sugar, and a spice of nutmeg&mdash;nothing else&mdash;then it's
      delicious."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well there, don't shake me, and I'll tell you where I hid the cigars&mdash;they
      are under my straw hat in the window."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "If, sir, you could kindly spare me even a small portion of your
      bed-clothes."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.'"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;in
      a second I was in the corridor, trailing my spoil behind&mdash;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&mdash;I turned it&mdash;it
      opened&mdash;I drew in my precious bundle, and closing the door
      noiselessly, sat down, breathless and still, upon the floor.
    </p>
    <p>
      Scarcely was this, the work of a second, accomplished, when the heavy
      tread of my pursuer resounded on the floor.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      As always happens in such circumstances, sleep came on me unawares&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Bon jour, ma chere," said I in a soft insinuating tone; she did not hear
      me, so I repeated,
    </p>
    <p>
      "Bon jour, ma chere, bon jour."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, what is the matter with the woman?" said I, "surely if I am not
      Francois&mdash;which God be thanked is true&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Regardez donc ses epaules," said one.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, mon Dieu! Il me fait l'idee d'une grenouille aves ses jambes jaunes,"
      cried another.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Il vaut son pesant de fromage pour une Vaudeville," said the director of
      the strolling theatre of the place.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I'll give seventy francs a week, 'd'appointment,' and 'Scribe' shall
      write a piece express for himself, if he'll take it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "When you have done amusing yourself, mon ami, perhaps you will do us the
      favour to come before the mayor."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Certainly," I replied; "but you will first permit me to resume my own
      clothes, I am quite sick of masquerading 'en postillion.'"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not so fast, my friend," said the suspicious old follower of Fouche&mdash;"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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then tell it to the maire, at the Bureau."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      Need I recount my own shame and ineffable disgrace? Alas! it is too, too
      true. Harry Lorrequer&mdash;whom Stultze entreated to wear his coats, the
      ornament of Hyde Park, the last appeal in dress, fashion, and equipage&mdash;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&mdash;half postillion, half Delaware Indian. The incessant yells
      of laughter&mdash;the screams of the children, and the outpouring of every
      species of sarcasm and ridicule, at my expense, were not all&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "This may be very true," said the mayor, "as it is very plausible; if you
      have evidence to prove what you have stated&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Till sine die, if the story be a long one, my dear sir&mdash;there's
      nothing I hate so much, except cold punch."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are going to Paris," said I; "is it not so?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then how do you travel?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "On foot, just as you see, except that I've a tobacco bag up stairs, and
      an umbrella."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      At twelve we arrived at Amiens, when I presented my friend Mr. O'Leary to
      Mrs. Bingham.
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch26" id="ch26"></a>CHAPTER XXVI.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      MR. O'LEARY.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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"&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;a fondness for
      whist and malt liquors&mdash;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&mdash;of successful
      flattery he knew as much as a negro does of the national debt&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;"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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then I'll do myself the pleasure of joining your party, Mrs. Bingham,"
      said he. "Bingham, I think, madam, is your name."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, Sir."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Any relation, may I ask, of a most dear friend of mine, of the same name,
      from Currynaslattery, in the county Wexford?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am really not aware," said Mrs. Bingham. "My husband's family are, I
      believe, many of them from that county."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Is he alive, sir, now?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I believe so, ma'am; but I hear the climate does not agree with him."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, then, he's abroad! In Italy probably?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;she
      being the identical lady alluded to, and her husband the brother of
      pleasant Tom Bingham.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are quite right," said O'Leary, joining in the hearty laugh against
      him, "quite right, I was always a very heavy sleeper&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "But why, Mr. O'Leary&mdash;what can your sleepiness have to do with such
      tender recollections, for such, I am sure, that sigh bespeaks them?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You overslept yourself on the wedding-day, I suppose."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;where we dined at twelve, ten in
      number, upon about two pounds of stewed beef, with garlic and carrots&mdash;a
      light soup, being the water which accompanied the same to render it tender
      in stewing&mdash;some preserved cherries, and an omelette, with a pint
      bottle of Beaune, 6me qualite, I believe&mdash;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&mdash;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'&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;"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&mdash;"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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then, Mr. O'Leary, you are really a married man."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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&mdash;Oh
      Lord, I'm at it again!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sir, I did not hear."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;putting on your
      clothes by the flickering light of the porter's candle&mdash;getting your
      boots on the wrong feet, and all that kind of annoyance&mdash;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,&mdash;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&mdash;my
      papers, 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,&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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 coupe, resign myself to sleep with the certainty of not
      being left behind, and, probably, too, be some miles on my journey before
      awaking.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'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 coupe; 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&mdash;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,&mdash;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 coupe 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 coupe
      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, , 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
      coupe, 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'You did not know I was there,' said I, with a knowing wink at one of
      them as I passed.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Then you have perhaps come far this morning,' said a gentleman opposite.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Yes,' said I, 'I have been on the road since four o'clock.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'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?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'From Lyons,' said I, with the proud air of a man who has done a stout
      feat, and is not ashamed of the exploit.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'From Lyons!' said one. 'From Lyons!' cried another. 'From Lyons!'
      repeated a third.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'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.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;from the greasy host to the little hunchbacked waiter,
      they were all grinning away.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'And how did Monsieur travel?' said the old gentleman, who seemed to
      carry on the prosecution against me.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'By the diligence, the "Aigle noir,"' said I, giving the name with some
      pride, that I was not altogether ignorant of the conveyance.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'The 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.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'And where am I now?' said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'In Lyons,' said twenty voices, half choked with laughter at my question.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'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;&mdash;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&mdash;got my passport vised for Barege&mdash;and set out for
      the Pyrenees the same evening."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And have you never heard any thing more of the lady?" said Mrs. Bingham.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch27" id="ch27"></a>CHAPTER XXVII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      PARIS.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      <a name="Mr._OLeary_Creating_a_Sensation_at_the_Salon_des_Etranges"
      id="Mr._OLeary_Creating_a_Sensation_at_the_Salon_des_Etranges"> Mr.
      O'Leary Creating a Sensation at the Salon des Etranges</a>
    </h3>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img alt="Ch 27 Mr O'Leary Creating Sensation.jpg (70K)"
      src="images/Ch%2027%20Mr%20OLeary%20Creating%20Sensation.jpg" width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <p>
      <a href="images2/Ch%2027%20Mr%20OLeary%20Creating%20Sensation.jpg">BLACK
      AND WHITE IMAGE</a>
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;to see whether or not your luck
      shall not exceed some others&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      One strong feature of the levelling character of a taste for play has
      never ceased to impress me most forcibly&mdash;not only do the individual
      peculiarities of the man give way before the all-absorbing passion&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;the overthrow
      of some long-cherished wish&mdash;it matters not&mdash;he never gives way
      entirely; but see him at the gaming-table&mdash;watch the intense, the
      aching anxiety with which his eye follows every card as it falls from the
      hand of the croupier&mdash;behold the look of cold despair that tracks his
      stake as the banker rakes it in among his gains&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Faites votre jeu, le jeu est fait," said the croupier, "trente deux."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You have lost, by Jove," said Guy, in a low whisper, in which I could
      detect some trait of agitation.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Trente et une," added the croupier. "Rouge perd, et couleur."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You shall see," said I, as I stooped over towards the banker, and
      whispered, "how far is the betting permitted?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Fifteen thousand francs," said the croupier, with a look of surprise.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then be it," said I; "quinze mille francs, rouge."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Messiers, la banque est fermee pour ce soir," proceeded to lock his
      casette, and close the table.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Now, Hal," said Guy, "I'll just order our supper in the cabinet, and join
      you in a moment."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Faites votre jeu, Messieurs," said the croupier.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;"five
      francs," "four and a penny"&mdash;"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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;only, God help
      you if you are!"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Here's at you again," said O'Leary, regardless of the laughter, and
      covering three or four numbers with his jetons.
    </p>
    <p>
      Round went the ball once more, and once more he lost.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;and we'll see how
      you'll get on."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Go it, Pat&mdash;go it, Pat," said Guy, over my shoulder, who seemed to
      take a prodigious interest in the proceedings.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, I'm safe now! stand by me, Mr. Lorrequer, and we'll clear the room."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;the covering of his head bearing, under these
      distressing circumstances, a strong resemblance to a saucepan.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch28" id="ch28"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      PARIS.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;"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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      There is no adage more true than the old Latin one&mdash;"that what we
      wish, we readily believe;" so, I had little difficulty in convincing
      myself that all was as I desired&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      My plans were soon decided upon. I resolved to remain only long enough in
      Paris to provide myself with a comfortable travelling carriage&mdash;secure
      a good courier&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;Serious riot at the Salon des
      Etrangers, and attempt to rob the Bank:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;reserving their attention to the
      adoption of precautions against such intrusion in future&mdash;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&mdash;of which we shall not fail to lay the
      particulars before our readers.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Since our going to press, we have learned that one of the ringleaders in
      this vile scheme is a noted English escroc&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;a charge even of this
      ridiculous nature, might give rise to in my present circumstances. My
      passport, however, will settle all&mdash;thought I&mdash;as I thrust my
      hand towards my pocket, in which I had placed it along with some letters.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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:&mdash;
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <blockquote>
        <p>
          "Dear H.&mdash;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.
        </p>
        <p>
          "Your, truly,<br /> "G.L."
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      This, certainly, thought I, improves my position. Here is my cousin Guy
      &mdash;the only one to whom, in any doubt or difficulty here, I could
      refer&mdash;here he is&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      As I entered the drawing-room, I was surprised to find Miss Bingham alone.
      She appeared to have been weeping&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "And did you really wish to come with us?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Undoubtedly," said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And is there no other objection than the passport?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And you used to admire him prodigiously."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, well, that is all true, but I do so no longer."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Eh! perche," said I, looking cunningly in her eye.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      All that I can now remember of this interview, is the fact of having
      arranged my departure in the manner proposed by Miss Bingham&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;my prospects at Callonby still
      undecided&mdash;my scrape at the Salon&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;the
      object of which I could at least guess at.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are then in the English service?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But gently," added I, "I had no cane whatever the last evening."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "But still," said I, catching up his last words, "I never did strike the
      gentleman as you describe&mdash;never had any altercation in the street&mdash;and&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Is that your address?" said the Frenchman, with a slight bow.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, certainly it is."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why then," said he, with a slight curl of his upper lip&mdash;half smile,
      half derision&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying, he placed his card upon the table&mdash;"Le Capitaine Eugene de
      Joncourt, Cuirassiers de la Garde."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I need not press upon Monsieur the value of despatch."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The indictment has certainly many counts," thought I.
    </p>
    <p>
      Imprimis&mdash;A half-implied, but fully comprehended promise to marry a
      young lady, with whom, I confess, I only intend to journey this life&mdash;as
      far as Baden.
    </p>
    <p>
      Secondly, a charge of swindling&mdash;for such the imputation goes to&mdash;at
      the Salon.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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. <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch29" id="ch29"></a>CHAPTER XXIX.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      CAPTAIN TREVANION'S ADVENTURE.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      <a name="Trevanion_Astonishing_the_Bully_Gendemar"
      id="Trevanion_Astonishing_the_Bully_Gendemar">Trevanion Astonishing the
      Bully Gendemar</a>
    </h3>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img alt="Ch 29 Trevanion Astonishing the Bully.jpg (68K)"
      src="images/Ch%2029%20Trevanion%20Astonishing%20the%20Bully.jpg"
      width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <p>
      <a href="images2/Ch%2029%20Trevanion%20Astonishing%20the%20Bully.jpg">BLACK
      AND WHITE IMAGE</a>
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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," but not one name known to me in the number.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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,
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?'"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes; that was a rather brisk affair while it lasted; but, pray, how long
      are you here?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "If my services can in any way assist&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, my dear captain, this is really so great a favour that I cannot say
      how much I thank you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;or pre-determined affront&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;"Pour Monsieur le Capitaine, je crois," with a
      certain tone of significance upon the latter words.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Le Capitaine! but what captain?" said he, carelessly; "for I am a
      captain, and that gentleman there&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;"is
      there any thing the matter with you, my friend; are you ill?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, monsieur, not ill; nothing the matter with me; but you, sir; oh, you,
      sir, pray come away."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;open,
      palpable, deep, determined insult.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;"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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch30" id="ch30"></a>CHAPTER XXX.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      DIFFICULTIES.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was strange enough&mdash;though at first so pre-occupied was I with
      other thoughts, that I paid but little attention to it&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;I promise to take whatever you may be
      disposed to communicate, in the same good part it is intended."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "From Guy; he told me himself."
    </p>
    <p>
      "When did you see him, and where?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, I have just told you; I saw him last night at the Salon."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And you could not be mistaken?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Impossible! Besides, he wrote to me a note which I received this morning&mdash;here
      it is."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hem&mdash;ha. Well, are you satisfied that this is his handwriting?" said
      Trevanion, as he perused the note slowly twice over.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, of course&mdash;but stop&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "This is really a complex affair," said Trevanion, musingly. "How long may
      it be since you saw your cousin&mdash;before last night, I mean?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Several years; above six, certainly."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;I am disposed to think you never saw your
      cousin last night."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Have you got the money?" asked Trevanion dryly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;"I thought as much&mdash;they are forgeries."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hold!" said I, "my cousin Guy, whatever wildness he may have committed,
      is yet totally incapable of&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I never said the contrary, replied Trevanion, in the same dry tone as
      before.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then what can you mean, for I see no alternative between that and totally
      discrediting the evidence of my senses?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "There his object was clear enough; for besides obtaining your gold, he
      made you the means of disseminating his false billets de banque."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "As to that," said Trevanion, "it is hard to say; one thing you may
      assuredly rely upon&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;the feeling
      of confidence, which is inseparable from the degree of relationship
      between us&mdash;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&mdash;so many effects of this
      affair are staring me in the face&mdash;I really know not which way to
      turn, nor can I even collect my ideas sufficiently, to determine what is
      first to be done."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Here, then, is the card of address," said I; "Eugene Dejoncourt Capitaine
      de Cavalerie, No. 8, Chausse D'Antin."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But you forget he is the friend, not the principal here."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Le Baron d'Haulpenne," said I, "and his name is all that I know of him;
      his very appearance is unknown to me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.'"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch31" id="ch31"></a>CHAPTER XXXI.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      EXPLANATION.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;Mr. Dudley Morewood&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 by lately made acquaintance,
      Mr. Edward Bingham.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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
      &mdash;what of St. Cloud?" said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "We have something in that quarter to-morrow."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What is it, O'Leary? Can we go?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh! certainly&mdash;our engagement's an early one."
    </p>
    <p>
      "We shall accept your polite invitation with pleasure"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;what
      were the succeeding ones?
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 see 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;who, to do her
      justice, seemed but little cognisant of our proceedings&mdash;from time to
      time evinced that species of motherly satisfaction which very young men
      rejoice much in, and older ones are considerably alarmed at.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, Trevanion," said I, "what invitation are you dreaming of? I, for
      one, should have been delighted to have gone home with the Binghams."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then, pray, have the goodness to explain."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Indeed!" said Trevanion. "Pray, may we know your secret? for, perhaps,
      ere long we may have occasion for its employment."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tell it, by all means," said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      Having pledged ourselves to secrecy and a becoming seriousness, O'Leary
      began his story as follows:&mdash;
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch32" id="ch32"></a>CHAPTER XXXII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      MR. O'LEARY'S FIRST LOVE.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;desperately in love&mdash;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&mdash;I was always given this way"&mdash;here he
      patted a waistcoat that would fit Dame Lambert&mdash;"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&mdash;for as certainly as marriages are made in heaven,
      flirtations have something to say to the other place&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;and she always had a cordon of them&mdash;young aides-de-camp of
      her father the general, and idle hussars, in clanking sabertasches and
      most absurd mustachios&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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,
    </p>
    <p>
      "'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.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'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?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'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.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Oh, nonsense, there's no pleasure in that; besides I'm sure they won't
      like it&mdash;the ladies won't venture, you'll see.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'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.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'And the mainsail, sir,' said the steward, not understanding what I said.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I care not which,' said I, doggedly; 'act or part in this wilful
      proceeding I'll not take.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'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.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Well then, what do you think of Lambay?' said she, looking at the same
      moment towards the skipper.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'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.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'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.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'There you are, Dirk, with your insolent sneers about women's nerves and
      female cowardice. Now, nothing but Lambay will content me&mdash;what say
      you, ladies?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "A general reply of approval met this speech, and it was carried by
      acclamation.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'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&mdash;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,
    </p>
    <p>
      "'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.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Where are we?' I replied, in a sepulchral voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'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.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'God grant it,' said I, piously and in a low tone.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Did you say you'd have a bit to eat. Sir?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'No!&mdash;eat!&mdash;am I a cannibal?&mdash;eat&mdash;go away&mdash;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.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'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&mdash;Miss Pelham, here's a dry cushion
      for you&mdash;did you say a wing, Lady Mary?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Mr. Brail,' said I, in a low whisper, 'Mr. Brail.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Did you speak, sir?' said he, with about as much surprise in his manner,
      as though he had been addressed by a corpse.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Mr. Brail,' said I, 'is there any danger here?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'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,&mdash;the
      ladies.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'So I perceive,' said I, with a groan; 'so I perceive; but Mr. Brail,
      could you do nothing&mdash;just to&mdash;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.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Why, sir, you are getting quite funny, the sickness is going.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'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&mdash;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&mdash;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.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'But sir,' began he.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Well, then, Mr. Brail, you won't&mdash;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.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch33" id="ch33"></a>CHAPTER XXXIII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      MR. O'LEARY'S SECOND LOVE.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      <a name="Mr._OLeary_Charges_the_Mob" id="Mr.O_Leary_Charges_the_Mob">Mr.
      O'Leary Charges the Mob</a>
    </h3>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img alt="Ch 33 Mr O'Leary Charges a Mob.jpg (70K)"
      src="images/Ch%2033%20Mr%20OLeary%20Charges%20a%20Mob.jpg" width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <p>
      <a href="images2/Ch%2033%20Mr%20OLeary%20Charges%20a%20Mob.jpg">BLACK AND
      WHITE IMAGE</a>
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;one, the taste of my betrothed for
      laughing at her friends; another the diabolical propensity to talk
      politics of my intended father-in-law&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The mornings were passed in ransacking all the shops where wedding finery
      could be procured&mdash;laces, blondes, velvets, and satins, littered
      every corner of the deanery&mdash;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&mdash;a feeling I found very
      general among many of my friends at the Kildare-street club.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "However, Fanny was obstinate&mdash;whether she suspected any thing or not
      I cannot say&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'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.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'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.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "I must have looked confoundedly foolish here, for Fanny never took her
      eyes off me, and continued to laugh in her own wicked way.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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 Phoenix-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&mdash;I know it&mdash;I feel it,' said I eagerly&mdash;'then
      where are we to find an animal that will carry me peaceably through this
      awful day&mdash;I care not for his price?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Votre affaire ne sera pas trop chere,' said he.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Why. How do you mean?' said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I was at first a little shocked at the look of the animals drawn up; they
      were most miserably thin&mdash;most of them swelled in the legs&mdash;few
      without sore backs&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Five, ten&mdash;fifteen&mdash;six pounds&mdash;thank you, sir,&mdash;guineas'&mdash;'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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Dycer resumed, 'Seven ten for Mr. Moriarty. Going for seven ten&mdash;a
      cruel sacrifice&mdash;there's action for you&mdash;playful beast.' Here
      the devil had stumbled and nearly killed a basket-woman with two children.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Eight,' said I, with a loud voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Eight pounds, quite absurd,' said Dycer, almost rudely; 'a charger like
      that for eight pounds&mdash;going for eight pounds&mdash;going&mdash;nothing
      above eight pounds&mdash;no reserve, gentlemen, you are aware of that.
      They are all as it were, his majesty's stud&mdash;no reserve whatever&mdash;last
      time, eight pounds&mdash;gone.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "Amid a very hearty cheer from the mob&mdash;God knows why&mdash;but a
      Dublin mob always cheer&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'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.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Marius is doing finely, sir, barring his cough, and the thrifle that
      ails his hind legs.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'He'll carry me quietly, Simon, eh?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Quietly. I'll warrant he'll carry you quietly, if that's all.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Where for mercy's sake did you find that creature?' said Fanny,
      surveying Marius through her glass.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Oh, him, eh? Why he is a handsome horse, if in condition&mdash;a charger
      your know&mdash;that's his style.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Is he anything of a fencer?' said a young country gentleman.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'To judge from his near eye, I should say much more of a boxer,' said
      another.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'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.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Ah, devil's luck to him, if ye do,' said a newsmonger with a broken
      shin.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Cut him down for heaven's sake. Will nobody shoot him' said he, with a
      voice trembling with fear and anger.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;who, when passing sentence
      upon me, adverted to the former respectability of my life, and the rank of
      my relatives&mdash;actually made the galleries weep.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "As to Miss Eversham, the following short note from the dean concluded my
      hopes in that quarter.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <blockquote>
        <p>
          "'Deanery, Wednesday morning.
        </p>
        <p>
          "'Sir,&mdash;After the very distressing publicity to which your late
          conduct has exposed you&mdash;the so open avowal of political opinion,
          at variance with those (I will say) of every gentleman&mdash;and the
          recorded sentence of a judge on the verdict of twelve of your
          countrymen&mdash;I should hope that you will not feel my present
          admonition necessary to inform you, that your visits at my house shall
          cease.
        </p>
        <p>
          "'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,
        </p>
        <p>
          "'Oliver Eversham.'
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;'as
      having no incumbrance, or any objection to travel.'"
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch34" id="ch34"></a>CHAPTER XXXIV.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      THE DUEL.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      <a name="Mr._OLeary_Imagines_Himself_Kilt"
      id="Mr._OLeary_Imagines_Himself_Kilt">Mr. O'Leary Imagines Himself Kilt</a>
    </h3>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img alt="Ch 34 Mr O'Leary Imagines Himself Kilt.jpg (70K)"
      src="images/Ch%2034%20Mr%20OLeary%20Imagines%20Himself%20Kilt.jpg"
      width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <p>
      <a href="images2/Ch%2034%20Mr%20OLeary%20Imagines%20Himself%20Kilt.jpg">BLACK
      AND WHITE IMAGE</a>
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I think we shall just have time for one finishing flask of Chambertin,"
      said O'Leary, as he emptied the bottle into his glass.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;garcon, there&mdash;how
      soundly the poor fellow sleeps&mdash;let us have some coffee, and then
      inquire if a carriage is in waiting at the corner of the Rue Vivienne."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Having ascertained that the carriage was in waiting, and that the small
      box&mdash;brass bound and Bramah-locked&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "I can understand," said Trevanion, interrupting&mdash;"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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Guy's pretensions at an end! For heaven's sake, tell me all you know of
      this affair&mdash;for up to this moment I am in utter ignorance of every
      thing regarding his position among the Callonby family."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Unfortunately," replied Trevanion, "I know but little, but still that
      little is authentic&mdash;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&mdash;had done so under the impression that you
      were the other nephew of Sir Guy, and consequently the heir of a large
      fortune&mdash;that is, Guy himself&mdash;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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;in which, by the by, he has since confessed,
      monied views entered more than any affection for the lady&mdash;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&mdash;affected
      to be greatly in your confidence&mdash;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&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "And was it thus he succeeded," I broke in.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Twas thus he endeavoured to succeed," said Trevanion.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And then she did refuse him," said I, with ill-repressed exultation.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;openly avowing that he did not
      consider a repulse a defeat, and that he resolved to sustain the siege as
      vigorously as ever."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      To all the depressing influences these thoughts suggested, came the
      healing balm that Lady Jane was true to me&mdash;that she, at least,
      however others might be biassed by worldly considerations&mdash;that she
      cared for me &mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "We shall have abundant time to discuss this later on," said Trevanion,
      laying his hand upon my shoulder to rouse my wandering attention&mdash;"for
      now, I perceive, we have only eight minutes to spare."
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;a half-finished cup of coffee lay beside him&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "I think, Mr. Lorrequer, there's nothing like showing them that we are
      just as cool and unconcerned as themselves."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      O'Leary at once acceded&mdash;perhaps the more readily because he expected
      to be allowed to return to his breakfast&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      The stranger who had just joined us, could not help remarking our looks of
      satisfaction at the choice of ground, and observed to me&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      Trevanion who, during these few minutes, had been engaged with Derigny,
      now drew me aside.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, never mind, I shall manage every thing properly. What can you do
      with the small sword, for they have rapiers at the mill?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nothing whatever; I have not fenced since I was a boy."
    </p>
    <p>
      "N'importe&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then it is agreed&mdash;we fight at a barriere," said the Captain
      Derigny.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What's that, Trevanion?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "We have agreed to place them at a barriere," replied Trevanion.
    </p>
    <p>
      "That's strange," muttered O'Leary to himself, who, knowing that the word
      meant a "turnpike," never supposed it had any other signification.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Vingt quatre pas, n'est pas," said Derigny.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Too far," interposed Trevanion.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What does he say now?" asked O'Leary.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Twenty-four paces for the distance."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "What says Monsieur?" said the Frenchman.
    </p>
    <p>
      "He thinks the distance much too great."
    </p>
    <p>
      "He may be mistaken," said the Captain, half sneeringly. "My friend is 'de
      la premiere force.'"
    </p>
    <p>
      "That must be something impudent, from your looks, Mr. Trevanion. Isn't it
      a thousand pities I can't speak French?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "What say you, then, to twelve paces? Fire together, and two shots each,
      if the first fire be inconclusive," said Trevanion.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And if necessary," added the Frenchman, carelessly, "conclude with these"&mdash;touching
      the swords with his foot as he spoke.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;particularly if the signal be given quickly.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "A double Napoleon you don't hit the thumb."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Done," said the other, adjusting the weapon in his hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      This&mdash;which did not occupy half as long as I have spent in recounting
      it &mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;that is the invariable error in
      this mode of firing; only no hurry&mdash;be calm."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      O'Leary, who saw the incident, and guessed the action aright, called out:
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, the cold-blooded villain; the devil a chance for you, Mr. Lorrequer."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      I had not time to run to his aid&mdash;which, although wounded, I should
      have done&mdash;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&mdash;his
      cries the whole time being loud enough to rise even above the vociferous
      laughter of the others.
    </p>
    <p>
      I now ran forward, as did Trevanion, when O'Leary, turning his eyes
      towards me, said, in the most piteous manner&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mr. Lorrequer, I forgive you&mdash;here is my hand&mdash;bad luck to
      their French way of fighting, that's all&mdash;it's only good for killing
      one's friend. I thought I was safe up there, come what might."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, dear, not wounded, only killed me outright&mdash;through the brain it
      must be, from the torture I'm suffering."
    </p>
    <p>
      The shout with which this speech was received, sufficiently aroused me;
      while Trevanion, with a voice nearly choked with laughter, said&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;but only to increase his lamentation for his own destiny,
      which he believed was fast accomplishing.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Through the skull&mdash;clean through the skull&mdash;and preserving my
      senses to the last! Mr. Lorrequer, stoop down&mdash;it is a dying man asks
      you&mdash;don't refuse me a last request. There's neither luck nor grace,
      honor nor glory in such a way of fighting&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      And with these words he closed his eyes, and straightened out his legs&mdash;stretched
      his arm at either side, and arranged himself as much corpse fashion as the
      circumstances of the ground would permit&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      Not all my exhaustion and debility&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch35" id="ch35"></a>CHAPTER XXXV.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      EARLY RECOLLECTIONS&mdash;A FIRST LOVE.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;the confounding of persons, and places, and
      times, not so as to embarrass and annoy&mdash;for the very debility you
      feel subdues all irritation&mdash;but rather to present a panoramic
      picture of odd and incongruous events more pleasing than otherwise.
    </p>
    <p>
      Of the circumstances by which I was thus brought to a sick couch, I had
      not even the most vague recollection&mdash;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?
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;the object of many an hour's toil&mdash;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&mdash;how bright soever our fortune be&mdash;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&mdash;years that have
      followed on each other only to blight the promise that kind and
      well-wishing friends foretold&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      Perhaps, after all, for the time it lasted&mdash;ten days, I think&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;a deep blush mantling her lovely cheek&mdash;masses of waving
      brown hair disordered and floating upon her shoulders&mdash;her large and
      liquid blue eyes beaming upon me. One look was enough. I was deeply&mdash;irretrievably
      in love.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Our cousin Harry&mdash;Harry Lorrequer&mdash;wild Harry, as we used to
      call him, Clara," said one of the girls introducing me.
    </p>
    <p>
      She held out her hand, and said something with a smile. What, I know not&mdash;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,
    </p>
    <p>
      "Never mind, Harry&mdash;you will do better one day, or I am much mistaken
      in you."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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! The 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      I need not chronicle my next three days&mdash;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&mdash;upon my arm she leaned
      in walking&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And who is Mortimer," thought I; "he is a new character in the piece, of
      whom we have seen nothing."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;for I
      thought thirty-five at that time a little verging upon the patriarchal&mdash;entitled
      him to more respect.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;bright in all their verdure, and
      speckled with sheep, whose tingling bells reached me even where I stood.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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,
    </p>
    <p>
      "Harry, come down; Clara wants you."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My bouquet, Harry; I hope you have not forgotten it," said Clara, as I
      approached.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, Clara, I am surprised at you," said Mortimer. "How can you treat
      the poor boy so?"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Here it is&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The bishop has taste," I murmured to myself, scarcely deigning to give a
      second look at the equipage.
    </p>
    <p>
      Clara now left the room, but speedily returned&mdash;her dress changed,
      and shawled as if for a walk. What could all this mean?&mdash;and the
      whispering, too, what is all that?&mdash;and why are they all so sad?&mdash;Clara
      has been weeping.
    </p>
    <p>
      "God bless you, my child&mdash;good by," said my aunt, as she folded her
      in her arms for the third time.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good by, good by," I heard on every side. At length, approaching me,
      Clara took my hand and said&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "My poor Harry, so we are going to part. I am going to Italy."
    </p>
    <p>
      "To Italy, Clara? Oh! no&mdash;say no. Italy! I shall never see you
      again."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Won't you wear this ring for me, Harry? It is an old favourite of yours&mdash;and
      when we meet again"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh! dearest Clara," I said, "do not speak thus."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why is she gone with him?" said I, reproachfully, turning towards my
      aunt.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, my dear, a very sufficient reason. She was married this morning."
    </p>
    <p>
      This was my first love.
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch36" id="ch36"></a>CHAPTER XXXVI.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      WISE RESOLVES.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;two handsome lamps, shaded with gauzes, stood upon the
      consoles&mdash;illustrated books, prints, and caricatures, were scattered
      about. A piano-forte had also, by some witchcraft, insinuated itself into
      a recess near the sofa&mdash;a handsome little tea service, of old Dresden
      china, graced a marquetry table&mdash;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&mdash;then a pretty foot stole a little farther&mdash;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
      &mdash;so near as almost to touch it. She leaned over me&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;as
      if the effort had been too much for her strength&mdash;she again fell back
      upon her seat, and looked so pale I almost thought she had fainted.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, Mr. Lorrequer, what will you&mdash;what can you think of this? If you
      but knew&mdash;;" 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And may I not know?" said I; "may I not know, my dear"&mdash;I am not
      sure I did not say dearest&mdash;"Miss Bingham, when, perhaps, the
      knowledge might make me the happiest of mortals?"
    </p>
    <p>
      This was a pretty plunge as a sequel to my late resolutions. She hid her
      face between her hands, and sobbed for some seconds.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh no&mdash;not now&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "May I ask, sir," said I, as this individual closed the door behind him,
      "may I ask the reason for this intrusion?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, upon my conscience, I'll do&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      Emily rose at the instant, and recovering her self-possession at once,
      said&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;and I'm sure Mr. O'Leary will not tell."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Now that she is gone&mdash;for which heaven be praised," said I to
      myself; "let me see what this fellow can mean."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, O'Leary, what is all this?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hush, hush," said he, in a terrified whisper&mdash;"never mention that
      name again, till we are over the frontier."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But, man, explain&mdash;what do you mean?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Can't you guess," said he drily.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Impossible; unless the affair at the saloon has induced you to take this
      disguise, I cannot conceive the reason."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nothing farther from it, my dear friend; much worse than that."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Out with it, then, at once."
    </p>
    <p>
      "She's come&mdash;she's here&mdash;in this very house&mdash;No. 29, above
      the entre sol."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Who is here, in No. 29, above the entre sol?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Who, but Mrs. O'Leary herself. I was near saying bad luck to her."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And does she know you are here?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "But why not leave this at once," said I, "if you are so much in dread of
      a recognition?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You forget the trial," added O'Leary, "I must be here on the 18th or all
      my bail is forfeited."
    </p>
    <p>
      "True&mdash;I had forgot that. Well, now, your plans?"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;hear something of my melancholy destiny from Trevanion&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Rather short," said I, "and a little too fat, perhaps."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What can you mean?" said I, starting up.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, O'Leary, who has been since your illness, the constant visiter at
      the Binghams&mdash;dining there every day, and spending his evenings&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      Trevanion listened patiently to the end&mdash;was silent for some moments&mdash;then
      added&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "And you never saw the letter?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Of course not. It was burned before my eyes."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then I must marry, you would say."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Exactly so&mdash;without the prompting of your worthy uncle, I see no
      other course open to you without dishonour. My advice, therefore, is,
      ascertain&mdash;and that speedily&mdash;how far your attentions have been
      attended with the success you dread&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;but for a far different reason.
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch37" id="ch37"></a>CHAPTER XXXVII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      THE PROPOSAL.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      With the speed of lightning, my mind ran over every passage of our
      acquaintance&mdash;our first meeting&mdash;our solitary walks&mdash;our
      daily, hourly associations&mdash;our travelling intimacy&mdash;the
      adventure at Chantraine.&mdash; 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&mdash;despite my really strong attachment elsewhere&mdash;was
      not entirely scathless.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      I opened the door. Miss Bingham was sitting at a table, her head leaning
      upon her hands&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;knowing how short my time might prove before
      Mrs. Bingham's return&mdash;could not say a word.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I hope, Mr. Lorrequer," said she, at length, "that you have incurred no
      risque by leaving your room so early."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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"&mdash;here Emily looked down, and I continued&mdash;"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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.&mdash;
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But, why, dearest girl,"&mdash;here was a plunge&mdash;"why, if the
      letter could remove any misconstruction, or could be the means of
      dispelling any doubt&mdash;why not let me see it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hear me out," cried she, eagerly, and evidently not heeding my
      interruption, "I determined if your affections were indeed"&mdash;a flood
      of tears here broke forth, and drowned her words; her head sank between
      her hands, and she sobbed bitterly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Corpo di Baccho!" said I to myself, "It is all over with me; the poor
      girl is evidently jealous, and her heart will break."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;that I could see you hourly
      before me&mdash;live beneath your smile, and gaze upon your beauty&mdash;and,
      still more than all&mdash;pardon the boldness of the thought&mdash;feel
      that I was not indifferent to you."&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, dearest girl! That instinct which tells us we are loved has spoken
      within me. And here in this beating heart"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh! say not more," said she, "if I have, indeed, gained your affections"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "If&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.'"
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch38" id="ch38"></a>CHAPTER XXXVIII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      THOUGHTS UPON MATRIMONY IN GENERAL, AND IN THE ARMY IN PARTICULAR &mdash;THE
      KNIGHT OF KERRY AND BILLY M'CABE.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      "So," thought I, as I closed the door of my room behind me, "I am accepted&mdash;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!
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;all my
      vagrant fancies&mdash;all my daydreams of the future I was now to
      surrender&mdash;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&mdash;the morning cigar, the barrack-square lounge&mdash;the
      afternoon ride&mdash;the game of billiards before dinner&mdash;the mess
      (that perfection of dinner society)&mdash;the plans for the evening&mdash;the
      deviled kidney at twelve&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;wears her shoes down at heel&mdash;calls
      every officer of the regiment by his name&mdash;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!
    </p>
    <p>
      Had all my most sanguine hopes promised realizing&mdash;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?
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "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"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "That comes of fretting, as Falstaff says; and you must not forget that I
      am banished from my country."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Now, as to your conversation, I should advise you saying very little&mdash;not
      one word in English. You may, if you like, call in the assistance of Irish
      when hard pressed?
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I fear I must confess my ignorance&mdash;I have never heard of it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then may be you never knew Giles Daxon?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have not had that pleasure either."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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&mdash;the most vonderful curiosity ever exhibited&mdash;only one
      shilling&mdash;the vild man from Chippoowango, in Africay&mdash;eats raw
      wittles without being cooked, and many other surprising and pleasing
      performances.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "The knight paid his money, and was admitted. At first the crowd prevented
      his seeing any thing&mdash;for the place was full to suffocation, and the
      noise awful&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;he was not safe, it appears, at close
      quarters;&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Who are you, you scoundrel' said the Knight.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Billy M'Cabe your honour.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'And what do you mean by playing off these tricks here, instead of
      earning your bread like an honest man?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'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.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.'"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch39" id="ch39"></a>CHAPTER XXXIX.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      A REMINISCENCE.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      <a name="Harry_Proves_Himself_a_Man_of_Metal"
      id="Harry_Proves_Himself_a_Man_of_Metal">Harry Proves Himself a Man of
      Metal</a>
    </h3>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img alt="Ch 39 Harry Proves a Man of Metal.jpg (74K)"
      src="images/Ch%2039%20Harry%20Proves%20a%20Man%20of%20Metal.jpg"
      width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <p>
      <a href="images2/Ch%2039%20Harry%20Proves%20a%20Man%20of%20Metal.jpg">BLACK
      AND WHITE IMAGE</a>
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      O'Leary and Trevanion had scarcely left the room when the waiter entered
      with two letters&mdash;the one bore a German post-mark, and was in the
      well-known hand of Lady Callonby&mdash;the other in a writing with which I
      was no less familiar&mdash;that of Emily Bingham.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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!
    </p>
    <p>
      Alas! and alas! there is no infatuation like the taste for flirtation&mdash;mere
      empty, valueless, heartless flirtation. You hide the dice-box and the
      billiard queue, lest your son become a gambler&mdash;you put aside the
      racing calendar, lest he imbibe a jockey predilection&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;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"&mdash;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&mdash;the whole turn-out not
      auguring flatteringly of the high sheriff's taste in equipage.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;but in jingles, noddies, and
      jaunting-cars, with three on a side and "one in the well," we mustered
      strong&mdash;Down Barrack-street we galloped, the mob cheering us, we
      laughing, and I'm afraid shouting a little, too&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;who,
      what between bugles, feathers, and her turban, looked excessively like a
      Chinese pagoda upon a saucer. The rooms were crowded to suffocation&mdash;the
      noise awful&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Devilish hot work, this," said the colonel, as he passed me with two
      rosy-cheeked, smiling ladies on either arm; "the mayor&mdash;that little
      fellow in the punch-coloured shorts&mdash;has very nearly put me hors de
      combat with champagne; take care of him, I advise you."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;waltzing
      there was none, (perhaps all for the best)&mdash;whist, backgammon, loo&mdash;unlimited
      for uproar&mdash;sandwiches, and warm liquors, employed us pretty briskly
      till supper was announced, when a grand squeeze took place on the stairs&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Miss Moriarty, Mr. Lorrequer," said an old lady in green and spangles,
      who I afterwards found was the lady mayoress.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The nicest girl in the room," said a gentleman with a Tipperary accent,
      "and has a mighty nice place near Athlone."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;her eyes making
      sad havoc with me all the while, as I poured my tale of love&mdash;love,
      lasting, burning, all-consuming&mdash;into her not unwilling ear.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah! now, ye'r not in earnest?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, Mary Anne, by all that's"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, there now, don't swear, and take care&mdash;sure Mark Anthony is
      looking."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mark Anthony be&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, to my heart, dearest girl."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Och, it's cheese you're giving me," said she, with a grimace that nearly
      cured my passion.
    </p>
    <p>
      "A cottage, a hut, with you&mdash;with you," said I, in a cadence that I
      defy Macready to rival&mdash;"what is worldly splendour, or the empty
      glitter of rank."
    </p>
    <p>
      I here glanced at my epaulettes, upon which I saw her eyes rivetted.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Isn't the ginger beer beautiful," said she, emptying a glass of
      champagne.
    </p>
    <p>
      Still I was not to be roused from my trance, and continued my courtship as
      warmly as ever.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I suppose you'll come home now," said a gruff voice behind Mary Anne.
    </p>
    <p>
      I turned and perceived Mark Anthony with a grim look of peculiar import.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, Mark dear, I'm engaged to dance another set with this gentleman."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      In my then mystified intellect this west country synonyme for a bed a
      little puzzled me.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes sir, the lady is engaged to me: have you any thing to say to that?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nothing at present, at all," said Mark, almost timidly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh dear, oh dear," sobbed Mary Anne; "they're going to fight, and he'll
      be killed&mdash;I know he will."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;and they were not slight&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Remember," said I, trying to ogle through a black eye, painted by the
      angle of a register grate&mdash;"remember, Mary Anne, I am to see you
      home."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh! dear, sir, sure I don't know how you can manage it&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "If, sir," said I, with an air of the most balmy courtesy&mdash;"If I can
      be of any use in assisting you to see your friends home&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah! then, ye'r a nice looking article to see ladies home. I wish you seen
      yourself this minute," said he.
    </p>
    <p>
      As I felt it would be no breach of the unities&mdash;time, place, and
      every thing considered&mdash;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, , 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then, by this kiss," said I, "I swear, never to relinquish."&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I intend it," said I. "Good night, dearest; think of&mdash;" The slam of
      the street door in my face spoiled the peroration, and I turned towards
      home.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      From two illusions I was at least awakened:&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And maybe you never proposed for her at the ball last night?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Propose for a lady at a ball the first time I ever met her!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "But, my dear sir, the young lady could never have supposed I used such
      language as this you have repeated?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;to
      make a fight for it; and, from what I saw of my friend Mark Anthony, this
      did not seem difficult.
    </p>
    <p>
      I accordingly assumed a high tone&mdash;laughed at the entire affair&mdash;said
      it was a "way we had in the army"&mdash;that "we never meant any thing by
      it,"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;such being the precise
      terms of our combat, in the opinion of all parties.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then you can't expect us, sir, to dance attendance upon him here
      to-morrow," said Curzon, interrupting.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Certainly and decidedly not," said Curzon. "Waive etiquette!&mdash;why,
      sir, we have no quarrel with you; never saw you before."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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 L140. 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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;a fact that seemed considerably to surprise both him and
      his friend&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      Before Mr. Fitzpatrick obtained the benefit of the act, we were ordered
      abroad, and I have never since heard of him.
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch40" id="ch40"></a>CHAPTER XL.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      THE TWO LETTERS.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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:
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <blockquote>
        <p>
          "Munich, La Croix Blanche,
        </p>
        <p>
          "My dear Mr. Lorrequer&mdash;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.
        </p>
        <p>
          "Sincerely yours,<br /> "Charlotte Callonby."
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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&mdash;perhaps I might almost whisper to myself the flattery&mdash;wished
      for. Again, Lady Jane's health was spoken of as precarious, less actual
      illness&mdash;I said to myself&mdash;than mere delicacy requiring the
      bluer sky and warmer airs of Italy. Perhaps her spirits were affected&mdash;some
      mental malady&mdash;some ill-placed passion&mdash;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&mdash;well, all the better to
      have one's father-in-law in power&mdash;promotion is so cursed slow now
      a-days. And lastly, the sly allusion to the commissions&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <blockquote>
        <p>
          "My dear Mr. Lorrequer&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;and I write it in all truth, and perfect respect for you&mdash;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,
        </p>
        <p>
          "Emily Bingham."
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;how they would quiz upon my difficulty to break off a
      match, when the lady was only anxious to get rid of me.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      My hand was upon the lock of the door. I stopped, hesitated, and listened.
      I certainly heard something. Yes, it is too true&mdash;she is sobbing.
      What a total overthrow to all my selfish resolves, all my egotistical
      plans, did that slight cadence give. She was crying&mdash;her tears for
      the bitter pain she concluded I was suffering&mdash;mingling doubtless
      with sorrow for her own sources of grief&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      In a subdued half-light&mdash;tempered through the rose-coloured curtains,
      with a small sevres cup of newly-plucked moss-roses upon the table&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Miss Bingham," said I&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      She started&mdash;looked up&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, Harry"&mdash;this was the first time she had ever so called me&mdash;"how
      like you, to think of me&mdash;of me, at such a time, as if I was not the
      cause of all our present unhappiness&mdash;but not wilfully, not
      intentionally. Oh, no, no&mdash;your attentions&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And now," said I, "that you have gained them"&mdash;Here was a pretty
      sequel to my well matured plans!&mdash;"And now Emily"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;"have I your heart? your whole heart?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Harry, Harry Lorrequer," cried he, as he entered; then suddenly checking
      himself, added "a thousand, ten thousand pardons. But&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "But what," cried I passionately, forgetting all save the situation of
      poor Emily at the moment, "what can justify&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, Mr. Trevanion," said Emily, who by this time had regained a more
      befitting attitude, "pray speak out; what is it? is Harry&mdash;is Mr.
      Lorrequer, I mean, in any danger?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;till then, adieu."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;which
      I suspected to be the cause of the threatened arrest&mdash;and was about
      to profess my unaltered and unalterable attachment, when she suddenly
      stopped me.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, Mr. Lorrequer, no. All is over between us. We must never meet again&mdash;never.
      We have been both playing a part. Good by&mdash;good by: do not altogether
      forget me&mdash;and once more, Harry good by."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;"au
      revoir, Emily, au revoir, not good by," and rushing from the room,
      regained my own, just as Mrs. Bingham reached the corridor.
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch41" id="ch41"></a>CHAPTER XLI.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      MR. O'LEARY'S CAPTURE.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      <a name="Mr._OLearys_Double_Capture" id="Mr._OLearys_Double_Capture">Mr.
      O'Leary's Double Capture</a>
    </h3>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img alt="Ch 41 Mr. O'Leary's Double Capture.jpg (70K)"
      src="images/Ch%2041%20Mr.%20OLearys%20Double%20Capture.jpg" width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <p>
      <a href="images2/Ch%2041%20Mr.%20OLearys%20Double%20Capture.jpg">BLACK AND
      WHITE IMAGE</a>
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;among others, the
      conspiracy, with some of his compatriots to murder the minister of war.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Only endeavouring to support her in her attachment to the more favoured
      rival. Is it not so?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Come, no quizzing. Faith I began to feel very uncomfortable about parting
      with her, the moment that I discovered that I must do so."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Quite out; perfectly mistaken, believe me. Emily not only never cared for
      me; but she has gone far enough to tell me so."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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 covam publico
      endearments upon the culprit, whom a second glance showed us was O'Leary.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I tell you, my dear madam, you are mistaken," said O'Leary, addressing
      her with great sternness of manner and voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mistaken! Never, never. How could I ever be mistaken in that dear voice,
      those lovely eyes, that sweet little nose?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I'll follow him to the end of the earth, I will."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I'm going to the galleys, God be praised," said O'Leary.
    </p>
    <p>
      "To the galleys&mdash;to the guillotine&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mrs. Ram, ain't you ashamed?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Lead me away&mdash;anywhere&mdash;convict me of what you like," said he,
      "but don't let her follow me."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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. <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch42" id="ch42"></a>CHAPTER XLII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      THE JOURNEY.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;his
      ill-made boots, his meerschaum projecting from his breast-pocket, above
      all, his unwashed hands, and a heavy gold ring upon his thumb&mdash;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:&mdash;"Bon soir, Monsieur," to the host: "Ein boesewicht, ganz sicher"&mdash;"a
      scoundrel without doubt;" and then added, still lower, "Rob you here as
      soon as look at you." "Ah, postillion! comment va?"&mdash;"much more like
      a brigand after all&mdash;I know which I'd take you for." "Ver fluchte
      fraw"&mdash;"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"&mdash;"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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 "coupe," 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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;and I have strong doubts upon the subject
      &mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;for,
      time out of mind, his approach had been hailed with every demonstration of
      rejoicing; and now&mdash;but no; the thing was impossible&mdash;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&mdash;not satisfied, probably, that he had hit upon the true
      solution&mdash;when suddenly his eye brightened, his lips curled, and
      fixing a look upon the angry Frenchman, he said&mdash;"Maybe ye are right
      enow&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;being
      the last waking thought on my memory.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 <br />
    </p>
    <table summary="">
      <tr>
        <td>
          THE POPE<br /> <br /> I.<br /> The Pope, he leads a happy life,<br /> He
          fears not married care, nor strife,<br /> He drinks the best of Rhenish
          wine,<br /> I would the Pope's gay lot were mine.<br /> <br /> CHORUS.<br />
          He drinks the best of Rhenish wine.<br /> I would the Pope's gay lot
          were mine.<br /> <br /> II.<br /> But then all happy's not his life,<br />
          He has not maid, nor blooming wife;<br /> Nor child has he to raise his
          hope&mdash;<br /> I would not wish to be the Pope.<br /> <br /> III.<br />
          The Sultan better pleases me,<br /> His is a life of jollity;<br /> His
          wives are many as he will&mdash;<br /> I would the Sultan's throne then
          fill.<br /> <br /> IV.<br /> But even he's a wretched man,<br /> He must
          obey his Alcoran;<br /> And dares not drink one drop of wine&mdash;<br />
          I would not change his lot for mine.<br /> <br /> V.<br /> So then I'll
          hold my lowly stand,<br /> And live in German Vaterland;<br /> I'll kiss
          my maiden fair and fine,<br /> And drink the best of Rhenish wine.<br />
          <br /> VI.<br /> Whene'er my maiden kisses me,<br /> I'll think that I
          the Sultan be;<br /> And when my cheery glass I tope,<br /> I'll fancy
          then I am the Pope.<br />
        </td>
      </tr>
    </table>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch43" id="ch43"></a>CHAPTER XLIII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      THE JOURNEY.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;and
      it is "la belle France," however inferior to parts of England in rural
      beauty&mdash;the large tracts of waving yellow corn, undulating like a sea
      in the morning breeze&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;and
      a beauty with which every object around harmonizes well. The sluggish
      peasant, in his blouse and striped night-cap&mdash;the heavily caparisoned
      horse, shaking his head amidst a Babel-tower of gaudy worsted tassels and
      brass bells&mdash;the deeply laden waggon, creeping slowly along&mdash;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&mdash;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 dejeune, with its cutlets, its fried
      fish, its poulet, its salad, and its little entre of fruit, tempered with
      a not despicable bottle of Beaune. If in England, the exchange is nearly
      as grateful&mdash;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
      made 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:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;the alteration from a
      cold, damp, smoky hovel, to a warm, clean, slated house&mdash;the cheerful
      garden before the door that replaced the mud-heap and the duck-pool&mdash;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?
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, troth, its thrue for yer honour, I am grateful," she replied, in a
      whining discordant tone, which astonished the worthy parson.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Of course you are, my good woman, of course you are&mdash;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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, darlin', it's all thrue, he's very good, he's mighty kind, so he is."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why then, not acknowledge it in a different manner?" said the parson,
      with some heat&mdash;"has he not housed you, and fed you, and clothed
      you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, alanah, he done it all."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, where is your gratitude for all these mercies?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, sure if he did," said the old crone, roused at length by the
      importunity of the questioner&mdash;"sure if he did, doesn't he take it
      out o' me in the corns?"
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch44" id="ch44"></a>CHAPTER XLIV.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      A REMINISCENCE OF THE EAST.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      First came the "haute aristocratie" of the coupe, 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 coupe. 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&mdash;"No
      mangez, no mangez cela."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah," said I, detecting in my friend's French his English origin, "you are
      an Englishman I find."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The devil a doubt of it, darlin'," said he half testily.
    </p>
    <p>
      "An Irishman, too&mdash;still better," said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;in those
      days much less frequently visited by travellers than at present.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      One fine bright morning was therefore selected&mdash;a most appetizing
      little dinner being carefully packed up&mdash;we set out, a party of
      fourteen, upon our excursion.
    </p>
    <p>
      The weather was glorious, and the scene far finer than any of us had
      anticipated&mdash;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&mdash;peaceful yet bustling with life and
      animation. Here lay the union-jack of old England, floating beside the
      lilies of France&mdash;we speak of times when lilies were and barricades
      were not&mdash;the tall and taper spars of a Yankee frigate towering above
      the low timbers and heavy hull of a Dutch schooner&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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, we should permit
      him and his suite to approach the kiosk and observe us at our meal.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;to observe our convivial customs&mdash;we
      immediately reseated ourselves, and filled our glasses.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;the
      long and bushy beard were there&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch45" id="ch45"></a>CHAPTER XLV.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      A DAY IN THE PHOENIX.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      When we were once more in the coupe 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You have not been long in France, then, sir," said I, as we resumed our
      conversation.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Three weeks, and it seems like three years to me&mdash;nothing to eat&mdash;nothing
      to drink&mdash;and nobody to speak to. But I'll go back soon&mdash;I only
      came abroad for a month."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You'll scarcely see much of the Continent in so short a time."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Devil a much that will grieve me&mdash;I didn't come to see it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Indeed!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nothing of the kind; I only came&mdash;to be away from home."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh! I perceive."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;that's all, though that same is bad enough."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Laughed out of it!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Just so&mdash;and little you know of Ireland if that surprises you."
    </p>
    <p>
      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:
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;just what you'd call a smart
      hack for going to cover with&mdash;a lively thing on the road with a light
      weight. Nobody ever suspected that she was a clean bred thing&mdash;own
      sister to Jenny, that won the Corinthians, and ran second to Giles for the
      Riddlesworth&mdash;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&mdash;and,
      for a thorough bred, she was a clipper at trotting&mdash;to trot a mile or
      so on the grass&mdash;another day to gallop the length of the nine acres
      opposite the Lodge&mdash;and then sometimes, back her for a ten pound
      note, to jump the biggest furze bush that could be found&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'He's a spicy hack you're on, sir,' said I, 'and has a go in him, I'll be
      bound.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I rayther think he has,' said the old gentleman, half testily.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'And can trot a bit, too.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Twelve Irish miles in fifty minutes, with my weight.' Here he looked
      down at a paunch like a sugar hosghead.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Maybe he's not bad across a country,' said I, rather to humour the old
      fellow, who, I saw, was proud of his poney.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I'd like to see his match, that's all.' Here he gave a rather
      contemptuous glance at my hack.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;just
      one heat, about a mile and a half&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The next morning the Phoenix was crowded as if for a review. There were
      all the Dublin notorieties, swarming in barouches, and tilburies, and
      outside jaunting-cars&mdash;smart clerks in the post-office, mounted upon
      kicking devils from Dycer's and Lalouette's stables&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;blue
      and yellow striped jacket, blue cap and leathers&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;the second half choked, and the third nearly
      threw me into an apoplectic fit&mdash;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&mdash;my eyes glared&mdash;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&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tom of the 11th light dragoons?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "The same&mdash;you know Tom, then? Maybe you have heard him mention me&mdash;Maurice
      Malone?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not Mr. Malone, of Fort Peak?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch46" id="ch46"></a>CHAPTER XLVI.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      AN ADVENTURE IN CANADA.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      <a name="Mr._Malone_and_His_Friend" id="Mr._Malone_and_His_Friend">Mr.
      Malone and His Friend</a>
    </h3>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img alt="Ch 46 Mr Malone and Friend.jpg (70K)"
      src="images/Ch%2046%20Mr%20Malone%20and%20Friend.jpg" width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <p>
      <a href="images2/Ch%2046%20Mr%20Malone%20and%20Friend.jpg">BLACK AND WHITE
      IMAGE</a>
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      Whatever may be the merits of commanding officers, one virtue they
      certainly can lay small claim to&mdash;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&mdash;making the best of every thing&mdash;never
      non-plussed&mdash;never taken aback&mdash;perfectly at home, whether
      flirting with a Lady Charlotte in her drawing-room, or crossing a grouse
      mountain in the highlands&mdash;sufficiently well read to talk on any
      ordinary topic&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;his late sittings at night requiring all the following day to
      recruit him for a new attack upon the rum bottle.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;both being found in great abundance near them.
    </p>
    <p>
      Such was the life of the little garrison for two or three long summer
      months&mdash;each day so resembling its fellow, that no difference could
      be found.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;their anxiety hourly
      increasing, lest the enemy should reach the Fort before themselves. In
      this dilemma it was resolved that the party should separate&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;the rum bottle, which at
      brief intervals passed from one to the other, maintained a friendly
      intercourse that each was content with.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are certain they were militia?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, sir; quite sure."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?'."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Send Mathers here, corporal; and do you order four rank and file, with
      side-arms to be in readiness immediately."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Can you recollect the chief's name&mdash;it was Carran&mdash;something,
      eh?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Caudan-dacwagae."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Exactly. Where is he supposed to be now?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Up in Detroit, sir, they say, but no one knows. Those fellows are here
      to-day, and there to-morrow."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;occasionally replying, as it
      appeared, to objections, and offering explanations as the other seemed to
      require them. The colloquy lasted half an hour&mdash;and although the
      veteran sergeant seemed difficult of conviction, it ended by his saying,
      as he left the room,
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, sir, as you say, it can only come to hard knocks at worst. Here
      goes&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I see," said one, who seemed the superior of the party&mdash;"I see well
      where this will end. We shall have another Queenston affair, as we had
      last fall with the Delawares."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      The party at these words sprung to their legs, and stood in an attitude of
      listening for some seconds.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Who goes there?" sung out a sentinel from his post; and then, after a
      moment's delay, added&mdash;"Pass flag of truce to Major Brown's
      quarters."
    </p>
    <p>
      Scarcely were the words spoken, when three officers in scarlet, preceded
      by a drummer with a white flag, stood before the American party.
    </p>
    <p>
      "To whom may I address myself?" said one of the British&mdash;who, I may
      inform my reader, en passant, was no other than O'Flaherty&mdash;"To whom
      may I address myself as the officer in command?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am Major Brown," said a short, plethoric little man, in a blue uniform
      and round hat&mdash;"And who are you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Major O'Flaherty, of his majesty's fifth foot," said Tom, with a very
      sonorous emphasis on each word&mdash;"the bearer of a flag of truce and an
      amicable proposition from Major-General Allen, commanding the garrison of
      Fort Peak."
    </p>
    <p>
      The Americans, who were evidently taken by surprise at their intentions of
      attack being known, were silent, while he continued&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Gentlemen, it may appear somewhat strange that a garrison, possessing the
      natural strength of a powerful position&mdash;supplied with abundant
      ammunition and every muniment of war&mdash;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 &mdash;yes, gentlemen,
      I must repeat it, 'allies'&mdash;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"&mdash;here the
      Yankees exchanged very peculiar looks&mdash;"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"&mdash;O'Flaherty
      glanced at two privates dressed up in his regimentals&mdash;"to offer you
      terms"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hark!" said O'Flaherty, with an accent of horror&mdash;"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&mdash;our terms are
      these&mdash;as they do not admit of discussion, and must be at once
      accepted or rejected, to your own ear alone can I impart them."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;for he is with them in
      person."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      A loud yell of triumph from below interrupted Tom's speech. The infuriated
      savage&mdash;who was no other than Mr. Malone&mdash;having obtained the
      rum bottle, for which he was fighting with all his might&mdash;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&mdash;who
      were his own soldiers acting under O'Flaherty's orders.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      Major Brown heard the proposal in silence, and at last determined upon
      consulting his brother officers.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      By sunrise the next morning, all that remained of the threatened attack on
      Fort Peak, were the smouldering ashes of some wood fires&mdash;eighty
      muskets piled in the fort&mdash;and the yellow ochre, and red stripes that
      still adorned the countenance of the late Indian chief,&mdash;but now
      snoring Lieutenant Maurice Malone.
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch47" id="ch47"></a>CHAPTER XLVII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      THE COURIER'S PASSPORT.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;under the title of "The Affaire O'Leary."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;am I forgotten&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;"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&mdash;as
      they open their newspapers at breakfast&mdash;as they sip their soup at
      luncheon&mdash;as they adjust their napkin at dinner&mdash;as they chat
      over their wine at night. My influence in the house shall be unbounded&mdash;my
      pleasures consulted&mdash;my dislikes remembered. The people in favour
      with me shall dine there three times a-week&mdash;those less fortunate
      shall be put into schedule A. My opinions on all subjects shall be a law&mdash;whether
      I pronounce upon politics, or discuss a dinner: and all this I shall
      accomplish by a successful flattery of my lady&mdash;a little bullying of
      my lord&mdash;a devoted attention to the youngest sister&mdash;a special
      cultivation of Kilkee&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      The night was stormy and dark&mdash;gusts of wind sweeping along, bearing
      with them the tail of some thunder cloud&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      A lumbering peasant, with a blouse, sabots, and a striped nightcap,
      replied in some unknown patois; when the courier again said&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Have we another vise of our passports here, then?" said I, addressing the
      courier, "for we have already been examined at Nancy?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not exactly a vise," said the courier, eyeing me most suspiciously as he
      spoke, and then continuing to eat with his former voracity.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then, what, may I ask, have we to do with the gens-d'armes?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is a search," said the courier, gruffly, and with the air of one who
      desired no further questioning.
    </p>
    <p>
      I immediately ordered a bottle of Burgundy, and filling the large goblet
      before him, said, with much respect,
    </p>
    <p>
      "A votre bonne voyage, Monsier le Courier."
    </p>
    <p>
      To this he at once replied, by taking off his cap and bowing politely as
      he drank off the wine.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Have we any runaway felon or a stray galerien among us?" said I,
      laughingly, "that they are going to search us?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "A Polish plot! Why, I left Paris only two days ago, and never heard of
      it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      What was to be done?&mdash;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&mdash;every rattle of the
      harness seemed like the clink of accoutrements.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Monsieur le Courier, one word with you." I here closed the door, and
      continued. "My fortunes&mdash;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?&mdash;if so, name it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "So then, Monsieur," said the Courier, slowly&mdash;"so, then, you are the&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You have guessed it," said I, interrupting. "Do you accept my proposal?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;any thing so excessively ludicrous in my
      situation&mdash;or what particular gift do you possess that shall prevent
      me throwing you out of the window?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh! devilish good&mdash;but what do you mean?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, the fellow that caused the attack at Frascati, and all that, and&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes&mdash;well, eh? Did you think I was him?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "To be sure I did, till I saw your passport."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, your confused manner&mdash;your impatience to get on&mdash;your
      hurried questions, all convinced me. In fact, I'd have wagered any thing
      you were the Englishman."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "But we are delaying sadly," said the courier. "Are you ready?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ready?&mdash;ready for what?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "To go on with me, of course. Don't you wish to get early to Strasbourg?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "To be sure I do."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, then, come along. But, pray, don't mind your luggage, for my
      caleche is loaded. Your instruments can come in the diligence."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My instruments in the diligence! He's mad&mdash;that's flat."
    </p>
    <p>
      "How they will laugh at Strasbourg at my mistake."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That they will," thought I. "The only doubt is, will you join in the
      merriment?"
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;whether travelling en courier might not be prescribed by
      physicians as a mode of treating insane patients.
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch48" id="ch48"></a>CHAPTER XLVIII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      A NIGHT IN STRASBOURG.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      <a name="Lorrequers_Debut_at_Strasburg" id="Lorrequers_Debut_at_Strasburg">Lorrequer's
      Debut at Strasburg</a>
    </h3>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img alt="Ch 48 Lorrequer's Debut at Strasburg.jpg (81K)"
      src="images/Ch%2048%20Lorrequers%20Debut%20at%20Strasburg.jpg" width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <p>
      <a href="images2/Ch%2048%20Lorrequers%20Debut%20at%20Strasburg.jpg">BLACK
      AND WHITE IMAGE</a>
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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, As I
      was still in doubt what or whom he took me for, I answered with the
      greatest circumspection&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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'&mdash;a capital hotel, and not ten
      minutes' distance from the theatre."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "They have been keeping the 'Huguenots' for your arrival, and all
      Strasbourg is impatient for your coming."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am told the 'Zauberflotte' is your favourite opera?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I can't say that I ever heard it&mdash;that is, I mean that I could say&mdash;well
      got up."
    </p>
    <p>
      Here I floundered on having so far forgot myself as to endanger every
      thing.
    </p>
    <p>
      "How very unfortunate! Well, I hope you will not long have as much to say.
      Meanwhile, here we are&mdash;this is the 'Bear.'"
    </p>
    <p>
      We rattled into the ample porte cochere of a vast hotel&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;no mean one as judges of music&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;extending from
      the boxes to the balcone&mdash;from the balcone to the parterre&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      What can this mean? thought I. Is the theatre on fire? Something surely
      has gone wrong!
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Confound the fellow," muttered I; "I must leave this at once, or I shall
      be involved in some trouble."
    </p>
    <p>
      Scarcely was my my resolve taken, when a new burst of voices arose from
      the pit&mdash;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&mdash;vive
      Meerberger&mdash;vive l'Auteur des Franc Macons&mdash;vive Franc Macons,"
      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&mdash;yes,
      me, Harry Lorrequer&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "On the stage&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;if there be such a functionary in such an
      insane town&mdash;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&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Monsieur Meerberger, I have a surprise for you&mdash;such as you have not
      had for some time, I venture to say"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "I defy you on this head," thought I. "If they make me out king Solomon
      now, it will not amaze me"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;she&mdash;that is, you&mdash;were&mdash;in
      fact, you understand&mdash;there had been&mdash;so to say&mdash;a little
      'amourette' between you."
    </p>
    <p>
      I groaned in spirit as I thought, now am I lost without a chance of escape&mdash;the
      devil take her reminiscences.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Amelie Grandet!" said I, with a stage start. I need not say that I had
      never heard the name before. "Amelie Grandet here!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, that she is," said the manager, rubbing his hands; "and my wife,
      too"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Married!&mdash;Amelie Grandet married! No, no; it is impossible&mdash;I
      cannot believe it. But were it true&mdash;true, mark me&mdash;for worlds
      would I not meet her."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ho, ho!" thought I, "the affair is not so bad either&mdash;time makes
      great changes in that space." "And does she still remember me?" said I, in
      a very Romeo-in-the-garden voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;she insists upon seeing you, and is this very moment waiting
      supper in our room for you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "A thorough German she must be," thought I, "with her sympathies and her
      supper&mdash;her reminiscences and her Rhine wine hunting in couples
      through her brain."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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&mdash;a
      very trying one for me&mdash;she glanced at her husband, whose countenance
      plainly indicated that she was right, and calling out, "C'est lui&mdash;c'est
      bien lui," threw herself into my arms, and sobbed convulsively.
    </p>
    <p>
      "If this were to be the only fruits of my impersonation," thought I, "it
      is not so bad&mdash;but I am greatly afraid these good people will find
      out a wife and seven babies for me before morning."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Francois, mon cher, you must put off La Chaumiere. I can't play
      to-night."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Put it off! But only think of the audience, ma mie&mdash;they will pull
      down the house."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      The tone this was said in&mdash;the look&mdash;the easy gesture of command&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      While Le cher Francois then retired, to make his proposition to the
      audience, of substituting something for the Chaumiere&mdash;the "sudden
      illness of Madame Baptiste having prevented her appearance,"&mdash;we
      began to renew our old acquaintance, by a thousand inquiries from that
      long-past time, when we were sweethearts and lovers.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You remember me then so well?" said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "As of yesterday. You are much taller, and your eyes darker; but still&mdash;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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "More beautiful, a thousand times more beautiful than ever&mdash;all save
      in one thing, Amelie."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And that is&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are married."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;now indulging a soft retrospect of the
      once happy past&mdash;now moralising on the future&mdash;Amelie and I
      chatted away the hours till the conclusion of the tragedy.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;how I
      came to be mistaken for the illustrious composer.
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch49" id="ch49"></a>CHAPTER XLIX.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      A SURPRISE.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;the glare of the foot-lights&mdash;the crash of the
      orchestra&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      With thoughts of this nature, I assumed my steadiest demeanour&mdash;ordered
      my breakfast in the most orthodox fashion&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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:&mdash;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&mdash;&mdash;, 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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <table summary="">
      <tr>
        <td>
          Better far to be<br /> In utter darkness lying,<br /> Than be blest with
          light, and see<br /> That light for ever flying<br />
        </td>
      </tr>
    </table>
    <p>
      is, doubtless, very pretty poetry, but very poor philosophy. For myself
      &mdash;and some glimpses of sunshine this fair world has afforded me,
      fleeting and passing enough, in all conscience&mdash;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&mdash; The light that lies<br />
      In woman's eyes,
    </p>
    <p>
      were it twice as fleeting&mdash;as it is ten times more brilliant&mdash;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&mdash;if I have really succeeded&mdash;if, in a word&mdash;but why
      speculate upon such chances?&mdash;what pretensions have I?&mdash;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"&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And so it turned out not to be Meerberger, after all,": said the
      listener.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sappermint" said the other, tossing off his beer. "He must have been a
      clever fellow, though, to lead the orchestra in the Franc Macons."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;nor
      can it be till he is apprehended."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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 coupe.
    </p>
    <p>
      Only he who has toiled over the weary miles of a long journey&mdash;exclusively
      occupied with one thought&mdash;one overpowering feeling&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;young ladies, among them?"&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;had no
      visitors&mdash;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 &mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;Harry
      Lorrequer, by all that's glorious!" rushed from the room in a transport of
      laughter.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I tell you I cannot be mistaken," said the man's voice from without.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, impossible!" said a lady-like accent that seemed not heard by me for
      the first time.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Judge for yourself; though certainly the last time you saw him may
      confuse your memory a little."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "True, indeed, it is Mr. Lorrequer, but he seems to have forgotten me."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Harry, my boy, you scarcely were more discomposed the last morning we
      parted, when the yellow plush&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "And how came you here?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not now, I fear; I am hurrying on to Munich."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, I perceive; but you are aware that&mdash;your friends are not there."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The Callonbys not at Munich!" said I, with a start.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch50" id="ch50"></a>CHAPTER L.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      JACK WALLER'S STORY.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I scarcely could have expected such would be our meeting, Jack," said I,
      "from the way we last parted."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;eh?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.'"
    </p>
    <p>
      "And now, Jack, tell me something of your own fortunes since the day you
      passed me in the post-chaise and four."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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 &mdash;the reconciliation will possibly,
      what with delays of post&mdash;distance&mdash;and deliberation, take a
      month&mdash;say five weeks&mdash;now, at forty pounds per week, that makes
      exactly two hundred pounds&mdash;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&mdash;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:&mdash;
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <blockquote>
        <p>
          "'Dear Mary,
        </p>
        <p>
          "'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.
        </p>
        <p>
          "'Yours very faithful,<br /> C. Kamworth, Hydrabad Cottage.'
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      "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:
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Well, Jack, I must only love you the more, since papa will not share any
      of my affection.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I wish he would his purse though,' muttered I, as I pressed her in my
      arms, and strove to seem perfectly happy.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Why, how is this&mdash;I really&mdash;there must be some mistake here.'
      In my heart I knew that such doings in my good aunt's dwelling were
      impossible.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I should suspect there is, sir,' drawled out he of the moustache, as he
      took a very cool survey of me, through his glass.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Is Lady Lilford at home, may I ask,' said I, in a very apologetic tone
      of voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'But this is her house,' said I, 'at least&mdash;'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'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.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "What I muttered by way of apology for my intrusion, I know not; but I
      stammered&mdash;the young lady blushed&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Is it not beautiful, Jack?&mdash;how delicately worked&mdash;it must
      have taken a long time to do it.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Seven years,' I muttered, as my thoughts ran upon a very different
      topic.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Oh, no&mdash;not so much,' said she laughing; 'and it must be such a
      hard thing to do.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Not half so hard as carding wool, or pounding oyster shells.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'How absurd you are. Well, I'll take this, it will look so well in&mdash;'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;by
      money.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There was, however, one last resource open&mdash;the sale of my
      commission. I will not dwell upon what it cost me to resolve upon this&mdash;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&mdash;the waiters bowing to the ground (it is your ruined man
      that is always most liberal)&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?&mdash;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&mdash;my wife has not a shilling&mdash;I have
      absolutely nothing&mdash;her father disowns us&mdash;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.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;reflection is
      impossible&mdash;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&mdash;the
      worst must be known, thought I, in a few days&mdash;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&mdash;'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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Dear John, what is it, any thing about Mary&mdash;for heavens sake
      speak.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Yes,' dearest aunt, 'it is about Mary, and entirely about Mary.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Ah, dear me, I feared it long since; but then, John, consider she is
      very handsome&mdash;very much admired&mdash;and&mdash;'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'That makes it all the heavier, my dear aunt&mdash;the prouder her
      present position, the more severely will she feel the reverse.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Oh, but surely, John, your fears must exaggerate the danger.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Nothing of the kind&mdash;I have not words to tell you&mdash;'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'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&mdash;I
      am sure she means nothing by it&mdash;she is so young&mdash;and so&mdash;'
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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, , and
      hinted at the propriety of retrenchment.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Mary rides beautifully,' said my aunt, drily.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Yes, but my dear aunt, it was not exactly of that I was going to speak,
      for in fact&mdash;'
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh John,' said she, interrupting&mdash;'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.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Thank God,' said I to myself, 'at length, we understand each other&mdash;and
      the ice is broken at last.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'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.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'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&mdash;'how considerate, how truly kind&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'We shall miss the old lady, I'm sure, Mary, she is so kind.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Oh! indeed she is; but then, John, she is such a prude.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Such a prude, and so very old-fashioned in her notions.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'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,'&mdash;'but stay, here
      comes, if I am not mistaken, a better eulogy upon my dear aunt, than any I
      can pronounce.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'The servant wishes to have some acknowledgment in writing, sir, that it
      has been delivered into your own hands.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "Jepson entered,&mdash;'well, George, your parcel is all right, and here
      is a Napoleon to drink my health.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;with what feeling I leave to you to guess&mdash;the following:&mdash;
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <blockquote>
        <p>
          "'Dear Nephew and Niece,
        </p>
        <p>
          "'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&mdash;which we spoke of this morning. It
          is at Johnston's stable, and will be delivered on sending for it.'
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      "'Think of that, Jack, the Borghese poney, with the silky tail; mine&mdash;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.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "How that crazy old maid, for such, alas, I called her to myself now,
      could have so blundered all my meaning&mdash;how she could so palpably
      have mistaken, I could not conceive; what a remedy for a man overwhelmed
      with debt&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;not
      now thought I&mdash;to-morrow will do as well&mdash;one night more of
      happiness for her and then&mdash;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.&mdash;But it must come&mdash;and
      whenever the hour arrives&mdash;the reverse will be fully as bitter;
      besides I am able now&mdash;and when I may again be so, who can tell&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'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.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Et puis,' said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'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.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'And you should be greatly disappointed were you not to go?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Of course I should; but what do you mean; is there any reason why I
      should not? You are silent, John&mdash;speak&mdash;oh speak&mdash;has any
      thing occurred to my&mdash;'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'No, no, dearest&mdash;nothing that I know has occurred to the Colonel.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Well then, who is it? Oh tell me at once.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'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
      &mdash;my endeavour to better them&mdash;my hopes&mdash;my fears&mdash;and
      now my bitter disappointment, if not despair.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;for we paid our debts.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;and she has
      powerful ones&mdash;to do something for me.
    </p>
    <p>
      "After some little loitering on the Rhine, we fixed upon Hesse Cassel for
      our residence. It was very quiet&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh! by Jove, that was a great omission in my narrative; but come, this
      will explain it; see here"&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What in the name of the Sphynxes is this?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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, , 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&mdash;."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch51" id="ch51"></a>CHAPTER LI.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      MUNICH.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "We shall meet to-night, Harry," said Waller, as we parted&mdash;"we shall
      meet at the Casino&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      This latter piece of information was satisfactory, inasmuch as the greater
      part of my luggage, containing my uniform, , 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;if, again, my evil star be in the ascendant, and any new
      impediment to our meeting arise&mdash;but I cannot, will not, think this&mdash;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&mdash;and this is the Croix Blanche&mdash;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&mdash;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.
      <br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      <a href="images2/00a%20The%20Inn%20at%20Munich.jpg"> </a>
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img alt="00a The Inn at Munich.jpg"
      src="images/00a%20The%20Inn%20at%20Munich.jpg" width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "I say, is not this the Croix Blanche?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ya," said the man-mountain with the napkin.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, then, open the door, pray&mdash;I'm going to stop here."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nein."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No! What do you mean by that? Has not Lord Callonby engaged rooms here?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ya."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, then, I am a particular friend of his, and will stay here also."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nein."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Take my luggage," said I to a gaping waiter, "and place a chair there, do
      you hear?"
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, then, no matter," said I. "Have you sent my luggage up stairs?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, sir, there is no room&mdash;the house is full."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The house full! Confound it&mdash;this is too provoking. I have most
      urgent reasons for wishing to stay here. Cannot you make some arrangement&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I cannot succeed, sir," said the man, as he passed behind me, "but don't
      leave the house till I speak with you again."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;nothing less than force shall remove me.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      In a few minutes he joined me, and after a stealthy look on each side,
      said&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But why not have the civility to explain that?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      This advice seemed so reasonable, that I determined to follow it&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Any thing, Monsieur Schnetz&mdash;dress me like the Pope's Nuncio, or the
      Mayor of London, if you like, but only enable me to go."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;exactly the same size as his Excellency
      the Charge d'Affaires."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Confound the Charge d'Affaires!" I added, and left the house.
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch52" id="ch52"></a>CHAPTER LII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      INN AT MUNICH.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;the cloth was already spread for supper&mdash;(remember
      it was in Germany)&mdash;the newspapers of the day were placed before me&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "All very well done, Antoine, and now for supper&mdash;order it yourself
      for me&mdash;I never can find my way in a German 'carte de diner;' and be
      sure to have a fiacre here at nine&mdash;nine precisely."
    </p>
    <p>
      Antoine withdrew, leaving me to my own reflections, which now, if not
      gloomy, were still of the most anxious kind.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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. <br /> <br /> <br /> <a
      href="images2/00b%20Arrival%20of%20Charge%20dAffairs.jpg"> </a>
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img alt="00b Arrival of Charge d'Affairs.jpg (99K)"
      src="images/00b%20Arrival%20of%20Charge%20dAffairs.jpg" width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      "May all the&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      When once more in my room, I congratulated myself that now at least no
      more "false starts" could occur&mdash;"the eternal Charge d'Affaires, of
      whom I have been hearing since my arrival, cannot come twice&mdash;he is
      here now, and I hope I'm done with him."
    </p>
    <p>
      The supper&mdash;some greasiness apart&mdash;was good&mdash;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&mdash;some rabble in the street;
      hark, it comes nearer&mdash;I hear the sound of wheels; yes, there go the
      horses&mdash;nearer and nearer. Ah, it is dying away again&mdash;stay&mdash;yes,
      yes&mdash;here it is&mdash;here they are. The noise and tumult without now
      increased every instant&mdash;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&mdash;my heart beat almost loud enough
      for me to hear&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      They are coming&mdash;she is coming, thought I. Now then for my doom!
    </p>
    <p>
      There was some noise of voices outside. I listened, for I still felt
      unable to rise. The talking grew louder&mdash;doors were opened and shut&mdash;then
      came a lull&mdash;then more slamming of doors, and more talking&mdash;then
      all was still again&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, Antoine," said I, in a voice trembling with weakness and agitation,
      "not them yet?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It was his Grace the Grand Mareschal," said Antoine, scarcely heeding my
      question, in the importance of the illustrious visitor who had arrived.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, the Grand Mareschal," said I, carelessly; "does he live here?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sappermint nein, Mein Herr; but he has just been to pay his respects to
      his Excellency the new Charge d'Affaires."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;"Died of love
      and a Charge d'Affaires."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is time to dress," said the waiter.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I could strangle him with my own hands," muttered I, worked up into a
      real heat by the excitement of my passion.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The Charge&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      The poor fellow grew green with terror, and fell upon his knees before me.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Get my dressing things ready," said I, in a more subdued tone. "I did not
      mean to terrify you&mdash;but beware of what I told you."
    </p>
    <p>
      While Antoine occupied himself with the preparations for my toilette, I
      sat broodingly over the wood embers, thinking of my fate.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;the
      whole, without being gaudy, being sufficiently handsome, and quite as
      showy as I could wish.
    </p>
    <p>
      The poor waiter expressed his unqualified approval of the costume, and
      talked away about the approaching ball as something pre-eminently
      magnificent.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You had better look after the fiacre, Antoine," said I; "it is past
      nine."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "He won't go&mdash;very strange that."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Who do you mean?" said I, quite unconscious of the allusion.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The Charge d'Aff&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch53" id="ch53"></a>CHAPTER LIII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      THE BALL.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "They are certain to be at the ball," said Waller, and that sentence never
      left my mind.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;the clang of the music&mdash;the magnificence of the
      dresses&mdash;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&mdash;then came
      a loud roll of the drums, which lasted for several seconds, and the clank
      of musketry&mdash;then a cheer;&mdash;it is the king.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      His majesty entered, accompanied by the queen, his brother, two or three
      archduchesses, and a long suite of officers.
    </p>
    <p>
      I could not help remarking upon the singular good taste with which the
      assembly&mdash;all anxious and eager to catch a glimpse of his majesty&mdash;behaved
      on this occasion. There was no pressing forward to the "estrade" where he
      stood,&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "May I take the liberty of introducing myself to you?" said he.&mdash;"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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Never heard of that," said I to myself.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your excellency arrived this evening?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes," said I, "only a few hours since."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You have not been presented, I believe?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No," said I; "but I hope to take an early opportunity of paying 'mes
      homages' to his majesty."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have just received his orders to present you now," replied he, with
      another bow.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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,
    </p>
    <p>
      "I hope your excellency has had a good journey?"
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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,
    </p>
    <p>
      "My Lord Callonby has been residing some time here. You know him?" And
      then, not waiting for a reply, added, "Pleasant person&mdash;well informed&mdash;like
      him much, and his daughters, too, how handsome they are." Here I blushed,
      and felt most awkwardly, while the king continued.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hope they will remain some time&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You play whist, of course; every Englishman does," said the king. "You
      shall be my partner."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;"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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Lorrequer, I am indeed rejoiced to see you, and when did you arrive."
    </p>
    <p>
      "This evening."
    </p>
    <p>
      "This evening! and how the deuce have you contrived already, eh? why you
      seem quite chez vous here?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You shall hear all," said I hastily, "but is Lady Callonby here?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have his majesty's order to invite your Excellency to dinner
      to-morrow," said the grand Mareschal coming up at this instant.
    </p>
    <p>
      I bowed my acknowledgments, and turned again to Lord Callonby, whose
      surprise now seemed to have reached the climax.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why Lorrequer, I never heard of this? when did you adopt this new
      career?"
    </p>
    <p>
      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, ," and once more returned to the charge,
      enquiring most anxiously for Lady Callonby's health.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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,
    </p>
    <p>
      "Delighted to see you here Lorrequer, but as I can't stay now, promise to
      sup with me to-night at the 'Cross'."
    </p>
    <p>
      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,
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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,
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, we shall have time enough for all this. Now let us hear something
      of my old friend Sir Guy. How is he looking?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am unfortunately unable to give you any account of him. I left Paris
      the very day before he was expected to arrive there."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Expect him. Is he coming here then?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh yes. We shall want him I should think" said Lord Callonby with a very
      peculiar smile.
    </p>
    <p>
      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,
    </p>
    <p>
      "My Lord, you will pardon, I am sure&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      I sank upon a bench&mdash;the light danced before my eyes&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "His majesty desires to know if his excellency is better," said an aide de
      camp.
    </p>
    <p>
      I muttered my most grateful acknowledgments.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;as he added in a lower tone to Lord Callonby, "I
      fear he has been greatly overworked lately&mdash;his exertions on the
      subject of the Greek loan are well known to his majesty."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Indeed," said Lord Callonby, with a start of surprise, "I never heard of
      that before."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch54" id="ch54"></a>CHAPTER LIV.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      A DISCOVERY.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      "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:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "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,
    </p>
    <p>
      "Kilkee."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is true, then," said I&mdash;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&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, Harry," said Kilkee, as he dashed open the door. "Well, Harry, how
      are you, better than last night, I hope?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh yes, considerably. In fact, I can't think what could have been the
      matter with me; but I felt confoundedly uncomfortable."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You did! Why, man, what can you mean; was it not a joke?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "A joke," said I, with a start.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, to be sure. I thought it was only the sequel of the other humbug."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?
    </p>
    <p>
      "Come, come, it's all over now. What the devil could have persuaded you to
      push the thing so far?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And don't remember the Greek Loan&mdash;eh?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "The Greek Loan!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Come, come, I see you are incorrigible; but as breakfast is waiting all
      this time, we shall have your explanations below stairs."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      Lord Callonby was alone in the breakfast-room when we entered, and the
      moment he perceived me called out,
    </p>
    <p>
      "Eh, Lorrequer, you here still? Why, man, I thought you'd have been over
      the frontier early this morning?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Indeed, my lord, I am not exactly aware of any urgent reason for so rapid
      a flight."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;what are you
      alluding to all this while, and for what especial reason do you suggest my
      immediate departure from Munich?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Bless my heart and soul&mdash;you surely cannot mean to carry the thing
      on any further&mdash;you never can intend to assume your ministerial
      functions by daylight?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "My what!&mdash;my ministerial functions."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh no, that were too much&mdash;even though his majesty did say&mdash;that
      you were the most agreeable diplomate he had met for a long time."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I, a diplomate."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "If in any other than that of Harry Lorrequer, my lord, I pledge my
      honour, I am ignorant."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nor the uniform you wore, don't you know what it meant?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "The tailor sent it to my room."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I, the Charge d'Affaires!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "That you did, and a most successful debut you made of it."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your Excellency is, I am rejoiced to find, in good spirits," said Lady
      Callonby, entering and presenting her hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You have heard, Jane, how our friend opened his campaign in Munich last
      night."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, I hope, Mr. Lorrequer, they are only quizzing. You surely could not&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Could not. What he could not&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;your
      acquaintance with it was of a later date, and connected with fewer happy
      associations."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Fewer happy associations&mdash;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&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Kilkee tells me," said Lady Jane, interrupting me shortly, "that Miss
      Bingham is extremely pretty."
    </p>
    <p>
      This was turning my flank with a vengeance; so I muttered something about
      differences of tastes, and continued, "I understand my worthy cousin Guy,
      had the good fortune to make your acquaintance in Paris."
    </p>
    <p>
      It was now her turn to blush, which she did deeply, and said nothing.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, I am sure," said Catherine, "his assistance will be considerable&mdash;particularly
      if his knowledge of art only equals his tact in botany. Don't you think
      so, Jane?"&mdash;But Jane was gone.
    </p>
    <p>
      They left the room to dress, and I was alone&mdash;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;&mdash;my Uncle's arrival&mdash;Lord
      Callonby's familiar manner&mdash;Jane's own confession. All&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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,&mdash;her averted head,&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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,&mdash;You,
      Lady Jane, have nothing to reproach yourself with&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      She turned slowly round, and as the handkerchief fell from her hand,&mdash;her
      features were pale as marble,&mdash;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,&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      I followed them to the door, placed them in the carriage, and was turning
      again towards the house, when Lady Callonby said&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, Mr. Lorrequer, we count upon you&mdash;you must not desert us."
    </p>
    <p>
      I muttered something about not feeling well.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And then, perhaps, the Greek loan is engaging your attention," said
      Catherine; "or, mayhap, some reciprocity treaty is not prospering."
    </p>
    <p>
      The malice of this last sally told, for Jane blushed deeply, and I felt
      overwhelmed with confusion.
    </p>
    <p>
      "But pray come&mdash;the drive will do you good."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your ladyship will, I am certain, excuse"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;much to the
      surprise of Lady Catherine&mdash;and, better than all, evidently to the
      satisfaction of her, to win whose praise I would gladly have risked my
      life.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There," said I, as I placed my fair friend before a delicious little
      madonna of Carl Dolci&mdash;"there is, perhaps, the triumph of colouring&mdash;for
      the downy softness of that cheek&mdash;the luscious depth of that blue eye&mdash;the
      waving richness of those sunny locks, all is perfect&mdash;fortunately so
      beautiful a head is not a monopoly, for he painted many copies of this
      picture."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Quite true," said a voice behind, "and mine at Elton is, I think, if
      anything, better than this."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Guy here!&mdash;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&mdash;Callonby behaved most handsomely&mdash;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"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Pray, how does it stand? Have you any hopes to put all to rights again?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, Harry, I think, with your assistance, much may be done."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      What have I done&mdash;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&mdash;honoured and titled, while I am unknown and unnoticed?&mdash;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?
    </p>
    <p>
      "What a dear old man Sir Guy is," said Catherine, interrupting my sad
      reflections, "and how gallant; he is absolutely flirting with Lady Jane."
    </p>
    <p>
      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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      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!&mdash;if I could but satisfy my doubts on this
      head&mdash;&mdash;What threats of vengeance I muttered, I cannot remember,
      for I was summoned at that critical moment to attend the party to the
      palace.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;and yet that parting, I had destined
      for our last.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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 follow:&mdash;
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <blockquote>
        <p>
          "My Lord&mdash;They are out at last&mdash;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,
        </p>
        <p>
          "Henry ____."
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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____, , 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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      <a name="ch55" id="ch55"></a>CHAPTER LV.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      CONCLUSION.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Another thing, Harry, you may as well mention to your cousin, that Sir
      Guy has complied with every suggestion that he formerly threw out&mdash;he
      will understand the allusion."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And above all things, no more delays. I must leave this for England
      inevitably, and as the ladies will probably prefer wintering in Italy&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh certainly," said my uncle, "the wedding must take place."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And this is all," said I, drawing a long breath, and inwardly uttering a
      short prayer for patience.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "To be sure, and the Elton estates run half the shire with your Gloucester
      property; never was there a more suitable match."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Quite fair, Harry, I perfectly approve of your scruples," so saying, his
      Lordship rose and left the room.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, Harry, and yourself, what is to be done for you, has Callonby
      offered you anything yet?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, is the boy deranged&mdash;decline it&mdash;what have you got in the
      world, that you should refuse such an appointment."
    </p>
    <p>
      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,
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "So be it then, Callonby, and thus do I relinquish one&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It was the chosen dream of all my anticipations," said Lord Callonby,
      "and now Jane's affections only&mdash;but let it pass."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And is there then really no remedy, can nothing be struck out?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nothing."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am not quite so sure, my Lord," said I tremulously.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, no, Lorrequer, you are a ready witted fellow I know, but this passes
      even your ingenuity, besides I have given her my word."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Even so."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Perhaps you might not accede afterwards."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I pledge myself to it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then you must bid higher, uncle, ten thousand won't do, for the bargain
      is well worth the money."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Name your price, boy, and keep your word."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      The suddenness of this rash declaration absolutely stunned them both, and
      then recovering at the same moment, their eyes met.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Fairly caught, Guy" said Lord Callonby, "a bold stroke if it only
      succeeds."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And it shall, by G&mdash;," said my uncle, "Elton is yours, Harry, and
      with seven thousand a year, and my nephew to boot, Callonby won't refuse
      you."
    </p>
    <p>
      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,
    </p>
    <p>
      "With her consent, Lorrequer, you may count upon mine, and faith if truth
      must be told, I always preferred you to the other."
    </p>
    <p>
      What my uncle added, I waited not to listen to; but with one bound sprung
      from the room&mdash;dashed up stairs to Lady Callonby's drawing-room&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <blockquote>
        <p>
          "Dear Lorrequer,
        </p>
        <p>
          "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, ' you'd
          swear it was yourself."&mdash;[Here the laughter of the auditory
          prevented Kilkee proceeding, who, to my utter confusion, resumed after
          a little.]&mdash;"Don't be losing your time making up to Lord
          Callonby's daughter"&mdash;[here came another burst of laughter]&mdash;"they
          say here you have not a chance, and moreover she's a downright flirt."&mdash;["It
          is your turn now, Jane," said Kilkee, scarcely able to proceed.]&mdash;"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."&mdash;[This last sally absolutely
          convulsed all parties.]&mdash;"To be sure Kilkee's a fool, but he is
          no use to you."&mdash;["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.'"
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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&mdash;the next morning I was married.
    </p>
    <p>
      THE END. <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
EBOOK EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS FOR ALL VOLUMES:

A c'est egal, mam'selle, they don't mind these things in France
A rather unlady-like fondness for snuff
A crowd is a mob, if composed even of bishops
Accept of benefits with a tone of dissatisfaction
Accustomed to the slowness and the uncertainty of the law
Air of one who seeks to consume than enjoy his time
Always a pleasure felt in the misfortunes of even our best friend
Amount of children which is algebraically expressed by an X
And some did pray&mdash;who never prayed before
Annoyance of her vulgar loquacity
Brought a punishment far exceeding the merits of the case
Chateaux en Espagne
Chew over the cud of his misfortune
Daily association sustains the interest of the veriest trifles
Dear, dirty Dublin&mdash;Io te salute
Delectable modes of getting over the ground through life
Devilish hot work, this, said the colonel
Disputing "one brandy too much" in his bill
Empty, valueless, heartless flirtation
Ending&mdash;I never yet met the man who could tell when it ended
Enjoy the name without the gain
Enough is as good as a feast
Escaped shot and shell to fall less gloriously beneath champagne
Every misfortune has an end at last
Exclaimed with Othello himself, "Chaos was come again;"
Fearful of a self-deception where so much was at stake
Fighting like devils for conciliation
Finish in sorrow what you have begun in folly
Gardez vous des femmes, and more especially if they be Irish
Green silk, "a little off the grass, and on the bottle"
Had a most remarkable talent for selecting a son-in-law
Had to hear the "proud man's contumely"
Half pleased and whole frightened with the labour before him
Has but one fault, but that fault is a grand one
Hating each other for the love of God
He first butthers them up, and then slithers them down
He was very much disguised in drink
How ingenious is self-deception
If such be a sin, "then heaven help the wicked"
Indifferent to the many rebuffs she momentarily encountered
Involuntary satisfaction at some apparent obstacle to my path
Jaunting-cars, with three on a side and "one in the well"
Least important functionaries took the greatest airs upon them
Levelling character of a taste for play
Listen to reason, as they would call it in Ireland
Memory of them when hallowed by time or distance
Might almost excite compassion even in an enemy
Misfortune will find you out, if ye were hid in a tay chest
Mistaking zeal for inclination
Mistaking your abstraction for attention
My English proves me Irish
My French always shows me to be English
Never able to restrain myself from a propensity to make love
Nine-inside  leathern "conveniency," bumping ten miles an hour
No equanimity like his who acts as your second in a duel
Nothing seemed extravagant to hopes so well founded
Nothing ever makes a man so agreeable as the belief that he is
Now, young ladies, come along, and learn something, if you can
Oh, the distance is nothing, but it is the pace that kills
Opportunely been so overpowered as to fall senseless
Other bottle of claret that lies beyond the frontier of prudence
Packed jury of her relatives, who rarely recommend you to mercy
Pleased are we ever to paint the past according to our own fancy
Profoundly and learnedly engaged in discussing medicine
Profuse in his legends of his own doings in love and war
Rather better than people with better coats on them
Rather a dabbler in the "ologies"
Recovered as much of their senses as the wine had left them
Respectable heir-loom of infirmity
Seems ever to accompany dullness a sustaining power of vanity
Sixteenthly, like a Presbyterian minister's sermon
Stoicism which preludes sending your friend out of the world
Strong opinions against tobacco within doors
Suppose I have laughed at better men than ever he was
Sure if he did, doesn't he take it out o' me in the corns?
That vanity which wine inspires
That "to stand was to fall,"
That land of punch, priests, and potatoes
The divil a bit better she was nor a pronoun
The tone of assumed compassion
The "fat, fair, and forty" category
There are unhappily impracticable people in the world
There is no infatuation like the taste for flirtation
They were so perfectly contented with their self-deception
Time, that 'pregnant old gentleman,' will disclose all
Unwashed hands, and a heavy gold ring upon his thumb
Vagabond if Providence had not made me a justice of the peace
We pass a considerable portion of our lives in a mimic warfare
What will not habit accomplish
What we wish, we readily believe
What we wish we readily believe
When you pretended to be pleased, unluckily, I believed you
Whenever he was sober his poverty disgusted him
Whiskey, the appropriate liquor in all treaties of this nature
Whose paraphrase of the book of Job was refused
Wretched, gloomy-looking picture of woe-begone poverty

</pre>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">















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Complete, by Charles James Lever (1806-1872)

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