The Confessions of Harry Lorrequer — Complete eBook (2024)

The Confessions of Harry Lorrequer — Complete by Charles Lever

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Table of Contents
Section	Page
Start of eBook	1
A WORD OF INTRODUCTION.	1
CHAPTER I.	1
CHAPTER II.	13
CHAPTER III.	23
CHAPTER IV.	30
CHAPTER V.	32
CHAPTER VI.	41
CHAPTER VII.	55
CHAPTER VIII.	62
CHAPTER IX.	67
CHAPTER X.	71
Dublin	76
Volume 2. (Chapters XI. to XVII.)	76
CHAPTER XI.	76
CHAPTER XII.	89
CHAPTER XIII	99
CHAPTER XIV.	109
CHAPTER XV.	120
CHAPTER XVI.	126
CHAPTER XVIb.	133
CHAPTER XVII.	143
THE CONFESSIONS OF HARRY LORREQUER, Vol. 3	146
Dublin	146
Volume 3. (Chapter XVIII-XXIII)	146
CHAPTER XVIII.	146
CHAPTER XIX.	155
CHAPTER XX.	161
CHAPTER XXI.	167
CHAPTER XXII.	171
CHAPTER XXIII.	175
THE CONFESSIONS OF HARRY LORREQUER, Vol. 4	182
Dublin	182
Volume 4. (Chapter XXIV-XXVIII)	182
CHAPTER XXIV.	182
CHAPTER XXV.	191
CHAPTER XXVI.	201
CHAPTER XXVII.	209
CHAPTER XXVIII.	218
THE CONFESSIONS OF HARRY LORREQUER, Vol. 5	224
Dublin	224
Volume 5. (Chapter XXIX-XLI)	224
CHAPTER XXIX.	225
CHAPTER XXX.	231
CHAPTER XXXI.	235
CHAPTER XXXII.	240
CHAPTER XXXIII.	245
CHAPTER XXXIV.	252
CHAPTER XXXV.	261
CHAPTER XXXVI.	266
CHAPTER XXXVII.	270
CHAPTER XXXVIII.	273
CHAPTER XXXIX.	276
CHAPTER XL.	284
CHAPTER XLI.	289
THE CONFESSIONS OF HARRY LORREQUER, v6	291
Dublin	291
Volume 6. (Chapter XLII-LV)	291
CHAPTER XLII.	291
CHAPTER XLIII.	295
CHAPTER XLIV.	297
CHAPTER XLV.	300
CHAPTER XLVI.	304
CHAPTER XLVII.	311
CHAPTER XLVIII.	315
CHAPTER XLIX.	321
CHAPTER L.	328
CHAPTER LI.	338
CHAPTER LII.	341
CHAPTER LIII.	343
CHAPTER LIV.	349
CHAPTER LV.	356
EBOOK EDITOR’S BOOKMARKS FOR ALL VOLUMES:	362

A WORD OF INTRODUCTION.

“Story! God bless you; I have none to tell,sir.”

It is now many—­do not ask me to say howmany—­years since I received from the HorseGuards the welcome intelligence that I was gazettedto an insigncy in his Majesty’s __th Foot, andthat 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 recordof promotions and appointments.

Since then my life has been passed in all the vicissitudesof war and peace. The camp and the bivouac—­thereckless gaiety of the mess-table —­thecomfortless solitude of a French prison—­theexciting turmoils of active service—­thewearisome monotony of garrison duty, I have alikepartaken of, and experienced. A career of thiskind, with a temperament ever ready to go with thehumour of those about him will always be sure of itsmeed of adventure. Such has mine been; and withno greater pretension than to chronicle a few of thescenes in which I have borne a part, and revive thememory of the other actors in them—­some,alas! Now no more—­I have venturedupon these “Confessions.”

If I have not here selected that portion of my lifewhich most abounded in striking events and incidentsmost worthy of recording, my excuse is simply, becausebeing my first appearance upon the boards, I preferredaccustoming myself to the look of the house, whileperforming the “co*ck,” to coming beforethe audience in the more difficult part of Hamlet.

As there are unhappily impracticable people in theworld, who, as Curran expressed it, are never contentto know “who killed the gauger, if you can’tinform them who wore his corduroys”—­toall such I would, in deep humility, say, that withmy “Confessions” they have nothing to do—­Ihave neither story nor moral—­my only pretensionto the one, is the detail of a passion which markedsome years of my life; my only attempt at the other,the effort to show how prolific in hair-breadth ’scapesmay a man’s career become, who, with a warmimagination and easy temper, believes too much, andrarely can feign a part without forgetting that heis acting. Having said thus much, I must oncemore bespeak the indulgence never withheld from atrue penitent, and at once begin my “Confessions.”

CHAPTER I.

ARRIVAL IN CORK—­CIVIC FESTIVITIES—­PRIVATE THEATRICALS.

It was on a splendid morning in the autumn of theyear 181_ that the Howard transport, with four hundredof his Majesty’s 4_th Regt., dropped anchorin the beautiful harbour of Cove; the sea shone underthe purple light of the rising sun with a rich rosyhue, beautifully in contrast with the different tintsof the foliage of the deep woods already tinged withthe brown of autumn. Spike Island lay “sleepingupon 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. Itwas 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 Britishground, many an eye filled, and many a heaving breasttold how full of recollections that short moment was,and how different our feelings from the gay buoyancywith which we had sailed from that same harbour forthe Peninsula; many of our best and bravest had weleft behind us, and more than one native to the landwe were approaching had found his last rest in thesoil of the stranger. It was, then, with a mingledsense of pain and pleasure, we gazed upon that peacefullittle village, whose white cottages lay dotted alongthe edge of the harbour. The moody silence ourthoughts had shed over us was soon broken: thepreparations for disembarking had begun, and I recollectwell to this hour how, shaking off the load that oppressedmy heart, I descended the gangway, humming poor Wolfe’swell-known song—­

“Why,soldiers, why
Shouldwe be melancholy, boys?”

And to this elasticity of spirits—­whetherthe result of my profession, or the gift of God—­asDogberry has it—­I know not—­Iowe the greater portion of the happiness I have enjoyedin a life, whose changes and vicissitudes have equalledmost men’s.

Drawn up in a line along the shore, I could scarcerefrain from a smile at our appearance. Fourweeks on board a transport will certainly not contributemuch to the “personnel” of any unfortunatetherein confined; but when, in addition to this, youtake into account that we had not received new clothesfor three years—­if I except caps for ourgrenadiers, originally intended for a Scotch regiment,but found to be all too small for the long-headedgeneration. Many a patch of brown and grey,variegated the faded scarlet, “of our uniform,”and scarcely a pair of knees in the entire regimentdid not confess their obligations to a blanket. But with all this, we shewed a stout, weather-beatenfront, that, disposed as the passer-by might feelto laugh at our expense, very little caution wouldteach him it was fully as safe to indulge it in hissleeve.

The bells from every steeple and tower rung gailyout a peal of welcome as we marched into “thatbeautiful city called Cork,” our band playing“Garryowen”—­for we had beenoriginally raised in Ireland, and still among ourofficers maintained a strong majority from that landof punch, priests, and potatoes—­the tatteredflag of the regiment proudly waving over our heads,and not a man amongst us whose warm heart did not boundbehind a Waterloo medal. Well—­well! I am now—­alas, that I should say it—­somewhatin the “sear and yellow;” and I confess,after the experience of some moments of high, triumphantfeeling, that I never before felt within me, the sameanimating, spirit-filling glow of delight, as rosewithin my heart that day, as I marched at the headof my company down George’s-street.

We were soon settled in barracks; and then began aseries of entertainments on the side of the civicdignities of Cork, which soon led most of us to believethat we had only escaped shot and shell to fall lessgloriously beneath champagne and claret. I donot believe there is a coroner in the island who wouldhave pronounced but the one verdict over the regiment—­“Killedby the mayor and corporation,” had we so fallen.

First of all, we were dined by the citizens of Cork—­and,to do them justice, a harder drinking set of gentlemenno 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 eightof us on the sick-list for a fortnight; but the climaxof 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 dejeuneat three o’clock in the afternoon, and ending—­Inever yet met the man who could tell when it ended;as for myself, my finale partook a little of the adventurous,and I may as well relate it.

After waltzing for about an hour with one of the prettiestgirls I ever set eyes upon, and getting a tender squeezeof the hand, as I restored her to a most affable-lookingold lady in a blue turban and a red velvet gown whosmiled most benignly on me, and called me “Meejor,”I retired to recruit for a new attack, to a smalltable, where three of ours were quaffing “ponchea la Romaine,” with a crowd of Corkagians aboutthem, eagerly inquiring after some heroes of theirown city, whose deeds of arms they were surpriseddid 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; andas the “ponche” mounted up to my brainI gradually found my acquaintanceship extend to everyfamily and connexion in the country.

“Did ye know Phil Beamish of the 3_th, sir?”said a tall, red-faced, red-whiskered, well-lookinggentleman, who bore no slight resemblance to FeargusO’Connor.

“Phil Beamish!” said I. “IndeedI did, sir, and do still; and there is not a man inthe British army I am prouder of knowing.” Here, by the way, I may mention that I never heardthe name till that moment.

“You don’t say so, sir?” said Feargus—­forso I must call him, for shortness sake. “Hashe any chance of the company yet, sir?”

“Company!” said I, in astonishment. “He obtained his majority three months since. You cannot possibly have heard from lately, or youwould have known that?”

“That’s true, sir. I never heardsince he quitted the 3_th to go to Versailles, I thinkthey call it, for his health. But how did heget the step, sir?”

“Why, as to the company, that was remarkableenough!” said I, quaffing off a tumbler of champagne,to assist my invention. “You know it wasabout four o’clock in the afternoon of the 18ththat Napoleon ordered Grouchy to advance with thefirst and second brigade of the Old Guard and tworegiments of chasseurs, and attack the position occupiedby Picton and the regiments under his command. Well, sir, on they came, masked by the smoke of aterrific discharge of artillery, stationed on a smalleminence to our left, and which did tremendous executionamong our poor fellows—­on they came, Sir;and as the smoke cleared partially away we got a glimpseof them, and a more dangerous looking set I shouldnot desire to see: grizzle-bearded, hard-featured,bronzed fellows, about five-and-thirty or forty yearsof age; their beauty not a whit improved by the redglare thrown upon their faces and along the whole lineby each flash of the long twenty-fours that were playingaway to the right. Just at this moment Pictonrode down the line with his staff, and stopping withina few paces of me, said, ’They’re comingup; steady, boys; steady now: we shall have somethingto do soon.’ And then, turning sharplyround, 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’sBeamish?’—­“Says Picton!”interrupted Feargus, his eyes starting from theirsockets, and his mouth growing wider every moment,as he listed with the most intense interest. “Yes,” said I, slowly; and then, withall the provoking nonchalance of an Italian improvisatore,who always halts at the most exciting point of hisnarrative, I begged a listener near me to fill myglass from the iced punch beside him. Not asound was heard as I lifted the bumper to my lips;all were breathless in their wound-up anxiety to hearof their countryman who had been selected by Picton—­forwhat, too, they knew not yet, and, indeed, at thisinstant I did not know myself, and nearly laughedoutright, for the two of our men who had remainedat the table had so well employed their interval ofease as to become very pleasantly drunk, and were listeningto my confounded story with all the gravity and seriousnessin the world.

“‘Where’s Beamish?’ said Picton. ‘Here, sir,’ said Phil stepping out fromthe line and touching his cap to the general, who,taking him apart for a few minutes, spoke to him withgreat animation. We did not know what he said;but before five minutes were over, there was Phil withthree companies of light-bobs drawn up at our left;their muskets at the charge, they set off at a roundtrot down the little steep which closed our flank. We had not much time to follow their movements, forour own amusem*nt began soon; but I well remember,after repelling the French attack, and standing insquare against two heavy charges of cuirassiers, thefirst 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 capturedtwo of the enemy’s field-pieces, and was ’CaptainBeamish’ on the day after.”

“Long life to him,” said at least a dozenvoices behind and about me, while a general clinkingof decanters and smacking of lips betokened that Phil’shealth with all the honours was being celebrated. For myself, I was really so engrossed by my narrative,and so excited by the “ponche,” that Isaw or heard very little of what was passing around,and have only a kind of dim recollection of beingseized by the hand by “Feargus,” who wasBeamish’s brother, and who, in the fullness ofhis heart, would have hugged me to his breast, ifI had not opportunely been so overpowered as to fallsenseless under the table.

When I first returned to consciousness, I found myselflying exactly where I had fallen. Around melay heaps of slain—­the two of “ours”amongst the number. One of them—­Iremember he was the adjutant—­held in hishand a wax candle (three to the pound). Whetherhe had himself seized it in the enthusiasm of my narrativeof 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 greatsaloon, and through the half open folding-door I couldclearly perceive that the festivities were still continued. The crash of fiddles and French horns, and the trampof feet, which had lost much of their elasticity sincethe entertainments began, rang through my ears, mingledwith the sounds “down the middle,” “handsacross,” “here’s your partner, Captain.” What hour of the night or morning it then was, Icould not guess; but certainly the vigor of the partyseemed little abated, if I might judge from the specimensbefore me, and the testimony of a short plethoric gentleman,who stood wiping his bald head, after conducting hispartner down twenty-eight couple, and who, turningto his friend, said, “Oh, the distance is nothing,but it is the pace that kills.”

The first evidence I shewed of any return to reason,was a strong anxiety to be at my quarters; but howto get there I knew not. The faint glimmeringof sense I possessed told me that “to stand wasto fall,” and I was ashamed to go on all-fours,which prudence suggested.

At this moment I remembered I had brought with memy cane, which, from a perhaps pardonable vanity,I was fond of parading. It was a present fromthe officers of my regiment—­many of them,alas, since dead—­and had a most splendidgold head, with a stag at the top—­the armsof the regiment. This I would not have lostfor any consideration I can mention; and this nowwas gone! I looked around me on every side; Igroped beneath the table; I turned the sleeping sotswho lay about in no very gentle fashion; but, alas,it was gone. I sprang to my feet and only thenremembered how unfit I was to follow up the search,as tables, chairs, lights, and people seemed all rockingand waving before me. However, I succeeded inmaking my way, through one room into another, sometimesguiding my steps along the walls; and once, as I recollect,

seeking the diagonal of a room, I bisected a quadrillewith such ill-directed speed, as to run foul of aCork dandy and his partner who were just performingthe “en avant:” but though I saw themlie tumbled in the dust by the shock of my encounter—­forI had upset them—­I still held on the eventenor of my way. In fact, I had feeling for butone loss; and, still in pursuit of my cane, I reachedthe hall-door. Now, be it known that the architectureof the Cork Mansion House has but one fault, but thatfault is a grand one, and a strong evidence of howunsuited English architects are to provide buildingsfor a people whose tastes and habits they but imperfectlyunderstand—­be it known, then, that thedescent from the hall-door to the street was by a flightof twelve stone steps. How I should ever getdown these was now my difficulty. If Falstaffdeplored “eight yards of uneven ground as beingthree score and ten miles a foot,” with equaltruth did I feel that these twelve awful steps wereworse to me than would be M’Gillicuddy Reeksin the day-light, and with a head clear from champagne.

While I yet hesitated, the problem resolved itself;for, gazing down upon the bright gravel, brilliantlylighted by the surrounding lamps, I lost my balance,and came tumbling and rolling from top to bottom, whereI fell upon a large mass of some soft substance, towhich, in all probability, I owe my life. Ina few seconds I recovered my senses, and what wasmy surprise to find that the downy cushion beneath,snored most audibly! I moved a little to oneside, and then discovered that in reality it was nothingless than an alderman of Cork, who, from his position,I concluded had shared the same fate with myself; therehe 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—­ascarlet gown of office—­with huge velvetcuffs and a great cape of the same material. True courage consists in presence of mind; and heremine came to my aid at once: recollecting theloss I had just sustained, and perceiving that allwas still about me, with that right Peninsular maxim,that reprisals are fair in an enemy’s camp, Iproceeded to strip the slain; and with some littledifficulty—­partly, indeed, owing to myunsteadiness on my legs—­I succeeded in denudingthe worthy alderman, who gave no other sign of lifeduring the operation than an abortive effort to “hip,hip, hurra,” in which I left him, having puton the spoil, and set out on my way the the barrackwith as much dignity of manner as I could assume inhonour of my costume. And here I may mention(en parenthese) that a more comfortable morning gownno man ever possessed, and in its wide luxuriant foldsI revel, while I write these lines.

When I awoke on the following day I had considerabledifficulty in tracing the events of the past evening. The great scarlet cloak, however, unravelled muchof the mystery, and gradually the whole of my careerbecame clear before me, with the single exception ofthe episode of Phil Beamish, about which my memorywas subsequently refreshed—­but I anticipate. Only five appeared that day at mess; and, Lord!What spectres they were!—­yellow as guineas;they called for soda water without ceasing, and scarcelyspoke a word to each other. It was plain thatthe corporation of Cork was committing more havoc amongus than Corunna or Waterloo, and that if we did notchange our quarters, there would be quick promotionin the corps for such as were “seasoned gentlemen.” After a day or two we met again together, and thenwhat adventures were told—­each man hadhis own story to narrate; and from the occurrencesdetailed, one would have supposed years had been passing,instead of the short hours of an evening party. Mine were indeed among the least remarkable; butI confess that the air of vraisemblance produced bymy production of the aldermanic gown gave me the palmabove all competitors.

Such was our life in Cork—­dining, drinnking,dancing, riding steeple chases, pigeon shooting, andtandem driving—­filling up any little intervalthat was found to exist between a late breakfast, andthe time to dress for dinner; and here I hope I shallnot be accused of a tendency to boasting, while Iadd, that among all ranks and degrees of men, andwomen too, there never was a regiment more highly inestimation than the 4_th. We felt the full valueof all the attentions we were receiving; and we endeavoured,as best we might, to repay them. We got up GarrisonBalls and Garrison Plays, and usually performed oneor twice a week during the winter. Here I shoneconspicuously; in the morning I was employed paintingscenery and arranging the properties; as it grew later,I regulated the lamps, and looked after the foot-lights,mediating occasionally between angry litigants, whosejealousies abound to the full as much, in privatetheatricals, as in the regular corps dramatique.Then, I was also leader in the orchestra; and had scarcelyto speak the prologues. Such are the cares ofgreatness: to do myself justice, I did not dislikethem; though, to be sure, my taste for the drama didcost me a little dear, as will be seen in the sequel.

We were then in the full career of popularity. Our balls pronounced the very pleasantest; our playsfar superior to any regular corps that had ever honouredCork with their talents; when an event occurred whichthrew a gloom over all our proceedings, and finallyput a stop to every project for amusem*nt, we hadso completely given ourselves up to. This wasno less than the removal of our Lieutenant-Colonel. After thirty years of active service in the regimenthe then commanded, his age and infirmities, increased

by some severe wounds, demanded ease and repose; heretired from us, bearing along with him the love andregard of every man in the regiment. To theold officers he was endeared by long companionship,and undeviating friendship; to the young, he was inevery respect as a father, assisting by his advice,and guiding by his counsel; while to the men, thebest estimate of his worth appeared in the fact, thatcorporeal 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 circ*mstances of no common difficulty amongstus; but, when I tell, that our new Lieutenant-Colonelwas in every respect his opposite, it may be believedhow little cordiality he met with.

Lieutenant-Colonel Carden—­for so I shallcall him, although not his real name—­hadnot been a month at quarters, when he proved himselfa regular martinet; everlasting drills, continualreports, fatigue parties, and ball practice, and heavenknows what besides, superseded our former morning’soccupation; 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, werepronounced a most disorderly and ill-disciplined regiment,by a Colonel, who had never seen a shot fired butat a review in Hounslow, or a sham-battle in the FifteenAcres. The winter was now drawing to a close—­alreadysome little touch of spring was appearing; as ourlast play for the season was announced, every effortto close with some little additional effort was made;and each performer in the expected piece was nervinghimself for an effort beyond his wont. The Colonelhad most unequivocally condemned these plays; butthat mattered not; they came not within his jurisdiction;and we took no notice of his displeasure, furtherthan sending him tickets, which were as immediatelyreturned as received. From being the chief offender,I had become particularly obnoxious; and he had uponmore than one occasion expressed his desire for anopportunity to visit me with his vengeance; but beingaware of his kind intentions towards me, I took particularcare to let no such opportunity occur.

On the morning in question, then, I had scarcely leftmy quarters, when one of my brother officers informedme that the Colonel had made a great uproar, thatone of the bills of the play had been put up on hisdoor —­which, with his avowed dislike tosuch representations, he considered as intended toinsult him: he added, too, that the Colonel attributedit to me. In this, however, he was wrong—­and,to this hour, I never knew who did it. I hadlittle time, and still less inclination, to meditateupon the Colonel’s wrath—­the theatrehad all my thoughts; and indeed it was a day of nocommon exertion, for our amusem*nts were to concludewith a grand supper on the stage, to which all theelite of Cork were invited. Wherever I went throughthe city—­and many were my peregrinations—­thegreat placard of the play stared me in the fact; andevery gate and shuttered window in Cork, proclaimed,“The part of Othello, byMr. Lorrequer.”

As evening drew near, my cares and occupations wereredoubled. My Iago I had fears for—­’tistrue he was an admirable Lord Grizzle in Tom Thumb—­but then—­then I had to paintthe whole company, and bear all their abuse besides,for not making some of the most ill-looking wretches,perfect Apollos; but, last of all, I was sent for,at a quarter to seven, to lace Desdemona’s stays. Start not, gentle reader—­my fair Desdemona—­she“who might lie by an emperor’s side, andcommand him tasks”—­was no other thanthe senior lieutenant of the regiment, and who wasa great a votary of the jolly god as honest Cassiohimself. But I must hasten on—­I cannotdelay to recount our successes in detail. Letit suffice to say, that, by universal consent, I waspreferred to Kean; and the only fault the most criticalobserver could find to the representative of Desdemona,was a rather unlady-like fondness for snuff. But, whatever little demerits our acting might havedisplayed, were speedily forgotten in a champagnesupper. There I took the head of the table;and, in the costume of the noble Moor, toasted, madespeeches, returned thanks, and sung songs, till I mighthave exclaimed with Othello himself, “Chaoswas come again;”—­and I believe I owemy ever reaching the barrack that night to the kindoffices of Desdemona, who carried me the greater partof the way on her back.

The first waking thoughts of him who has indulgedover-night, was not among the most blissful of existence,and certainly the pleasure is not increased by theconsciousness that he is called on to the dischargeof duties to which a fevered pulse and throbbing templesare but ill-suited. My sleep was suddenly brokenin upon the morning after the play, but a “row-dow-dow”beat beneath my window. I jumped hastily frommy bed, and looked out, and there, to my horror, perceivedthe regiment under arms. It was one of our confoundedcolonel’s morning drills; and there he stoodhimself with the poor adjutant, who had been up allnight, shivering beside him. Some two or threeof the officers had descended; and the drum was nowsummoning the others as it beat round the barrack-square.I saw there was not a moment to lose, and proceededto dress with all despatch; but, to my misery, I discoveredevery where nothing but theatrical robes and decorations—­therelay a splendid turban, here a pair of buskins—­aspangled jacket glittered on one table, and a jewelledscimitar on the other. At last I detected my“regimental small-clothes,” &c. Mostignominiously thrust into a corner, in my ardour formy Moorish robes the preceding evening.

I dressed myself with the speed of lightning; butas I proceeded in my occupation-guess my annoyanceto find that the toilet-table and glass, ay, and eventhe basin-stand, had been removed to the dressing-roomof the theatre; and my servant, I suppose, followinghis master’s example, was too tipsy to rememberto bring them back; so that I was unable to procurethe luxury of cold water—­for now not a momentmore remained—­the drum had ceased, andthe men had all fallen in. Hastily drawing onmy coat, I put on my shako, and buckling on my beltas dandy-like as might be, hurried down the stairsto 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 theiraccoutrements, &c. as he passed down. The coloneland the officers were standing in a group, but no conversing.The anger of the commanding officer appeared stillto continue, and there was a dead silence maintainedon both sides. To reach the spot where theystood, I had to pass along part of the line. In doing so, how shall I convey my amazement at thefaces that met me—­a general titter ranalong the entire rank, which not even their fears forconsequences seemed able to repress—­foran 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 occurrencethoroughly, when free from the presence of the colonel,to whom any representation of ill conduct always broughta punishment far exceeding the merits of the case.

Scarcely had I formed this resolve, when I reachedthe group of officers; but the moment I came near,one general roar of laughter saluted me,—­thelike of which I never before heard—­I lookeddown at my costume, expecting to discover that, inmy hurry to dress, I had put on some of the garmentsof Othello—­No: all was perfectly correct. I waited for a moment, till the first burst of theirmerriment over, I should obtain a clue to the jest. But their mirth appeared to increase. Indeedpoor G——­, the senior major, oneof the gravest men in Europe, laughed till the tearsran down his cheeks; and such was the effect upon me,that I was induced to laugh too—­as menwill sometimes, from the infectious nature of thatstrange emotion; but, no sooner did I do this, thantheir fun knew no bounds, and some almost screamedaloud, in the excess of their merriment; just at thisinstant the Colonel, who had been examining some ofthe men, approached our group, advancing with an airof evident displeasure, as the shouts of loud laughtercontinued. 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. Ifa glance could have annihilated any man, his wouldhave finished me. For a moment his face becamepurple with rage, his eye was almost hid beneath hisbent brow, and he absolutely shook with passion.

“Go, Sir,” said he at length, as soonas he was able to find utterance for his words; “Go,sir, to your quarters; and before you leave them, acourt-martial shall decide, if such continued insultto your commanding officer, warrants your name beingin the Army List.”

“What the devil can all this mean?” Isaid, in a half-whisper, turning to the others. But there they stood, their handkerchiefs to theirmouths, and evidently choking with suppressed laughter.

“May I beg, Colonel C_____,” said I----

“To your quarters, sir,” roared the littleman, in the voice of a lion. And with a haughtywave of his hand, prevented all further attempt onmy part to seek explanation.

“They’re all mad, every man of them,”I muttered, as I betook byself slowly back to my rooms,amid the same evidences of mirth my first appearancehad excited—­which even the Colonel’spresence, feared as he was, could not entirely subdue.

With the air of a martyr I trod heavily up the stairs,and entered my quarters, meditating within myself,awful schemes for vengeance, on the now open tyrannyof my Colonel; upon whom, I too, in my honest rectitudeof heart, vowed to have “a court-martial.” I threw myself upon a chair, and endeavoured to recollectwhat circ*mstance of the past evening could have possiblysuggested all the mirth in which both officers andmen seemed to participate equally; but nothing couldI remember, capable of solving the mystery,—­surelythe cruel wrongs of the manly Othello were no laughter-movingsubject.

I rang the bell hastily for my servant. Thedoor opened.

“Stubbes,” said I, “are you aware”——­

I had only got so far in my question, when my servant,one of the most discreet of men, put on a broad grin,and turned away towards the door to hide his face.

“What the devil does this mean?” saidI, stamping with passion; “he is as bad as therest. Stubbes,” and this I spoke with themost grave and severe tone, “what is the meaningof the insolence?”

“Oh, sir,” said the man; “Oh, sir,surely you did not appear on parade with that face?”and then he burst into a fit of the most uncontrollablelaughter.

Like lightning a horrid doubt shot across my mind. I sprung over to the dressing-glass, which had beenreplaced, and oh: horror of horrors! ThereI stood as black as the king of Ashantee. Thecursed dye which I had put on for Othello, I had neverwashed off,—­and there with a huge bear-skinshako, and a pair of black, bushy whiskers, shone myhuge, black, and polished visage, glowering at itselfin the looking-glass.

My first impulse, after amazement had a little subsided,was to laugh immoderately; in this I was joined byStubbes, who, feeling that his mirth was participatedin, 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 thelaughter of my brother officers, a short time before,had caused an increase of their merriment. Ithrew myself upon a sofa, and absolutely laughed tillmy sides ached, when, the door opening, the adjutantmade his appearance. He looked for a momentat me, then at Stubbes, and then burst out himself,as loud as either of us. When he had at lengthrecovered himself, he wiped his face with his handkerchief,and said, with a tone of much gravity:—­

“But, my dear Lorrequer, this will be a serious—­a devilish seriousaffair. 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 convincedthat you intended to insult him, and nothing will convince him to thecontrary. We told him how it must have occurred, but he will listen tono explanation.”

I thought for one second before I replied, my mind,with the practised rapidity of an old campaigner,took in all the pros and cons of the case; I saw ata glance, it were better to brave the anger of theColonel, come in what shape it might, than be thelaughing-stock of the mess for life, and with a faceof the greatest gravity and self-possession, said,

“Well, adjutant, the Colonel is right. It was no mistake! You know I sent him ticketsyesterday for the theatre. Well, he returnedthem; this did not annoy me, but on one account, Ihad made a wager with Alderman Gullable, that theColonel should see me in Othello—­what wasto be done? Don’t you see, now, there wasonly one course, and I took it, old boy, and havewon my bet!”

“And lost your commission for a dozen of champagne,I suppose,” said the adjutant.

“Never mind, my dear fellow,” I repled;“I shall get out of this scrape, as I have donemany others.”

“But what do you intend doing?”

“Oh, as to that,” said I, “I shall,of course, wait on the Colonel immediately; pretendto him that it was a mere blunder, from the inattentionof my servant—­hand over Stubbes to the powersthat 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 versionto all our fellows, and tell them to make it publicas much as they please.”

“Never fear,” said he, as he left theroom still laughing, “they shall all know thetrue story; but I wish with all my heart you were wellout of it.”

I now lost no time in making my toilet, and presentedmyself at the Colonel’s quarters. It isno pleasure for me to recount these passages in mylife, in which I have had to hear the “proudman’s contumely.” I shall thereforemerely observe, that after a very long interview, theColonel accepted my apologies, and we parted.

Before a week elapsed, the story had gone far andnear; every dinner-table in Cork had laughed at it. As for me, I attained immortal honour for my tactand courage. Poor Gullable readily agreed tofavour the story, and gave us a dinner as the lostwager, and the Colonel was so unmercifully quizzedon the subject, and such broad allusions to his beinghumbugged were given in the Cork papers, that he wasobliged to negociate a change of quarters with anotherregiment, to get out of the continual jesting, andin less than a month we marched to Limerick, to relieve,as it was reported, the 9th, ordered for foreign service,but, in reality, only to relieve Lieut.-Colonel C____,quizzed beyond endurance.

However, if the Colonel had seemed to forgive, hedid not forget, for the very second week after ourarrival in Limerick, I received one morning at mybreakfast-table, the following brief note from ouradjutant:—­

“My Dear Lorrequer—­TheColonel has received orders to despatch two companiesto some remote part of the county Clare; as you have’done the state some service,’ youare selected for the beautiful town of Kilrush,where, to use the eulogistic language of the geographybooks, ’there is a good harbour, and a marketplentifully supplied with fish.’ I have just heard of the kind intention in store foryou, and lose no time in letting you know.

“God give youa good deliverance from the ‘garcons lances,’as the
Moniteur calls the Whiteboys,and believe me ever your’s, Charles
Curzon.”

I had scarcely twice read over the adjutant’sepistle, when I received an official notificationfrom the Colonel, directing me to proceed to Kilrush,then and there to afford all aid and assistance insuppressing illicit distillation, when called on forthat purpose; and other similar duties too agreeableto recapitulate. Alas! Alas! Othello’soccupation: was indeed gone! The next morningat sun-rise saw me on my march, with what appearanceof gaiety I could muster, but in reality very muchchopfallen at my banishment, and invoking sundry thingsupon the devoted head of the Colonel, which he wouldby no means consider as “blessings.”

How short-sighted are we mortals, whether enjoyingall the pump and state of royalty, or marching likemyself at the head of a company of his Majesty’s4_th.

Little, indeed, did I anticipate that the Siberiato which I fancied I was condemned should turn outthe happiest quarters my fate ever threw me into. But this, including as it does, one of the most importantevents of my life, I reserve for another chapter.—­

“What is that place called, Sergeant?”—­“BunrattyCastle, sir,”

“Where do we breakfast?”—­“AtClare Island, sir.”

“March away, boys!”

CHAPTER II.

DETACHMENT DUTY—­THE BURTON ARMS—­CALLONBY.

For a week after my arrival at Kilrush, my life wasone of the most dreary monotony. The rain, whichhad begun to fall as I left Limerick, continued todescend in torrents, and I found myself a close prisonerin the sanded parlour of “mine inn.” At no time would such “durance vile”have been agreeable; but now, when I contrasted itwith all I had left behind at head quarters, it wasabsolutely maddening. The pleasant lounge inthe morning, the social mess, and the agreeable eveningparty, were all exchanged for a short promenade offourteen feet in one direction, and twelve in theother, such being the accurate measurement of my “sallea manger.” A chicken, with legs as blueas a Highlander’s in winter, for my dinner;and the hours that all Christian mankind were devotingto pleasant intercourse, and agreeable chit-chat, spentin beating that dead-march to time, “the Devil’sTattoo,” upon my ricketty table, and forming,between whiles, sundry valorous resolutions to reformmy life, and “eschew sack and loose company.”

My front-window looked out upon a long, straggling,ill-paved street, with its due proportion of mud-heaps,and duck pools; the houses on either side were, forthe 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 sometimestwo tobacco-pipes, placed “saltier-wise,”would appear the only vendible article in the establishment. A more wretched, gloomy-looking picture of woe-begonepoverty, I never beheld.

If I turned for consolation to the back of the house,my eyes fell upon the dirty yard of a dirty inn; thehalf-thatched cow-shed, where two famished animalsmourned their hard fate,—­“chewingthe cud of sweet and bitter fancy;” the chaise,the yellow post-chaise, once the pride and glory ofthe establishment, now stood reduced from its wheels,and ignominiously degraded to a hen-house; on thegrass-grown roof a co*ck had taken his stand, withan air of protective patronage to the feathered inhabitantsbeneath:

“To what baseuses must we come at last.”

That chaise, which once had conveyed the bloomingbride, all blushes and tenderness, and the happy groom,on their honeymoon visit to Ballybunion and its romanticcaves, or to the gigantic cliffs and sea-girt shoresof Moher—­or with more steady pace and becominggravity had borne along the “going judge ofassize,”—­was now become a lying-inhospital for fowl, and a nursery for chickens. Fallen as I was myself from my high estate, it affordedme a species of malicious satisfaction to contemplatethese sad reverses of fortune; and I verily believe—­foron such slight foundation our greatest resolves arebuilt—­that if the rain had continued aweek longer, I should have become a misanthropist forlife. I made many inquiries from my landladyas to the society of the place, but the answers Ireceived only led to greater despondence. My

predecessor here, it seemed, had been an officer ofa veteran battalion, with a wife, and that amountof children which is algebraically expressed by anX (meaning an unknown quantity). He, good man,in his two years’ sojourn here, had been muchmore solicitous about his own affairs, than makingacquaintance with his neighbours; and at last, thefew persons who had been in the habit of calling on“the officer,” gave up the practice; andas there were no young ladies to refresh Pa’smemory on the matter, they soon forgot completelythat such a person existed—­and to this happyoblivion I, Harry Lorrequer, succeeded, and was thusleft without benefit of clergy to the tender merciesof Mrs. Healy of the Burton arms.

As during the inundation which deluged the whole countryaround I was unable to stir from the house, I enjoyedabundant opportunity of cultivating the acquaintanceof my hostess, and it is but fair that my reader,who has journeyed so far with me, should have an introduction.

Mrs. Healy, the sole proprietor of the “BurtonArms,” was of some five and fifty—­“orby’r lady,” three score years, of a rubicundand hale complexion; and though her short neck andcorpulent figure might have set her down as “doublyhazardous,” she looked a good life for many yearsto come. In height and breadth she most nearlyresembled a sugar-hogshead, whose rolling, pitchingmotion, when trundled along on edge, she emulatedin her gait. To the ungainliness of her figureher mode of dressing not a little contributed. She usually wore a thick linsey-wolsey gown, withenormous pockets on either side, and, like Nora Creina’s,it certainly inflicted no undue restrictions uponher charms, but left

“Everybeauty free,
Tosink or swell as heaven pleases.”

Her feet—­ye gods! Such feet—­wereapparelled in listing slippers, over which the upholsteryof her ancles descended, and completely relieved themind of the spectator as to the superincumbent weightbeing disproportioned to the support; I remember wellmy first impression on seeing those feet and anclesreposing upon a straw footstool, while she took herafternoon dose, and I wondered within myself if elephantswere liable to the gout. There are few countenancesin the world, that if wishing to convey an idea of,we cannot refer to some well-known standard; and thusnothing is more common than to hear comparisons with“Vulcan—­Venus—­Nicodemus,”and the like; but in the present case, I am totallyat a loss for any thing resembling the face of theworth Mrs. Healy, except it be, perhaps, that mostancient and sour visage we used to see upon old circulariron rappers formerly—­they make none ofthem now—­the only difference being, thatMrs. Healy’s nose had no ring through it; Iam almost tempted to add, “more’s the pity.”

Such was she in “the flesh;” would thatI could say, she was more fascinating in the “spirit!”but alas, truth, from which I never may depart inthese “my confessions,” constrains me toacknowledge the reverse. Most persons in thismiserable world of ours, have some prevailing, predominatingcharacteristic, which usually gives the tone and colourto all their thoughts and actions, forming what wedenominate temperament; this we see actuating them,now more, now less; but rarely, however, is this greatspring of action without its moments of repose.Not so with her of whom I have been speaking. She had but one passion —­but, like Aaron’srod, it had a most consuming tendency—­andthat was to scold, and abuse, all whom hard fate hadbrought within the unfortunate limits of her tyranny. The English language, comprehensive as it is, affordednot epithets strong enough for her wrath, and she soughtamong the more classic beauties of her native Irish,such additional ones as served her need, and withthis holy alliance of tongues, she had been for yearslong, the dread and terror of the entire village.

“The dawning of morn, the day-light sinking,”ay, and even the “night’s dull hours,”it was said, too, found her labouring in her congenialoccupation; and while thus she continued to “scoldand grow fat,” her inn, once a popular and frequentedone, became gradually less and less frequented, andthe dragon of the Rhine-fells did not more effectuallylay waste the territory about him, than did the evilinfluence of her tongue spread desolation and ruinaround her. Her inn, at the time of my visit,had not been troubled with even a passing travellerfor many months; and, indeed, if I had any, even theleast foreknowledge of the character of my hostess,its privacy should have still remained uninvaded forsome time longer.

I had not been many hours installed, when I got aspecimen of her powers; and before the first weekwas over, so constant and unremitting were her laboursin this way, that I have upon the occasion of a slightlull in the storm, occasioned by her falling asleep,actually left my room to inquire if anything had gonewrong, 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 formy situation—­one more miserable it is difficultto conceive. It may be though that much mightbe done by management, and that a slight exerciseof the favourite Whig plan of concilliation, mightavail. Nothing of the kind. She was proofa*gainst all such arts; and what was still worse, therewas no subject, no possible circ*mstance, no matter,past, present, or to come, that she could not windby 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 societyof the neighbourhood, suggested to her—­awish on my part to make acquaintance—­thereforeto dine out—­therefore not to dine at home—­consequentlyto escape paying half-a-crown and devouring a chicken—­thereforeto defraud her, and behave, as she would herself observe,“like a beggarly scullion, with his four shillingsa day, setting up for a gentleman,” &c.

By a quiet and Job-like endurance of all manner oftaunting suspicions, and unmerited sarcasms, to whichI daily became more reconciled, I absolutely roseinto something like favour; and before the first monthof my banishment expired, had got the length of aninvitation to tea, in her own snuggery—­anhonour never known to be bestowed on any before, withthe exception of Father Malachi Brennan, her ghostlyadviser; and even he, it is said, never ventured onsuch an approximation to intimacy, until he was, inKilrush phrase, “half screwed,” therebymeaning more than half tipsy. From time to timethus, I learned from my hostess such particulars ofthe country and its inhabitants as I was desirous ofhearing; and among other matters, she gave me an accountof the great landed proprietor himself, Lord Callonby,who was daily expected at his seat, within some milesof Kilrush, at the same time assuring me that I neednot be looking so “pleased and curling out mywhiskers;” “that they’d never takethe trouble of asking even the name of me.” This, though neither very courteous, nor altogetherflattering to listen to, was no more than I had alreadylearned from some brother officers who knew this quarter,and who informed me that the Earl of Callonby, thoughonly visiting his Irish estates every three or fouryears, never took the slightest notice of any of themilitary in his neighbourhood; nor, indeed did hemix with the country gentry, confining himself to hisown familyl, or the guests, who usually accompaniedhim from England, and remained during his few weeks’stay. My impression of his lordship was thereforenot calculated to cheer my solitude by any prospectof his rendering ti lighter.

The Earl’s family consisted of her ladyship,an only son, nearly of age, and two daughters; theeldest, Lady Jane, had the reputation of being extremelybeautiful; and I remembered when she came out in London,only the year before, hearing nothing but praisesof the grace and elegance of her manner, united tothe most classic beauty of her face and figure.The second daughter was some years younger, and saidto be also very handsome; but as yet she had not beenbrought into society. Of the son, Lord Kilkee,I only heard that he had been a very gay fellow atOxford, where he was much liked, and although notparticularly studious, had given evidence of talent.

Such were the few particulars I obtained of my neighbours,and thus little did I know of those who were so soonto exercise a most important influence upon my futurelife.

After some weeks’ close confinement, which,judging from my feelings alone, I should have countedas many years, I eagerly seized the opportunity ofthe first glimpse of sunshine to make a short excursionalong the coast; I started early in the morning, andafter 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 withlow clumps of furze, and not presenting on any sidethe least trace of habitation. In wading throughthe tangled bushes, my dog “Mouche” starteda hare; and after a run “sharp, short, and decisive,”killed it at the bottom of a little glen some hundredyards off.

I was just patting my dog, and examining the prize,when I heard a crackling among the low bushes nearme; and on looking up, perceived, about twenty pacesdistant, a short, thick-set man, whose fustian jacketand leathern gaiters at once pronounced him the gamekeeper;he stood leaning upon his gun, quietly awaiting, asit seemed, for any movement on my part, before heinterfered. With one glance I detected how mattersstood, and immediately adopting my usual policy of“taking the bull by the horns,” calledout, in a tone of very sufficient authority,

“I say, my man, are you his lordship’sgamekeeper?”

Taking off his hat, the man approached me, and veryrespectfully informed me that he was.

“Well then,” said I, “present thishare to his lordship with my respects; here is mycard, and say I shall be most happy to wait on himin the morning, and explain the circ*mstance.”

The man took the card, and seemed for some momentsundecided how to act; he seemed to think that probablyhe might be ill-treating a friend of his lordship’sif he refused; and on the other hand might be merely“jockeyed” by some bold-faced poacher. Meanwhile I whistled my dog close up, and hummingan air, with great appearance of indifference, steppedout homeward. By this piece of presence of mindI saved poor “Mouche;” for I saw at aglance, that, with true gamekeeper’s law, hehad been destined to death the moment he had committedthe offence.

The following morning, as I sat at breakfast, meditatingupon the events of the preceding day, and not exactlydetermined how to act, whether to write to his lordshipexplaining 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 couldnot see in the direction the noise came; but as Ilistened, a very handsome tandem turned the cornerof the narrow street, and came along towards the hotelat a long, sling trot; the horses were dark chestnuts,well matched, and shewing a deal of blood. Thecarriage was a dark drab, with black wheels; the harnessall of the same colour. The whole turn-out—­andI was an amateur of that sort of thing—­wasperfect; the driver, for I come to him last, as hewas the last I looked at, was a fashionable lookingyoung fellow, plainly, but knowingly, dressed, andevidently handling the “ribbon,” likean experienced whip.

After bringing his nags up to the inndoor in verypretty style, he gave the reins to his servant, andgot down. Before I was well aware of it, thedoor of my room opened, and the gentleman entered witha certain easy air of good breeding, and saying,

“Mr. Lorrequer, I presume—­”introduced himself as Lord Kilkee.

I immediately opened the conversation by an apologyfor my dog’s misconduct on the day before, andassured his lordship that I knew the value of a harein a hunting country, and was really sorry for thecirc*mstance.

“Then I must say,” replied his lordship,“Mr. Lorrequer is the only person who regretsthe matter; for had it not been for this, it is morethan probable we should never have known we were sonear neighbours; in fact, nothing could equal ouramazement at hearing were playing the ‘Solitaire’down here. You must have found it dreadfullyheavy, ’ad have thought us downright savages.’ But then I must explain to you, that my father hasmade some ‘rule absolute’ about visitingwhen down here. And though I know you’llnot consider it a compliment, yet I can assure youthere is not another man I know of he would pay attentionto, but yourself. He made two efforts to gethere this morning, but the gout ‘would not bedenied,’ and so he deputed a most inferior ‘diplomate;’and now will you let me return with some characterfrom my first mission, and inform my friends thatyou will dine with us to-day at seven—­amere family party; but make your arrangements to stopall night and to-morrow: we shall find some workfor my friend there on the hearth; what do you callhim, Mr. Lorrequer?”

“’Mouche’—­come here,‘Mouche.’”

“Ah ‘Mouche,’ come here, my finefellow—­a splendid dog, indeed; very tallfor a thorough-bred; and now you’ll not forget,seven, ’temps militaire,’ and so, sansadieu.”

And with these words his lordship shook me heartilyby the hand; and before two minutes had elapsed, hadwrapped his box-coat once more across him, and wasround the corner.

I looked for a few moments on the again silent street,and was almost tempted to believe I was in a dream,so rapidly had the preceding moments passed over;and so surprised was I to find that the proud Earlof Callonby, who never did the “civil thing”any where, should think proper to pay attention toa poor sub in a marching regiment, whose only claimon his acquaintance was the suspicion of poaching onhis manor. I repeated over and over all hislordship’s most polite speeches, trying to solvethe mystery of them; but in vain: a thousand explanationsoccurred, 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 somestress upon my identity, and even seemed surprisedat my being is such banishment. “Oh,”thought I at last, “his lordship is about toget up private theatricals, and has seen my CaptainAbsolute, or perhaps my Hamlet”—­Icould not say “Othello” even to myself—­“andis anxious to get ‘such unrivalled talent’even ‘for one night only.’”

After many guesses this seemed the nearest I couldthink of; and by the time I had finished my dressingfor dinner, it was quite clear to me I had solvedall the secret of his lordship’s attentions.

The road to “Callonby” was beautiful beyondany thing I had ever seen in Ireland. For upwardsof two miles it led along the margin of the loftycliffs of Moher, now jutting out into bold promontories,and again retreating, and forming small bays and mimicharbours, into which the heavy swell of the broadAtlantic was rolling its deep blue tide. Theevening was perfectly calm, and at a little distancefrom the shore the surface of the sea was withouta ripple. The only sound breaking the solemnstillness of the hour, was the heavy plash of the waves,as in minute peals they rolled in upon the pebblybeach, 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, mingledwith the din of the breaking surf. In one ofthe many little bays I passed, lay three or four fishingsmacks. The sails were drying, and flapped lazilyagainst the mast. I could see the figures ofthe men as they passed backwards ad forwards uponthe decks, and although the height was nearly eighthundred feet, could hear their voices quite distinctly. Upon the golden strand, which was still marked witha deeper tint, where the tide had washed, stood alittle white cottage of some fisherman—­atleast, so the net before the door bespoke it. Around it, stood some children, whose merry voicesand laughing tones sometimes reached me where I wasstanding. I could not but think, as I lookeddown from my lofty eyrie, upon that little group ofboats, and that lone hut, how much of the “world”to the humble dweller beneath, lay in that secludedand narrow bay. There, the deep sea, where theirdays were passed in “storm or sunshine,”—­there,the humble home, where at night they rested, and aroundwhose hearth lay all their cares and all their joys. How far, how very far removed from the busy hauntsof men, and all the struggles and contentions of theambitious world; and yet, how short-sighted to supposethat even they had not their griefs and sorrows, andthat their humble lot was devoid of the inheritanceof those woes, which all are heirs to.

I turned reluctantly, from the sea-shore to enterthe gate of the park, and my path in a few momentswas as completely screened from all prospect of thesea, as though it had lain miles inland. An avenueof tall and ancient lime trees, so dense in theirshadows as nearly to conceal the road beneath, ledfor above a mile through a beautiful lawn, whose surface,gently undulating, and studded with young clumps, wasdotted over with sheep. At length, descendingby a very steep road, I reached a beautiful littlestream, 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 weredipping, I made a resolve, if I prospered in his lordship’sgood graces, to devote a day to the “angle”there, before I left the country. It was nowgrowing late, and remember Lord Kilkee’s intimation

of “sharp seven,” I threw my reins overmy cob, “Sir Roger’s” neck, (forI had hitherto been walking,) and cantered up the steephill before me. When I reached the top, I foundmyself upon a broad table land, encircled by old andwell-grown timber, and at a distance, most tastefullyhalf concealed by ornamental planting, I could catchsome glimpse of Callonby. Before, however, Ihad time to look about me, I heard the tramp of horses’feet behind, and in another moment two ladies dashedup the steep behind, and came towards me, at a smartgallop, followed by a groom, who, neither himselfnor his horse, seemed to relish the pace of his fairmistresses. I moved off the road into the grassto permit them to pass; but no sooner had they gotabreast of me, than Sir Roger, anxious for a fairstart, flung up both heels at once, pricked up hisears, and with a plunge that very nearly threw me fromthe saddle, set off at top speed. My first thoughtwas for the ladies beside me, and, to my utter horror,I now saw them coming alongin full gallop; their horseshad got off the road, and were, to my thinking, becomequite unmanageable. I endeavoured to pull up,but all in vain. Sir Roger had got the bit betweenhis teeth, a favourite trick of his, and I was perfectlypowerless to hold him by this time, they being mountedon thoroughbreds, got a full neck before me, and thepace was not tremendous, on we all came, each horseat his utmost stretch; they were evidently gainingfrom the better stride of their cattle, and will itbe believed, or shall I venture to acknowledge itin these my confessions, that I, who a moment before,would have given my best chance of promotion, to beable to pull in my horse, would now have “pledgedmy dukedom” to be able to give Sir Roger onecut of the whip unobserved. I leave it to thewise to decipher the rationale, but such is the fact. It was complete steeple-chasing, and my blood wasup.

On we came, and I now perceived that about two hundredyards before me stood an iron gate and piers, withoutany hedge or wall on either side; before I could conjecturethe meaning of so strange a thing in the midst ofa large lawn, I saw the foremost horse, now two orthree lengths before the other, still in advance ofme, take two or three short strides, and fly abouteight feet over a sunk fence—­the secondfollowed in the same style, the riders sitting assteadily as in the gallop. It was now my turn,and I confess, as I neared the dyke, I heartily wishedmyself well over it, for the very possibility of a“mistake” was maddening. Sir Rogercame on at a slapping pace, and when within two yardsof the brink, rose to it, and cleared it like a deer. By the time I had accomplished this feat, not theless to my satisfaction, that both ladies had turnedin the saddles to watch me, they were already far inadvance; they held on still at the same pace, rounda small copse which concealed them an instant frommy view, and which, when I passed, I perceived thatthey had just reached the hall door, and were dismounting.

On the steps stood a tall, elderly-looking, gentleman-likeperson, 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 werestanding, sprung off, and hastened up to make my apologiesas I best might, for my unfortunate runaway. I was fortunately spared this awkwardness of an explanation,for his lordship, approaching me with his hand extended,said—­

“Mr. Lorrequer is most welcome at Callonby. I cannot be mistaken, I am sure—­I havethe pleasure of addressing the nephew of my old friend,Sir Guy Lorrequer of Elton. I am indeed mosthappy to see you, and not the less so, that you aresafe and sound, which, five minutes since, I assureyou I had my fears for—­”

Before I could assure his lordship that my fears wereall for my competitors in the race—­forsuch in reality they were—­he introducedme to the two ladies, who were still standing besidehim—­Lady Jane Callonby; Mr. Lorrequer;Lady Catherine.”

“Which of you, young ladies, may I ask, plannedthis escapade, for I see by your looks, it was noaccident?”

“I think, papa,” said Lady Jane, “youmust question Mr. Lorrequer on that head; he certainlystarted first.”

“I confess, indeed,” said I, “suchwas the case.”

“Well, you must confess, too, you were distanced,”said Lady Jane, at the same time, most terribly provoked,to be quizzed on such a matter; that I, a steeple-chasehorseman of the first water, should be twitted by acouple of young ladies, on the score of a most manlyexercise. “But come,” said his lordship,“the first bell has rung long since, and I amlonging to ask Mr. Lorrequer all about my old collegefriend of forty years ago. So, ladies, hastenyour toilet, I beseech you.”

With these words, his lordship, taking my arm, ledme into the drawing-room, where we had not been manyminutes till we were joined by her ladyship, a tallstately handsome woman, of a certain age; resolutelybent upon being both young and beautiful, in spiteof time and wrinkles; her reception of me, thoughnot possessing the frankness of his lordship, wasstill very polite, and intended to be even gracious. I now found by the reiterated inquiries for my olduncle, Sir Guy, that he it was, and not Hamlet, towhom I owed my present notice, and I must includeit among my confessions, that it was about the firstadvantage I ever derived from the relationship. After half an hour’s agreeable chatting, theladies entered, and then I had time to remark theextreme beauty of their appearance; they were bothwonderfully like, and except that Lady Jane was tallerand more womanly, it would have been almost impossibleto discriminate between them.

Lady Jane Callonby was then about twenty years ofa*ge, rather above the middle size, and slightly disposedtowards embonpoint; her eye was of the deepest andmost liquid blue, and rendered apparently darker, bylong lashes of the blackest jet—­for suchwas the colour of her hair; her nose slightly, butslightly, deviated from the straightness of the Greek,and her upper lip was faultless, as were her mouthand chin; the whole lower part of the face, from theperfect “chiselling,” and from the characterof her head, had certainly a great air of hauteur,but the extreme melting softness of her eyes tookfrom this, and when she spoke, there was a quiet earnestnessin her mild and musical voice, that disarmed you atonce of connecting the idea of self with the speaker;the word “fascinating,” more than anyother I know of, conveys the effect of her appearance,and to produce it, she had more than any other womanI ever met, that wonderful gift, the “l’artde plaire.”

I was roused from my perhaps too earnest, becauseunconscious gaze, at the lovely figure before me,by his Lordship saying, “Mr. Lorrequer, herLadyship is waiting for you.” I accordinglybowed, and, offering my arm, led her into the dinner-room. And here I draw rein for the present, reserving formy next chapter—­My Adventure at Callonby.

CHAPTER III.

LIFE AT CALLONBY—­LOVE-MAKING—­MISS O’DOWD’S ADVENTURE.

My first evening at Callonby passed off as nearlyall first evenings do every where. His lordshipwas most agreeable, talked much of my uncle, Sir Guy,whose fa*g 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 seconddecanter of port “waned apace,” grew wondrousconfidential, and told me of his intention to starthis son for the county at the next general election,such being the object which had now conferred thehonour of his presence on his Irish estates.

Her ladyship was most condescendingly civil, vouchsafedmuch tender commiseration for my “exile,”as she termed my quarters in Kilrush; wondered howI could possibly exist in a marching regiment, (whohad never been in the cavalry in my life!) Spokequite feelingly on my kindness in joining their stupidfamily party, for they were living, to use her ownphrase, “like hermits;” and wound up allby a playful assurance that as she perceived, fromall my answers, that I was bent on preserving a strictincognito, she would tell no tales about me on herreturn to “Town.” Now, it may readilybe believed, that all this, and many more of her ladyship’sallusions, were a “Chaldee manuscript”to me; that she knew certain facts of my family andrelations, was certain; but that she had interwovenin the humble web of my history, a very pretty embroideryof 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 tohear from me, I could not help muttering to myselfwith good Christopher Sly, “And all this be true—­thenLord be thanked for my good amends;” for upto that moment I was an ungrateful man for all thishigh and noble solicitude. One dark doubt shotfor an instant across my brain. Maybe her ladyshiphad “registered a vow” never to syllablea name unchronicled by Debrett, or was actually onlymystifying me for mere amusem*nt. A minute’sconsideration dispelled this fear; for I found myselftreated “en Seigneur” by the whole family. As for the daughters of the house, nothing couldpossibly be more engaging than their manner. The eldest, Lady Jane, was pleased from my near relationshipto her father’s oldest friend to receive me,“from the first,” on the most friendlyfooting; while, with the younger, Lady Catherine,from her being less ‘maniere’ than hersister, my progress was even greater; and thus, beforewe separated for the night, I contrived to “takeup my position” in such a fashion, as to be alreadylooked upon as one of the family party, to which object,Lord and indeed Lady Callonby seemed most willingto contribute, and made me promise to spend the entireof the following day at Callonby, and as many of thesucceeding ones as my military duties would permit.

As his lordship was wishing me “good night”at the door of the drawing-room, he said, in a halfwhisper,

“We were ignorant yesterday, Mr. Lorrequer,how soon we should have had the pleasure of seeingyou here; and you are therefore condemned to a smallroom off the library, it being the only one we caninsure you as being well aired. I must thereforeapprize you that you are not to be shocked at findingyourself surrounded by every member of my family,hung up in frames around you. But as the roomis usually my own snuggery, I have resigned it withoutany alteration whatever.”

The apartment for which his lordship had so stronglyapologized, stood in very pleasing contrast to mylate 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 woodfire burned; the well upholstered fauteuils whichseemed to invite sleep without the trouble of lyingdown for it; and last of all, the ample and luxuriousbed, upon whose rich purple hangings the ruddy glareof the fire threw a most mellow light, was all a pleasingexchange for the “garniture” of the “HotelHealy.”

“Certes, Harry Lorrequer,” said I, asI threw myself upon a small ottoman before the firein all the slippered case, and abandon of a man whohas changed a dress-coat for a morning-gown; “Certes,thou art destined for great things; even here, wherefate had seemed ‘to do its worst’ to thee,a little paradise opens, and what, to ordinary mortalshad 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 perceiveda beautiful water-colour drawing in the style of “Chalon,”which was placed above the chimney-piece. I roseat once, and taking a candle, proceeded to examineit more minutely. It was a portrait of LadyJane, a full-length too, and wonderfully like; therewas more complexion, and perhaps more roundness inthe figure than her present appearance would justify;but if any thing was gained in brilliancy, it wascertainly lost in point of expression; and I infinitelypreferred 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 symmetryand refinement together, which only one in a thousandof even handsome girls possess, was pourtrayed tothe life. The more I looked, the more I feltcharmed with it. Never had I seen any thing sotruly characteristic as this sketch, for it was scarcelymore. It was after nearly an hour’s quietcontemplation, that I began to remember the latenessof the night; an hour, in which my thoughts had rambledfrom the lovely object before me, to wonder at thesituation in which I found myself placed; for therewas so much of “empressem*nt” towards me,in the manner of every member of the family, coupledwith certain mistakes as to my habits and acquaintances,as left me perfectly unable to unravel the mysterywhich so evidently surrounded me. “Perhaps,”thought I, “Sir Guy has written in my behalfto his lordship. Oh, he would never do any thinghalf so civil. Well, to be sure, I shall astonishthem 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 wishI were a marquis, if it were only for her sake. Well, my Lord Callonby, you may be a very wise manin the House of Lords; but, I would just ask, is itexactly prudent to introduce into your family on termsof such perfect intimacy, a young, fascinating, well-lookingfellow, of four-and-twenty, albeit only a subaltern,with two such daughters as you have? Peut etre! One thing is certain—­I have no cause ofcomplaint; and so, good night, Lady Jane”—­andwith those words I fell asleep, to dream of the deepestblue eyes, and the most melting tones that ever reduceda poor lieutenant in a marching regiment to cursehis fate, that he could not call the Commander of theForces his father.

When I descended to the breakfast-room, I found thewhole 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 spoutingpatriotism the day before. He was giving an accountof his progress with much spirit and humour as I entered,but, on seeing me, immediately came forward, and shookhands with me like an old acquaintance. By LordCallonby and the ladies I was welcomed also with muchcourtesy and kindness, ad some slight badinage passedupon my sleeping, in what Lord Kilkee called the “PictureGallery,” which, for all I knew to the contrary,contained but one fair portrait. I am not abeliever in Mesmer; but certainly there must have beensome influence at work—­very like what wehear of “magnetism”—­for beforethe breakfast was concluded, there seemed at onceto spring up a perfect understanding between thisfamily and myself, which made me feel as much ‘chezmoi’, as I had ever done in my life; and fromthat hour I may date an intimacy which every succeedingday but served to increase.

After breakfast Lord Callonby consigned me to theguidance of his son, and we sallied forth to dealdestruction amongst the pheasants, with which thepreserves were stocked; and here I may observe, ‘enpassant’, that with the single exception offox-hunting, which was ever a passion with me, I nevercould understand that inveterate pursuit of game towhich some men devote themselves—­thus, grouse-shooting,and its attendant pleasures, of stumping over a boggymountain from day-light till dark, never had muchattraction for me; and, as to the delights of widgeonand wild-duck shooting, when purchased by sitting upall night in a barrel, with your eye to the bung,I’ll none of it—­no, no! Giveme shooting or angling merely as a divertimento, apleasant interlude between breakfast and luncheon-time,when, consigning your Manton to a corner, and thegame keeper “to the dogs,” you once morehumanize your costume to take a canter with the daughtersof the house; or, if the day look loweringly, a matchof billiards with the men.

I have ever found that the happiest portions of existenceare the most difficult to chronicle. We may—­nay,we must, impart our miseries and annoyances to ourmany “dear friends,” whose forte is sympathyor consolation—­and all men are eloquenton the subject of their woes; not so with their joys:some have a miser-like pleasure in hoarding them upfor their own private gratification; others—­andthey are prudent—­feel that the narrativeis scarcely agreeable even to their best friends; anda few, of whom I confess myself one, are content tobe happy without knowing why, and to have pleasantsouvenirs, without being able to explain them.

Such must be my apology for not more minutely enteringupon an account of my life at Callonby. A fortnighthad now seen me ‘enfonce’, the daily companionof two beautiful girls in all their walks and rides,through a romantic, unfrequented country, seeing butlittle of the other members of the family; the gentlemenbeing entirely occupied by their election tactics,and Lady Callonby being a late riser, seldom appearedbefore the dinner hour. There was not a cliffupon the bold and rocky coast we did not climb, nota cave upon the pebbly beach unvisited; sometimes myfair companions would bring a volume of Metastasiodown to the little river where I used to angle; andthe “gentle craft” was often abandonedfor the heart-thrilling verses of that delightfulpoet. Yes, many years have passed over, andthese scenes are still as fresh in my memory as thoughthey had been of yesterday. In my memory, I say,as for thee

“Quisa si te
Ti sovrerai di me.”

At the end of three weeks the house became full ofcompany, from the garret to the cellar. Countrygentlemen and their wives and daughters came pouringin, on every species of conveyance known since theflood; family coaches, which, but for their yellowpanels, might have been mistaken for hearses, andhigh barouches, the “entree” to which wasaccomplished by a step-ladder, followed each otherin what appeared a never-ending succession; and hereI may note an instance of the anomalous characterof the conveyances, from an incident to which I wasa witness at the time.

Among the visitors on the second day came a maidenlady from the neighbourhood of Ennistimon, Miss ElizabethO’Dowd, the last of a very old and highly respectablefamily in the county, and whose extensive property,thickly studded with freeholders, was a strong reasonfor her being paid every attention in Lord Callonby’spower to bestow; Miss Betty O’Dowd—­forso she was generally styled—­was the verypersonification of an old maid; stiff as a ramrod,and so rigid in observance of the proprieties of femaleconduct, that in the estimation of the Clare gentry,Diana was a hoyden compared to her.

Miss Betty lived, as I have said, near Ennistimon,and the road from thence to Callonby at the time Ispeak of—­it was before Mr. Nimmo—­wasa like the bed of a mountain torrent as a respectablehighway; there were holes that would have made a gravefor any maiden lady within fifty miles; and rocksthickly scattered, enough to prove fatal to the strongestwheels that ever issued from “Hutton’s.” Miss O’Dowd knew this well; she had upon oneoccasion been upset in travelling it—­anda slate-coloured silk dress bore the dye of everyspecies of mud and mire to be found there, for manya year after, to remind her of her misfortune, andkeep open the wound of her sorrow. When, therefore,the invitation to Callonby arrived, a grave councilof war was summoned, to deliberate upon the mode oftransit, for the honour could not be declined, “coute

qui coute.” The chariot was out of thequestion; Nicholas declared it would never reach the“Moraan Beg,” as the first precipice wascalled; the inside car was long since pronounced unfitfor hazardous enterprise; and the only resource left,was what is called in Hibernian parlance, a “low-backedcar,” that is, a car without any back whatever;it being neither more nor less than the common agriculturalconveyance of the country, upon which, a feather bedbeing laid, the farmers’ wives and daughtersare generally conveyed to fairs, wakes, and stations,&c. Putting her dignity, if not in her pocket,at least wherever it could be most easily accommodated,Miss O’Dowd placed her fair self, in all theplenitude of her charms and the grandeur of a “brannew 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 byNicholas, that “It ’id be black dark whenthey reached the house, and the devil a one ’idbe the wiser than if she came in a coach and four.”Nicholas was right; it was perfectly dark on theirarrival at Callonby, and Miss O’Dowd havingdismounted, and shook her plumage, a little crumpledby her half-recumbent position for eight miles, appearedin the drawing-room, to receive the most courteousattentions from Lady Callonby, and from his lordshipthe most flattering speeches for her kindness in riskingherself and bringing her horses on such a dreadfulroad, and assured her of his getting a presentmentthe very next assizes to repair it; “For weintend, Miss O’Dowd,” said he, “tobe most troublesome neighbours to you in future.”

The evening passed off most happily. Miss O’Dowdwas delighted with her hosts, whose character sheresolved to maintain in spite of their reputationfor pride and haughtiness. Lady Jane sang anIrish melody for her, Lady Callonby gave her slipsof a rose geranium she got from the Princess Augusta,and Lord Kilkee won her heart by the performance ofthat most graceful step ’yclept “coverthe buckle” in an Irish jig. But, alas! how short-lived is human bliss, for while this estimablelady revelled in the full enjoyment of the hour, thesword of Damocles hung suspended above her head; inplain English, she had, on arriving at Callonby, toprevent any unnecessary scrutiny into the nature ofher conveyance, ordered Nicholas to be at the doorpunctually at eleven; and then to take an opportunityof quietly slipping open the drawing-room door, andgiving her an intimation of it, that she might takeher leave at once. Nicholas was up to time,and having disposed the conveyance under the shadowof the porch, made his way to the door of the drawing-roomunseen and unobserved. He opened it gently andnoiselessly, merely sufficient to take a survey ofthe apartment, in which, from the glare of the lights,and the busy hum of voices, he was so bewildered thatit 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. Aproud man was Nicholas, as he saw his mistress thusplaced, actually sitting, as he afterwards expressedit, “forenint the Lord,” but his thoughtswere bent on other matters, and it was no time toindulge his vauntings.

He strove for some time patiently, to catch her eye,for she was so situated as to permit of this, butwithout success. He then made a slight attemptto attract her attention by beckoning with his finger;all in vain. “Oh murther,” saidhe, “what is this for? I’ll haveto spake afther all.”

“Four by honours,” said his lordship,“and the odd trick. Another double, Ibelieve, Miss O’Dowd.”

Miss O’Dowd nodded a graceful assent, whilea sharp-looking old dowager at the side of the tablecalled out, “a rubber of four on, my Lord;”and now began an explanation from the whole partyat once. Nicholas saw this was his time, andthought that in the melee, his hint might reach hismistress 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 greatsecrecy, whispered out, “Miss Betty—­MissBetty, alanah!” For some minutes the hum ofthe voices drowned his admonitions—­but as,by degrees waxing warmer in the cause, he called outmore loudly,—­every eye was turned to thespot from whence these extraordinary sounds proceeded;and certainly the appearance of Nicholas at the momentwas well calculated to astonish the “elegans”of a drawing room. With his one eye fixed eagerlyin the direction of his mistress, his red scratchwig pushed back off his forehead, in the eagernessof his endeavour to be heard, there he stood, perfectlyunmindful of all around, save Miss O’Dowd herself. It may well be believed, that such an apparitioncould not be witnessed with gravity, and, accordinglya general titter ran through the room, the whist partystill contending about odd tricks and honours, beingthe only persons insensible to the mirth around them—­“MissBetty, arrah, Miss Betty,” said Nicholas witha sigh that converted the subdued laughter of theguests into a perfect burst of mirth.

“Eh,” said his lordship, turning round;“what is this? We are losing somethingexcellent, I fear.”

At this moment, he caught a glimpse of Nicholas, and,throwing himself back in this chair, laughed immoderately. It was now Miss Betty’s turn; she was aboutto rise from the table, when the well-known accentsof Nicholas fell upon her ear. She fell backin her seat—­there he was: the messengerof the foul fiend himself would have been more welcomeat that moment. Her blood rushed to her faceand temples; her hands tingled; she closed her eyes,and when she opened them, there stood the accursedNicholas glowering at her still.

“Man—­man!” said she at length;“what do you mean, what do you want here?”

Poor Nicholas, little guessing that the question wasintended to throw a doubt upon her acquaintance withhim, and conceiving that the hour for the announcementhad come, hesitated for an instant how he should designatethe conveyance. He could not call it a coach! It certainly was not a buggy—­neither wasit a jaunting car—­what should he say—­helooked earnestly, and even imploringly at his mistress,as if to convey some sense of his difficulty, andthen, as it were, catching a sudden inspiration, winkedonce more—­as he said:—­

“Miss Betty—­the—­the—­the—­,”and here he looked indescribably droll; “thething, you know, is at the door.”

All his Lordship’s politeness was too littlefor the occasion, and Miss O’Dowd’s tenantrywere lost to the Callonby interest for ever.

CHAPTER IV.

Botanical studies—­the naturalsystem preferable to the LINNEAN.

“The carriage is at the door, my lord,”said a servant, entering the luncheon-room where wewere all assembled.

“Now then, Mr. Lorrequer,” said Lord Callonby,“allons, take another glass of wine, and letus away. I expect you to make a most brilliantspeech, remember!”

His lordship here alluded to our intention of visitinga remote barony, where a meeting of the freeholderswas that day to be held, and at which I was pledgedfor a “neat and appropriate” oration inabuse of the corn laws and the holy alliance.

“I beg pardon, my lord,” said her ladyshipin a most languishing tone; “but Mr. Lorrequeris pre-engaged; he has for the last week been promisingand deterring his visit to the new conservatory withme; where he is to find out four or five of the Swissshrubs that Collins cannot make out—­andwhich I am dying to know all about.”

“Mr. Lorrequer is a false man then,” saidLady Catherine, “for he said at breakfast, thatwe should devote this afternoon to the chalk caves—­asthe tide will be so far out, we can see them all perfectly.”

“And I,” said Lord Kilkee, “mustput in my plea, that the aforesaid Mr. Lorrequer isbooked for a coursing match—­’Moucheversus Jessie.’—­Guilty or not guilty?”

Lady Jane alone of all said not a word.

“Guilty on every count of the indictment,”said I; “I throw myself on the mercy of thecourt.”

“Let his sentence then be banishment,”said Lady Catherine with affected anger, “andlet him go with papa.”

“I rather think,” said Lord Kilkee, “thebetter plan is to let him visit the conservatory,for I’d wager a fifty he finds it more difficultto invent botany, than canvass freeholders; eh?”

“I am sure,” said Lady Jane, for the firsttime breaking silence, “that mamma is infinitelyflattered by the proposal that Mr. Lorrequer’scompany is to be conferred upon her for his sins.”

“I am not to be affronted, nor quizzed out ofmy chaperon; here, Mr. Lorrequer,” said LadyCallonby rising, “get Smith’s book there,and let me have your arm; and now, young ladies, comealong, and learn something, if you can.”

“An admirable proviso,” said Lord Kilkee,laughing; “if his botany be only as authenticas the autographs he gave Mrs. MacDermot, and all ofwhich he wrote himself, in my dressing-room, in halfan hour. Napoleon was the only difficult onein the number.”

Most fortunately this unfair disclosure did not reachher ladyship’s ears, as she was busily engagedputting on her bonnet, and I was yet unassailed inreputation to her.

“Good bye, then,” said Lord Callonby;“we meet at seven;” and in a few momentsthe little party were scattered to their several destinations.

“How very hot you have this place, Collins,”said Lady Callonby as we entered the conservatory.

“Only seventy-five, my lady, and the Magnoliasrequire heat.”

I here dropped a little behind, as if to examine aplant, and in a half-whisper said to Lady Jane—­

“How came it that you alone, Lady Jane, shouldforget I had made another appointment? I thoughtyou wished to make a sketch of Craigmoran Abbey —­didyou forget that we were to ride there to-day?”

Before she could reply, Lady Callonby called out—­“Oh,here it is, Mr. Lorrequer. Is this a heath?that is the question.”

Here her ladyship pointed to a little scrubby thing,that looked very like a birch rod. I proceededto examine it most minutely, while Collins waitedwith all the intense anxiety of a man whose characterdepended on the sentence.

“Collins will have it a jungermania,”said she.

“And Collins is right,” said I, not trustingmyself with the pronunciation of the awful word herladyship uttered.

Collins looked ridiculously happy.

“Now that is so delightful,” said LadyCallonby, as she stopped to look for another puzzle.

“What a wretch it is,” said Lady Catherine,covering her face with a handkerchief.

“What a beautiful little flower,” saidLady Jane, lifting up the bell of a “lobeliasplendens.”

“You know, of course,” said I, “whatthey call that flower in France —­L’amourtendre.”

“Indeed!”

“True, I assure you; may I present you withthis sprig of it,” cutting off a small twig,and presenting it at the same instant unseen by theothers.

She hesitated for an instant, and then extending herfair and taper hand took it. I dared not lookat her as she did so, but a proud swelling triumphat my heart nearly choked me.

“Now Collins,” said Lady Callonby, “Icannot find the Alpen tree I brought home from theGrundenwald.”

Collins hurried forward to her ladyship’s side.

Lady Catherine was also called to assist in the search.

I was alone with Lady Jane.

“Now or never,” thought I; I hesitated—­Istammered—­my voice faltered. She sawmy agitation; she participated in, and increased it. At last I summoned up courage to touch her hand;she gently withdrew it—­but so gently, itwas not a repulse.

“If Lady Jane,” said I at length, “ifthe devoted—­”

“Holloa, there,” said a deep voice without;“is Mr. Lorrequer there?”

It was Lord Kilkee, returned from his coursing match. None but he who has felt such an interruption, canfeel for me. I shame to say that his brotherhoodto her, for whom I would have perilled my life, restrainedme not from something very like a hearty commendationof him to the powers that burn—­

“Down, dogs, there—­down,” continuedhe, and in a moment after entered the conservatoryflushed and heated with the chace.

“Mouche is the winner—­two to one—­andso, Master Shallow, I owe you a thousand pounds.”

Would to heaven that I had lost the wager, had itonly taken a little longer to decide it! I ofcourse appeared overjoyed at my dog’s success,and listened with great pretence of interest to thenarrative of the “run;” the more so, becausethat though perhaps more my friend than the oldermembers of the family, Lord Kilkee evidently likedless 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 penetrationwould have enabled him to detect that something unusualhad taken place.

It was now so nearly dark, that her ladyship’sfurther search for the alpine treasure became impossible,and so we turned our steps towards the garden, wherewe 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 tookbut little part; and I had the mortification to perceivethat Lady Jane was excessively ‘ennuyee’,and seized the first opportunity to leave the partyand return to the house; while her sister gave mefrom time to time certain knowing glances, as if intimatingthat my knowledge of farming and political economywas pretty much on a par with my proficiency in botany.

One has discovered me at least, thought I; but thebell had rung to dress for dinner, and I hastenedto my room to think over future plans, and once morewonder at the singular position into which fate andthe “rules of the service” had thrownme.

CHAPTER V.

PUZZLED—­EXPLANATION—­MAKES BAD WORSE—­THE DEED

“Any letters?” said her ladyship to aservant, as she crossed the hall,”

“Only one, my lady—­for Mr. Lorrequer,I believe.”

“For me!” thought I; “how is this?” My letters had been hitherto always left in Kilrush. Why was this forwarded here? I hurried to thedrawing-room, where I found a double letter awaitingme. The writing was Curzon’s and containedthe words “to be forwarded with haste”on the direction. I opened and read as follows:—­

“Dear Lorrequer,—­Have you any recollection,among your numerous ‘escapades’ at Cork,of having grievously insulted a certain Mr. GilesBeamish, in thought, word, or deed? If you have,I say, let me know with all convenient despatch, whetherthe offence be one admitting of apology —­forif not, the Lord have mercy on your soul—­amore wrothy gentleman than the aforesaid, it havingrarely been my evil fortune to foregather with. He called here yesterday to inquire your address,and at my suggestion wrote a note, which I now enclose. I write in great haste, and am ever yours faithfully, C. Curzon.

“N.B.—­I have not seen his note, soexplain all and every thing.”

The inclosed letter ran thus:

“Sir,—­It can scarcely have escapedyour memory, though now nearly two months since, thatat the Mayor’s ‘dejeune’ in Cork,you were pleased to make merry at my expense, andexpose me and my family for your amusem*nt. Thisis to demand an immediate apology, or that satisfactionwhich, as an officer, you will not refuse your mostobedient servant, Giles Beamish, Swinburne’sHotel.”

“Giles Beamish! Giles Beamish!”said I, repeating the name in every variety of emphasis,hoping to obtain some clue to the writer. HadI been appointed the umpire between Dr. Wall and hisreviewers, in the late controversy about “phoneticsigns,” I could not have been more completelypuzzled than by the contents of this note. “Makemerry at his expense!” a great offence truly—­Isuppose I have laughed at better men than ever hewas; and I can only say of such innocent amusem*nt,as Falstaff did of sack and sugar, if such be a sin,“then heaven help the wicked.” ButI wish I knew who he is, or what he alludes to, providedhe is not mad, which I begin to think not improbable. By the bye, my Lord, do you know any such personin the south as a Mr. Beamish—­Giles Beamish?”

“To be sure,” said Lord Callonby, lookingup from his newspaper, “there are several ofthe name of the highest respectability. One isan alderman of Cork—­a very rich man, too—­butI don’t remember his Christian name.”

“An alderman, did you say?”

“Yes. Alderman Beamish is very well known. I have seen him frequently —­a short florid,little man.”

“Oh, it must be him,” said I, musingly,“it must have been this worthy alderman, fromwhose worshipful person I tore the robe of office onthe night of the fete. But what does he meanby ’my exposing him and his family?’ Why, zounds, his wife and children were not with himon the pavement. Oh, I see it; it is the mansion-houseschool of eloquence; did not Sir William Curtis apologisefor not appearing at court, from having lost an eye,which he designated as an awful ‘domestic calamity.’”

It being now settled to my satisfaction, that Mr.Beamish and the great uncloaked were “convertibleterms,” I set about making the ‘amende’in the most handsome manner possible. I wroteto the alderman a most pacific epistle, regrettingthat my departure from Cork deprived me of makingreparation before, and expressing a most anxious hopethat “he caught no cold,” and a ferventwish that “he would live many years to graceand ornament the dignity of which his becoming costumewas the emblem.” This I enclosed in anote 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 wouldfind in my dressing-room. Having folded and sealedthis 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 duringthe evening. The next morning I set out withLord Callonby on the long-threatened canvassing expedition—­withthe details of which I need not burden my “Confessions.” Suffice it to say, that when Lord Kilkee was advocatingToryism in the west, I, his accredited ambassador,was devoting to the infernal gods the prelacy, thepeerage, and the pension list—­a mode ofcanvass well worthy of imitation in these troublesometimes; for, not to speak of the great prospect of successfrom having friends on both sides of the question,the principal can always divest himself of any unpleasantconsequences as regards inconsistency, by throingthe blame on this friend, “who went too far,”as the appropriate phrase is.

Nothing could be more successful than our mission. Lord Callonby was delighted beyond bounds with theprospect, and so completely carried away by high spirits,and so perfectly assured that much of it was owingto my exertions, that on the second morning of ourtour—­for we proceeded through the countyfor three days—­he came laughing into mydressing-room, with a newspaper in his hand.

“Here, Lorrequer,” said he, “here’snews for you. You certainly must read this,”and he handed me a copy of the “Clare Herald,”with an account of our meeting the evening before.

After glancing my eye rapidly over the routine usualin such cases —­Humph, ha—­nearlytwo hundred people—­most respectable farmers—­roomappropriately decorated—­“CallonbyArms”—­“after the usual loyaltoasts, the chairman rose”—­Well,no matter. Ah! here it is: “Mr. Lorrequerhere addressed the meeting with a flow of eloquenceit has rarely, if ever, been our privilege to hearequalled. He began by”—­humph—­

“Ah,” said his lordship, impatiently,“you will never find it out—­lookhere—­’Mr. Lorrequer, whom we havementioned as having made the highly exciting speech,to be found in our first page, is, we understand, theson of Sir Guy Lorrequer, of Elton, in Shropshire—­oneof the wealthiest baronets in England. If rumourspeak truly, there is a very near prospect of an alliancebetween this talented and promising young gentleman,and the beautiful and accomplished daughter of a certainnoble earl, with whom he has been for some time domesticated.”

“Eh, what think you? Son of Sir Guy Lorrequer. I always thought my old friend a bachelor, but yousee the ‘Clare Herald’ knows better. Not to speak of the last piece of intelligence, itis very good, is it not?”

“Capital, indeed,” said I, trying to laugh,and at the same time blushing confoundedly, and lookingas ridiculously as need be.

It now struck me forcibly that there was somethingextremely odd in his lordship’s mention of thisparagraph, particularly when coupled with his andLady Callonby’s manner to me for the last twomonths. They knew enough of my family, evidently,to be aware of my station and prospects —­orrather my want of both—­and yet, in the faceof this, they not only encouraged me to prolong amost delightful visit, but by a thousand daily anddangerous opportunities, absolutely threw me in theway of one of the loveliest of her sex, seeminglywithout fear on their parts. “‘Eh bien,’”thought I, with my old philosophy, “Time, that‘pregnant old gentleman,’ will discloseall, and so ‘laisse, aller.’”

My reveries on my good and evil fortune were suddenlyinterrupted 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 wonderingnot a little what pressing emergency had called forththe words on the cover—­“to be forwardedwith haste.” I eagerly broke the sealand read the following:

“My Dear Harry,—­I received yourson the 11th, and immediately despatched your noteand the raiment to Mr. Beamish. He was from homeat the time, but at eight o’clock I was sentfor from the mess to see two gentlemen on most pressingbusiness. I hurried to my quarters, and therefound the aforesaid Mr. B. accompanied by a friend,whom he introduced as Dr. De Courcy Finucane, of theNorth Cork Militia—­as warlike looking agentleman, of his inches, some five feet three, asyou would wish to see. The moment I appeared,both rose, and commenced a narrative, for such I judgeit to be, but so energetically and so completely together,that I could only bow politely, and at last requestthat one, or the other, would inform me of the objectof their visit. Here began the tug of war, theDoctor saying, ’Arrah, now Giles’—­Mr.Beamish interrupting by ’Whisht, I tell ye—­now,can’t you let me! Ye see, Mr. Curzoin’—­forso they both agreed to designate me. At last,completely worn out, I said, ‘Perhaps you havenot received my friend’s note?’ At thisMr. Beamish reddened to the eyes, and with the greatestvolubility poured forth a flood of indignant eloquence,that I thought it necessary to check; but in thisI failed, for after informing me pretty clearly, thathe knew nothing of your story of the alderman, orhis cloak, added, that he firmly believed your pretendedreparation was only a renewed insult, and that—­butin a word, he used such language, that I was compelledto take him short; and the finale is, that I agreedyou should meet him, though still ignorant of whathe calls the ’original offence.’—­Butheaven knows, his conduct here last night demandsa reprimand, and I hope you may give it; and if youshoot him, we may worm out the secret from his executors. Nothing could exceed the politeness of the partieson my consenting to this arrangement. Dr. Finucaneproposed Carrigaholt, as the rendezvous, about 12miles, I believe, from Kilrush, and Tuesday eveningat six as the time, which will be the very earliestmoment we can arrive there. So, pray be up totime, and believe me yours, C. Curzon, Saturday Evening.”

It was late on Monday evening when this letter reachedme, and there was no time to be lost, as I was thenabout 40 Irish miles from the place mentioned by Curzon;so after briefly acquainting Lord Callonby that Iwas called off by duty, I hurried to my room to packmy clothes, and again read over this extraordinaryepistle.

I confess it did appear something droll, how completelyCurzon seemed to imbibe the passion for fighting fromthese “blood-thirsty Irishmen.” Forby his own showing he was utterly ignorant of my everhaving offended this Mr. Beamish, of whom I recollectednothing whatever. Yet when the gentleman waxeswrothy, rather than inconvenience him, or perhaps anxiousto get back to the mess, he coolly says, “Oh,my friend shall meet you,” and then his pleasantjest, “find out the cause of quarrel from hisexecutors!”

Truly, thought I, there is no equanimity like hiswho acts as your second in a duel. The gentlemanlikeurbanity with which he waits on the opposite friend—­theconciliating tone with which he proffers implacableenmity—­the killing kindness with which herefuses all accommodation—­the Talleyrandair of his short notes, dated from the “Travellers,”or “Brookes,” with the words 3 o’clockor 5 o’clock on the cover, all indicative ofthe friendly precipitancy of the negociation. Then, when all is settled, the social style withwhich he asks you to take a “cutlet” withhim at the “Clarendon,” not to go home—­areonly to be equalled by the admirable tact on the ground—­thestudiously elegant salute to the adverse party, halfa la Napoleon, and half Beau Brummell —­thepolitely offered snuff-box—­the coquettingraillery about 10 paces or 12—­are certainlythe beau ideal of the stoicism which preludes sendingyour friend out of the world like a gentleman.

How very often is the face of external nature at variancewith the thoughts and actions—­“thesayings and doings” we may be most intent uponat the moment. How many a gay and brilliant bridalparty has wended its way to St. George’s, Hanover-square,amid a downpour of rain, one would suppose sufficientto quench the torch of Hymen, though it burned asbrightly as Capt. Drummond’s oxygen light;and on the other hand, how frequently are the bluestazure of heaven and the most balmy airs shed uponthe heart bursting with affliction, or the head bowedwith grief; and without any desire to impugn, as amuch high authority has done, the moral characterof the moon, how many a scene of blood and rapine hasits mild radiance illumined. Such reflectionsas these came thronging to my mind, as on the afternoonof Tuesday I neared the little village of our rendezvous.

The scene which in all its peaceful beauty lay beforeme, was truly a bitter contrast to the occasion thatled me thither. I stood upon a little peninsulawhich 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—­thebeautiful island of Scattery, with its picturesqueruins reflected in the unrippled tide—­thecheerful voices of the reapers, and the merry laughof the children were mingled with the seaman’scry of the sailors, who were “heaving short”on their anchor, to take the evening tide. Thevillage, which consisted of merely a few small cabins,was still from its situation a pleasing object in thepicture, and the blue smoke that rose in slender columnsfrom the humble dwellings, took from the scene itscharacter of loneliness, and suggested feelings ofhome and homely enjoyments, which human habitations,however, lowly, never fail to do.

“At any other time,” thought I, “andhow I could have enjoyed all this, but now—­and,ha, I find it is already past five o’clock, andif I am rightly informed I am still above a mile from‘Carrigaholt,’ where we were to meet.”

I had dismissed my conveyance when nearing the village,to avoid observation, and now took a foot-path overthe hills. Before I had proceeded half a mile,the scene changed completely. I found myselftraversing a small glen, grown over with a low oakscrub, and not presenting, on any side, the slightesttrace of habitation. I saw that the ground hadbeen selected by an adept. The glen, which grewnarrow as I advanced, suddenly disclosed to my viewa glimpse of the Atlantic, upon which the decliningsun was pouring a flood of purple glory. I hadscarcely turned from the contemplation of this beautifulobject, 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 figuresstanding beside the ruin of an old Abbey, which I nowfor the first time perceived.

If I had entertained any doubt as to who they were,it had been speedily resolved, for I now saw one ofthe party waving his hat to me, whom, I soon recognizedto be Curzon; he came forward to meet me, and, in thefew hundred yards that intervened before our reachingthe others, told me as much as he knew of the oppositeparty; which, after all, was but little. Mr.Beamish, my adversary, he described as a morose, fire-eatingsouthern, that evidently longed for an “affair”with a military man, then considered a circ*mstanceof some eclat in the south; his second, the doctor,on the contrary, was by far “the best of thecut-throats,” a most amusing little personage,full of his own importance, and profuse in his legendsof his own doings in love and war, and evidently disposedto take the pleasing side of every occurrence in life;they both agreed in but one point—­a firmand fixed resolve to give no explanation of the quarrelwith me. “So then,” said I, as Curzonhurried over the preceding account, “you absolutelyknow nothing whatever of the reason for which I amabout to give this man a meeting.”

“No more than you,” said Curzon, withimperturbable gravity; “but one thing I am certainof—­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 thoughtit best—­”

“Oh, certainly, quite right; but now are youquite certain I am the man who offended him? For I solemnly assure you, I have not the most remoterecollection of having ever heard of him.”

“That point,” said Curzon, “therecan be no doubt of, for he not only designated youas Mr. Harry Lorrequer, but the gentleman that madeall Cork laugh so heartily, by his representationof Othello.”

“Stop!” said I, “say not a wordmore; I’m his man.”

By this time we had reached the ruins, and turninga corner came in full contact with the enemy; theyhad been resting themselves on a tombstone as we approached.

“Allow me,” said Curzon, stepping a littlein advance of me; “allow me to introduce myfriend Mr. Lorrequer, Dr. Finicane,—­Dr.Finicane, Mr. Lorrequer.”

“Finucane, if quite agreeable to you; Finucane,”said the little gentleman, as he lifted his hat straightoff his head, and replaced it most accurately, byway of salute. “Mr. Lorrequer, it is withsincere pleasure I make your acquaintance.” Here Mr. Beamish bowed stiffly, in return to my salutation,and at the instant a kind of vague sensation crossedmy mind, that those red whiskers, and that fiery facewere not seen for the first time; but the thumbscrewsof the holy office would have been powerless to refreshmy memory as to when.

“Captain,” said the doctor, “mayI request the favour of your company this way, oneminute;” they both walked aside; the only wordswhich reached me as I moved off, to permit their conference,being an assurance on the part of the doctor, “thatit was a sweet spot he picked out, for, by havingthem placed north and south, neither need have a patchof sky behind him.” Very few minutes sufficedfor preliminaries, and they both advanced, smirkingand smiling, as if they had just arranged a new planfor the amelioration of the poor, or the benefit ofthe manufacturing classes, instead of making preparationsfor sending a gentleman out of the world.

“Then if I understand you, captain,” saidthe doctor, “you step the distance, and I givethe word.”

“Exactly,” said Curzon.

After a joking allusion to my friend’s lengthof limb, at which we all laughed heartily, we wereplaced, Curzon and the doctor standing and breakingthe line between us; the pistols were then put intoour hands, the doctor saying—­“Now,gentlemen, I’ll just retire six paces, and turnround, which will be quite time enough to prepare,and at the word ‘fire,’ ye’ll blazeaway; mind now.” With a knowing wink, thedoctor delivered this direction, and immediately movedoff; the word “fire” followed, and bothpistols went off together. My hat was strucknear the top, and, as the smoke cleared away, I perceivedthat my ball had taken effect upon my adversary; hewas wounded a little below the knee and appeared tosteady himself with the greatest difficulty. “You friend is hit,” said Curzon, to thedoctor, who now came forward with another pistol. “You friend is hit.”

“So I perceive,” said he, placing hisfinger on the spot; “but it is no harm in life;so we proceed, if you please.”

“You don’t mean to demand another shot?”said Curzon.

“Faith, do I,” said the doctor coolly.

“Then,” said Curzon, “I must tellyou most unequivocally, I refuse, and shall now withdrawmy friend; and had it not been for a regulation peculiarto our regiment, but never intended to include casesof this nature, we had not been here now; for up tothis hour my principal and myself are in utter ignoranceof any cause of offence ever having been offered byhim to Mr. Beamish.”

“Giles, do you hear this?” said the doctor.

But Giles did not hear it, for the rapid loss of bloodfrom his wound had so weakened him, that he had fainted,and now lay peaceably on the grass. Etiquettewas now at an end, and we all ran forward to assistthe wounded man; for some minutes he lay apparentlyquite senseless, and when he at last rallied and lookedwildly about him, it appeared to be with difficultythat he recalled any recollection of the place, andthe people around him; for a few seconds he fixedhis eyes steadily upon the doctor, and with a lippale and bloodless, and a voice quivering from weakness,said,

“Fin! Didn’t I tell ye, that pistolalways threw high—­oh!” and this hesaid 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 goodtalking now.”

In my inmost heart I was grateful to the little doctorfor his mistake, for I plainly perceived what “thesaw-handled one he was used to” might have donefor me, and could not help muttering to myself withgood Sir Andrew—­“If I had known hewas so cunning of fence, I’d have seen him damnedbefore that I fought with him.”

Our first duty was now to remove the wounded man tothe high road, about which both he himself and hissecond seemed disposed to make some difficulty; theyspoke together for a few moments in a low tone of voice,and then the doctor addressed us—­“Wefeel, gentlemen, this is not a time for any concealment;but the truth is, we have need of great circ*mspectionhere, for I must inform you, we are both of us boundover in heavy recognizances to keep the peace.”

“Bound over to keep the peace!” said Curzonand myself together.

“Nothing less; and although there is nobodyhereabout would tell, yet if the affair got into thepapers by any means, why there are some people inCork would like to press my friend there, for he isa very neat shot when he has the saw-handle,”and here the doctor winked.

We had little time permitted us, to think upon theoddity of meeting a man in such circ*mstances, forwe were now obliged to contribute our aid in conveyinghim to the road, where some means might be procuredfor his transfer to Kilrush, or some other town inthe neighbourhood, for he was by this time totallyunable to walk.

After half an hour’s toiling, we at last didreach the highway, by which time I had ample opportunity,short as the space was, to see something of the characterof our two opponents. It appeared the doctorexercised the most absolute control over his largefriend, dictating and commanding in a tone which theother never ventured to resist; for a moment or twoMr. Beamish expressed a great desire to be conveyedby night to Kilrush, where he might find means tocross the Shannon into Kerry; this, however, the doctoropposed strenuously, from the risque of publicity;and finally settled that we should all go in a bodyto his friend, Father Malachi Brennan’s house,only two miles off, where the sick man would have themost tender care, and what the doctor considered equallyindispensable, we ourselves a most excellent supper,and a hearty welcome.

“You know Father Malachi, of course, Mr. Lorrequer?”

“I am ashamed to say I do not.”

“Not know Malachi Brennan and live in Clare! Well, well, that is strange; sure he is the priestof this country for twelve miles in every directionof you, and a better man, and a pleasanter, there doesnot live in the diocese; though I’m his cousinthat says it.”

After professing all the possible pleasure it wouldafford my friend and myself to make the acquaintanceof Father Malachi, we proceeded to place Mr. Beamishin a car that was passing at the time, and startedfor the residence of the good priest. The wholeof 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 doctorapart from his friend, to make the inquiry.

“There—­look down to your left, whereyou see the lights shining so brightly, that is FatherMalachi’s house; as sure as my name is De CourcyFinucane, there’s fun going on there this night.”

“Why, there certainly does seem a great illuminationin the valley there,” said I.

“May I never,” said the doctor, “ifit isn’t a station—­”

“A station!—­pray may I ask—­”

“You need not ask a word on the subject; for,if I am a true prophet, you’ll know what itmeans before morning.”

A little more chatting together, brought us to a narrowroad, flanked on either side by high hedges of hawthorn,and, in a few minutes more, we stood before the priest’sresidence, a long, white-washed, thatched house, havinggreat appearance of comfort and convenience. Arrived here, the doctor seemed at once to take onhim the arrangement of the whole party; for, afterraising the latch and entering the house, he returnedto us in a few minutes, and said,

“Wait a while now; we’ll not go in toFather Malachi, ’till we’ve put Gilesto bed.”

We, accordingly, lifted him from off the car, andassisted him into the house, and following Finucanedown a narrow passage, at last reached a most comfortablelittle 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, andhimself proceeded to examine the wound, which wasa more serious one than it at first appeared.

After half an hour thus occupied, during which time,roars of merriment and hearty peals of laughter burstupon us every time the door opened, from a distantpart of the house, where his reverence was entertaininghis friends, and which, as often as they were heardby the doctor seemed to produce in him sensationsnot unlike those that afflicted the “weddingguest” in the “Ancient Mariner,”when he heard the “loud bassoon,” and ascertainly imparted an equally longing desire to bea partaker in the mirth. We arranged every thingsatisfactorily for Mr. Beamish’s comfort, andwith a large basin of vinegar and water, to keep hisknee cool, and a strong tumbler of hot punch, to keephis heart warm—­homeopathic medicine isnot half so new as Dr. Hahnneman would make us believe—­weleft Mr. Beamish to his own meditations, and doubtlessregrets that he did not get “the saw-handledone, he was used to,” while we proceeded to makeour bows to Father Malachi Brennan.

But, as I have no intention to treat the good priestwith ingratitude, I shall not present him to my readersat the tail of a chapter.

CHAPTER VI.

The priest’s supper—­fatherMalachi and the coadjutor
—­major Jones and theAbbe

At the conclusion of our last chapter we left ourquondam antagonist, Mr. Beamish, stretched at fulllength upon a bed practising homeopathy by administeringhot punch to her fever, while we followed our chaperon,Doctor Finucane, into the presence of the ReverendFather Brennan.

The company into which we now, without any ceremonyon our parts, introduced ourselves, consisted of fromfive and twenty to thirty persons, seated around alarge oak table, plentifully provided with materialsfor drinking, and cups, goblets, and glasses of everyshape and form. The moment we entered, the doctorstepped forward, and, touching Father Malachi on theshoulder,—­for so I rightly guessed him tobe, —­presented himself to his relative,by whom he was welcomed with every demonstration ofjoy. While their recognitions were exchanged,and while the doctor explained the reasons of ourvisit, I was enabled, undisturbed and unnoticed, totake a brief survey of the party.

Father Malachi Brennan, P.P. of Carrigaholt, was whatI had often pictured to myself as the beau ideal ofhis caste; his figure was short, fleshy, and enormouslymuscular, and displayed proportions which wanted butheight to constitute a perfect Hercules; his legs sothick in the calf, so taper in the ancle, looked likenothing I know, except perhaps, the metal balustradesof Carlisle—­bridge; his face was large androsy, and the general expression, a mixture of unboundedgood humour and inexhaustible drollery, to which therestless activity of his black and arched eye—­browsgreatly contributed; and his mouth, were it not fora character of sensuality and voluptuousness aboutthe nether lip, had been actually handsome; his headwas bald, except a narrow circle close above the ears,which was marked by a ring of curly dark hair, sadlyinsufficient however, to conceal a development behind,that, if there be truth in phrenology, bodes but littlehappiness to the disciples of Miss Martineau.

Add to these external signs a voice rich, fluent,and racy, with the mellow “doric” of hiscountry, and you have some faint resemblance of one“every inch a priest.” The very antipodesto the ‘bonhomie’ of this figure, confrontedhim as croupier at the foot of the table. This,as I afterwards learned, was no less a person thanMister Donovan, the coadjutor or “curate;”he was a tall, spare, ungainly looking man of aboutfive and thirty, with a pale, ascetic countenance,the only readable expression of which vibrated betweenlow suspicion and intense vulgarity: over hislow, projecting forehead hung down a mass of straightred hair; indeed—­for nature is not a politician—­italmost approached an orange hue. This was cutclose to the head all around, and displayed in theirfull proportions a pair of enormous ears, which stoodout in “relief,” like turrets from a watch-tower,and with pretty much the same object; his skin wasof that peculiar colour and texture, to which, notall “the water in great Neptune’s ocean”could impart a look of cleanliness, while his veryvoice, hard, harsh, and inflexible, was unprepossessingand unpleasant. And yet, strange as it may seem,he, too, was a correct type of his order; the onlydifference being, that Father Malachi was an oldercoinage, with the impress of Donay or St. Omers, whereasMister Donovan was the shining metal, fresh stampedfrom the mint of Maynooth.

While thus occupied in my surveillance of the scenebefore me, I was roused by the priest saying—­

“Ah, Fin, my darling, you needn’t denyit; you’re at the old game as sure as my nameis Malachi, and ye’ll never be easy nor quiettill ye’re sent beyond the sea, or maybe havea record of your virtues on half a ton of marble inthe church—­yard, yonder.”

“Upon my honour, upon the sacred honour of aDe Courcy—.”

“Well, well, never mind it now; ye see ye’rejust keeping your friends cooling themselves therein the corner—­introduce me at once.”

“Mr. Lorrequer, I’m sure—.”

“My name is Curzon,” said the adjutant,bowing.

“A mighty pretty name, though a little profane;well, Mr. Curse-on,” for so he pronounced it,“ye’re as welcome as the flowers in May;and it’s mighty proud I am to see ye here.

“Mr. Lorrequer, allow me to shake your hand—­I’veheard of ye before.”

There seemed nothing very strange in that; for gowhere I would through this country, I seemed as generallyknown as ever was Brummell in Bond-street.

“Fin tells me,” continued Father Malachi,“that ye’d rather not be known down here,in regard of a reason,” and here he winked. “Make yourselves quite easy; the king’swrit was never but once in these parts; and the ‘originaland true copy’ went back to Limerick in the stomachof the server; they made him eat it, Mr. Lorrequer;but it’s as well to be cautious, for there area good number here. A little dinner, a littlequarterly dinner we have among us, Mr. Curseon, tobe social together, and raise a ‘thrifle’for the Irish college at Rome, where we have a probationeror two, ourselves.

“As good as a station, and more drink,”whispered Fin into my ear. “And now,”continued the priest, “ye must just permit meto re-christen ye both, and the contribution willnot be the less for what I’m going to do; andI’m certain you’ll not be worse for thechange Mr. Curseon—­though ’tis onlyfor a few hours, ye’ll have a dacent name.”

As I could see no possible objection to this proposal,nor did Curzon either, our only desire being to maintainthe secrecy necessary for our antagonist’s safety,we at once assented; when Father Malachi took me bythe hand, but with such a total change in his wholeair and deportment that I was completely puzzled byit; he led me forward to the company with a good dealof the ceremonious reverence I have often admired inSir Charles Vernon, when conducting some full—­blowndowager through the mazes of a castle minuet. The desire to laugh outright was almost irresistible,as the Rev. Father stood at arm’s length fromme, still holding my hand, and bowing to the companypretty much in the style of a manager introducinga blushing debutante to an audience. A momentmore, and I must have inevitably given way to a burstof laughter, when what was my horror to hear the priestpresent me to the company as their “excellent,worthy, generous, and patriotic young landlord, LordKilkee. Cheer every mother’s son of ye;cheer I say;” and certainly precept was nevermore strenuously backed by example, for he huzzaedtill I thought he would burst a blood—­vessel;may I add, I almost wished it, such was the insufferableannoyance, the chagrin, this announcement gave me;and I waited with eager impatience for the din andclamour to subside, to disclaim every syllable ofthe priest’s announcement, and take the consequencesof 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 mightget abroad, and the consequences to me, be inevitableruin; and independent of my natural repugnance tosuch sailing under false colours, I saw Curzon laughingalmost to suffocation at my wretched predicament,and (so strong within me was the dread of ridicule)I thought, “what a pretty narrative he is concoctingfor 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 certainlyresolved to out-maneuver me, and he succeeded:while with one hand he motioned to the party to keepsilence, with the other he took hold of Curzon, butwith no peculiar or very measured respect, and introducedhim as Mr. MacNeesh, the new Scotch steward and improver—­acharacter at that time whose popularity might competewith a tithe proctor or an exciseman. So completelydid this tactique turn the tables upon the poor adjutant,who the moment before was exulting over me, that Iutterly forgot my own woes, and sat down convulsedwith mirth at his situation—­an emotioncertainly not lessened as I saw Curzon passed fromone to the other at table, “like a pauper tohis parish,” till he found an asylum at the veryfoot, in juxta with the engaging Mister Donovan. A propinquity, if I might judge from their countenances,uncoveted by either party.

While this was performing, Doctor Finucane was makinghis recognitions with several of the company, to whomhe 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 disclaimingmy rank, and the campaign was opened. The priestnow exerted himself to the utmost to recall conversationwith the original channels, and if possible to drawoff attention from me, which he still feared, might,perhaps, elicit some unlucky announcement on my part. Failing in his endeavours to bring matters to theirformer footing, he turned the whole brunt of his attentionsto the worthy doctor, who sat on his left.

“How goes on the law,” said he, “Fin? Any new proofs, as they call them, forthcoming?”

What Fin replied, I could not hear, but the allusionto the “suit” was explained by FatherMalachi informing us that the only impediment betweenhis cousin and the title of Kinsale lay in the unfortunatefact, that his grandmother, “rest her sowl,”was not a man.

Doctor Finucane winced a little under the manner inwhich this was spoken: but returned the fireby 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 doctorto relate the following anecdote, which was not relishedthe less by his superior, that it told somewhat heavilyon Mr. Donovan.

“It is about four years ago,” said thedoctor, “since the Bishop, Dr. Plunkett, tookit into his head that he’d make a general inspection,’a reconnoisance,” as we’d callit, Mr. Lor—­that is, my lord! Throughthe whole diocese, and leave no part far nor nearwithout poking his nose in it and seeing how matterswere doing. He heard very queer stories abouthis reverence here, and so down he came one morningin the month of July, riding upon an old grey hack,looking just for all the world like any other elderlygentleman in very rusty black. When he got nearthe village he picked up a little boy to show himthe 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, remarkingthis, and noting down that.

“‘Are ye regular in yer duties, my son?’said he to the gossoon.

“‘I never miss a Sunday,’ said thegossoon; ’for it’s always walking hisreverence’s horse I am the whole time av prayers.’

“His lordship said no more for a little while,when he muttered between his teeth, ’Ah, it’sjust slander—­nothing but slander and lyingtongues.’ This soliloquy was caused byhis remarking that on every gate he passed, or fromevery cabin, two or three urchins would come out halfnaked, but all with the finest heads of red hair heever saw in his life.

“‘How is it, my son,’ said he, atlength; ’they tell very strange stories aboutFather Malachi, and I see so many of these childrenwith red hair. Eh—­now Father Malachi’sa dark man.’

“‘True for ye,’ said the boy; ’truefor ye, Father Malachi’s dark; but the coadjutor!—­thecoadjutor’s as red as a fox.’”

When the laugh this story caused had a little subsided,Father Malachi called out, “Mickey Oulahan!Mickey, I say, hand his lordship over ’the groceries’”—­thushe designated a square decanter, containing about twoquarts of whiskey, and a bowl heaped high with sugar—­“adacent boy is Mickey, my lord, and I’m happyto be the means of making him known to you.” I bowed with condescension, while Mr. Oulahan’seyes sparkled like diamonds at the recognition.

“He has only two years of the lease to run,and a ‘long charge,’ (anglice, a largefamily,) continued the priest.

“I’ll not forget him, you may depend uponit,” said I.

“Do you hear that,” said Father Malachi,casting a glance of triumph round the table, whilea general buzz of commendation on priest and patronwent round, with many such phrases as, “Och thin,it’s his riv’rance can do it,” “nabocklish,” “and why not,” &c. &c. As for me, I have already “confessed”to my crying sin, a fatal, irresistible inclinationto follow the humour of the moment wherever it ledme; and now I found myself as active a partizan inquizzing Mickey Oulahan, as though I was not myselfa party included in the jest. I was thus fairlylaunched into my inveterate habit, and nothing couldarrest my progress.

One by one the different individuals round the tablewere presented to me, and made known their variouswants, with an implicit confidence in my power ofrelieving them, which I with equal readiness ministeredto. 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 interestingto the present company. I abolished all arrears—­madea new line of road through an impassable bog, andover an inaccessible mountain—­and conductedwater to a mill, which (I learned in the morning)was always worked by wind. The decanter had scarcelycompleted its third circuit of the board, when I bidfair to be most popular specimen of the peerage thatever visited the “far west.” In themidst of my career of universal benevolence, I wasinterrupted by Father Malachi, whom I found on hislegs, pronouncing a glowing eulogium on his cousin’slate regiment, the famous North Cork.

“That was the corps!” said he. “Bidthem 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 everything but their canteens, and never stopped till theyran to Ross, fifteen miles farther than the enemyfollowed them. And when they were all in bedthe same night, fatigued and tired with their exertions,as ye may suppose, a drummer’s boy called outin his sleep—­’here they are—­they’recoming’—­they all jumped up and setoff in their shirts, and got two miles out of townbefore they discovered it was a false alarm.”

Peal after peal of laughter followed the priest’sencomium on the doctor’s regiment; and, indeed,he himself joined most heartily in the mirth, as hemight well afford to do, seeing that a braver or bettercorps than the North Cork, Ireland did not possess.

“Well,” said Fin, “it’s easyto see ye never can forget what they did at Maynooth.”

Father Malachi disclaimed all personal feeling onthe subject; and I was at last gratified by the followingnarrative, which I regret deeply I am not enabledto give in the doctor’s own verbiage; but writingas I do from memory, (in most instances,) I can onlyconvey the substance:

It was towards the latter end of the year ’98—­theyear of the troubles —­that the North Corkwas ordered, “for their sins” I believe,to march from their snug quarters in Fermoy, and takeup a position in the town of Maynooth—­avery considerable reverse of fortune to a set of gentlemenextremely addicted to dining out, and living at largeupon a very pleasant neighbourhood. Fermoy aboundedin gentry; Maynooth at that, time had few, if any,excepting his Grace of Leinster, and he lived veryprivately, and saw no company. Maynooth was stupidand dull—­there were neither belles norballs; Fermoy (to use the doctor’s well rememberedwords) had “great feeding,” and “verygenteel young ladies, that carried their handkerchiefsin bags, and danced with the officers.”

They had not been many weeks in their new quarters,when they began to pine over their altered fortunes,and it was with a sense of delight, which a few monthsbefore would have been incomprehensible to them, theydiscovered, that one of their officers had a brother,a young priest in the college: he introducedhim to some of his confreres, and the natural resultfollowed. A visiting acquaintance began betweenthe regiment and such of the members of the collegeas had liberty to leave the precincts: who, astime ripened the acquaintance into intimacy, very naturallypreferred the cuisine of the North Cork to the meagrefare of “the refectory.” At lastseldom a day went by, without one or two of theirreverences finding themselves guests at the mess. The North Corkians were of a most hospitable turn,and the fathers were determined the virtue shouldnot rust for want of being exercised; they would justdrop in to say a word to “Captain O’Flahertyabout leave to shoot in the demesne,” as Cartonwas styled; or, they had a “frank from the Dukefor the Colonel,” or some other equally pressingreason; and they would contrive to be caught in themiddle of a very droll story just as the “roastbeef” was playing. Very little entreatythen sufficed—­a short apology for the “dereglements”of dress, and a few minutes more found them seatedat table without further ceremony on either side.

Among the favourite guests from the college, two werepeculiarly held in estimation—­“theProfessor of the Humanities,” Father Luke Mooney;and the Abbe D’Array, “the Lecturer onMoral Philosophy, and Belles Lettres;” and certainit is, pleasanter fellows, or more gifted with the“convivial bump, there never existed. He of the Humanities was a droll dog—­amember of the Curran club, the “monks of thescrew,” told an excellent story, and sang the“Cruiskeen Lawn” better than did any beforeor since him;—­the moral philosopher, thoughof 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 considerableshare of French smartness and repartee—­suchwere the two, who ruled supreme in all the festivearrangements of this jovial regiment, and were at lastas 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, sparesneither priests nor laymen, and is equally severe uponmice (see Aesop’s fable) and moral philosophers,actually deprived them, for the “nonce”of reason, and tempted them to their ruin. Younaturally ask, what did they do? Did they ventureupon allusions to the retreat upon Ross? Nothingof the kind. Did they, in that vanity which wineinspires, refer by word, act, or inuendo, to the well-knownorder of their Colonel when reviewing his regimentin “the Phoenix,” to “advance twosteps backwards, and dress by the gutter.” Far be it from them: though indeed either ofthese had been esteemed light in the balance comparedwith their real crime. “Then, what wastheir failing—­come, tell it, and burn ye?” They actually, “horresco referens,” quizzedthe Major coram the whole mess!—­Now, MajorJohn Jones had only lately exchanged into the NorthCork from the “Darry Ragement,” as he calledit. He was a red—­hot orangeman, adeputy—­grand something, and vice-chairmanof the “’Prentice Boys” beside. He broke his leg when a school—­boy, bya fall incurred in tying an orange handkerchief aroundKing William’s August neck in College-green,on one 12th of July, and three several times had closedthe gates of Derry with his own loyal hands, on thefamed anniversary; in a word, he was one, that if hischurch had enjoined penance as an expiation for sin,would have looked upon a trip to Jerusalem on hisbare knees, as a very light punishment for the crimeon his conscience, that he sat at table with two buckpriests from Maynooth, and carved for them, like therest of the company!

Poor Major Jones, however, had no such solace, andthe canker-worm eat daily deeper and deeper into hispining heart. During the three or four weeksof their intimacy with his regiment, his martyrdomwas awful. His figure wasted, and his colourbecame a deeper tinge of orange, and all around averredthat there would soon be a “move up” inthe corps, for the major had evidently “got

his notice to quit” this world, and its pompsand vanities. He felt “that he was dying,”to use Haines Bayley’s beautiful and appositewords, and meditated an exchange, but that, from circ*mstances,was out of the question. At last, subdued bygrief, and probably his spirit having chafed itselfsmooth by such constant attrition, he became, to allseeming, calmer; but it was only the calm of a brokenand weary heart. Such was Major Jones at thetime, when, “suadente diabolo,” it seemedmeet to Fathers Mooney and D’Array to make himthe butt of their raillery. At first, he couldnot believe it; the thing was incredible—­impossible;but when he looked around the table, when he heardthe roars of laughter, long, loud, and vociferous;when he heard his name bandied from one to the otheracross 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—­thecup was full. Fate had done her worst, and hemight have exclaimed with Lear, “spit, fire-spout,rain,” there was nothing in store for him offurther misfortune.

A drum-head court-martial—­a hint “tosell out”—­ay, a sentence of “dismissedthe service,” had been mortal calamities, and,like a man, he would have borne them; but that he,Major John Jones, D.G.S. C.P.B., &c. &c, whohad drank the “pious, glorious, and immortal,”sitting astride of “the great gun of Athlone,”should come to this! Alas, and alas! Heretired that night to his chamber a “sadder ifnot 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 stoodbefore.” He humped from his bed in a momentof enthusiasm, he vowed his revenge, and he kept hisvow.

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 remarkedthat he took peculiar pains in selecting the men fornight duty, which, in the prevailing quietness andpeace of that time, seemed scarcely warrantable.

Evening drew near, and Major Jones, summoned by the“oft-heard beat,” wended his way to themess. The officers were dropping in, and trueas “the needle to the pole,” came FatherMooney and the Abbe. They were welcomed withthe usual warmth, and strange to say, by none morethan the major himself, whose hilarity knew no bounds.

How the evening passed, I shall not stop to relate:suffice it to say, that a more brilliant feast ofwit and jollification, not even the North Cork everenjoyed. Father Luke’s drollest stories,his very quaintest humour shone forth, and the Abbesang a new “Chanson a Boire,” that Berangermight hav envied.

“What are you about, my dear Father D’Array?”said the Colonel; “you are surely not risingyet; here’s a fresh cooper of port just comein; sit down, I entreat.”

“I say it with grief, my dear colonel, we mustaway; the half-hour has just chimed, and we must bewithin ‘the gates’ before twelve. The truth is, the superior has been making himselfvery troublesome about our ‘carnal amusem*nts’as he calls our innocent mirth, and we must thereforebe upon our guard.”

“Well, if it must be so, we shall not risk losingyour society altogether, for an hour or so now; so,one bumper to our next meeting —­to-morrow,mind, and now, M. D’Abbe, au revoir.”

The worthy fathers finished their glasses, and takinga most affectionate leave of their kind entertainers,sallied forth under the guidance of Major Jones, whoinsisted upon accompanying them part of the way, as,“from information he had received, the sentrieswere doubled in some places, and the usual precautionsagainst surprise all taken.” Much as thispolite attention surprised the objects of it, his brotherofficers wondered still more, and no sooner did theyperceive the major and his companions issue forth,than they set out in a body to watch where this mostnovel and unexpected complaisance would terminate.

When the priests reached the door of the barrack-yard,they again turned to utter their thanks to the major,and entreat him once more, “not to come a stepfarther. There now, major, we know the path well,so just give us the pass, and don’t stay outin the night air.”

“Ah oui, Monsieur Jones,” said the Abbe,“retournez, je vous prie. We are, I mustsay, chez nous. Ces braves gens, les North Corkknow us by this time.”

The major smiled, while he still pressed his servicesto see them past the picquets, but they were resolvedand would not be denied.

“With the word for the night, we want nothingmore,” said Father Luke.

“Well, then,” said the major, in the gravesttone, and he was naturally grave, “you shallhave your way, but remember to call out loud, for thefirst sentry is a little deaf, and a very passionate,ill—­tempered fellow to boot.”

“Never fear,” said Father Mooney, laughing;“I’ll go bail he’ll hear me.”

“Well—­the word for the night is—­’Bloodyend to the Pope,’—­don’t forget,now, ‘Bloody end to the Pope,’” andwith these words he banged the door between him andthe unfortunate priests; and, as bolt was fastenedafter bolt, they heard him laughing to himself likea fiend over his vengeance.

“And big bad luck to ye, Major Jones, for thesame, every day ye see a paving stone,” wasthe faint sub-audible ejacul*tion of Father Luke, whenhe was recovered enough to speak.

“Sacristi! Que nous sommes attrappes,”said the Abbe, scarcely able to avoid laughing atthe situation in which they were placed.

“Well, there’s the quarter chiming now;we’ve no time to lose—­Major Jones! Major, darling! Don’t now, ah, don’t!sure ye know we’ll be ruined entirely—­therenow, just change it, like a dacent fellow—­thedevil’s luck to him, he’s gone. Well,we can’t stay here in the rain all night, andbe expelled in the morning afterwards—­socome along.”

They jogged on for a few minutes in silence, tillthey 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, hadquietly slipped out of the gate, and were followingtheir steps at a convenient distance.

The fathers had stopped to consult together, whatthey should do in this trying emergency—­whentheir whisper being overheard, the sentinel calledout gruffly, in the genuine dialect of his country,“who goes that?”

“Father Luke Mooney, and the Abbe D’Array,”said the former, in his most bland and insinuatingtone of voice, a quality he most eminently possessed.

“Stand and give the countersign.”

“We are coming from the mess, and going hometo the college,” said Father Mooney, evadingthe question, and gradually advancing as he spoke.

“Stand, or I’ll shot ye,” said theNorth Corkian.

Father Luke halted, while a muttered “BlessedVirgin” announced his state of fear and trepidation.

“D’Array, I say, what are we to do.”

“The countersign,” said the sentry, whosefigure they could perceive in the dim distance ofabout thirty yards.

“Sure ye’ll let us pass, my good lad,and ye’ll have a friend in Father Luke the longestday ye live, and ye might have a worse in time of need;ye understand.”

Whether he did understand or not, he certainly didnot heed, for his only reply was the short click ofhis gun-lock, that bespeaks a preparation to fire.

“There’s no help now,” said FatherLuke; “I see he’s a haythen; and bad luckto the major, I say again;” and this in the fulnessof his heart he uttered aloud.

“That’s not the countersign,” saidthe inexorable sentry, striking the butt end of themusket on the ground with a crash that smote terrorinto the hearts of the priests.

Mumble—­mumble—­“to thePope,” said Father Luke, pronouncing the lastwords distinctly, after the approved practice of aDublin watchman, on being awoke from his dreams ofrow 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 sleepingcitizen, and yet tells nothing how “time speedson his flight.”

“Louder,” said the sentry, in a voiceof impatience.

_____ “to the Pope.”

“I don’t hear the first part.”

“Oh then,” said the priest, with a sighthat might have melted the heart of anything but asentry, “Bloody end to the Pope; and may thesaints in heaven forgive me for saying it.”

“Again,” called out the soldier; “andno muttering.”

“Bloody end to the Pope,” cried FatherLuke in bitter desperation.

“Bloody end to the Pope,” echoed the Abbe.

“Pass bloody end to the Pope, and good night,”said the sentry, resuming his rounds, while a loudand uproarious peal of laughter behind, told the unluckypriests they were overheard by others, and that thestory would be over the whole town in the morning.

Whether it was that the penance for their heresy tooklong in accomplishing, or that they never could summoncourage sufficient to face their persecutor, certainit is, the North Cork saw them no more, nor were theyever observed to pass the precincts of the college,while that regiment occupied Maynooth.

Major Jones himself, and his confederates, could nothave more heartily relished this story, than did theparty to whom the doctor heartily related it. Much, if not all the amusem*nt it afforded, however,resulted from his inimitable mode of telling, and thepower of mimicry, with which he conveyed the dialoguewith the sentry: and this, alas, must be lostto my readers, at least to that portion of them notfortunate enough to possess Doctor Finucane’sacquaintance.

“Fin! Fin! your long story has nearly famishedme,” said the padre, as the laugh subsided;“and there you sit now with the jug at your elbowthis half-hour; I never thought you would forget ourold friend Martin Hanegan’s aunt.”

“Here’s to her health,” said Fin;“and your reverence will get us the chant.”

“Agreed,” said Father Malachi, finishinga bumper, and after giving a few preparatory hems,he sang the following “singularly wild and beautifulpoem,” as some one calls Christabel:—­

“Here’s a health to Martin Hanegan’saunt,
And I’ll tell ye the reason why!
She eats bekase she is hungry,
And drinks bekase she is dry.

“And if ever a man,
Stopped the course of a can,
Martin Hanegan’s aunt would cry—­
’Arrah, fill up your glass,
And let the jug pass;
How d’ye know but what your neighbour’sdhry?”

“Come, my lord and gentlemen, da capo, if yeplease—­Fill up your glass,” and thechanson was chorussed with a strength and vigour thatwould have astonished the Philharmonic.

The mirth and fun now grew “fast and furious;”and Father Malachi, rising with the occasion, flunghis reckless drollery and fun on every side, sparingnone, from his cousin to the coadjutor. It wasnot that peculiar period in the evening’s enjoyment,when an expert and practical chairman gives up allinterference or management, and leaves every thingto take its course; this then was the happy momentselected by Father Malachi to propose the little “contrhibution.” He brought a plate from a side table, and placingit before him, addressed the company in a very briefbut sensible speech, detailing the object of the institutionhe was advocating, and concluding with the followingwords:—­“and now ye’ll justgive whatever ye like, according to your means in life,and what ye can spare.”

The admonition, like the “morale” of anincome tax, having the immediate effect of pittingeach man against his neighbour, and suggesting to theiralready excited spirits all the ardour of gambling,without, however, a prospect of gain. The platewas 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 calledout:—­

“Five pounds! at least; not a farthing less,as I am a sinner. Look, then,—­seenow; they tell ye, the gentlemen don’t care forthe like of ye! but see for yourselves. MayI trouble y’r lordship to pass the plate toMr. Mahony—­he’s impatient, I see.”

Mr. Mahony, about whom I perceived very little ofthe impatience alluded to, was a grim-looking oldChristian, in a rabbit-skin waistcoat, with long flaps,who fumbled in the recesses of his breeches pocketfor five minutes, and then drew forth three shillings,which he laid upon the plate, with what I fanciedvery much resembled a sigh.

“Six and sixpence, is it? or five shillings?—­allthe same, Mr. Mahony, and I’ll not forget thethrifle you were speaking about this morning any way;”and here he leaned over as interceding with me forhim, but in reality to whisper into my ear, “thegreatest miser from this to Castlebar.”

“Who’s that put down the half guinea ingoold?” (And this time he spoke truth.) “Who’sthat, I say?”

“Tim Kennedy, your reverence,” said Tim,stroking his hair down with one hand, and lookingproud and modest at the same moment.

“Tim, ye’re a credit to us any day, andI always said so. It’s a gauger he’dlike to be, my lord,” said he, turning to me,in a kind of stage whisper. I nodded and mutteredsomething, when he thanked me most profoundly as ifhis suit had prospered.

“Mickey Oulahan—­the lord’slooking at ye, Mickey.” This was saidpiannisime across the table, and had the effect ofincreasing Mr. Oulahan’s donation from fiveshillings to seven—­the last two being pitchedin very much in the style o a gambler making his finalcoup, and crying “va banque.” “TheOulahans were always dacent people—­dacentpeople, my lord.”

“Be gorra, the Oulahans was niver dacenter northe Molowneys, any how,” said a tall athleticyoung fellow, as he threw down three crown pieces,with an energy that made every coin leap from the plate.

“They’ll do now,” said Father Brennan;“I’ll leave them to themselves;”and truly the eagerness to get the plate and put downthe subscription, fully equalled the rapacious anxietyI have witnessed in an old maid at loo, to get possessionof a thirty-shilling pool, be the same more or less,which lingered on its way to her, in the hands of manya fair competitor.

“Mr. M’Neesh”—­Curzonhad hitherto escaped all notice—­“Mr.M’Neesh, to your good health,” cried FatherBrennan. “It’s many a secret they’llbe getting out o’ye down there about the Scotchhusbandry.”

Whatever poor Curzon knew of “drills,”certainly did not extend to them when occupied byturnips. This allusion of the priest’sbeing caught up by the party at the foot of the table,they commenced a series of inquiries into different Scotch plans of tillage—­his brief andunsatisfactory answers to which, they felt sure, weregiven in order to evade imparting information. By degrees, as they continued to press him with questions,his replies grew more short, and a general feelingof dislike on both sides was not very long in following.

The father saw this, and determining with his usualtact to repress it, called on the adjutant for a song. Now, whether he had but one in the world, or whetherhe took this mode of retaliating for the annoyanceshe had suffered, I know not; but true it is, he finishedhis tumbler at a draught, and with a voice of no verypeculiar sweetness, though abundantly loud, began“The Boyne Water.”

He had just reached the word “battle,”in the second line upon which he was bestowing whathe meant to be a shake, when, as if the word suggestedit, it seemed the signal for a general engagement. Decanters, glasses, jugs, candlesticks,—­aye,and the money-dish, flew right and left—­alloriginally intended, it is ture, for the head of theluckless adjutant, but as they now and then missedtheir aim, and came in contact with the “wrongman,” invariably provoked retaliation, and ina very few minutes the battle became general.

What may have been the doctor’s political sentimentson this occasion, I cannot even guess; but he seemedbent upon performing the part of a “convivialLord Stanley,” and maintaining a dignified neutrality. With this apparent object, he mounted upon the table,to raise himself, I suppose, above the din and commotionof party clamour, and brandishing a jug of scaldingwater, bestowed it with perfect impartiality on thecombatants on either side. This Whig plan ofconciliation, however well intended, seemed not toprosper with either party; and many were the missilesdirected at the ill-starred doctor. MeanwhileFather Malachi, whether following the pacific instinctof his order, in seeking an asylum in troublesometimes, or equally moved by old habit to gather coinin low places, (much of the money having fallen,)was industriously endeavouring to insert himself beneaththe table; in this, with one vigorous push, he atlast succeeded, but in so doing lifted it from itslegs, and thus destroying poor “Fin’s”gravity, precipitated him, jug and all, into the thickestpart of the fray, where he met with that kind receptionsuch a benefactor ever receives at the hands of agrateful public. I meanwhile hurried to rescuepoor Curzon, who, having fallen to the ground, wasgetting a cast of his features taken in pewter, forsuch seemed the operation a stout farmer was performingon the adjutant’s face with a quart. Withconsiderable difficulty, notwithstanding my supposed“lordship,” I succeeded in freeing himfrom 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 mein 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, verymuch to his surprise; for as he remarked—­“They’llall be like lambs now, for they don’t believethere’s a whole bone in his body.”

Expressing my deep sense of the Christian-like forbearanceof the party, I pleaded fatigue, and bidding him goodnight, adjourned to my bed-room; and here, althoughthe arrangements fell somewhat short of the luxuriousones appertaining to my late apartment at Callonby,they were most grateful at the moment; and having“addressed myself to slumber,” fell fastasleep, and only awoke late on the following morningto wonder where I was: from any doubts as towhich I was speedily relieved by the entrance of thepriest’s bare-footed “colleen,” todeposit on my table a bottle of soda water, and announcebreakfast, with his reverence’s compliments.

Having made a hasty toilet, I proceeded to the parlour,which, however late events might have impressed uponmy memory, I could scarcely recognise. Insteadof the long oak table and the wassail bowl, therestood near the fire a small round table, covered witha snow—­white cloth, upon which shone inunrivalled brightness a very handsome tea equipage—­thehissing kettle on one hob was vis a vis’d bya gridiron with three newly taken trout, frying underthe reverential care of Father Malachi himself—­aheap of eggs ranged like shot in an ordnance yard,stood in the middled of the table, while a formidablepile of buttered toast browned before the grate—­themorning papers were airing upon the hearth—­everything bespoke that attention to comfort and enjoymentone likes to discover in the house where chance mayhave domesticated him for a day or two.

“Good morning, Mr. Lorrequer. I trustyou have rested well,” said Father Malachi asI entered.

“Never better; but where are our friends?”

“I have been visiting and comforting them intheir affliction, and I may with truth assert it isnot often my fortune to have three as sickly lookingguests. That was a most unlucky affair last night,and I must apologise.”

“Don’t say a word, I entreat; I saw howit all occurred, and am quite sure if it had not beenfor poor Curzon’s ill-timed melody—­”

“You are quite right,” said the fatherinterrupting me. “Your friend’staste for music—­bad luck to it—­wasthe ‘teterrima causa belli.’”

“And the subscription,” said I; “howdid it succeed?”

“Oh, the money went in the commotion; and althoughI have got some seven pounds odd shillings of it,the war was a most expensive one to me. I caughtold Mahony very busy under the table during the fray;but let us say no more about it now—­drawover your chair. Tea or coffee? there’sthe rum if you like it ‘chasse.’”

I immediately obeyed the injunction, and commenceda vigorous assault upon the trout, caught, as he informedme, “within twenty perches of the house.”

“Your poor friend’s nose is scarcely regimental,”said he, “this morning; and as for Fin, he wasnever remarkable for beauty, so, though they mightcut and hack, they could scarcely disfigure him, asJuvenal says—­isn’t it Juvenal?

“‘Vacuus viator cantabit ante Latronem;’

“or in the vernacular:

“’The empty traveller may whistle
Before the robber and his pistil’ (pistol).”

“There’s the Chili vinegar—­anothermorsel of the trout?”

“I thank you; what excellent coffee, FatherMalachi!”

“A secret I learned at St. Omer’s somethirty years since. Any letters, Bridget?”—­toa damsel that entered with a pacquet in her hand.

“A gossoon from Kilrush, y’r reverence,with a bit of a note for the gentleman there.”

“For me!—­ah, true enough. HarryLorrequer, Esq. Kilrush—­try Carrigaholt.” So ran the superscription—­the first partbeing in a lady’s handwriting; the latter verylike the “rustic paling” of the worthyMrs. Healy’s style. The seal was a largeone, bearing a coronet at top, and the motto in oldNorman—­French, told me it came from Callonby.

With what a trembling hand and beating heart I brokeit open, and yet feared to read it—­so muchof my destiny might be in that simple page. Foronce in my life my sanguine spirit failed me; my mindcould take in but one casualty, that Lady Jane haddivulged to her family the nature of my attentions,and that in the letter before me lay a cold mandateof dismissal from her presence for ever.

At last I summoned courage to read it; but havingscrupled to present to my readers the Reverend FatherBrennan at the tail of a chapter, let me not be lesspunctilious in the introduction of her ladyship’sbillet.

CHAPTER VII.

THE LADY’S LETTER—­PETER AND HIS ACQUAINTANCES—­TOO LATE.

Her ladyship’s letter ran thus—­

“Callonby, Tuesday morning.

“My dear Mr. Lorrequer,—­My lord hasdeputed me to convey to you our adieus, and at thesame time to express our very great regret that weshould not have seen you before out departure fromIreland. A sudden call of the House, and someunexpected ministerial changes, require Lord Callonby’simmediate presence in town; and probably before thisreaches you we shall be on the road. Lord Kilkee,who left us yesterday, was much distressed at nothaving seen you—­he desired me to say youshall hear from him from Leamington. Althoughwriting 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 lordentreats that you will, if possible, pass a monthor two with us in London this season; make any useof his name you think fit at the Horse-Guards, wherehe has some influence. Knowing as I do, withwhat kindness you ever accede to the wishes of yourfriends, I need not say how much gratification thiswill afford us all; but, sans response, we expect you. Believe me to remain, yours very sincerely,

“Charlotte Callonby.”

“P.S.—­We are all quite well, exceptLady Jane, who has a slight cold, and has been feverishfor the last day or two.”

Words cannot convey any idea of the torrent of contendingemotions under which I perused this letter. The suddenness of the departure, without an opportunityof even a moment’s leave-taking, completely unmannedme. What would I not have given to be able tosee her once more, even for an instant—­tosay “a good bye”—­to watch thefeeling with which she parted from me, and augur fromit 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, andwhen I came to the invitation to London, which plainlyargued a wish on their part to perpetuate the intimacy,I was obliged to read it again and again, before Icould convince myself of its reality. Thereit was, however, most distinctly and legibly impressedin her ladyship’s fairest calligraphy; and certainlygreat as was its consequence to me at the time, itby no means formed the principal part of the communication. The two lines of postscript contained more, far morefood for hopes and fears than did all the rest ofthe epistle.

Lady Jane was ill then, slightly however—­amere cold; true, but she was feverish. I couldnot help asking myself what share had I causing thatflushed cheek and anxious eye, and pictured to myself,perhaps with more vividness than reality, a thousandlittle traits of manner, all proofs strong as holywrit to my sanguine mind, that my affection was returned,and that I loved not in vain. Again and againI read over the entire letter; never truly did a nisiprius lawyer con over a new act of parliament withmore searching ingenuity, to detect its hidden meaning,than did I to unravel through its plain phraseologythe secret intention of the writer towards me.

There is an old and not less true adage, that whatwe wish we readily believe; and so with me—­Ifound myself an easy convert to my own hopes and desires,and actually ended by persuading myself—­novery hard task —­that my Lord Callonby hadnot only witnessed but approved of my attachment tohis beautiful daughter, and for reasons probably knownto him, but concealed from me, opined that I was asuitable “parti,” and gave all due encouragementto my suit. The hint about using his lordship’sinfluence at the Horse guards I resolved to benefitby; not, however, in obtaining leave of absence, whichI hoped to accomplish more easily, but with his goodsanction in pushing my promotion, when I claimed himas my right honorable father-in-law—­a point,on the propriety of which, I had now fully satisfiedmyself. What visions of rising greatness burstupon my mind, as I thought on the prospect that openedbefore me; but here let me do myself the justice torecord, that amid all my pleasure and exultation,my proudest thought, was in the anticipation of possessingone in every way so much my superior—­thevery consciousness of which imparted a thrill of fearto my heart, that such good fortune was too much evento hope for.

How long I might have luxuriated in such Chateauxen Espagne, heaven knows; thick and thronging fanciescame abundantly to my mind, and it was with somethingof the feeling of the porter in the Arabian Nights,as he surveyed the fragments of his broken ware, hurleddown in a moment of glorious dreaminess, that I turnedto look at the squat and unaristocratic figure ofFather Malachi, as he sat reading his newspaper beforethe fire. How came I in such company; methinksthe Dean of Windsor, or the Bishop of Durham had beena much more seemly associate for one destined as Iwas for the flood-tide of the world’s favour.

My eye at this instant rested upon the date of theletter, which was that of the preceding morning, andimmediately a thought struck me that, as the day wasa louring and gloomy one, perhaps they might have deferredtheir journey, and I at once determined to hasten toCallonby, and, if possible, see them before theirdeparture.

“Father Brennan,” said I, at length, “Ihave just received a letter which compels me to reachKilrush as soon as possible. Is there any publicconveyance in the village?”

“You don’t talk of leaving us, surely,”said the priest, “and a haunch of mutton fordinner, and Fin says he’ll be down, and yourfriend, too, and we’ll have poor Beamish inon a sofa.”

“I am sorry to say my business will not admitof delay, but, if possible, I shall return to thankyou for all you kindness, in a day or two —­perhapstomorrow.”

“Oh, then,” said Father Brennan, “ifit must be so, why you can have ‘Pether,’my own pad, and a better you never laid leg over; onlygive 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 readinessfor you.”

After professing my warm acknowledgments to the goodfather for his kindness, I hastened to take a hurriedfarewell of Curzon before going. I found himsitting up in bed taking his breakfast; a large stripof black plaster, extending from the corner of oneeye 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 partitionedout, left you in doubt whether he now resembled theknave of clubs or a new map of the Ordnance survey;one hand was wrapped up in a bandage, and altogethera more rueful and woe-begone looking figure I haverarely looked upon; and most certainly I am of opinionthat the “glorious, pious and immortal memory”would have brought pleasanter recollections to DanielO’Connell himself, than it would on that morningto the adjutant of his majesty’s 4_th.

“Ah, Harry,” said he, as I entered, “whatPandemonium is this we’ve got into? did youever witness such a business as last night’s?”

“Why truly,” said I, “I know ofno one to blame but yourself; surely you must haveknown what a fracas your infernal song would bringon.”

“I don’t know now whether I knew it ornot; but certainly at the moment I should have preferredanything to the confounded cross-examination I wasunder, 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 eitherof which I knew as much as a bear does of a ballet.”

“Well, truly, you caused a diversion at someexpense to your countenance, for I never beheld anything—­”

“Stop there,” said he, “you surelyhave not seen the doctor—­he beats me hollow—­theyhave scarcely left so much hair on his head as woulddo for an Indian’s scalp lock; and, of a verity,his aspect is awful this morning; he has just beenhere, and by-the-bye has told me all about your affairwith Beamish. It appears that somewhere you methim at dinner, and gave a very flourishing accountof a relative of his who you informed him was notonly selected for some very dashing service, but actuallythe personal friend of Picton; and, after the familyhaving blazed the matter all over Cork, and givena great entertainment in honor of their kinsman, it

turns out that, on the glorious 19th, he ran away toBrussels faster than even the French to Charleroi;for which act, however, there was no aspersion evercast upon his courage, that quality being defendedat the expense of his honesty; in a word, he was thepaymaster of the company, and had what Theodore Hookcalls an ‘affection of his chest,’ thatrequired change of air. Looking only to the runningaway part of the matter, I unluckily expressed someregret that he did not belong to the North Cork, andI remarked the doctor did not seem to relish the allusion,and as I only now remember, it was his regiment, Isuppose I’m in for more mischief.”

I had no time to enjoy Curzon’s dilemma, andhad barely informed him of my intended departure,when a voice from without the room proclaimed that“Pether” was ready, and having commissionedthe adjutant to say the “proper” to Mr.Beamish and the doctor, hurried away, and after a heartyshake of the hand from Father Brennan, and a faithfulpromise to return soon, I mounted and set off.

Peter’s pace was of all others the one leastlikely to disturb the lucubrations of a castle-builderlike myself; without any admonition from whip or spurhe maintained a steady and constant canter, which,I am free to confess, was more agreeable to sit, thanit was graceful to behold; for his head being muchlower than his tail, he every moment appeared in theattitude of a diver about to plunge into the water,and more than once I had misgivings that I would consultmy safety better if I sat with my face to the tail;however, what will not habit accomplish? before Ihad gone a mile or two, I was so lost in my own reveriesand reflections, that I knew nothing of my mode ofprogression, and had only thoughts and feelings forthe destiny that awaited me; sometimes I would fancymyself seated in the House of Commons, (on the ministerialbenches, of course,) while some leading oppositionistwas pronouncing a glowing panegyric upon the eloquentand statesmanlike speech of the gallant colonel—­myself;then I thought I was making arrangements for settingout for my new appointment, and Sancho Panza nevercoveted the government of an island more than I did,though only a West Indian one; and, lastly, I saw myselfthe chosen diplomate on a difficult mission, and wasactually engaged in the easy and agreeable occupationof outmaneuvering Talleyrand and Pozzo di Borgo, whenPeter suddenly drew up at the door of a small cabin,and convinced me that I was still a mortal man, anda lieutenant in his Majesty’s 4_th. BeforeI had time afforded me even to guess at the reasonof this sudden halt, an old man emerged from the cabin,which I saw now was a road-side ale-house, and presentedPeter with a bucket of meal and water, a species of“viaticum” that he evidently was accustomedto, at this place, whether bestrode by a priest oran ambassador. Before me lay a long stragglingstreet of cabins, irregularly thrown, as if riddled

over the ground; this I was informed was Kilkee; whilemy 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 populationof the village assembled round Peter, whose claimsto notoriety, I now learned, depended neither uponhis owner’s fame, nor even my temporary possessionof him. Peter, in fact, had been a racer, once—­when,the wandering Jew might perhaps have told, had he evervisited Clare—­for not the oldest inhabitantknew the date of his triumphs on the turf; thoughthey were undisputed traditions, and never did anyman appear bold enough to call them in question:whether it was from his patriarchal character, orthat he was the only race-horse ever known in hiscounty I cannot say, but, of a truth, the Grand Lamacould scarcely be a greater object of reverence inThibet, than was Peter in Kilkee.

“Musha, Peter, but it’s well y’rlooking,” cried one.

“Ah, thin, maybe ye an’t fat on the ribs,”cried another.

“An’ co*ckin’ his tail like a coult,”said a third.

I am very certain, if I might venture to judge fromthe faces about, that, had the favourite for the St.Leger, passed through Kilkee at that moment, comparisonsvery little to his favor had been drawn from the assemblagearound me. With some difficulty I was permittedto reach my much admired steed, and with a cheer,which was sustained and caught up by every denizenof the village as I passed through, I rode on my way,not a little amused at my equivocal popularity.

Being desirous to lose no time, I diverged from thestraight road which leads to Kilrush, and took a crossbridle-path to Callonby; this, I afterwards discoveredwas a detour of a mile or two, and it was alreadysun-set when I reached the entrance to the park. I entered the avenue, and now my impatience becameextreme, for although Peter continued to move at thesame uniform pace, I could not persuade myself thathe was not foundering at every step, and was quitesure we were scarcely advancing; at last I reachedthe wooden bridge, and ascended the steep slope, thespot where I had first met her, on whom my every thoughtnow rested. I turned the angle of the clumpof beech trees from whence the first view of the houseis caught—­I perceived to my inexpressibledelight that gleams of light shone from many of thewindows, and could trace their passing from one tothe other. I now drew rein, and with a heartrelieved from a load of anxiety, pulled up my goodsteed, and began to think of the position in whicha few brief seconds would place me. I reachedthe small flower-garden, sacred by a thousand endearingrecollections. Oh! of how very little accountare the many words of passing kindness, and momentsof light-hearted pleasure, when spoken or felt, comparedto the memory of them when hallowed by time or distance.

“The place, the hour, the sunshine and the shade,”all reminded me of the happy past, and all broughtvividly before me every portion of that dream of happinessin which I was so utterly—­so completelysteeped—­every thought of the hopelessnessof my passion was lost in the intensity of it, andI did not, in the ardour of my loving, stop to thinkof its possible success.

It was strange enough that the extreme impatience,the hurried anxiety, I had felt and suffered from,while riding up the avenue, had now fled entirely,and in its place I felt nothing but a diffident distrustof myself, and a vague sense of awkwardness aboutintruding thus unexpectedly upon the family, whileengaged in all the cares and preparations for a speedydeparture. The hall-door lay as usual wide open,the hall itself was strewn and littered with trunks,imperials, and packing-cases, and the hundred etceteras of travelling baggage. I hesitateda moment whether I should not ring, but at last resolvedto enter unannounced, and, presuming upon my intimacy,see what effect my sudden appearance would have onLady Jane, whose feelings towards me would be thusmost unequivocally tested. I passed along thewide corridor, entered the music-room—­itwas still—­I walked then to the door ofthe drawing-room—­I paused—­I drewa full breath—­my hand trembled slightlyas I turned the lock—­I entered—­theroom was empty, but the blazing fire upon the hearth,the large arm-chairs drawn around, the scattered booksupon the small tables, all told that it had been inhabiteda very short time before. Ah! thought I, lookingat my watch, they are at dinner, and I began at onceto devise a hundred different plans to account formy late absence and present visit. I knew thata few minutes would probably bring them into the drawing-room,and I felt flurried and heated as the time drew near. At last I heard voices without—­I startedfrom the examination of a pencil drawing but partlyfinished, but the artist of which I could not be deceivedin—­I listened —­the sounds drewnear—­I could not distinguish who were thespeakers —­the door-lock turned, and I roseto make my well-conned, but half-forgotten speech;and oh, confounded disappointment, Mrs. Herbert, thehouse-keeper, entered. She started, not expectingto see me, and immediately said,

“Oh! Mr. Lorrequer! then you’ve missedthem.”

“Missed them!” said I; “how—­when—­where?”

“Did you not get a note from my lord?”

“No; when was it written?”

“Oh, dear me, that is so very unfortunate. Why, sir, my lord sent off a servant this morningto Kilrush, in Lord Kilkee’s tilbury, to requestyou would meet them all in Ennis this evening, wherethey had intended to stop for to-night; and they waitedhere till near four o’clock to-day, but whenthe servant came back with the intelligence that youwere from home, and not expected to return soon, theywere obliged to set out, and are not going to makeany delay now, till they reach London. The lastdirection, however, my lord gave, was to forward herladyship’s letter to you as soon as possible.”

What I thought, said, or felt, might be a good subjectof confession to Father Malachi, for I fear it maybe recorded among my sins, as I doubt not that theagony I suffered vented itself in no measured formof speech or conduct; but I have nothing to confesshere on the subject, being so totally overwhelmedas not to know what I did or said. My first gleamof reason elicited itself by asking,

“Is there, then, no chance of their stoppingin Ennis to-night?” As I put the question mymind reverted to Peter and his eternal canter.

“Oh, dear, no, sir; the horses are ordered totake them, since Tuesday; and they only thought ofstaying in Ennis, if you came time enough to meetthem—­and they will be so sorry.”

“Do you think so, Mrs. Herbert? do you, indeed,think so?” said I, in a most insinuating tone.

“I am perfectly sure of it, sir.”

“Oh, Mrs. Herbert, you are too kind to thinkso; but perhaps—­that is —­maybe, Mrs. Herbert, she said something—­”

“Who, sir?”

“Lady Callonby, I mean; did her ladyship leaveany message for me about her plants? or did she remember—­”

Mrs. Herbert kept looking at me all the time, withher great wide grey eyes, while I kept stammeringand blushing like a school-boy.

“No, sir; her ladyship said nothing, sir; butLady Jane—­”

“Yes; well, what of Lady Jane, my dear Mrs.Herbert?”

“Oh, sir! but you look pale; would not you liketo have a little wine and water—­or perhaps—­”

“No, thank you, nothing whatever; I am justa little fatigued—­but you were mentioning—­”

“Yes, sir; I was saying that Lady Jane was mightyparticular about a small plant; she ordered it tobe left in her dressing-room, though Collins toldher to have some of the handsome ones of the green-house,she would have nothing but this; and if you were onlyto hear half the directions she gave about keepingit watered, and taking off dead leaves, you’dthink her heart was set on it.”

Mrs. Herbert would have had no cause to prescribefor my paleness had she only looked at me this time;fortunately, however, she was engaged, housekeeper-like,in bustling among books, papers, &c. which she hadcome in for the purpose of arranging and packing up. She being left behind to bring up the rear, and theheavy baggage.

Very few moments’ consideration were sufficientto show me that pursuit was hopeless; whatever mighthave been Peter’s performance in the reign of“Queen Anne,” he had now become like thegoose so pathetically described by my friend Lover,rather “stiff in his limbs,” and the oddswere fearfully against his overtaking four horses,starting fresh every ten miles, not to mention theirbeing some hours in advance already. Having declinedall Mrs. Herbert’s many kind offers, anent foodand rest, I took a last lingering look at the beautifulpictures, which still held its place in the room latelymine, 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 sorrowand regret for hours that had passed—­never,never to return.

It was very late when I reached my old quarters atKilrush; Mrs. Healy fortunately was in bed asleep—­fortunatelyI say, for had she selected that occasion to venther indignation for my long absence, I greatly fearthat, in my then temper I should have exhibited butlittle of that Job-like endurance for which I wasonce esteemed; I entered my little mean-looking parlour,with its three chairs and lame table, and, as I flungmyself upon the wretched substitute for a sofa, andthought upon the varied events which a few weeks hadbrought about; it required the aid of her ladyship’sletter, which I opened before me, to assure me I wasnot dreaming.

The entire of that night I could not sleep; my destinyseemed upon its balance; and, whether the scale inclinedto this side or that, good or evil fortune seemedto 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 themorning was already breaking, and found me still doubtingand uncertain. At last the die was thrown; Idetermined at once to apply for leave to my commandingofficer, (which he could, if he pleased, give me,without any application to the Horse Guards,) setout for Elton, tell Sir Guy my whole adventure, andendeavour, by a more moving love story than ever gracedeven the Minerva Press, to induce him to make somesettlement on me, and use his influence with LordCallonby in my behalf; this done, set out for London,and then —­and then—­what then?—­thenfor the Morning Post—­“Cadeau de noces”—­“happy couple”—­“LordCallonby’s seat in Hampshire,” &c. &c.

“You wished to be called at five, sir,”said Stubber.

“Yes; is it five o’clock?”

“No, sir; but I heard you call out somethingabout ‘four horses,’ and I thought youmight be hurried, so I came a little earlier.”

“Quite right, Stubber; let me have my breakfastas soon as possible, and see that chestnut horse Ibrought here last night, fed.”

“And now for it,” said I, after writinga hurried note to Curzon, requesting him to take commandof my party at Kilrush, till he heard from me, andsending my kindest remembrance to my three friends;I despatched the epistle by my servant on Peter, whileI hastened to acquire a place in the mail for Ennis,on the box seat of which let my kind reader supposeme seated, as wrapping my box-coat around me, I litmy cigar and turned my eyes towards Limerick.

CHAPTER VIII.

CONGRATULATIONS—­SICK LEAVE—­HOW TO PASS THE BOARD.

I had scarcely seated myself to breakfast at Swinburn’shotel in Limerick, when the waiter presented me witha letter. As my first glance at the addressshowed it to be in Colonel Carden’s handwriting,I felt not a little alarmed for the consequences ofthe rash step I had taken in leaving my detachment;and, while quickly thronging fancies of arrest andcourtmartial flitted before me, I summoned resolutionat last to break the seal, and read as follows:—­

“My dear Lorrequer,” ("dearLorrequer!” dear me, thought I; cool certainly,from one I have ever regarded as an open enemy)—­“Mydear Lorrequer, I have just accidentally heardof your arrival here, and hasten to inform you,that, as it may not be impossible your reasons forso abruptly leaving your detachment are known to me,I shall not visit your breach of discipline veryheavily. My old and worthy friend, LordCallonby, who passed through here yesterday, has sowarmly interested himself in your behalf, thatI feel disposed to do all in my power to serveyou; independently of my desire to do so on yourown account. Come over here, then, as soon aspossible, and let us talk over your plans together.

“Believeme, most truly yours,
“HenryCarden.
“Barracks, 10o’clock.”

However mysterious and difficult to unravel, havebeen some of the circ*mstances narrated in these “Confessions,”I do not scruple to avow that the preceding letterwas to me by far the most inexplicable piece of fortuneI had hitherto met with. That Lord Callonby shouldhave converted one whom I believed an implacable foe,into a most obliging friend, was intelligible enough,seeing that his lordship had through life been thepatron of the colonel; but why he had so done, andwhat communications he could possibly have made withregard to me, that Colonel Carden should speak of“my plans” and proffer assistance in themwas a perfect riddle; and the only solution, one soridiculously flattering that I dared not think ofit. I read and re-read the note; misplaced thestops; canvassed every expression; did all to detecta meaning different from the obvious one, fearfulof a self-deception where so much was at stake. Yet there it stood forth, a plain straightforwardproffer of services, for some object evidently knownto the writer; and my only conclusion, from all, wasthis, that “my Lord Callonby was the gem ofhis order, and had a most remarkable talent for selectinga son-in-law.”

I fell into a deep reverie upon my past life, andthe prospects which I now felt were opening beforeme. Nothing seemed extravagant to hopes so wellfounded—­to expectations so brilliant—­and,in my mind’s eye, I beheld myself at one momentleading my young and beautiful bride through the crowdedsalons of Devonshire House; and, at the next, I wascontemplating the excellence and perfection of my studarrangements at Melton, for I resolved not to giveup hunting. While in this pleasurable exerciseof my fancy, I was removing from before me some ofthe 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 dullreality, by the following passage which my eye fellupon in the newspaper before me—­“Weunderstand that the 4_th are daily expecting the routefor 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 considerationto show me that though the regiment there mentionedwas the one I belonged to, I could have no possibleinterest in the announcement; it never coming intomy calculation that I should submit to such expatriation;yet it gave me a salutary warning that there was notime to be lost in making my application for leave,which, once obtained, I should have ample time tomanage an exchange into another corps. The wonderfulrevolution a few days had effected in all my tastesand desires, did not escape me at this moment. But a week or two before and I should have regardedan order for foreign service as anything rather thanunpleasant—­now the thought was insupportable. Then there would have been some charm to me in thevery novelty of the locale, and the indulgence ofthat vagrant spirit I have ever possessed; for, likeJustice Woodco*ck, “I certainly should have beena vagabond if Providence had not made me a justiceof the peace”—­now, I could not evencontemplate the thing as possible; and would have actuallyrefused the command of a regiment, if the conditionof its acceptance were to sail for the colonies.

Besides, I tried—­and how ingenious is self-deception—­Itried to find arguments in support of my determinationtotally different from the reasons which governedme. I affected to fear climate, and to dreadthe effect of the tropics upon my health. Itmay do very well, thought I, for men totally destituteof better prospects; with neither talent, influenceor powerful connexion, to roast their cheeks at SierraLeone, or suck a sugar-cane at St. Lucia. Butthat you, Harry Lorrequer, should waste your sweetnessupon planters’ daughters—­that haveonly to be known, to have the world at your feet! The thing is absurd, and not to be thought of! Yes, said I half aloud—­we read in the armylist, that Major A. is appointed to the 50th, andCapt. B. to the 12th; but how much more nearthe truth would it be, to say—­“ThatHis Majesty, in consideration of the distinguishedservices of the one, has been graciously pleased toappoint him to—­a case of blue and collapsedcholera, in India; and also, for the bravery and gallantconduct of the other, in his late affair with the‘How-dow-dallah Indians,’ has promotedhim to the—­yellow fever now devastatingand desolating Jamaica.” How far my zealfor the service might have carried me on this point,I know not; for I was speedily aroused from my musingsby the loud tramp of feet upon the stairs, and thesound of many well-known voices of my brother officers,who were coming to visit me.

“So, Harry, my boy,” said the fat majoras he entered; “is it true we are not to havethe pleasure of your company to Jamaica this time?”

“He prefers a pale face, it seems, to a blackone; and certainly, with thirty thousand in the samescale, the taste is excusable.”

“But, Lorrequer,” said a third, “weheard that you had canvassed the county on the Callonbyinterest. Why, man, where do you mean to pullup?”

“As for me,” lisped a large-eyed, white-hairedensign of three months’ standing, “I thinkit devilish hard, old Carden didn’t send medown there, too, for I hear there are two girls inthe family. Eh, Lorrequer?”

Having with all that peculiar bashfulness such occasionsare sure to elicit, disclaimed the happiness my friendsso clearly ascribed to me, I yet pretty plainly letit be understood that the more brilliant they supposedmy present prospects to be, the more near were theyto estimate them justly. One thing certainlygratified me throughout. All seemed rejoicedat my good fortune, and even the old Scotch paymastermade no more caustic remark than that he “wadna wonder if the chiel’s black whiskers wadget him made governor of Stirling Castle before he’ddee.”

Should any of my most patient listeners to these myhumble confessions, wonder either here, or elsewhere,upon what very slight foundations I built these my“Chateaux en Espagne,” I have only oneanswer—­“that from my boyhood I havehad a taste for florid architecture, and would ratherput up with any inconvenience of ground, than not buildat all.”

As it was growing late I hurriedly bade adieu to myfriends, and hastened to Colonel Carden’s quarters,where I found him waiting for me, in company withmy old friend, Fitzgerald, our regimental surgeon. Our first greetings over, the colonel drew me asideinto a window, and said that, from certain expressionsLord Callonby had made use of—­certain hintshe had dropped—­he was perfectly aware ofthe delicate position in which I stood with respectto his lordship’s family. “In fact,my dear Lorrequer,” he continued, “withoutwishing in the least to obtrude myself upon your confidence,I must yet be permitted to say, you are the luckiestfellow in Europe, and I most sincerely congratulateyou on the prospect before you.”

“But, my dear Colonel, I assure you—­”

“Well, well, there—­not a word more;don’t blush now. I know there is alwaysa kind of secrecy thought necessary on these occasions,for the sake of other parties; so let us pass to yourplans. From what I have collected, you havenot yet proposed formally. But, of course youdesire a leave. You’ll not quit the army,I trust; no necessity for that; such influence asyours can always appoint you to an unattached commission.”

“Once more let me protest, sir, that thoughfor certain reasons most desirous to obtain a leaveof absence, I have not the most remote—­”

“That’s right, quite right; I am sincerelygratified to hear you say so, and so will be LordCallonby; for he likes the service.”

And thus was my last effort at a disclaimer cut shortby the loquacious little colonel, who regarded myunfinished sentence as a concurrence with his ownopinion.

“Allah il Allah,” thought I, “itis my Lord Callonby’s own plot; and his friendColonel Cardon aids and abets him.”

“Now, Lorrequer,” resumed the colonel,“let us proceed. You have, of course,heard that we are ordered abroad; mere newspaper reportfor the present; nevertheless, it is extremely difficult—­almostimpossible, without a sick certificate, to obtaina leave sufficiently long for your purpose.”

And here he smirked, and I blushed, selon les regles..

“A sick certificate,” said I in some surprise.

“The only thing for you,” said Fitzgerald,taking a long pinch of snuff; “and I grieveto say you have a most villainous look of good healthabout you.”

“I must acknowledge I have seldom felt better.”

“So much the worse—­so much the worse,”said Fitzgerald despondingly. “Is thereno family complaint; no respectable heir-loom of infirmity,you can lay claim to from your kindred?”

“None, that I know of, unless a very activeperformance on the several occasions of breakfast,dinner, and supper, with a tendency towards port,and an inclination to sleep ten in every twenty-fourhours, be a sign of sickness; these symptoms I haveknown many of the family suffer for years, withoutthe slightest alleviation, though, strange as it mayappear, they occasionally had medical advice.”

Fitz. took no notice of my sneer at the faculty, butproceeded to strike my chest several times, with hisfinger tips. “Try a short cough now,”said he. “Ah, that will never do!”

“Do you ever flush. Before dinner I mean?”

“Occasionally, when I meet with a luncheon.”

“I’m fairly puzzled,” said poorFitz. throwing himself into a chair; “gout isa very good thing; but, then, you see you are onlya sub., and it is clearly against the articles ofwar, to have it before being a field officer at least. Apoplexy is the best I can do for you; and, to saythe truth, any one who witnesses your performance atmess, may put faith in the likelihood of it.

“Do you think you could get up a fit for themedical board,” said Fitz., gravely.

“Why, if absolutely indispensable,” saidI, “and with good instruction —­somethingthis way. Eh, is it not?”

“Nothing of the kind: you are quite wrong.”

“Is there not always a little laughing and crying,”said I.

“Oh, no, no; take the cue from the paymasterany evening after mess, and you’ll make no mistake—­veryflorid about the cheeks; rather a lazy look in oneeye, the other closed up entirely; snore a little fromtime to time, and don’t be too much disposedto talk.”

“And you think I may pass muster in this way.”

“Indeed you may, if old Camie, the inspector,happen to be (what he is not often) in a good humour. But I confess I’d rather you were really ill,for we’ve passed a great number of counterfeitslatterly, and we may be all pulled up ere long.”

“Not the less grateful for your kindness,”said I; “but still, I’d rather mattersstood as they do.”

Having, at length, obtained a very formidable statementof my ‘case’ from the Doctor, and a strongletter from the Colonel, deploring the temporary lossof so promising a young officer, I committed myselfand my portmanteau to the inside of his Majesty’smail, and started for Dublin with as light a heartand high spirits, as were consistent with so muchdelicacy of health, and the directions of my Doctor.

CHAPTER IX.

THE ROAD—­TRAVELLING ACQUAINTANCES—­A PACKET ADVENTURE.

I shall not stop now to narrate the particulars ofmy visit to the worthies of the medical board; therather, as some of my “confessions to come”have reference to Dublin, and many of those that dwelltherein. I shall therefore content myself herewith stating, that without any difficulty I obtaineda six months’ leave, and having received muchadvice and more sympathy from many members of thatbody, took a respectful leave of them, and adjournedto Bilton’s where I had ordered dinner, and(as I was advised to live low) a bottle of Sneyd’sclaret. My hours in Dublin were numbered; ateight o’clock on the evening of my arrival Ihastened to the Pidgeon House pier, to take my berthin 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 likemyself. In the days of which I now speak, steampackets were not —­men knew not then, ofthe pleasure of going to a comfortable bed in Kingstownharbour, and waking on the morning after in the Clarencedock at Liverpool, with only the addition of a littlesharper appetite for breakfast, before they set outon an excursion of forty miles per hour through theair.

In the time I have now to commemorate, the intercoursebetween the two countries was maintained by two sailingvessels of small tonnage, and still scantier accommodation. Of the one now in question I well recollect the name—­shewas called the “Alert,” and certainly amore unfortunate misnomer could scarcely be conceived. Well, there was no choice; so I took my place uponthe crowded deck of the little craft, and in a drizzlingshower of chilly rain, and amid more noise, confusion,and bustle, than would prelude the launch of a line-of-battleship, we “sidled,” goose-fashion, fromthe shore, and began our voyage towards England.

It is not my intention, in the present stage of “myConfessions,” to delay on the road towards anevent which influenced so powerfully, and so permanently,my after life; yet I cannot refrain from chroniclinga slight incident which occurred on board the packet,and which, I have no doubt, may be remembered by someof those who throw their eyes on these pages.

One of my fellow-passengers was a gentleman holdinga high official appointment in the viceregal court,either comptroller of the household, master of thehorse, or something else equally magnificent; however,whatever the nature of the situation, one thing iscertain—­one possessed of more courtly manners,and more polished address, cannot be conceived, towhich he added all the attractions of a very handsomeperson and a most prepossessing countenance. The only thing the most scrupulous critic could possiblydetect as faulty in his whole air and bearing, wasa certain ultra refinement and fastidiousness, whichin a man of acknowledged family and connections wassomewhat unaccountable, and certainly unnecessary. The fastidiousness I speak of, extended to everythinground and about him; he never eat of the wrong dish,nor spoke to the wrong man in his life, and that veryconsciousness gave him a kind of horror of chanceacquaintances, which made him shrink within himselffrom persons in every respect his equals. Thosewho knew Sir Stewart Moore, will know I do not exaggeratein either my praise or censure, and to those who havenot had that pleasure, I have only to say, theirs wasthe loss, and they must take my word for the facts.

The very antithesis to the person just mentioned,was another passenger then on board. She, foreven in sex they were different—­she wasa short, squat, red-faced, vulgar-looking woman, ofabout fifty, possessed of a most garrulous tendency,and talking indiscriminately with every one abouther, careless what reception her addresses met with,and quite indifferent to the many rebuffs she momentarilyencountered. To me by what impulse driven Heavenknows this amorphous piece of womanhood seemed determinedto attach herself. Whether in the smoky and almostimpenetrable recesses of the cabin, or braving thecold and penetrating rain upon deck, it mattered not,she was ever at my side, and not only martyring meby the insufferable annoyance of her vulgar loquacity,but actually, from the appearance of acquaintanceshipsuch constant association gave rise to, frighteningany one else from conversing with me, and renderingme, ere many hours, a perfect Paria among the passengers. By not one were we—­for, alas, we had becomeSiamese—­so thoroughly dreaded as by therefined baronet I have mentioned; he appeared to shrinkfrom our very approach, and avoided us as though wehad the plagues of Egypt about us. I saw this—­Ifelt it deeply, and as deeply and resolutely I vowedto be revenged, and the time was not long distantin affording me the opportunity.

The interesting Mrs. Mulrooney, for such was my faircompanion called, was on the present occasion makingher debut on what she was pleased to call the “says;”she was proceeding to the Liverpool market as proprietorand supercargo over some legion of swine that occupiedthe hold of the vessel, and whose mellifluous toneswere occasionally heard in all parts of the ship. Having informed me on these, together with some circ*mstancesof her birth and parentage, she proceeded to narratesome of the cautions given by her friends as to hersafety when making such a long voyage, and also todetail some of the antiseptics to that dread scourge,sea-sickness, in the fear and terror of which she hadcome on board, and seemed every hour to be increasingin alarm about.

“Do you think then sir, that pork is no goodagin the sickness? Mickey, that’s my husband,sir, says it’s the only thing in life for it,av it’s toasted.”

“Not the least use, I assure you.”

“Nor sperits and wather?”

“Worse and worse, ma’am.”

“Oh, thin, maybe oaten mail tay would do? it’sa beautiful thing for the stomick, any how.”

“Rank poison on the present occasion, believeme.”

“Oh, then, blessed Mary, what am I to do—­whatis to become of me?”

“Go down at once to your berth, ma’am;lie still and without speaking till we come in sightof land; or,” and here a bright thought seizedme, “if you really feel very ill, call for thatman there, with the fur collar on his coat; he cangive 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 atrifle, and sets up for a half gentleman; so don’tbe surprised at his manner; though, after all, youmay find him very different; some people, I’veheard, think him extremely civil.”

“And he has a cure, ye say?”

“The only one I ever heard of; it is a littlecordial of which you take, I don’t know howmuch, every ten or fifteen minutes.”

“And the naygur doesn’t let the saycretout, bad manners to him?”

“No, ma’am; he has refused every offeron the subject.’

“May I be so bowld as to ax his name again?”

“Stewart Moore, ma’am. Moore isthe name, but people always call him Stewart Moore;just say that in a loud clear voice, and you’llsoon have him.”

With the most profuse protestations of gratitude andpromises of pork “a discretion,” if Iever sojourned at Ballinasloe, my fair friend proceededto follow my advice, and descended to the cabin.

Some hours after, I also betook myself to my rest,from which, however, towards midnight I was awokeby the heavy working and pitching of the little vessel,as she laboured in a rough sea. As I looked forthfrom my narrow crib, a more woe-begone picture canscarcely be imagined than that before me. Hereand there through the gloomy cabin lay the victimsof the fell malady, in every stage of suffering, andin every attitude of misery. Their cries andlamentings mingled with the creaking of the bulk-headsand the jarring twang of the dirty lamp, whose irregularswing told plainly how oscillatory was our presentmotion. I turned from the unpleasant sight,and was about again to address myself to slumber withwhat success I might, when I started at the sound ofa voice in the very berth next to me—­whosetones, once heard, there was no forgetting. Thewords ran as nearly as I can recollect thus:—­

“Oh, then, bad luck to ye for pigs, that everbrought me into the like of this. Oh, Lord,there it is again.” And here a slight interruptionto eloquence took place, during which I was enabledto reflect upon the author of the complaint, who,I need not say, was Mrs. Mulrooney.

“I think a little tay would settle my stomach,if I only could get it; but what’s the use oftalking in this horrid place? They never mindme no more than if I was a pig. Steward, steward—­oh,then, it’s wishing you well I am for a steward. Steward, I say;” and this she really did say,with an energy of voice and manner that startled morethan one sleeper. “Oh, you’re comingat last, steward.”

“Ma’am,” said a little dapper anddirty personage, in a blue jacket, with a greasy napkinnegligently thrown over one arm “ex officio,”“Ma’am, did you call?”

“Call, is it call? No; but I’m roaringfor you this half hour. Come here. Haveyou any of the cordial dhrops agin the sickness?—­youknow what I mean.”

“Is it brandy, ma’am?”

“No, it isn’t brandy;”

“We have got gin, ma’am, and bottled porter—­cider,ma’am, if you like.”

“Agh, no! sure I want the dhrops agin the sickness.”

“Don’t know indeed, ma’am.”

“Ah, you stupid creature; maybe you’renot the real steward. What’s your name?”

“Smith, ma’am.”

“Ah, I thought so; go away, man, go away.”

This injunction, given in a diminuendo cadence, wasquickly obeyed, and all was silence for a moment ortwo. Once more was I dropping asleep, when thesame voice as before burst out with—­

“Am I to die here like a haythen, and nobodyto come near me? Steward, steward, steward Moore,I say,”

“Who calls me?” said a deep sonorous voicefrom the opposite side of the cabin, while at thesame instant a tall green silk nightcap, surmountinga very aristocratic-looking forehead, appeared betweenthe curtains of the opposite berth.

“Steward Moore,” said the lady again,with her eyes straining in the direction of the doorby which she expected him to enter.

“This is most strange,” muttered the baronet,half aloud. “Why, madam, you are callingme!”

“And if I am,” said Mrs. Mulrooney, “andif ye heerd me, have ye no manners to answer yourname, eh? Are ye steward Moore?”

“Upon my soul ma’am I thought so lastnight, when I came on board; but you really have contrivedto make me doubt my own identity.”

“And is it there ye’re lying on the broadof yer back, and me as sick as a dog fornent ye?”

“I concede ma’am the fact; the positionis a most irksome one on every account.”

“Then why don’t ye come over to me?”and this Mrs. Mulrooney said with a voice of somethinglike tenderness—­wishing at all hazards toconciliate so important a functionary.

“Why, really you are the most incomprehensibleperson I ever met.”

“I’m what?” said Mrs. Mulrooney,her blood rushing to her face and temples as she spoke—­forthe same reason as her fair townswoman is reportedto have borne with stoical fortitude every harsh epithetof the language, until it occurred to her opponentto tell her that “the divil a bit better shewas nor a pronoun;” so Mrs. Mulrooney, taking“omne ignotum pro horribili,” became perfectlybeside herself at the unlucky phrase. “I’mwhat? repate it av ye dare, and I’ll tear yereyes out? Ye dirty bla—­guard, tobe lying there at yer ease under the blankets, grinningat me. What’s your thrade—­answerme that—­av it isn’t to wait on theladies, eh?”

“Oh, the woman must be mad,” said SirStewart.

“The devil a taste mad, my dear—­I’monly sick. Now just come over to me, like adecent creature, and give me the dhrop of comfort yehave. Come, avick.”

“Go over to you?”

“Ay, and why not? or if it’s so lazy yeare, why then I’ll thry and cross over to yourside.”

These words being accompanied by a certain indicationof change of residence on the part of Mrs. Mulrooney,Sir Stewart perceived there was no time to lose, andspringing from his berth, he rushed half-dressed throughthe cabin, and up the companion-ladder, just as Mrs.Mulrooney had protruded a pair of enormous legs fromher couch, and hung for a moment pendulous beforeshe dropped upon the floor, and followed him to thedeck. A tremendous shout of laughter from thesailors and deck passengers prevented my hearing thedialogue 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 morningat breakfast amply satisfied me that I had had myrevenge.

CHAPTER X.

Upset—­mind—­and
body.

No sooner in Liverpool, than I hastened to take myplace in the earliest conveyance for London. At that time the Umpire Coach was the perfectionof fast travelling; and seated behind the box, envelopedin a sufficiency of broad-cloth, I turned my facetowards town with as much anxiety and as ardent expectationsas most of those about me. All went on in theregular monotonous routine of such matters until wereached Northampton, passing down the steep streetof which town, the near wheel-horse stumbled and fell;the coach, after a tremendous roll to one side, toppledover on the other, and with a tremendous crash, andsudden shock, sent all the outsides, myself amongthe 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’sshop, having passed through a large plate-glass window,and destroyed more leghorns and dunstables than ayear’s pay would recompense. I have butlight recollection of the details of that occasion,

until I found myself lying in a very spacious bedat the George Inn, having been bled in both arms,and discovering by the multitude of bandages in whichI was enveloped, that at least some of my bones werebroken by the fall. That such fate had befallenmy collar-bone and three of my ribs I soon learned;and was horror-struck at hearing from the surgeonwho attended me, that four or five weeks would bethe very earliest period I could bear removal withsafety. Here then at once was a large deductionfrom my six months’ leave, not to think of themisery that awaited me for such a time, confined tomy bed in an inn, without books, friends, or acquaintances.However even this could be remedied by patience, andsummoning up all I could command, I “bided mytime,” but not before I had completed a termof two months’ imprisonment, and had become,from actual starvation, something very like a livingtransparency.

No sooner, however, did I feel myself once more onthe road, than my spirits rose, and I felt myselfas 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 followingmorning proceeded to Portman-square, bursting withimpatience to see my friends the Callonbys, and recountall my adventures—­for as I was too ill towrite from Northampton, and did not wish to entrustto a stranger the office of communicating with them,I judged that they must be exceedingly uneasy on myaccount, and pictured to myself the thousand emotionsmy appearance so indicative of illness would giverise to; and could scarcely avoid running in my impatienceto be once more among them. How Lady Jane wouldmeet me, I thought of over again and again; whetherthe same cautious reserve awaited me, or whether herfamily’s approval would have wrought a changein her reception of me, I burned to ascertain. As my thoughts ran on in this way, I found myselfat the door; but was much alarmed to perceive thatthe closed window-shutters and dismantled look ofthe house proclaimed them from home. I rung thebell, and soon learned from a servant, whose faceI had not seen before, that the family had gone toParis about a month before, with the intention of spendingthe winter there. I need not say how grievouslythis piece of intelligence disappointed me, and fora minute or two I could not collect my thoughts. At last the servant said:

“If you have any thing very particular, sir,that my Lord’s lawyer can do, I can give youhis address.”

“No, thank you—­nothing;” atthe same time I muttered to myself, “I’llhave some occupation for him though ere long. The family were all quite well, didn’t yousay?”

“Yes sir, perfectly well. My Lord hadonly a slight cold,”

“Ah—­yes—­and there addressis ‘Meurice;’ very well.”

So saying I turned from the door, and with slowersteps than I had come, returned to my hotel.

My immediate resolve was to set out for Paris; mysecond 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, endeavourto induce him to make some settlement on Lady Jane,in the event of my obtaining her family’s consentto our marriage. This, from his liking greatpeople much, and laying great stress upon the advantagesof connexion, I looked upon as a matter of no greatdifficulty; so that, although my hopes of happinesswere delayed in their fulfilment, I believed theywere only about to be the more securely realized. The same day I set out for Elton, and by ten o’clockat night reached my uncle’s house. I foundthe old gentleman looking just as I had left him threeyears before, complaining a little of gout in the leftfoot—­praising his old specific, port-wine—­abusinghis servants for robbing him—­and drinkingthe Duke of Wellington’s health every night aftersupper; which meal I had much pleasure in surprisinghim at on my arrival—­not having eaten sincemy departure from London.

“Well, Harry,” said my uncle, when theservants had left the room, and we drew over the spidertable to the fire to discuss our wine with comfort,“what good wind has blown you down to me, myboy? for it’s odd enough, five minutes beforeI heard the wheels on the gravel I was just wishingsome good fellow would join me at the grouse—­andyou see I have had my wish! The old story, Isuppose, ‘out of cash.’ Would notcome down here for nothing—­eh? Come,lad, tell truth; is it not so?”

“Why, not exactly, sir; but I really had ratherat present talk about you, than about my own matters,which we can chat over tomorrow. How do youget on, sir, with the Scotch steward?”

“He’s a rogue, sir—­a cheat—­ascoundrel; but it is the same with them all; and yourcousin, Harry—­your cousin, that I have rearedfrom his infancy to be my heir, (pleasant topic forme!) 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 wantedto wheedle me out of a hundred or two.”

“But you forget, sir—­I told you Ihave not come with such an object.”

“We’ll see that—­we’llsee that in the morning,” replied he, with anincredulous shake of the head.

“But Guy, sir—­what has Guy done?”

“What has he not done? No sooner did hejoin that popinjay set of fellows, the __th hussars,than he turned out, what he calls a four-in-hand drag,which dragged nine hundred pounds out of my pocket—­then he has got a yacht at Cowes—­agrouse mountain in Scotland—­and has actuallygiven Tattersall an unlimited order to purchase theWreckinton pack of harriers, which he intends to keepfor the use of the corps. In a word, there isnot an amusem*nt of that villanous regiment, not aflask of champagne drank at their mess, I don’tbear my share in the cost of; all through the kindoffices of your worthy cousin, Guy Lorrequer.”

This was an exceedingly pleasant expose for me, tohear of my cousin indulged in every excess of foolishextravagance by his rich uncle, while I, the son ofan elder brother who unfortunately called me by hisown 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 provedagainst me would have deprived of even that smallallowance. My uncle however did not notice thechagrin with which I heard his narrative, but continuedto detail various instances of wild and reckless expensethe future possessor of his ample property had alreadylaunched into.

Anxious to say something without well-knowing what,I hinted that probably my good cousin would reformsome of these days, and marry.

“Marry,” said my uncle; “yes, that,I believe, is the best thing we can do with him; andI hope now the matter is in good train—­sothe latest accounts say, at least.”

“Ah, indeed,” said I, endeavouring totake an interest where I really felt none—­formy cousin and I had never been very intimate friends,and the differences in our fortunes had not, at leastto my thinking, been compensated by any advances whichhe, under the circ*mstances, might have made to me.

“Why, Harry, did you not hear of it?”said my uncle.

“No—­not a word, sir.”

“Very strange, indeed—­a great match,Harry—­a very great match, indeed.”

“Some rich banker’s daughter,” thoughtI. “What will he say when he hears ofmy fortune?”

“A very fine young woman, too, I understand—­quitethe belle of London —­and a splendid propertyleft by an aunt.”

I was bursting to tell him of my affair, and thathe had another nephew, to whom if common justice wererendered, his fortune was as certainly made for life.

“Guy’s business happened this way,”continued my uncle, who was quite engrossed by thethought of his favourite’s success. “Thefather of the young lady met him in Ireland, or Scotland,or some such place, where he was with his regiment—­wasgreatly struck with his manner and address —­foundhim out to be my nephew—­asked him to hishouse—­and, in fact, almost threw this lovelygirl at his head before they were two months acquainted.”

“As nearly as possible my own adventure,”thought I, laughing to myself.

“But you have not told me who they are, sir,”said I, dying to have his story finished, and to beginmine.

“I’m coming to that—­I’mcoming to that. Guy came down here, but did nottell 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 shortleave; and the first thing I heard of the matter wasa letter from the papa, demanding from me if Guy wasto be my heir, and asking ‘how far his attentionsin his family, met with my approval.’”

“Then how did you know sir that they were previouslyknown to each other?”

“The family lawyer told me, who heard it alltalked over.”

“And why, then, did Guy get the letter of introductionfrom you, when he was already acquainted with them?”

“I am sure I cannot tell, except that you knowhe always does every thing unlike every one else,and to be sure the letter seems to have excited someamusem*nt. I must show you his answer to my firstnote to know how all was going on; for I felt veryanxious about matters, when I heard from some personwho had met them, that Guy was everlastingly in thehouse, and that Lord Callonby could not live withouthim.”

“Lord who, sir?” said I in a voice thatmade the old man upset his glass, and spring fromhis chair in horror.

“What the devil is the matter with the boy. What makes you so pale?”

“Whose name did you say at that moment, sir,”said I with a slowness of speech that cost me agony.

“Lord Callonby, my old schoolfellow and fa*gat Eton.”

“And the lady’s name, sir?” saidI, in scarcely an audible whisper.

“I’m sure I forget her name; but here’sthe letter from Guy, and I think he mentions her namein the postscript.”

I snatched rudely the half-opened letter from theold man, as he was vainly endeavouring to detect theplace he wanted, and read as follows:

“My adored Jane is all your fondest wishes formy happiness could picture, and longs to see her dearuncle, as she already calls you on every occasion.” I read no more—­my eyes swam—­thepaper, the candles, every thing before me, was mistyand confused; and although I heard my uncle’svoice still going on, I knew nothing of what he said.

For some time my mind could not take in the full extentof the base treachery I had met with, and I sat speechlessand stupified. By degrees my faculties becameclearer, and with one glance I read the whole business,from my first meeting with them at Kilrush to the presentmoment. 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 turnedmy thoughts to Lady Jane herself. How had shebetrayed me! for certainly she had not only received,but encouraged my addresses—­and so soon,too.—­To think that at the very moment whenmy own precipitate haste to see her had involved mein a nearly fatal accident, she was actually receivingthe attentions of another! Oh, it was too, toobad.

But enough—­even now I can scarcely dwellupon the memory of that moment, when the hopes anddreams of many a long day and night were destined tobe thus rudely blighted. I seized the first opportunityof bidding my uncle good night; and having promisedhim to reveal all my plans on the morrow, hurriedto my room.

My plans! alas, I had none—­that one fatalparagraph had scattered them to the winds; and I threwmyself upon my bed, wretched and almost heart-broken.

I have once before in these “Confessions”claimed to myself the privilege, not inconsistentwith a full disclosure of the memorabilia of my life,to pass slightly over those passages, the burden ofwhich was unhappy, and whose memory is painful. I must now, therefore, claim the “benefit ofthis act,” and beg of the reader to let me passfrom this sad portion of my history, and for the fullexpression 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 notreading a rather polysyllabic word in a Latin letter—­“Asfor this,” said he, looking at the phrase inquestion, “soit qui’l dit,” so sayI. And now —­en route.

The confessions of Harry Lorrequer,Volume 2

[By Charles James Lever (1806-1872)]

Dublin

MDCCCXXXIX.

Volume 2. (Chapters XI. to XVII.)

Contents:

Chapter XI
Cheltenham—­Matrimonial Adventure—­Showinghow to make love for a friend

Chapter XII
Dublin—­Tom O’Flaherty—­AReminiscence of the Peninsula

Chapter XIII
Dublin—­The Boarding-house—­SelectSociety

Chapter XIV
The Chase

Chapter XV
Mems Of the North Cork

Chapter XVI
Theatricals

Chapter XVI* (This chapter # is repeated inthe print copy.)
The Wager

Chapter XVII
The Elopement

CHAPTER XI.

CHELTENHAM—­MATRIMONIAL ADVENTURE—­SHOWING HOW TO MAKE LOVE FOR A FRIEND.

It was a cold raw evening in February as I sat inthe coffee-room of the Old Plough in Cheltenham, “Lucullusc. Lucullo”—­no companion savemy half-finished decanter of port. I had drawnmy chair to the corner of the ample fire-place, andin a half dreamy state was reviewing the incidentsof my early life, and like most men who, however young,have still to lament talents misapplied, opportunitiesneglected, profitless labour, and disastrous idleness. The dreary aspect of the large and ill-lighted room—­theclose-curtained boxes—­the unsocial lookof every thing and body about suited the habit ofmy soul, and I was on the verge of becoming excessivelysentimental—­the unbroken silence, whereseveral people were present, had also its effect uponme, and I felt oppressed and dejected. So satI for an hour; the clock over the mantel ticked sharplyon—­the old man in the brown surtout hadturned in his chair, and now snored louder—­thegentleman who read the Times had got the Chronicle,and I thought I saw him nodding over the advertisem*nts.The father who, with a raw son of about nineteen, haddined at six, sat still and motionless opposite hisoffspring, and only breaking the silence around by

the grating of the decanter as he posted it acrossthe table. The only thing denoting active existencewas a little, shrivelled man, who, with spectacleson his forehead, and hotel slippers on his feet, rapidlywalked up and down, occasionally stopping at his tableto sip a little weak-looking negus, which was hismoderate potation for two hours. I have beenparticular in chronicling these few and apparentlytrivial circ*mstances, for by what mere trifles areour greatest and most important movements induced—­hadthe near wheeler of the Umpire been only safe on hisfore legs, and while I write this I might—­butlet me continue. The gloom and melancholy whichbeset me, momentarily increased. But three monthsbefore, and my prospects presented every thing thatwas fairest and brightest—­now all the futurewas dark and dismal. Then my best friends couldscarcely avoid envy at my fortune —­nowmy reverses might almost excite compassion even inan enemy. It was singular enough, and I shouldnot like to acknowledge it, were not these Confessionsin their very nature intended to disclose the verypenetralia of my heart; but singular it certainly was—­andso I have always felt it since, when reflecting onit—­that although much and warmly attachedto Lady Jane Callonby, and feeling most acutely whatI must call her abandonment of me, yet, the most constantlyrecurring idea of my mind on the subject was, whatwill the mess say—­what will they thinkat head-quarters?—­the raillery, the jesting,the half-concealed allusion, the tone of assumed compassion,which all awaited me, as each of my comrades tookup his line of behaving towards me, was, after all,the most difficult thing to be borne, and I absolutelydreaded to join my regiment, more thoroughly thandid ever schoolboy to return to his labour on theexpiration of his holidays. I had framed to myselfall manner of ways of avoiding this dread event; sometimesI meditated an exchange into an African corps—­sometimesto leave the army altogether. However, I turnedthe affair over in my mind—­innumerable difficultiespresented themselves, and I was at last reduced tothat stand-still point, in which, after continualvacillation, one only waits for the slightest impulseof persuasion from another, to adopt any, no matterwhat suggestion. In this enviable frame of mindI sat sipping my wine, and watching the clock forthat hour at which, with a safe conscience, I mightretire to my bed, when the waiter roused me by demandingif my name was Mr. Lorrequer, for that a gentlemanhaving seen my card in the bar, had been making inquiryfor the owner of it all through the hotel.

“Yes,” said I, “such is my name;but I am not acquainted with any one here, that Ican remember.”

“The gentleman has ony arrived an hour sinceby the London mail, sir, and here he is.”

At this moment, a tall, dashing-looking, half-swaggeringfellow, in a very sufficient envelope of box-coats,entered the coffee-room, and unwinding a shawl fromhis throat, showed me the honest and manly countenanceof my friend Jack Waller, of the __th dragoons, withwhom I had served in the Peninsula.

Five minutes sufficed for Jack to tell me that hewas come down on a bold speculation at this unseasonabletime for Cheltenham; that he was quite sure his fortunewas about to be made in a few weeks at farthest, andwhat seemed nearly as engrossing a topic—­thathe was perfectly famished, and desired a hot supper,“de suite.”

Jack having despatched this agreeable meal with atraveller’s appetite, proceeded to unfold hisplans to me as follows:

There resided somewhere near Cheltenham, in what directionhe did not absolutely know, an old East India colonel,who had returned from a long career of successfulstaff-duties and government contracts, with the moderatefortune of two hundred thousand. He possessed,in addition, a son and a daughter; the former, beinga rake and a gambler, he had long since consignedto his own devices, and to the latter he had avowedhis intention of leaving all his wealth. Thatshe was beautiful as an angel —­highly accomplished—­gifted—­agreeable—­andall that, Jack, who had never seen her, was firmlyconvinced; that she was also bent resolutely on marryinghim, or any other gentleman whose claims were principallythe want of money, he was quite ready to swear to;and, in fact, so assured did he feel that “thewhole affair was feasible,” (I use his own expression,)that he had managed a two months’ leave, andwas come down express to see, make love to, and carryher off at once.

“But,” said I, with difficulty interruptinghim, “how long have you known her father?”

“Known him? I never saw him.”

“Well, that certainly is cool; and how do youpropose making his acquaintance. Do you intendto make him a ‘particeps criminis’ in theelopement of his own daughter, for a considerationto be hereafter paid out of his own money?”

“Now, Harry, you’ve touched upon the pointin which, you must confess, my genius always stoodunrivalled—­acknowledge, if you are not deadto gratitude—­acknowledge how often shouldyou have gone supperless to bed in our bivouacs inthe Peninsula, had it not been for the ingenuity ofyour humble servant—­avow, that if muttonwas to be had, and beef to be purloined, within acircuit of twenty miles round, our mess certainlykept no fast days. I need not remind you of thecold morning on the retreat from Burgos, when theinexorable Lake brought five men to the halberds forstealing turkeys, that at the same moment, I was engagedin devising an ox-tail soup, from a heifer broughtto our tent in jack-boots the evening before, to escapedetection by her foot tracks.”

“True, Jack, I never questioned your Spartantalent; but this affair, time considered, does appearrather difficult.”

“And if it were not, should I have ever engagedin it? No, no, Harry. I put all propervalue upon the pretty girl, with her two hundred thousandpounds pin-money. But I honestly own to you,the intrigue, the scheme, has as great charm for meas any part of the transaction.”

“Well, Jack, now for the plan, then!”

“The plan! oh, the plan. Why, I have several;but since I have seen you, and talked the matter overwith you, I have begun to think of a new mode of openingthe trenches.”

“Why, I don’t see how I can possibly haveadmitted a single new ray of light upon the affair.”

“There are you quite wrong. Just hearme out without interruption, and I’ll explain. I’ll first discover the locale of this worthycolonel —­’Hydrabad Cottage’he calls it; good, eh?—­then I shall proceedto make a tour of the immediate vicinity, and eitherbe taken dangerously ill in his grounds, within tenyards of the hall-door, or be thrown from my gig atthe gate of his avenue, and fracture my skull; I don’tmuch care which. Well, then, as I learn thatthe old gentleman is the most kind, hospitable fellowin the world, he’ll admit me at once; his daughterwill tend my sick couch—­nurse—­readto me; glorious fun, Harry. I’ll makefierce love to her; and now, the only point to bedecided is whether, having partaken of the colonel’shospitality so freely, I ought to carry her off, ormarry her with papa’s consent. You seethere is much to be said for either line of proceeding.”

“I certainly agree with you there; but sinceyou seem to see your way so clearly up to that point,why, I should advise you leaving that an ’openquestion,’ as the ministers say, when they arehard pressed for an opinion.”

“Well, Harry, I consent; it shall remain so. Now for your part, for I have not come to that.”

“Mine,” said I, in amazement; “whyhow can I possibly have any character assigned tome in the drama?”

“I’ll tell you, Harry, you shall comewith me in the gig in the capacity of my valet.”

“Your what?” said I, horror-struck athis impudence.

“Come, no nonsense, Harry, you’ll havea glorious time of it—­shall choose as becominga livery as you like—­and you’ll havethe whole female world below stairs dying for you;and all I ask for such an opportunity vouchsafed toyou is to puff me, your master, in every possible shapeand form, and represent me as the finest and mostliberal fellow in the world, rolling in wealth, andonly striving to get rid of it.”

The unparalleled effrontery of Master Jack, in assigningto me such an office, absolutely left me unable toreply to him; while he continued to expatiate uponthe great field for exertion thus open to us both. At last it occurred to me to benefit by an anecdoteof a something similar arrangement, of capturing,not a young lady, but a fortified town, by retortingJack’s proposition.

“Come,” said I, “I agree, with oneonly difference—­I’ll be the masterand you the man on this occasion.”

To my utter confusion, and without a second’sconsideration, Waller grasped my hand, and cried,“done.” Of course I laughed heartilyat the utter absurdity of the whole scheme, and ralliedmy friend on his prospects of Botany Bay for suchan exploit; never contemplating in the most remotedegree the commission of such extravagance.

Upon this Jack, to use the expressive French phrase,“pris la parole,” touching with a master-likedelicacy on my late defeat among the Callonbys, (whichup to this instant I believed him in ignorance of;)he expatiated upon the prospect of my repairing thatmisfortune, and obtaining a fortune considerably larger;he cautiously abstained from mentioning the personalcharms of the young lady, supposing, from my lachrymoselook, that my heart had not yet recovered the shockof Lady Jane’s perfidy, and rather preferredto dwell upon the escape such a marriage could opento me from the mockery of the mess-table, the jestingof my brother officers, and the life-long railleryof the service, wherever the story reached.

The fatal facility of my disposition, so often andso frankly chronicled in these Confessions—­theopenness to be led whither any one might take thetrouble to conduct me—­the easy indifferenceto assume any character which might be pressed uponme, by chance, accident, or design, assisted by myshare of three flasks of champagne, induced me firstto listen —­then to attend to—­soonafter to suggest—­and finally, absolutelyto concur in and agree to a proposal, which, at anyother moment, I must have regarded as downright insanity. As the clock struck two, I had just affixed my nameto an agreement, for Jack Waller had so much of methodin his madness, that, fearful of my retracting inthe morning, he had committed the whole to writing,which, as a specimen of Jack’s legal talentsI copy from the original document now in my posession.

“The Plough, Cheltenham, Tuesdaynight or morning, two o’clock—­bethe same more or less. I, Harry Lorrequer,sub. in his Majesty’s __th regiment offoot, on the one part; and I, John Waller, commonlycalled Jack Waller, of the __th light dragoonson the other; hereby promise and agree, eachfor himself, and not one for the other, to thefollowing conditions, which are hereafter subjoined,to wit, the aforesaid Jack Waller is to serve,obey, and humbly follow the aforementioned HarryLorrequer, for the space of one month of four weeks;conducting himself in all respects, modes, ways, manners,as his, the aforesaid Lorrequer’s own man,skip, valet, or saucepan —­duly praising,puffing, and lauding the aforesaid Lorrequer, and inevery way facilitating his success to the handand fortune of—­”

“Shall we put in her name, Harry, here?”said Jack.

“I think not; we’ll fill it up in pencil;that looks very knowing.”

“—­at the end of whichperiod, if successful in his suit, the aforesaidHarry Lorrequer is to render to the aforesaid Wallerthe sum of ten thousand pounds three and a halfper cent. with a faithful discharge in writingfor his services, as may be. If, on theother hand, and which heaven forbid, the aforesaidLorrequer fail in obtaining the hand of _____,that he will evacuate the territory within twelvehours, and repairing to a convenient spot selectedby the aforesaid Waller, then and there duly investhimself with a livery chosen by the aforesaidWaller—­”

“You know, each man uses his choice in thisparticular,” said Jack.

“—­and for the spaceof 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 promisingstrictly to maintain the terms of this agreement,and binding, by a solemn pledge, to divest himselfof every right appertaining to his former condition,for the space of time there mentioned.”

We signed and sealed it formally, and finished anotherflask to its perfect ratification. This done,and after a hearty shake hands, we parted and retiredfor the night.

The first thing I saw on waking the following morningwas Jack Waller standing beside my bed, evidentlyin excellent spirits with himself and all the world.

“Harry, my boy, I have done it gloriously,”said he. “I only remembered on partingwith you last night, that one of the most marked featuresin our old colonel’s character is a certainvague idea, he has somewhere picked up, that he hasbeen at some very remote period of his history a mostdistinguished officer. This notion, it appears,haunts his mind, and he absolutely believes he hasbeen in every engagement from the seven years war,down to the Battle of Waterloo. You cannot mentiona siege he did not lay down the first parallel for,nor a storming party where he did not lead the forlornhope; 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 usehis own phrase, he has not fought and bled. This mania of heroism is droll enough, when one considersthat the sphere of his action was necessarily so limited;but yet we have every reason to be thankful for thepeculiarity, as you’ll say, when I inform youthat this morning I despatched a hasty messenger tohis villa, with a most polite note, setting forth thata Mr. Lorrequer—­ay, Harry, all above board—­thereis nothing like it—­’as Mr. Lorrequer,of the __th, was collecting for publication, such materialsas might serve to commemorate the distinguished achievementsof British officers, who have, at any time, been incommand—­he most respectfully requests aninterview with Colonel Kamworth, whose distinguishedservices, on many gallant occasions, have called forththe unqualified approval of his majesty’s government. Mr. Lorrequer’s stay is necessarily limitedto a few days, as he proceeds from this to visit LordAnglesey; and, therefore, would humbly suggest as earlya meeting as may suit Colonel K.’s convenience.’ What think you now? Is this a master-strokeor not?”

“Why, certainly, we are in for it now,”said I, drawing a deep sigh. “But Jack,what is all this? Why, you’re in liveryalready.”

I now, for the first time, perceived that Waller wasarrayed in a very decorous suit of dark grey, withcord shorts and boots, and looked a very knowing styleof servant for the side of a tilbury.

“You like it, don’t you? Well, Ishould have preferred something a little more showymyself; but as you chose this last night, I, of course,gave way, and after all, I believe you’re right,it certainly is neat.”

“Did I choose it last night? I have notthe slightest recollection of it.”

“Yes, you were most particular about the lengthof the waistcoat, and the height of the co*ckade, andyou see I have followed your orders tolerably close;and now, adieu to sweet equality for the season, andI am your most obedient servant for four weeks—­seethat you make the most of it.”

While we were talking, the waiter entered with a noteaddressed to me, which I rightly conjectured couldonly come from Colonel Kamworth. It ran thus—­

“Colonel Kamworth feels highlyflattered by the polite attention of Mr. Lorrequer,and will esteem it a particular favour if Mr. L. canafford him the few days his stay in this partof the country will permit, by spending themat Hydrabad Cottage. Any information as to ColonelKamworth’s services in the four quarters of theglobe, he need not say, is entirely at Mr. L.’sdisposal.

“Colonel K. dinesat six precisely.”

When Waller had read the note through, he tossed hishat up in the air, and, with something little sortof an Indian whoop, shouted out—­

“The game is won already. Harry, my man,give me the check for the ten thousand: she isyour own this minute.”

Without participating entirely in Waller’s exceedingdelight, I could not help feeling a growing interestin the part I was advertised to perform, and beganmy rehearsal with more spirit than I thought I shouldhave been able to command.

That same evening, at the same hour as that in whichon the preceding I sat lone and comfortless by thecoffee-room fire, I was seated opposite a very pompous,respectable-looking old man, with a large, stiff queueof white hair, who pressed me repeatedly to fill myglass and pass the decanter. The room was asmall library, with handsomely fitted shelves; therewere but four chairs, but each would have made at leastthree of any modern one; the curtains of deep crimsoncloth effectually secured the room from draught; andthe cheerful wood fire blazing on the hearth, whichwas the only light in the apartment, gave a most invitinglook of comfort and snugness to every thing. This, thought I, is all excellent; and however theadventure ends, this is certainly pleasant, and I nevertasted better Madeira.

“And so, Mr. Lorrequer, you heard of my affairat Cantantrabad, when I took the Rajah prisoner?”

“Yes,” said I; “the governor-generalmentioned the gallant business the very last timeI dined at Government-House.”

“Ah, did he? kind of him though. Well,sir, I received two millions of rupees on the morningafter, and a promise of ten more if I would permithim to escape—­but no—­I refusedflatly.”

“Is it possible; and what did you do with thetwo millions?—­sent them, of course—.”

“No, that I didn’t; the wretches knownothing of the use of money. No, no; I havethem this moment in good government security.

“I believe I never mentioned to you the stormingof Java. Fill yourself another glass, and I’lldescribe it all to you, for it will be of infiniteconsequence that a true narrative of this meets thepublic eye —­they really are quire ignorantof it. Here now is Fort Cornelius, and thereis the moat, the sugar-basin is the citadel, and thetongs is the first trench, the decanter will representthe tall tower towards the south-west angle, and here,the wine glass—­this is me. Well, itwas a little after ten at night that I got the orderfrom the general in command to march upon this plateof figs, which was an open space before Fort Cornelius,and to take up my position in front of the fort, andwith four pieces of field artillery—­thesewalnuts here—­to be ready to open my fireat a moment’s warning upon the sou-west tower;but, my dear sir, you have moved the tower; I thoughtyou were drinking Madeira. As I said before,to open my fire upon the sou-west tower, or if necessaryprotect the sugar tongs, which I explained to youwas the trench. Just at the same time the besiegedwere making preparations for a sortie to occupy thisdish of almonds and raisins—­the high groundto the left of my position—­put anotherlog on the fire, if you please, sir, for I cannotsee myself—­I thought I was up near the figs,and I find myself down near the half moon.”

“It is past nine,” said a servant enteringthe room; “shall I take the carriage for MissKamworth, sir?” This being the first time thename of the young lady was mentioned since my arrival,I felt somewhat anxious to hear more of her, in whichlaudable desire I was not however to be gratified,for the colonel, feeling considerably annoyed by theinterruption, dismissed the servant by saying—­

“What do you mean, sirrah, by coming in at thismoment; don’t you see I am preparing for theattack on the half moon? Mr. Lorrequer, I begyour pardon for one moment, this fellow has completelyput me out; and besides, I perceive, you have eatenthe flying artillery, and in fact, my dear sir, Ishall be obliged to lay down the position again.”

With this praiseworthy interest the colonel proceededto arrange the “materiel” of our dessertin battle array, when the door was suddenly thrownopen, and a very handsome girl, in a most becomingdemi toilette, sprung into the room, and either notnoticing, or not caring, that a stranger was present,threw herself into the old gentleman’s arms,with a degree of empressem*nt, exceedingly vexatiousfor any third and unoccupied party to witness.

“Mary, my dear,” said the colonel, completelyforgetting Java and Fort Cornelius at once, “youdon’t perceive I have a gentleman to introduceto you, Mr. Lorrequer, my daughter, Miss Kamworth,”here the young lady courtesied somewhat stiffly, andI bowed reverently; and we all resumed places. I now found out that Miss Kamworth had been spendingthe preceding four or five days at a friend’sin the neighbourhood; and had preferred coming homesomewhat unexpectedly, to waiting for her own carriage.

My confessions, if recorded verbatim, from the notesof that four weeks’ sojourn, would only increasethe already too prolix and uninteresting details ofthis chapter in my life; I need only say, that withoutfalling in love with Mary Kamworth, I felt prodigiouslydisposed thereto; she was extremely pretty; had afoot and ancle to swear by, the most silvery tonedvoice I almost ever heard, and a certain witchery andarchness of manner that by its very tantalizing uncertaintycontinually provoked attention, and by suggestinga difficulty in the road to success, imparted a morethan 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 collectionsof minerals, and brown beetles, and cryptogamias,and various other homeopathic doses of the creation,infinitessimally small in their subdivision; in noneof which I felt any interest, save in the excuse theygave for accompanying her in her pony-phaeton. This was, however, a rare pleasure, for every morningfor at least three or four hours I was obliged tosit opposite the colonel, engaged in the compilationof that narrative of his “res gestae,”which was to eclipse the career of Napoleon and leaveWellington’s laurels but a very faded lustrein comparison. In this agreeable occupation didI pass the greater part of my day, listening to theinsufferable prolixity of the most prolix of colonels,and at times, notwithstanding the propinquity of relationshipwhich awaited us, almost regretting that he was notblown up in any of the numerous explosions his memoirabounded with. I may here mention, that whilemy literary labour was thus progressing, the younglady continued her avocations as before—­notindeed with me for her companion—­but Waller;for Colonel Kamworth, “having remarked the steadinessand propriety of my man, felt no scruple in sendinghim out to drive Miss Kamworth,” particularlyas I gave him a most excellent character for everyvirtue under heaven.

I must hasten on.—­The last evening of myfour weeks was drawing to a close. Colonel Kamworthhad pressed me to prolong my visit, and I only waitedfor Waller’s return from Cheltenham, whitherI had sent him for my letters, to make arrangementswith him to absolve me from my ridiculous bond, andaccept the invitation. We were sitting roundthe library fire, the colonel, as usual, narratinghis early deeds and hair-breadth ’scapes. Mary, embroidering an indescribable something, whichevery evening made its appearance but seemed neverto 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 thesiege of Java as her worthy father believed them. Without laying any stress upon the circ*mstance,I must yet avow that Waller’s not having returnedfrom Cheltenham gave me some uneasiness, and I more

than once had recourse to the bell to demand if “myservant had come back yet?” At each of thesetimes I well remember the peculiar expression of Mary’slook, the half embarrassment, half drollery, withwhich she listened to the question, and heard theanswer in the negative. Supper at length madeits 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 topropose 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 themgood night and retired; not, however, before the colonelhad warned me that they were to have an excursionto some place in the neighbourhood the next day; andbegging that I might be in the breakfast-room at nine,as they were to assemble there from all parts, andstart early on the expedition. I was in a soundsleep the following morning, when a gentle tap at thedoor awoke me; at the same time I recognised the voiceof the colonel’s servant, saying, “Mr.Lorrequer, breakfast is waiting, sir.”

I sprung up at once, and replying, “Very well,I shall come down,” proceeded to dress in allhaste, but to my horror, I could not discern a vestigeof my clothes; nothing remained of the habilimentsI possessed only the day before—­even myportmanteau had disappeared. After a most diligentsearch, I discovered on a chair in a corner of theroom, a small bundle tied up in a handkerchief, onopening which I perceived a new suit of livery ofthe most gaudy and showy description and lace; of whichcolour was also the coat, which had a standing collarand huge cuffs, deeply ornamented with worked buttonholes and large buttons. As I turned the thingsover, without even a guess of what they could mean,for I was scarcely well awake, I perceived a smallslip of paper fastened to the coat sleeve, upon which,in Waller’s hand-writing, the following fewwords were written:

“The livery I hope will fit you,as I am rather particular about how you’lllook; get quietly down to the stable-yard and drivethe tilbury into Cheltenham, where wait for furtherorders from your kind master,

“JohnWaller.”

The horrible villany of this wild scamp actually paralysedme. That I should put on such ridiculous trumperywas out of the question; yet what was to be done? I rung the bell violently; “Where are my clothes,Thomas?”

“Don’t know, sir; I was out all the morning,sir, and never seed them.”

“There, Thomas, be smart now and send them up,will you?” Thomas disappeared, and speedilyreturned to say, “that my clothes could not befound any where; no one knew any thing of them, andbegged me to come down, as Miss Kamworth desired himto say that they were still waiting, and she beggedMr. Lorrequer would not make an elaborate toilette,as they were going on a country excursion.”

An elaborate toilette! I wish to heaven shesaw my costume; no, I’ll never do it. “Thomas,you must tell the ladies and the colonel, too, thatI feel very ill; I am not able to leave my bed; Iam subject to attacks—­very violent attacksin my head, and must always be left quiet and alone—­perfectlyalone—­mind me, Thomas—­for aday at least.” Thomas departed; and asI lay distracted in my bed, I heard, from the breakfastroom, the loud laughter of many persons evidentlyenjoying some excellent joke; could it be me they werelaughing at; the thought was horrible.

“Colonel Kamworth wishes to know if you’dlike the doctor, sir,” said Thomas, evidentlysuppressing a most inveterate fit of laughing, as heagain appeared at the door.

“No, certainly not,” said I, in a voiceof thunder; “what the devil are you grinningat?”

“You may as well come, my man; you’refound out; they all know it now,” said the fellowwith an odious grin.

I jumped out of the bed, and hurled the boot-jackat him with all my strength; but had only the satisfactionto hear him go down stairs chuckling at his escape;and as he reached the parlour, the increase of mirthand the loudness of the laughter told me that he wasnot the only one who was merry at my expense. Any thing was preferable to this; down stairs I resolvedto go at once—­but how; a blanket I thoughtwould not be a bad thing, and particularly as I hadsaid I was ill; I could at least get as far as ColonelKamworth’s dressing-room, and explain to himthe whole affair; but then if I was detected en route,which I was almost sure to be, with so many peopleparading about the house. No; that would neverdo, there was but one alternative, and dreadful, shockingas it was, I could not avoid it, and with a heavyheart, and as much indignation at Waller for whatI could not but consider a most scurvy trick, I donnedthe yellow inexpressibles; next came the vest, andlast the coat, with its broad flaps and lace excrescenses,fifty times more absurd and merry-andrew than anystage servant who makes off with his table and twochairs amid the hisses and gibes of an upper gallery.

If my costume leaned towards the ridiculous, I resolvedthat my air and bearing should be more than usuallyaustere and haughty; and with something of the strideof John Kemble in Coriolanus, I was leaving my bed-room,when I accidentally caught a view of myself in theglass; and so mortified, so shocked was I, that Isank into a chair, and almost abandoned my resolutionto go on; the very gesture I had assumed for vindicationonly increased the ridicule of my appearance; and thestrange quaintness of the costume totally obliteratedevery trace of any characteristic of the wearer, soinfernally cunning was its contrivance. I don’tthink that the most saturnine martyr of gout and dyspepsiacould survey me without laughing. With a boldeffort, I flung open my door, hurried down the stairs,and reached the hall. The first person I metwas a kind of pantry boy, a beast only lately emancipatedfrom the plough, and destined after a dozen years’training as a servant, again to be turned back tohis old employ for incapacity; he grinned horriblyfor a minute, as I passed, and then in a half whispersaid—­

“Maester, I advise ye run for it; they’rea waiting for ye with the constables in the justice’sroom!” I gave him a look of contemptuous superiorityat which he grinned the more, and passed on.

Without stopping to consider where I was going, Iopened the door of the breakfast-parlour, and foundmyself in one plunge among a room full of people. My first impulse was to retreat again; but so shockedwas 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 insmall groups round the breakfast-table, I discernedJack Waller, habited in a very accurate black frockand dark trowsers, supporting upon his arm —­shallI confess—­no less a person than Mary Kamworth,who leaned on him with the familiarity of an old acquaintance,and chatted gaily with him. The buzz of conversationwhich filled the apartment when I entered, ceasedfor a second of deep silence; and then followed a pealof laughter so long and so vociferous, that in mymomentary anger I prayed some one might burst a blood-vessel,and frighten the rest. I put on a look of indescribableindignation, and cast a glance of what I intended shouldbe most withering scorn on the assembly; but alas!my infernal harlequin costume ruined the effect; andconfound me, if they did not laugh the louder. I turned from one to the other with the air of a manwho marks out victims for his future wrath; but withno better success; at last, amid the continued mirthof the party, I made my way towards where Waller stoodabsolutely suffocated with laughter, and scarcely ableto stand without support.

“Waller,” said I, in a voice half tremulouswith rage and shame together; “Waller, if thisrascally trick be yours, rest assured no former termof intimacy between us shall—­”

Before I could conclude the sentence, a bustle atthe door of the room, called every attention in thatdirection; I turned and beheld Colonel Kamworth, followedby a strong posse comitatus of constables, tipstaffs,&c., armed to the teeth, and evidently prepared forvigorous battle. Before I was able to point outmy woes to my kind host, he burst out with—­

“So you scoundrel, you impostor, you damnedyoung villain, pretending to be a gentleman, you getadmission into a man’s house and dine at histable, when your proper place had been behind his chair.—­Howfar he might have gone, heaven can tell, if that excellentyoung gentleman, his master, had not traced him herethis morning—­but you’ll pay dearlyfor it, you young rascal, that you shall.”

“Colonel Kamworth,” said I, drawing myselfproudly up, (and I confess exciting new bursts oflaughter,) “Colonel Kamworth, for the expressionsyou have just applied to me, a heavy reckoning awaitsyou; not, however, before another individual now presentshall atone for the insult he has dared to pass uponme.” Colonel Kamworth’s passion atthis declaration knew no bounds; he cursed and sworeabsolutely like a madman, and vowed that transportationfor life would be a mild sentence for such iniquity.

Waller at length wiping the tears of laughter fromhis eyes, interposed between the colonel and his victim,and begged that I might be forgiven; “for indeedmy dear sir,” said he, “the poor fellowis of rather respectable parentage, and such is histaste for good society that he’d run any riskto be among his betters, although, as in the presentcase 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 atthe George, I shall endeavour to make your peace withmy excellent friend, Colonel Kamworth; and the bestmode you can contribute to that object, is to let ushave no more of your society.”

I cannot attempt to picture my rage at these words;however, escape from this diabolical predicament wasmy only present object; and I rushed from the room,and springing into the tilbury at the door, drove downthe avenue at the rate of fifteen miles per hour,amid the united cheers, groans, and yells of the wholeservants’ 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 againstme, for I utterly forgot every vestige of our agreementin the surprise by which I was taken, I reached Cheltenham.Unfortunately I had no friend there to whose managementI could commit the bearing of a message, and was obligedas soon as I could procure suitable costume, to hastenup to Coventry where the __th dragoons were then quartered. I lost no time in selecting an adviser, and takingthe 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 withanger; not so, my friend, however, who never coulddiscuss the affair with common gravity, and even venturedevery now and then on a sly allusion to my yellowshorts. As we passed the last toll-bar, a travellingcarriage came whirling by with four horses at a tremendouspace; and as the morning was frosty, and the sun scarcelyrisen, the whole team were smoking and steaming soas to be half invisible. We both remarked onthe precipitancy of the party; for as our own pacewas considerable, the two vehicles passed like lightning. We had scarcely dressed, and ordered breakfast, whena more than usual bustle in the yard called us tothe window; the waiter who came in at the same instanttold us that four horses were ordered out to pursuea young lady who had eloped that morning with an officer.

“Ah, our friend in the green travelling chariot,I’ll be bound,” said my companion; butas neither of us knew that part of the country, andI was too engrossed by my own thoughts, I never inquiredfurther. As the chaise in chase drove roundto the door, I looked to see what the pursuer waslike; and as he issued from the inn, recognised my“ci devant host,” Colonel Kamworth. I need not say my vengeance was sated at once; hehad lost his daughter, and Waller was on the roadto be married. Apologies and explanations camein 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 periodafter; he started for the continent, where he haslived ever since on a small allowance, granted by hisfather-in-law, and never paying me the stipulated sum,as I had clearly broken the compact.

So much for my second attempt at matrimony; one wouldsuppose that such experience should be deemed sufficientto show that my talent did not lie in that way. And here I must rest for the present, with the additionalconfession, that so strong was the memory of that vileadventure, that I refused a lucrative appointmentunder Lord Anglesey’s government, when I discoveredthat his livery included “yellow plush breeches;”to have such “souvenirs” flitting aroundand about me, at dinner and elsewhere, would haveleft me without a pleasure in existence.

CHAPTER XII.

DUBLIN—­TOM O’FLAHERTY—­A REMINISCENCE OF THE PENINSULA.

Dear, dirty Dublin—­“Io te salute”—­howmany excellent things might be said of thee, if, unfortunately,it did not happen that the theme is an old one, andhas 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 withthat most moving melody—­the Groves of Blarney—­tohum the following lines, which I heard shortly aftermy landing, and which well express my own feelingsfor the “loved spot.”

Oh!Dublin, sure, there is no doubtin’,
Beatsevery city upon the say.
’Tisthere you’ll see O’Connell spouting,
AndLady Morgan making “tay.”
For’tis the capital of the greatest nation
Withfinest peasantry on a fruitful sod,
Fightinglike devils for conciliation,
Andhating each other for the love of God.

Once more, then, I found myself in the “mostcar-drivingest city,” en route to join on theexpiration of my leave. Since my departure, myregiment 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 derivedfrom its past or present representative, might certainly,with more propriety, reverse the epithet, and read

“smoke without fire.” My last communicationfrom head-quarters was full of nothing but gay doings—­balls, dinners, dejeunes, and more thanall, private theatricals, seemed to occupy the entireattention of every man of the gallant __th. Iwas earnestly entreated to come, without waiting forthe end of my leave—­that several of myold “parts were kept open for me;” andthat, in fact, the “boys of Kilkenny”were on tip-toe in expectation of my arrival, as thoughhis Majesty’s mail were to convey a Kean or aKemble. I shuddered a little as I read this,and recollected “my last appearance on any stage,”little anticipating, at the moment, that my next wasto be nearly as productive of the ludicrous, as timeand my confessions will show. One circ*mstance,however, gave me considerable pleasure. It wasthis:—­I took it for granted that, in thevaried and agreeable occupations which so pleasurablea career opened, my adventures in love would escapenotice, and that I should avoid the merciless raillerymy two failures, in six months, might reasonably besupposed to call forth. I therefore wrote a hurriednote to Curzon, setting forth the great interest alltheir proceedings had for me, and assuring him thatmy stay in town should be as short as possible, forthat I longed once more to “strut the monarchof the boards,” and concluded with a sly paragraph,artfully intended to act as a “paratonnere”to the gibes and jests which I dreaded, by endeavouringto make light of my matrimonial speculations.The postscript ran somewhat thus—­“Gloriousfun have I had since we met; but were it not thatmy good angel stood by me, I should write these hurriedlines with a wife at my elbow; but luck, that neveryet deserted, is still faithful to your old friend,H. Lorrequer.”

My reader may suppose—­for he is sufficientlybehind the scenes with me —­with what feelingsI penned these words; yet any thing was better thanthe attack I looked forward to: and I should ratherhave changed into the Cape Rifle Corps, or any otherarmy of martyrs, than meet my mess with all the ridiculemy late proceedings exposed me to. Having disburthenedmy conscience of this dread, I finished my breakfast,and set out on a stroll through the town.

I believe it is Coleridge who somewhere says, thatto transmit the first bright and early impressionsof our youth, fresh and uninjured to a remote periodof life, constitutes one of the loftiest prerogativesof genius. If this be true, and I am not disposedto dispute it—­what a gifted people mustbe the worthy inhabitants of Dublin; for I scruplenot to affirm, that of all cities of which we haveany record in history, sacred or profane, there isnot one so little likely to disturb the tranquil currentof such reminiscences. “As it was of old,so is it now,” enjoying a delightful permanencyin all its habits and customs, which no changes elsewheredisturb or affect; and in this respect I defy O’Connelland all the tail to refuse it the epithet of “Conservative.”

Had the excellent Rip Van Winkle, instead of seekinghis repose upon the cold and barren acclivities ofthe Kaatskills—­as we are veritably informedby Irving—­but betaken himself to a comfortablebed at Morrison’s or the Bilton, not only wouldhe have enjoyed a more agreeable siesta, but, whatthe event showed of more consequence, the pleasingsatisfaction of not being disconcerted by novelty onhis awakening. It is possible that the waiterwho brought him the water to shave, for Rip’sbeard, we are told, had grown uncommonly long—­mightexhibit a little of that wear and tear to which humanityis liable from time; but had he questioned him asto the ruling topics—­the proper amusem*ntsof the day —­he would have heard, as hemight have done twenty years before, that there wasa meeting to convert Jews at the Rotunda; another torob parsons at the Corn Exchange; that the Viceroywas dining with the Corporation, and congratulatingthem on the prosperity of Ireland, while the inhabitantswere regaled with a procession of the “broadribbon weavers,” who had not weaved, heavenknows when! This, with an occasional letterfrom Mr. O’Connell, and now and then a duel inthe “Phaynix,” constituted the currentpastimes of the city. Such, at least, were theyin my day; and though far from the dear locale, anodd flitting glance at the newspapers induces me tobelieve that matters are not much changed since.

I rambled through the streets for some hours, revolvingsuch thoughts as pressed upon me involuntarily byall I saw. The same little grey homunculus thatfilled my “prince’s mixture” yearsbefore, stood behind the counter at Lundy Foot’s,weighing out rappee and high toast, just as I lastsaw him. The fat college porter, that I usedto 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 trumpeterat the castle, another object of my youthful veneration,poor “old God save the King” as we usedto call him, walked the streets as of old; his cheeksindeed, a little more lanky and tendinous; but thenthere had been many viceregal changes, and the “onesole melody his heart delighted in,” had beenmore frequently called in requisition, as he marchedin solemn state with the other antique gentlemen intabards. As I walked along, each moment someold and early association being suggested by the objectsaround, I felt my arm suddenly seized. I turnedhastily round, and beheld a very old companion inmany a hard-fought field and merry bivouack. Tom O’Flaherty of the 8th. Poor Tom wassadly changed since we last met, which was at a ballin Madrid. He was then one of the best-lookingfellows of his “style” I ever met,—­talland athletic, with the easy bearing of a man of theworld, and a certain jauntiness that I have never seenbut in Irishmen who have mixed much in society.

There was also a certain peculiar devil-may-care recklessnessabout the self-satisfied swagger of his gait, andthe free and easy glance of his sharp black eye, unitedwith a temper that nothing could ruffle, and a couragenothing could daunt. With such qualities as these,he had been the prime favourite of his mess, to whichhe never came without some droll story to relate,or some choice expedient for future amusem*nt.Such had Tom once been; now he was much altered, andthough the quiet twinkle of his dark eye showed thatthe spirit of fun within was not “dead, butonly sleeping,”—­to myself, who knewsomething of his history, it seemed almost cruel toawaken him to any thing which might bring him backto the memory of by-gone days. A momentary glanceshowed 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 heartthat never deserted a friend, nor quailed before anenemy. Poor O’Flaherty was no more thedelight of the circle he once adorned; the wit that“set the table in a roar” was all butdeparted. He had been dismissed the service!!—­Thestory is a brief one:—­

In the retreat from Burgos, the __ Light Dragoons,after a most fatiguing day’s march, halted atthe wretched village of Cabenas. It had beendeserted by the inhabitants the day before, who, onleaving, had set it on fire; and the blackened wallsand fallen roof-trees were nearly all that now remainedto show where the little hamlet had once stood.

Amid a down-pour of rain, that had fallen for severalhours, drenched to the skin, cold, weary, and nearlystarving, the gallant 8th reached this melancholyspot at nightfall, with little better prospect of protectionfrom the storm than the barren heath through whichtheir road led might afford them. Among themany who muttered curses, not loud but deep, on thewretched termination to their day’s suffering,there was one who kept up his usual good spirits,and not only seemed himself nearly regardless of theprivations and miseries about him, but actually succeededin making the others who rode alongside as perfectlyforgetful of their annoyances and troubles as waspossible under such circ*mstances. Good stories,joking allusions to the more discontented ones of theparty, ridiculous plans for the night’s encampment,followed each other so rapidly, that the wearinessof the way was forgotten; and while some were cursingtheir hard fate, that ever betrayed them into suchmisfortunes, the little group round O’Flahertywere almost convulsed with laughter at the wit anddrollery of one, over whom if the circ*mstances hadany influence, they seemed only to heighten his passionfor amusem*nt. In the early part of the morninghe had captured a turkey, which hung gracefully fromhis holster on one side, while a small goat-skin ofValencia wine balanced it on the other. Thesegood things were destined to form a feast that evening,to which he had invited four others; that being, accordingto his most liberal calculation, the greatest numberto whom he could afford a reasonable supply of wine.

When the halt was made, it took some time to arrangethe dispositions for the night; and it was nearlymidnight before all the regiment had got their billetsand were housed, even with such scanty accommodationas the place afforded. Tom’s guests hadnot yet arrived, and he himself was busily engagedin roasting the turkey before a large fire, on whichstood a capacious vessel of spiced wine, when theparty appeared. A very cursory “reconnaissance”through the house, one of the only ones untouchedin the village, showed that from the late rain it wouldbe impossible to think of sleeping in the lower story,which already showed signs of being flooded; theytherefore proceeded in a body up stairs, and whatwas their delight to find a most comfortable room,neatly furnished with chairs, and a table; but, aboveall, a large old-fashioned bed, an object of suchluxury 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 noinclination to disturb them, and rather proceededto draw up the table before the hearth, to which theyspeedily removed the fire from below; and, ere manyminutes, with that activity which a bivouack lifeinvariably teaches, their supper smoked before them,and five happier fellows did not sit down that nightwithin a large circuit around. Tom was unusuallygreat; stories of drollery unlocked before, pouredfrom him unceasingly, and what with his high spiritsto excite them, and the reaction inevitable aftera hard day’s severe march, the party soon lostthe 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 sohad the wine-skin. Tom had placed it affectionatelyunder his arm like a bag-pipe and failed, with evena most energetic squeeze, to extract a drop; therewas no nothing for it but to go to rest, and indeedit seemed the most prudent thing for the party.

The bed became accordingly a subject of grave deliberation;for as it could only hold two, and the party werefive, there seemed some difficulty in submitting theirchances to lot, which all agreed was the fairest way. While this was under discussion, one of the partyhad approached the contested prize, and, taking upthe curtains, proceeded to jump in—­when,what was his astonishment to discover that it was alreadyoccupied. The exclamation of surprise he gaveforth soon brought the others to his side; and totheir horror, drunk as they were, they found thatthe body before them was that of a dead man, arrayedin all the ghastly pomp of a corpse. A littlenearer inspection showed that he had been a priest,probably the Padre of the village; on his head he hada small velvet skull cap, embroidered with a cross,and his body was swathed in a vestment, such as priestsusually wear at the mass; in his hand he held a largewax taper, which appeared to have burned only half

down, and probably been extinguished by the currentof air on opening the door. After the first briefshock which this sudden apparition had caused, theparty recovered as much of their senses as the winehad left them, and proceeded to discuss what was tobe done under the circ*mstances; for not one of themever contemplated giving up a bed to a dead priest,while five living men slept on the ground. Aftermuch altercation, O’Flaherty, who had hithertolistened without speaking, interrupted the contendingparties, saying, “stop, lads, I have it.”

“Come,” said one of them, “let ushear Tom’s proposal.”

“Oh,” said he, with difficulty steadyinghimself while he spoke, “we’ll put himto bed with old Ridgeway, the quarter-master!”

The roar of loud laughter that followed Tom’sdevice was renewed again and again, till not a mancould speak from absolute fatigue. There wasnot a dissentient voice. Old Ridgeway was hatedin the corps, and a better way of disposing of thepriest and paying off the quarter-master could notbe thought of.

Very little time sufficed for their preparations;and if they had been brought up under the Duke ofPortland himself, they could not have exhibited agreater 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 momentmore sufficed to lift the door upon their shoulders,and, preceded by Tom, who lit a candle in honour ofbeing, as he said, “chief mourner,” theytook their way through the camp towards Ridgeway’squarters. When they reached the hut where theirvictim lay, Tom ordered a halt, and proceeded stealthilyinto the house to reconnoitre. The old quarter-masterhe found stretched on his sheep-skin before a largefire, the remnants of an ample supper strewed abouthim, and two empty bottles standing on the hearth—­hisdeep snoring showed that all was safe, and that nofears of his awaking need disturb them. His shakoand sword lay near him, but his sabertasche was underhis head. Tom carefully withdrew the two former;and hastening to his friends without, proceeded todecorate the priest with them; expressing, at the sametime, considerable regret that he feared it mightwake Ridgeway, if he were to put the velvet skull-capon him for a night-cap.

Noiselessly and steadily they now entered, and proceededto put down their burden, which, after a moment’sdiscussion, they agreed to place between the quarter-masterand the fire, of which, hitherto, he had reaped amplebenefit. This done, they stealthily retreated,and hurried back to their quarters, unable to speakwith laughter at the success of their plot, and theiranticipation of Ridgeway’s rage on awakeningin the morning.

It was in the dim twilight of a hazy morning, thatthe bugler of the 8th aroused the sleeping soldiersfrom their miserable couches, which, wretched as theywere, they, nevertheless, rose from reluctantly—­sowearied and fatigued had they been by the precedingday’s march; not one among the number felt soindisposed to stir as the worthy quarter-master; hispeculiar avocations had demanded a more than usualexertion on his part, and in the posture he had laiddown at night, he rested till morning, without stirringa limb. Twice the reveille had rung throughthe little encampment, and twice the quarter-masterhad essayed to open his eyes, but in vain; at lasthe made a tremendous effort, and sat bolt uprighton the floor, hoping that the sudden effort might sufficientlyarouse him; slowly his eyes opened, and the first thingthey beheld was the figure of the dead priest, witha light cavalry helmet on his head, seated beforehim. Ridgeway, who was “bon Catholique,”trembled in every joint—­it might be a ghost,it might be a warning, he knew not what to think—­heimagined the lips moved, and so overcome with terrorwas he at last, that he absolutely shouted like amaniac, and never cased till the hut was filled withofficers and men, who hearing the uproar ran to hisaid—­the surprise of the poor quarter-masterat the apparition, was scarcely greater than thatof the beholders—­no one was able to affordany explanation of the circ*mstance, though all wereassured that it must have been done in jest—­thedoor upon which the priest had been conveyed, affordedthe clue—­they had forgotten to restore itto its place —­accordingly the differentbillets were examined, and at last O’Flahertywas discovered in a most commodious bed, in a largeroom without a door, still fast asleep, and alone;how and when he had parted from his companions, henever could precisely explain, though he has sinceconfessed it was part of his scheme to lead them astrayin the village, and then retire to the bed, whichhe had determined to appropriate to his sole use.

Old Ridgeway’s rage knew no bounds; he absolutelyfoamed with passion, and in proportion as he was laughedat his choler rose higher; had this been the onlyresult, it had been well for poor Tom, but unfortunatelythe affair got to be rumoured through the country—­theinhabitants of the village learned the indignity withwhich the Padre had been treated; they addressed amemorial to Lord Wellington—­inquiry wasimmediately instituted—­O’Flahertywas tried by court martial, and found guilty; nothingshort of the heaviest punishment that could be inflictedunder the circ*mstances would satisfy the Spaniards,and at that precise period it was part of our policyto conciliate their esteem by every means in our power. The commander-in-chief resolved to make what he calledan “example,” and poor O’Flaherty—­thelife and soul of his regiment—­the darlingof his mess, was broke, and pronounced incapable of

ever serving his Majesty again. Such was theevent upon which my poor friend’s fortune inlife seemed to hinge—­he returned to Ireland,if not entirely broken-hearted, so altered that hisbest friends scarcely knew him; his “occupationwas gone;” the mess had been his home; his brotherofficers were to him in place of relatives, and hehad lost all. His after life was spent in ramblingfrom one watering place to another, more with theair of one who seeks to consume than enjoy his time;and with such a change in appearance as the alterationin his fortune had effected, he now stood before me,but altogether so different a man, that but for thewell-known tones of a voice that had often convulsedme with laughter, I should scarcely have recognisedhim.

“Lorrequer, my old friend, I never thought ofseeing you here—­this is indeed a pieceof good luck.”

“Why, Tom? You surely knew that the __were in Ireland, didn’t you?”

“To be sure. I dined with them only afew days ago, but they told me you were off to Paris,to marry something superlatively beautiful, and mostenormously rich, the daughter of a duke, if I rememberright; but certes, they said your fortune was made,and I need not tell you, there was not a man amongthem better pleased that I was to hear it.”

“Oh! they said so, did they? Droll dogs—­alwaysquizzing—­I wonder you did not perceivethe hoax—­eh—­very good, was itnot?” This I poured out in short broken sentences,blushing like scarlet, and fidgeting like a schoolgirl with downright nervousness.

“A hoax! devilish well done too,”—­saidTom, “for old Carden believed the whole story,and told me that he had obtained a six months’leave for you to make your ‘com.’ and,moreover, said that he had got a letter from the nobleman,Lord _____ confound his name.”

“Lord Grey, is it?” said I, with a slylook at Tom.

“No, my dear friend,” said he drily, “itwas not Lord Grey—­but to continue—­hehad got a letter from him, dated from Paris, statinghis surprise that you had never joined them there,according to promise, and that they knew your cousinGuy, and a great deal of other matter I can’tremember—­so what does all this mean? Did you hoax the noble Lord as well as the HorseGuards, Harry?”

This was indeed a piece of news for me; I stammeredout some ridiculous explanation, and promised a fullerdetail. Could it be that I had done the Callonbysinjustice, and that they never intended to break offmy attention to Lady Jane—­that she wasstill faithful, and that of all concerned I alonehad been to blame. Oh! how I hoped this mightbe the case; heavily as my conscience might accuse,I longed ardently to forgive and deal mercifully withmyself. Tom continued to talk about indifferentmatters, as these thoughts flitted through my mind;perceiving at last that I did not attend, he stoppedsuddenly and said—­

“Harry, I see clearly that something has gonewrong, and perhaps I can make a guess at the modetoo: but however, you can do nothing about itnow; come and dine with me to-day, and we’lldiscuss the affair together after dinner; or if youprefer a ‘distraction,’ as we used to sayin Dunkerque, why then I’ll arrange somethingfashionable for your evening’s amusem*nt. Come, what say you to hearing Father Keogh preach,or would you like a supper at the Carlingford, orperhaps you prefer a soiree chez Miladi; for all ofthese Dublin affords—­all three good in theirway, and very intellectual.”

“Well, Tom, I’m yours; but I should preferyour dining with me; I am at Bilton’s; we’llhave our cutlet quite alone, and—­”

“And be heartily sick of each other, you weregoing to add. No, no, Harry; you must dine withme; I have some remarkably nice people to presentyou to--six is the hour--sharp six--number ___ Molesworth-street,Mrs. Clanfrizzle’s—­easily find it—­largefanlight over the door—­huge lamp in thehall, and a strong odour of mutton broth for thirtyyards on each side of the premises—­andas good luck would have it, I see old Daly the counsellor,as they call him, he’s the very man to get tomeet you, you always liked a character, eh!”

Saying this, O’Flaherty disengaged himself frommy arm, and hurried across the street towards a portlymiddle-aged looking gentleman, with the reddest faceI ever beheld. After a brief but very animatedcolloquy, Tom returned, and informed that that allwas right; he had secured Daly.

“And who is Daly?” said I, inquiringly,for I was rather interested in hearing what peculiarqualification as a diner-out the counsellor mightlay claim to, many of Tom’s friends being asremarkable for being the quizzed as the quizzers.

“Daly,” said he, “is the brotherof a most distinguished member of the Irish bar, ofwhich 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 inseparablylinked with success, so unerringly is the other coupledwith failure, and strange to say, that the stupidman is fairly convinced that his brother owes all hissuccess to him, and that to his disinterested kindnessthe other is indebted for his present exalted station. Thus it is through life; there seems ever to accompanydullness a sustaining power of vanity, that like alife-buoy, keeps a mass afloat whose weight unassistedwould sink into obscurity. Do you know thatmy friend Denis there imagines himself the first manthat ever enlightened Sir Robert Peel as to Irish affairs;and, upon my word, his reputation on this head standsincontestably higher than on most others.”

“You surely cannot mean that Sir Robert Peelever consulted with, much less relied upon, the statementsof such a person, as you described you friend Denisto be?”

“He did both—­and if he was a littlepuzzled by the information, the only disgrace attachesto a government that send men to rule over us unacquaintedwith our habits of thinking, and utterly ignorant ofthe language—­ay, I repeat it—­butcome, you shall judge for yourself; the story is ashort one, and fortunately so, for I must hasten hometo give timely notice of your coming to dine withme. When the present Sir Robert Peel, then Mr.Peel, came over here, as secretary to Ireland, a verydistinguished political leader of the day invited aparty to meet him at dinner, consisting of men ofdifferent political leanings; among whom were, asmay be supposed, many members of the Irish bar; theelder Daly was too remarkable a person to be omitted,but as the two brothers resided together, there wasa difficulty about getting him—­however,he must be had, and the only alternative that presenteditself was adopted —­both were invited. When the party descended to the dining-room, by oneof those unfortunate accidents, which as the proverbinforms us occasionally take place in the best regulatedestablishments, the wrong Mr. Daly got placed besideMr. Peel, which post of honor had been destined bythe host for the more agreeable and talented brother.There was now no help for it; and with a heart somewhatnervous for the consequences of the proximity, theworthy entertainer sat down to do the honors as besthe might; he was consoled during dinner by observingthat the devotion bestowed by honest Denis on the viandsbefore him effectually absorbed his faculties, andthereby threw the entire of Mr. Peel’s conversationtowards the gentleman on his other flank. Thishappiness was like most others, destined to be a briefone. As the dessert made its appearance, Mr.Peel began to listen with some attention to the conversationof the persons opposite; with one of whom he was struckmost forcibly—­so happy a power of illustration,so vivid a fancy, such logical precision in argumentas he evinced, perfectly charmed and surprised him. Anxious to learn the name of so gifted an individual,he turned towards his hitherto silent neighbour anddemanded who he was.

“‘Who is he, is it?’ said Denis,hesitatingly, as if he half doubted such extent ofignorance as not to know the person alluded to.

“Mr. Peel bowed in acquiescence.

“‘That’s Bushe!’ said Denis,giving at the same time the same sound to the vowel,u, as it obtains when occurring in the word ‘rush.’

“‘I beg pardon,’ said Mr. Peel,‘I did not hear.’

“‘Bushe!’ replied Denis, with considerableenergy of tone.

“‘Oh, yes! I know,’ said thesecretary, ’Mr. Bushe, a very distinguishedmember of your bar, I have heard.’

“‘Faith, you may say that!’ saidDenis, tossing off his wine at what he esteemed avery trite observation.

“‘Pray,’ said Mr. Peel, again returningto the charge, though certainly feeling not a littlesurprised at the singular laconicism of his informant,no less than the mellifluous tones of an accent thenperfectly new to him. ’Pray, may I ask,what is the peculiar character of Mr. Bushe’seloquence? I mean of course, in his professionalcapacity.’

“‘Eh!’ said Denis, ‘I don’tcomprehend you exactly.’

“‘I mean,’ said Mr. Peel, ‘inone word, what’s his forte?’

“‘His forte!’

“‘I mean what his peculiar gift consistsin—­’

“‘Oh, I perceave—­I have yenow—­the juries!’

“‘Ah! addressing a jury.’

“‘Ay, the juries.’

“’Can you oblige me by giving me any ideaof the manner in which he obtains such signal successin this difficult branch of eloquence.’

“‘I’ll tell ye,’ said Denis,leisurely finishing his glass, and smacking his lips,with the air of a man girding up his loins for a mightyeffort, ’I’ll tell ye—­well,ye see the way he has is this,’—­hereMr. Peel’s expectation rose to the highest degreeof interest,—­’the way he has is this—­hefirst butthers them up, and then slithers them down!that’s all, devil a more of a secret there’sin it.’”

How much reason Denis had to boast of imparting earlyinformation to the new secretary I leave my Englishreaders to guess; my Irish ones I may trust to dohim ample justice.

My friend now left me to my own devices to while awaythe hours till time to dress for dinner. Heavenhelp the gentleman so left in Dublin, say I. It is,perhaps, the only city of its size in the world, wherethere is no lounge—­no promenade. Very little experience of it will convince you thatit abounds in pretty women, and has its fair shareof agreeable men; but where are they in the morning? I wish Sir Dick Lauder, instead of speculating wheresalmon spent the Christmas holidays, would apply hismost inquiring mind to such a question as this. True it is, however, they are not to be found. The squares are deserted—­the streets arevery nearly so—­and all that is left tothe luckless wanderer in search of the beautiful,is to ogle the beauties of Dame-street, who are shopkeepersin Grafton-street, or the beauties of Grafton-street,who are shopkeepers in Dame-street. But, confoundit, how cranky I am getting—­I must be tremendouslyhungry. True, it’s past six. So nowfor my suit of sable, and then to dinner.

CHAPTER XIII

DUBLIN—­THE BOARDING-HOUSE—­SELECT SOCIETY.

Punctual to my appointment with O’Flaherty,I found myself a very few minutes after six o’clockat Mrs. Clanfrizzle’s door. My very authoritativesummons at the bell was answered by the appearanceof a young, pale-faced invalid, in a suit of liverythe taste of which bore a very unpleasant resemblanceto the one I so lately figured in. It was withconsiderable difficulty I persuaded this functionaryto permit my carrying my hat with me to the drawing-room,a species of caution on my part—­as he esteemedit—­savouring much of distrust. Thispoint however, I carried, and followed him up a veryill-lighted stair to the drawing-room; here I wasannounced by some faint resemblance to my real name,

but sufficiently near to bring my friend Tom at onceto meet me, who immediately congratulated me on myfortune in coming off so well, for that the personwho preceded me, Mr. Jones Blennerhasset, had beenjust announced as Mr. Blatherhasit—­a changethe gentleman himself was not disposed to adopt—­“Butcome along, Harry, while we are waiting for Daly,let me make you known to some of our party; this, youmust know, is a boarding-house, and always has somecapital fun—­queerest people you ever met—­Ihave only one hint—­cut every man, woman,and child of them, if you meet them hereafter—­Ido it myself, though I have lived here these six months.” Pleasant people, thought I, these must be, with whomsuch a line is advisable, much less practicable.

“Mrs. Clanfrizzle, my friend Mr. Lorrequer;thinks he’ll stay the summer in town. Mrs. Clan—­, should like him to be one ofus.” This latter was said sotto voce,and was a practice he continued to adopt in presentingme to his several friends through the room.

Miss Riley, a horrid old fright, in a bird of paradiseplume, and corked eyebrows, gibbetted in gilt chainsand pearl ornaments, and looking as the grisettessay, “superbe en chrysolite”—­“MissRiley, Captain Lorrequer, a friend I have long desiredto present to you—­fifteen thousand a-yearand a baronetcy, if he has sixpence”—­sottoagain. “Surgeon M’Culloch—­helikes the title,” said Tom in a whisper—­“Surgeon,Captain Lorrequer. By the by, lest I forget it,he wishes to speak to you in the morning about hishealth; he is stopping at Sandymount for the baths;you could go out there, eh!” The tall thingin green spectacles bowed, and acknowledged Tom’skindness by a knowing touch of the elbow. Inthis way he made the tour of the room for about tenminutes, during which brief space, I was accordingto the kind arrangements of O’Flaherty, bookedas a resident in the boarding-house—­a loverto at least five elderly, and three young ladies—­apatient—­a client—­a second ina duel to a clerk in the post-office—­andhad 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 havecomfortably filled one of Pickford’s vans. All this he told me was requisite to my being wellreceived, though no one thought much of any breachof compact subsequently, except Mrs. Clan—­herself. The ladies had, alas! been often treated vilely before;the doctor had never had a patient; and as for thebelligerent knight of the dead office, he’d ratherdie than fight any day.

The last person to whom my friend deemed it necessaryto introduce me, was a Mr. Garret Cudmore, from theReeks of Kerry, lately matriculated to all the honorsof freshmanship in the Dublin university. Thislatter was a low-sized, dark-browed man, with roundshoulders, and particularly long arms, the disposalof which seemed sadly to distress him. He possessedthe most perfect brogue I ever listened to; but it

was difficult to get him to speak, for on coming upto town some weeks before, he had been placed by someintelligent friend at Mrs. Clanfrizzle’s establishment,with the express direction to mark and thoroughly digestas much as he could of the habits and customs of thecircle about him, which he was rightly informed wasthe very focus of good breeding and haut ton; buton no account, unless driven thereto by the pressureof sickness, or the wants of nature, to trust himselfwith speech, which, in his then uninformed state,he was assured would inevitably ruin him among hisfastidiously cultivated associates.

To the letter and the spirit of the despatch he hadreceived, the worthy Garret acted rigidly, and hisvoice was scarcely ever known to transgress the narrowlimits prescribed by his friends. In more respectsthat one, was this a good resolve; for so completelyhad he identified himself with college habits, things,and phrases, that whenever he conversed, he becamelittle short of unintelligible to the vulgar—­adifficulty not decreased by his peculiar pronunciation.

My round of presentation was just completed, whenthe pale figure in light blue livery announced CounsellorDaly 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 wholeconcern, as he led the way with another ancient vestalin black stain and bugles. The long processionwound its snake-like length down the narrow stair,and into the dining-room, where at last we all gotseated; and here let me briefly vindicate the motivesof my friend—­should any unkind person befound to impute to his selection of a residence, anybase and grovelling passion for gourmandaise, thatday’s experience should be an eternal vindicationof him. The soup—­alas! that I shouldso far prostitute the word; for the black broth ofSparta was mock turtle in comparison—­retiredto make way for a mass of beef, whose tenderness Idid not question; for it sank beneath the knife ofthe carver like a feather bed—­the skillof Saladin himself would have failed to divide it. The fish was a most rebellious pike, and nearly killedevery loyal subject at table; and then down the sideswere various comestibles of chickens, with azure bosoms,and hams with hides like a rhinoceros; covered dishesof decomposed vegetable matter, called spinach andcabbage; potatoes arrayed in small masses, and browned,resembling those ingenious architectural structuresof mud, children raise in the high ways, and calldirt-pies. Such were the chief constituentsof the “feed;” and such, I am bound toconfess, waxed beautifully less under the vigorousonslaught of the party.

The conversation soon became both loud and general. That happy familiarity—­which I had longbelieved to be the exclusive prerogative of a militarymess, where constant daily association sustains theinterest of the veriest trifles—­I herefound in a perfection I had not anticipated, withthis striking difference, that there was no absurddeference to any existing code of etiquette in theconduct of the party generally, each person quizzinghis neighbour in the most free and easy style imaginable,and all, evidently from long habit and conventionalusage, seeming to enjoy the practice exceedingly. Thus, droll allusions, good stories, and smart repartees,fell thick as hail, and twice as harmless, which anywhere else that I had ever heard of, would assuredlyhave called for more explanations, and perhaps gunpowder,in the morning, than usually are deemed agreeable. Here, however, they knew better; and though the lawyerquizzed the doctor for never having another patientthan the house dog, all of whose arteries he had tiedin the course of the winter for practice—­andthe doctor retorted as heavily, by showing that thelawyer’s practice had been other than beneficialto those for whom he was concerned—­hisone client being found guilty, mainly through hisingenious defence of him; yet they never showed any,the slightest irritation—­on the contrary,such little playful badinage ever led to some friendlypassages of taking wine together, or in arrangementsfor a party to the “Dargle,” or “Dunleary;”and thus went on the entire party, the young ladiesdarting an occasion slight at their elders, who certainlyreturned the fire, often with advantage; all unitingnow and then, however, in one common cause, an attackof the whole line upon Mrs. Clanfrizzle herself, forthe beef, or the mutton, or the fish, or the poultry—­eachof which was sure to find some sturdy defamer, readyand willing to give evidence in dispraise. Yeteven these, and I thought them rather dangerous sallies,led to no more violent results than dignified repliesfrom the worthy hostess, upon the goodness of her fare,and the evident satisfaction it afforded while beingeaten, if the appetites of the party were a test. While this was at its height, Tom stooped behindmy chair, and whispered gently—­

“This is good—­isn’t it, eh?—­lifein a boarding-house—­quite new to you; butthey are civilized now compared to what you’llfind them in the drawing-room. When short whistfor five-penny points sets in—­then Greekmeets Greek, and we’ll have it.”

During all this melee tournament, I perceived thatthe worthy jib as he would be called in the parlanceof Trinity, Mr. Cudmore, remained perfectly silent,and apparently terrified. The noise, the dinof voices, and the laughing, so completely addledhim, that he was like one in a very horrid dream. The attention with which I had observed him, havingbeen remarked by my friend O’Flaherty, he informedme that the scholar, as he was called there, was thenunder a kind of cloud—­an adventure whichoccurred only two nights before, being too fresh inhis memory to permit him enjoying himself even tothe limited extent it had been his wont to do. As illustrative, not only of Mr. Cudmore, but thelife I have been speaking of, I may as well relateit.

Soon after Mr. Cudmore’s enlistment under thebanners of the Clanfrizzle, he had sought and foundan asylum in the drawing-room of the establishment,which promised, from its geographical relations, toexpose him less to the molestations of conversationthan most other parts of the room. This wasa small recess beside the fire-place, not uncommonin old-fashioned houses, and which, from its incapacityto hold more than one, secured to the worthy reclusethe privacy he longed for; and here, among superannuatedhearth-brushes, an old hand screen, an asthmatic bellows,and a kettle-holder, sat the timid youth, “alone,but in a crowd.” Not all the seductionsof loo, limited to three pence, nor even that mostappropriately designated game, beggar-my-neighbour—­couldwithdraw him from his blest retreat. Like hiscountryman, St. Kevin—­my friend Petriehas ascertained that the saint was a native of Tralee—­hefled from the temptations of the world, and the blandishmentsof the fair; but, alas! like the saint himself, the

“poorjib little knew
Allthat wily sex can do;”

For while he hugged himself in the security of hisfortress, the web of his destiny was weaving. So true is it, as he himself used, no less patheticallythan poetically to express it, “misfortune willfind you out, if ye were hid in a tay chest.”

It happened that in Mrs. Clanfrizzle’s establishment,the “enfant bleu,” already mentioned,was the only individual of his sex retained; and withoutfor a moment disparaging the ability or attentionsof this gifted person, yet it may reasonably be credited,that in waiting on a party of twenty-five or thirtypersons at dinner, all of whom he had admitted asporter, and announced as maitre d’hotel, withthe subsequent detail of his duties in the drawing-room,that Peter, blue Peter—­his boarding-housesoubriquet—­not enjoying the bird-like privilegeof “being in two places at once,” gaveone rather the impression of a person of hasty andfidgetty habits—­for which nervous tendencythe treatment he underwent was certainly injudicious—­itbeing the invariable custom for each guest to puthis services in requisition, perfectly irrespectiveof all other claims upon him, from whatsoever quartercoming—­and then, at the precise moment thatthe luckless valet was snuffing the candles, he wasabused by one for not bringing coal; by another forhaving carried off his tea-cup, sent on an expeditionfor sugar; by a third for having left the door open,which he had never been near; and so on to the endof the chapter.

It chanced that a few evenings previous to my appearanceat the house, this indefatigable Caleb was ministeringas usual to the various and discrepant wants of thelarge party assembled in the drawing-room. Withhis wonted alacrity he had withdrawn from their obscureretreat against the wall, sundry little tables, destinedfor the players at whist, or “spoil five”—­thepopular game of the establishment. With a dexteritythat savoured much of a stage education, he had arrangedthe candles, the cards, the counters; he had pokedthe fire, settled the stool for Miss Riley’saugust feet, and was busily engaged in changing fiveshillings into small silver for a desperate victimof loo—­when Mrs. Clanfrizzle’s third,and, as it appeared, last time, of asking for the kettlesmote upon his ear. His loyalty would have inducedhim at once to desert every thing on such an occasion;but the other party engaged, held him fast, saying—­

“Never mind her, Peter—­you havesixpence more to give me.”

Poor Peter rummaged one pocket, then another—­discoveringat last three pence in copper, and some farthings,with which he seemed endeavouring to make a compositionwith his creditor for twelve shillings in the pound;when Mrs. Clan’s patience finally becoming exhausted,she turned towards Mr. Cudmore, the only unemployedperson she could perceive, and with her blandest smilesaid,

“Mr. Cudmore, may I take the liberty of requestingyou would hand me the kettle beside you.”

Now, though the kettle aforesaid was, as the hostessvery properly observed, beside him, yet the fact thatin complying with the demand, it was necessary forthe bashful youth to leave the recess he occupied,and, with the kettle, proceed to walk half acrossthe room—­there to perform certain manualoperations requiring skill and presence of mind, beforea large and crowded assembly—­was horrorto the mind of the poor Jib; and he would nearly assoon 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 summoningup all his nerve—­knitting his brows —­clenchinghis teeth, like one prepared to “do or die,”he seized the hissing cauldron, and strode throughthe room, like the personified genius of steam, verymuch to the alarm of all the old ladies in the vicinity,whose tasteful drapery benefitted but little from hisprogress. 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 wholescene before him; nor was it till some kind mediatorhad seized his arm, while another drew him back bythe skirts of the coat, that he desisted from thedeluge of hot water, with which, having filled thetea-pot, he proceeded to swamp every thing else uponthe tray, in his unfortunate abstraction. Mrs.Clanfrizzle screamed—­the old ladies accompaniedher —­the young ones tittered—­themen laughed—­and, in a word, poor Cudmore,

perfectly unconscious of any thing extraordinary, felthimself the admired of all admirers,—­verylittle, it is true, to his own satisfaction. After some few minutes exposure to these eclats derire, he succeeded in depositing the source of hisgriefs within the fender, and once more retired tohis sanctuary,—­having registered a vow,which, should I speak it, would forfeit his everyclaim to gallantry for ever.

Whether in the vow aforesaid Mr. Cudmore had onlybeen engaged in that species of tesselating whichfurnishes the pavement so celebrated in the lowerregions, I know not; but true it is, that he retiredthat night to his chamber very much discomfited athis debut in the great world, and half disposed tobelieve that nature had neither intended him for aBrummel nor a D’Orsay. While he was ruminatingon such matters, he was joined by O’Flaherty,with whom he had been always more intimate than anyother inmate of the house—­Tom’s tacthaving entirely concealed what the manners of theothers too plainly evinced, the perfect appreciationof the student’s oddity and singularity. After some few observations on general matters, O’Flahertybegan with a tone of some seriousness to express towardsCudmore the warm interest he had ever taken in him,since his first coming among them; his great anxietyfor his welfare, and his firm resolve that no chanceor casual inattention to mere ceremonial observanceson his part should ever be seized on by the other guestsas a ground for detraction or an excuse for ridiculeof him.

“Rely upon it, my dear boy,” said he,“I have watched over you like a parent; andhaving partly foreseen that something like this affairof to-night would take place sooner or later”—­

“What affair?” said Cudmore—­hiseyes staring half out of his head.

“That business of the kettle.”

“Kett—­el. The kettle! What of that?” said Cudmore.

“What of it? Why, if you don’t feelit, I am sure it is not my duty to remind you; only”—­

“Feel it—­oh, yes. I saw themlaughing, because I spilled the water over old Mrs.Jones, or something of that sort.”

“No, no, my dear young friend, they were notlaughing at that—­their mirth had anotherobject.”

“What the devil was it at, then?”

“You don’t know, don’t you?”

“No; I really do not.”

“Nor can’t guess—­eh?”

“Confound me if I can.”

“Well. I see, Mr. Cudmore, you are reallytoo innocent for these people. But come—­itshall never be said that youth and inexperience eversuffered from the unworthy ridicule and cold sarcasmof the base world, while Tom O’Flaherty stoodby a spectator.

“Sir,” said Tom, striking his hand withenergy on the table, and darting a look of fiery indignationfrom his eye, “Sir, you were this night trepanned—­yes,sir, vilely, shamefully trepanned—­I repeatthe expression—­into the performance ofa menial office—­an office so degrading,so offensive, so unbecoming the rank, the station,and the habits of gentlemen, my very blood recoilswhen I only think of the indignity.”

The expression of increasing wonder and surprise depictedin Mr. Cudmore’s face at these words, my friendPhiz might convey—­I cannot venture to describeit—­suffice it to say, that even O’Flahertyhimself found it difficult to avoid a burst of laughter,as he looked at him and resumed.

“Witnessing, as I did, the entire occurrence;feeling deeply for the inexperience which the heartlessworldlings had dared to trample upon, I resolved tostand by you, and here I am come for that purpose.”

“Well, but what in the devil’s name haveI done all this time?”

“What! are you still ignorant?—­isit possible? Did you not hand the kettle fromthe fire-place, and fill the tea-pot?—­answerme that!”

“I did,” said Cudmore, with a voice alreadybecoming tremulous.

“Is that the duty of a gentleman?—­answerme that.”

A dead pause stood in place of a reply, while Tomproceeded—­

“Did you ever hear any one ask me, or CounsellorDaly, or Mr. Fogarty, or any other person to do so?—­answerme that.”

“No; never” muttered Cudmore, with a sinkingspirit.

“Well then why may I ask, were you selectedfor an office that by your own confession, no oneelse would stoop to perform? I’ll tellyou, because from your youth and inexperience, yourinnocence was deemed a fit victim to the heartlesssneers of a cold and unfeeling world.”And here Tom broke forth into a very beautiful apostrophe,beginning—­

“Oh, virtue!” (this I am unfortunatelyunable to present to my readers; and must only assurethem that it was a very faithful imitation of thewell-known one delivered by Burke in the case of WarrenHastings,) and concluding with an exhortation to Cudmoreto wipe out the stain of his wounded honour, by repellingwith indignation the slightest future attempt at suchan insult.

This done, O’Flaherty retired, leaving Cudmoreto dig among Greek roots, and chew over the cud ofhis misfortune. Punctual to the time and place,that same evening beheld the injured Cudmore resumehis wonted corner, pretty much with the feeling withwhich a forlorn hope stands match in hand to ignitethe train destined to explode with ruin to thousands—­himself perhaps amongst the number:there he sat with a brain as burning, and a heartas excited, as though, instead of sipping his boheabeside a sea-coal fire, he was that instant tremblingbeneath the frown of Dr. Elrington, for the blundersin his Latin theme, and what terror to the mind ofa “Jib” can equal that one?

As luck would have it, this was a company night inthe boarding-house. Various young ladies in longblue sashes, and very broad ribbon sandals, paradedthe rooms, chatting gaily with very distinguished lookingyoung gentlemen, with gold brooches, and party-colouredinside waistcoats; sundry elderly ladies sat at card-tables,discussing the “lost honour by an odd trickthey played,” with heads as large as those of

Jack or Jill in the pantomime; spruce clerks in publicoffices, (whose vocation the expansive tendency ofthe right ear, from long pen-carrying, betokened)discussed fashion, “and the musical glasses”to some very over-dressed married ladies, who preferredflirting to five-and-ten. The tea-table, overwhich the amiable hostess presided, had also its standingvotaries: mostly grave parliamentary-lookinggentlemen, with powdered heads, and very long-waistedblack coats, among whom the Sir Oracle was a functionaryof his Majesty’s High Court of Chancery, thoughI have reason to believe, not, Lord Manners:meanwhile, in all parts of the room might be seenBlue Peter, distributing tea, coffee, and biscuit,and occasionally interchanging a joke with the dwellersin the house. While all these pleasing occupationsproceeded, the hour of Cudmore’s trial was approaching. The tea-pot which had stood the attack of fourteencups without flinching, at last began to fail, anddiscovered to the prying eyes of Mrs. Clanfrizzle,nothing but an olive-coloured deposit of soft matter,closely analogous in appearance and chemical propertyto the residuary precipitate in a drained fish-pond;she put down the lid with a gentle sigh and turningtowards the fire bestowed one of her very blandestand most captivating looks on Mr. Cudmore, saying—­asplainly as looks could say—­“Cudmore,you’re wanting.” Whether the youthdid, 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 masonicmovement of her hand to the tea-pot, and a sly glanceat the hob, intimated her wish—­still hopelessly;at last there was nothing for it but speaking; andshe donned her very softest voice, and most persuasivetone, saying—­

“Mr. Cudmore, I am really very troublesome:will you permit me to ask you?”—­

“Is it for the kettle, ma’am?” saidCudmore, with a voice that startled the whole room,disconcerting three whist parties, and so absorbingthe attention of the people at loo, that the pooldisappeared without any one being able to accountfor the circ*mstance.

“Is it for the kettle, ma’am?”

“If you will be so very kind,” lispedthe hostess.

“Well, then, upon my conscience, you are impudent,”said Cudmore, with his face crimsoned to the ears,and his eyes flashing fire.

“Why, Mr. Cudmore,” began the lady, “why,really, this is so strange. Why sir, what canyou mean?”

“Just that,” said the imperturbable jib,who now that his courage was up, dared every thing.

“But sir, you must surely have misunderstoodme. I only asked for the kettle, Mr. Cudmore.”

“The devil a more,” said Cud, with a sneer.

“Well, then, of course”—­

“Well, then, I’ll tell you, of course,”said he, repeating her words; “the sorrow tasteof the kettle, I’ll give you. Call youown skip—­Blue Pether there—­damnme, if I’ll be your skip any longer.”

For the uninitiated I have only to add, that “skip”is the Trinity College appellation for servant, whichwas therefore employed by Mr. Cudmore, on this occasion,as expressing more contemptuously his sense of thedegradation of the office attempted to be put uponhim. Having already informed my reader on someparticulars of the company, I leave him to supposehow Mr. Cudmore’s speech was received. Whist itself was at an end for that evening, and nothingbut laughter, long, loud, and reiterated, burst fromevery corner of the room for hours after.

As I have so far travelled out of the record of myown peculiar confessions, as to give a leaf from whatmight one day form the matter of Mr. Cudmore’s,I must now make the only amende in my power, by honestlynarrating, that short as my visit was to the classicprecincts of this agreeable establishment, I did notescape 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 generaat large, or this one specimen in particular, however,it is a sufficiently curious fact, even though therebyhang no tale, for my stating it here. The decanterson the dinner-table were never labelled, with theirmore appropriate designation of contents, whetherclaret, sherry, or port, but with the names of theirrespective owners, it being a matter of much lessconsequence that any individual at table should mixhis wine, by pouring “port upon madeira,”than commit the truly legal offence of appropriatingto his own use and benefit, even by mistake, his neighbour’sbottle. However well the system may work amongthe regular members of the “domestic circle,”and I am assured that it does succeed extremely —­tothe newly arrived guest, or uninitiated visitor, theaffair is perplexing, and leads occasionally to awkwardresults.

It so chanced, from my friend O’Flaherty’shabitual position at the foot of the table, and mypost of honour near the head, that on the first dayof my appearing there, the distance between us, notonly precluded all possible intercourse, but any ofthose gentle hints as to habits and customs, a newarrival looks for at the hands of his better informedfriend. The only mode of recognition, to provethat we belonged to each other, being by that excellentand truly English custom of drinking wine together,Tom seized the first idle moment from his avocationas carver to say,

“Lorrequer, a glass of wine with you.”

Having, of course, acceded, he again asked,

“What wine do you drink?” intending thereby,as I afterwards learned, to send me from his end ofthe table, what wine I selected. Not conceivingthe object of the inquiry, and having hitherto withouthesitation helped myself from the decanter, whichbore some faint resemblance to sherry, I immediatelyturned for correct information to the bottle itself,upon whose slender neck was ticketed the usual slipof paper. My endeavours to decypher the writingoccupied time sufficient again to make O’Flahertyask,

“Well, Harry, I’m waiting for you. Will you have port?”

“No, I thank you,” I replied, having bythis revealed the inscription. “No, I thankyou; I’ll just stick to my old friend here, BobM’Grotty;” for thus I rendered familiarlythe name of Rt. M’Grotty on the decanter,and which I in my ignorance believed to be the boarding-housesoubriquet for bad sherry. That Mr. M’Grottyhimself little relished my familiarity with eitherhis name or property I had a very decisive proof, forturning round upon his chair, and surveying my personfrom head to foot with a look of fiery wrath, he thunderedout in very broad Scotch,

“And by my saul, my freend, ye may just as weelfinish it noo, for deil a glass o’ his ain winedid Bob M’Grotty, as ye ca’ him, swallowthis day.”

The convulsion of laughter into which my blunder andthe Scotchman’s passion threw the whole board,lasted till the cloth was withdrawn, and the ladieshad retired to the drawing-room, the only individualat table not relishing the mistake being the injuredproprietor of the bottle, who was too proud to acceptreparation from my friend’s decanter, and wouldscarcely 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 oftheir life, in which, it is true, they frequently figuredin situations that nothing but their native and naturalcandour would venture to avow. One story I wasconsiderably amused at; it was told by the counsellor,Mr. Daly, in illustration of the difficulty of risingat the bar, and which, as showing his own mode ofobviating the delay that young professional men submitto from hard necessity, as well as in evidence ofhis strictly legal turn, I shall certainly recount,one of these days, for the edification of the juniorbar.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE CHASE.

On the morning after my visit to the boarding-house,I received a few hurried lines from Curzon, informingme that no time was to be lost in joining the regiment—­thata grand fancy ball was about to be given by the officersof the Dwarf frigate, then stationed off Dunmore; who,when inviting the ___, specially put in a demand formy well-known services, to make it to go off, andconcluding with an extract from the Kilkenny Moderator,which ran thus—­

“An intimation has just reachedus, from a quarter on which we can place thefullest reliance, that the celebrated amateur performer,Mr. Lorrequer, may shortly be expected amongstus; from the many accounts we have received ofthis highly-gifted gentleman’s powers, weanticipate a great treat to the lovers of the drama,”&c. &c. “So you see, my dear Hal,”continued Curzon, “thy vocation calls thee;therefore come, and come quickly—­providethyself with a black satin costume, slashed withlight blue—­point lace collar and ruffles—­aSpanish hat looped in front—­and, if possible,a long rapier, with a flap hilt.—­Cardenis not here; so you may show your face underany colour with perfect impunity.—­Yoursfrom the side scenes,

“C.Curzon.”

This clever epistle sufficed to show me that the gallant__th had gone clean theatrical mad; and although frommy “last appearance on any stage,” itmight be supposed I should feel no peculiar desireto repeat the experiment, yet the opportunity of joiningduring Col. Carden’s absence, was too temptingto resist, and I at once made up my mind to set out,and, without a moment’s delay, hurried acrossthe street to the coach office, to book myself aninside in the mail of that night; fortunately no difficultyexisted in my securing the seat, for the way-billwas a perfect blank, and I found myself the only personwho had, as yet, announced himself a passenger. On returning to my hotel, I found O’Flahertywaiting for me; he was greatly distressed on hearingmy determination to leave town—­explainedhow he had been catering for my amusem*nt for theweek to come—­that a picnic to the Darglewas arranged in a committee of the whole house, anda boating party, with a dinner at the Pigeon-house,was then under consideration; resisting, however, suchextreme temptations, I mentioned the necessity of myat once proceeding to headquarters, and all otherreasons for my precipitancy failing, concluded withthat really knock-down argument, “I have takenmy place;” this, I need scarcely add, finishedthe matter—­at least I have never knownit fail in such cases. Tell your friends thatyour wife is hourly expecting to be confined; yourfavourite child is in the measles—­you bestfriend waiting your aid in an awkward scrape—­yourone vote only wanting to turn the scale in an election. Tell them, I say, each or all of these, or a hundredmore like them, and to any one you so speak, the answeris—­“Pooh, pooh, my dear fellow, neverfear—­don’t fuss yourself —­takeit easy—­to-morrow will do just as well.” If, on the other hand, however, you reject such flimsyexcuses, and simply say, “I’m booked inthe mail,” the opposition at once falls to theground, and your quondam antagonist, who was readyto quarrel with you, is at once prepared to assistin packing your portmanteau.

Having soon satisfied my friend Tom that resistancewas in vain, I promised to eat an early dinner withhim at Morrisson’s, and spent the better partof 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 readersat the conclusion of my last chapter; but which Imust defer to a more suitable opportunity, when mentioningthe next occasion of my meeting him on the southerncircuit.

My dispositions were speedily made. I was fortunatein securing the exact dress my friend’s letteralluded 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 treasureto 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 deepin the perusal of the bill, along which figured thenovel expedients for dining, I had been in the habitof reading in every Dublin hotel since my boyhood. “Mock turtle, mutton, gravy, roast beef andpotatoes—­shoulder of mutton and potatoes!—­ducks and peas, potatoes!! ham and chicken,cutlet steak and potatoes!!! apple tart and cheese:”with a slight cadenza of a sigh over the distant gloriesof Very, or still better the “Freres,”we sat down to a very patriarchal repast, and whatmay be always had par excellence in Dublin, a bottleof Sneyd’s claret.

Poor Tom’s spirits were rather below their usualpitch; and although he made many efforts to rallyand appear gay, he could not accomplish it. However,we chatted away over old times and old friends, andforgetting all else but the topics we talked of, thetime-piece over the chimney first apprised me thattwo whole hours had gone by, and that it was now seveno’clock, the very hour the coach was to start. I started up at once, and notwithstanding all Tom’srepresentations of the impossibility of my being intime, had despatched waiters in different directionsfor a jarvey, more than ever determined upon going;so often is it that when real reasons for our conductare wanting, any casual or chance opposition confirmsus 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 nowgone at least ten minutes, and which, with smart driving,I should probably overtake before getting free of thecity, 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 imprecationand bribery, I started in pursuit of his Majesty’sCork and Kilkenny mail coach, then patiently waitingin the court-yard of the Post Office.

“Which way now, your honor?” said a shrillvoice from the dark—­for such the nighthad already become, and threatened with a few heavydrops of straight rain, the fall of a tremendous shower.

“The Naas road,” said I; “and, harkye,my fine fellow, if you overtake the coach in halfan hour, I’ll double your fare.”

“Be gorra, I’ll do my endayvour,”said the youth; at the same time instant dashing inboth spurs, we rattled down Nassau-street at a veryrespectable pace for harriers. Street after streetwe passed, and at last I perceived we had got clearof the city, and were leaving the long line of lamp-lightsbehind 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’swhip, or the still sharper tone of his “geehup,” showed me we were going at a tremendouspace, had I not even had the experience afforded bythe frequent visits my head paid to the roof of thechaise, so often as we bounded over a stone, or splashedthrough a hollow. Dark and gloomy as it was,I constantly let down the window, and with half mybody protruded, endeavores to catch a glimpse of the“Chase;” but nothing could I see. The rain now fell in actual torrents; and a moremiserable night it is impossible to conceive.

After about an hour so spent, he at last came to acheck, so sudden and unexpected on my part, that Iwas nearly precipitated, harlequin fashion, throughthe front window. Perceiving that we no longermoved, and suspecting that some part of our tacklehad given way, I let down the sash, and cried out—­“Wellnow, my lad, any thing wrong?” My questionswas, however, unheard; and although, amid the steamarising from the wet and smoking horses, I could perceiveseveral figures indistinctly moving about, I couldnot distinguish what they were doing, nor what theysaid. A laugh I certainly did hear, and heartilycursed the unfeeling wretch, as I supposed him tobe, who was enjoying himself at my disappointment.I again endeavoured to find out what had happened,and called out still louder than before.

“We are at Ra’coole, your honor,”said the boy, approaching the door of the chaise,“and she’s only beat us by hafe a mile.”

“Who the devil is she?” said I.

“The mail, your honor, is always a female inIreland.”

“Then why do you stop now? You’renot going to feed I suppose?”

“Of course not, your honor, it’s littlefeeding troubles these bastes, any how, but they tellme the road is so heavy we’ll never take thechaise over the next stage without leaders.”

“Without leaders!” said I. “Pooh!my good fellow, no humbugging, four horses for a lightpost-chaise and no luggage; come get up, and no nonsense.” At this moment a man approached the window with alantern in his hand, and so strongly represented thedreadful state of the roads from the late rains—­thelength of the stage—­the frequency of accidentslatterly from under-horsing, &c. &c. that I yielded,a reluctant assent, and ordered out the leaders, comfortingmyself the while, that considering the inside fareof the coach, I made such efforts to overtake, wasunder a pound, and that time was no object to me, Icertainly was paying somewhat dearly for my characterfor resolution.

At last we got under way once more, and set off cheeredby a tremendous shout from at least a dozen persons,doubtless denizens of that interesting locality, amidwhich I once again heard the laugh that had so muchannoyed me already. The rain was falling, ifpossible, more heavily than before, and had evidentlyset in for the entire night. Throwing myselfback into a corner of the “leathern convenience,”I gave myself up to the full enjoyment of the Rouchefoucauldmaxim, that there is always a pleasure felt in themisfortunes of even our best friends, and certainlyexperienced no small comfort in my distress, by contrastingmy present position with that of my two friends inthe 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 haveserious thoughts of abdicating the seat and betakingmyself to the bottom of the chaise, for safety andprotection. Mile after mile succeeded, and asafter many a short and fitful slumber, which my dreamsgave an apparent length to, I woke only to find myselfstill in pursuit—­the time seemed so enormouslyprotracted that I began to fancy my whole life wasto be passed in the dark, in chase of the Kilkennymail, as we read in the true history of the flyingDutchman, who, for his sins of impatience—­likemine—­spent centuries vainly endeavouringto double the Cape, or the Indian mariner in Moore’sbeautiful ballad, of whom we are told as—­

“Many a dayto night gave way,
And many a morn succeeded,
Yet still his flight, by day andnight,
That restless mariner speeded.”

This might have been all very well in the tropics,with a smart craft and doubtless plenty of sea store—­butin a chaise, at night, and on the Naas road, I humblysuggest I had all the worse of the parallel.

At last the altered sound of the wheels gave noticeof our approach to a town, and after about twentyminutes; rattling over the pavement we entered whatI supposed, correctly, to be Naas. Here I hadlong since determined my pursuit should cease. I had done enough, and more than enough, to vindicatemy fame against any charge of irresolution as to leavingDublin, and was bethinking me of the various modesof prosecuting my journey on the morrow, when we drewup suddenly at the door of the Swan. The arrivalof a chaise and four at a small country town inn,suggests to the various employees therein, any thingrather than the traveller in pursuit of the mail,and so the moment I arrived, I was assailed with innumerableproffers of horses, supper, bed, &c. My anxiousquery was thrice repeated in vain, “When didthe coach pass?”

“The mail,” replied the landlord at length. “Is it the down mail?”

Not understanding the technical, I answered, “Ofcourse not the Down—­the Kilkenny and Corkmail.”

“From Dublin, sir?”

“Yes, from Dublin.”

“Not arrived yet, sir, nor will it for threequarters of an hour; they never leave Dublin tilla quarter past seven; that is, in fact, half past,and their time here is twenty minutes to eleven.”

“Why, you stupid son of a boot-top, we havebeen posting on all night like the devil, and allthis time the coach has been ten miles behind us.”

“Well, we’ve cotch them any how,”said the urchin, as he disengaged himself from hiswet saddle, and stood upon the ground; “and itis not my fault that the coach is not before us.”

With a satisfactory anathema upon all innkeepers,waiters, hostlers, and post-boys, with a codicil includingcoach-proprietors, I followed the smirking landlordinto a well-lighted room, with a blazing fire, whenhaving ordered supper, I soon regained my equanimity.

My rasher and poached eggs, all Naas could affordme, were speedily despatched, and as my last glass,from my one pint of sherry, was poured out, the longexpected coach drew up. A minute after the coachmanentered to take his dram, followed by the guard; amore lamentable spectacle of condensed moisture cannotbe conceived; the rain fell from the entire circumferenceof his broad-brimmed hat, like the ever-flowing dropfrom the edge of an antique fountain; his drab-coathad become a deep orange hue, while his huge figureloomed still larger, as he stood amid a nebula ofdamp, that would have made an atmosphere for the GeorgiumSidus.

“Going on to-night, sir?” said he, addressingme; “severe weather, and no chance of its clearing,but of course you’re inside.”

“Why, there is very little doubt of that,”said I. “Are you nearly full inside?”

“Only one, sir; but he seems a real queer chap;made fifty inquiries at the office if he could nothave the whole inside to himself, and when he heardthat one place had been taken—­your’s,I believe, sir—­he seemed like a scaldedbear.”

“You don’t know his name then?”

“No, sir, he never gave a name at the office,and his only luggage is two brown paper parcels, withoutany ticket, and he has them inside; indeed he neverlets them from him even for a second.”

Here the guard’s horn, announcing all ready,interrupted our colloquy, and prevented my learningany thing further of my fellow-traveller, whom, however,I at once set down in my own mind for some confoundedold churl that made himself comfortable every where,without ever thinking of any one else’s convenience.

As I passed from the inn door to the coach, I oncemore congratulated myself that I was about to be housedfrom the terrific storm of wind and rain that railedabout.

“Here’s the step, sir,” said theguard, “get in, sir, two minutes late already.”

“I beg your pardon, sir,” said I, as Ihalf fell over the legs of my unseen companion. “May I request leave to pass you?” Whilehe made way for me for this purpose, I perceived thathe stooped down towards the guard, and said something,who from his answer had evidently been questionedas to who I was. “And how did he get here,if he took his place in Dublin?” asked the unknown.

“Came half an hour since, sir, in a chaise andfour,” said the guard, as he banged the doorbehind him, and closed the interview.

Whatever might have been the reasons for my fellow-traveller’sanxiety about my name and occupation, I knew not,yet could not help feeling gratified at thinking thatas I had not given my name at the coach office, Iwas a great a puzzle to him as he to me.

“A severe night, sir,” said I, endeavouringto break ground in conversation.

“Mighty severe,” briefly and half crustilyreplied the unknown, with a richness of brogue, thatmight have stood for a certificate of baptism in Corkor its vicinity.

“And a bad road too, sir,” said I, rememberingmy lately accomplished stage.

“That’s the reason I always go armed,”said the unknown, clinking at the same moment somethinglike the barrel of a pistol.

Wondering somewhat at his readiness to mistake mymeaning, I felt disposed to drop any further effortto draw him out, and was about to address myself tosleep, as comfortably as I could.

“I’ll jist trouble ye to lean aff thatlittle parcel there, sir,” said he, as he displacedfrom its position beneath my elbow, one of the paperpackages the guard had already alluded to.

In complying with this rather gruff demand, one ofmy pocket pistols, which I carried in my breast pocket,fell out upon his knee, upon which he immediatelystarted, and asked hurriedly—­“andare you armed too?”

“Why, yes,” said I, laughingly; “menof my trade seldom go without something of this kind.”

“Be gorra, I was just thinking that same,”said the traveller, with a half sigh to himself.

Why he should or should not have thought so, I nevertroubled myself to canvass, and was once more settlingmyself in my corner, when I was startled by a verymelancholy groan, which seemed to come from the bottomof my companion’s heart.

“Are you ill, sir?” said I, in a voiceof some anxiety.

“You might say that,” replied he—­“ifyou knew who you were talking to —­althoughmaybe you’ve heard enough of me, though you neversaw me till now.”

“Without having that pleasure even yet,”said I, “it would grieve me to think you shouldbe ill in the coach.”

“May be it might,” briefly replied theunknown, with a species of meaning in his words Icould not then understand. “Did ye neverhear tell of Barney Doyle?” said he.

“Not to my recollection.”

“Then I’m Barney,” said he; “that’sin all the newspapers in the metropolis; I’mseventeen weeks in Jervis-street hospital, and fourin the Lunatic, and the devil a better after all;you must be a stranger, I’m thinking, or you’dknow me now.”

“Why I do confess, I’ve only been a fewhours in Ireland for the last six months.”

“Ay, that’s the reason; I knew you wouldnot be fond of travelling with me, if you knew whoit was.”

“Why, really,” said I, beginning at themoment to fathom some of the hints of my companion,“I did not anticipate the pleasure of meetingyou.”

“It’s pleasure ye call it; then there’sno accountin’ for tastes, as Dr. Colles said,when he saw me bite Cusack Rooney’s thumb off.”

“Bite a man’s thumb off!” said I,in a horror.

“Ay,” said he with a kind of fiendishanimation, “in one chop; I wish you’dsee how I scattered the consultation; begad they didn’twait to ax for a fee.”

Upon my soul, a very pleasant vicinity, though I. “And, may I ask sir,” said I, in a verymild and soothing tone of voice, “may I ask thereason for this singular propensity of yours?”

“There it is now, my dear,” said he, layinghis hand upon my knee familiarly, “that’sjust the very thing they can’t make out; Collessays, it’s all the ceribellum, ye see, that’sinflamed and combusted, and some of the others thinkit’s the spine; and more, the muscles; but myreal impression is, the devil a bit they know aboutit at all.”

“And have they no name for the malady?”said I.

“Oh sure enough they have a name for it.”

“And, may I ask—­”

“Why, I think you’d better not, becauseye see, maybe I might be throublesome to ye in thenight, though I’ll not, if I can help it; andit might be uncomfortable to you to be here if I wasto get one of the fits.”

“One of the fits! Why it’s not possible,sir,” said I, “you would travel in a publicconveyance in the state you mention; your friends surelywould not permit it?”

“Why, if they knew, perhaps,” slily respondedthe interesting invalid, “if they knew theymight not exactly like it, but ye see, I escaped onlylast night, and there’ll be a fine hub-bub inthe morning, when they find I’m off; thoughI’m thinking Rooney’s barking away by thistime.”

“Rooney barking, why, what does that mean?”

“They always bark for a day or two after they’rebit, if the infection comes first from the dog.”

“You are surely not speaking of hydrophobia,”said I, my hair actually bristling with horror andconsternation.

“Ayn’t I?” replied he; “maybe you’ve guessed it though.”

“And have you the malady on you at present?”said I, trembling for the answer.

“This is the ninth day since I took to biting,”said he gravely, perfectly unconscious as it appearedof the terror such information was calculated to convey.

“Any with such a propensity, sir, do you thinkyourself warranted in travelling in a public coach,exposing others—­”

“You’d better not raise your voice, thatway,” quietly responded he, “if I’mroused, it ’ll be worse for ye, that’sall.”

“Well but,” said I, moderating my zeal,“is it exactly prudent, in your present delicatestate, to undertake a journey?”

“Ah,” said he, with a sigh, “I’vebeen longing to see the fox hounds throw off, nearKilkenny; these three weeks I’ve been thinkingof nothing else; but I’m not sure how my nerveswill stand the cry; I might be throublesome.”

“Upon my soul,” thought I, “I shallnot select that morning for my debut in the field.”

“I hope, sir, there’s no river, or watercourseon this road—­any thing else, I can, I hope,control myself against; but water—­runningwater particularly—­makes me throublesome.”

Well knowing what he meant by the latter phrase, Ifelt the cold perspiration settling on my forehead,as I remembered that we must be within about ten ortwelve miles of Leighlin-bridge, where we should haveto pass a very wide river. I strictly concealedthis fact from him, however, and gave him to understandthat there was not a well, brook, or rivulet, forforty miles on either side of us. He now sunkinto a kind of moody silence, broken occasionallyby a low muttering noise, as if speaking to himself—­whatthis might portend, I knew not—­but thoughtit better, under all circ*mstances, not to disturbhim. How comfortable my present condition was,I need scarcely remark—­sitting vis a visto a lunatic, with a pair of pistols in his possession—­whohad already avowed his consciousness of his tendencyto do mischief, and his inability to master it; allthis in the dark, and in the narrow limits of a mail-coach,where there was scarcely room for defence, and nopossibility of escape—­how heartily I wishedmyself back in the Coffee-room at Morrisson’s,with my poor friend Tom—­the infernal chaise,that I cursed a hundred times, would have been an “exchange,”better than into the Life Guards—­ay, eventhe outside of the coach, if I could only reach it,would, under present circ*mstances, be a gloriousalternative to my existing misfortune. What wererain and storm, thunder and lightning, compared withthe chances that awaited me here? —­wetthrough I should inevitably be, but then I had notyet contracted the horror of moisture my friend oppositelaboured under. “Ha! what is that? isit possible he can be asleep; is it really a snore?—­Heavengrant that little snort be not what the medical peoplecall a premonitory symptom—­if so, he’llbe in upon me now in no time. Ah, there it isagain; he must be asleep surely; now then is my timeor never.” With these words, mutteredto myself, and a heart throbbing almost audibly atthe risk of his awakening, I slowly let down the windowof the coach, and stretching forth my hand, turnedthe handle cautiously and slowly; I next disengagedmy legs, and by a long continuous effort of creeping—­whichI had learned perfectly once, when practising to goas a boa constrictor to a fancy ball—­I withdrewmyself from the seat and reached the step, when Imuttered something very like a thanksgiving to Providencefor my rescue. With little difficulty I now climbedup beside the guard, whose astonishment at my appearancewas indeed considerable—­that any man shouldprefer the out, to the inside of a coach, in sucha night, was rather remarkable; but that the personso 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 applicabilityof the statute of lunacy to a traveller in the mail,the palm would certainly have been awarded to me, andnot to my late companion. Well, on we rolled,and heavily as the rain poured down, so relieved didI feel at my change of position, that I soon fellfast asleep, and never awoke till the coach was drivingup Patrick street. Whatever solace to my feelingsreaching the outside of the coach might have beenattended with at night, the pleasure I experiencedon awaking, was really not unalloyed. More deadthan alive, I sat a mass of wet clothes, like nothingunder heaven except it be that morsel of black andspongy wet cotton at the bottom of a schoolboy’sink bottle, saturated with rain, and the black dyeof my coat. My hat too had contributed its shareof colouring matter, and several long black streakscoursed down my “wrinkled front,” givingme very much the air of an Indian warrior, who hadgot the first priming of his war paint. I certainlymust have been rueful object, were I only to judgefrom the faces of the waiters as they gazed on mewhen the coach drew up at Rice and Walsh’s hotel.Cold, wet, and weary as I was, my curiosity to learnmore of my late agreeable companion was strong as everwithin me —­perhaps stronger, from the sacrificeshis acquaintance had exacted from me. Before,however, I had disengaged myself from the pile oftrunks and carpet bags I had surrounded myself with—­hehad got out of the coach, and all I could catch aglimpse of was the back of a little short man in akind of grey upper coat, and long galligaskins on hislegs. He carried his two bundles under his arm,and stepped nimbly up the steps of the hotel, withoutturning his head to either side.

“Don’t fancy you shall escape me now,my good friend,” I cried out, as I sprung fromthe roof to the ground, with one jump, and hurriedafter 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 mysteriouspaper parcels, he was now busily engaged in divestinghimself of his great coat; his face was still turnedfrom me, so that I had time to appear employed indivesting myself of my wet drapery before he perceivedme; at last the coat was unbuttoned, the gaiters followed,and throwing them carelessly on a chair, he tuckedup the skirts of his coat; and spreading himself comfortablya l’Anglais, before the fire, displayed to mywondering and stupified gaze, the pleasant featuresof Doctor Finucane.

“Why, Doctor—­Doctor Finucane,”cried I, “is this possible? were you reallythe inside in the mail last night.”

“Devil a doubt of it, Mr. Lorrequer; and mayI make bould to ask,—­were you the outside?”

“Then what, may I beg to know, did you meanby your damned story about Barney Doyle, and the hydrophobia,and Cusack Rooney’s thumb—­eh?”

“Oh, by the Lord,” said Finucane, “thiswill be the death of me; and it was you that I droveoutside in all the rain last night! Oh, it willkill Father Malachi outright with laughing, when Itell him;” and he burst out into a fit of merrimentthat nearly induced me to break his head with thepoker.

“Am I to understand, then, Mr. Finucane, thatthis practical joke of your was contrived for my benefit,and for the purpose of holding me up to the ridiculeof your confounded acquaintances.”

“Nothing of the kind, upon my conscience,”said Fin, drying his eyes, and endeavouring to looksorry and sentimental. “If I had only theleast suspicion in life that it was you, upon my oathI’d not have had the hydrophobia at all, and,to tell you the truth, you were not the only one frightened—­youalarmed me devilishly too.”

“I alarmed you! Why, how can that be?”

“Why, the real affair is this: I was bringingthese two packages of notes down to my cousin Callaghan’sbank in Cork—­fifteen thousand pounds —­devila less; and when you came into the coach at Naas, afterdriving there with your four horses, I thought itwas all up with me. The guard just whisperedin my ear, that he saw you look at the priming of yourpistols 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 intomy mind that maybe, highwayman as you were, you wouldnot like dying a natural death, more particularlyif you were an Irishman; and so I trumped up thatlong story about the hydrophobia, and the gentleman’sthumb, and devil knows what besides; and, while I wastelling it, the cold perspiration was running downmy head and face, for every time you stirred, I saidto myself, now he’ll do it. Two or threetimes, do you know, I was going to offer you ten shillingsin the pound, and spare my life; and once, God forgiveme, I thought it would not be a bad plan to shootyou by ‘mistake,’ do you perceave?”

“Why, upon my soul, I’m very much obligedto you for your excessively kind intentions; but reallyI feel you have done quite enough for me on the presentoccasion. But, come now, doctor, I must get tobed, and before I go, promise me two things—­todine with us to-day at the mess, and not to mentiona syllable of what occurred last night—­ittells, believe me, very badly for both; so, keep thesecret, for if these confounded fellows of ours everget hold of it, I may sell out, or quit the army;I’ll never hear the end of it!”

“Never fear, my boy; trust me. I’lldine with you, and you’re as safe as a church-mousefor any thing I’ll tell them; so, now you’dbetter change your clothes, for I’m thinkingit rained last night.”

Muttering some very dubious blessings upon the learnedFin, I left the room, infinitely more chagrined andchop-fallen at the discovery I had made, than at allthe misery and exposure the trick had consigned meto; “however,” thought I, “if thedoctor keep his word, it all goes well; the wholeaffair is between us both solely; but, should it notbe so, I may shoot half the mess before the otherhalf would give up quizzing me.” Revolvingsuch pleasant thought, I betook myself to bed, andwhat with mulled port, and a blazing fire, becameonce more conscious of being a warm-blooded animal,and feel sound asleep, to dream of doctors, straitwaistcoats, shaved heads, and all the pleasing associationsmy late companion’s narrative so readily suggested.

CHAPTER XV.

Mems. Of the north cork.

At six o’clock I had the pleasure of presentingthe worthy Doctor Finucane to our mess, taking atthe same time an opportunity, unobserved by him, toinform three or four of my brother officers that myfriend was really a character, abounding in nativedrollery, and richer in good stories than even thegenerality of his countrymen.

Nothing could possibly go on better than the earlypart of the evening. Fin, true to his promise,never once alluded to what I could plainly perceivewas ever uppermost in his mind, and what with his fundof humour, quaintness of expression, and quicknessat reply, garnished throughout by his most mellifluousbrogue, the true “Bocca Corkana,” keptus from one roar of laughter to another. It wasjust at the moment in which his spirits seemed attheir highest, that I had the misfortune to call uponhim for a story, which his cousin Father Malachi hadalluded to on the ever-memorable evening at his house,and which I had a great desire to hear from Fin’sown lips. He seemed disposed to escape tellingit, and upon my continuing to press my request, drilyremarked,

“You forget, surely, my dear Mr. Lorrequer,the weak condition I’m in; and these gentlemenhere, they don’t know what a severe illness I’vebeen labouring under lately, or they would not passthe decanter so freely down this quarter.”

I had barely time to throw a mingled look of entreatyand menace across the table, when half-a-dozen others,rightly judging from the Doctor’s tone and serio-comicexpression, that his malady had many more symptomsof fun than suffering about it, called out together—­

“Oh, Doctor, by all means, tell us the natureof your late attack—­pray relate it.”

“With Mr. Lorrequer’s permission I’myour slave, gentlemen,” said Fin, finishingoff his glass.

“Oh, as for me,” I cried, “Dr. Finucanehas my full permission to detail whatever he pleasesto think a fit subject for your amusem*nt.”

“Come then, Doctor, Harry has no objection yousee; so out with it, and we are all prepared to sympathisewith your woes and misfortunes, whatever they be.”

“Well, I am sure, I never could think of mentioningit without his leave; but now that he sees no objection—­Eh,do you though? if so, then, don’t be winkingand making faces at me; but say the word, and devila syllable of it I’ll tell to man or mortal.”

The latter part of this delectable speech was addressedto me across the table, in a species of stage whisper,in reply to some telegraphic signals I had been throwinghim, to induce him to turn the conversation into anyother channel.

“Then, that’s enough,” continuedhe sotto voce—­“I see you’d ratherI’d not tell it.”

“Tell it and be d____d,” said I, wearied by the incorrigible pertinacitywith which the villain assailed me. My most unexpected energy threw thewhole table into a roar, at the conclusion of which Fin began hisnarrative of the mail-coach adventure.

I need not tell my reader, who has followed me throughoutin these my Confessions, that such a story lost nothingof its absurdity, when entrusted to the Doctor’spowers of narration; he dwelt with a poet’sfeeling upon the description of his own sufferings,and my sincere condolence and commiseration; he touchedwith the utmost delicacy upon the distant hints bywhich he broke the news to me; but when he came todescribe my open and undisguised terror, and my secretand precipitate retreat to the roof of the coach,there was not a man at table that was not convulsedwith laughter—–­and, shall I acknowledgeit, even I myself was unable to withstand the effect,and joined in the general chorus against myself.

“Well,” said the remorseless wretch, ashe finished his story, “if ye haven’tthe hard hearts to laugh at such a melancholy subject. Maybe, however, you’re not so cruel after all—­here’sa toast for you, ’a speedy recovery to CusackRooney.’” This was drank amid renewedpeals, with all the honors; and I had abundant timebefore the uproar was over, to wish every man of themhanged. It was to no purpose that I endeavouredto turn the tables, by describing Fin’s terrorat my supposed resemblance to a highwayman—–­hisstory had the precedence, and I met nothing duringmy recital but sly allusions to mad dogs, muzzles,and doctors; and contemptible puns were let off onevery side at my expense.

“It’s little shame I take to myself forthe mistake, any how,” said Fin, “forputting the darkness of the night out of question,I’m not so sure I would not have ugly suspicionsof you by daylight.”

“And besides, Doctor,” added I, “itwould not be your first blunder in the dark.”

“True for you, Mr. Lorrequer,” said he,good-humouredly; “and now that I have told themyour story, I don’t care if they hear mine, thoughmaybe some of ye have heard it already—­it’spretty well known in the North Cork.”

We all gave our disclaimers on this point, and havingordered in a fresh cooper of port, disposed ourselvesin our most easy attitudes, while the Doctor proceededas follows:—­

“It was in the hard winter of the year __99,that we were quartered in Maynooth, as many said,for our sins—­for a more stupid place, theLord be merciful to it, never were men condemned to. The people at the college were much better off thanus—­they had whatever was to be got in thecountry, and never were disturbed by mounting guard,or night patrols. Many of the professors weregood fellows, that liked grog fully as well as Greek,and understood short whist, and five and ten quiteas intimately as they knew the Vulgate, or the confessionsof St. Augustine —­they made no ostentaciousdisplay of their pious zeal, but whenever they werenot fasting, or praying, or something of that kind,they were always pleasant and agreeable; and to dothem justice, never refused, by any chance, an invitationto dinner—­no matter at what inconvenience.Well, even this little solace in our affliction wesoon lost, by an unfortunate mistake of that Orangerogue of the world, Major Jones, that gave a wrongpass one night—­Mr. Lorrequer knows the story,(here he alluded to an adventure detailed in an earlychapter of my Confessions) —­and from thatday forward we never saw the pleasant faces of theAbbe 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 theCollege in the evening, where we had a quiet rubberof whist, and a little social and intellectual conversation,with maybe an oyster and a glass of punch, just toseason the thing, before we separated; all done discreetlyand quietly—­no shouting nor even singing,for the ‘superior’ had a prejudice aboutprofane songs. Well, one of those nights it was,about the first week in February, I was detained bystress of weather from 11 o’clock, when we usuallybade good-night, to past twelve, and then to one o’clock,waiting for a dry moment to get home to the barracks—­agood mile and a half off. Every time old FatherMahony went to look at the weather, he came back saying,’It’s worse it’s getting; such anight of rain, glory be to God, never was seen.’ So there was no good in going out to be drenchedto the skin, and I sat quietly waiting, taking, betweentimes, a little punch, just not to seem impatient,nor distress their rev’rances. At lastit struck two, and I thought—­’well,the decanter is empty now, and I think, if I mean towalk, I’ve taken enough for the present;’so, wishing them all manner of happiness, and pleasantdreams, I stumbled by way down stairs, and set outon my journey. I was always in the habit oftaking a short cut on my way home, across the ‘gurtna brocha,’ the priest’s meadows, as theycall them, it saved nearly half a mile, although,on the present occasion, it exposed one wofully tothe rain, for there was nothing to shelter againstthe entire way, not even a tree. Well, out Iset in a half trot, for I staid so late I was pressedfor time; besides, I felt it easier to run than walk;

I’m sure I can’t tell why; maybe the dropof drink I took got into my head. Well, I wasjust jogging on across the common; the rain beatinghard in my face, and my clothes pasted to me with thewet; notwithstanding, I was singing to myself a verseof an old song, to lighten the road, when I heardsuddenly a noise near me, like a man sneezing. I stopped and listened,—­in fact, it wasimpossible to see your hand, the night was so dark—­butI could hear nothing; the thought then came over me,maybe it’s something ‘not good,’for there were very ugly stories going about whatthe 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 nearerthan the last; it might be only a sneeze, after all;but in real earnest it was mighty like a groan.‘The Lord be about us,’ I said to myself,’what’s this?—­have ye the pass?’ I cried out, ’have ye the pass? or what bringsye walking here, in nomine patri?’ for I wasso confused whether it was a ‘sperit’ ornot, I was going to address him in Latin—­there’snothing equal to the dead languages to lay a ghost,every body knows. Faith the moment I said thesewords he gave another groan, deeper and more melancholylike than before. ‘If it’s uneasyye are,’ says I, ’for any neglect of yourfriends,’ for I thought he might be in purgatorylonger than he thought convenient, ’tell mewhat 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’smasses ye’d like, I’ll give you a day’spay myself, rather than you should fret yourself thisway.’ The words were not well out of mymouth, when he came so near me that the sigh he gavewent right through both my ears; ‘the Lord bemerciful to me,’ said I, trembling. ‘Amen,’says he, ‘whether you’re joking or not.’ The moment he said that my mind was relieved, forI knew it was not a sperit, and I began to laugh heartilyat my mistake; ‘and who are ye at all?’said I, ’that’s roving about, at thishour of the night, ye can’t be Father Luke, forI left him asleep on the carpet before I quitted thecollege, and faith, my friend, if you hadn’tthe taste for divarsion ye would not be out now?’He coughed then so hard that I could not make out wellwhat he said, but just perceived that he had losthis way on the common, and was a little disguisedin liquor. ‘It’s a good man’scase,’ 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 yousafe.’ I stretched out my hand, and gothim, not by the arm, as I hoped, but by the hair ofthe head, for he was all dripping with wet, and hadlost his hat. ’Well, you’ll not bebetter of this night’s excursion,’ thoughtI, ’if ye are liable to the rheumatism; and,now, whereabouts do you live, my friend, for I’llsee you safe, before I leave you?’ What hesaid then I never could clearly make out, for thewind and rain were both beating so hard against myface that I could not hear a word; however, I wasable just to perceive that he was very much disguisedin drink, and spoke rather thick. ’Well,never mind,’ said I, ’it’s not atime of day for much conversation; so, come along,and I’ll see you safe in the guard-house, ifyou can’t remember your own place of abode inthe meanwhile.’ It was just at the momentI 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 ofme, and both of us in the dark.”

“Well, I really confess it must have been avery difficult thing, under the circ*mstances; prayhow did you contrive?” said the major.

“Just guess how.”

“By the tone of his voice perhaps, and his accent,”said Curzon.

“Devil a bit, for he spoke remarkably well,considering how far gone he was in liquor.”

“Well, probably by the touch of his hand; nobad test.”

“No; you’re wrong again, for it was bythe hair I had a hold of him for fear of falling,for he was always stooping down. Well, you’dnever guess it; it was just by the touch of his foot.”

“His foot! Why how did that give you anyinformation?”

“There it is now; that’s just what onlyan Irishman would ever have made any thing out of;for while he was stumbling about, he happened to treadupon my toes, and never, since I was born, did I feelany thing like the weight of him. ‘Well,’said I, ’the loss of your hat may give you acold, my friend; but upon my conscience you are inno danger of wet feet with such a pair of strong broguesas you have on you.’ Well, he laughedat that till I thought he’d split his sides,and, in good truth, I could not help joining in thefun, although my foot was smarting like mad, and sowe jogged along through the rain, enjoying the jokejust as if we were sitting by a good fire, with ajorum of punch between us. I am sure I can’ttell you how often we fell that night, but my clothesthe next morning were absolutely covered with mud,and my hat crushed in two; for he was so confoundedlydrunk it was impossible to keep him up, and he alwayskept boring along with his head down, so that my heartwas almost broke in keeping him upon his legs. I’m sure I never had a more fatiguing marchin the whole Peninsula, than that blessed mile anda half; but every misfortune has an end at last, andit was four o’clock, striking by the collegeclock, as we reached the barracks. After knockinga couple of times, and giving the countersign, thesentry opened the small wicket, and my heart actuallyleaped 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-bedtill morning, for I found him on the common, and hecould neither find his way home nor tell me wherehe lived.’ ‘And where is he?’

said the sergeant. ’He’s outsidethe gate there,’ said I, ’wet to the skin,and shaking as if he had the ague.’ ‘Andis this him?’ said the sergeant as we went outside. ’It is,’ said I, ‘maybe you knowhim?’ ‘Maybe I’ve a guess,’said he, bursting into a fit of laughing, that I thoughthe’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-creaturein distress.’ ‘A fellow-creature,’said he, laughing louder than before. ‘Ay,a fellow-creature,’ said I —­for thesergeant was an orangeman—­’and ifhe differs from you in matters of religion, sure he’syour fellow-creature still.’ ’Troth,Doctor, I think there’s another trifling differencebetune us,’ said he. ‘Damn your politics,’said I; ’never let them interfere with truehumanity.’ Wasn’t I right, Major? ’Take good care of him, and there’s ahalf-a-crown for ye.’ So saying these words,I steered along by the barrack wall, and, after alittle groping about, got up stairs to my quarters,when, thanks to a naturally good constitution, andregular habits of life, I soon fell fast asleep.”

When the Doctor had said thus much, he pushed hischair slightly from the table, and, taking off hiswine, looked about him with the composure of a manwho has brought his tale to a termination.

“Well, but Doctor,” said the Major, “youare surely not done. You have not yet told uswho your interesting friend turned out to be.”

“That’s the very thing, then, I’mnot able to do.”

“But, of course,” said another, “yourstory does not end there.”

“And where the devil would you have it end?”replied he. “Didn’t I bring my herohome, and go asleep afterwards myself, and then, withvirtue rewarded, how could I finish it better?”

“Oh, of course; but still you have not accountedfor a principal character in the narrative,”said I.

“Exactly so,” said Curzon. “Wewere all expecting some splendid catastrophe in themorning; that your companion turned out to be the Dukeof Leinster, at least—­or perhaps a rebelgeneral, with an immense price upon his head.”

“Neither the one nor the other,” saidFin, drily.

“And do you mean to say there never was anyclue to the discovery of him?”

“The entire affair is wrapt in mystery to thishour,” said he. “There was a jokeabout it, to be sure, among the officers; but the NorthCork never wanted something to laugh at.”

“And what was the joke?” said severalvoices together.

“Just a complaint from old Mickey Oulahan, thepostmaster, to the Colonel, in the morning, that someof the officers took away his blind mare off the common,and that the letters were late in consequence.”

“And so, Doctor,” called out seven oreight, “your friend turned out to be—­”

“Upon my conscience they said so, and that rascal,the serjeant, would take his oath of it; but my ownimpression I’ll never disclose to the hour ofmy death.”

CHAPTER XVI.

THEATRICALS.

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 favourof a broiled bone and some devilled kidneys, followedby a very ample bowl of bishop, over which simplecondiments we talked “green room” tillnear the break of day.

From having been so long away from the corps I hadmuch to learn of their doings and intentions to do,and heard with much pleasure that they possessed anexceedingly handsome theatre, well stocked with scenery,dresses, and decorations; that they were at the pinnacleof public estimation, from what they had already accomplished,and calculated on the result of my appearance to crownthem with honour. I had indeed very little choiceleft me in the matter; for not only had they bookedme for a particular part, but bills were already incirculation, and sundry little three-cornered notesenveloping them, were sent to the elite of the surroundingcountry, setting forth that “on Friday eveningthe committee of the garrison theatricals, intendingto perform a dress rehearsal of the ‘FamilyParty,’ request the pleasure of Mr. ____ andMrs. ____’s company on the occasion. Mr.Lorrequer will undertake the part of Captain Beauguarde. Supper at twelve. An answer will oblige.”

The sight of one of these pleasant little epistles,of which the foregoing is a true copy—­waspresented to me as a great favour that evening, ithaving been agreed upon that I was to know nothingof their high and mighty resolves till the followingmorning. It was to little purpose that I assuredthem all, collectively and individually, that of CaptainBeauguarde I absolutely knew nothing—­hadnever read the piece —­nor even seen itperformed. I felt, too, that my last appearancein character in a “Family Party,” wasany thing but successful; and I trembled lest, inthe discussion of the subject, some confounded allusionto my adventure at Cheltenham might come out. Happily they seemed all ignorant of this; and fearingto bring conversation in any way to the matter ofmy late travels, I fell in with their humour, and agreedthat if it were possible, in the limited time allowedme to manage it—­I had but four days—­Ishould undertake the character. My concurrencefailed to give the full satisfaction I expected, andthey so habitually did what they pleased with me,that, like all men so disposed, I never got the creditfor concession which a man more nigg*rdly of his servicesmay always command.

“To be sure you will do it, Harry,” saidthe Major, “why not? I could learn thething myself in a couple of hours, as for that.”

Now, be it known that the aforesaid Major was so incorrigiblyslow of study, and dull of comprehension, that hehad been successively degraded at our theatrical boardfrom the delivering of a stage message to the officeof check-taker.

“He’s so devilish good in the love scene,”said the junior ensign, with the white eyebrows. “I say, Curzon, you’ll be confoundedlyjealous though, for he is to play with Fanny.”

“I rather think not,” said Curzon, whowas a little tipsy.

“Oh, yes,” said Frazer, “Heptonis right. Lorrequer has Fanny for his ‘Frou;’and, upon my soul, I should feel tempted to take thepart myself upon the same terms; though I verily believeI should forget I was acting, and make fierce loveto her on the stage.”

“And who may la charmante Fanny be?” saidI, with something of the air of the “Dey ofAlgiers” in my tone.

“Let Curzon tell him,” said several voicestogether, “he is the only ma to do justice tosuch perfection.”

“Quiz away, my merry men,” said Cruzon,“all I know is, that you are a confoundedlyenvious set of fellows; and if so lovely a girl hadthrown her eyes on one amongst you__”

“Hip! hip! hurrah!” said old Fitzgerald,“Curzon is a gone man. He’ll beoff to the palace for a license some fine morning,or I know nothing of such matters.”

“Well, Bat,” said I, “if mattersare really as you all say, why does not Curzon takethe part you destine for me?”

“We dare not trust him,” said the Major,“Lord bless you, when the call-boy would singout for Captain Beaugarde in the second act, we’dfind that he had Levanted with our best slashed trowsers,and a bird of paradise feather in his cap.”

“Well,” thought I, “this is betterat least than I anticipated, for if nothing else offers,I shall have rare fun teasing my friend Charley”—­for it was evident that he had been caughtby the lady in question.

“And so you’ll stay with us; give me yourhand—­you are a real trump.”These words, which proceeded from a voice at the lowerend of the table, were addressed to my friend Finucane.

“I’ll stay with ye, upon my conscience,”said Fin; “ye have a most seductive way aboutye; and a very superior taste in milk punch.”

“But, Doctor,” said I, “you mustnot be a drone in the hive; what will ye do for us? You should be a capital Sir Lucius O’Trigger,if we could get up the Rivals.”

“My forte is the drum—­the big drum;put me among what the Greeks call the ‘Mousikoi,’and I’ll astonish ye.”

It was at once agreed that Fin should follow the bentof his genius; and after some other arrangements forthe rest of the party, we separated for the night,having previously toasted the “Fanny,”to which Curzon attempted to reply, but sank, overpoweredby punch and feelings, and looked unutterable things,without the power to frame a sentence.

During the time which intervened between the dinnerand the night appointed for our rehearsal, I had morebusiness upon my hands than a Chancellor of the Exchequerthe week of the budget being produced. The wholemanagement of every department fell, as usual, to myshare, and all those who, previously to my arrival,had contributed their quota of labour, did nothingwhatever now but lounge about the stage, or sit halfthe day in the orchestra, listening to some confoundedstory of Finucane’s, who contrived to have aneverlasting mob of actors, scene-painters, fiddlers,and call-boys always about him, who, from their uproariousmirth, and repeated shouts of merriment, nearly droveme distracted, as I stood almost alone and unassistedin the whole management. Of la belle Fanny,all I learned was, that she was a professional actressof very considerable talent, and extremely pretty;that Curzon had fallen desperately in love with herthe only night she had appeared on the boards there,and that to avoid his absurd persecution of her, shehad determined not to come into town until the morningof the rehearsal, she being at that time on a visitto the house of a country gentleman in the neighbourhood. Here was a new difficulty I had to contend with—­togo through my part alone was out of the question tomaking it effective; and I felt so worried and harassedthat I often fairly resolved on taking the wings ofthe mail, and flying away to the uttermost parts ofthe 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 nightat mess, I managed to have things in something likeorder; he and his confounded drum, which, wheneverhe was not story-telling, he was sure to be practisingon, being, in fact the greatest difficulties opposedto my managerial functions. One property hepossessed, so totally at variance with all habits oforder, that it completely baffled me. So numerouswere his narratives, that no occasion could possiblyarise, 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 ofall whom it might concern; that was usually the entirecorps dramatique, who eagerly turned from stage directionsand 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 officeas mine pity my woes.

I was standing one morning on the stage drilling my“corps” as usual. One most refractoryspirit, to whom but a few words were entrusted, andwho bungled even those, I was endeavouring to traininto something like his part.

“Come now, Elsmore, try it again—­justso. Yes, come forward in this manner—­takeher hand tenderly—­press it to your lips;retreat towards the flat, and then bowing deferentially—­thus,say ’Good night, good night’—­that’svery simple, eh? Well, now that’s all youhave to do, and that brings you over here—­soyou make your exit at once.”

“Exactly so, Mr. Elsmore, always contrive tobe near the door under such circ*mstances. Thatwas the way with my poor friend, Curran. PoorPhilpot, when he dined with the Guild of Merchant Tailors,they gave him a gold box with their arms upon it—­agoose proper, with needles saltier wise, or somethingof that kind; and they made him free of their ’ancientand loyal corporation,’ and gave him a very granddinner. Well, Curran was mighty pleasant andagreeable, and kept them laughing all night, tillthe moment he rose to go away, and then he told themthat he never spent so happy an evening, and all that. ‘But, gentlemen,’ said he, ’businesshas its calls, and I must tear myself away; so wishingyou now’—­there were just eighteenof them—­’wishing you now every happinessand prosperity, permit me to take my leave’—­andhere he stole near the door —­’totake my leave, and bid you both good night.’” With a running fire of such stories, it may be supposedhow difficult was my task in getting any thing doneupon the stage.

Well, at last the long-expected Friday arrived, andI rose in the morning with all that peculiar tourbillonof spirits that a man feels when he is half pleasedand whole frightened with the labour before him. I had scarcely accomplished dressing when a servanttapped at my door, and begged to know if I could sparea few moments to speak to Miss Ersler, who was inthe drawing-room. I replied, of course, in theaffirmative, and, rightly conjecturing that my fairfriend must be the lovely Fanny already alluded to,followed the servant down stairs.

“Mr. Lorrequer,” said the servant, andclosing the door behind me, left me in sole possessionof the lady.

“Will you do me the favour to sit here, Mr.Lorrequer,” said one of the sweetest voicesin the world, as she made room for me on the sofa besideher. “I am particularly short-sighted;so pray sit near me, as I really cannot talk to anyone I don’t see.”

I blundered out some platitude of a compliment toher eyes—­the fullest and most lovely bluethat ever man gazed into—­at which she smiledas if pleased, and continued, “Now, Mr. Lorrequer,I have really been longing for your coming; for yourfriends of the 4_th are doubtless very dashing, spiritedyoung gentlemen, perfectly versed in war’s alarms;but pardon me if I say that a more wretched companyof strolling wretches never graced a barn. Now,come, don’t be angry, but let me proceed. Like all amateur people, they have the happy knackin distributing the characters—­to put everyman in his most unsuitable position—­andthen that poor dear thing Curzon—­I hopehe’s not a friend of yours—­by somedire fatality always plays the lover’s parts,ha! ha! ha! True, I assure you, so that if youhad not been announced as coming this week, I shouldhave left them and gone off to Bath.”

Here she rose and adjusted her brown ringlets at theglass, giving me ample time to admire one of the mostperfect figures I ever beheld. She was mostbecomingly dressed, and betrayed a foot and ancle whichfor symmetry and “chaussure,” might havechallenged the Rue Rivoli itself to match it.

My first thought was poor Curzon; my second, happyand trice fortunate Harry Lorrequer. There wasno time, however, for indulgence in such very pardonablegratulation; so I at once proceeded “pour fairel’aimable,” to profess my utter inabilityto do justice to her undoubted talents, but slylyadded, “that in the love making part of the mattershe should never be able to discover that I was notin earnest.” We chatted then gaily forupwards of an hour, until the arrival of her friend’scarriage was announced, when, tendering me most graciouslyher hand, she smiled benignly and saying “aurevoir, donc,” drove off.

As I stood upon the steps of the hotel, viewing her“out of the visible horizon,” I was joinedby Curzon, who evidently, from his self-satisfiedair, and jaunty gait, little knew how he stood in thefair Fanny’s estimation.

“Very pretty, very pretty, indeed, deeper anddeeper still,” cried he, alluding to my mostcourteous salutation as the carriage rounded the corner,and it lovely occupant kissed her hand once more. “I say Harry, my friend, you don’t thinkthat was meant for you, I should hope?”

“What! the kiss of the hand? Yes, faith,but I do.”

“Well, certainly that is good! why, man, shejust saw me coming up that instant. She andI—­we understand each other—­nevermind, don’t be cross—­no fault ofyours, you know.”

“Ah, so she is taken with you,” said I. “Eh, Charley?”

“Why, I believe that. I may confess toyou the real state of matters. She was devilishlystruck with me the first time we rehearsed together.We soon got up a little flirtation; but the other nightwhen I played Mirabel to her, it finished the affair. She was quite nervous, and could scarcely go throughwith her part. I saw it, and upon my soul I amsorry for it; she’s a prodigiously fine girl—­suchlips and such teeth! Egad I was delighted whenyou came; for, you see, I was in a manner obligedto take one line of character, and I saw pretty plainlywhere it must end; and you know with you it’squite different, she’ll laugh and chat, andall that sort of thing, but she’ll not be carriedaway by her feelings; you understand me?”

“Oh, perfectly; it’s quite different,as you observed.”

If I had not been supported internally during thisshort dialogue by the recently expressed opinion ofthe dear Fanny herself upon my friend Curzon’smerits, I think I should have been tempted to takethe liberty of wringing his neck off. However,the affair was much better as it stood, as I had onlyto wait a little with proper patience, and I had nofears but that my friend Charley would become the heroof a very pretty episode for the mess.

“So I suppose you must feel considerably boredby this kind of thing,” I said, endeavouringto draw him out.

“Why, I do,” replied he, “and Ido not. The girl is very pretty. The placeis dull in the morning; and altogether it helps tofill up time.”

“Well,” said I, “you are alwaysfortunate, Curzon. You have ever your shareof what floating luck the world affords.”

“It is not exactly all luck, my dear friend;for, as I shall explain to you—­”

“Not now,” replied I, “for I havenot yet breakfasted.” So saying I turnedinto the coffee-room, leaving the worthy adjutant torevel in his fancied conquest, and pity such unfortunatesas myself.

After an early dinner at the club-house, I hasteneddown to the theatre, where numerous preparations forthe night were going forward. The green-roomwas devoted to the office of a supper-room, to whichthe audience had been invited. The dressing-roomswere many of them filled with the viands destinedfor the entertainment. Where, among the woodenfowls and “impracticable” flagons, wereto 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 circ*mstances of ourprojected supper. Cooks and scene-shifters,fiddlers and waiters, were most inextricably mingled;and as in all similar cases, the least important functionariestook the greatest airs upon them, and appropriatedwithout hesitation whatever came to their hands—­thusthe cook would not have scrupled to light a fire withthe violoncello of the orchestra; and I actually caughtone of the “gens de cuisine” making a “soufflet”in a brass helmet I had once worn when astonishingthe world as Coriolanus.

Six o’clock struck. In another short hourand we begin, thought I, with a sinking heart, asI looked upon the littered stage crowded with hostsof fellows that had nothing to do there. Figarohimself 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 hadbegun to tune their instruments, and I had to bawllike a boatswain of a man-of-war, to be heard by theperson beside me.

As seven o’clock struck, I peeped through thesmall aperture in the curtain, and saw, to my satisfaction,mingled, I confess, with fear, that the house wasnearly filled—­the lower tier of boxes entirelyso. There were a great many ladies handsomelydressed, chatting gaily with their chaperons, andI recognised some of my acquaintances on every side;in fact, there was scarcely a family of rank in thecounty 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 arrangementsbehind.

Before the performance of the “Family Party,”we were to have a little one-act piece called “aday in Madrid,” written by myself—­theprincipal characters being expressly composed for“Miss Ersler and Mr. Lorrequer.”

The story of this trifle, it is not necessary to alludeto; indeed, if it were, I should scarcely have patienceto do so, so connected is my recollection of it withthe distressing incident which followed.

In the first scene of the piece, the curtain risingdisplays la belle Fanny sitting at her embroideryin the midst of a beautiful garden, surrounded withstatues, fountains, &c. At the back is seen apavillion in the ancient Moorish style of architecture,over which hang the branches of some large and shadytrees—­she comes forward, expressing herimpatience at the delay of her lover, whose absenceshe tortures herself to account for by a hundred differentsuppositions, and after a very sufficient expose ofher feelings, and some little explanatory details ofher private history, conveying a very clear intimationof her own amiability, and her guardian’s cruelty,she proceeds, after the fashion of other young ladiessimilarly situated, to give utterance to her feelingsby a song; after, therefore, a suitable prelude fromthe orchestra, for which, considering the impassionedstate of her mind, she waits patiently, she comesforward and begins a melody—­

“Ohwhy is he far from the heart that adores him?”

in which, for two verses, she proceeds with sundrysol feggio’s, to account for the circ*mstances,and show her disbelief of the explanation in a verysatisfactory manner,—­meanwhile, for I mustnot 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 flyingto her presence, and clasping her to my heart—­thatis 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 wereperformed, from the stress of circ*mstances, sufficientlynear the object of my affections, to afford me thepleasing satisfaction of hearing from her own sweetlips, her solicitude about me—­in a word,all the dressing-rooms but two were filled with hampersof provisions, glass, china, and crockery, and fromabsolute necessity, I had no other spot where I couldattire myself unseen, except in the identical pavillionalready alluded to—­here, however, I wasquite secure, and had abundant time also, for I wasnot to appear till scene the second, when I was tocome forward in full Spanish costume, “everyinch a Hidalgo.” Meantime, Fanny had beensinging—­

“Oh why is he far,” &c. &c.

At the conclusion of the last verse, just as she repeatsthe words “why, why, why,” in a very distractedand melting cadence, a voice behind startles her—­sheturns and beholds her guardian—­so at leastrun the course of events in the real drama—­thatit should follow thus now however, “Dus alitervisum”—­for just as she came to thevery moving apostrophe alluded to, and called out,“why comes he not?”—­a gruffvoice from behind answered in a strong Cork brogue—­“ah!would ye have him come in a state of nature?”at the instant a loud whistle rang through the house,and the pavillion scene slowly drew up, discovering

me, Harry Lorrequer, seated on a small stool beforea cracked looking-glass, my only habiliments, as Iam an honest man, being a pair of long white silkstockings, and a very richly embroidered shirt withpoint lace collar. The shouts of laughter areyet in my ears, the loud roar of inextinguishablemirth, which after the first brief pause of astonishmentgave way, shook the entire building—­my recollectionmay well have been confused at such a moment of unutterableshame and misery; yet, I clearly remember seeing Fanny,the sweet Fanny herself, fall into an arm-chair nearlysuffocated with convulsions of laughter. I cannotgo on; what I did I know not. I suppose my exitwas additionally ludicrous, for a new eclat de rirefollowed me out. I rushed out of the theatre,and wrapping only my cloak round me, ran without stoppingto the barracks. But I must cease; these arewoes too sacred for even confessions like mine, solet me close the curtain of my room and my chaptertogether, and say, adieu for a season.

CHAPTER XVIb.

[Note: There are two Chapter XVIs. In thetable of contents, this one has an asterisk but noexplanation.]

The wager.

It might have been about six weeks after the eventsdetailed in my last chapter had occurred, that Curzonbroke suddenly into my room one morning before I hadrisen, and throwing a precautionary glance around,as if to assure himself that we were alone, seizedmy hand with a most unusual earnestness, and, steadfastlylooking at me, said—­

“Harry Lorrequer, will you stand by me?”

So sudden and unexpected was his appearance at themoment, that I really felt but half awake, and keptpuzzling myself for an explanation of the scene, ratherthan thinking of a reply to his question; perceivingwhich, and auguring but badly from my silence, hecontinued—­

“Am I then, really deceived in what I believedto be an old and tried friend?”

“Why, what the devil’s the matter?”I cried out. “If you are in a scrape,why of course you know I’m your man; but, still,it’s only fair to let one know something ofthe matter in the meanwhile.”

“In a scrape!” said he, with a long-drawnsigh, intended to beat the whole Minerva press inits romantic cadence.

“Well, but get on a bit,” said I, ratherimpatiently; “who is the fellow you’vegot the row with? Not one of ours, I trust?”

“Ah, my dear Hal,” said he, in the samemelting tone as before—­“How yourimagination does run upon rows, and broils, and duellingrencontres,” (he, the speaker, be it known tothe reader, was the fire-eater of the regiment,) “asif life had nothing better to offer than the excitementof a challenge, or the mock heroism of a meeting.”

As he made a dead pause here, after which he showedno disposition to continue, I merely added—­

“Well, at this rate of proceeding we shall getat the matter in hand, on our way out to Corfu, forI hear we are the next regiment for the Mediterranean.”

The observation seemed to have some effect in rousinghim from his lethargy, and he added—­

“If you only knew the nature of the attachment,and how completely all my future hopes are concernedupon the issue—­”

“Ho!” said I, “so it’s a moneyaffair, is it? and is it old Watson has issued thewrit? I’ll bet a hundred.”

“Well, upon my soul, Lorrequer,” saidhe, jumping from his chair, and speaking with moreenergy than he had before evinced, “you are,without exception, the most worldly-minded, cold-bloodedfellow I ever met. What have I said that couldhave led you to suppose I had either a duel or a law-suitupon my hands this morning? Learn, once and forall, man, that I am in love—­desperatelyand over head and ears in love.”

“Et puis,” said I coolly.

“And intend to marry immediately.”

“Oh, very well,” said I; “the fightingand debt will come later, that’s all. But to return—­now for the lady.”

“Come, you must make a guess.”

“Why, then, I really must confess my utter inability;for your attentions have been so generally and impartiallydistributed since our arrival here, that it may beany fair one, from your venerable partner at whistlast evening, to Mrs. Henderson, the pastry-cook inclusive,for whose macaroni and cherry-brandy your feelingshave been as warm as they are constant.”

“Come, no more quizzing, Hal. You surelymust have remarked that lovely girl I waltzed withat Power’s ball on Tuesday last.”

“Lovely girl! Why, in all seriousness,you don’t mean the small woman with the towwig?”

“No, I do not mean any such thing—­buta beautiful creature, with the brightest locks inChristendom—­the very light-brown wavingringlets, Dominicheno loved to paint, and a foot—­didyou see her foot?”

“No; that was rather difficult, for she keptcontinually bobbing up and down, like a boy’scork-float in a fish-pond.”

“Stop there. I shall not permit this anylonger—­I came not here to listen to—­”

“But, Curzon, my boy, you’re not angry?”

“Yes, sir, I am angry.”

“Why, surely, you have not been serious allthis time?”

“And why not, pray?”

“Oh! I don’t exactly know—­thatis, faith I scarcely thought you were in earnest,for if I did, of course I should honestly have confessedto you that the lady in question struck me as oneof the handsomest persons I ever met.”

“You think so really, Hal?”

“Certainly I do, and the opinion is not minealone; she is, in fact universally admired.”

“Come, Harry, excuse my bad temper. Iought to have known you better —­give meyour hand, old boy, and wish me joy, for with you aidingand abetting she is mine to-morrow morning.”

I wrung his hand heartily—­congratulatingmyself, meanwhile, how happily I had got out of myscrape; as I now, for the first time, perceived thatCurzon was bona fide in earnest.

“So, you will stand by me, Hal,” saidhe.

“Of course. Only show me how, and I’mperfectly at your service. Any thing from ridingpostillion on the leaders to officiating as brides-maid,and I am your man. And if you are in want ofsuch 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 marriageabledaughters as king Priam himself. It is with mein marriage as in duelling—­I’ll beany thing rather than a principal; and I have longsince disapproved of either method as a means of ’obtainingsatisfaction.’”

“Ah, Harry, I shall not be discouraged by yoursneers. You’ve been rather unlucky, I’maware; but now to return: Your office, on thisoccasion, is an exceedingly simple one, and yet thatwhich I could only confide to one as much my friendas yourself. You must carry my dearest Louisaoff.”

“Carry her off! Where?—­when?—­how?”

“All that I have already arranged, as you shallhear.”

“Yes. But first of all please to explainwhy, if going to run away with the lady, you don’taccompany her yourself.”

“Ah! I knew you would say that, I couldhave laid a wager you’d ask that question, forit is just that very explanation will show all thenative delicacy and feminine propriety of my darlingLoo; and first, I must tell you, that old Sir AlfredJonson, her father, has some confounded prejudiceagainst the army, and never would consent to her marriagewith a red-coat—­so that, his consent beingout of the question, our only resource is an elopement. Louisa consents to this, but only upon one condition—­andthis she insists upon so firmly—­I had almostsaid obstinately—­that, notwithstandingall my arguments and representations, and even entreatiesagainst it, she remains inflexible; so that I haveat length yielded, and she is to have her own way.”

“Well, and what is the condition she lays suchstress upon?”

“Simply this—­that we are never totravel a mile together until I obtain my right todo so, by making her my wife. She has got sometrumpery notions in her head that any slight transgressionover the bounds of delicacy made by women before marriageis ever after remembered by the husband to their disadvantage,and she is, therefore, resolved not to sacrifice herprinciple even at such a crisis as the present.”

“All very proper, I have no doubt; but still,pray explain what I confess appears somewhat strangeto me at present. How does so very delicately-mindeda person reconcile herself to travelling with a perfectstranger under such circ*mstances?”

“That I can explain perfectly to you. You must know that when my darling Loo consented totake this step, which I induced her to do with thegreatest difficulty, she made the proviso I have justmentioned; I at once showed her that I had no maidenaunt or married sister to confide her to at such amoment, and what was to be done? She immediatelyreplied, ’Have you no elderly brother officer,whose years and discretion will put the transactionin such a light as to silence the slanderous tonguesof the world, for with such a man I am quite readyand willing to trust myself.’ You seeI was hard pushed there. What could I do?—­whomcould I select? Old Hayes, the paymaster, isalways tipsy; Jones is five-and-forty—­butegad! I’m not so sure I’d have foundmy betrothed at the end of the stage. You weremy 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 enableyou, with a little assistance from costume, to passmuster; besides that, I have always represented youas the very Methuselah of the corps; and in the greydawn of an autumnal morning—­with maidenbashfulness assisting—­the scrutiny is notlikely to be a close one. So, now, your consentis alone wanting to complete the arrangements which,before this time to-morrow, shall have made me thehappiest of mortals.”

Having expressed, in fitting terms, my full senseof obligation for the delicate flattery with whichhe pictured me as “Old Lorrequer” to theLady, I begged a more detailed account of his plan,which I shall shorten for my reader’s sake,by the following brief expose.

A post-chaise and four was to be in waiting at fiveo’clock in the morning to convey me to Sir AlfredJonson’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 villageon the Nore, where an old college friend of Curzon’shappened to reside, as parson, and by whom the treatywas to be concluded.

This was all simple and clear enough—­theonly condition necessary to insure success being punctuality,particularly on the lady’s part. As tomine I readily promised my best aid and warmest effortsin my friend’s behalf.

“There is only one thing more,” said Curzon. “Louisa’s younger brother is a devilishhot-headed, wild sort of a fellow; and it would beas well, just for precaution sake, to have your pistolsalong with you, if, by any chance, he should makeout what was going forward—­not but thatyou know if any thing serious was to take place, Ishould be the person to take all that upon my hands.”

“Oh! of course—­I understand,”said I. Meanwhile I could not help running over inmy mind the pleasant possibilities such an adventurepresented, heartily wishing that Curzon had been contentto marry by bans or any other of the legitimate modesin use, without risking his friend’s bones. The other pros and cons of the matter, with full andaccurate directions as to the road to be taken onobtaining possession of the lady, being all arranged,we parted, I to settle my costume and appearance formy first performance in an old man’s part, andCurzon to obtain a short leave for a few days fromthe commanding officer of the regiment.

When we again met, which was at the mess-table, itwas not without evidence on either side of that peculiarconsciousness which persons feel who have, or thinkthey have, some secret in common, which the world wotsnot of. Curzon’s unusually quick and excitedmanner would at once have struck any close observeras indicating the eve of some important step, no lessthan continual allusions to whatever was going on,by sly and equivocal jokes and ambiguous jests. Happily, however, on the present occasion, the partywere otherwise occupied than watching him—­beingmost profoundly and learnedly engaged in discussingmedicine and matters medical with all the acute andaccurate knowledge which characterises such discussionsamong the non-medical public.

The present conversation originated from some mentionour senior surgeon Fitzgerald had just made of a consultationwhich he was invited to attend on the next morning,at the distance of twenty miles, and which necessitatedhim to start at a most uncomfortably early hour. While he continued to deplore the hard fate of suchmen as himself, so eagerly sought after by the world,that their own hours were eternally broken in uponby external claims, the juniors were not sparing oftheir mirth on the occasion, at the expense of theworthy doctor, who, in plain truth, had never beendisturbed by a request like the present within anyone’s memory. Some asserted that the wholething was a puff, got up by Fitz. himself, who wasonly going to have a day’s partridge-shooting;others hinting that it was a blind to escape the vigilanceof Mrs. Fitzgerald —­a well-known viragoin the regiment—­while Fitz. enjoyed himself;and a third party, pretending to sympathise with thedoctor, suggested that a hundred pounds would be theleast he could possibly be offered for such servicesas his on so grave an occasion.

“No, no, only fifty,” said Fitz. gravely.

“Fifty! Why, you tremendous old humbug,you don’t mean to say you’ll make fiftypounds before we are out of our beds in the morning?”cried one.

“I’ll take your bet on it,” saidthe doctor, who had, in this instance, reason to supposehis fee would be a large one.

During this discussion, the claret had been pushedround rather freely; and fully bent, as I was, uponthe adventure before me, I had taken my share of itas a preparation. I thought of the amazing prizeI was about to be instrumental in securing for myfriend—­for the lady had really thirty thousandpounds—­and I could not conceal my triumphat such a prospect of success in comparison with themeaner object of ambition. They all seemed toenvy poor Fitzgerald. I struggled with my secretfor some time—­but my pride and the clarettogether got the better of me, and I called out, “Fiftypounds on it, then, that before ten to-morrow morning,I’ll make a better hit of it than you—­andthe mess shall decide between us afterwards as tothe winner.”

“And if you will,” said I, seeing somereluctance on Fitz.’s part to take the wager,and getting emboldened in consequence, “let thejudgment be pronounced over a couple of dozen of champaigne,paid by the loser.”

This was a coup d’etat on my part, for I knewat once there were so many parties to benefit by thebet, terminate which way it might, there could beno 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 theadjutant’s note-book—­his greatesthope in so doing being in the quantity of wine hehad seen me drink during the evening. As formyself, the bet was no sooner made than I began tothink upon the very little chance I had of winningit; for even supposing my success perfect in the departmentallotted to me, it might with great reason be doubtedwhat peculiar benefit I myself derived as a counterbalanceto the fee of the doctor. For this, my onlytrust lay in the justice of a decision which I conjecturedwould lean more towards the goodness of a practicaljoke than the equity of the transaction. Theparty at mess soon after separated, and I wished myfriend good night for the last time before meetinghim as a bride-groom.

I arranged every thing in order for my start. My pistol-case I placed conspicuously before me,to avoid being forgotten in the haste of departure;and, having ordered my servant to sit up all nightin the guard-room until he heard the carriage at thebarrack-gate, threw myself on my bed, but not to sleep. The adventure I was about to engage in suggestedto my mind a thousand associations, into which manyof the scenes I have already narrated entered. I thought how frequently I had myself been on theverge 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-boydays my love adventures had the same unfortunate abruptnessin their issue; and there seemed to be something verylike a fatality in the invariable unsuccess of my effortsat marriage. I feared, too, that my friend Curzonhad placed himself in very unfortunate hands—­ifaugury were to be relied upon. Something willsurely happen, thought I, from my confounded ill luck,and all will be blown up. Wearied at last withthinking I fell into a sound sleep for about three-quartersof an hour, at the end of which I was awoke by myservant informing me that a chaise and four were drawnup at the end of the barrack lane.

“Why, surely, they are too early, Stubber? It’s only four o’clock.”

“Yes, sir; but they say that the road for eightmiles is very bad, and they must go it almost at awalk.”

That is certainly pleasant, thought I, but I’min for it now, so can’t help it.

In a few minutes I was up and dressed, and so perfectlytransformed by the addition of a brown scratch-wigand large green spectacles, and a deep-flapped waistcoat,that my servant, on re-entering my room, could notrecognise me. I followed him now across the barrack-yard,as, with my pistol-case under one arm and a lanternin his hand, he proceeded to the barrack-gate.

As I passed beneath the adjutant’s window, Isaw a light—­the sash was quickly thrownopen, and Curzon appeared.

“Is that you, Harry?”

“Yes—­when do you start?”

“In about two hours. I’ve only eightmiles to go—­you have upwards of twelve,and no time to lose. God bless you, my boy—­we’llmeet soon.”

“Here’s the carriage, sir; this way.”

“Well, my lads, you know the road I suppose?”

“Every inch of it, your honour’s glory;we’re always coming it for doctors and ’pothecaries;they’re never a week without them.”

I was soon seated, the door clapped to, and the words“all right” given, and away we went.

Little as I had slept during the night, my mind wastoo much occupied with the adventure I was engagedin, to permit any thoughts of sleep now, so that Ihad abundant opportunity afforded me of pondering overall the bearings of the case, with much more of deliberationand caution than I had yet bestowed upon it. One thing was certain, whether success did or didnot attend our undertaking, the risk was mine and mineonly; and if by any accident the affair should bealready known to the family, I stood a very fair chanceof being shot by one of the sons, or stoned to deathby the tenantry; while my excellent friend Curzon shouldbe eating his breakfast with his reverend friend,and only interrupting himself in his fourth muffin,to wonder “what could keep them;” and besidesfor minor miseries will, like the little devils inDon Giovanni, thrust up their heads among their better-grownbrethren, my fifty-pound bet looked rather blue; foreven under the most favourable light considered, howeverCurzon might be esteemed a gainer, it might be welldoubted 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 circ*mstances never struckme so forcibly before; and after all, it was not quitefair of Curzon to put any man forward in such a transaction;the more so, as such a representation might be madeof it at the Horse-Guards as to stop a man’spromotion, or seriously affect his prospects for life,and I at last began to convince myself that many aman so placed, would carry the lady off himself, andleave the adjutant to settle the affair with the family. For two mortal hours did I conjure up every possibledisagreeable contingency that might arise. Mybeing mulcted of my fifty and laughed at by the messseemed inevitable, even were I fortunate enough toescape a duel with the fire-eating brother. Meanwhilea thick misty rain continued to fall, adding so muchto the darkness of the early hour, that I could seenothing of the country about me, and knew nothingof where I was.

Troubles are like laudanum, a small dose only excites,a strong one sets you to sleep—­not a verycomfortable sleep mayhap—­but still it issleep, and often very sound sleep; so it now happenedwith me. I had pondered over, weighed, and consideredall the pros, cons, turnings, and windings of thisawkward predicament, till I had fairly convinced myselfthat I was on the high road to a confounded scrape;and then, having established that fact to my entiresatisfaction, I fell comfortably back in the chaise,and sunk into a most profound slumber.

If to any of my readers I may appear here to havetaken a very despondent view of this whole affair,let him only call to mind my invariable ill luck insuch matters, and how always it had been my lot tosee myself on the fair road to success, only up tothat point at which it is certain, besides—­butwhy explain? These are my confessions. I may not alter what are matters of fact, and my readermust only take me with all the imperfections of wrongmotives and headlong impulses upon my head, or abandonme at once.

Meanwhile the chaise rolled along, and the road beingbetter and the pace faster, my sleep became more easy;thus, about an hour and a half after I had fallenasleep, passed rapidly over, when the sharp turningof 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 whereI was or whither going. Consciousness at lastcame, and I perceived that we were driving up a thicklyplanted avenue. Why, confound it, they can’thave mistaken it, thought I, or are we really goingup to the house, instead of waiting at the lodge? I at once lowered the sash, and stretching out myhead, 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 ofthe horses, my words were unheard; and thinking I wasaddressing a request to go faster, the villains crackedtheir whips, and breaking into a full gallop, beforefive minutes flew over, they drew up with a jerk atthe foot of a long portico to a large and spaciouscut-stone mansion. When I rallied from the suddencheck, which had nearly thrown me through the window,I gave myself up for lost: here I was vis a visto the very hall-door of the man whose daughter I wasabout to elope with, whether so placed by the awkwardnessand blundering of the wretches who drove me, or deliveredup by their treachery, it mattered not, my fate seemedcertain; before I had time to determine upon any lineof acting in this confounded dilemma, the door wasjerked 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 anair long since heard, or the passing glance of an oldfamiliar fact can call up the memory of our very earliestchildhood, bright and vivid before us, so that onesingle phrase explained the entire mystery of my presentposition, and I saw in one rapid glance that I hadgot into the chaise intended for Dr. Fitzgerald, andwas absolutely at that moment before the hall-doorof the patient. My first impulse was an honestone, to avow the mistake and retrace my steps, takingmy chance to settle with Curzon, whose matrimonialscheme I foresaw was doomed to the untimely fate ofall those I had ever been concerned in. My nextthought, how seldom is the adage true which says “that

second thoughts are best,” was upon my lucklesswager; for, even supposing that Fitzgerald should followme in the other chaise, yet as I had the start of him,if I could only pass muster for half an hour, I mightsecure the fee, and evacuate the territory; besidesthat there was a great chance of Fitz’s havinggone 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 interferencein poor Curzon’s business might not involve. These serious reflections took about ten secondsto pass through my mind, as the grave-looking oldservant proceeded to encumber himself with my cloakand my pistol-case, remarking as he lifted the latter,“And may the Lord grant ye won’t wantthe instruments this time, doctor, for they say heis better this morning;” heartily wishing amento the benevolent prayer of the honest domestic, formore reasons than one, I descended leisurely, as Iconjectured a doctor ought to do, from the chaise,and with a solemn pace and grave demeanour followedhim into the house.

In the small parlour to which I was ushered, sat twogentlemen somewhat advanced in years, who I rightlysupposed were my medical confreres. One of thesewas a tall, pale, ascetic-looking man, with grey hairs,and retreating forehead, slow in speech, and lugubriousin demeanour. The other, his antithesis, wasa short, rosy-cheeked, apoplectic-looking subject,with a laugh like a suffocating wheeze, and a paunchlike an alderman; his quick, restless eye, and fullnether lip denoting more of the bon vivant than theabstemious disciple of Aesculapius. A moment’sglance satisfied me, that if I had only these to dealwith, I was safe, for I saw that they were of thatstamp of country practitioner, half-physician, half-apothecary,who rarely come in contact with the higher ordersof their art, and then only to be dictated to, obey,and grumble.

“Doctor, may I beg to intrude myself, Mr. Phipps,on your notice? Dr. Phipps or Mr. It’sall one; but I have only a license in pharmacy, thoughthey call me doctor.”

“Surgeon Riley, sir; a very respectable practitioner,”said he, waving his hand towards his rubicund confrere.

I at once expressed the great happiness it affordedme to meet such highly informed and justly celebratedgentlemen; and fearing every moment the arrival ofthe real Simon Pure should cover me with shame anddisgrace, 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 speciesof duet, some curious particulars of an old gentlemanwho 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 inconsequence of which, the aid of a third party (myself,God bless the mark!) was requested.

As I could by no means divest myself of the fear ofFitz.’s arrival, I pleaded the multiplicityof my professional engagements as a reason for atonce seeing the patient; upon which I was conductedup stairs by my two brethren, and introduced to ahalf-lighted chamber. In a large easy chairsat a florid-looking old man, with a face in whichpain and habitual ill-temper had combined to absorbevery expression.

“This is the doctor of the regiment, sir, thatyou desired to see,” said my tall coadjutor.

“Oh! then very well; good morning, sir. I suppose you will find out something new the matter,for them two there have been doing so every day thistwo months.”

“I trust, sir,” I replied stiffly, “thatwith the assistance of my learned friends, much maybe done for you. Ha! hem! So this is themalady. Turn your head a little to that side;”here an awful groan escaped the sick man, for I, itappears, had made considerable impression upon rathera delicate part, not unintentionally I must confess;for as I remembered Hoyle’s maxim at whist,“when in doubt play a trump,” so I thoughtit might be true in physic, when posed by a difficultyto do a bold thing also. “Does that hurtyou, sir?” said I in a soothing and affectionatetone of voice. “Like the devil,”growled the patient. “And here?”said I. “Oh! oh! I can’t bearit any longer.” “Oh! I perceive,”said I, “the thing is just as I expected.” Here I raised my eyebrows, and looked indescribablywise at my confreres.

“No aneurism, doctor,” said the tall one.

“Certainly not.”

“Maybe,” said the short man, “maybeit’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 jeerat me, I gave him a terrific frown, and resumed, “thismust not be touched.”

“So you won’t operate upon it,”said the patient.

“I would not take a thousand pounds and do so,”I replied. “Now if you please gentlemen,”said I, making a step towards the door, as if to withdrawfor consultation; upon which they accompanied me downstairs to the breakfast-room. As it was theonly time in my life I had performed in this character,I had some doubts as to the propriety of indulginga very hearty breakfast appetite, not knowing if itwere unprofessional to eat; but from this doubt mylearned friends speedily relieved me, by the entiredevotion which they bestowed for about twenty minutesupon ham, rolls, eggs, and cutlets, barely interruptingthese important occupations by sly allusions to theold gentleman’s malady, and his chance of recovery.

“Well, doctor,” said the pale one, asat length he rested from his labours, “whatare we to do?”

“Ay,” said the other, “there’sthe question.”

“Go on,” said I, “go on as before;I can’t advise you better.” Now,this was a deep stroke of mine; for up to the presentmoment I do not know what treatment they were practising;but it looked a shrewd thing to guess it, and it certainlywas civil to approve of it.

“So you think that will be best.”

“I am certain—­I know nothing better,”I answered.

“Well, I’m sure, sir, we have every reasonto be gratified for the very candid manner you havetreated us. Sir, I’m your most obedientservant,” said the fat one.

“Gentlemen, both your good healths and professionalsuccess also:” here I swallowed a petitverre of brandy; thinking all the while there wereworse things than the practice of physic.

“I hope you are not going,” said one,as my chaise drew up at the door.

“Business calls me,” said I, “andI can’t help it.”

“Could not you manage to see our friend hereagain, in a day or two?” said the rosy one.

“I fear it will be impossible,” repliedI; “besides I have a notion he may not desireit.”

“I have been commissioned to hand you this,”said the tall doctor, with a half sigh, as he puta check into my hand.

I bowed slightly, and stuffed the crumpled paper witha half careless air into my waistcoat pocket, andwishing them both every species of happiness and success,shook hands four times with each, and drove off; neverbelieving myself safe ’till I saw the gate-lodgebehind me, and felt myself flying on the road to Kilkennyat about twelve miles Irish an hour.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE ELOPEMENT.

It was past two o’clock when I reached the town. On entering the barrack-yard, I perceived a largegroup of officers chatting together, and every momentbreaking into immoderate fits of laughter. Iwent over, and immediately learned the source of theirmirth, which was this: No sooner had it beenknown that Fitzgerald was about to go to a distance,on a professional call, than a couple of young officerslaid their heads together, and wrote an anonymousnote to Mrs. Fitz. who was the very dragon of jealousy,informing her, that her husband had feigned the wholehistory of the patient and consultation as an excusefor absenting himself on an excursion of gallantry;and that if she wished to satisfy herself of the truthof the statement, she had only to follow him in themorning, and detect his entire scheme; the object ofthese amiable friends being to give poor Mrs. Fitz.a twenty miles’ jaunt, and confront her withher injured husband at the end of it.

Having a mind actively alive to suspicions of thisnature, the worthy woman made all her arrangementsfor a start, and scarcely was the chaise and four,with her husband, out of the town, than was she onthe track of it, with a heart bursting with jealousy,and vowing vengeance to the knife, against all concernedin this scheme to wrong her.

So far the plan of her persecutors had perfectly succeeded;they saw her depart, on a trip of, as they supposed,twenty miles, and their whole notions of the practicaljoke were limited to the eclaircissem*nt that mustensue at the end. Little, however, were theyaware how much more nearly the suspected crime, wasthe position of the poor doctor to turn out; for,as by one blunder I had taken his chaise, so he, withoutany inquiry whatever, had got into the one intendedfor me; and never awoke from a most refreshing slumber,till shaken by the shoulder by the postillion, whowhispered in his ear—­“here we aresir; this is the gate.”

“But why stop at the gate? Drive up theavenue, my boy.”

“His honor told me, sir, not for the world togo farther than the lodge; nor to make as much noiseas a mouse.”

“Ah! very true. He may be very irritable,poor man! Well stop here, and I’ll getout.”

Just as the doctor had reached the ground, a verysmart-looking soubrette tripped up, and said to him—­

“Beg pardon, sir; but you are the gentlemanfrom the barrack, sir?”

“Yes, my dear,” said Fitz., with a knowinglook at the pretty face of the damsel, “whatcan I do for you?”

“Why sir, my mistress is here in the shrubbery;but she is so nervous, and so frightened, I don’tknow how she’ll go through it.”

“Ah! she’s frightened, poor thing; isshe? Oh! she must keep up her spirits, whilethere’s life there’s hope.”

“Sir.”

“I say, my darling, she must not give way. I’ll speak to her a little. Is not herather advanced in life?”

“Oh, Lord! no sir. Only two-and-thirty,my mistress tells me?”

“Two-and-thirty! Why I thought he wasabove sixty.”

“Above sixty! Law! sir. You havea bright fancy. This is the gentleman, ma’am. Now sir, I’ll just slip aside for a moment,and let you talk to her.”

“I am grieved, ma’am, that I have notthe happiness to make your acquaintance under happiercirc*mstances.”

“I must confess, sir—­though I amashamed”—­

“Never be ashamed, ma’am. Your grief,although, I trust causeless, does you infinite honor.”

“Upon my soul she is rather pretty,” saidthe doctor to himself here.

“Well, sir! as I have the most perfect confidencein you, from all I have heard of you, I trust youwill not think me abrupt in saying that any longerdelay here is dangerous.”

“Dangerous! Is he in so critical a stateas that then?”

“Critical a state, sir! Why what do youmean?”

“I mean, ma’am, do you think, then, itmust be done to-day?”

“Of course I do, sir, and I shall never leavethe spot without your assuring me of it.”

“Oh! in that case make your mind easy. I have the instruments in the chaise.”

“The instruments in the chaise! Really,sir, if you are not jesting—­I trust youdon’t think this is a fitting time for such—­Ientreat of you to speak more plainly and intelligibly.”

“Jesting, ma’am! I’m incapableof jesting at such a moment.”

“Ma’am! ma’am! I see one ofthe rangers, ma’am, at a distance; so don’tlose a moment, but get into the chaise at once.”

“Well, sir, let us away; for I have now gonetoo far to retract.”

“Help my mistress into the chaise, sir. Lord! what a man it is.”

A moment more saw the poor doctor seated beside theyoung lady, while the postillions plied whip and spurwith their best energy; and the road flew beneaththem. Meanwhile the delay caused by this shortdialogue, enabled Mrs. Fitz.’s slower conveyanceto come up with the pursuit, and her chaise had justturned the angle of the road as she caught a glimpseof a muslin dress stepping into the carriage withher husband.

There are no words capable of conveying the faintestidea of the feelings that agitated Mrs. Fitz. at thismoment. The fullest confirmation to her worstfears was before her eyes—­just at the veryinstant when a doubt was beginning to cross over hermind that it might have been merely a hoax that waspractised on her, and that the worthy Doctor was innocentand blameless. As for the poor Doctor himself,there seemed little chance of his being enlightenedas to the real state of matters; for from the momentthe young lady had taken her place in the chaise, shehad buried her face in her hands, and sobbed continually. Meanwhile he concluded that they were approachingthe house by some back entrance, to avoid noise andconfusion, and waited, with due patience, for thejourney’s end.

As, however, her grief continued unabated, Fitz. atlength began to think of the many little consolatoryacts he had successfully practised in his professionalcareer, and was just insinuating some very tender speechon the score of resignation, with his head inclinedtowards the weeping lady beside him, when the chaiseof Mrs. Fitz. came up along-side, and the postillionshaving yielded to the call to halt, drew suddenly up,displaying to the enraged wife the tableau we havementioned.

“So, wretch,” she screamed rather thanspoke, “I have detected you at last.”

“Lord bless me! Why it is my wife.”

“Yes, villain! your injured, much-wronged wife! And you, madam, may I ask what you have to say forthus eloping with a married man?”

“Shame! My dear Jemima,” said Fitz. “how can you possibly permit your foolish jealousyso far to blind your reason. Don’t yousee I am going upon a professional call?”

“Oh! you are. Are you? Quite professional,I’ll be bound.”

“Oh, sir! Oh, madam! I beseech you,save me from the anger of my relatives, and the disgraceof exposure. Pray bring me back at once.”

“Why, my God! ma’am, what do you mean? You are not gone mad, as well as my wife.”

“Really, Mr. Fitz.” said Mrs. F. “thisis carrying the joke too far. Take your unfortunatevictim—­as I suppose she is such—­hometo her parents, and prepare to accompany me to thebarrack; and if there be law and justice in—­”

“Well! may the Lord in his mercy preserve mysenses, or you will both drive me clean mad.”

“Oh, dear! oh, dear!” sobbed the younglady, while Mrs. Fitzgerald continued to upbraid atthe top of her voice, heedless of the disclaimersand protestations of innocence poured out with theeloquence of despair, by the poor doctor. Matterswere in this state, when a man dressed in a fustianjacket, like a groom, drove up to the side of the road,in a tax-cart; he immediately got down, and tearingopen the door of the doctor’s chaise, liftedout the young lady, and deposited her safely in hisown conveyance, merely adding—­

“I say, master, you’re in luck this morning,that Mr. William took the lower road; for if he hadcome up with you instead of me, he’d blow theroof off your scull, that’s all.”

While these highly satisfactory words were being addressedto poor Fitz. Mrs. Fitzgerald had removed fromher carriage to that of her husband, perhaps preferringfour horses to two; or perhaps she had still someunexplained views of the transaction, which might aswell be told on the road homeward.

Whatever might have been the nature of Mrs. F.’sdissertation, nothing is known. The chaise containingthese turtle doves arrived late at night at Kilkenny,and Fitz. was installed safely in his quarters beforeany one knew of his having come back. The followingmorning he was reported ill; and for three weeks hewas but once seen, and at that time only at his window,with a flannel night-cap on his head, looking particularlypale, and rather dark under one eye.

As for Curzon—­the last thing known of himthat luckless morning, was his hiring a post-chaisefor the Royal Oak, from whence he posted to Dublin,and hastened on to England. In a few days welearned that the adjutant had exchanged into a regimentin Canada; and to this hour there are not three menin the __th who know the real secret of that morning’smisadventures.

THE CONFESSIONS OF HARRY LORREQUER, Vol. 3

[By Charles James Lever (1806-1872)]

Dublin

MDCCCXXXIX.

Volume 3. (Chapter XVIII-XXIII)

Contents:

Chapter XVIII
Detachment Duty—­An Assize Town

Chapter XIX
The Assize Town

Chapter XX
A Day in Dublin

Chapter XXI
A Night at Howth

Chapter XXII
The Journey

Chapter XXIII
Calais

CHAPTER XVIII.

DETACHMENT DUTY—­AN ASSIZE TOWN.

As there appeared to be but little prospect of poorFitzgerald ever requiring any explanation from meas to the events of that morning, for he feared toventure from his room, lest he might be recognisedand prosecuted for abduction, I thought it betterto keep my own secret also; and it was therefore witha feeling of any thing but regret, that I receivedan order which, under other circ*mstances, would haverendered me miserable—­to march on detachmentduty. To any one at all conversant with thelife we lead in the army, I need not say how unpleasantsuch a change usually is. To surrender yourcapital mess, with all its well-appointed equipments—­yourjovial brother officers—­hourly flirtationswith the whole female population—­never adeficient one in a garrison town—­not tospeak of your matches at trotting, coursing, and pigeon-shooting,and a hundred other delectable modes of getting overthe ground through life, till it please your ungratefulcountry and the Horse Guards to make you a major-general—­to

surrender all these, I say, for the noise, dust, anddamp disagreeables of a country inn, with bacon toeat, whiskey to drink, and the priest, or the constabularychief, to get drunk with—­I speak of Irelandhere—­and your only affair, par amours,being the occasional ogling of the apothecary’sdaughter opposite, as often as she visits the shop,in the soi disant occupation of measuring out gardenseeds and senna. These are indeed, the exchangeswith 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, whenthe mail went over him, “Oh, Lord! what is thisfor?”—­firmly believing that in theearthly purgatory of such duties, I was reaping theheavy retribution attendant on past offences.

Besides, from being rather a crack man in my corps,I thought it somewhat hard that my turn for such dutyshould come round about twice as often as that ofmy brother officers; but so it is—­I neverknew 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 verydifferent light. To leave head-quarters wasto escape being questioned; while there was scarcelyany post to which I could be sent, where somethingstrange or adventurous might not turn up, and serveme to erase the memory of the past, and turn the attentionof my companions in any quarter rather than towardsmyself.

My orders on the present occasion were to march toClonmel; from whence I was to proceed a short distanceto the house of a magistrate, upon whose information,transmitted to the Chief Secretary, the present assistanceof a military party had been obtained; and not withoutevery appearance of reason. The assizes of thetown were about to be held, and many capital offencesstood for trial in the calendar; and as it was stronglyrumoured that, in the event of certain convictionsbeing obtained, a rescue would be attempted, a generalattack upon the town seemed a too natural consequence;and if so, the house of so obnoxious a person as himI have alluded to, would be equally certain of beingassailed. Such, at least, is too frequentlythe history of such scenes, beginning with no onedefinite object: sometimes a slight one—­moreample views and wider conceptions of mischief follow;and what has begun in a drunken riot—­acasual rencontre—­may terminate in the slaughterof a family, or the burning of a village. Thefinest peasantry—­God bless them—­area vif people, and quicker at taking a hint than mostothers, and have, withal, a natural taste for fighting,that no acquired habits of other nations can pretendto vie with.

As the worthy person to whose house I was now aboutto proceed was, and if I am rightly informed is, rathera remarkable character in the local history of Irishpolitics, I may as well say a few words concerninghim. Mr. Joseph Larkins, Esq.—­(forso he signed himself)—­had only been latelyelevated to the bench of magistrates. He wasoriginally one of that large but intelligent classcalled in Ireland “small farmers;” remarkablechiefly for a considerable tact in driving hard bargains—­agreat skill in wethers—­a rather nationaldislike to pay all species of imposts, whether partakingof the nature of tax, tithe, grand jury cess, or anything of that nature whatsoever. So very accountable—­Ihad almost said, (for I have been long quartered inIreland,) so very laudable a propensity, excited butlittle of surprise or astonishment in his neighbours,the majority of whom entertained very similar views—­none, however, possessing any thing likethe able and lawyer-like ability of the worthy Larkins,for the successful evasion of these inroads upon theliberty of the subject. Such, in fact, was histalent, and so great his success in this respect,that he had established what, if it did not actuallyamount to a statute of exemption in law, served equallywell in reality; and for several years he enjoyed aperfect immunity on the subject of money-paying ingeneral. His “little houldin’,”as he unostentatiously called some five hundred acresof bog, mountain, and sheep-walk, lay in a remotepart of the county, the roads were nearly impassablefor several miles in that direction, land was of littlevalue; the agent was a timid man, with a large family;of three tithe-proctors who had penetrated into theforbidden territory, two laboured under a dyspepsiafor life, not being able to digest parchment and sealing-wax,for they usually dined on their own writs; and thethird 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 escapethe vengeance of the people, which act of philanthropyshould never be forgotten, if some ill-natured peoplewere not bold enough to say the kind individual inquestion was no other man than—­

However this may be, true it is that this was thelast attempt made to bring within the responsibilitiesof the law so refractory a subject; and so powerfulis habit, that although he was to be met with at everymarket and cattle-fair in the county, an arrest ofhis person was no more contemplated than if he enjoyedthe privilege of parliament to go at large withoutdanger.

When the country became disturbed, and nightly meetingsof the peasantry were constantly held, followed byoutrages against life and property to the most frightfulextent, the usual resources of the law were employedunavailingly. It was in vain to offer high rewards. Approvers could not be found; and so perfectly organizedwere the secret associations, that few beyond thevery ringleaders knew any thing of consequence tocommunicate. Special commissions were sent downfrom Dublin; additional police force, detachmentsof military; long correspondences took place betweenthe magistracy and the government—­but allin vain. The disturbances continued; and atlast to such a height had they risen, that the countrywas put under martial law; and even this was ultimatelyfound perfectly insufficient to repel what now dailythreatened to become an open rebellion rather thanmere agrarian disturbance. It was at this precisemoment, when all resources seemed to be fast exhaustingthemselves, that certain information reached the Castle,of the most important nature. The individualwho obtained and transmitted it, had perilled hislife in so doing—­but the result was a greatone—­no less than the capital convictionand execution of seven of the most influential amongstthe disaffected peasantry. Confidence was atonce shaken in the secrecy of their associates; distrustand suspicion followed. Many of the boldestsunk beneath the fear of betrayal, and themselves,became evidence for the crown; and in five months,a county shaken with midnight meetings, and blazingwith insurrectionary fires, became almost the mosttranquil in its province. It may well be believed,that he who rendered this important service on thistrying emergency, could not be passed over, and thename of J. Larkins soon after appeared in the Gazetteas one of his Majesty’s justices of the peacefor the county; pretty much in the same spirit in whicha country gentleman converts the greatest poacherin his neighbourhood by making him, his gamekeeper.

In person he was a large and powerfully built man,considerably above six feet in height, and possessinggreat activity, combined with powers of enduring fatiguealmost incredible. With an eye like a hawk, anda heart that never knew fear, he was the person, ofall others, calculated to strike terror into the mindsof the country people. The reckless daring withwhich he threw himself into danger—­the almostimpetuous quickness with which he followed up a scent,whenever information reached him of an important character—­hadtheir full effect upon a people who, long accustomedto the slowness and the uncertainty of the law werealmost paralyzed at beholding detection and punishmentfollow on crime, as certainly as the thunder-crashfollows the lightning.

His great instrument for this purpose was the obtaininginformation from sworn members of the secret societies,and whose names never appeared in the course of atrial or a prosecution, until the measure of theiriniquity was completed, when they usually receiveda couple of hundred pounds, blood-money, as it wascalled, with which they took themselves away to Americaor Australia—­their lives being only securedwhile they remained, by the shelter afforded themin the magistrate’s own house. And so ithappened that, constantly there numbered from ten totwelve of these wretches, inmates of his family, eachof whom had the burden of participation in one murderat least, waiting for an opportunity to leave thecountry, unnoticed and unwatched.

Such a frightful and unnatural state of things, canhardly be conceived; and yet, shocking as it was,it was a relief to that which led to it. I havedwelt, 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 seethat 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 overthe state of Ireland, while some rosy curly-headednoisy and bare-legged urchins are gamboling beforethe door. This is the dwelling of the worshipfuljustice, to which myself and my party were now approaching,with that degree of activity which attends on mostmarches of twenty miles, under the oppressive closenessof a day in autumn. Fatigued and tired as I was,yet I could not enter the little enclosure beforethe house, without stopping for a moment to admirethe 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, werescattered some cottages, from which the blue smokerose in a curling column into the calm evening’ssky. All was graceful, and beautifully tranquil;and you might have selected the picture as emblematicof that happiness and repose we so constantly associatewith our ideas of the country; and yet, before thatsun had even set, which now gilded the landscape,its glories would be replaced by the lurid glare ofnightly incendiarism, and—­but here, fortunatelyfor my reader, and perhaps myself, I am interruptedin my meditations by a rich, mellifluous accent saying,in the true Doric of the south—­

“Mr. Loorequer! you’re welcome to Curryglass,sir. You’ve had a hot day for your march. Maybe you’d take a taste of sherry before dinner? Well then, we’ll not wait for Molowny, butorder it up at once.”

So saying, I was ushered into a long, low drawing-room,in which were collected together about a dozen men,to whom I was specially and severally presented, andamong whom I was happy to find my boarding-house acquaintance,Mr. Daly, who, with the others, had arrived that sameday, for the assizes, and who were all members ofthe legal profession, either barristers, attorneys,or clerks of the peace.

The hungry aspect of the convives, no less than thespeed with which dinner made its appearance aftermy arrival, showed me that my coming was only waitedfor to complete the party—­the Mr. Molownybefore alluded to, being unanimously voted present. The meal itself had but slight pretensions to elegance;there were neither vol au vents, nor croquettes; neitherwere there poulets aux truffes, nor cotelletes a lasoubise but in their place stood a lordly fish ofsome five-and-twenty pounds weight, a massive sirloin,with all the usual armament of fowls, ham, pigeon-pie,beef-steak, &c. lying in rather a promiscuous orderalong either side of the table. The party wereevidently disposed to be satisfied, and I acknowledge,I did not prove an exception to the learned individualsabout me, either in my relish for the good things,or my appetite to enjoy them. Dulce est desiperein 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 thenhumour, I should not have exchanged my position forone of much greater pretensions to elegance and ton. There was first a general onslaught upon the viands,crashing of plates, jingling of knives, mingling withrequests for “more beef,” “the hardside of the salmon,” or “another sliceof ham.” Then came a dropping fire ofdrinking wine, which quickly increased, the decantersof sherry for about ten minutes resting upon the table,about as long as Taglioni touches this mortal earthin one of her flying ballets. Acquaintances werequickly formed between the members of the bar and myself,and I found that my momentary popularity was likelyto terminate in my downfall; for, as each introductionwas followed by a bumper of strong sherry, I did notexpect to last till the end of the feast. Thecloth at length disappeared, and I was just thankingProvidence for the respite from hob-nobbing whichI imagined was to follow, when a huge, square decanterof whiskey appeared, flanked by an enormous jug ofboiling water, and renewed preparations for drinkingupon a large scale seriously commenced. It wasjust at this moment that I, for the first time, perceivedthe rather remarkable figure who had waited upon usat dinner, and who, while I chronicle so many thingsof little import, deserves a slight mention.He was a little old man of about fifty-five or sixtyyears, wearing upon his head a barrister’s wig,and habited in clothes which originally had been thecostume 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 JudgeVandeleur, and had entered his present service ratherin the light of a preceptor than a menial, invariablydictating to the worthy justice upon every occasionof etiquette or propriety, by a reference to what “thejudge himself” did, which always sufficed tocarry the day in Nicholas’s favour, oppositionto so correct a standard, never being thought of bythe justice.

“That’s Billy Crow’s own whiskey,the ‘small still,’” said Nicholas,placing the decanter upon the table, “make muchof it, for there isn’t such dew in the county.”

With this commendation upon the liquor, Nicholas departed,and we proceeded to fill our glasses.

I cannot venture—­perhaps it is so muchthe better that I cannot—­to give any ideaof the conversation which at once broke out, as ifthe barriers that restrained it had at length givenway. 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 sundryhints for qui tam processes, interspersed, occasionally,with sly jokes about packing juries and confusingwitnesses, among which figured the usual number ofgood things attributed to the Chief Baron O’Gradyand the other sayers of smart sayings at the bar.

“Ah!” said Mr. Daly, drawing a deep sighat the same instant—­“the bar is sadlyfallen off since I was called in the year seventy-six. There was not a leader in one of the circuits atthat time that couldn’t puzzle any jury thatever sat in a box; and as for driving through an actof parliament, it was, as Sancho Panza says, cakesand gingerbread to them. And then, there is oneespecial talent lost for ever to the present generation—­justlike stained glass and illuminated manuscripts, andslow poisons and the like—­that were allknown years ago—­I mean the beautiful artof addressing the judge before the jury, and not lettingthem know you were quizzing them, if ye liked to dothat same. Poor Peter Purcell for that—­resthis ashes—­he could cheat the devil himself,if he had need—­and maybe he has had beforenow, Peter is sixteen years dead last November.”

“And what was Peter’s peculiar tact inthat respect, Mr. Daly?” said I.

“Oh, then I might try for hours to explain itto you in vain; but I’ll just give you an instancethat’ll show you better than all my dissertationson the subject, and I was present myself when it happened,more by token, it was the first time I ever met himon circuit;—­”

“I suppose there is scarcely any one here now,except myself, that remembers the great cause of Millsversus Mulcahy, a widow and others, that was triedin Ennis, in the year ’82. It’s nomatter if there is not. Perhaps it may be moreagreeable for me, for I can tell my story my own version,and not be interrupted. Well, that was calledthe 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 heput it for trial on the day of judgment, one of theparties would be sure to lodge an appeal. Bethat as it may, the Millses engaged Peter special,and brought him down with a great retainer, in a chaiseand four, flags flying, and favors in the postillions’hats, and a fiddler on the roof playing the ‘harein the corn.’ The inn was illuminated the

same evening, and Peter made a speech from the windowsupon the liberty of the press and religious freedomall over the globe, and there wasn’t a man inthe mob didn’t cheer him, which was the morecivil, because few of them knew a word of English,and the others thought he was a play-actor. Butit all went off well, nevertheless, for Peter was aclever fellow; and although he liked money well, heliked popularity more, and he never went any wherespecial that he hadn’t a public meeting of somekind or other, either to abolish rents, or suppressparsons, 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 wanderingfrom the record. Purcell came down, as I saidbefore, special for Mills; and when he looked overhis brief, and thought of the case, he determined tohave it tried by a gentlemen jury, for although hewas a great man with the mob, he liked the countrygentlemen better in the jury box, for he was alwayscoming out with quotations from the classics, which,whether the grand jury understood or not, they alwaysapplauded very much. Well, when he came intocourt that morning, you may guess his surprise andmortification to find that the same jury that had trieda common ejectment case, were still in the box, andwaiting, by the chief justice’s direction, totry Mills versus Mulcahy, the great case of the assizes.

“I hear they were a set of common clod-hoppingwretches, with frize coats and brogues, that no mancould get round at all, for they were as cunning asfoxes, and could tell blarney from good sense, ratherbetter than people with better coats on them.

“Now, the moment that Mr. Purcell came intothe court, after bowing politely to the judge, helooked up to the box, and when he saw the dirty facesof the dealers in pork and potatoes, and the unshavenchins of the small farmers, his heart fell withinhim, and he knew in a minute how little they’dcare for the classics—­if he quoted Caesar’sCommentaries itself for them—­ignorant creaturesas they were!

“Well, the cause was called, and up gets Peter,and he began to ‘express’, (as he alwayscalled it himself,) ’the great distress hisclient and himself would labour under, if the patientand most intelligent jury then on the panel shouldcome to the consideration of so very tedious a caseas this promised to be, after their already most fatiguingexertions;’ he commented upon their absence fromtheir wives and families, their farms neglected, theircrops hazarded, and in about fifteen minutes he showedthem they were, if not speedily released and senthome, worse treated and harder used than many of theprisoners condemned to three months imprisonment;and actually so far worked upon the feelings of thechief himself, that he turned to the foreman of thejury, and said, ’that although it was a greatdeviation from his habitual practice, if at this pressingseason their prospects were involved to the extent

the learned counsel had pictured, why then, that hewould so far bend his practice on this occasion, andthey should be dismissed.’ Now Peter,I must confess, here showed the most culpable ignorancein not knowing that a set of country fellows, putup in a jury box, would rather let every glade ofcorn rot in the ground, than give up what they alwayssupposed so very respectable an appointment; for theyinvariably imagine in these cases that they are somethingvery like my lord the judge, ‘barrin’the ermine;’ besides, that on the present occasion,Peter’s argument in their favour decided themupon staying, for they now felt like martyrs, andfirmly believed that they were putting the chief justiceunder an obligation to them for life.

“When, therefore, they heard the question ofthe court, it did not take a moment’s time forthe whole body to rise en masses and bowing to thejudge, call out, ’We’ll stay, my lord,and try every mother’s son of them for you;ay, if it lasted till Christmas.

“‘I am sure, my lord,’ said Peter,collecting himself for an effort, ’I cannotsufficiently express my gratitude for the great sacrificethese gifted and highly intelligent gentlemen aremaking in my client’s behalf; for being personswho have great interests in the country at stake, theirconduct on the present occasion is the more praiseworthy;and I am certain they fully appreciate, as does yourlordship, the difficulty of the case before us, whendocuments will be submitted, requiring a certain degreeof acquaintance with such testimonials sufficientlyto comprehend. Many of the title deeds, as yourlordship is aware, being obtained under old abbeycharters, are in the learned languages; and we allknow how home to our hearts and bosoms comes the beautifulline of the Greek poet ‘vacuus viator cantabitante latronem.’” The sound of the quotationroused the chief justice, who had been in some measureinattentive to the preceding part of the learned counsel’saddress, and he called out rather sharply, ’Greek!Mr. Purcell—­why I must have mistaken—­willyou repeat the passage?’

“’With pleasure, my lord. I wasjust observing to your lordship and the jury, withthe eloquent poet Hergesius, ’vacuus viator cantabitante latronem.’

“‘Greek, did you call it?’

“‘Yes, my lord, of course I did.’

“’Why, Mr. Purcell, you are quoting Latinto me—­and what do you mean by talking ofthe learned Hergesius, and Greek all this time?—­theline is Juvenal’s.’

“’My lord, with much submission to yourlordship, and every deference to your great attainmentsand very superior talents, let me still assure youthat I am quoting Greek, and that your lordship isin error.’

“’Mr. Purcell, I have only to remark,that if you are desirous of making a jest of the court,you had better be cautious, I say, sir;’ andhere the judge waxed exceeding wroth. ’Isay the line is Latin—­Latin, sir, Juvenal’sLatin, sir—­every schoolboy knows it.’

“‘Of course, my lord,’ said Peter,with great humility, ’I bow myself to the decisionof your lordship; the line is, therefore, Latin. Yet I may be permitted to hint that were your lordshipdisposed to submit this question, as you are shortlyabout to do another and a similar one, to those clear-sightedand intelligent gentlemen there, I am satisfied, mylord, it would be Greek to every man of them.’

“The look, the voice, and the peculiar emphasiswith which Peter gave these words, were perfectlysuccessful. The acute judge anticipated thewish of the counsel—­the jury were dismissed,and Peter proceeded to his case before those he knewbetter how to deal with, and with whom the resultwas more certain to be as he wished it.”

To this anecdote of the counsellor, succeeded manyothers, of which, as the whiskey was potent and thehour late, my memory is not over retentive: theparty did not break up till near four o’clock;and even then, our seance only concluded, becausesome one gravely remarked “that as we shouldbe all actively engaged on the morrow, early hourswere advisable.”

CHAPTER XIX.

THE ASSIZE TOWN.

I had not been above a week in my new quarters, whenmy servant presented me, among my letters one morning,with a packet, which with considerable pains, I atlength recognised to be directed to me. The entireenvelope was covered with writing in various hands,among which I detected something which bore a faintresemblance to my name; but the address which followedwas perfectly unreadable, not only to me, as it appeared,but also to the “experts” of the differentpost-offices, for it had been followed by sundry directionsto try various places beginning with T, which seemedto be the letter commencing the “great unknownlocality:” thus I read “try Tralee,”“try Tyrone,” “try Tanderagee,”&c. &c. I wonder that they didn’t add,“try Teheran,” and I suppose they wouldat last, rather than abandon the pursuit.

“But, Stubber,” said I, as I conned overthe various addresses on this incomprehensible cover,“are you sure this is for me?”

“The postmaster, sir, desired me to ask youif you’d have it, for he has offered it to everyone down in these parts lately; the waterguard officerswill take it at 8d. Cir, if you won’t, butI begged you might have the refusal.”

“Oh! very well; I am happy to find matters aremanaged so impartially in the post-office here. Nothing like a public cant for making matters findtheir true level. Tell the postmaster, then,I’ll keep the letter, and the rather, as ithappens, by good luck, to be intended for me.”

“And now for the interior,” said I, asI broke the seal and read:

“Paris, Rue Castiglione.

“My dear Mr. Lorrequer—­Asher ladyship and my son have in vain essayedto get any thing from you in the shape of reply totheir letters, it has devolved upon me to trymy fortune, which were I to augur from the legibilityof my writing, may not, I should fear, provemore successful than the”—­(what canthe word be?) “the—­the” —­why,it can’t be damnable, surely?—­no,it is amiable, I see —­“thanthe amiable epistle of my lady. I cannot, however,permit myself to leave this without apprisingyou that we are about to start for Baden, wherewe purpose remaining a month or two. Your cousinGuy, who has been staying for some time with us, hasbeen obliged to set out for Geneva, but hopesto join in some weeks hence. He is a greatfavourite with us all, but has not effaced the memoryof our older friend, yourself. Could you notfind means to come over and see us—­ifonly 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 haveenclosed herewith a letter to the Horse Guards,which I trust may facilitate your obtaining leave ofabsence. I know of no other mode of makingyour peace with the ladies, who are too highlyincensed at your desertion to send one civilpostscript to this letter; and Kilkee and myself areabsolutely exhausted in our defence of you. Believe me, yours truly,

“Callonby.”

Had I received an official notification of my beingappointed paymaster to the forces, or chaplain toChelsea hospital, I believe I should have receivedthe information with less surprise than I perused thisletter —­that after the long interval whichhad elapsed, during which I had considered myselftotally forgotten by this family, I should now receivea letter—­and such a letter, too—­quitein the vein of our former intimacy and good feeling,inviting me to their house, and again professing theirwillingness that I should be on the terms of our oldfamiliarity—­was little short of wonderfulto me. I read, too—­with what pleasure?—­thatslight mention of my cousin, whom I had so long regardedas my successful rival, but who I began now to hopehad not been preferred to me. Perhaps it wasnot yet too late to think that all was not hopeless. It appeared, too, that several letters had been writtenwhich had never reached me; so, while I accused themof neglect and forgetfulness, I was really more amenableto the charge myself; for, from the moment I had heardof my cousin Guy’s having been domesticatedamongst them, and the rumours of his marriage had reachedme, I suffered my absurd jealousy to blind my reason,and never wrote another line after. I oughtto have known how “bavarde” [boasting]Guy always was —­that he never met withthe most commonplace attentions any where, that hedid not immediately write home about settlements andpin-money, and portions for younger children, andall that sort of nonsense. Now I saw it all

plainly, and ten thousand times quicker than my hopeswere extinguished before were they again kindled,and I could not refrain from regarding Lady Jane asa mirror of constancy, and myself the most fortunateman in Europe. My old castle-building propensitiescame back upon me in an instant, and I pictured myself,with Lady Jane as my companion, wandering among thebeautiful scenery of the Neckar, beneath the loftyruins of Heidelberg, or skimming the placid surfaceof the Rhine, while, “mellowed by distance,”came the rich chorus of a student’s melody,filling the air with its flood of song. Howdelightful, I thought, to be reading the lyrics ofUhland, or Buerger, with one so capable of appreciatingthem, with all the hallowed associations of the “Vaterland”about us! Yes, said I aloud, repeating the well-knownline of a German “Lied”—­

“Bakranzt mitLaub, den lieben vollen Becher.”

“Upon my conscience,” said Mr. Daly, whohad for some time past been in silent admiration ofmy stage-struck appearance—­“upon myconscience, Mr. Lorrequer, I had no conception youknew Irish.”

The mighty talisman of the Counsellor’s voicebrought me back in a moment to a consciousness ofwhere I was then standing, and the still more fortunatefact that I was only a subaltern in his majesty’s__th—.

“Why, my dear Counsellor, that was German Iwas quoting, not Irish.”

“With all my heart,” said Mr. Daly, breakingthe top off his third egg —­“withall my heart; I’d rather you’d talk itthan me. Much conversation in that tongue, I’mthinking, would be mighty apt to loosen one’steeth.”

“Not at all, it is the most beautiful languagein Europe, and the most musical too. Why, evenfor your own peculiar taste in such matters, wherecan you find any language so rich in Bacchanalian songsas German?”

“I’d rather hear the “CruiskeenLawn” or the “Jug of Punch” as myold friend Pat. Samson could sing them, thana score of your high Dutch jawbreakers.”

“Shame upon ye, Mr. Daly; and for pathos, fortrue feeling, where is there anything equal to Schiller’sballads?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyof his; but if you will talk of ballads,” saidthe Counsellor, “give me old Mosey M’Garry’s:what’s finer than”—­and herebegan, with a most nasal twang and dolorous emphasis,to sing—­

“’And Istepp’d up unto her,
An’ I made a congee—­
And I ax’d her, her pardon
For the making so free.’

“And then the next verse, she says—­

“‘Are yougoin’ to undo me,
In this desert alone?’—­

“There’s a shake there.”

“For Heaven’s sake,” I cried, “stop;when I spoke of ballads, I never meant such infernalstuff as that.”

“I’ll not give up my knowledge of balladsto any man breathing,” said Mr. Daly; “and,with God’s blessing, I’ll sing you onethis evening, after dinner, that will give you a crampin the stomach.”

An animated discussion upon lyrical poetry was hereinterrupted by a summons from our host to set outfor the town. My party were, by the desire ofthe magistracy, to be in readiness near the court-house,in the event of any serious disturbance, which thereexisted but too much reason to fear from the highlyexcited state of feeling on the subject of the approachingtrials. The soldiers were, under the guidanceof Mr. Larkins, safely ensconced in a tan-yard; andI myself, having consigned them for the present toa non-commissioned officer, was left at perfect libertyto dispose of my time and person as it might pleaseme.

While these arrangements were taking place, I hadentirely lost sight of Mr. Daly, under whose guidanceand protection I trusted to obtain a place withinthe bar to hear the trials; so that I was now perfectlyalone, for my host’s numerous avocations entirelyprecluded any thought of my putting myself under hiscare.

My first object was to reach the court-house, andthere could be little difficulty in finding it, forthe throng of persons in the street were all eagerlybending their way thither. I accordingly followedwith the stream, and soon found myself among an enormousmultitude of frize-coated and red-cloaked people,of both sexes, in a large open square, which formedthe market-place, one side of which was flanked bythe court-house—­for as such I immediatelyrecognized a massive-looking grey stone building—­inwhich the numerous windows, all open and filled withpeople, exhaled a continued steam from the crowdedatmosphere within. To approach it was perfectlyimpossible: for the square was packed so closely,that as the people approached, by the various streets,they were obliged to stand in the avenues leadingto it, and regard what was going on from a distance. Of this large multitude I soon became one, hopingthat at length some fortunate opportunity might enableme to obtain admission through some of my legal acquaintances.

That the fate of those who were then upon their trialfor their lives absorbed the entire feelings of thosewithout, a momentary glance at the hundreds of anxiousand care-worn faces in the crowd, would completelysatisfy. Motionless and silent they stood:they felt no fatigue—­no want of food orrefreshment—­their interest was one and undivided—­alltheir hopes and fears were centered in the eventsthen passing at a short distance from them, but towhich their ignorance imparted an additional and morepainful excitement—­the only informationof how matters were going on being by an occasionalword, sometimes a mere gesture from some one stationedin the windows to a friend in the crowd.

When the contemplation of this singularly impressivescene was beginning to weary from the irksomenessof my position, I thought of retiring: but soondiscovered how impossible was such a step. Thecrowd had blocked up so completely all the avenuesof approach, that even had I succeeded in gettingfrom the market-place, it would be only to remain firmlyimpacted among the mob in the street.

It now also occurred to me, that although I had beenassured by Larkins no call could possibly be madeupon my services or those of my party, till afterthe trial, yet, were that to conclude at any moment,I should be perfectly unable to regain the place whereI had stationed them, and the most serious consequencesmight ensue from the absence of their officer, ifthe men were required to act.

From the time this thought took possession of me,I became excessively uncomfortable. Every expressionof 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’ssevere struggle, I completely abandoned, finding myselfscarcely ten yards from where I started.

At length, the counsel for the crown, who had beenspeaking to evidence, ceased; and an indistinct murmurwas heard through the court-house, which was soonrepressed by the voice of the crier calling “silence.” All now seemed still and silent as the grave—­yet,on listening attentively, for some time, you couldcatch the low tones of a voice speaking, as it appeared,with great deliberation and slowness. This wasthe judge addressing the jury. In a short timethis also ceased; and, for about half an hour, thesilence was perfectly unbroken, and both within andwithout there reigned one intense and aching senseof anxiety that absorbed every feeling, and impartedto every face an expression of almost agonizing uncertainty. It was, indeed, a space well calculated to excitesuch emotions. The jury had retired to deliberateupon their verdict. At length a door was heardto open, and the footsteps of the jury, as they resumedtheir places, sounded through the court, and wereheard by those without. How heavily upon manya stout heart those footsteps fell! They hadtaken their seats—­then came another pause—­after which the monotonous tones of theclerk of the court were heard, addressing the juryfor their verdict. As the foreman rises everyear is bent—­every eye strained—­everyheart-string vibrates: his lips move, but heis not heard; he is desired by the judge to speak louder;the colour mounts to his before bloodless face; heappears to labour for a few seconds with a mightyeffort, and, at last, pronounces the words, “Guilty,my Lord—­all guilty!”

I have heard the wild war-whoop of the red Indian,as, in his own pine forest, he has unexpectedly comeupon the track of his foe, and the almost extinguishedhope of vengeance has been kindled again in his cruelheart—­I have listened to the scarcely lesssavage hurra of a storming party, as they have surmountedthe crumbling ruins of a breach, and devoted to fireand sword, with that one yell, all who await them—­andonce in my life it has been my fortune to have heardthe last yell of defiance from a pirate crew, as theysunk beneath the raking fire of a frigate, rather

than surrender, and went down with a cheer of defiancethat rose even above the red artillery that destroyedbut could not subdue them;—­but never, inany or all of these awful moments, did my heart vibrateto such sounds as rent the air when the fatal “Guilty”was heard by those within, and repeated to those without. It was not grief —­it was not despair—­neitherwas it the cry of sharp and irrepressible anguish,from a suddenly blighted hope—­but it wasthe long pent-up and carefully-concealed burst offeeling which called aloud for vengeance —­redand reeking revenge upon all who had been instrumentalin the sentence then delivered. It ceased, andI looked towards the court-house, expecting that animmediate and desperate attack upon the building andthose whom it contained would at once take place. But nothing of the kind ensued; the mob were alreadybeginning to disperse, and before I recovered perfectlyfrom the excitement of these few and terrible moments,the square was nearly empty, and I almost felt as ifthe wild and frantic denunciation that still rang throughmy ears, had been conjured up by a heated and feveredimagination.

When I again met our party at the dinner table, Icould not help feeling surprised on perceiving howlittle they sympathized in my feeling for the eventsof the day; which, indeed, they only alluded to ina professional point of view—­criticisingthe speeches of the counsel on both sides, and thecharacter of the different witnesses who were examined.

“Well,” said Mr. Daly, addressing ourhost, “you never could have had a convictionto-day if it wasn’t for Mike. He’sthe best evidence I ever heard. I’d liketo know very much how you ever got so clever a fellowcompletely in your clutches?”

“By a mere accident, and very simply,”replied the justice. “It was upon oneof our most crowded fair days—­half the countywas in town, when the information arrived that theWalshes were murdered the night before, at the cross-roadsabove Telenamuck mills. The news reached me asI was signing some tithe warrants, one of which wasagainst Mickey. I sent for him into the office,knowing that as he was in the secret of all the evildoings, I might as well pretend to do him a service,and offer to stop the warrant, out of kindness asit were. Well, one way or another, he was keptwaiting 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 beforeme, while I was employed busily writing letters. It was just at this time, that a mounted policemanrode in with the account of the murder; upon whichI immediately issued a warrant to arrest the two MacNeillsand Owen Shirley upon suspicion. I thought Isaw Mike turn pale, as I said the names over to theserjeant of police, and I at once determined to turnit to account; so I immediately began talking to Mickeyabout 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, andyou need not have looked at their faces twice, toperceive 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 andhaggart, and he only escaped by a miracle over toCurryglass, where, once under my protection, with theimputation upon his character of having turned King’sevidence, I had little trouble in persuading him thathe might as well benefit by the report as enjoy thename without the gain. He soon complied, andthe convictions of this day are partly the result.”

When the applause which greeted this clever strokeof our host had subsided, I enquired what resultsmight, in all likelihood, follow the proceedings ofwhich I had that day been a witness?

“Nothing will be done immediately,” repliedthe justice, “because we have a large forceof police and military about us; but let either, orunhappily both, be withdrawn, and the cry you heardgiven in the market-place to-day will be the death-wailfor more than one of those who are well and heartyat this moment.”

The train of thought inevitably forced upon me byall I had been a spectator of during the day, butlittle disposed me to be a partaker in the mirth andconviviality which, as usual, formed the staple ofthe assize dinners of Mr. Larkins; and I accordinglytook an early opportunity to quit the company andretire for the night.

CHAPTER XX.

A DAY IN DUBLIN.

On the third day of my residence at Curryglass, arrivedmy friend, Mortimer, to replace me, bringing my leavefrom the colonel, and a most handsome letter, in whichhe again glanced at the prospect before me in theCallonby family, and hinted at my destination, whichI had not alluded to, adding, that if I made the pretenceof study in Germany the reason for my applicationat the Horse Guards, I should be almost certain toobtain a six months’ leave. With what spiritsI ordered Stubber to pack up my portmanteau, and secureour places in the Dublin mail for that night, whileI myself hurried to take leave of my kind entertainerand his guests, as well as to recommend to their favorand attention my excellent friend Mortimer, who, beinga jovial fellow, not at all in love, was a happy exchangefor me, who, despite Daly’s capital stories,had spent the last two days in watching the high roadfor my successor’s arrival.

Once more then, I bade adieu to Curryglass and itshospitable owner, whose labours for “justiceto Ireland” I shall long remember, and depositingmyself in the bowels of his majesty’s mail, gaveway 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 doorof the Hibernian, in Dawson-street.

Even at that early hour there was considerable bustleand activity of preparation, which I was at some lossto account for, till informed by the waiter that therewere upwards of three hundred strangers in the house,it being the day of his majesty’s expected arrivalon his visit to Ireland, and a very considerable sectionof the county Galway being at that moment, with theirwives and families, installed, for the occasion, inthis, their favourite hotel.

Although I had been reading of this approaching eventevery day for the last three months, I could not helpfeeling surprised at the intense appearance of excitementit occasioned, and, in the few minutes’ conversationI held with the waiter, learned the total impossibilityof procuring a lodging anywhere, and that I couldnot have a bed, even were I to offer five guineasfor it. Having, therefore, no inclination forsleep, even upon easier terms, I ordered my breakfastto be ready at ten, and set out upon a stroll throughthe town. I could not help, in my short ramblethrough the streets, perceiving how admirably adaptedwere the worthy Dublinites for all the honors thatawaited them; garlands of flowers, transparencies,flags, and the other insignia of rejoicing, were everywherein preparation, and, at the end of Sackville-street,a considerable erection, very much resembling an impromptugallows, was being built, for the purpose, as I afterwardslearnt, of giving the worshipful the lord mayor theopportunity of opening the city gates to royalty;creating the obstacle where none existed; being a veryingenious conceit, and considerably Irish into thebargain. I could not help feeling some desireto witness how all should go off, to use the theatricalphrase; but, in my anxiety to get on to the continent,I at once abandoned every thought of delay. WhenI returned to the coffee-room of my hotel, I foundit crowded to excess; every little table, originallydestined for the accommodation of one, having at leasttwo, and sometimes three occupants. In my hurriedglance round the room, to decide where I should placemyself, I was considerably struck with the appearanceof a stout elderly gentleman, with red whiskers, anda high, bald forehead; he had, although the day wasan oppressively hot one, three waistcoats on, andby the brown York tan of his long topped boots, evinceda very considerable contempt either for weather orfashion; in the quick glance of his sharp grey eye,I read that he listened half doubtingly to the narrativeof his companion, whose back was turned towards me,but who appeared, from the occasional words whichreached me, to be giving a rather marvellous and melodramaticversion of the expected pleasures of the capital. There was something in the tone of the speaker’svoice that I thought I recognised; I accordingly drewnear, and what was my surprise to discover my friendTom O’Flaherty. After our first salutationwas over, Tom presented me to his friend, Mr. Burke,of somewhere, who, he continued to inform me, in astage whisper, was a “regular dust,” andnever in Dublin in his life before.

“And so, you say, sir, that his majesty cannotenter without the permission of the lord mayor?”

“And the aldermen, too,” replied Tom. “It is an old feudal ceremony; when his majestycomes up to the gate, he demands admission, and thelord mayor refuses, because he would be thus surrenderinghis great prerogative of head of the city; then thealdermen get about him, and cajole him, and by degreeshe’s won over by the promise of being knighted,and the king gains the day, and enters.”

“Upon my conscience, a mighty ridiculous ceremonyit is, after all,” said Mr. Burke, “andvery like a bargain for sheep in Ballinasloe fair,when the buyer and seller appear to be going to fight,till a mutual friend settles the bargain between them.”

At this moment, Mr. Burke suddenly sprung from hischair, which was nearest the window, to look out;I accordingly followed his example, and beheld a ratherludicrous procession, if such it could be called,consisting of so few persons. The principal individualin the group was a florid, fat, happy-looking gentlemanof 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 evidentlybeen acquired by long habit of going in procession;this august figure was habited in a scarlet coat andco*cked hat, having aiguillettes, and all the otherappanage of a general officer; he also wore tight buckskinbreeches, and high jack-boots, like those of the Bluesand Horse Guards; as he looked from side to side,with a self-satisfied contented air, he appeared quiteinsensible of the cortege which followed and precededhim; the latter, consisting of some score of half-raggedboys, yelling and shouting with all their might, andthe former, being a kind of instalment in hand ofthe Dublin Militia Band, and who, in numbers and equipment,closely resembled the “army which accompaniesthe first appearance of Bombastes.” Theonly difference, that these I speak of did not play“the Rogue’s March,” which mighthave perhaps appeared personal.

As this goodly procession advanced, Mr. Burke’seyes became riveted upon it; it was the first wonderhe had yet beheld, and he devoured it. “MayI ask, sir,” said he, at length, “who thatis?”

“Who that is!” said Tom, surveying himleisurely as he spoke; “why, surely, sir, youmust 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 confirmationof what he said, and to which, of course, I assentedby a look.

“Well, but, my dear Mr. O’Flaherty, youforget how ignorant I am of every thing here—­”

“Ah, true,” said Tom, interrupting; “Iforgot you never saw him before.”

“And who is he, sir?”

“Why, that’s the Duke of Wellington.”

“Lord have mercy upon me, is it?” saidMr. Burke, as he upset the table, and all its breakfastequipage, and rushed through the coffee-room likeone possessed. Before I could half recover fromthe fit of laughing this event threw me into, I heardhim as he ran full speed down Dawson-street, wavinghis hat, and shouting out at the top of his lungs,“God bless your grace—­Long life toyour grace—­Hurra for the hero of Waterloo;the great captain of the age,” &c. &c.; whichI grieve to say, for the ingratitude of the individuallauded, seemed not to afford him half the pleasure,and none of the amusem*nt it did the mob, who reechoedthe shouts and cheering till he was hid within theprecincts of the Mansion House.

“And, now,” said Tom to me, “finishyour breakfast as fast as possible; for, when Burkecomes back he will be boring me to dine with him, orsome such thing, as a kind of acknowledgment of hisgratitude for showing him the Duke. Do you knowhe 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. Ihave 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 “goodhit” I was witness to a few nights since; youknow, perhaps, old Sir Charles Giesecke, eh?”

“I have seen him once, I think—­theprofessor of mineralogy.”

“Well, poor old Sir Charles, one of the mostmodest and retiring men in existence, was standingthe 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” thatcharacterizes every German of any age, he was lookingwith much interest, when my lady came tripping up,and the following short dialogue ensued within myear-shot:—­”

“Ah, mon cher, Sir Charles, ravi de vous voir. But why are you not dancing?”

“Ah, mi ladi, Je ne puis pas, c’est adire, Ich kann es nicht; I am too old; Ich bin—­”

“Oh, you horrid man; I understand you perfectly. You hate ladies, that is the real reason. Youdo—­you know you do.”

“Ah, my ladi, Gnaedige frau; glauben sie mir;I do loave de ladies; I do adore de sex. Doyou know, my ladi, when I was in Greenland I did keepfour womans.”

“Oh, shocking, horrid, vile Sir Charles, howcould you tell me such a story? I shall dieof it.”

“Ah, mine Gott, mi ladi; sie irren sich, vous,vous trompez. You are quite in mistake; it wasonly to row my boat!”

“I leave you to guess how my lady’s tastefor the broad-side of the story, and poor Sir Charles’svindication of himself, in regard to his estimationof ‘le beau sexe,’ amused all who heardit; as for me, I had to leave the room, half-chokedwith suppressed laughter. And, now, let us bolt,for I see Burke coming, and, upon my soul I am tiredof telling him lies, and must rest on my oars fora few hours at least.”

“But where is the necessity for so doing?”said I, “surely, where there is so much of noveltyas a large city presents to a visitor for the firsttime, there is little occasion to draw upon imaginationfor your facts.”

“Ah, my dear Harry, how little do you know oflife; there is a kind of man whose appetite for themarvellous is such, that he must be crammed with miraclesor he dies of inanition, and you might as well attemptto feed a tiger upon pate de foie gras, as satisfyhim by mere naked unvarnished truth. I’lljust give you an easy illustration; you saw his delightthis morning when the ‘Duke’ rode past;well I’ll tell you the converse of that propositionnow. The night before last, having nothing betterto do, we went to the theatre; the piece was ‘LaPerouse,’ which they have been playing herefor the last two months to crowded houses, to exhibitsome North American Indians whom some theatrical speculatorbrought over ‘expres’, in all the horrorsof fur, wampum, and yellow ochre. Finding the‘spectacle’ rather uninteresting I leanedback in my box, and fell into a doze. Meanwhile,my inquiring friend, Mr. Burke, who felt naturallyanxious, 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 ofthe Indians, who certainly astonished him considerably.

“Now it so happened that about a fortnight previouslysome violent passion to return home to their own countryhad seized these interesting individuals, and theyfelt the most irresistible longing to abandon thesavage and unnatural condiments of roast beef and Guinness’sporter, and resume their ancient and more civilizedhabits of life. In fact, like the old Africanlady, mentioned by the missionary at the Cape, theyfelt they could die happy if they ’could onlyonce more have a roast child for supper,’ andas such luxuries are dear in this country, stay anotherweek they would not, whatever the consequences mightbe; the manager reasoned, begged, implored and threatened,by turns; all would not do, go they were determined,and all that the unfortunate proprietor could accomplishwas, to make a purchase of their properties in fur,belts, bows, arrows, and feathers, and get them awayquietly, without the public being the wiser.The piece was too profitable a one to abandon, so helooked about anxiously, to supply the deficiency inhis corps dramatique. For several days nothingpresented itself to his thoughts, and the public werebecoming more clamorous for the repetition of a dramawhich had greatly delighted them. What was tobe done? In a mood of doubt and uncertaintythe wretched manager was taking his accustomed walkupon the light-house pier, while a number of unfortunatecountry fellows, bare legged and lanky, with hay ropesfastening their old grey coats around them, were standingbeside 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 wereall speaking Irish, attracted the attention of themanager; the effect, to his professional eye was good,the thought struck him at once. Here were thevery fellows he wanted. It was scarcely necessaryto alter any thing about them, they were ready madeto his hand, and in many respects better savages thantheir prototypes. Through the mediation of somewhiskey, the appropriate liquor in all treaties ofthis nature, a bargain was readily struck, and intwo hours more, ‘these forty thieves’were rehearsing upon the classic boards of our theatre,and once more, La Perouse, in all the glory of redcapital letters, shone forth in the morning advertisem*nts. The run of the piece continued unabated; the Indianswere the rage; nothing else was thought or spoken ofin Dublin, and already the benefit of AshewaballaghHo was announced, who, by the by, was a little fellowfrom Martin’s estate in Connemara, and one ofthe drollest dogs I ever heard of. Well, itso happened that it was upon one of their nights ofperforming that I found myself, with Mr. Burke, aspectator of their proceedings; I had fallen into aneasy slumber, while a dreadful row in the box lobbyroused me from my dream, and the loud cry of ‘turnhim out,’ ‘pitch him over,’ ‘beathis brains out,’ and other humane proposalsof 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 considerablecrowd, beheld my friend, Mr. Burke, belaboring thebox-keeper with all his might with a cotton umbrellaof rather unpleasant proportions, accompanying eachblow with an exclamation of ’well, are theyConnaughtmen, now, you rascal, eh? are they all westof Athlone, tell me that, no? I wonder what’spreventing me beating the soul out of ye.’ After obtaining a short cessation of hostilities,and restoring poor Sharkey to his legs, much more deadthan alive from pure fright, I learned, at last, theteterrima causa belli. Mr. Burke, it seems, hadentered into conversation with Sharkey, the box-keeper,as to all the particulars of the theatre, and the presentpiece, but especially as to the real and authentichistory of the Indians, whose language he remarked,in many respects to resemble Irish. Poor Sharkey,whose benefit-night was approaching, thought he mightsecure a friend for life, by imparting to him an importantstate secret; and when, therefore, pressed ratherclosely as to the ‘savages’ whereabout’resolved to try a bold stroke, and trust his unknowninterrogator. ’And so you don’t reallyknow where they come from, nor can’t guess?’‘Maybe, Peru,’ said Mr. Burke, innocently. ’Try again, sir,’ said Sharkey, witha knowing grin. ‘Is it Behring’sStraits?’ said Mr. Burke. ‘Whatdo you think of Galway, sir?’ said Sharkey, witha leer intended to cement a friendship for life; thewords were no sooner out of his lips, than Burke,who immediately took them as a piece of direct insolenceto himself and his country, felled him to the earth,and was in the act of continuing the discipline whenI arrived on the field of battle.”

CHAPTER XXI.

A NIGHT AT HOWTH.

“And must you really leave us so soon,”said Tom as we issued forth into the street; “whyI was just planning a whole week’s adventurefor you. Town is so full of all kinds of idlepeople, I think I could manage to make your time passpleasantly enough.”

“Of that,” I replied, “I have littledoubt; but for the reasons I have just mentioned,it is absolutely necessary that I should not lose amoment; and after arranging a few things here, I shallstart to-morrow by the earliest packet, and hastenup to London at once.”

“By Jupiter,” said Tom, “how lucky. I just remember something, which comes admirablyapropos. You are going to Paris—­isit not so?”

“Yes, direct to Paris.”

“Nothing could be better. There is a particularlynice person, a great friend of mine, Mrs. Bingham,waiting for several days in hopes of a chaperon totake care of herself and daughter—­a lovelygirl, only nineteen, you wretch—­to London,en route to the continent: the mamma a delightfulwoman, and a widow, with a very satisfactory jointure—­youunderstand—­but the daughter, a regular downrightbeauty, and a ward in chancery, with how many thousandpounds I am afraid to trust myself to say. Youmust know then they are the Binghams of—­,upon my soul, I forget where; but highly respectable.”

“I regret I have not the pleasure of their acquaintance,and the more because I shall not be able to make itnow.”

“As why?” said Tom gravely.

“Because, in the first place, I am so confoundedlypressed for time that I could not possibly delay underany contingency that might arise; and your fair friendsare, doubtless, not so eagerly determined upon travellingnight and day till they reach Paris. Secondly,to speak candidly, with my present hopes and fearsweighing upon my mind, I should not be the most agreeabletravelling companion to two ladies with such pretensionsas you speak of; and thirdly,—­”

“Confound your thirdly. I suppose we shallhave sixteenthly, like a Presbyterian minister’ssermon, if I let you go on. Why, they’llnot delay you one hour. Mrs. Bingham, man, caresas little for the road as yourself; and as for yourpetit* soins, I suppose if you get the fair ladiesthrough the Custom-House, and see them safe in a Londonhotel, it is all will be required at your hands.”

“Notwithstanding all you say, I see the downrightimpossibility of my taking such a charge at this moment,when my own affairs require all the little attentionI can bestow; and when, were I once involved with yourfair friends, it might be completely out of my powerto prosecute my own plans.”

As I said this, we reached the door of a handsomelooking house in Kildare-street; upon which Tom leftmy arm, and informing me that he desired to drop acard, knocked loudly.

“Is Mrs. Bingham at home,” said he, asthe servant opened the door.

“No sir, she’s out in the carriage.”

“Well, you see Harry, your ill luck befriendsyou; for I was resolved on presenting you to my friendsand leaving the rest to its merits.”

“I can safely assure you that I should not havegone up stairs,” said I. “Littleas I know of myself, there is one point of my characterI have never been deceived in, the fatal facilityby which every new incident or adventure can turnme from following up my best matured and longest digestedplans; and as I feel this weakness and cannot correctit; the next best thing I can do is fly the causes.”

“Upon my soul,” said Tom, “you havebecome quite a philosopher since we met. Thereis an old adage which says, ’no king is everthoroughly gracious if he has not passed a year ortwo in dethronement;’ so I believe your regularlady-killer—­yourself for instance—­becomesa very quiet animal for being occasionally jilted. But now, as you have some commissions to do, prayget done with them as fast as possible, and let usmeet at dinner. Where do you dine to-day?”

“Why, upon that point, I am at your servicecompletely.”

“Well, then, I have got a plan which I thinkwill suit you. You said you wished to go byHolyhead, for fear of delay; so, we’ll drivedown at six o’clock to Skinner’s and dinewith him on board the packet at Howth. Bringyour luggage with you, and it will save you a vastdeal of fuss and trouble in the morning.”

Nothing could be better management for me than this,so I accordingly promised acquiescence; and havingappointed a rendezvous for six o’clock, badeO’Flaherty good by, inwardly rejoicing that myplans were so far forwarded, and that I was not tobe embarrassed with either Mrs. Bingham or her daughter,for whose acquaintance or society I had no peculiarambition.

My commissions, though not very numerous, occupiedthe few hours which remained, and it was already afew minutes past six o’clock when I took mystand under the piazza of the Post Office to wait forO’Flaherty. I had not long to do so, forimmediately after I had reached the spot, he arrivedin an open barouche and four posters, with three otheryoung men, to whom he severally introduced me, butwhose names I have totally forgotten; I only rememberthat two of the party were military men then quarteredin town.

When I had taken my seat, I could not help whisperingto 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 aswell to dine at the hotel.

“Oh,” said he, “I have arrangedall that; I have sent him a special messenger twohours since, and so make your mind easy—­weshall not be disappointed, nor be short-taken.”

Our drive, although a long one, passed quickly over,and before we had reached our destination, I had becometolerably intimate with all the party, who were evidentlypicked men, selected by O’Flaherty for a pleasantevening.

We drove along the pier to the wharf, where the steamerlay, and were received at once by Tom’s friendwith all the warm welcome and hospitality of a sailor,united with the address and polish of a very finishedgentleman. As we descended the companion-ladderto the cabin, my mind became speedily divested ofany fears I might have indulged in, as to the wantof preparation of our entertainer. The tablewas covered with all the appanage of handsome plateand cut glass, while the side-tables glittered witha magnificent dessert, and two large wine-coolerspresented an array of champagne necks shining withtheir leaden cravats that would have tempted an anchorite.

I remember very little else of that evening than thecoup d’oeil I have mentioned; besides, weremy memory more retentive, I might scruple to trespassfarther on my reader’s patience, by the detailof those pleasures, which, like love-letters, howeveragreeable to the parties immediately concerned, arevery unedifying to all others. I do remember,certainly, that good stories and capital songs succeededeach other with a rapidity only to be equalled bythe popping of corks; and have also a very vague andindistinct recollection of a dance round the table,evidently to finish a chorus, but which, it appears,finished me too, for I saw no more that night.

How many men have commemorated the waking sensationsof their fellow-men, after a night’s debauch;yet at the same time, I am not aware of any one havingperfectly conveyed even a passing likeness to the mingledthrong of sensations which crowd one’s brainon such an occasion. The doubt of what has passed,by degrees yielding to the half-consciousness of thetruth, the feeling of shame, inseparable except tothe habitually hard-goer, for the events thus dimlypictured, 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 storyor an incident which provokes us again to laugh despitethe jarring of our brain from the shaking. Allthis and more most men have felt, and happy are theywhen their waking thoughts are limited to such, atsuch times as these—­the matter becomesconsiderably worse, when the following morning callsfor some considerable exertion, for which even inyour best and calmest moments, you only find yourselfequal.

It is truly unpleasant, on rubbing your eyes and openingyour ears, to discover that the great bell is ringingthe half-hour before your quarterly examination atcollege, while Locke, Lloyd, and Lucian are dancinga reel through your brain, little short of madness;scarcely less agreeable is it, to learn that yourfriend Captain Wildfire is at the door in his cab,to accompany you to the Phoenix, to stand within twelvepaces of a cool gentleman who has been sitting withhis arm in Eau de Cologne for the last half-hour,that he may pick you out “artist-like.”There are, besides these, innumerable situations inwhich our preparations of the night would appear,as none of the wisest; but I prefer going at onceto my own, which, although considerably inferior indifficulty, was not without its own “desagremens.”

When I awoke, therefore, on board the “Fire-fly,”the morning after our dinner-party, I was perfectlyunable, by any mental process within my reach, todiscover where I was. On ship-board I felt Imust be—­the narrow berth—­thegilded and panelled cabin which met my eye, throughmy half-open curtains, and that peculiar swellingmotion inseparable from a vessel in the water, allsatisfied me of this fact. I looked about me,but could see no one to give me the least idea of myposition. Could it be that we were on our wayout to Corfu, and that I had been ill for some timepast?

But this cabin had little resemblance to a transport;perhaps it might be a frigate—­I knew not. Then again, were we sailing, or at anchor, for theship was nearly motionless; at this instant a tremendousnoise like thunder crashed through my head, and fora moment I expected we had exploded, and would beall blown up; but an instant after I discovered itmust be the escape of the steam, and that I was onboard a packet ship. Here, then, was some clueto my situation, and one which would probably haveelicited all in due season; but just at this momenta voice on deck saved me from any further calculations. Two persons were conversing whose voices were notaltogether unknown to me, but why I knew not.

“Then, Captain, I suppose you consider thisas an excellent passage.”

“Yes, of course I do,” replied the captain,“it’s only five hours since we left Howth,and now you see we are nearly in; if we have this runof the tide we shall reach the Head before twelveo’clock.”

“Ha! ha!” said I to myself, “nowI begin to learn something. So we have crossedthe channel while I was sleeping—­not theleast agreeable thing for a man to hear who suffersmartyrdom from sea sickness—­but let melisten again.”

“And that large mountain there—­isthat Snowdon?”

“No. You cannot see Snowdon; there istoo much mist about it; that mountain is Capel Carrig;and there that bold bluff to the eastward, that isPenmen Mawr.”

“Come, there is no time to be lost,” thoughtI; so springing out of my berth, accoutred as I was,in merely trowsers and slippers, with a red handkerchieffastened night-cap fashion round my head, I took myway through the cabin.

My first thought on getting upon my legs was how tremendouslythe vessel pitched, which I had not remarked whilein my berth, but now I could scarce keep myself fromfalling at every step. I was just about to callthe steward, when I again heard the voices on deck.

“You have but few passengers this trip.”

“I think only yourself and a Captain Lorrequer,”replied the captain, “who, by-the-by, is losingall this fine coast, which is certainly a great pity.”

“He shall not do so much longer,” thoughtI; “for as I find that there are no other passengers,I’ll make my toilet on deck, and enjoy the viewbesides.” With this determination I ascendedslowly and cautiously the companion ladder, and steppedout upon the deck; but scarcely had I done so, whena roar of the loudest laughter made me turn my headtowards 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 elicitedat my expense.

All the party of the preceding night were also there,and as I turned from their grinning faces to the land,I saw, to my shame and confusion, that we were stilllying beside the pier at Howth; while the band-boxes,trunks, and imperials of new arrivals were incessantlypouring in, as travelling carriages kept driving upto the place of embarkation. I stood perfectlyastounded and bewildered—­shame for my ridiculouscostume would have made me fly at any other time—­butthere I remained to be laughed at patiently, whilethat villain O’Flaherty leading me passivelyforward, introduced me to his friends—­“Mrs.Bingham, Mr. Lorrequer; Mr. Lorrequer, Miss Bingham. Don’t be prepossessed against him, ladies, forwhen not in love, and properly dressed, he is a marvellouslywell-looking young gentleman; and as—­”

What the remainder of the sentence might be, I knewnot, for I rushed down into the cabin, and lockingthe door, never opened it till I could perceive fromthe stern windows that we were really off on our wayto England, and recognized once more the laughingface of O’Flaherty, who, as he waved his hatto his friends from the pier, reminded them that “theywere under the care and protection of his friend Lorrequer,who, he trusted, would condescend to increase hiswearing apparel under the circ*mstances.”

CHAPTER XXII.

THE JOURNEY.

When I did at last venture upon deck, it was witha costume studiously accurate, and as much of manneras I could possibly muster, to endeavour at once toerase the unfortunate impression of my first appearance;this, however, was not destined to be a perfectlysuccessful manoeuvre, and I was obliged after a fewminutes to join the laugh, which I found could notbe repressed, at my expense. One good resultcertainly followed from all this. I became almostimmediately on intimate terms with Mrs. Bingham andher daughter, and much of the awkwardness in my positionas their chaperon, which bon gre, mal gre I was destinedto be, was at once got over. Mrs. Bingham herselfwas of that “genre” of widow which comesunder the “fat, fair, and forty” category,with a never-ceasing flow of high, almost boisterous,spirits—­an excellent temper, good health—­and a well-stocked purse. Life toher was like a game of her favourite “speculation.” When, as she believed, the “company honest,”and knew her cards trumps, she was tolerably easyfor the result. She liked Kingstown—­sheliked short whist—­she liked the military—­sheliked “the junior bar,” of which she knewa good number—­she had a well furnishedhouse in Kildare-street—­and a well cushionedpew in St. Anne’s—­she was a favouriteat the castle—­and Dr. Labatt “knewher constitution.” Why, with all theseadvantages, she should ever have thought of leavingthe “happy valley” of her native city,it was somewhat hard to guess. Was it that thoughtsof matrimony, which the continent held out more prospectfor, had invaded the fair widow’s heart? wasit that the altered condition to which politics hadgreatly reduced Dublin, had effected this change ofopinion? or was it like that indescribable longingfor the unknown something, which we read of in thepathetic history of the fair lady celebrated, I believe,by Petrarch, but I quote from memory:

“Mrs. Gillis very ill,
Nothing can improve her,
But to see the Tuillerie,
And waddle through the Louvre.”

None of these, I believe, however good and valid reasonsin themselves, were the moving powers upon the presentoccasion; the all-sufficient one being that Mrs. Binghamhad a daughter. Now Miss Bingham was Dublin too—­but Dublin of a later edition—­anda finer, more hot-pressed copy than her mamma. She had been educated at Mrs. Somebody’s seminaryin Mountjoy-square—­had been taught to danceby Montague—­and had learned French froma Swiss governess—­with a number of similaradvantages —­a very pretty figure—­darkeyes—­long eye-lashes and a dimple—­andlast, but of course least, the deserved reputationof a large fortune. She had made a most successfuldebut in the Dublin world, where she was much admiredand flattered, and which soon suggested to her quickmind, as it has often done in similar cases to a youngprovincial debutante, not to waste her “fraicheur”upon the minor theatres, but at once to appear uponthe “great boards;” so far evidencing ahigher flight of imagination and enterprise than isusually found among the clique of her early associates,who may be characterized as that school of young ladies,who like the “Corsair” and Dunleary, andsay, “ah don’t!”

She possessed much more common sense than her mamma,and promised under proper advantages to become speedilyquite sufficiently acquainted with the world and itshabitudes. In the meanwhile, I perceived thatshe ran a very considerable risque of being carriedoff by some mustachoed Pole, with a name like a sneeze,who might pretend to enjoy the entree into the fashionablecircles of the continent.

Very little study of my two fair friends enabled meto 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 methodisticalappreciation of what the “connexion” call“creature comforts,” amused me much, andopened one ready path to her good graces by the opportunityafforded of getting up a luncheon of veal cutlets andLondon porter, of which I partook, not a little tothe evident loss of the fair daughter’s esteem.

While, therefore, I made the tour of the steward’scell in search of Harvey’s sauce, I brushedup my memory of the Corsair and Childe Harold, andalternately discussed Stilton and Southey, Lover andlobsters, Haynes Bayley and ham.

The day happened to be particularly calm and delightful,so that we never left the deck; and the six hourswhich brought us from land to land, quickly passedover in this manner; and ere we reached “theHead,” I had become the warm friend and legaladviser of the mother; and with the daughter I wasinstalled as chief confidant of all her griefs andsorrows, both of which appointments cost me a solemnpromise to take care of them till their arrival inParis, where they had many friends and acquaintances

awaiting them. Here, then, as usual, was theinvincible facility with which I gave myself up toany one who took the trouble to influence me. One thing, nevertheless, I was determined on, to letno circ*mstance defer my arrival at Paris a day laterthan was possible: therefore, though my officeas chaperon might diminish my comforts en route, itshould not interfere with the object before me. Had my mind not been so completely engaged with myown immediate prospects, when hope suddenly and unexpectedlyrevived, had become so tinged with fears and doubtsas to be almost torture, I must have been much amusedwith my present position, as I found myself seatedwith my two fair friends, rolling along through Walesin their comfortable travelling carriage —­givingall the orders at the different hotels—­seeingafter the luggage—­and acting en maitrein every respect.

The good widow enjoyed particularly the difficultywhich my precise position, with regard to her andher daughter, threw the different innkeepers on theroad into, sometimes supposing me to be her husband,sometimes her son, and once her son-in-law; which veryalarming conjecture brought a crimson tinge to thefair daughter’s cheek, an expression, which,in my ignorance, I thought looked very like an inclinationto faint in my arms.

At length we reached London, and having been theresafely installed at “Mivart’s,”I sallied forth to present my letter to the Horse Guards,and obtain our passport for the continent.

“Number nine, Poland-street, sir” saidthe waiter, as I inquired the address of the FrenchConsul. Having discovered that my interview withthe commander-in-chief was appointed for four o’clock,I determined to lose no time, but make every possiblearrangement for leaving London in the morning.

A cab quietly conveyed me to the door of the Consul,around which stood several other vehicles, of everyshape and fashion, while in the doorway were to beseen numbers of people, thronging and pressing, likethe Opera pit on a full night. Into the midstof this assemblage I soon thrust myself, and, borneupon the current, at length reached a small back parlour,filled also with people; a door opening into anothersmall room in the front, showed a similar mob there,with the addition of a small elderly man, in a bagwig and spectacles, very much begrimed with snuff,and speaking in a very choleric tone to the variousapplicants for passports, who, totally ignorant ofFrench, insisted upon interlarding their demands withan occasional stray phrase, making a kind of tesselatedpavement of tongues, which would have shamed Babel. Nearest to the table at which the functionary sat,stood a mustachoed gentleman, in a blue frock andwhite trowsers, a white hat jauntily set upon oneside of his head, and primrose gloves. He casta momentary glance of a very undervaluing import uponthe crowd around him, and then, turning to the Consul,said in a very soprano tone—­

“Passport, monsieur!”

“Que voulez vous que je fasse,” repliedthe old Frenchman, gruffly.

“Je suis j’ai—­that is, donnezmoi passport.”

“Where do you go?” replied the Consul.

“Calai.”

“Comment diable, speak Inglis, an I understan’you as besser. Your name?”

“Lorraine Snaggs, gentilhomme.”

“What age have you?—­how old?”

“Twenty-two.”

“C’est ca,” said the old consul,flinging the passport across the table, with the airof a man who thoroughly comprehended the applicant’spretension to the designation of gentilhomme Anglais.

“Will you be seated ma’mselle?”said the polite old Frenchman, who had hitherto beenmore like a bear than a human being—­“Ouallez vous donc; where to, ma chere?”

“To Paris, sir.”

“By Calais?”

“No, sir; by Boulogne”—­

“C’est bon; quel age avez vous. What old, ma belle?”

“Nineteen, sir, in June.”

“And are you alone, quite, eh?”

“No, sir, my little girl.”

“Ah! your leetel girl—­c’estfort bien—­je m’appercois; and yourname?”

“Fanny Linwood, sir.”

“C’est fini, ma chere, Mademoiselle FanniLinwood,” said the old man, as he wrote downthe name.

“Oh, sir, I beg your pardon, but you have putme down Mademoiselle, and —­and—­yousee, sir, I have my little girl.”

“A c’est egal, mam’selle, they don’tmind these things in France—­au plaisirde vous voir. Adieu.”

“They don’t mind these things in France,”said I to myself, repeating the old consul’sphrase, which I could not help feeling as a whole chapteron his nation.

My business was soon settled, for I spoke nothingbut English—­very little knowledge of theworld teaching me that when we have any favour, howeverslight, to ask, it is always good policy to make theamende by gratifying the amour propre of the granter—­if,happily, there be an opportunity for so doing.

When I returned to Mivart’s, I found a writtenanswer to my letter of the morning, stating that hislordship of the Horse Guards was leaving town thatafternoon, but would not delay my departure for thecontinent, to visit which a four month’s leavewas granted me, with a recommendation to study atWeimar.

The next day brought us to Dover, in time to strollabout the cliffs during the evening, when I againtalked sentiment with the daughter till very late. The Madame herself was too tired to come out, so thatwe had our walk quite alone. It is strange enoughhow quickly this travelling together has shaken usinto intimacy. Isabella says she feels as ifI were her brother; and I begin to think myself sheis not exactly like a sister. She has a marvellouslypretty foot and ancle.

The climbing of cliffs is a very dangerous pastime. How true the French adage—­“C’estplus facile de glisser sur la gazon que sur la glace.” But still nothing can come of it; for if Lady Janebe not false, I must consider myself an engaged man.

“Well, but I hope,” said I, rousing myselffrom a reverie of some minutes, and inadvertentlypressing the arm which leaned upon me—­“yourmamma will not be alarmed at our long absence?”

“Oh! not in the least; for she knows I’mwith you.”

And here I felt a return of the pressure—­perhapsalso inadvertently given, but which, whether or not,effectually set all my reasonings and calculationsastray; and we returned to the hotel, silent on bothsides.

The appearance of la chere mamma beside the hissingtea-urn brought us both back to ourselves; and, afteran hour’s chatting, we wished good night, tostart on the morrow for the continent.

CHAPTER XXIII.

CALAIS.

It was upon a lovely evening in autumn, as the Doversteam-boat rounded the wooden pier at Calais, amida fleet of small boats filled with eager and anxiousfaces, soliciting, in every species of bad Englishand “patois” [vulgar] French, the attentionand patronage of the passengers.

“Hotel de Bain, mi lor’.”

“Hotel d’Angleterre,” said another,in a voice of the most imposing superiority. “C’est superbe—­pretty well.”

“Hotel du Nord, votre Excellence—­remisede poste and ‘delays’ (quere relays) atall hours.”

“Commissionaire, mi ladi,” sung out asmall shrill treble from the midst of a crowded co*ck-boat,nearly swamped beneath our paddle-wheel.

What a scene of bustle, confusion, and excitementdoes the deck of a steamer present upon such an occasion. Every one is running hither or thither. “Sauvequi peut” is now the watch-word; and friendships,that promised a life-long endurance only half an hourago, find here a speedy dissolution. The ladywho slept all night upon deck, enveloped in the foldsof your Astracan cloak, scarcely deigns an acknowledgmentof you, as she adjusts her ringlets before the looking-glassover the stove in the cabin. The polite gentleman,that would have flown for a reticule or a smelling-bottleupon the high seas, won’t leave his luggage inthe harbour; and the gallantry and devotion that stoodthe test of half a gale of wind and a wet jacket,is not proof when the safety of a carpet-bag or thesecurity of a “Mackintosh” is concerned.

And thus here, as elsewhere, is prosperity the touchstoneof good feeling. All the various disguises whichhave been assumed, per viaggio, are here immediatelyabandoned, and, stripped of the travelling costumeof urbanity and courtesy, which they put on for thevoyage, they stand forth in all the unblushing frontof selfishness and self-interest.

Some tender scenes yet find their place amid the debrisof this chaotic state. Here may be seen a carefulmother adjusting innumerable shawls and handkerchiefsround the throat of a sea-green young lady with acough; her maid is at the same instant taking a tenderfarewell of the steward in the after-cabin.

Here is a very red-faced and hot individual, withpunch-coloured breeches and gaiters, disputing “onebrandy too much” in his bill, and vowing thatthe company shall hear of it when he returns to England. There, a tall, elderly woman, with a Scotch-greyeye, and a sharp cheek-bone, is depositing withinher muff various seizable articles, that, until now,had been lying quietly in her trunk. Yonder,that raw-looking young gentleman, with the crumpledfrock-coat, and loose cravat, and sea-sick visage,is asking every one “if they think he may landwithout a passport.” You scarcely recognisehim for the cigar-smoking dandy of yesterday, thattalked as if he had lived half his life on the continent.While there, a rather pretty girl is looking intentlyat some object in the blue water, beside the rudderpost. 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 evidentlywhispering something in her ear.

“Steward, this is not my trunk—­minewas a leather—­”

“All the ‘leathers’ are gone inthe first boat, sir.”

“Most scandalous way of doing business.”

“Trouble you for two-and-sixpence, sir.”

“There’s Matilda coughing again,”says a thin, shrewish woman, with a kind of triumphantscowl at her better half; “but you would haveher wear that thin shawl!”

“Whatever may be the fault of the shawl, I fancyno one will reproach her ancles for thinness,”murmurs a young Guard’s man, as he peeps up thecompanion-ladder.

Amid all the Babel of tongues, and uproar of voices,the thorough bass of the escape steam keeps up itsinfernal thunders, till the very brain reels, and,sick as you have been of the voyage, you half wishyourself once more at sea, if only to have a momentof peace and tranquillity.

Numbers now throng the deck who have never made theirappearance before. Pale, jaundiced, and crumpled,they have all the sea-sick look and haggard cheekof the real martyr—­all except one, a stout,swarthy, brown-visaged man, of about forty, with aframe of iron, and a voice like the fourth stringof a violincello. You wonder why he should havetaken to his bed: learn, then, that he is hisMajesty’s courier from the foreign office, goingwith despatches to Constantinople, and that as heis not destined to lie down in a bed for the next fourteendays, he is glad even of the narrow resemblance toone, he finds in the berth of a steam-boat. At length you are on shore, and marched off in a longstring, like a gang of convicts to the Bureau de l’octroi,and here is begun an examination of the luggage, whichpromises, from its minuteness, to last for the threemonths you destined to spend in Switzerland. At the end of an hour you discover that the soi disantcommissionaire will transact all this affair for afew francs; and, after a tiresome wait in a filthyroom, jostled, elbowed, and trampled upon, by boorswith sabots, you adjourn to your inn, and begin tofeel that you are not in England.

Our little party had but few of the miseries hererecounted to contend with. My “savoirfaire,” with all modesty be it spoken, has beenlong schooled in the art and practice of travelling;and while our less experienced fellow-travellers weredeep in the novel mysteries of cotton stockings andpetticoats, most ostentatiously displayed upon everytable of the Bureau, we were comfortably seated inthe handsome saloon of the Hotel du Nord, lookingout upon a pretty grass plot, surrounded with orangetrees, and displaying in the middle a jet d’eauabout the size of a walking stick.

“Now, Mr. Lorrequer,” said Mrs. Bingham,as she seated herself by the open window, “neverforget how totally dependent we are upon your kindoffices. Isabella has discovered already thatthe French of Mountjoy square, however intelligiblein that neighbourhood, and even as far as Mount-street,is Coptic and Sanscrit here; and as for myself, I intendto affect deaf and dumbness till I reach Paris, whereI hear every one can speak English a little.”

“Now, then, to begin my functions,” saidI, as I rung for the waiter, and ran over in my mindrapidly how many invaluable hints for my new positionmy present trip might afford me, “always provided”(as the lawyers say,) that Lady Jane Callonby mightfeel herself tempted to become my travelling companion,in which case—­But, confound it, how I amcastle-building again. Meanwhile, Mrs. Binghamis looking as hungry and famished as though she wouldeat the waiter. Ha! this is the “carte.”

“Allons faire petit souper.”

“Cotelettes d’Agneau.”

“Maionnaise d’homard.”

“Perdreaux rouges aux truffes—­markthat, aux truffes.”

“Gelee au maraschin.”

“And the wine, sir,” said the waiter,with a look of approval at my selection, “Champagne—­noother wine, sir?”

“No,” said I, “Champagne only. Frappe de glace, of course,” I added, and thewaiter departed with a bow that would have graced St.James’s.

As long as our immaterial and better part shall bedoomed 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 dependentupon the mere accessory circ*mstances by which thebusiness of life is carried on and maintained, andto despise which is neither good policy nor soundphilosophy. In this conclusion a somewhat longexperience of the life of a traveller has fully establishedme. And no where does it press more forciblyupon the mind than when first arrived in a continentalinn, after leaving the best hotels of England stillfresh in your memory. I do not for a momentdispute the very great superiority in comfort of thelatter, by which I would be understood to mean allthose resemblances to one’s own home which anEnglish hotel so eminently possesses, and every otherone so markedly wants; but I mean that in contrivancesto elevate the spirit, cheer the jaded and tired wayfarer

by objects which, however they may appeal to the meresenses, seem, at least, but little sensual, give mea 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 mouldingsbe gilded, because such is usually the case,)—­letthe sun and heat of a summer’s day come temperedthrough the deep lattices of a well-fitting “jalousie,”bearing upon them the rich incense of a fragrant orangetree in blossom—­and the sparkling dropsof a neighbouring fountain, the gentle plash of whichis faintly audible amid the hum of the drone-bee—­letsuch be the “agremens” without—­whilewithin, let the more substantial joys of the tableawait, in such guise as only a French cuisine canpresent them—­give me these, I say, and Ishall never sigh for the far-famed and long-deploredcomforts of a box in a coffee-room, like a pew ina parish church, though certainly not so well cushioned,and fully as dull, with a hot waiter and a cold beefsteak—­theonly thing higher than your game being your bill, andthe only thing less drinkable than your port beingthe porter.

With such exotic notions, figures vous, my dear reader,whether or not I felt happy as I found myself seatedbetween my two fair friends doing the honours of alittle supper, and assisting the exhilaration of ourchampagne by such efforts of wit as, under favourablecirc*mstances like these, are ever successful—­andwhich, being like the foaming liquid which washesthem down, to be swallowed without waiting, are everesteemed good, from the excitement that results, andnever seriously canvassed for any more sterling merit. Nothing ever makes a man so agreeable as the beliefthat he is so: and certainly my fair companionsappeared to have the most excellent idea of my powersin that respect; and I fancy, that I made more bonmots, hit off more epigrams, and invented more choiceincidents on that happy evening, than, if now remembered,would suffice to pay my tailor’s bill, when collatedfor Bentley’s Miscellany, and illustrated byCruikshank—­alas! that, like the good liquorthat seasoned them, both are gone by, and I am leftbut 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—­weformed a most agreeable party; and if a feeling ofgloom ever momentarily shot through my mind, it was,that evenings like these came so rarely in this work-a-dayworld—­that each such should be looked on,as our last.

If I had not already shown myself up to my readeras a garcon volage of the first water, perhaps I shouldnow hesitate about confessing that I half regrettedthe short space during which it should be my privilegeto act as the guide and mentor of my two friends. The impetuous haste which I before felt necessaryto exercise in reaching Paris immediately, was nottempered by prudent thoughts about travelling at night,

and reflections about sun-stroke by day; and evenmoments most devoted to the object of my heart’saspirations were fettered by the very philosophicidea, that it could never detract from the pleasureof the happiness that awaited me, if I travelled onthe primrose path to its attainment. I arguedthus: if Lady Jane be true—­if—­if,in a word, I am destined to have any success in theCallonby family, then will a day or two more not riskit. My present friends I shall, of course, takeleave of at Paris, where their own acquaintances awaitthem; and, on the other hand, should I be doomed oncemore to disappointment, I am equally certain I shouldfeel no disposition to form a new attachment. Thus did I reason, and thus I believed; and thoughI was a kind of consultation opinion among my friendsin “suits of love,” I was really then unawarethat at no time is a man so prone to fall in loveas immediately after his being jilted. If commonsense will teach us not to dance a bolero upon a sprainedancle, so might it also convey the equally importantlesson, not to expose our more vital and inflammatoryorgan to the fire the day after its being singed.

Reflections like these did not occur to me at thismoment; besides that I was “going the pace”with a forty-horse power of agreeability that leftme little time for thought—­least of all,if serious. So stood matters. I had justfilled our tall slender glasses with the creaming and“petillan” source of wit and inspiration,when the loud crack, crack, crack of a postillion’swhip, accompanied by the shaking trot of a heavy team,and the roll of wheels, announced a new arrival. “Here they come,” said I, “onlylook at them—­four horses and one postillion,all apparently straggling and straying after theirown fancy, but yet going surprisingly straight notwithstanding. See how they come through that narrow archway—­itmight puzzle the best four-in-hand in England to doit better.”

What a handsome young man, if he had not those odiousmoustaches. Why, Mr. Lorrequer, he knows you:see, he is bowing to you.”

“Me! Oh! no. Why, surely, it mustbe—­the devil—­it is Kilkee, LadyJane’s brother. I know his temper well. One five minutes’ observation of my presentintimacy with my fair friends, and adieu to all hopesfor me of calling Lord Callonby my father-in-law. There is not therefore, a moment to lose.”

As these thoughts revolved through my mind, the confusionI felt had covered my face with scarlet; and, witha species of blundering apology for abruptly leavingthem for a moment, I ran down stairs only in timesufficient to anticipate Kilkee’s questions asto the number of my apartments, to which he was desirousof proceeding at once. Our first greetings over,Kilkee questioned me as to my route—­adding,that his now was necessarily an undecided one, forif his family happened not to be at Paris, he shouldbe obliged to seek after them among the German watering-places. “In any case, Mr. Lorrequer,” said he,“we shall hunt them in couples. I mustinsist upon your coming along with me.”

“Oh! that,” said I, “you must notthink of. Your carriage is a coupe, and I cannotthink of crowding you.”

“Why, you don’t seriously want to affrontme, I hope, for I flatter myself that a more perfectcarriage for two people cannot be built. Hobsonmade it on a plan of my own, and I am excessively proudof it, I assure you. Come, that matter is decided—­nowfor supper. Are there many English here justnow?—­By-the-by, those new ‘natives’I think I saw you standing with on the balcony—­whoare they?”

“Oh! the ladies—­oh! Yes, peopleI came over with—­”

“One was pretty, I fancied. Have you supped? Just order something, will you—­meanwhile,I shall write a few lines before the post leaves.”—­Saying which, he dashed up stairs afterthe waiter, and left me to my meditations.

“This begins to be pleasant,” thoughtI, as the door closed, leaving me alone in the “salon.” In circ*mstances of such moment, I had never feltso nonplussed as now, how to decline Kilkee’sinvitation, without discovering my intimacy with theBinghams—­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, withmy head sunk and my hands behind my back—­“Isee but one thing left—­I must be takenill to-night, and not be able to leave my bed in themorning—­a fever—­a contagiousfever—­blue and red spots all over me —­andbe raving wildly before breakfast time; and if everany discovery takes place of my intimacy above stairs,I must only establish it as a premonitory symptomof 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-yardto look for a commissionaire to guide me in my search.Around on every side of me stood the various carriagesand voitures of the hotel and its inmates, to the fullas distinctive and peculiar in character as theirowners. “Ah! there is Kilkee’s,”said I, as my eye lighted upon the well-balanced andelegant little carriage which he had been only withjustice encomiumizing. “It is certainlyperfect, and yet I’d give a handful of louis-d’orsit was like that venerable cabriolet yonder, withthe one wheel and no shafts. But, alas! thesesprings give little hope of a break down, and thatconfounded axle will outlive the patentee. Butstill, can nothing be done?—­eh? Come,the thought is a good one—­I say, garcon,who greases the wheels of the carriage here?”

“C’est moi, monsieur,” said a greatoaf, in wooden shoes and a blouse.

“Well, then, do you understand these?”said I, touching the patent axle-boxes with my cane.

He shook his head.

“Then who does, here?”

“Ah! Michael understands them perfectly.”

“Then bring him here,” said I.

In a few minutes, a little shrewd old fellow, witha smith’s apron, made his appearance, and introducedhimself as M. Michael. I had not much difficultyin making him master of my plan, which was, to detachone of the wheels as if for the purpose of oilingthe axle, and afterwards render it incapable of beingreplaced—­at least for twenty-four hours.

“This is my idea,” said I; “nevertheless,do not be influenced by me. All I ask is, disablethe carriage from proceeding to-morrow, and here arethree louis-d’ors at your service.”

“Soyez bien tranquille, monsieur, mi lor’shall spend to-morrow in Calais, if I know any thingof my art”—­saying which he set outin search of his tools, while I returned to the salonwith my mind relieved, and fully prepared to pressthe urgency of my reaching Paris without any delay.

“Well, Mr. Lorrequer,” said Kilkee, asI entered, “here is supper waiting, and I amas hungry as a wolf.”

“Oh! I beg pardon—­I’vebeen getting every thing in readiness for our startto-morrow morning, for I have not told you how anxiousI am to get to Paris before the 8th—­somefamily business, which requires my looking after,compelling me to do so.”

“As to that, let your mind be at rest, for Ishall travel to-morrow night if you prefer it. Now for the Volnay. Why you are not drinkingyour wine. What do you say to our paying ourrespects to the fair ladies above stairs? Iam sure the petit* soins you have practised comingover would permit the liberty.”

“Oh! hang it, no. There’s neitherof them pretty, and I should rather avoid the riskof making a regular acquaintance with them” saidI.

“As you like, then—­only, as you’llnot take any wine, let us have a stroll through thetown.”

After a short stroll through the town, in which Kilkeetalked the entire time, but of what I know not, mythoughts being upon my own immediate concerns, wereturned to the hotel. As we entered the porte-couchere,my friend Michael passed me, and as he took off hishat in salutation, gave me one rapid glance of hisknowing eye that completely satisfied me that Hobson’spride in my friend’s carriage had by that timereceived quite sufficient provocation to throw himinto an apoplexy.

“By-the-by,” said I, “let us seeyour carriage. I am curious to look at it”—­(andso I was.)

“Well, then come along, this way; they haveplaced it under some of these sheds, which they thinkcoach-houses.”

I followed my friend through the court till we arrivednear the fatal spot; but before reaching, he had caughta glimpse of the mischief, and shouted out a mostawful imprecation upon the author of the deed whichmet his eye. The fore-wheel of the coupe hadbeen taken from the axle, and in the difficulty ofso doing, from the excellence of the workmanship,two of the spokes were broken—­the patentbox was a mass of rent metal, and the end of the axleturned downwards like a hoe.

I cannot convey any idea of poor Kilkee’s distraction;and, in reality, my own was little short of it; forthe wretch had so far out-stripped my orders, thatI became horrified at the cruel destruction beforeme. We both, therefore, stormed in the mostimposing English and French, first separately andthen together. We offered a reward for the apprehensionof the culprit, whom no one appeared to know, although,as it happened, every one in a large household wasaware of the transaction but the proprietor himself. We abused all—­innkeeper, waiters, ostlers,and chambermaids, collectively and individually—­condemnedCalais as a den of iniquity, and branded all Frenchmenas rogues and vagabonds. This seemed to alleviateconsiderably my friend’s grief, and excite mythirst —­fortunately, perhaps for us; forif our eloquence had held out much longer, I am afraidour auditory might have lost their patience; and,indeed, I am quite certain if our French had not beenin nearly as disjointed a condition as the spokesof the caleche, such must have been the case.

“Well, Mr. Lorrequer, I suppose, then, we arenot destined to be fellow-travellers—­forif you must go to-morrow—­”

“Alas! It is imperative,” said I.

“Then in any case, let us arrange where we shallmeet, for I hope to be in Paris the day after you.”

“I’ll stop at Meurice.”

“Meurice, be it,” said he, “so nowgood night, till we meet in Paris.”

THE CONFESSIONS OF HARRY LORREQUER, Vol. 4

[By Charles James Lever (1806-1872)]

Dublin

MDCCCXXXIX.

Volume 4. (Chapter XXIV-XXVIII)

Contents:

Chapter XXIV
The Gen d’Arme

Chapter XXV
The Inn at Chantraine

Chapter XXVI
Mr O’Leary

Chapter XXVII
Paris

Chapter XXVIII
Paris

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE GEN D’ARME.

I had fortunately sufficient influence upon my fairfriends to persuade them to leave Calais early onthe morning following; and two hours before Kilkeehad opened his eyes upon this mortal life, we werefar upon the road to Paris.

Having thus far perfectly succeeded in my plot, myspirit rose rapidly, and I made every exertion tomake the road appear short to my fellow-travellers. This part of France is unfortunately deficient inany interest from scenery; large undivided tractsof waving cornfields, with a back-ground of apparentlyinterminable forests, and occasionally, but rarely,the glimpse of some old time-worn chateau, with itspointed gable and terraced walk, are nearly all thatthe eye can detect in the intervals between the smalltowns and villages. Nothing, however, is “flator unprofitable” to those who desire to makeit otherwise; good health, good spirits, and fineweather, are wonderful travelling companions, andrender one tolerably independent of the charms ofscenery. Every mile that separated me from Calais,and took away the chance of being overtaken, addedto my gaiety, and I flatter myself that a happierparty have rarely travelled that well frequented road.

We reached Abbeville to dinner, and adjourned to thebeautiful little garden of the inn for our coffee;the evening was so delightful that I proposed to walkon the Paris road, until the coming up of the carriage,which required a screw, or a washer, or some such trifleas always occurs in French posting. To thisla chere mamma objected, she being tired, but added,that Isabella and I might go on, and that she wouldtake us up in half an hour. This was an arrangementso very agreeable and unlooked for by me, that I pressedMiss Bingham as far as I well could, and at last succeededin overcoming her scruples, and permitting me to shawlher. One has always a tremendous power of argumentwith the uninitiated abroad, by a reference to a standardof manners and habits totally different from our own. Thus the talismanic words—­“Oh! don’tbe shocked; remember you are in France,” didmore to satisfy my young friend’s mind thanall I could have said for an hour. Little didshe know that in England only, has an unmarried younglady any liberty, and that the standard of foreignpropriety on this head is far, very far more rigidthan our own.

“La premiere Rue a gauche,” said an oldman of whom I inquired the road; “et puis,”added I.

“And then quite straight; it is a chaussee allthe way, and you cannot mistake it.”

“Now for it, mademoiselle,” said I. “Let us try if we cannot see a good deal ofthe country before the carriage comes up.”

We had soon left the town behind and reached a beautifullyshaded high road, with blossoming fruit trees, andhoneysuckle-covered cottages; there had been severallight showers during the day, and the air had allthe fresh fragrant feeling of an autumn evening, sotranquillizing and calming that few there are whohave not felt at some time or other of their lives,its influence upon their minds. I fancied myfair companion did so, for, as she walked beside me,her silence, and the gentle pressure of her arm, werefar more eloquent than words.

If that extraordinary flutter and flurry of sensationswhich will now and then seize you, when walking upona lonely country road with a pretty girl for yourcompanion, whose arm is linked in yours, and whosethoughts, as far you can guess at least, are travellingthe same path with your own—­if this beanimal magnetism, or one of its phenomena, then doI swear by Mesmer, whatever it be, delusion or otherwise,it has given me the brightest moments of my life—­theseare the real “winged dreams” of pleasureswhich outlive others of more absorbing and actual interestat the time. After all, for how many of our happiestfeelings are we indebted to the weakness of our nature. The man that is wise at nineteen, “Je l’enfais mon compliment,” but I assuredly do notenvy him; and now, even now, when I number more yearsthan I should like to “confess,” ratherthan suffer the suspicious watchfulness of age to creepon me, I prefer to “go on believing,” even

though every hour of the day should show me, dupedand deceived. While I plead guilty to this impeachment,let me show mitigation, that it has its enjoyments—­first,although I am the most constant and devoted man breathing,as a very cursory glance at these confessions mayprove, yet I have never been able to restrain myselffrom a propensity to make love, merely as a pastime.The gambler that sits down to play cards, or hazardagainst himself, may perhaps be the only person thatcan comprehend this tendency of mine. We bothof us are playing for nothing (or love, which I supposeis synonymous;) we neither of us put forth our strength;for that very reason, and in fact like the waiterat Vauxhall who was complimented upon the dexteritywith which he poured out the lemonade, and confessedthat he spent his mornings “practising withvater,” we pass a considerable portion of ourlives in a mimic warfare, which, if it seem unprofitable,is, nevertheless, pleasant.

After all this long tirade, need I say how our walkproceeded? We had fallen into a kind of discussionupon the singular intimacy which had so rapidly grownup amongst us, and which years long might have failedto engender. Our attempts to analyse the reasonsfor, and the nature of the friendship thus so suddenlyestablished—­a rather dangerous and difficulttopic, when the parties are both young—­oneeminently handsome, and the other disposed to be mostagreeable. Oh, my dear young friends of eithersex, whatever your feelings be for one another, keepthem to yourselves; I know of nothing half so hazardousas that “comparing of notes” which sometimeshappens. Analysis is a beautiful thing in mathematicsor chemistry, but it makes sad havoc when appliedto the “functions of the heart.”

“Mamma appears to have forgotten us,”said Isabella, as she spoke, after walking for sometime in silence beside me.

“Oh, depend upon it, the carriage has takenall this time to repair; but are you tired?”

“Oh, by no means; the evening is delightful,but—­”

“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.

“To whom does that chateau belong, my old friend?”said I addressing a man on the road-side.

“A Monsieur le Marquis, sir,” repliedhe.

“But what’s his name, though?”

“Ah, that I can’t tell you,” repliedthe man again.

There you may perceive how, even yet, in provincialFrance, the old respect for the aristocracy stillsurvives; it is sufficient that the possessor of thatfine place is “Monsieur le Marquis;” butany other knowledge of who he is, and what, is superfluous. “How far are we from the next village, do youknow?”

“About a league.”

“Indeed. Why I thought ‘La Scarpe’was quite near us.”

“Ah, you are thinking of the Amiens road.”

“Yes, of course; and is not this the Amiensroad?”

“Oh, no; the Amiens road lies beyond those lowhills to the right. You passed the turn at thefirst ’barriere’.”

“Is it possible we could have come wrong?”

“Oh, Mr. Lorrequer, don’t say so, I entreatof you.”

“And what road is this, then, my friend?”

“This is the road to Albert and Peronne.”

“Unfortunately, I believe he is quite right. Is there any crossroad from the village before usnow, to the Amiens road?”

“Yes; you can reach it about three leagues hence.”

“And we can get a carriage at the inn probably?”

“Ah, that I am not sure of—. Perhapsat the Lion d’or you may.”

“But why not go back to Abbeville?”

“Oh, Mrs. Bingham must have left long since,and beside you forget the distance; we have been walkingtwo hours.”

“Now for the village,” said I, as I drewmy friend’s arm closer within mine, and we setout in a fast walk.

Isabella seemed terribly frightened at the whole affair;what her mamma might think, and what might be herfears at not finding us on the road, and a hundredother encouraging reflections of this nature she pouredforth unceasingly. As for myself, I did not knowwell what to think of it; my old fondness for adventurebeing ever sufficiently strong in me to give a relishto any thing which bore the least resemblance to one. This I now concealed, and sympathised with my fairfriend upon our mishap, and assuring her, at the sametime, that there could be no doubt of our overtakingMrs. Bingham before her arrival at Amiens.

“Ah, there is the village in the valley; howbeautifully situated.”

“Oh, I can’t admire any thing now, Mr.Lorrequer, I am so frightened.”

“But surely without cause,” said I, lookingtenderly beneath her bonnet.

“Is this,” she answered, “nothing,”and we walked on in silence again.

On reaching the Lion d’or we discovered thatthe only conveyance to be had was a species of openmarket-cart drawn by two horses, and in which it wasnecessary that my fair friend and myself should seatourselves side by side upon straw: there wasno choice, and as for Miss Bingham, I believe if anass with panniers had presented itself, she would havepreferred it to remaining where she was. We thereforetook our places, and she could not refrain from laughingas we set out upon our journey in this absurd equipage,every jolt of which threw us from side to side, andrendered every attention on my part requisite to preventher being upset.

After about two hours’ travelling we arrivedat the Amiens road, and stopped at the barriere. I immediately inquired if a carriage had passed,resembling Mrs. Bingham’s, and learned that ithad, about an hour before, and that the lady in ithad been informed that two persons, like those sheasked after, had been seen in a caleche driving rapidlyto Amiens, upon which she set out as fast as possiblein pursuit.

“Certainly,” said I, “the plot isthickening; but for that unlucky mistake she mightin all probability have waited here for us. Amiensis only two leagues now, so our drive will not belong, and before six o’clock we shall all belaughing over the matter as a very good joke.”

On we rattled, and as the road became less frequented,and the shadows lengthened, I could not but wonderat the strange situations which the adventurous characterof my life had so often involved me in. Meanwhile,my fair friend’s spirits became more and moredepressed, and it was not without the greatest difficultyI was enabled to support her courage. I assuredher, and not altogether without reason, that thoughso often in my eventful career accidents were occurringwhich rendered it dubious and difficult to reach thegoal I aimed at, yet the results had so often beenmore pleasant than I could have anticipated, that Ialways felt a kind of involuntary satisfaction atsome apparent obstacle to my path, setting it downas some especial means of fortune, to heighten thepleasure awaiting me; “and now,” addedI, “even here, perhaps, in this very mistakeof our road—­the sentiments I have heard—­thefeelings I have given utterance to—­” What I was about to say, heaven knows—­perhapsnothing less than a downright proposal was coming;but at that critical moment a gen-d’arme rodeup to the side of our waggon, and surveyed us withthe peculiarly significant scowl his order is giftedwith. After trotting alongside for a few secondshe ordered the driver to halt, and, turning abruptlyto us, demanded our passports. Now our passportswere, at that precise moment, peaceably reposing inthe side pocket of Mrs. Bingham’s carriage; Itherefore explained to the gen-d’arme how wewere circ*mstanced, and added, that on arriving atAmiens the passport should be produced. To thishe replied that all might be perfectly true, but hedid not believe a word of it—­that he hadreceived an order for the apprehension of two Englishpersons travelling that road—­and that heshould accordingly request our company back to Chantraine,the commissionaire of which place was his officer.

“But why not take us to Amiens,” saidI; “particularly when I tell you that we canthen show our passports?”

“I belong to the Chantraine district,”was the laconic answer; and like the gentleman whocould not weep at the sermon because he belonged toanother parish, this specimen of a French Dogberrywould not hear reason except in his own “commune.”

No arguments which I could think of had any effectupon him, and amid a volley of entreaty and imprecation,both equally vain, we saw ourselves turn back uponthe road to Amiens, and set out at a round trot toChantraine, on the road to Calais.

Poor Isabella, I really pitied her; hitherto her couragehad been principally sustained by the prospect ofsoon reaching Amiens; now there was no seeing whereour adventure was to end. Besides that, actualfatigue from the wretched conveyance began to distressher, and she was scarcely able to support herself,though assisted by my arm. What a perilous positionmine, whispering consolation and comfort to a prettygirl on a lonely road, the only person near being onewho comprehended nothing of the language we spokein. Ah, how little do we know of fate, and howoften do we despise circ*mstances that determine allour fortunes in the world. To think that a gen-d’armeshould have any thing to do with my future lot inlife, and that the real want of a passport to travelshould involve the probable want of a licence to marry. Yes, it is quite in keeping, thought I, with everystep I have taken through life. I may be broughtbefore the “maire” as a culprit, and leavehim as a Benedict.

On reaching the town, we were not permitted to driveto the inn, but at once conveyed to the house of the“commissaire,” who was also the “maire”of the district. The worthy functionary was longsince in bed, and it was only after ringing violentlyfor half an hour that a head, surmounted with a dirtycotton night-cap, peeped from an upper window, andseemed to survey the assemblage beneath with patientattention. By this time a considerable crowdhad collected from the neighbouring ale-houses andcabarets, who deemed it a most fitting occasion tohonour us with the most infernal yells and shouts,as indicating their love of justice, and delight indetecting knavery; and that we were both involved insuch suspicion, we had not long to learn. Meanwhilethe poor old maire, who had been an employe in thestormy days of the revolution, and also under Napoleon,and who full concurred with Swift that “a crowdis a mob, if composed even of bishops,” firmlybelieved that the uproar beneath in the street wasthe announcement of a new change of affairs at Paris,determined to be early in the field, and shouted thereforewith all his lungs—­“vive le peuple”—­“Vivela charte”—­“A bas les autres.” A tremendous shout of laughter saluted this exhibitionof unexpected republicanism, and the poor maire retiredfrom the window, having learned his mistake, coveredwith shame and confusion.

Before the mirth caused by this blunder had subsided,the door had opened, and we were ushered into thebureau of the commissaire, accompanied by the anxiouscrowd, all curious to know the particulars of ourcrime.

The maire soon appeared, his night-cap being replacedby a small black velvet skull-cap, and his lanky figureenveloped in a tarnished silk dressing-gown; he permittedus to be seated, while the gen-d’arme recountedthe suspicious circ*mstances of our travelling, andproduced the order to arrest an Englishman and hiswife who had arrived in one of the late Boulogne packets,and who had carried off from some banking-house moneyand bills for a large amount.

“I have no doubt these are the people,”said the gen-d’arme; “and here is the‘carte descriptive.’ Let us compareit—­’Forty-two or forty-three yearsof age.’”

“I trust, M. le Maire,” said I, overhearingthis, “that ladies do not recognize me as somuch.”

“Of a pale and cadaverous aspect,” continuedthe gen-d’arme.

Upon this the old functionary, wiping his spectacleswith a snuffy handkerchief, as if preparing them toexamine an eclipse of the sun, regarded me fixedlyfor several minutes, and said—­“Oh,yes, I perceive it plainly; continue the description.”

“Five feet three inches,” said the gen-d’arme.

“Six feet one in England, whatever this climatemay have done since.”

“Speaks broken and bad French.”

“Like a native,” said I; “at leastso said my friends in the chaussee D’Antin,in the year fifteen.”

Here the catalogue ended, and a short conference betweenthe maire and the gen-d’arme ensued, which endedin our being committed for examination on the morrow;meanwhile we were to remain at the inn, under thesurveillance of the gen-d’arme.

On reaching the inn my poor friend was so completelyexhausted that she at once retired to her room, andI proceeded to fulfil a promise I had made her todespatch a note to Mrs. Bingham at Amiens by a specialmessenger, acquainting her with all our mishaps, andrequesting her to come or send to our assistance. This done, and a good supper smoking before me, ofwhich with difficulty I persuaded Isabella to partakein her own room, I again regained my equanimity, andfelt once more at ease.

The gen-d’arme in whose guardianship I had beenleft was a fine specimen of his caste; a large andpowerfully built man of about fifty, with an enormousbeard of grizzly brown and grey hair, meeting aboveand beneath his nether lip; his eyebrows were heavyand beetling, and nearly concealed his sharp greyeyes, while a deep sabre-wound had left upon his cheeka long white scar, giving a most warlike and ferociouslook to his features.

As he sat apart from me for some time, silent andmotionless, I could not help imagining in how manya hard-fought day he had borne a part, for he evidently,from his age and bearing, had been one of the soldiersof the empire. I invited him to partake of mybottle 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 circ*mstanceswhich he supposed attached to me—­waxedwondrous confidential and communicative, and condescendedto impart some traits of a life which was not withoutit* vicissitudes, for he had been, as I suspected,one of the “Guarde”—­the oldguarde—­was wounded at Marengo, and receivedthe croix d’honneur in the field of Wagram,from the hands of the Emperor himself. The headlongenthusiasm of attachment to Napoleon, which his brief

and stormy career elicited even from those who sufferedlong and deeply in his behalf, is not one of the leastsingular circ*mstances which this portion of historydisplays. While the rigours of the conscriptionhad invaded every family in France, from Normandieto La Vendee—­while the untilled fields,the ruined granaries, the half-deserted villages,all attested the depopulation of the land, those talismanicwords, “l’Empereur et la gloire,”by some magic mechanism seemed all-sufficient not onlyto repress regret and suffering, but even stimulatepride, and nourish valour; and even yet, when it mightbe supposed that like the brilliant glass of a magiclantern, the gaudy pageant had passed away, leavingonly the darkness and desolation behind it—­thememory of those days under the empire survives untarnishedand unimpaired, and every sacrifice of friends orfortune is accounted but little in the balance whenthe honour of La Belle France, and the triumphs ofthe grand “armee,” are weighted againstthem. The infatuated and enthusiastic followersof this great man would seem, in some respects, toresemble the drunkard in the “Vaudeville,”who alleged as his excuse for drinking, that wheneverhe was sober his poverty disgusted him. “Mycabin,” said he, “is a cell, my wife amass of old rags, my child a wretched object of miseryand malady. But give me brandy; let me only havethat, and then my hut is a palace, my wife is a princess,and my child the very picture of health and happiness;”so with these people—­intoxicated with thetriumphs of their nation, “tete monte”with victory—­they cannot exist in the horrorof sobriety which peace necessarily enforces; andwhenever the subject turns in conversation upon thedistresses of the time or the evil prospects of thecountry, they call out, not like the drunkard, forbrandy, but in the same spirit they say—­“Ah,if you would again see France flourishing and happy,let us once more have our croix d’honneur, ourepaulettes, our voluntary contributions, our Murillos,our Velasquez, our spoils from Venice, and our increasedterritories to rule over.” This is thelanguage of the Buonapartiste every where, and at allseasons; and the mass of the nation is wonderfullydisposed to participate in the sentiment. Theempire was the Aeneid of the nation, and Napoleon theonly hero they now believe in. You may satisfyyourself of this easily. Every cafe will giveevidence of it, every society bears its testimony toit, and even the most wretched Vaudeville, however,trivial the interest —­however meagre thestory, and poor the diction, let the emperor but havehis “role”—­let him be as laconicas possible, carry his hands behind his back, wearthe well-known low co*cked-hat, and the “redingotegris”—­the success is certain—­everysentence he utters is applauded, and not a singleallusion to the Pyramids, the sun of Austerlitz, l’honneur,et al vieille garde, but is sure to bring down thundersof acclamation. But I am forgetting myself, andperhaps my reader too; the conversation of the oldgen-d’arme accidentally led me into reflectionslike these, and he was well calculated, in many ways,to call them forth. His devoted attachment—­hispersonal love of the emperor—­of which hegave me some touching instances, was admirably illustratedby an incident, which I am inclined to tell, and hopeit may amuse the reader as much as it did myself onhearing it.

When Napoleon had taken possession of the papal dominions,as he virtually did, and carried off the pope, PiusVI, to Paris, this old soldier, then a musketeer inthe garde, formed part of the company that mountedguard over the holy father. During the earliermonths of the holy father’s confinement he wasat liberty to leave his apartments at any hour hepleased, and cross the court-yard of the palace tothe chapel where he performed mass. At suchmoments the portion of the Imperial Guard then onduty stood under arms, and received from the augusthand of the pope his benediction as he passed. But one morning a hasty express arrived from theTuilleries, and the officer on duty communicated hisinstructions to his party, that the apostolic vicarwas not to be permitted to pass, as heretofore, tothe chapel, and that a most rigid superintendencewas to be exercised over his movements. My poorcompanion had his turn for duty on that ill-starredday; he had not been long at his post when the soundof footsteps was heard approaching, and he soon sawthe procession which always attended the holy fatherto his devotions, advancing towards him; he immediatelyplaced himself across the passage, and with his musketin rest barred the exit, declaring, at the same time,that such were his orders. In vain the priestswho formed the cortege addressed themselves to hisheart, and spoke to his feelings, and at last findinglittle success by these methods, explained to him themortal sin and crime for which eternal damnation itselfmight not be a too heavy retribution if he persistedin preventing his holiness to pass, and thus be themeans of opposing an obstacle to the head of the wholeCatholic church, for celebrating the mass; the soldierremained firm and unmoved, the only answer he returnedbeing, “that he had his orders, and dared notdisobey them.” The pope, however, persistedin his resolution, and endeavoured to get by, whenthe hardy veteran retreated a step, and placing hismusket and bayonet at the charge, called out “aunom de l’Empereur,” when the pious partyat last yielded and slowly retired within the palace.

Not many days after, this severe restriction was recalled,and once more the father was permitted to go to andfrom the chapel of the palace, at such times as hepleased, 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 frownedseverely, and turned his back, while extending hispious hands towards the others. “And yet,”said the poor fellow in concluding his story, “andyet I could not have done otherwise; I had my ordersand must have followed them, and had the emperor commandedit, I should have run my bayonet through the body ofthe holy father himself.

“Thus, you see, my dear sir, how I have lovedthe emperor, for I have many a day stood under firefor him in this world, ’et il faut que j’ailleencore au feu pour lui apres ma mort.’.”

He received in good part the consolations I offeredhim on this head, but I plainly saw they did not,could not relieve his mind from the horrible convictionhe lay under, that his soul’s safety for everhad been bartered for his attachment to the emperor.

This story had brought us to the end of the thirdbottle of Medoc; and, as I was neither the pope, norhad any very decided intentions of saying mass, heoffered no obstacle to my retiring for the night, andbetaking myself to my bed.

CHAPTER XXV.

THE INN AT CHANTRAINE.

When contrasted with the comforts of an English bed-roomin a good hotel, how miserably short does the appearanceof a French one fall in the estimation of the tiredtraveller. In exchange for the carpeted floor,the well-curtained windows, the richly tapestried bed,the well cushioned arm-chair, and the innumerableother luxuries which await him; he has nought buta narrow, uncurtained bed, a bare floor, occasionallya flagged one, three hard cane-bottomed chairs, anda looking-glass which may convey an idea of how youwould look under the combined influence of the cholera,and a stroke of apoplexy, one half of your face beingtwice the length of the other, and the entire of itof a bluish-green tint—­pretty enough inone of Turner’s landscapes, but not at all becomingwhen applied to the “human face divine.” Let no late arrival from the continent contradictme here by his late experiences, which a stray twentypounds and the railroads—­(confound themfor the same) —­have enabled him to acquire. I speak of matters before it occurred to all Charing-Crossand Cheapside to “take the water” betweenDover and Calais, and inundate the world with thewit of the Cider Cellar, and the Hole in the Wall. No! In the days I write of, the travelled wereof another genus, and you might dine at Very’sor have your loge at “Les Italiens,” withoutbeing dunned by your tailor at the one, or confrontedwith your washer-woman at the other. PerhapsI have written all this in the spite and malice ofa man who feels that his louis-d’or only goeshalf as far now as heretofore; and attributes all hisdiminished enjoyments and restricted luxuries to theunceasing current of his countrymen, whom fate, andthe law of imprisonment for debt, impel hither. Whether I am so far guilty or not, is not now thequestion; suffice it to say, that Harry Lorrequer,for reasons best known to himself, lives abroad, wherehe will be most happy to see any of his old and formerfriends who take his quarters en route; and in thewords of a bellicose brother of the pen, but in afar different spirit, he would add, “that anyperson who feels himself here alluded to, may learn

the author’s address at his publishers.” “Now let us go back to our muttons,”as Barney Coyle used to say in the Dublin Library formerly—­for Barney was fond of French allusions,which occasionally too he gave in their own tongue,as once describing an interview with Lord Cloncurry,in which he broke off suddenly the conference, adding,“I told him I never could consent to such aproposition, and putting my chateau (chapeau) on myhead, I left the house at once.”

It was nearly three o’clock in the morning,as accompanied by the waiter, who, like others ofhis 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 anantechamber, and into another corridor, to No. 82,my habitation for the night. Why I should havebeen so far conducted from the habitable portion ofthe house I had spent my evening in, I leave the learnedin such matters to explain; as for me, I have everremarked it, while asking for a chamber in a largeroomy hotel, the singular pride with which you areushered up grand stair-cases, down passages, throughcorridors, and up narrow back flights, till the bluesky is seen through the sky-light, to No. 199, “theonly spare bed-room in the house,” while thesilence and desolation of the whole establishmentwould seem to imply far otherwise—­the onlyevidence of occupation being a pair of dirty Wellingtonsat the door of No. 2.

“Well, we have arrived at last,” saidI, drawing a deep sigh, as I threw myself upon a rickettychair, and surveyed rapidly my meagre-looking apartment.

“Yes, this is Monsieur’s chamber,”said the waiter, with a very peculiar look, half servile,half droll. “Madame se couche, No. 28.”

“Very well, good night,” said I, closingthe door hastily, and not liking the farther scrutinyof the fellow’s eye, as he fastened it on me,as if to search what precise degree of relationshipexisted between myself and my fair friend, whom hehad called “Madame” purposely to elicitan observation from me. “Ten to one though,”said I, as I undressed myself, “but they thinkshe is my wife—­how good—­but again—­ay,it is very possible, considering we are in France. Numero vingt-huit, quite far enough from this partof the house I should suppose from my number,—­thatold gen-d’arme was a fine fellow—­whatstrong attachment to Napoleon; and the story of thepope; I hope I may remember that. Isabella, poorgirl —­this adventure must really distressher—­hope she is not crying over it —­whata devil of a hard bed—­and it is not fivefeet long too—­and, bless my soul, is thisall by way of covering; why I shall be perished here.Oh! I must certainly put all my clothes over mein addition, unfortunately there is no hearth-rug—­well,there is no help for it now —­so let metry to sleep—­numero vingt-huit.”

How long I remained in a kind of uneasy, fitful slumber,I cannot tell; but I awoke shivering with cold—­puzzledto tell where I was, and my brain addled with thebroken fragments of half a dozen dreams, all minglingand mixing themselves with the unpleasant realitiesof my situation. What an infernal contrivancefor a bed, thought I, as my head came thump againstthe top, while my legs projected far beyond the foot-rail;the miserable portion of clothing over me at the sametime 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 androuse the house, if only to get a fire, if they don’tpossess such a thing as blankets. I immediatelyrose, and groping my way along the wall endeavouredto discover the bell, but in vain; and for the samesatisfactory reason that Von Troil did not devote onechapter of his work on “Iceland” to “snakes,”because there were none such there. What wasnow to be done? About the geography of my presentabode I knew, perhaps, as much as the public at largeknow about the Coppermine river and Behring’sstraits. The world, it was true, was before me,“where top choose,” admirable things foran epic, but decidedly an unfortunate circ*mstancefor a very cold gentleman in search of a blanket. Thus thinking, I opened the door of my chamber, andnot in any way resolved how I should proceed, I steppedforth into the long corridor, which was dark as midnightit*elf.

Tracing my path along the wall, I soon reached a doorwhich I in vain attempted to open; in another momentI found another and another, each of which were locked. Thus along the entire corridor I felt my way, makingevery effort to discover where any of the people ofthe house might have concealed themselves, but withoutsuccess. What was to be done now? It wasof no use to go back to my late abode, and find itcomfortless as I left it; so I resolved to proceedin my search; by this time I had arrived at the topof a small flight of stairs, which I remembered havingcome up, and which led to another long passage similarto the one I had explored, but running in a transversedirection, down this I now crept, and reached thelanding, along the wall of which I was guided by myhand, as well for safety as to discover the architraveof some friendly door, where the inhabitant mightbe sufficiently Samaritan to lend some portion ofhis bed-clothes; door after door followed in successionalong this confounded passage, which I began to thinkas long as the gallery of the lower one; at last,however, just as my heart was sinking within me fromdisappointment, the handle of a lock turned, and Ifound myself inside a chamber. How was I nowto proceed? for if this apartment did not containany of the people of the hotel, I had but a sorry excusefor disturbing the repose of any traveller who mighthave been more fortunate than myself in the articleof blankets. To go back however, would be absurd,

having already taken so much trouble to find out aroom that was inhabited—­for that such wasthe case, a short, thick snore assured me —­sothat 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 nasalsounds seemed to issue from, and soon reached thepost of a bed. I waited for an instant, and thenbegan,

“Monsier, voulez vous bien me permettre—­”

“As to short whist, I never could make it out,so there is an end of it,” said my unknown friend,in a low, husky voice, which, strangely enough, wasnot totally unfamiliar to me: but when or howI had heard it before I could not then think.

Well, thought I, he is an Englishman at all events,so I hope his patriotism may forgive my intrusion,so here goes once more to rouse him, though he seemsa confoundedly heavy sleeper. “I beg yourpardon, sir, but unfortunately in a point like thepresent, perhaps—­”

“Well, do you mark the points, and I’llscore the rubber,” said he.

“The devil take the gambling fellow’sdreaming,” thought I, raising my voice at thesame time.

“Perhaps a cold night, sir, may suffice as myapology.”

“Cold, oh, ay! put a hot poker to it,”muttered he; “a hot poker, a little sugar, anda spice of nutmeg—­nothing else—­thenit’s delicious.”

“Upon my soul, this is too bad,” saidI to myself. “Let us see what shakingwill do. Sir, sir, I shall feel obliged by—­”

“Well there, don’t shake me, and I’lltell you where I hid the cigars —­they areunder my straw hat in the window.”

“Well, really,” thought I, “if thisgentleman’s confessions were of an interestingnature, this might be good fun; but as the night iscold, I must shorten the ‘seance,’ sohere goes for one effort more.

“If, sir, you could kindly spare me even a smallportion of your bed-clothes.”

“No, thank you, no more wine; but I’llsing with pleasure;” and here the wretch, insomething like the voice of a frog with the quinsy,began, “‘I’d mourn the hopes thatleave me.’”

“You shall mourn something else for the samereason,” said I, as losing all patience, I seizedquilts and blankets by the corner, and with one vigourouspull wrenched them from the bed, and darted from theroom—­in a second I was in the corridor,trailing my spoil behind—­which in my hasteI had not time to collect in a bundle. I flewrather 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 runningalong the corridor, who could be no other than mypursuer, effectually aroused by my last appeal tohis charity. I darted along the dark and narrowpassage; but soon to my horror discovered that I musthave passed the door of my chamber, for I had reached

the foot of a narrow back stair, which led to the grenierand the servants’ rooms, beneath the roof. To turn now would only have led me plump in the faceof my injured countryman, of whose thew and sinewI was perfectly ignorant, and did not much like toventure upon. There was little time for reflection,for he had now reached the top of the stair, and wasevidently listening for some clue to guide him on;stealthily and silently, and scarcely drawing breath,I mounted the narrow stairs step by step, but beforeI had arrived at the landing, he heard the rustleof the bed-clothes, and again gave chace. Therewas something in the unrelenting ardour of his pursuit,which suggested to my mind the idea of a most uncompromisingfoe; and as fear added speed to my steps, I dashedalong beneath the low-roofed passage, wondering whatchance of escape might yet present itself. Justat this instant, the hand by which I had guided myselfalong the wall, touched the handle of a door—­Iturned it—­it opened—­I drew inmy precious bundle, and closing the door noiselessly,sat down, breathless and still, upon the floor.

Scarcely was this, the work of a second, accomplished,when the heavy tread of my pursuer resounded on thefloor.

“Upon my conscience it’s strange if Ihaven’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’llmake a salad of you, when I get you, that’s all.Devil a dirtier trick ever I heard tell of.”

Need I say that these words had the true smack ofan Irish accent, which circ*mstance, from whatevercause, did not by any means tend to assuage my fearsin the event of discovery.

However, from such a misfortune my good genius nowdelivered me; for after traversing the passage tothe end, he at last discovered another, which ledby a long flight to the second story, down which heproceeded, venting at every step his determinationfor vengeance, and his resolution not to desist fromthe pursuit, if it took the entire night for it.

“Well now,” thought I, “as he willscarcely venture up here again, and as I may, by leavingthis, 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 beunoccupied. After some few minutes groping Ireached a low bed, fortunately empty, and althoughthe touch of the bed-clothes led to no very favourableaugury of its neatness or elegance, there was littlechoice at this moment, so I rolled myself up in myrecent booty, and resolved to wait patiently for day-breakto regain my apartment.

As always happens in such circ*mstances, sleep cameon me unawares —­so at least every one’sexperience I am sure can testify, that if you areforced to awake early to start by some morning coach,and that unfortunately you have not got to bed tilllate at night, the chances are ten to one, that youget no sleep whatever, simply because you are desirousfor it; but make up your mind ever so resolutely, thatyou’ll not sleep, and whether your determinationbe built on motives of propriety, duty, convenience,or health, and the chances are just as strong thatyou are sound and snoring before ten minutes.

How many a man has found it impossible, with everyeffort of his heart and brain aiding his good wishes,to sit with unclosed eyes and ears through a dullsermon in the dog-days; how many an expectant, longingheir has yielded to the drowsy influence when endeavouringto look contrite under the severe correction of alecture on extravagance from his uncle. Whohas not felt the irresistible tendency to “dropoff” in the half hour before dinner at a stupidcountry-house? I need not catalogue the thousandother situations in life infinitely more “sleep-compelling”than Morphine; for myself, my pleasantest and soundestmoments of perfect forgetfulness of this dreary worldand all its cares, have been taken in an oaken bench,seated bolt upright and vis a vis to a lecturer onbotany, whose calming accents, united with the softenedlight of an autumnal day, piercing its difficult raysthrough the narrow and cobwebbed windows, the odourof the recent plants and flowers aiding and abetting,all combined to steep the soul in sleep, and you sankby imperceptible and gradual steps into that stateof easy slumber, in which “come no dreams,”and the last sounds of the lecturer’s “hypogenousand perigenous” died away, becoming beautifullyless, till your senses sank into rest, the syllables“rigging us, rigging us,” seemed to meltaway in the distance and fade from your memory—­Peacebe with you, Doctor A. If I owe gratitude any whereI have my debt with you. The very memory I bearof you has saved me no inconsiderable sum in hop andhenbane. Without any assistance from the scienceson the present occasion, I was soon asleep, and wokenot till the cracking of whips, and trampling of horses’feet on the pavement of the coach-yard apprised methat the world had risen to its daily labour, andso should I. From the short survey of my presentchamber which I took on waking, I conjectured it musthave been the den of some of the servants of the houseupon occasion—­two low truckle-beds of themeanest description lay along the wall opposite tomine; one of them appeared to have been slept in duringthe past night, but by what species of animal theFates alone can tell. An old demi-peak saddle,capped and tipped with brass, some rusty bits, andstray stirrup-irons lay here and there upon the floor;while upon a species of clothes-rack, attached toa rafter, hung a tarnished suit of postillion’slivery, cap, jacket, leathers, and jack-boots, allready for use; and evidently from their arrangementsupposed by the owner to be a rather creditable “turnout.”

I turned over these singular habiliments with muchof the curiosity with which an antiquary would surveya suit of chain armour; the long epaulettes of yellowcotton cord, the heavy belt with its brass buckle,the cumbrous boots, plaited and bound with iron likechurns were in rather a ludicrous contrast to theequipment of our light and jockey-like boys in nankeenjackets and neat tops, that spin along over our level“macadam.”

“But,” thought I, “it is full timeI should get back to No. 82, and make my appearancebelow stairs;” though in what part of the buildingmy room lay, and how I was to reach it without myclothes, I had not the slightest idea. A blanketis an excessively comfortable article of wearing apparelwhen in bed, but as a walking costume is by no meansconvenient or appropriate; while to making a sortien sauvage, however appropriate during the night,there were many serious objections if done “enplein jour,” and with the whole establishmentawake and active; the noise of mopping, scrubbing,and polishing, which is eternally going forward ina foreign inn amply testified there was nothing whichI 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 presentednothing agreeable. I looked from the narrow windowout upon the tiled roof, but without any prospectof being heard if I called ever so loudly.

The infernal noise of floor-cleansing, assisted bya Norman peasant’s “chanson du pays,”the time being well marked by her heavy sabots, gaveeven less chance to me within; so that after more thanhalf an hour passed in weighing difficulties, andcanvassing plans, upon donning the blue and yellow,and setting out for my own room without delay, hopingsincerely, that with proper precaution, I should beable to reach it unseen and unobserved.

As I laid but little stress upon the figure I shouldmake in my new habiliments, it did not cause me muchmortification to find that the clothes were considerablytoo small, the jacket scarcely coming beneath my arms,and the sleeves being so short that my hands and wristsprojected beyond the cuffs like two enormous claws;the leathers were also limited in their length, andwhen drawn up to a proper height, permitted my kneesto be seen beneath, like the short costume of a SpanishTauridor, but scarcely as graceful; not wishing toencumber 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 gentlyfrom the room. How I must have looked at themoment I leave my reader to guess, as with anxiousand stealthy pace I crept along the low gallery thatled to the narrow staircase, down which I proceeded,step by step; but just as I reached the bottom, perceiveda little distance from me, with her back turned towardsme, a short, squat peasant on her knees, belabouringwith a brush the well waxed floor; to pass therefore,unobserved was impossible, so that I did not hesitateto address her, and endeavour to interest her in mybehalf, and enlist her as my guide.

“Bon jour, ma chere,” said I in a softinsinuating tone; she did not hear me, so I repeated,

“Bon jour, ma chere, bon jour.”

Upon this she turned round, and looking fixedly atme 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 positionto her feet, and with a speed that her shape and sabotsseemed little to promise, rushed down the stairs asif she had seen the devil himself.

“Why, what is the matter with the woman?”said I, “surely if I am not Francois—­whichGod be thanked is true—­yet I cannot lookso 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 adoor before me, the loud noise of several voices onthe floor beneath attracted my attention, and themoment after the heavy tramp of feet followed, andin an instant the gallery was thronged by the menand women of the house —­waiters, hostlers,cooks, scullions, filles de chambre, mingled withgens-d’armes, peasants, and town’s people,all eagerly forcing their way up stairs; yet all onarriving at the landing-place, seemed disposed tokeep at a respectful distance, and bundling themselvesat one end of the corridor, while I, feelingly aliveto the ridiculous appearance I made, occupied theother—­the gravity with which they seemedat first disposed to regard me soon gave way, andpeal after peal of laughter broke out, and young andold, men and women, even to the most farouche gens-d’armes,all appearing incapable of controlling the desire formerriment my most singular figure inspired; and unfortunatelythis emotion seemed to promise no very speedy conclusion;for the jokes and witticisms made upon my appearancethreatened to renew the festivities, ad libitum.

“Regardez donc ses epaules,” said one.

“Ah, mon Dieu! Il me fait l’ideed’une grenouille aves ses jambes jaunes,”cried another.

“Il vaut son pesant de fromage pour une Vaudeville,”said the director of the strolling theatre of theplace.

“I’ll give seventy francs a week, ‘d’appointment,’and ‘Scribe’ shall write a piece expressfor himself, if he’ll take it.”

“May the devil fly away with your grinning baboonfaces,” 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 ofthe gen-d’arme seized me by the shoulder, whilehe said in a low, husky voice, “c’estinutile, Monsieur, you cannot escape—­thething was well contrived, it is true; but the gens-d’armesof France are not easily outwitted, and you couldnot have long avoided detection, even in that dress.” It was my turn to laugh now, which, to their verygreat amazement, I did, loud and long; that I shouldhave thought my present costume could ever have beenthe means of screening me from observation, howeverit might have been calculated to attract it, was rathertoo absurd a supposition even for the mayor of a villageto entertain; besides, it only now occurred to methat I was figuring in the character of a prisoner. The continued peals of laughing which this mistakeon their part elicited from me seemed to afford butslight pleasure to my captor, who gruffly said—­

“When you have done amusing yourself, mon ami,perhaps you will do us the favour to come before themayor.”

“Certainly,” I replied; “but youwill first permit me to resume my own clothes, I amquite sick of masquerading ‘en postillion.’”

“Not so fast, my friend,” said the suspiciousold follower of Fouche —­“not so fast;it is but right the maire should see you in the disguiseyou attempted your escape in. It must be especiallymentioned in the proces verbal.”

“Well, this is becoming too ludicrous,”said I. “It need not take five minutesto satisfy you why, how, and where, I put on theseconfounded rags—­”

“Then tell it to the maire, at the Bureau.”

“But for that purpose it is not necessary Ishould be conducted through the streets in broad day,to be laughed at. No, positively, I’llnot go. In my own dress I’ll accompanyyou with pleasure.”

“Victor, Henri, Guillame,” said the gen-d’arme,addressing his companions, who immediately closedround me. “You see,” added he, “thereis no use in resisting.”

Need I recount my own shame and ineffable disgrace? Alas! it is too, too true. Harry Lorrequer—­whomStultze entreated to wear his coats, the ornamentof Hyde Park, the last appeal in dress, fashion, andequipage—­was obliged to parade through themob of a market-town in France, with four gens-d’armesfor his companions, and he himself habited in a mongrelcharacter—­half postillion, half DelawareIndian. The incessant yells of laughter—­thescreams of the children, and the outpouring of everyspecies of sarcasm and ridicule, at my expense, werenot all—­for, as I emerged from the porte-chochereI saw Isabella in the window: her eyes were redwith weeping; but no sooner had she beheld me, thanshe broke out into a fit of laughter that was audibleeven in the street.

Rage had now taken such a hold upon me, that I forgotmy ridiculous appearance in my thirst for vengeance. I marched on through the grinning crowd, with thestep of a martyr. I suppose my heroic bearingand warlike deportment must have heightened the drolleryof the scene; for the devils only laughed the more. The bureau of the maire could not contain one-tenthof the anxious and curious individuals who throngedthe entrance, and for about twenty minutes the wholeefforts of the gens-d’armes were little enoughto keep order and maintain silence. At lengththe maire made his appearance, and accustomed as hehad been for a long life to scenes of an absurd andextraordinary nature, yet the ridicule of my lookand costume was too much, and he laughed outright.This was of course the signal for renewed mirth forthe crowd, while those without doors, infected bythe example, took up the jest, and I had the pleasureof a short calculation, a la Babbage, of how manymaxillary jaws were at that same moment wagging atmy expense.

However, the examination commenced; and I at lengthobtained an opportunity of explaining under what circ*mstancesI had left my room, and how and why I had been inducedto don this confounded cause of all my misery.

“This may be very true,” said the mayor,“as it is very plausible; if you have evidenceto prove what you have stated—­”

“If it’s evidence only is wanting, Mr.Maire, I’ll confirm one part of the story,”said a voice in the crowd, in an accent and tone thatassured me the speaker was the injured proprietorof the stolen blankets. I turned round hastilyto look at my victim, and what was my surprise torecognize a very old Dublin acquaintance, Mr. FitzmauriceO’Leary.

“Good morning, Mr. Lorrequer,” said he;“this is mighty like our ould practices in College-green;but upon my conscience the maire has the advantageof Gabbet. It’s lucky for you I know hisworship, as we’d call him at home, or this mightbe a serious business. Nothing would persuadethem that you were not Lucien Buonaparte, or the ironmask, or something of that sort, if they took it intotheir heads.”

Mr. O’Leary was as good as his word. Ina species of French, that I’d venture to saywould be perfectly intelligible in Mullingar, he contrivedto explain to the maire that I was neither a runawaynor a swindler, but a very old friend of his, andconsequently sans reproche. The official wasnow as profuse of his civilities as he had before beenof his suspicions, and most hospitably pressed usto stay for breakfast. This, for many reasons,I was obliged to decline—­not the least ofwhich was, my impatience to get out of my presentcostume. We accordingly procured a carriage,and I returned to the hotel, screened from the gazebut still accompanied by the shouts of the mob, whoevidently took a most lively interest in the entireproceeding.

I lost no time in changing my costume, and was aboutto descend to the saloon, when the master of the housecame to inform me that Mrs. Bingham’s courierhad arrived with the carriage, and that she expectedus at Amiens as soon as possible.

“That is all right. Now, Mr. O’Leary,I must pray you to forgive all the liberty I havetaken with you, and also permit me to defer the explanationof many circ*mstances which seem at present strange,till—­”

“Till sine die, if the story be a long one,my dear sir—­there’s nothing I hateso much, except cold punch.”

“You are going to Paris,” said I; “isit not so?”

“Yes, I’m thinking of it. I wasup at Trolhatten, in Norway, three weeks ago, andI was obliged to leave it hastily, for I’ve anappointment with a friend in Geneva.”

“Then how do you travel?”

“On foot, just as you see, except that I’vea tobacco bag up stairs, and an umbrella.”

“Light equipment, certainly; but you must allowme to give you a set down as far as Amiens, and alsoto present you to my friends there.”

To this Mr. O’Leary made no objection; and asMiss Bingham could not bear any delay, in her anxietyto join her mother, we set out at once—­theonly thing to mar my full enjoyment at the moment beingthe sight of the identical vestments I had so latelyfigured in, bobbing up and down before my eyes forthe whole length of the stage, and leading to innumerablemischievous allusions from my friend Mr. O’Leary,which were far too much relished by my fair companion.

At twelve we arrived at Amiens, when I presented myfriend Mr. O’Leary to Mrs. Bingham.

CHAPTER XXVI.

Mr. O’LEARY.

At the conclusion of my last chapter I was about tointroduce to my reader’s acquaintance my friendMr. O’Leary; and, as he is destined to occupysome place in the history of these Confessions, I may,perhaps, be permitted to do so at more length thanhis intrinsic merit at first sight might appear towarrant.

Mr. O’Leary was, and I am induced to believeis, a particularly short, fat, greasy-looking gentleman,with a head as free from phrenological developmentas a billiard-ball, and a countenance which, in featureand colour, nearly resembled the face of a cherub,carved in oak, as we see them in old pulpits.

Short as is his stature, his limbs compose the leastpart of it. His hands and feet, forming somecompensation 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 distinctivecharacteristic 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 theIsland he came originally from, or what may be hisage, are questions I have the most profound ignoranceof; I have heard many anecdotes which would imply hisbeing what the French call “d’un age mur”—­buthis own observations are generally limited to eventsoccurring since the peace of “fifteen.” To his personal attractions, such as they are, hehas never been solicitous of contributing by the meretriciousaids of dress. His coat, calculating from itslength of waist, and ample skirt, would fit Bumbo Green,while his trowsers, being made of some cheap and shrinkingmaterial, have gradually contracted their limits,and look now exactly like knee-breeches, without theusual buttons at the bottom.

These, with the addition of a pair of green spectacles,the glass of one being absent, and permitting thelook-out of a sharp, grey eye, twinkling with drolleryand good humour, form the most palpable of his externals.In point of character, they who best knew him representedhim as the best-tempered, best-hearted fellow breathing;ever ready to assist a friend, and always postponinghis own plans and his own views, when he had any,to the wishes and intentions of others. Amongthe many odd things about him, was a constant preferenceto travelling on foot, and a great passion for livingabroad, both of which tastes he gratified, althoughhis 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 likingfor tobacco, which he smoked all day—­afondness for whist and malt liquors—­hisantipathies were few; so that except when called uponto shave more than once in the week, or wash his hands

twice on the same day, it was difficult to disconcerthim. His fortune was very ample; but althoughhis mode of living was neither very ostentatious norcostly, he contrived always to spend his income. Such was the gentleman I now presented to my friends,who, I must confess, appeared strangely puzzled byhis manner and appearance. This feeling, however,soon wore off; and before he had spent the morningin their company, he had made more way in their goodgraces, and gone farther to establish intimacy, thanmany a more accomplished person, with an unexceptionablecoat and accurate whisker might have effected in afortnight. What were his gifts in this way, Iam, alas, most deplorably ignorant of; it was not,heaven knows, that he possessed any conversationaltalent—­of successful flattery he knew asmuch as a negro does of the national debt—­andyet the “bon-hommie” of his characterseemed to tell at once; and I never knew him fail inany one instance to establish an interest for himselfbefore he had completed the ordinary period of a visit.

I think it is Washington Irving who has so admirablydepicted the mortification of a dandy angler, who,with his beaver garnished with brown hackles, hiswell-posed rod, polished gaff, and handsome landing-net,with every thing befitting, spends his long summerday whipping a trout stream without a rise or evena ripple to reward him, while a ragged urchin, witha willow wand, and a bent pin, not ten yards distant,is covering the greensward with myriads of speckledand scaly backs, from one pound weight to four; soit is in every thing—­“the race isnot to the swift;” the elements of success inlife, 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 morethan once witnessed the triumph of his homely mannerand blunt humour over the more polished and well-bredtaste of his competitors for favour; and what mighthave been the limit to such success, heaven alone cantell, if it were not that he laboured under a counter-balancinginfirmity, sufficient to have swamped a line-of-battleship itself. It was simply this—­amost 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 ashis friend, without trembling for the result; but eventhis, I believe his only fault, resulted from thenatural goodness of his character and intentions;for, believing as he did, in his honest simplicity,that the arbitrary distinctions of class and rank wereheld as cheaply by others as himself, he felt smallscruple at recounting to a duch*ess 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 finishedthe “Al Idea,” from Figaro. ‘Mauvaisehonte,’ he had none; indeed I am not sure thathe had any kind of shame whatever, except possiblywhen detected with a coat that bore any appearanceof newness, or if overpersuaded to wear gloves, whichhe ever considered as a special effeminacy.

Such, in a few words, was the gentleman I now presentedto my friends, and how far he insinuated himself intotheir good graces, let the fact tell, that on my returnto the breakfast-room, after about an hour’sabsence, I heard him detailing the particulars of aroute they were to take by his advice, and also learnedthat he had been offered and had accepted a seat intheir carriage to Paris.

“Then I’ll do myself the pleasure of joiningyour party, Mrs. Bingham,” said he. “Bingham,I think, madam, is your name.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Any relation, may I ask, of a most dear friendof mine, of the same name, from Currynaslattery, inthe county Wexford?”

“I am really not aware,” said Mrs. Bingham. “My husband’s family are, I believe,many of them from that county.”

“Ah, what a pleasant fellow was Tom!”said Mr. O’Leary musingly, and with that peculiartone which made me tremble, for I knew well that areminiscence was coming. “A pleasant fellowindeed.”

“Is he alive, sir, now?”

“I believe so, ma’am; but I hear the climatedoes not agree with him.”

“Ah, then, he’s abroad! In Italyprobably?”

“No, ma’am, in Botany Bay. His brother,they say, might have saved him, but he left poor Tomto his fate, for he was just then paying court to aMiss Crow, I think, with a large fortune. Oh,Lord, what have I said, it’s always the luckof me!” The latter exclamation was the resultof a heavy saugh upon the floor, Mrs. Bingham havingfallen in a faint—­she being the identicallady alluded to, and her husband the brother of pleasantTom Bingham.

To hurl Mr. O’Leary out of the room by one hand,and ring the bell with the other, was the work ofa 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 sufferedany clue to escape us which might lead to its discovery.

When we were once more upon the road, to efface ifit might be necessary any unpleasant recurrence tothe late scene, I proceeded to give Mrs. Bingham anaccount of my adventure at Chantraine, in which, ofcourse, I endeavoured to render my friend O’Learyall the honours of being laughed at in preferenceto myself, laying little stress upon my masqueradingin the jack-boots.

“You are quite right,” said O’Leary,joining in the hearty laugh against him, “quiteright, I was always a very heavy sleeper—­indeedif I wasn’t I wouldn’t be here now, travellingabout en garcon, free as air;” here he heaveda sigh, which from its incongruity with his joviallook and happy expression, threw us all into renewedlaughter.

“But why, Mr. O’Leary—­whatcan your sleepiness have to do with such tender recollections,for such, I am sure, that sigh bespeaks them?”

“Ah! ma’am, it may seem strange, but itis nevertheless true, if it were not for that unfortunatetendency, I should now be the happy possessor of amost accomplished and amiable lady, and eight hundredper annum three and a half per cent. stock.”

“You overslept yourself on the wedding-day,I suppose.”

“You shall hear, ma’am, the story is avery short one: It is now about eight years ago,I was rambling through the south of France, and hadjust reached Lyons, where the confounded pavement,that sticks up like pears, with the point upwards,had compelled me to rest some days and recruit; forthis purpose I installed myself in the pension of MadameGourgead, Rue de Petit* Carmes, a quiet house—­wherewe dined at twelve, ten in number, upon about twopounds of stewed beef, with garlic and carrots —­alight soup, being the water which accompanied the sameto render it tender in stewing—­some preservedcherries, and an omelette, with a pint bottle of Beaune,6me qualite, I believe—­a species of pyroligneouswine made from the vine stalks, but pleasant in summerwith your salad; then we played dominos in the evening,or whist for sous points, leading altogether a veryquiet and virtuous existence, or as Madame herselfexpressed it, ‘une vie tout-a-fait patriarchale;’of this I cannot myself affirm how far she was rightin supposing the patriarchs did exactly like us. But to proceed, in the same establishment there liveda widow whose late husband had been a wine merchantat Dijon—­he had also, I suppose from residingin that country, been imitating the patriarchs, forhe died one day. Well, the lady was delayedat Lyons for some law business, and thus it came about,that her husband’s testament and the sharp pavingstones in the streets determined we should be acquainted. I cannot express to you the delight of my fair countrywomanat finding that a person who spoke English had arrivedat the ’pension’—­a feeling Imyself somewhat participated in; for to say truth,I was not at that time a very great proficient inFrench. We soon became intimate, in less timeprobably than it could otherwise have happened, forfrom the ignorance of all the others of one word ofEnglish, I was enabled during dinner to say many softand tender things, which one does not usually ventureon in company.

“I recounted my travels, and told various adventuresof my wanderings, till at last, from being merelyamused, I found that my fair friend began to be interestedin my narratives; and frequently when passing thebouillon to her, I have seen a tear in the corner ofher eye: in a word, ‘she loved me for thedangers I had passed,’ as Othello says. Well, laugh away if you like, but it’s truthI am telling you.” At this part of Mr.O’Leary’s story we all found it impossibleto withstand the ludicrous mock heroic of his faceand tone, and laughed loud and long. When weat length became silent he resumed—­“Beforethree weeks had passed over, I had proposed and wasaccepted, just your own way, Mr. Lorrequer, takingthe ball at the hop, the very same way you did atCheltenham, the time the lady jilted you, and ran offwith your friend Mr. Waller; I read it all in thenews, 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—­“thesettlements were soon drawn up, and consisted, likeall great diplomatic documents, of a series of ‘gainsand compensations;’ thus, she was not to tasteany 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 goodCatholic, insisted upon being married by a priestof her own persuasion, before the performance of theceremony at the British embassy in Paris; to this Icould offer no objection, and we were accordinglyunited in the holy bonds the same morning, after signingthe law papers.”

“Then, Mr. O’Leary, you are really a marriedman.”

“That’s the very point I’m comingto, ma’am; for I’ve consulted all thejurists upon the subject, and they never can agree. But you shall hear. I despatched a polite noteto Bishop Luscombe, and made every arrangement forthe approaching ceremony, took a quartier in the RueHelder, near the Estaminet, and looked forward withanxiety for the day which was to make my happy; forour marriage in Lyons was only a kind of betrothal. Now, my fair friend had but one difficulty remaining,poor dear soul—­I refrain from mentioningher name for delicacy sake; but poor dear Mrs. Ramcould not bear the notion of our going up to Parisin the same conveyance, for long as she had livedabroad, she had avoided every thing French, even thelanguage, so she proposed that I should go in the early‘Diligence,’ which starts at four-o’clockin the morning, while she took her departure at nine;thus I should be some hours sooner in Paris, and readyto receive her on her arriving; besides sparing herbashfulness all reproach of our travelling together. It was no use my telling her that I always travelledon foot, and hated a ‘Diligence;’ she coollyreplied that at our time of life we could not sparethe time necessary for a pilgrimage to Jerusalem,for so she supposed the journey from Lyons to Paristo be; so fearing lest any doubt might be thrown uponthe ardour of my attachment, I yielded at once, rememberingat the moment what my poor friend Tom Bing—­OhLord, I’m at it again!”

“Sir, I did not hear.”

“Nothing, ma’am, I was just going to observe,that ladies of a certain time of life, and widowsespecially, like a lover that seems a little ardentor so, all the better.” Here Mrs. Binghamblushed, her daughter bridled, and I nearly suffocatedwith shame and suppressed laughter.

“After a most tender farewell of my bride orwife, I don’t know which, I retired for thenight with a mind vacillating between my hopes ofhappiness and my fears for the result of a journeyso foreign to all my habits of travelling, and inwhich I could not but tremble at the many casualtiesmy habitual laziness and dislike to any hours but ofmy own choosing might involve me in.

“I had scarcely lain down in bed, ere thesethoughts took such possession of me, that sleep foronce in my life was out of the question; and thenthe misery of getting up at four in the morning—­puttingon your clothes by the flickering light of the porter’scandle—­getting your boots on the wrongfeet, and all that kind of annoyance—­I amsure I fretted myself into the feeling of a downrightmartyr before an hour was over. Well at least,thought I, one thing is well done,—­I havebeen quite right in coming to sleep here at the MessagerieHotel, where the diligence starts from, or the chancesare ten to one that I never should wake till the timewas past. Now, however, they are sure to callme; so I may sleep tranquilly till then. MeanwhileI had forgotten to pack my trunk—­my papers,&c. laying all about the room in a state of considerableconfusion. I rose at once with all the despatchI could muster; this took a long time to effect, andit was nearly two o’clock ere I finished, andsat down to smoke a solitary pipe,—­the last,as I supposed it might be my lot to enjoy for heavenknows how long, Mrs. R. having expressed, rather latein our intimacy I confess, strong opinions againsttobacco within doors.

“When I had finished my little sac of the ‘weed,’the clock struck three, and I started to think howlittle time I was destined to have in bed. Inbed! why, said I, there is no use thinking of it now,for I shall scarcely have lain down ere I shall beobliged to get up again. So thinking, I setabout dressing myself for the road; and by the timeI had enveloped myself in a pair of long Hungariangaiters, and a kurtcha of sheep’s wool, witha brown bear-skin outside, with a Welsh wig, and apair of large dark glass goggles to defend the eyesfrom the snow, I was not only perfectly imperviousto all effects of the weather, but so thoroughly defendedfrom any influence of sight or sound, that a volcanomight be hissing and thundering within ten yards ofme, without attracting my slightest attention. Now, I thought, instead of remaining here, I’lljust step down to the coach, and get snugly in thediligence, and having secured the corner of the coupe,resign myself to sleep with the certainty of not beingleft behind, and, probably, too, be some miles onmy journey before awaking.

“I accordingly went down stairs, and to my surprisefound, even at that early hour, that many of the garconsof the house were stirring and bustling about, gettingall the luggage up in the huge wooden leviathan thatwas to convey us on our road. There they stood,like bees around a hive, clustering and buzzing, andall so engaged that with difficulty could I get ananswer to my question of, What diligence it was? ’La diligence pour Paris, Monsieur.’

“‘Ah, all right then,’ said I; sowatching an opportunity to do so unobserved, for Isupposed they might have laughed at me, I steppedquietly into the coupe; and amid the creaking of cordage,and the thumping of feet on the roof, fell as soundasleep as ever I did in my life—­these soundscoming to my muffled ears, soft as the echoes on theRhine. When it was that I awoke I cannot say;but as I rubbed my eyes and yawned after a most refreshingsleep, I perceived that it was still quite dark allaround, and that the diligence was standing beforethe door of some inn and not moving. Ah, thoughtI, this is the first stage; how naturally one alwayswakes at the change of horses,—­a kind ofinstinct implanted by Providence, I suppose, to directus to a little refreshment on the road. Withthese pious feelings I let down the glass, and calledout 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 hadthe whole coupe to myself. ’Are there anypassengers coming in here?’ said I, as the waitercame forward with my petit verre. ‘I shouldthink not, sir,’ said the fellow with a leer.‘Then I shall have the whole coupe to myself?’said I. ’Monsieur need have no fear ofbeing disturbed; I can safely assure him that he willhave no one there for the next twenty-four hours.’ This was really pleasant intelligence; so I chuckedhim a ten sous piece, and closing up the window asthe morning was cold, once more lay back to sleep witha success that has never failed me. It was toa bright blue cloudless sky, and the sharp clear airof a fine day in winter, that I at length opened myeyes. I pulled out my watch, and discovered itwas exactly two o’clock; I next lowered theglass and looked about me, and very much to my surprisediscovered that the diligence was not moving, but standingvery peaceably in a very crowded congregation of othersimilar and dissimilar conveyances, all of which seemed,I thought, to labour under some physical ailment,some wanting a box, others a body, &c., &c. and infact suggesting the idea of an infirmary for old anddisabled carriages of either sex, mails and others. ‘Oh, I have it,’ cried I, ’we arearrived at Mt. Geran, and they are all at dinner,and from my being alone in the coupe, they have forgottento call me.’ I immediately opened thedoor and stepped out into the innyard, crowded withconducteurs, grooms, and ostlers, who, I thought,looked rather surprised at seeing me emerge from thediligence.

“‘You did not know I was there,’said I, with a knowing wink at one of them as I passed.

“‘Assurement non,’ said the fellowwith a laugh, that was the signal for all the othersto join in it. ‘Is the table d’hoteover?’ said I, regardless of the mirth aroundme. ‘Monsieur is just in time,’ saidthe waiter, who happened to pass with a soup-tureenin his hand. ’Have the goodness to stepthis way.’ I had barely time to remarkthe close resemblance of the waiter to the fellowwho presented me with my brandy and cigar in the morning,when he ushered me into a large room with about fortypersons sitting at a long table, evidently waitingwith impatience for the ‘Potage’ to begintheir dinner. Whether it was they enjoyed thejoke of having neglected to call me, or that they werelaughing at my travelling costume, I cannot say, butthe moment I came in, I could perceive a general titterrun through the assembly. ’Not too late,after all, gentlemen,’ said I, marching gravelyup the table.

“‘Monsieur is in excellent time,’said the host, making room for me beside his chair. Notwithstanding the incumbrance of my weighty habiliments,I proceeded to do ample justice to the viands beforeme, apologizing laughingly to the host, by pleadinga traveller’s appetite.

“‘Then you have perhaps come far thismorning,’ said a gentleman opposite.

“‘Yes,’ said I, ‘I have beenon the road since four o’clock.’

“‘And how are the roads?’ said another. ‘Very bad,’ said I, ’the firstfew stages from Lyons, afterwards much better.’ This was said at a venture, as I began to be ashamedof being always asleep before my fellow-travellers. They did not seem, however, to understand me perfectly;and one old fellow putting down his spectacles fromhis forehead, leaned over and said: ’Andwhere, may I ask, has Monsieur come from this morning?’

“‘From Lyons,’ said I, with theproud air of a man who has done a stout feat, andis not ashamed of the exploit.

“‘From Lyons!’ said one. ‘FromLyons!’ cried another. ‘From Lyons!’repeated a third.

“‘Yes,’ said I; ’what thedevil is so strange in it; travelling is so quicknow-a-days, one thinks nothing of twenty leagues beforedinner.’

“The infernal shout of laughing that followedmy explanation is still in my ears; from one end ofthe table to the other there was one continued ha,ha, ha—­from the greasy host to the littlehunchbacked waiter, they were all grinning away.

“‘And how did Monsieur travel?’said the old gentleman, who seemed to carry on theprosecution against me.

“‘By the diligence, the “Aigle noir,"’said I, giving the name with some pride, that I wasnot altogether ignorant of the conveyance.

“‘The you should certainly not complainof the roads,’ said the host chuckling; ’forthe only journey that diligence has made this day hasbeen from the street-door to the inn-yard; for as theyfound when the luggage was nearly packed that theaxle was almost broken through, they wheeled it roundto the court, and prepared another for the travellers.’

“‘And where am I now?’ said I.

“‘In Lyons,’ said twenty voices,half choked with laughter at my question.

“I was thunderstruck at the news at first; butas I proceeded with my dinner, I joined in the mirthof the party, which certainly was not diminished onmy telling them the object of my intended journey.

“‘I think, young man,’ said theold fellow with the spectacles, ’that you shouldtake the occurrence as a warning of Providence thatmarriage will not suit you.’ I began tobe of the same opinion;—­but then there wasthe jointure. To be sure, I was to give up tobacco;and perhaps I should not be as free to ramble aboutas when en garcon. So taking all things intoconsideration, I ordered in another bottle of burgundy,to drink Mrs. Ram’s health—­got mypassport vised for Barege—­and set out forthe Pyrenees the same evening.”

“And have you never heard any thing more ofthe lady?” said Mrs. Bingham.

“Oh, yes. She was faithful to the last;for I found out when at Rome last winter that shehad offered a reward for me in the newspapers, andindeed had commenced a regular pursuit of me throughthe 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 isin full cry after me through the Wengen Alps, I havingcontrived a paragraph in Galignani, to seduce herthither, and where, with the blessing of Providence,if the snow set in early, she must pass the winter.”

CHAPTER XXVII.

Paris.

Nothing more worthy of recording occurred before ourarrival at Meurice on the third day of our journey. My friend O’Leary had, with his usual goodfortune, become indispensable to his new acquaintance,and it was not altogether without some little lurkingdiscontent that I perceived how much less often myservices were called in request since his having joinedour party; his information, notwithstanding its veryscanty extent, was continually relied upon, and hisvery imperfect French everlastingly called into requisitionto interpret a question for the ladies. Yes,thought I, “Othello’s occupation’sgone;” one of two things has certainly happened,either Mrs. Bingham and her daughter have noticedmy continued abstraction of mind, and have attributedit to the real cause, the pre-occupation of my affections;or thinking, on the other hand, that I am desperatelyin love with one or other of them, have thought thata little show of preference to Mr. O’Leary maystimulate me to a proposal at once. In eithercase I resolved to lose no time in taking my leave,which there could be no difficulty in doing now, asthe ladies had reached their intended destination,and had numerous friends in Paris to advise and assistthem; besides that I had too long neglected the realobject of my trip, and should lose no time in findingout the Callonbys, and at once learn what prospectof success awaited me in that quarter. Leavingmy fair friends then to refresh themselves after thejourney, and consigning Mr. O’Leary to the enjoymentof his meershaum, through the aid of which he hadrendered his apartment like a Dutch swamp in autumn,the only portion of his own figure visible throughthe mist being his short legs and heavy shoes.

On reaching the house in the Rue de la Paix, wherethe Callonbys had resided, I learned that they werestill at Baden, and were not expected in Paris forsome weeks; that Lord Kilkee had arrived that morning,and was then dining at the Embassy, having left aninvitation for me to dine with him on the followingday, if I happened to call. As I turned fromthe door, uncertain whither to turn my steps, I walkedon unconsciously towards the Boulevard, and occupiedas I was, thinking over all the chances before me,did not perceive where I stood till the bright glareof a large gas lamp over my head apprised me that Iwas 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 clatteringon all sides, as the host of fashion and the gaming-tablewere hastening to their champ de bataille. Notbeing a member of the Salon, and having little dispositionto enter, if I had been, I stood for some minuteslooking at the crowd as it continued to press on towardsthe splendid and brilliantly lighted stairs, whichleads 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 turningaway, a large and very handsome cab-horse turned thecorner from the balustrade, with the most perfectappointment of harness and carriage I had seen fora long time.

While I continued to admire the taste and proprietyof the equipage, a young man in deep mourning sprungfrom the inside and stood upon the pavement beforeme. “A deux heures, Charles,” saidhe to his servant, as the cab turned slowly around. The voice struck me as well known. I waitedtill he approached the lamp, to catch a glimpse ofthe face; and what was my surprise to recognise mycousin, Guy Lorrequer of the 10th, whom I had notmet with for six years before. My first impulsewas not to make myself known to him. Our mutualposition with regard to Lady Jane was so much a mystery,as regarded myself, that I feared the result of anymeeting, until I was sufficiently aware of how mattersstood, and whether we were to meet as friends andrelations, or rivals, and consequently enemies.

Before I had time to take my resolution, Guy had recognisedme, and seizing me by the hand with both his, called,“Harry, my old friend, how are you? how longhave you been here, and never to call on me? Why man, what is the meaning of this?” BeforeI had time to say that I was only a few hours in Paris,he again interrupted me by saying: “Andhow comes it that you are not in mourning? Youmust surely have heard it.”

“Heard what?” I cried, nearly hoarse fromagitation. “Our poor old friend, Sir Guy,didn’t you know, is dead.” Only thosewho have felt how strong the ties of kindred are,as they decrease in number, can tell how this newsfell upon my heart. All my poor uncle’skindnesses came one by one full upon my memory; hisaffectionate letters of advice; his well-meant chidings,too, even dearer to me than his praise and approval,completely unmanned me; and I stood speechless andpowerless before my cousin as he continued to detailto me the rapid progress of Sir Guy’s malady,and attack of gout in the head, which carried him offin three days. Letters had been sent to me indifferent places, but none reached; and at the verymoment the clerk of my uncle’s lawyer was inpursuit of me through the highlands, where some mistakeninformation had induced him to follow me.

“You are, therefore,” continued Guy, “unawarethat our uncle has dealt so fairly by you, and indeedby both of us; I have got the Somersetshire estates,which go with the baronetcy; but the Cumberland propertyis all yours; and I heartily wish you joy of havingnearly eight thousand per annum, and one of the sweetestvillas that ever man fancied on Derwentwater. But come along here,” continued he, and he ledme through the crowded corridor and up the wide stair. “I have much to tell you, and we can be perfectlyalone here; no one will trouble themselves with us.” Unconscious of all around me, I followed Guy alongthe gilded and glittering lobby, which led to theSalon, and it was only as the servant in rich liverycame forward to take my hat and cane that I rememberedwhere I was. Then the full sense of all I hadbeen listening to rushed upon me, and the unfitness,and indeed the indecency of the place for such communicationsas we were engaged in, came most forcibly before me.Sir Guy, it is true, had always preferred my cousinto me; he it was who was always destined to succeedboth to his title and his estates, and his wildnessand extravagance had ever met with a milder rebukeand weaker chastisem*nt than my follies and my misfortunes. Yet still he was my last remaining relative; theonly one I possessed in all the world to whom in anydifficulty or trial I had to look up; and I felt, inthe 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 cabinetoff the great salon, where, having seated ourselves,he proceeded to detail to me the various events whicha few short weeks had accomplished. Of himselfhe spoke but little, and never once alluded to theCallonbys at all; indeed all I could learn was thathe had left the army, and purposed remaining for thewinter at Paris, where he appeared to have enteredinto all its gaiety and dissipation at once.

“Of course,” said he, “you willgive up ‘sodgering’ now; at the best itis but poor sport after five and twenty, and is perfectlyunendurable when a man has the means of pushing himselfin the gay world; and now, Harry, let us mix a littleamong the mob here; for Messieurs les Banquiers don’thold 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 muchlonger.”

Such was the whirl of my thoughts, and so great theconfusion in my ideas from all I had just heard, thatI felt myself implicitly following every directionof my cousin with a child-like obedience, of the fullextent of which I became only conscious when I foundmyself seated at the table of the Salon, between mycousin Guy and an old, hard-visaged, pale-countenancedman, who he told me in a whisper was Vilelle the Minister.

What a study for the man who would watch the passionsand emotions of his fellow-men, would the table ofa rouge et noir gambling-house present —­theskill and dexterity which games of other kinds require,being here wanting, leave the player free to the fullabandonment of the passion. The interest is nota gradually increasing or vacillating one, as fortuneand knowledge of the game favour; the result is uninfluencedby any thing of his doing; with the last turned cardof the croupier is he rich or ruined; and thus inthe very abstraction of the anxiety is this the mostpainfully exciting of all gambling whatever; the veryrattle of the dice-box to the hazard player is a relief;and the thought that he is in some way instrumentalin his good or bad fortune gives a turn to his thoughts.There is something so like the inevitable characterof fate associated with the result of a chance, whichyou can in no way affect or avert, that I have, notwithstandinga strong bias for play, ever dreaded and avoided therouge et noir table; hitherto prudential motives hadtheir share in the resolve; a small loss at play becomesa matter of importance to a sub in a marching regiment;and therefore I was firm in my determination to avoidthe 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 billetde banque of large amount, I felt the full importanceof my altered position, mingling with the old andlong practised prejudices which years had been accumulatingto fix. There is besides some wonderful fascinationto most men in the very aspect of high play:to pit your fortune against that of another—­tosee whether or not your luck shall not exceed someothers—­are feelings that have a place inmost bosoms, and are certainly, if not naturally existing,most easily generated in the bustle and excitementof the gambling-house. The splendour of thedecorations; the rich profusion of gilded ornaments;the large and gorgeously framed mirrors; the sparklinglustres; mingling their effect with the perfumed airof the apartment, filled with orange trees and otheraromatic shrubs; the dress of the company, among whomwere many ladies in costumes not inferior to thoseof a court; the glitter of diamonds; the sparkle ofstars and decorations, rendered more magical by knowingthat the wearers were names in history. There,with his round but ample shoulder, and large massivehead, 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 areless derived from the betting than the bettors; heis evidently making his own of some of them, whilein the seeming bon hommie of his careless mannersand easy abandon, they scruple not to trust him withanecdotes and traits, that from the crucible of hisfiery imagination come forth, like the purified goldfrom the furnace. And there, look at that oldand weather-beaten man, with grey eyebrows, and moustaches,who throws from the breast-pocket of his frock everand 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 thestake for him—­that is Blucher, the never-wantingattendant at the Salon; he has been an immense loser,but plays on with the same stern perseverance withwhich he would pour his bold cavalry through a ravinetorn by artillery; he stands by the still waning chancewith a courage that never falters.

One strong feature of the levelling character of ataste for play has never ceased to impress me mostforcibly—­not only do the individual peculiaritiesof the man give way before the all-absorbing passion—­butstranger still, the very boldest traits of nationalityeven fade and disappear before it; and man seems,under the high-pressure power of this greatest ofall stimulants, resolved into a most abstract state.

Among all the traits which distinguish Frenchmen fromnatives of every country, none is more prominent thana kind of never-failing elasticity of temperament,which seems almost to defy all the power of misfortuneto depress. Let what will happen, the Frenchmanseems to possess some strong resource within himself,in his ardent temperament, upon which he can drawat will; and whether on the day after a defeat, themoment of being deceived in his strongest hopes ofreturned affection—­the overthrow of somelong-cherished wish—­it matters not—­henever gives way entirely; but see him at the gaming-table—­watchthe intense, the aching anxiety with which his eyefollows every card as it falls from the hand of thecroupier—­behold the look of cold despairthat tracks his stake as the banker rakes it in amonghis gains—­and you will at once perceivethat here, at least, his wonted powers fail him. No jest escapes the lips of one, that would badinetupon the steps of the guillotine. The mockerwho would jeer at the torments of revolution, standslike a coward quailing before the impassive eye andpale cheek of a croupier. While I continuedto occupy myself by observing the different groupsabout me, I had been almost mechanically followingthe game, placing at each deal some gold upon thetable; the result however had interested me so slightly,that it was only by remarking the attention my gamehad excited in others, that my own was drawn towardsit. I then perceived that I had permitted mywinnings to accumulate upon the board, and that inthe very deal then commencing, I had a stake of nearlyfive hundred pounds upon the deal.

“Faites votre jeu, le jeu est fait,” saidthe croupier, “trente deux.”

“You have lost, by Jove,” said Guy, ina low whisper, in which I could detect some traitof agitation.

“Trente et une,” added the croupier. “Rouge perd, et couleur.”

There was a regular buz of wonder through the roomat my extraordinary luck, for thus, with every chanceagainst me, I had won again.

As the croupier placed the billets de banque uponthe table, I overheard the muttered commendationsof an old veteran behind me, upon the coolness andjudgment of my play; so much for fortune, thought I,my judgment consists in a perfect ignorance of thechances, and my coolness is merely a thorough indifferenceto success; whether it was now that the flattery hadits effect upon me, or that the passion for play, solong dormant, had suddenly seized hold upon me, Iknow not, but my attention became from that momentrivetted upon the game, and I played every deal. Guy, who had been from the first betting with theindifferent success which I have so often observedto attend upon the calculations of old and experiencedgamblers, now gave up, and employed himself merelyin watching my game.

“Harry,” said he at last, “I amcompletely puzzled as to whether you are merely throwingdown your louis at hazard, or are not the deepest playerI have ever met with.”

“You shall see,” said I, as I stoopedover towards the banker, and whispered, “howfar is the betting permitted?”

“Fifteen thousand francs,” said the croupier,with a look of surprise.

“Then be it,” said I; “quinze millefrancs, rouge.”

In a moment the rouge won, and the second deal I repeatedthe bet, and so continuing on with the like success;when I was preparing my rouleau for the fifth, thebanquier rose, and saying—­

“Messiers, la banque est fermee pour ce soir,”proceeded to lock his casette, and close the table.

“You are satisfied now,” said Guy, rising,“you see you have broke the banque, and a verypretty incident to commence with your first introductionto a campaign in Paris.”

Having changed my gold for notes, I stuffed them,with an air of well-affected carelessness, into mypocket, and strolled through the Salon, where I hadnow become an object of considerably more interestthan all the marshals and ministers about me.

“Now, Hal,” said Guy, “I’lljust order our supper in the cabinet, and join youin a moment.”

As I remained for some minutes awaiting Guy’sreturn, my attention was drawn towards a crowd, ina smaller salon, among whom the usual silent decorumof the play-table seemed held in but small respect,for every instant some burst of hearty laughter, orsome open expression of joy or anger burst forth,by which I immediately perceived that they were thevotaries of the roulette table, a game at which thestrict propriety and etiquette ever maintained at

rouge et noir, are never exacted. As I pressednearer, to discover the cause of the mirth, which everymoment seemed to augment, guess my surprise to perceiveamong the foremost rank of the players, my acquaintance,Mr. O’Leary, whom I at that moment believedto be solacing himself with his meershaum at Meurice. My astonishment at how he obtained admission to theSalon was even less than my fear of his recognisingme. At no time is it agreeable to find thatthe man who is regarded as the buffo of a party turnsout to be your friend, but still less is this so,when the individual claiming acquaintance with youpresents any striking absurdity in his dress or manner,strongly at contrast with the persons and things abouthim; and thus it now happened—­Mr. O’Leary’sexternal man, as we met him on the Calais road, withits various accompaniments of blouse-cap, spectacles,and tobacco-pipe, were nothing very outre or remarkable,but when the same figure presented itself among theelegans of the Parisian world, redolent of eau dePortugal, and superb in the glories of brocade waistcoatsand velvet coats, the thing was too absurd, and I longedto steal away before any chance should present itselfof a recognition. This, however, was impossible,as the crowd from the other table were all gatheredround us, and I was obliged to stand fast, and trustthat the excitement of the game, in which he appearedto be thoroughly occupied, might keep his eye fixedon another quarter; I now observed that the same scenein which I had so lately been occupied at the rougeet noir table, was enacting here, under rather differentcirc*mstances. Mr. O’Leary was the onlyplayer, as I had just been—­not, however,because his success absorbed all the interest of thebystanders, but that, unfortunately, his constantwant of it elicited some strong expression of discontentand mistrust from him, which excited the loud laughterof the others; but of which, from his great anxietyin his game, he seemed totally unconscious.

“Faites votre jeu, Messieurs,” said thecroupier.

“Wait a bit till I change this,” saidMr. O’Leary, producing an English sovereign;the action interpreted his wishes, and the money wasconverted into coupons de jeu.

I now discovered one great cause of the mirth of thebystanders, at least the English portion of them. Mr. O’Leary, when placing his money upon thetable, observed the singular practice of announcingaloud 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 brokenby a strong Irish accent pronouncing something of thissort—­“five francs,” “fourand a penny”—­“ten francs,”“eight and three ha’pence.” The amusem*nt thus caused was increased by the excitementhis losses threw him into. He now ceased toplay for several times, when at last, he made an offeringof his usual stake.

“Perd,” said the croupier, raking in thepiece with a contemptuous air at the smallness ofthe bet, and in no way pleased that the interest Mr.O’Leary excited should prevent the other playersfrom betting.

“Perd,” said O’Leary, “again. Divil another song you sing than ‘perd,’and I’m not quite clear you’re not cheatingall the while—­only, God help you if youare!”

As he so said, the head of a huge black-thorn stickwas half protruded across the table, causing renewedmirth; for, among other regulations, every cane, howevertrifling, is always demanded at the door; and thusa new subject of astonishment arose as to how he hadsucceeded in carrying it with him into the salon.

“Here’s at you again,” said O’Leary,regardless of the laughter, and covering three orfour numbers with his jetons.

Round went the ball once more, and once more he lost.

“Look now, divil a lie in it, he makes themgo wherever he pleases. I’ll take a turnnow at the tables; fair play’s a jewel—­andwe’ll see how you’ll get on.”

So saying, he proceeded to insinuate himself intothe chair of the croupier, whom he proposed to supersedeby no very gentle means. This was of courseresisted, and as the loud mirth of the bystanders grewmore and more boisterous, the cries of “a laporte, a la porte,” from the friends of thebank, rung through the crowd.

“Go it, Pat—­go it, Pat,” saidGuy, over my shoulder, who seemed to take a prodigiousinterest in the proceedings.

At this unexpected recognition of his nativity, forMr. O’Leary never suspected he could be discoveredby his accent; he looked across the table, and caughtmy eye at once.

“Oh, I’m safe now! stand by me, Mr. Lorrequer,and we’ll clear the room.”

So saying, and without any further provocation, heupset the croupier, chair and all, with one suddenjerk upon the floor, and giving a tremendous kickto the casette, sent all the five-franc pieces flyingover him; he then jumped upon the table, and brandishinghis black-thorn through the ormolu lustre, scatteredthe wax-lights on all sides, accompanying the exploitby a yell that would have called up all Connemaraat midnight, if it had only been heard there; in aninstant, the gens d’armes, always sufficientlynear to be called in if required, came pouring intothe room, and supposing the whole affair had been apreconcerted thing to obtain possession of the moneyin the bank, commenced capturing different membersof the company who appeared, by enjoying the confusion,to be favouring and assisting it. My cousin Guywas one of the first so treated—­a proceedingto which he responded by an appeal rather in favourwith most Englishmen, and at once knocked down thegen d’arme; this was the signal for a generalengagement, and accordingly, before an explanationcould possibly be attempted, a most terrific combatensued. The Frenchmen in the room siding withthe gen d’armerie, and making common cause againstthe English; who, although greatly inferior in number,possessed considerable advantage, from long habitin street-rows and boxing encounters. As formyself, I had the good fortune to be pitted against

a very pursy and unwieldy Frenchman, who sacre’dto admiration, but never put in a single blow at me;while, therefore, I amused myself practising whatold Cribb called “the one, two,” uponhis fat carcase, I had abundant time and opportunityto watch all that was doing about me, and truly amore ludicrous affair I never beheld. Imagineabout fifteen or sixteen young Englishmen, most ofthem powerful, athletic fellows, driving an indiscriminatemob of about five times their number before them,who, with courage enough to resist, were yet so totallyignorant of the boxing art, that they retreated, pell-mell,before the battering phalanx of their sturdy opponents—­themost ludicrous figure of all being Mr. O’Learyhimself, who, standing upon the table, laid abouthim with a brass lustre that he had unstrung, anddid considerable mischief with this novel instrumentof warfare, crying out the entire time, “murderevery mother’s son of them,” “givethem another taste of Waterloo.” Just ashe had uttered the last patriotic sentiment, he receiveda slight admonition from behind, by the point of agen d’arme’s sword, which made him leapfrom the table with the alacrity of a harlequin, andcome plump down among the thickest of the fray. My attention was now directed elsewhere, for aboveall the din and “tapage” of the encounterI could plainly hear the row-dow-dow of the drums,and the measured tread of troops approaching, and atonce guessed that a reinforcement of the gen d’armeriewere coming up. Behind me there was a large window,with a heavy scarlet curtain before it; my resolutionwas at once taken, I floored my antagonist, whom Ihad till now treated with the most merciful forbearance,and immediately sprung behind the curtain. Asecond’s consideration showed that in the searchthat must ensue this would afford no refuge, so I atonce opened the sash, and endeavoured to ascertainat what height I was above the ground beneath me;the night was so dark that I could see nothing, butjudging from the leaves and twigs that reached to thewindow, that it was a garden beneath, and auguringfrom the perfumed smell of the shrubs, that they couldnot be tall trees, I resolved to leap, a resolve Ihad little time to come to, for the step of the soldierswas already heard upon the stair. Fixing myhat then down upon my brows, and buttoning my coattightly, I let myself down from the window-stool bymy hands, and fell upon my legs in the soft earthof the garden, safe and unhurt. From the increasedclamour and din overhead, I could learn the affraywas at its height, and had little difficulty in detectingthe sonorous accent and wild threats of my friendMr. O’Leary, high above all the other soundsaround him. I did not wait long, however, toenjoy them; but at once set about securing my escapefrom my present bondage. In this I had littledifficulty, for I was directed by a light to a smalldoor, which, as I approached, found that it led intothe den of the Concierge, and also communicated byanother 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 stronghand; and on turning round saw the sturdy figure ofthe Concierge himself, with a drawn bayonet withina few inches of my throat, “Tenez, mon ami,”said I quietly, and placing half a dozen louis, someof my recent spoils, in his hand, at once satisfiedhim that, even if I were a robber, I was at leastone that understood and respected the conveniencesof society. He at once relinquished his holdand dropped his weapon, and pulling off his cap withone hand, to draw the cord which opened the Porte Cocherewith the other, bowed me politely to the street. I had scarcely had time to insinuate myself intothe dense mass of people whom the noise and confusionwithin had assembled around the house, when the doubledoor of the building opened, and a file of gens d’armeriecame forth, leading between them my friend Mr. O’Learyand some others of the rioters—­among whomI rejoiced to find my cousin did not figure. If I were to judge from his disordered habilimentsand scarred visage, Mr. O’Leary’s resistanceto the constituted authorities must have been a vigorousone, and the drollery of his appearance was certainlynot decreased by his having lost the entire brim ofhis hat—­the covering of his head bearing,under these distressing circ*mstances, a strong resemblanceto a saucepan.

As I could not at that moment contribute in any wayto his rescue, I determined on the following day tobe present at his examination, and render him allthe assistance in my power. Meanwhile, I returnedto Meurice, thinking of every adventure of the eveningmuch more than of my own changed condition and alteredfortunes.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

Paris.

The first thing which met my eye, when waking in themorning, after the affair at the salon, was the rouleauof billets de banque which I had won at play; andit took several minutes before I could persuade myselfthat the entire recollection of the evening had anymore solid foundation than a heated brain and feveredimagination. The sudden spring, from being asubaltern in the __th, with a few hundreds per annum—­“pourtout potage,” to becoming the veritable proprietorof several thousands, with a handsome house in Cumberland,was a consideration which I could scarcely admit intomy mind—­so fearful was I, that the veryfirst occurrence of the day should dispel the illusion,and throw me back into the dull reality which I washoping to escape from.

There is no adage more true than the old Latin one—­“thatwhat we wish, we readily believe;” so, I hadlittle difficulty in convincing myself that all wasas I desired—­although, certainly, my confusedmemory of the past evening contributed little to thatconviction. It was, then, amid a very whirlof anticipated pleasures, and new schemes for enjoyinglife, that I sat down to a breakfast, at which, thatI might lose no time in commencing my race, I hadordered the most recherche viands which even Frenchcookery can accomplish for the occasion.

My plans were soon decided upon. I resolvedto remain only long enough in Paris to provide myselfwith a comfortable travelling carriage—­securea good courier—­and start for Baden; whenI trusted that my pretensions, whatever favour theymight have been once received with, would certainlynow, at least, be listened to with more prospect ofbeing successful.

I opened the Galignani’s paper of the day, todirect me in my search, and had scarcely read a fewlines before a paragraph caught my eye, which nota little amused me; it was headed—­Seriousriot at the Salon des Etrangers, and attempt to robthe Bank:—­

“Last evening, among the persons who presentedthemselves at the table of this fashionable resort,were certain individuals, who, by their names anddress bespoke any thing rather than the rank and conditionof those who usually resort there, and whose admissionis still unexplained, notwithstanding the effortsof the police to unravel the mystery. The proprietorsof the bank did not fail to remark these persons; butscrupled, from fear of disturbing the propriety ofthe salon, to take the necessary steps for their exclusion—­reservingtheir attention to the adoption of precautions againstsuch intrusion in future—­unfortunately,as it turned out eventually, for, towards eleven o’clock,one of these individuals, having lost a considerablesum at play, proceeded in a very violent and outrageousmanner to denounce the bank, and went so far as toaccuse the croupier of cheating. This languagehaving failed to excite the disturbance it was evidentlyintended to promote, was soon followed up by a mostdreadful personal attack upon the banquier, in whichhe was thrown from his seat, and the cassette, containingseveral thousand francs in gold and notes, immediatelylaid hold of. The confusion now became considerable,and it was apparent, that the whole had been a pre-concertedscheme. Several persons, leaping upon the table,attempted to extinguish the great lustre of the salon,in which bold attempt, they were most spiritedly resistedby some of the other players and the gens-d’arme,who had by this time arrived in force. The riotwas 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 resultof a judicial investigation—­of which weshall not fail to lay the particulars before our readers.

“Since our going to press, we have learned thatone of the ringleaders in this vile scheme is a notedEnglish escroc—­a swindler, who was alreadyarrest at C____ for travelling with a false passport;but who contrives, by some collusion with anotherof the gang, to evade the local authorities. If this be the case, we trust he will speedily bedetected and brought to punishment.”

Whatever amusem*nt I had found in reading the commencingportion of this ridiculous misstatement, the allusionin the latter part by no means afforded me equal pleasure;and I saw, in one rapid glance, how much annoyance,and how many delays and impediments—­a chargeeven of this ridiculous nature, might give rise toin my present circ*mstances. My passport, however,will settle all—­thought I—­asI thrust my hand towards my pocket, in which I hadplaced it along with some letters.

Guess my misery, to discover that the whole of thepocket had been cut away, probably in the hope ofobtaining the billets de banque I had won at play,but which I had changed from that pocket to a breastone on leaving the table. This at once led meto suspect that there might be some truth in the suspicionof the newspaper writer of a pre-concerted scheme,and at once explained to me what had much puzzled mebefore—­the extreme rapidity with whichthe elements of discord were propagated, for the wholeaffair was the work of a few seconds. While Icontinued to meditate on these matters, the waiterentered with a small note in an envelope, which acommissionaire had just left at the hotel for me, andwent away, saying there was no answer. I openedit hastily, and read:—­

“Dear H.—­The confoundedaffair of last night has induced me to leavethis for a few days; besides that I have obtained amost excellent reason for absenting myself inthe presence of a black eye, which will preventmy appearance in public for a week to come. Asyou are a stranger here, you need not fear being detected. With all its desagremens, I can’t helplaughing at the adventure, and I am heartilyglad to have had the opportunity of displaying oldJackson’s science upon those wretched gens-d’arme.

“Your,truly,
“G.L.”

This, certainly, thought I, improves my position. Here is my cousin Guy —­the only one towhom, in any doubt or difficulty here, I could refer—­here he is—­flown, without letting me knowwhere to address him or find him out. I rungmy bell hastily, and having written a line on my card,requesting Lord Kilkee to come to me as soon as hecould, despatched it to the Rue de la Paix. The messenger soon returned with an answer, that LordKilkee had been obliged to leave Paris late the eveningbefore, having received some important letters fromBaden. My anxiety now became greater. I did not know but that the moment I ventured to leavethe hotel I should be recognised by some of the witnessesof the evening’s fray; and all thoughts of succouringpoor O’Leary were completely forgotten in myfear for the annoyances the whole of this ridiculousaffair might involve me in. Without any decisionas to my future steps, I dressed myself, and proceededto pay my respects to Mrs. Bingham and her daughter,who were in the same hotel, and whom I had not seensince our arrival.

As I entered the drawing-room, I was surprised tofind Miss Bingham alone. She appeared to havebeen weeping—­at least the efforts she madeto appear easy and in good spirits contrasted a gooddeal with the expression of her features as I camein. To my inquiries for Mrs. Bingham, I receivedfor answer that the friends Mrs. Bingham had expectedhaving left a few days before for Baden, she had resolvedon following them, and had now merely driven out tomake a few purchases before her departure, which wasto take place in the morning.

There is something so sad in the thought of beingdeserted and left by one’s friends under anycirc*mstances, that I cannot express how much thisintelligence affected me. It seemed, too, likethe last stroke of bad news filling up the full measure,that I was to be suddenly deprived of the societyof the very few friends about me, just as I stood mostin need of them.

Whether or not Miss Bingham noticed my embarrassment,I cannot say; but certainly she seemed not displeased,and there was in the half-encouraging tone of hermanner something which led me to suspect that shewas not dissatisfied with the impression her news seemedto produce upon me.

Without at all alluding to my own improved fortune,or to the events of the preceding night, I began totalk over the coming journey, and expressed my sincereregret that, having lost my passport under circ*mstanceswhich might create some delay in retrieving it, I couldnot join their party as I should otherwise have done.

Miss Bingham heard this speech with rather more emotionthan so simple a declaration was calculated to produce;and, while she threw down her eyes beneath their longdark lashes, and coloured slightly, asked—­

“And did you really wish to come with us?”

“Undoubtedly,” said I.

“And is there no other objection than the passport?”

“None whatever,” said I, warming as Ispoke, for the interest she appeared to take in mecompletely upset all my calculations, besides thatI had never seen her looking so handsome, and that,as the French wisely remark, “vaut toujoursquelque chose.”

“Oh, then, pray come with us, which you cando, for mamma has just got her passport for her nephewalong with her own; and as we really don’t wanthim, nor he us, we shall both be better pleased tobe free of each other, and you can easily afterwardshave your own forwarded to Baden by post.”

“Ah, but,” said I, “how shall Ibe certain, if I take so flattering an offer, thatyou will forgive me for filling up the place of thedear cousin; for, if I conjecture aright, it is ‘LeCher Edouard’ that purposes to be your companion.”

“Yes, you have guessed quite correctly; butyou must not tax me with inconsistency, but reallyI have grown quite tired of my poor cousin, sinceI saw him last night.”

“And you used to admire him prodigiously.”

“Well, well, that is all true, but I do so nolonger.”

“Eh! perche,” said I, looking cunninglyin her eye.

“For reasons that Mr. Lorrequer shall neverknow if he has to ask them,” said the poor girl,covering her eyes with her hands, and sobbing bitterly.

What I thought, said, or did upon this occasion, withall my most sincere desire to make a “cleanbreast of it in these confessions,” I know not;but this I do know, that two hours after, I found myselfstill sitting upon the sofa beside Miss Bingham, whomI had been calling Emily all the while, and talkingmore of personal matters and my own circ*mstances thanis ever safe or prudent for a young man to do withany lady under the age of his mother.

All that I can now remember of this interview, isthe fact of having arranged my departure in the mannerproposed by Miss Bingham—­a propositionto which I acceded with an affectation of satisfactionthat I fear went very far to deceive my fair friend. Not that the pleasure I felt in the prospect wasaltogether feigned; but certainly the habit of beingled away by the whim and temper of the moment had somuch become part of my nature, that I had long sincedespaired of ever guarding myself against the propensityI had acquired, of following every lead which anyone might throw out for me. And thus, as poorHarry Lorrequer was ever the first man to get intoa row at the suggestion of a friend, so he only waitedthe least possible pressing on any occasion, to involvehimself in any scrape or misfortune that presenteditself, provided there was only some one good enoughto advise him to do so.

As I entered my own room, to make preparations formy departure, I could not help thinking over all theevents thus crowded into the space of a few hours. My sudden possession of wealth—­my prospectsat Callonby still undecided—­my scrape atthe Salon—­my late interview with Miss Bingham,in which I had only stopped short of a proposal tomarry, were almost sufficient to occupy any reasonablemind; and so I was beginning to suspect, when thewaiter informed me that the Commissaire of Policewas in waiting below, and wished to speak to me. Affecting some surprise at the request which I atonce perceived the object of, I desired him to beintroduced. I was quite correct in my guess. The information of my being concerned in the affairat the Salon had been communicated to the authorities,and the Commissaire had orders to obtain bail for myappearance at the Tribunal de Justice, on that dayweek, or commit me at once to prison. The Commissairepolitely gave me till evening to procure the requiredbail, satisfying himself that he could adopt measuresto prevent my escape, and took his leave. Hehad scarcely gone when Mr. Edward Bingham was announced—­thereason for this visit I could not so easily divine;but I had little time allowed for my conjectures, asthe same instant a very smart, dapper little gentlemanpresented himself, dressed in all the extravaganceof French mode. His hair, which was permittedto curl upon his shoulders, was divided along the middleof the head; his moustaches were slightly upturnedand carefully waxed, and his small chin-tuft or Henri-quatremost gracefully pointed; he wore three most happilycontrasting coloured waistcoats, and spurs of glitteringbrass. His visit was of scarcely five minutes’duration; but was evidently the opening of a breachingbattery by the Bingham family in all form—­theobject of which I could at least guess at.

My embarrassments were not destined to end here; forscarcely had I returned Mr. Bingham’s eighthsalutation at the head of the staircase, when anotherindividual presented himself before me. Thisfigure was in every respect the opposite of my lastvisitor. Although framed perfectly upon thelate Parisian school of dandyism, his, however, wasthe “ecole militaire.” Le CapitaineEugene de Joncourt, for so he introduced himself,was a portly personage, of about five-and-thirty orforty years of age, with that mixture of bon hommieand ferocity in his features which the soldiers ofNapoleon’s army either affected or possessednaturally. His features, which were handsome,and the expression of which was pleasing, were, asit seemed, perverted, by the warlike turn of a mostterrific pair of whiskers and moustaches, from theirnaturally good-humoured bent; and the practised frownand quick turn of his dark eye were evidently onlythe acquired advantages of his military career; ahandsome mouth, with singularly regular and good teeth,took much away from the farouche look of the upperpart of his face; and contributed, with the aid ofa most pleasing voice, to impress you in his favour;his dress was a blue braided frock, decorated withthe cordon of the legion; but neither these, nor theclink of his long cavalry spurs, were necessary toconvince you that the man was a soldier; besides that,there was that mixture of urbanity and aplomb in hismanner which showed him to be perfectly accustomedto the usages of the best society.

“May I beg to know,” said he, as he seatedhimself slowly, “if this card contains yourname and address,” handing me at the same momentone of my visiting cards. I immediately repliedin the affirmative.

“You are then in the English service?”

“Yes.”

“Then, may I entreat your pardon for the troubleof these questions, and explain the reason of my visit. I am the friend of Le Baron D’Haulpenne, withwhom you had the altercation last night in the Salon,and in whose name I have come to request the addressof a friend on your part.”

Ho, ho, thought I, the Baron is then the stout gentlemanthat I pummelled so unmercifully near the window;but how came he by my card; and besides, in a rowof that kind, I am not aware how far the matter canbe conceived to go farther, than what happens at themoment. These were the thoughts of a secondof time, and before I could reply any thing, the captainresumed.

“You seem to have forgotten the circ*mstance,and so indeed should I like to do; but unfortunatelyD’Haulpenne says that you struck him with yourwalking-cane, so you know, under such a state of things,there is but one course.”

“But gently,” added I, “I had nocane whatever the last evening.”

“Oh! I beg pardon,” interrupted he;“but my friend is most positive in his account,and describes the altercation as having continued fromthe Salon to the street, when you struck him, andat the same time threw him your card. Two ofour officers were also present; and although, as itappears from your present forgetfulness, that the thingtook place in the heat and excitement of the moment,still—­”

“But still,” said I, catching up his lastwords, “I never did strike the gentleman asyou describe—­never had any altercation inthe street—­and—­”

“Is that your address?” said the Frenchman,with a slight bow.

“Yes, certainly it is.”

“Why then,” said he, with a slight curlof his upper lip—­half smile, half derision—­

“Oh! make yourself perfectly easy,” Ireplied. “If any one has by an accidentmade use of my name, it shall not suffer by such amistake. I shall be quite at your service, themoment I can find out a friend to refer you to.”

I had much difficulty to utter these few words witha suitable degree of temper, so stung was I by theinsolent demeanour of the Frenchman, whose coolnessand urbanity seemed only to increase every moment.

“Then I have the honour to salute you,”said he, rising with great mildness in his voice;“and shall take the liberty to leave my cardfor the information of your friend.”

So saying, he placed his card upon the table—­“LeCapitaine Eugene de Joncourt, Cuirassiers de la Garde.”

“I need not press upon Monsieur the value ofdespatch.”

“I shall not lose a moment,” said I, ashe clattered down the stairs of the hotel, with thatperfect swaggering nonchalance which a Frenchman isalways an adept in; and I returned to my room, to meditateupon my numerous embarrassments, and think over thedifficulties which every moment was contributing toincrease the number of.

“The indictment has certainly many counts,”thought I.

Imprimis—­A half-implied, but fully comprehendedpromise to marry a young lady, with whom, I confess,I only intend to journey this life—­as faras Baden.

Secondly, a charge of swindling—­for suchthe imputation goes to—­at the Salon.

Thirdly, another unaccountable delay in joining theCallonbys, with whom I am every hour in the risqueof being “compromis;” and lastly, a duelin perspective with some confounded Frenchman, whois at this very moment practising at a pistol gallery.

Such were the heads of my reflections, and such theagreeable impressions my visit to Paris was destinedto open with; how they were to be followed up I reservefor another chapter.

THE CONFESSIONS OF HARRY LORREQUER, Vol. 5

[By Charles James Lever (1806-1872)]

Dublin

MDCCCXXXIX.

Volume 5. (Chapter XXIX-XLI)

Contents:

Chapter XXIX
Captain Trevanion’s Adventure

Chapter XXX
Difficulties

Chapter XXXI
Explanation

Chapter XXXII
Mr O’Leary’s First Love

Chapter XXXIII
Mr O’Leary’s Second Love

Chapter XXXIV
The Duel

Chapter XXXV
Early Recollections—­A First Love

Chapter XXXVI
Wise Resolves

Chapter XXXVII
The Proposal

Chapter XXXVIII
Thoughts upon Matrimony in general, and in the Armyin particular—­The
Knight of Kerry and Billy M’Cabe

Chapter XXXIX
A Reminiscence

Chapter XL
The Two Letters

Chapter XLI
Mr O’Leary’s Capture

CHAPTER XXIX.

CAPTAIN TREVANION’S ADVENTURE.

As the day was now waning apace, and I was still unprovidedwith any one who could act as my second, I set outupon a search through the various large hotels inthe neighbourhood, trusting that amid my numerousacquaintance I should be fortunate enough to find someof them at Paris. With a most anxious eye I scannedthe lists of arrivals at the usual haunts of my countrymen,in the Rue Rivoli, and the Place Vendome, but withoutsuccess; there were long catalogues of “Milors,”with their “couriers,” &c. but not onename known to me in the number.

I repaired to Galignani’s library, which, thoughcrowded as ever with English, did not present to meone familiar face. From thence I turned intothe Palais Royale, and at last, completely jaded bywalking, and sick from disappointment, I sat downupon a bench in the Tuilleries Garden.

I had scarcely been there many minutes when a gentlemanaccosted me in English, saying, “May I ask ifthis be your property?” showing, at the sametime, a pocket-book which I had inadvertently droppedin pulling out my handkerchief. As I thankedhim for his attention, and was about to turn away,I perceived that he continued to look very steadilyat me. At length he said,

“I think I am not mistaken; I have the pleasureto see Mr. Lorrequer, who may perhaps recollect myname, Trevanion of the 43rd. The last time wemet was at Malta.”

“Oh, I remember perfectly. Indeed I shouldbe very ungrateful if I did not; for to your kindoffices there I am indebted for my life. Youmust surely recollect the street row at the ‘Caserne?’”

“Yes; that was a rather brisk affair while itlasted; but, pray, how long are you here?”

“Merely a few days; and most anxious am I toleave as soon as possible; for, independently of pressingreasons to wish myself elsewhere, I have had nothingbut trouble and worry since my arrival, and at thisinstant am involved in a duel, without the slightestcause that I can discover, and, what is still worse,without the aid of a single friend to undertake therequisite negociation for me.”

“If my services can in any way assist—­”

“Oh, my dear captain, this is really so greata favour that I cannot say how much I thank you.”

“Say nothing whatever, but rest quite assuredthat I am completely at your disposal; for althoughwe are not very old friends, yet I have heard so muchof you from some of ours, that I feel as if we hadbeen long acquainted.”

This was an immense piece of good fortune to me; for,of all the persons I knew, he was the most suitedto aid me at this moment. In addition to a thoroughknowledge of the continent and its habits, he spokeFrench fluently, and had been the most renomme authorityin the duello to a large military acquaintance; joiningto 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 sureof coming out of it with credit. He was theonly man I have ever met, who had much mixed himselfin transactions of this nature, and yet never, by anychance, had degenerated into the fire-eater; morequiet, unassuming manners it was impossible to meetwith, and, in the various anecdotes I have heard ofhim, I have always traced a degree of forbearance,that men of less known bravery might not venture topractise. At the same time, when once rousedby any thing like premeditated insult—­orpre-determined affront —­he became almostungovernable, and it would be safer to beard the lionin his den than cross his path. Among the manystories, and there were a great many current in hisregiment concerning him, there was one so singularlycharacteristic of the man, that, as I have passinglymentioned 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 manyof my readers.

When the regiment to which Trevanion belonged becamepart of the army of occupation in Paris, he was leftat Versailles seriously ill from the effects of asabre-wound he received at Waterloo, and from whichhis recovery at first was exceedingly doubtful. At the end of several weeks, however, he became outof danger, and was able to receive the visits of hisbrother officers, whenever they were fortunate enoughto obtain a day’s leave of absence, to run downand see him. From them he learned that one ofhis oldest friends in the regiment had fallen in aduel, during the time of his illness, and that twoother officers were dangerously wounded—­oneof whom was not expected to survive. When heinquired as to the reasons of these many disasters,he was informed that since the entrance of the alliesinto Paris, the French officers, boiling with rageand indignation at their recent defeat, and smartingunder the hourly disgrace which the presence of theirconquerors suggested, sought out, by every means intheir power, opportunities of insult; but always soartfully contrived as to render the opposite partythe challenger, thus reserving to themselves the choiceof weapons. When therefore it is borne in mindthat 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 threeor four English or Prussian officers being carriedthrough the Barriere de l’Etoile, if not dead,at least seriously wounded, and condemned to carrywith them through life the inflictions of a sanguinaryand savage spirit of revenge.

While Trevanion listened to this sad recital, andscarcely did a day come without adding to the longcatalogue of disasters, he at once perceived thatthe quiet deportment and unassuming demeanour whichso strongly characterise the English officer, wereconstrued by their French opponents into evidencesof want of courage, and saw that to so systematica plan for slaughter no common remedy could be applied,and that some “coup d’etat” wasabsolutely necessary, to put it down once and forever.

In the history of these sanguinary rencontres, onename was continually recurring, generally as the principal,sometimes the instigator of the quarrel. Thiswas an officer of a chasseur regiment, who had thereputation of being the best swordsman in the wholeFrench army, and was no less distinguished for his“skill at fence,” than his uncompromisinghatred of the British, with whom alone, of all theallied 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 timein Paris that he was the president of a duelling club,associated for the express and avowed object of provokingto insult, and as certainly dooming to death everyEnglish officer upon whom they could fasten a quarrel.

The Cafe Philidor, at that period in the Rue Vivienne,was the rendezvous of this reputable faction, andhere “le Capitaine” reigned supreme, receivingaccounts of the various “affairs” whichwere transacting —­counselling and plottingfor the future. His ascendancy among his countrymenwas perfectly undisputed, and being possessed of greatmuscular strength, with that peculiarly “farouche”exterior, without which courage is nothing in France,he was in every way calculated for the infamous leadershiphe assumed.

It was, unfortunately, to this same cafe, being situatedin what was called the English quarter, that the officersof 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 deliberateand cold-blooded assassination in which they wereinvolved, and here took place the quarrel, the resultof which was the death of Trevanion’s friend,a young officer of great promise, and universally belovedin his regiment.

As Trevanion listened to these accounts, his impatiencebecame daily greater, that his weak state should preventhis being among his brother officers, when his adviceand assistance were so imperatively required, andwhere, amid all the solicitude for his perfect recovery,he could not but perceive they ardently wished forhim.

The day at last arrived, and restored to somethinglike his former self, Trevanion once more appearedin the mess-room of his regiment. Amid the manysincere and hearty congratulations on his recoveredlooks, were not a few half-expressed hints that hemight not go much out into the world for some littletime to come. To these friendly admonitions Trevanionreplied by a good-humoured laugh, and a ready assurancethat he understood the intended kindness, and feltin no wise disposed to be invalided again. “Infact,” said he, “I have come up here toenjoy life a little, not to risque it; but, amongthe sights of your gay capital, I must certainly havea peep at your famed captain, of whom I have heardtoo much not to feel an interest in him.”

Notwithstanding the many objections to this, madewith a view to delay his visit to the Philidor toa later period, it was at length agreed, that theyshould all repair to the cafe that evening, but uponthe express understanding that every cause of quarrelshould be strictly avoided, and that their stay shouldbe merely sufficient to satisfy Trevanion’scuriosity as to the personnel of the renomme captain.

It was rather before the usual hour of the cafe’sfilling, that a number of English officers, amongwhom was Trevanion, entered the “salon”of the “Philidor;” having determined notto attract any unusual attention, they broke intolittle knots and parties of threes and fours, and dispersedthrough the room, where they either sipped their coffeeor played at dominoes, then, as now, the staple resourceof a French cafe.

The clock over the “comptoir” struck eight,and, at the same instant, a waiter made his appearance,carrying a small table, which he placed beside thefire, and, having trimmed a lamp, and placed a largefauteuil before it, was about to withdraw, when Trevanion,whose curiosity was roused by the singularity of thesearrangements, determined upon asking for whose comfortthey were intended. The waiter stared for a momentat the question, with an air as if doubting the seriousnessof him who put it, and at last replied—­“PourMonsieur le Capitaine, je crois,” with a certaintone of significance upon the latter words.

“Le Capitaine! but what captain?” saidhe, carelessly; “for I am a captain, and thatgentleman there—­and there, too, is another,”at the same instant throwing himself listlessly intothe well-cushioned chair, and stretching out his legsat full length upon the hearth.

The look of horror which this quiet proceeding onhis part, elicited from the poor waiter, so astonishedhim that he could not help saying—­“isthere any thing the matter with you, my friend; areyou ill?”

“No, monsieur, not ill; nothing the matter withme; but you, sir; oh, you, sir, pray come away.”

“Me,” said Trevanion; “me! why,my good man, I was never better in my life; so nowjust bring me my coffee and the Moniteur, if you haveit; there, don’t stare that way, but do as Ibid you.”

There was something in the assured tone of these fewwords that either overawed or repressed every risingfeeling of the waiter, for his interrogator; for,silently handing his coffee and the newspaper, he leftthe room; not, however, without bestowing a partingglance so full of terror and dismay that our friendwas obliged to smile at it. All this was thework of a few minutes, and not until the noise of newarrivals had attracted the attention of his brotherofficers, did they perceive where he had installedhimself, and to what danger he was thus, as they supposed,unwittingly exposed.

It was now, however, too late for remonstrance; foralready several French officers had noticed the circ*mstance,and by their interchange of looks and signs, openlyevinced their satisfaction at it, and their delightat the catastrophe which seemed inevitable to the lucklessEnglishman.

In perfect misery at what they conceived their ownfault, in not apprising him of the sacred characterof that place, they stood silently looking at himas he continued to sip his coffee, apparently unconsciousof every thing and person about him.

There was now a more than ordinary silence in thecafe, which at all times was remarkable for the quietand noiseless demeanour of its frequenters, when thedoor was flung open by the ready waiter, and the CapitaineAugustin Gendemar entered. He was a large, squarely-builtman, with a most savage expression of countenance,which a bushy beard and shaggy overhanging moustacheserved successfully to assist; his eyes were shadedby deep, projecting brows, and long eyebrows slantingover them, and increasing their look of piercing sharpness;there was in his whole air and demeanour that certainFrench air of swaggering bullyism, which ever remainedin those who, having risen from the ranks, maintainedthe look of ruffianly defiance which gave their earlycharacter for courage peculiar merit.

To the friendly salutations of his countrymen he returnedthe slightest and coldest acknowledgments, throwinga glance of disdain around him as he wended his wayto his accustomed place beside the fire; this he didwith as much of noise and swagger as he could wellcontrive; his sabre and sabretasch clanking behind,his spurs jangling, and his heavy step, made purposelyheavier to draw upon him the notice and attention hesought for. Trevanion alone testified no consciousnessof his entrance, and appeared totally engrossed bythe columns of his newspaper, from which he neverlifted his eyes for an instant. Le Capitaineat length reached the fire-place, when, no soonerdid he behold his accustomed seat in the possessionof another, than he absolutely started back with surpriseand anger.

What might have been his first impulse it is hardto 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 springupon its victim; this was but for a second, for turningrapidly round towards his party, he gave them a lookof peculiar meaning, showing two rows of white teeth,with a grin which seemed to say, “I have takenmy line;” and he had done so. He now orderedthe waiter, in a voice of thunder, to bring him achair, this he took roughly from him, and placed,with a crash, upon the floor, exactly opposite thatof Trevanion, and still so near as scarcely to permitof his sitting down upon it. The noisy vehemenceof this action at last appeared to have roused Trevanion’sattention, for he now, for the first time, looked upfrom his paper, and quietly regarded his vis-a-vis. There could not in the world be a stronger contrastto the bland look and courteous expression of Trevanion’shandsome features, than the savage scowl of the enragedFrenchman, in whose features the strong and ill-repressedworkings of passion were twitching and distortingevery lineament and line; indeed no words could everconvey one half so forcibly as did that look, insult—­open, palpable, deep, determined insult.

Trevanion, whose eyes had been merely for a momentlifted from his paper, again fell, and he appearedto take no notice whatever of the extraordinary proximityof the Frenchman, still less of the savage and insultingcharacter of his looks.

Le Capitaine, having thus failed to bring on the eclaircissem*nthe sought for, proceeded to accomplish it by othermeans; for, taking the lamp, by the light of whichTrevanion was still reading, he placed it at his sideof the table, and at the same instant stretching acrosshis arm, he plucked the newspaper from his hand, givingat the same moment a glance of triumph towards thebystanders, as though he would say, “you seewhat he must submit to.” Words cannot describethe astonishment of the British officers, as theybeheld Trevanion, under this gross and open insult,content himself by a slight smile and half bow, asif returning a courtesy, and then throw his eyes downward,as if engaged in deep thought, while the triumphantsneer of the French, at this unaccountable conduct,was absolutely maddening to them to endure.

But their patience was destined to submit to strongerproof, for at this instant le Capitaine stretchedforth one enormous leg, cased in his massive jack-boot,and with a crash deposited the heel upon the foot oftheir friend Trevanion. At length he is roused,thought they, for a slight flush of crimson flittedacross his cheek, and his upper lip trembled witha quick spasmodic twitching; but both these signs wereover in a second, and his features were as calm andunmoved as before, and his only appearance of consciousnessof the affront, was given by his drawing back hischair and placing his legs beneath it, as for protection.

This last insult, and the tame forbearance with whichit was submitted to, produced all their opposite effectsupon the by-standers, and looks of ungovernable rageand derisive contempt were every moment interchanging;indeed, were it not for the all-absorbing interestwhich the two great actors in the scene had concentratedupon themselves, the two parties must have come atonce into open conflict.

The clock of the cafe struck nine, the hour at whichGendemar always retired, so calling to the waiterfor his petit verre of brandy, he placed his newspaperupon the table, and putting both his elbows upon it,and his chin upon his hands, he stared full in Trevanion’sface, with a look of the most derisive triumph, meantto crown the achievement of the evening. Tothis, as to all his former insults, Trevanion appearedstill insensible, and merely regarded him with hisnever—­changing half smile; the petite verrearrived; le Capitaine took it in his hand, and, witha nod of most insulting familiarity, saluted Trevanion,adding with a loud voice, so as to be heard on everyside—­“a votre courage, Anglais.” He had scarcely swallowed the liqueur when Trevanionrose slowly from his chair, displaying to the astonishedgaze of the Frenchman the immense proportions andgigantic frame of a man well known as the largest officerin the British army; with one stride he was besidethe chair of the Frenchman, and with the speed oflightening he seized his nose by one hand, while withthe other he grasped his lower jaw, and, wrenchingopen his mouth with the strength of an ogre, he spatdown his throat.

So sudden was the movement, that before ten secondshad elapsed, all was over, and the Frenchman rushedfrom 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, norwas there ever any mention of the famous captain duringthe stay of the regiment in Paris.

CHAPTER XXX.

DIFFICULTIES.

While we walked together towards Meurice, I explainedto Trevanion the position in which I stood; and havingdetailed, at full length, the fracas at the Salon,and the imprisonment of O’Leary, entreated hisassistance in behalf of him, as well as to free mefrom some of my many embarrassments.

It was strange enough—­though at first sopre-occupied was I with other thoughts, that I paidbut little attention to it—­that no partof my eventful evening seemed to make so strong animpression on him as my mention of having seen mycousin Guy, and heard from him of the death of myuncle. At this portion of my story he smiled,with so much significance of meaning, that I couldnot help asking his reason.

“It is always an unpleasant task, Mr. Lorrequer,to speak in any way, however delicately, in a toneof disparagement of a man’s relatives; and,therefore, as we are not long enough acquainted—­”

“But pray,” said I, “waive thatconsideration, and only remember the position in whichI now am. If you know any thing of this business,I entreat you to tell me—­I promise to takewhatever you may be disposed to communicate, in thesame good part it is intended.”

“Well, then, I believe you are right; but, first,let me ask you, how do you know of your uncle’sdeath; for I have reason to doubt it?”

“From Guy; he told me himself.”

“When did you see him, and where?”

“Why, I have just told you; I saw him last nightat the Salon.”

“And you could not be mistaken?”

“Impossible! Besides, he wrote to me anote which I received this morning—­hereit is.”

“Hem—­ha. Well, are you satisfiedthat this is his handwriting?” said Trevanion,as he perused the note slowly twice over.

“Why, of course—­but stop—­youare right; it is not his hand, nor do I know the writing,now that you direct my attention to it. But whatcan that mean? You, surely, do not suppose thatI have mistaken any one for him; for, independentof all else, his knowledge of my family, and my uncle’saffairs, would quite disprove that.”

“This is really a complex affair,” saidTrevanion, musingly. “How long may itbe since you saw your cousin—­before lastnight, I mean?”

“Several years; above six, certainly.”

“Oh, it is quite possible, then,” saidTrevanion, musingly; “do you know, Mr. Lorrequer,this affair seems much more puzzling to me than toyou, and for this plain reason—­I am disposedto think you never saw your cousin last night.”

“Why, confound it, there is one circ*mstancethat I think may satisfy you on that head. Youwill not deny that I saw some one, who very much resembledhim; and certainly, as he lent me above three thousandfranks to play with at the table, it looks rathermore like his act than that of a perfect stranger.”

“Have you got the money?” asked Trevaniondryly.

“Yes,” said I; “but certainly youare the most unbelieving of mortals, and I am quitehappy that I have yet in my possession two of the billetsde banque, for, I suppose, without them, you wouldscarcely credit me.” I here opened my pocket-book,and produced the notes.

He took them, examined them attentively for an instant,held them between him and the light, refolded them,and, having placed them in my pocket-book, said—­“Ithought as much—­they are forgeries.”

“Hold!” said I, “my cousin Guy,whatever wildness he may have committed, is yet totallyincapable of—­”

“I never said the contrary, replied Trevanion,in the same dry tone as before.

“Then what can you mean, for I see no alternativebetween that and totally discrediting the evidenceof my senses?”

“Perhaps I can suggest a middle course,”said Trevanion; “lend me, therefore, a patienthearing for a few moments, and I may be able to throwsome light upon this difficult matter. You maynever have heard that there is, in this same cityof Paris, a person so extremely like your cousin Guy,that his most intimate friends have daily mistakenone for the other, and this mistake has the more oftenbeen made, from the circ*mstances of their both beingin the habit of frequenting the same class in society,where, knowing and walking with the same people, thedifficulty of discriminating has been greatly increased. This individual, who has too many aliases for oneto know which to particularise him by, is one of thatnumerous order of beings whom a high state of civilizationis always engendering and throwing up on the surfaceof society; he is a man of low birth and mean connexions,but gifted with most taking manners and an unexceptionableaddress and appearance; these advantages, and thepossession of apparently independent means, have openedto him the access to a certain set of people, whoare well known and well received in society, and obtainedfor him, what he prizes much more, the admission intoseveral clubs where high play is carried on. In this mixed assemblage, which sporting habits andgambling, (that grand leveller of all distinctions,)have brought together, this man and your cousin Guymet frequently, and, from the constant allusion tothe wonderful resemblance between them, your eccentriccousin, who, I must say, was never too select in hisacquaintances, frequently amused himself by practicaljokes upon their friends, which served still moreto nurture the intimacy between them; and from thishabit, Mr. Dudley Morewood, for such is his latestpatronymic, must have enjoyed frequent opportunitiesof hearing much of your family and relations, a speciesof information he never neglected, though at the momentit might appear not so immediately applicable to hispurposes. Now, this man, who knows of every newEnglish arrival in Paris, with as much certainty asthe police itself, would at once be aware of yourbeing here, and having learned from Guy how littleintercourse there had been of late years between you,would not let slip an opportunity of availing himselfof the likeness, if any thing could thereby turn tohis profit.”

“Stop,” cried I; “you have openedmy eyes completely, for now I remember that, as Icontinued to win last night, this man, who was playinghazard at another table, constantly borrowed fromme, but always in gold, invariably refusing the billetsde banque as too high for his game.”

“There his object was clear enough; for besidesobtaining your gold, he made you the means of disseminatinghis false billets de banque.”

“So that I have been actually playing and winningupon this fellow’s forgeries,” said I;“and am perhaps at this very instant inscribedin the ‘Livre noir’ of the police, asa most accomplished swindler; but what could be theintention of his note of this morning?”

“As to that,” said Trevanion, “itis hard to say; one thing you may assuredly rely upon—­itis not an unnecessary epistle, whatever be its object;he never wastes his powder when the game flies toohigh; so we must only wait patiently for the unravelmentof 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 monthssince an escapade of his attracted so much attentionof the play world here, that he was obliged to leave,and it was supposed that he would never return toParis.”

“One piece of good fortune there is at least,”said I, “which, I can safely say repays me forany and all the annoyance this unhappy affair maycause me; it is, that my poor old uncle is still aliveand well. Not all my anticipated pleasures, innewly acquired wealth, could have afforded me thesame gratification that this fact does, for, althoughnever so much his favourite as my cousin, yet the senseof protection —­the feeling of confidence,which is inseparable from the degree of relationshipbetween us—­standing, as he has ever done,in the light of a father to me, is infinitely morepleasurable than the possession of riches, which mustever suggest to me, the recollection of a kind friendlost to me for ever. But so many thoughts presson me—­so many effects of this affair arestaring me in the face—­I really know notwhich way to turn, nor can I even collect my ideassufficiently, to determine what is first to be done.”

“Leave all that to me,” said Trevanion;“it is a tangled web, but I think I can unravelit; meanwhile, where does the Militaire reside? for,among all your pressing engagements, this affair withthe 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 thatyou are to be responsible for the misdeeds of any onewho might show it as his own address, yet I look uponit as a most fortunate thing, while charges so heavymay be at this moment hanging over your head, as theproceedings of last night involve, that you have apublic opportunity of meeting an antagonist in thefield—­thereby evincing no fear of publicity,nor any intention of absconding; for be assured, thatthe police are at this moment in possession of whathas occurred, and from the fracas which followed,are well disposed to regard the whole as a concertedscheme to seize upon the property of the banque, anot uncommon wind-up here after luck fails. My advice is therefore, meet the man at once; I shalltake care that the prefect is informed that you havebeen imposed upon by a person passing himself offas your relative, and enter bail for your appearance,whenever you are called upon; that being done, weshall have time for a moment’s respite to lookaround us, and consider the other bearings of thisdifficult business.”

“Here, then, is the card of address,”said I; “Eugene Dejoncourt Capitaine de Cavalerie,No. 8, Chausse D’Antin.”

“Dejoncourt! why, confound it, this is not sopleasant; he is about the best shot in Paris, anda very steady swordsman besides, I don’t likethis.”

“But you forget he is the friend, not the principalhere.”

“The more good fortune yours,” said Trevanion,drily; “for I acknowledge I should not givemuch for your chance at twenty paces opposite hispistol; then who is the other?”

“Le Baron d’Haulpenne,” said I,“and his name is all that I know of him; hisvery appearance is unknown to me.”

“I believe I am acquainted with him,”said Trevanion; “but here we are at Meurice. Now I shall just write a few lines to a legal friend,who will manage to liberate Mr. O’Leary, whoseservices we shall need, two persons are usual on eachside in this country, and then, ‘a l’ouvrage.’”

The note written and despatched; Trevanion jumpedinto a cab, and set out for the Chausse D’Antin;leaving me to think over, as well as I could, themass of trouble and confusion that twenty-four hoursof life in Paris had involved me in.

CHAPTER XXXI.

EXPLANATION.

It was past seven o’clock when Trevanion madehis appearance, accompanied by O’Leary; andhaving in few words informed me that a meeting wasfixed for the following morning, near St. Cloud, proposedthat we should go to dinner at Verey’s, afterwhich we should have plenty of time to discuss thevarious steps to be taken. As we were leavingthe hotel for this purpose, a waiter requested ofme to permit Mr. Meurice to speak a few words to me;which, having agreed to, I entered the little bureauwhere this Czar of hotels sits enthroned, and whatwas my surprise to learn the request he had to prefer,was nothing less than that I would so far oblige himas to vacate the room I possessed in the hotel, addingthat my compliance would confer upon him the powerto accommodate a “milor” who had writtenfor apartments, and was coming with a large suite ofservants. Suspecting that some rumour of thelate affair at Frescati might have influenced my friendMeurice in this unusual demand, I abruptly refused,and was about to turn away, when he, perhaps guessingthat I had not believed his statements, handed me anopen letter, saying, “You see, sir, this isthe letter; and, as I am so pressed for spare room,I must now refuse the writer.”

As my eye glanced at the writing, I started back withamazement to perceive it was in my cousin Guy’shand, requesting that apartments might be retainedfor Sir Guy Lorrequer, my uncle, who was to arrivein Paris by the end of the week. If any doubthad remained on my mind as to the deception I hadbeen duped by, this would completely have dispelledit, but I had long before been convinced of the trick,and only wondered how the false Guy—­Mr.Dudley Morewood—­had contrived to presenthimself to me so opportunely, and by what means, inso short a space of time, he had become acquaintedwith my personal appearance.

As I mentioned this circ*mstance of the letter toTrevanion, he could not conceal his satisfaction athis sagacity in unravelling the mystery, while thisnew intelligence confirmed the justness and accuracyof all his explanations.

While we walked along towards the Palais Royale, Trevanionendeavoured not very successfully, to explain to myfriend O’Leary, the nature of the trick whichhad been practised, promising, at another time, somerevelations concerning the accomplished individualwho had planned it, which, in boldness and daring,eclipsed even this.

Any one who in waking has had the confused memoryof a dream in which events have been so mingled andmixed as to present no uniform narrative, but onlya mass of strange and incongruous occurrences, withoutobject or connexion, may form some notion of the stateof restless excitement my brain suffered from, asthe many and conflicting ideas my late adventuressuggested, presented themselves to my mind in rapidsuccession.

The glare, the noise, and the clatter of a Frenchcafe are certainly not the agents most in requestfor restoring a man to the enjoyment of his erringfaculties; and, if I felt addled and confused before,I had scarcely passed the threshold of Verey’swhen I became absolutely like one in a trance. The large salon was more than usually crowded, andit was with difficulty that we obtained a place ata table where some other English were seated, amongwhom I recognised by lately made acquaintance, Mr.Edward Bingham.

Excepting a cup of coffee I had taken nothing theentire day, and so completely did my anxieties ofdifferent kinds subdue all appetite, that the mostrecherche viands of this well-known restaurant didnot in the least tempt me. The champagne alonehad any attraction for me; and, seduced by the icycoldness of the wine, I drank copiously. Thiswas all that was wanting to complete the maddeningconfusion of my brain, and the effect was instantaneous;the lights danced before my eyes; the lustres whirledround; and, as the scattered fragments of conversations,on either side met my ear, I was able to form somenot very inaccurate conception of what insanity maybe. Politics and literature, Mexican bonds andNoblet’s legs, Pates de perdreaux and the quarantinelaws, the extreme gauche and the “Bains Chinois,”Victor Hugo and rouge et noir, had formed a speciesof 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 wasscarcely able to follow up any train of thought formore than a few seconds together, and totally inadequateto distinguish the false from the true. I continuedto confound the counterfeit with my cousin, and wonderhow my poor uncle, for whom I was about to put onthe deepest mourning, could possibly think of drivingme out of my lodgings. Of my duel for the morning,I had the most shadowy recollection, and could notperfectly comprehend whether it was O’Learyor I was the principal, and indeed cared but little. In this happy state of independent existence I musthave passed a considerable time, and as my total silencewhen spoken to, or my irrelevant answers, appearedto have tired out my companions, they left me to theuninterrupted enjoyment of my own pleasant imaginings.

“Do you hear, Lorrequer,” at last saidTrevanion; “are you asleep, my dear friend? This gentleman has been good enough to invite us tobreakfast to-morrow at St. Cloud.”

I looked up, and was just able to recognise the well-trimmedmoustache of Mr. Edward Bingham, as he stood mumblingsomething before me. “St. Cloud —­whatof St. Cloud?” said I.

“We have something in that quarter to-morrow.”

“What is it, O’Leary? Can we go?”

“Oh! certainly—­our engagement’san early one.”

“We shall accept your polite invitation withpleasure”—­

Here he stooped over, and whispered something in myear; what, I cannot say, but I know that my reply,now equally lost to me, produced a hearty fit of laughingto my two friends.

My next recollection is, finding myself in a crowdedloge at the theatre. It seems that O’Learyhad acceded to a proposal from some of the other partyto accompany them to the Porte St. Martin, where Mrs.Bingham and her daughter had engaged a box. Amid all the confusion which troubled thoughts andwine produced in me, I could not help perceiving astudied politeness and attention on the part of Mr.Edward Bingham towards me; and my first sobering reflectioncame, on finding that a place was reserved for mebeside Miss Bingham, into which, by some contrivanceI can in no wise explain, I found myself almost immediatelyinstalled. To all the excitements of champagneand punch, let the attractions of a French balletbe added, and, with a singularly pretty companion atyour side, to whom you have already made sufficientadvances to be aware that you are no longer indifferentto her, and I venture to predict, that it is muchmore likely your conversation will incline to flirtingthan political economy; and, moreover, that you makemore progress during the performance of one singlepas de deux upon the stage, than you have hithertodone in ten morning calls, with an unexceptionablewhisker and the best fitting gloves in Paris. Alas! alas! it is only the rich man that ever winsat 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 thewave, founders within sight of his native shore. So is it ever; where success would be all and everything, it never comes —­but only be indifferentor regardless, and fortune is at your feet, suingand imploring your acceptance of her favours. What would I not have given for one half of thatsolicitude now so kindly expressed in my favour byMiss Bingham, if syllabled by the lips of Lady JaneCallonby —­how would my heart have throbbedfor one light smile from one, while I ungratefullybasked in the openly avowed preference of the other. These were my first thoughts—­what werethe succeeding ones?

“Comment elle est belle,” said a Frenchwoman,turning round in the box next to us, and directingat the same moment the eyes of a moustached hero uponmy fair companion.

What a turn to my thoughts did this unexpected ejacul*tiongive rise to! I now began to consider her moreattentively, and certainly concurred fully in theFrenchwoman’s verdict. I had never seeher look half so well before. The great faultin her features, which were most classically regular,lay in the monotony and uniform character of theirexpression. Now this was quite changed. Her cheek was slightly flushed, and her eyes morebrilliant than ever; while her slightly parted lipsgave a degree of speaking earnestness to her expression,that made her perfectly beautiful.

Whether it was from this cause I cannot say, but Icertainly never felt so suddenly decided in my lifefrom one course to its very opposite, as I now didto make l’aimable to my lovely companion. And here, I fear, I must acknowledge, in the honestyof these confessional details, that vanity had alsoits share in the decision. To be the admittedand preferred suitor of the prettiest woman in company,is generally a strong inducement to fall desperatelyin love with her, independently of other temptationsfor so doing.

How far my successes tallied with my good intentionsin this respect, I cannot now say. I only remember,that more than once O’Leary whispered to mesomething like a caution of some sort or other; butEmily’s encouraging smiles and still more encouragingspeeches had far more effect upon me than all theeloquence of the united service, had it been engagedin my behalf, would have effected. Mrs. Bingham,too—­who, to do her justice, seemed butlittle cognisant of our proceedings—­fromtime to time evinced that species of motherly satisfactionwhich very young men rejoice much in, and older onesare considerably alarmed at.

The play over O’Leary charged himself with theprotection of madam, while I enveloped Emily in hercachmere, and drew her arm within my own. Whatmy hand had to do with her’s I know not; it remainsone of the unexplained difficulties of that eventfulevening. I have, it is true, a hazy recollectionof pressing some very taper and delicately formedfinger—­and remember, too, the pain I feltnext morning on awaking, by the pressure of a tootight ring, which had, by some strange accident, foundits way to my finger, for which its size was but illadapted.

“You will join us at supper, I hope,”said Mrs. Bingham, as Trevanion handed her to hercarriage. “Mr. Lorrequer, Mr. O’Leary,we shall expect you.”

I was about to promise to do so, when Trevanion, suddenlyinterrupted me, saying that he had already acceptedan invitation, which would, unfortunately, preventus; and having hastily wished the ladies good night,hurried me away so abruptly, that I had not a momentgiven for even one parting look at the fair Emily.

“Why, Trevanion,” said I, “whatinvitation are you dreaming of? I, for one,should have been delighted to have gone home with theBinghams.”

“So I perceived,” said Trevanion, gravely;“and it was for that precise reason I so firmlyrefused what, individually, I should have been mosthappy to accept.”

“Then, pray, have the goodness to explain.”

“It is easily done. You have already,in recounting your manifold embarrassments, told meenough of these people, to let me see that they intendyou should marry among them; and, indeed, you havegone quite far enough to encourage such an expectation. Your present excited state has led you sufficientlyfar this evening, and I could not answer for yournot proposing in all form before the supper was over;therefore, I had no other course open to me than positivelyto refuse Mrs. Bingham’s invitation. Buthere 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 areto be at St. Cloud by seven.”

“Ah! that is a good thought of yours about thelobster,” said O’Leary; “and now,as you understand these matters, just order supper,and let us enjoy ourselves.”

With all the accustomed despatch of a restaurant,a most appetizing petit souper made its speedy appearance;and although now perfectly divested of the high excitementwhich had hitherto possessed me, my spirits were excellent,and I never more relished our good fare and good fellowship.

After a full bumper to the health of the fair Emilyhad been proposed and drained by all three, Trevanionagain explained how much more serious difficulty wouldresult from any false step in that quarter than fromall my other scrapes collectively.

This he represented so strongly, that for the firsttime I began to perceive the train of ill consequencesthat must inevitably result, and promised most faithfullyto be guided by any counsel he might feel disposedto give me.

“Ah! what a pity,” said O’Leary,“it is not my case. It’s very littletrouble it would cost any one to break off a matchfor me. I had always a most peculiar talentfor those things.

“Indeed!” said Trevanion. “Pray,may we know your secret? for, perhaps, ere long wemay have occasion for its employment.”

“Tell it, by all means,” said I.

“If I do,” said O’Leary, “itwill cost you a patient hearing; for my experiencesare connected with two episodes in my early life, which,although not very amusing, are certainly instructive.”

“Oh! by all means, let us hear them,”said Trevanion; “for we have yet two bottlesof chambertin left, and must finish them ere we part.”

“Well, agreed,” said O’Leary; “only,once for all, as what I am about to confide is strictlyconfidential, you must promise never even to alludeto it hereafter in even the most remote manner, muchless indulge in any unseemly mirth at what I shallrelate.”

Having pledged ourselves to secrecy and a becomingseriousness, O’Leary began his story as follows:—­

CHAPTER XXXII.

Mr. O’LEARY’S first love.

“It was during the vice-royalty of the lateDuke of Richmond that the incidents I am about tomention took place. That was a few years since,and I was rather younger, and a little more particularabout my dress than at present.” Herethe little man cast an eye of stoical satisfactionupon his uncouth habiliments, that nearly made us forgetour compact, and laugh outright. “Well,in those wild and headstrong days of youthful ardour,I fell in love—­desperately in love—­andas always is, I believe, the case with our early experimentsin that unfortunate passion, the object of my affectionwas 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 oftenmade me fear for her intellect. I’m ashort, rather fat—­I was always given thisway”—­here he patted a waistcoat thatwould fit Dame Lambert—­“happy-mindedlittle fellow, that liked my supper of oysters atthe Pigeon-house, and my other creature-comforts,and hated every thing that excited or put one out ofone’s way, just as I would have hated a blister. Then, the devil would have it—­for as certainlyas marriages are made in heaven, flirtations havesomething to say to the other place—­thatI should fall most irretrievably in love with LadyAgnes Moreton. Bless my soul, it absolutelyputs me in a perspiration this hot day, just to thinkover all I went through on her account; for, strangeto say, the more I appeared to prosper in her goodgraces, the more did she exact on my part; the pursuitwas like Jacob’s ladder—­if it didlead to heaven it was certainly an awfully long journey,and very hard on one’s legs. There wasnot an amusem*nt she could think of, no matter howunsuited to my tastes or my abilities, that she didnot immediately take a violent fancy to; and thenthere was no escaping, and I was at once obliged togo with the tide, and heaven knows if it would nothave carried me to my grave if it were not for thefortunate (I now call it) accident that broke off theaffair for ever. One time she took a fancy foryachting, and all the danglers about her—­andshe always had a cordon of them—­young aides-de-campof her father the general, and idle hussars, in clankingsabertasches and most absurd mustachios—­allapproved of the taste, and so kept filling her mindwith anecdotes of corsairs and smugglers, that atlast nothing would satisfy her till I—­Iwho always would rather have waited for low water,and waded the Liffey in all its black mud, than crossover in the ferry-boat, for fear of sickness—­Iwas obliged to put an advertisem*nt in the newspaperfor a pleasure-boat, and, before three weeks, sawmyself owner of a clinker-built schooner, of forty-eighttons, that by some mockery of fortune was called ‘TheDelight.’ I wish you saw me, as you might

have done every morning for about a month, as I stoodon the Custom-house quay, giving orders for the outfitof the little craft. At first, as she bobbedand pitched with the flood-tide, I used to be a littlegiddy and rather qualmish, but at last I learned tolook on without my head reeling. I began tofancy myself very much of a sailor, a delusion considerablyencouraged by a huge P. jacket and a sou’-wester,both of which, though it was in the dog-days, Agnesinsisted upon my wearing, saying I looked more likeDirk Hatteraick, who, I understood, was one of herfavourite heroes in Walter Scott. In fact, aftershe suggested this, she and all her friends calledme nothing but Dirk.

“Well, at last, after heaven knows how manyexcuses on my part, and entreaties for delay, a daywas appointed for our first excursion. I shallnever forget that day—­the entire night beforeit I did not close my eyes; the skipper had told mein his confounded sea-jargon, that if the wind wasin one quarter we should have a short tossing sea;and if in another a long rolling swell; and if ina third, a happy union of both —­in fact,he made it out that it could not possibly blow right,an opinion I most heartily coincided in, and mostdevoutly did I pray for a calm, that would not permitof our stirring from our moorings, and thus mar ourprojected party of pleasure. My prayer was unheard,but my hopes rose on the other hand, for it blew tremendouslyduring the entire night, and although there was alull towards morning, the sea, even in the river,was considerable.

“I had just come to the conclusion that I wassafe for this time, when the steward poked his headinto the room and said,

“’Mr. Brail wishes to know, sir, if he’llbend the new mainsail to-day, as it’s blowingrather fresh, and he thinks the spars light.’

“’Why the devil take him, he would nothave us go out in a hurricane; surely, Pipes, we couldnot take out ladies to-day?’

“’O, bless your heart, yes, sir; it blowsa bit to be sure, but she’s a good sea-boat,and we can run for Arklow or the Hook, if it comesfresher.’

“’Oh, nonsense, there’s no pleasurein that; besides I’m sure they won’t likeit—­the ladies won’t venture, you’llsee.’

“’Ay sir, but they’re all on boardalready: there’s eight ladies in the cabin,and six on deck, and as many hampers of victuals andas much crockery as if we were a-goin’ to Madeira. Captain Grantham, sir, the soldier officer, withthe big beard, is a mixing punch in the grog-tub.’

“‘From the consequences of this day Iproclaim myself innocent,’ said I with a solemnvoice, as I drew on my duck trowsers, and preparedto set out.

“‘And the mainsail, sir,’ said thesteward, not understanding what I said.

“‘I care not which,’ said I, doggedly;’act or part in this wilful proceeding I’llnot take.’

“‘Ay, ay, sir,’ said the stupidwretch, ’then I’ll say you’re coming,and he may stretch the large canvas; for the skippersays he likes a wet jacket when he has gentlemen out.’

“Never did a victim put on a flame-colouredgarment, the emblem of fate, and set out on the marchof death, with a heavier heart, than did I put onmy pilot-coat that morning to join my friends.

“My last hope deserted me as I saw the littlevessel lying beside the quay; for I continued to trustthat in getting out from the dock some accident ormischance might occur to spoil our sport. Butno; there she lay, rolling and pitching in such away that, even at anchor, they could not stand onthe deck without holding. Amid the torrent ofcompliments for the perfection of all my arrangements,and innumerable sweet things on my taste in the decorationand fitting up of my cabin, I scarcely felt myselfafloat for some minutes, and we got under weigh amida noise and uproar that absolutely prevented the possibilityof thought.

“Hitherto our destination had not been mentioned,and as all the party appealed to Lady Agnes, I couldnot be less gallant, and joined them in their request.

“‘Well then, what do you think of Lambay?’said she, looking at the same moment towards the skipper.

“‘We can make it, my lady,’ saidthe man, ’but we’ll have a roughish seaof it, for there’s a strong point of westwardin the wind.’

“‘Then don’t think of it,’said I. ’We have come out for pleasure,not to make our friends sick, or terrify them. It does very well for us men.’

“’There you are, Dirk, with your insolentsneers about women’s nerves and female cowardice. Now, nothing but Lambay will content me—­whatsay you, ladies?’

“A general reply of approval met this speech,and it was carried by acclamation.

“‘Lambay then be it,’ said I, withthe voice of a man, who, entreating to be shot, isinformed that he cannot be afforded that pleasure,as his sentence is to be hanged. But I musthasten over these painful recollections. Wedropped down the river, and soon left the light-houseand its long pier behind us, the mast bending likea whip, and the sea boiling like barm over the leegunwale. Still the spirit of our party onlyrose the lighter, and nothing but eulogies upon themen and sailing of the craft resounded on all sides;the din and buz of the conversation went on only moreloudly and less restrictedly than if the party hadbeen on shore, and all, even myself, seemed happy,for up to this moment I had not been sea-sick, yetcertain pleasant sensations, that alternately evincedthemselves in my stomach and my head, warned me ofwhat was in store for me. The word was now givento tack; I was in the act of essaying a soft speechto Lady Agnes, when the confounded cry of ’readyabout, starboard there, let go sheets and tacks, standby, hawl.’ The vessel plunged head-foremostinto the boiling sea, which hissed on either bow;the heavy boom swung over, carrying my hat along withit—­and almost my head too. The restof the party, possibly better informed than myself,

speedily changed their places to the opposite sideof the boat, while I remained holding off fast bythe gunwale, till the sea rushing over, what was nowbecoming the lee-side, carried me head over heels intothe shingle ballast in the waist. Lord, how theydid laugh! Agnes, too, who never before couldget beyond a very faint smile, grew almost hystericalat my performance. As for me, I only wanted thisto complete my long threatened misfortune; sea sicknessin 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 thoughI were dead. Oh, the long, dreary hours of thatmelancholy day; it seemed like a year. Theytacked and tacked, they were beat and tacked again,the sea washing over me, and the ruffianly sailorstrampling upon me without the slightest remorse, wheneverthey had any occasion to pass back or forward. From my long trance of suffering I was partly rousedby the steward shaking my shoulder, saying,

“’The gentlemen wish to know, sir, ifyou’d like summat to eat, as they’re agoin’ to have a morsel; we are getting into slackwater now.’

“‘Where are we?’ I replied, in asepulchral voice.

“’Off the Hook, sir; we have had a mostsplendid run, but I fear we’ll catch it soon;there’s some dirty weather to the westward.’

“‘God grant it,’ said I, piouslyand in a low tone.

“‘Did you say you’d have a bit toeat. Sir?’

“’No!—­eat!—­am Ia cannibal?—­eat—­go away—­markme, my good fellow, I’ll pay you your wages,if ever we get ashore; you’ll never set anotherfoot aboard with me.’

“The man looked perfectly astounded as he movedaway, and my thoughts were soon engrossed by the proceedingsnear me. The rattle of knives, and the jinglingof plates and glasses went on very briskly for sometime, accompanied by various pleasant observationsof my guests, for such I judged them, from the mirthwhich ever followed them. At last I thoughtI heard my name, or at least what they pleased to useas its substitute, mentioned; I strained my ears tolisten, and learnt that they were planning to talkover the pretended intention to run for Cowes, andsee the regatta. This they discussed then, forabout twenty minutes, in a very loud voice, purposelyto see its effects upon me; but as I was now awareof the trick, I gave no sign of any intelligence.

“‘Poor Dirk,’ said Grantham; ’Ibelieve by this time he cares very little which wayher head lies; but here comes something better thanall our discussions. Lady Agnes, sit here—­MissPelham, here’s a dry cushion for you—­didyou say a wing, Lady Mary?’

“Now began the crash and clatter of dinner;champagne corks popping, glasses ringing, and allthat peculiar admixture of fracas and fun, which accompaniesa scrambled meal. How they did laugh, and eat,ay, and drink too. G’s punch seemed tohave its success, for sick as I was, I could perceivethe voices of the men grow gradually louder, and discoveredthat two gentlemen who had been remarkably timid inthe morning, and scarcely opened their lips, werenow rather uproariously given, and one even proposedto sing.

“If any man, thought I, were to look for aninstant at the little scene now enacting here, whata moral might he reap from it; talk of the base ingratitudeof the world, you cannot say too much of it. Who would suppose that it was my boat these peoplewere assembled in; that it was my champagne thesepeople were drinking; that my venison and my pheasantswere feeding those lips, which rarely spoke, exceptto raise a jest at my expense. My chagrin increasedmy sickness and my sickness redoubled my chagrin.

“‘Mr. Brail,’ said I, in a low whisper,‘Mr. Brail.’

“‘Did you speak, sir?’ said he,with about as much surprise in his manner, as thoughhe had been addressed by a corpse.

“‘Mr. Brail,’ said I, ‘isthere any danger here?’

“’Lord love you, no, sir, she’swalking Spanish, and the sea going down; we shallhave lovely weather, and they’re all enjoyingit, sir,—­the ladies.’

“‘So I perceive,’ said I, with agroan; ’so I perceive; but Mr. Brail, couldyou do nothing—­just to—­to startlethem a little, I mean for fun only? Just shipa heavy sea or two, I don’t care for a littledamage, Mr. Brail, and if it were to wash over thedinner-service, and all the wine, I should not likeit worse.’

“‘Why, sir, you are getting quite funny,the sickness is going.’

“’No, Mr. Brail, worse than ever; my headis in two pieces, and my stomach in the back of mymouth; but I should like you to do this—­sojust manage it, will you, and there’s twentypounds in my pocket-book, you can have it; there now,won’t you oblige me, and hark ye, Mr. Brail—­if Captain Grantham were to be washed overby mere accident it cannot be helped; accidents arealways occurring in boating parties. Go now,you know what I mean.’

“‘But sir,’ began he.

“’Well, then, Mr. Brail, you won’t—­verywell: now all I have to say is this: thatthe moment I can find strength to do it, I’llstave out a plank; I’ll scuttle the vessel,that’s all; I have made up my mind, and lookto yourselves now.’

“Saying these words, I again threw myself uponthe ballast, and, as the gay chorus of a drinkingsong was wafted across me, prayed devoutly that wemight all go down to the bottom. The song over,I heard a harsh, gruff voice mixing with the morecivilized tones of the party, and soon perceived thatMr. Brail was recounting my proposal amid the mostuproarious shouts of laughter I ever listened to. Then followed a number of pleasant suggestions formy future management; one proposing to have me triedfor mutiny, and sentenced to a ducking over the side,another that I should be tarred on my back, to whichlatter most humane notion, the fair Agnes subscribed,averring that she was resolved upon my deserving mysobriquet of Dirk Hatteraick. My wrath was nowthe master even of deadly sickness. I got uponmy 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 preciselywas in this excursion, I have no notion of now, butI have some very vague idea, that I meant to re-enactthe curse of Kehama upon the whole party. Atlast I mustered strength to rise; but alas! Ihad scarcely reached the standing position, when atremendous heel of the boat to one side, threw me inthe 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 mymisfortunes. When I again became conscious, Ifound myself wrapped up in a pilot-coat, while myclothes were drying: the vessel was at anchorin Wexford. My attached friends had startedfor town with post-horses, leaving me no less curedof love than aquatics.

“‘The Delight’ passed over in afew days, to some more favoured son of Neptune, andI hid my shame and my misfortunes by a year’stour on the continent.”

“Although I acknowledge,” said Trevanion,“that hitherto I have reaped no aid from Mr.O’Leary’s narrative, yet I think it isnot without a moral.”

“Well, but,” said I, “he has gotanother adventure to tell us; we have quite time forit, so pray pass the wine and let us have it.”

“I have just finished the burgundy,” saidO’Leary, “and if you will ring for anotherflask, I have no objection to let you hear the storyof my second love.”

CHAPTER XXXIII.

Mr. O’LEARY’S second love.

“You may easily suppose,” began Mr. O’Leary,“that the unhappy termination of my first passionserved as a shield to me for a long time against myunfortunate tendencies towards the fair; and such wasreally the case. I never spoke to a young ladyfor 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 wasabout 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 forraillery, that spared no one; the members of her ownfamily were not even sacred in her eyes; and her father,a reverend dean, as frequently figured among the ludicrousas his neighbours.

“The Evershams had been very old friends ofa rich aunt of mine, who never, by the by, had condescendedto notice me till I made their acquaintance; but nosooner had I done so, than she sent for me, and gaveme to understand that in the event of my succeedingto 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 deanin my favour, speedily put the matter on a most favourablefooting, and in less than two months I was receivedas the accepted suitor of the fair Fanny, then oneof the reigning belles of Dublin.

“They lived at this time about three miles fromtown, in a very pretty country, where I used to passall my mornings, and many of my evenings too, in astate of happiness that I should have considered perfect,if it were not for two unhappy blots—­one,the taste of my betrothed for laughing at her friends;another the diabolical propensity to talk politicsof my intended father-in-law—­to the formerI could submit; but with the latter, submission onlymade 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 kepttheir politics as a school-boy does his pocket-money,never to spend, and always ready to change, it wasunpleasant to dispute. Such taunts as theseI submitted to as well as I might; secretly resolving,that as I now knew the meaning of whig and tory, I’dcontrive to spend my life, after marriage, out ofthe worthy dean’s diocese.

“Time wore on, and at length, to my most pressingsolicitations, it was conceded that a day for ourmarriage should be appointed. Not even the unluckytermination of this my second love affair can depriveme of the happy souvenir of the few weeks which wereto intervene before our destined union.

“The mornings were passed in ransacking allthe shops where wedding finery could be procured—­laces,blondes, velvets, and satins, littered every cornerof the deanery—­and there was scarcely acarriage in a coach-maker’s yard in the citythat I had not sat and jumped in, to try the springs,by the special directions of Mrs. Eversham; who neverceased to impress me with the awful responsibilityI was about to take upon me, in marrying so greata prize as her daughter—­a feeling I foundvery general among many of my friends at the Kildare-streetclub.

“Among the many indispensable purchases whichI was to make, and about which Fanny expressed herselfmore than commonly anxious, was a saddle-horse forme. She was a great horsewoman, and hated ridingwith only a servant; and had given me to understandas much about half-a-dozen times each day for thelast five weeks. How shall I acknowledge it—­equestrianism was never my forte. I had all my life considerable respect for the horseas an animal, pretty much as I dreaded a lion or atiger; but as to my intention of mounting upon theback of one, and taking a ride, I should as soon havedreamed of taking an airing upon a giraffe; and asto the thought of buying, feeding, and maintainingsuch a beast at my own proper cost, I should justas soon have determined to purchase a pillory or aducking-stool, by way of amusing my leisure hours.

“However, Fanny was obstinate—­whethershe suspected any thing or not I cannot say—­butnothing seemed to turn her from her purpose; and althoughI pleaded a thousand things in delay, yet she eachday grew more impatient, and at last I saw that therewas nothing for it but to submit.

“When I arrived at this last and bold resolve,I could not help feeling that to possess a horse andnot be able to mount him, was only deferring the ridicule;and as I had so often expressed the difficulty I feltin suiting myself as a cause of my delay, I couldnot possibly come forward with any thing very objectionable,or I should be only the more laughed at. Therewas then but one course to take; a fortnight stillintervened before the day which was to make me happy,and I accordingly resolved to take lessons in ridingduring the intervals, and by every endeavour in mypower become, if possible, able to pass muster on thesaddle before my bride.

“Poor old Lalouette understood but little ofthe urgency of the case, when I requested his leaveto take my lessons each morning at six o’clock,for I dared not absent myself during the day withoutexciting suspicion; and never, I will venture to assert,did knight-errant of old strive harder for the handof his lady-love than did I during that weary fortnight,if a hippogriff had been the animal I bestrode, insteadof being, as it was, an old wall-eyed grey, I couldnot have felt more misgivings at my temerity, or moreproud of my achievement. In the first threedays the unaccustomed exercise proved so severe, thatwhen I reached the deanery I could hardly move, andcrossed the floor, pretty much as a pair of compassesmight be supposed to do if performing that exploit. Nothing, however, could equal the kindness of my poordear mother-in-law in embryo, and even the dean too. Fanny, indeed, said nothing; but I rather think shewas disposed to giggle a little; but my rheumatism,as it was called, was daily inquired after, and I wascompelled to take some infernal stuff in my port wineat dinner that nearly made me sick at table.

“‘I am sure you walk too much,’said Fanny, with one of her knowing looks. ’Papa,don’t you think he ought to ride; it would bemuch better for him.’

“‘I do, my dear,’ said the dean. ’But then you see he is so hard to be pleasedin a horse. Your old hunting days have spoiledyou; but you must forget Melton and Grantham, andcondescend to keep a hack.’

“I must have looked confoundedly foolish here,for Fanny never took her eyes off me, and continuedto laugh in her own wicked way.

“It was now about the ninth or tenth day ofmy purgatorial performances; and certainly if therebe any merit in fleshly mortifications, these religiousexercises of mine should stand my part hereafter. A review had been announced in the Phoenix-park,which Fanny had expressed herself most desirous towitness; and as the dean would not permit her to gowithout a chaperon, I had no means of escape, and promisedto escort her. No sooner had I made this rashpledge, than I hastened to my confidential friend,Lalouette, and having imparted to him my entire secret,asked him in a solemn and imposing manner, ‘CanI do it?’ The old man shook his head dubiously,looked grave, and muttered at length, ’Moschdepend on de horse.’ ‘I know it—­Iknow it—­I feel it,’ said I eagerly—­’thenwhere are we to find an animal that will carry mepeaceably through this awful day—­I carenot for his price?’

“‘Votre affaire ne sera pas trop chere,’said he.

“‘Why. How do you mean?’ saidI.

“He then proceeded to inform me, that by a singularlyfortunate chance, there took place that day an auctionof ‘cast horses,’ as they are termed,which had been used in the horse police force; andthat 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 atnoise.

“I could have almost hugged the old fellow forhis happy suggestion, and waited with impatience forthree o’clock to come, when we repaired togetherto Essex-bridge, at that time the place selected forthese sales.

“I was at first a little shocked at the lookof the animals drawn up; they were most miserablythin—­most of them swelled in the legs—­fewwithout sore backs—­and not one eye, on anaverage, in every three; but still they were all highsteppers, and carried a great tail. ’There’syour affaire,’ said the old Frenchman, as a long-leggedfiddle-headed beast was led out; turning out his forelegsso as to endanger the man who walked beside him.

“’Yes, there’s blood for you, saidCharley Dycer, seeing my eye fixed on the wretchedbeast; ’equal to fifteen stone with any foxhounds;safe in all his paces, and warranted sound; except,’added he, in a whisper, ’a slight spavin inboth hind legs, ring gone, and a little touched inthe wind.’ Here the animal gave an approvingcough. ’Will any gentleman say fifty poundsto begin?’ But no gentleman did. A hackneycoachman, however, said five, and the sale was opened;the beast trotting up and down nearly over the biddersat every moment, and plunging on so that it was impossibleto know what was doing.

“’Five, ten—­fifteen—­sixpounds—­thank you, sir,—­guineas’—­’sevenpounds,’ said I, bidding against myself, notperceiving that I had spoken last. ‘Thankyou, Mr. Moriarty,’ said Dycer, turning towardsan invisible purchaser supposed to be in the crowd. ’Thank you, sir, you’ll not let a goodone go that way.’ Every one here turnedto find out the very knowing gentleman; but he couldno where be seen.

“Dycer resumed, ’Seven ten for Mr. Moriarty. Going for seven ten—­a cruel sacrifice—­there’saction for you—­playful beast.’ Here the devil had stumbled and nearly killed a basket-womanwith two children.

“‘Eight,’ said I, with a loud voice.

“‘Eight pounds, quite absurd,’ saidDycer, almost rudely; ’a charger like that foreight pounds—­going for eight pounds—­going—­nothingabove eight pounds—­no reserve, gentlemen,you are aware of that. They are all as it were,his majesty’s stud—­no reserve whatever—­lasttime, eight pounds —­gone.’

“Amid a very hearty cheer from the mob—­Godknows why—­but a Dublin mob always cheer—­Ireturned, accompanied by a ragged fellow, leading mynew purchase after me with a bay halter. ’Whatis the meaning of those letters,’ said I, pointingto a very conspicuous G.R. with sundry other enigmaticalsigns, burned upon the animal’s hind quarter.

“‘That’s to show he was a po-lice,’said the fellow with a grin; ’and whin ye ridewith ladies, ye must turn the decoy side.’

“The auspicious morning at last arrived; andstrange to say that the first waking thought was ofthe unlucky day that ushered in my yachting excursion,four years before. Why this was so, I cannotpretend to guess; there was but little analogy inthe circ*mstances, at least so far as any thing hadthen gone. ‘How is Marius?’ saidI to my servant, as he opened my shutters. Herelet me mention that a friend of the Kildare-streetclub had suggested this name from the remarkably classiccharacter of my steed’s countenance; his nose,he assured me, was perfectly Roman.

“’Marius is doing finely, sir, barringhis cough, and the thrifle that ails his hind legs.’

“‘He’ll carry me quietly, Simon,eh?’

“‘Quietly. I’ll warrant he’llcarry you quietly, if that’s all.’

“Here was comfort. Certainly Simon hadlived forty years as pantry boy with my mother, andknew a great deal about horses. I dressed myself,therefore, in high spirits; and if my pilot jacketand oil-skin cap in former days had half persuadedme that I was born for marine achievements, certainlymy cords and tops, that morning, went far to convinceme that I must have once been a very keen sportsmansomewhere, without knowing it. It was a delightfulJuly day that I set out to join my friends, who havingrecruited a large party, were to rendezvous at thecorner of Stephen’s-green; thither I proceededin a certain ambling trot, which I have often observedis a very favourite pace with timid horsem*n, andgentlemen of the medical profession. I was hailedwith a most hearty welcome by a large party as I turnedout of Grafton-street, among whom I perceived severalfriends of Miss Eversham, and some young dragoon officers,not of my acquaintance, but who appeared to know Fannyintimately, and were laughing heartily with her asI rode up.

“I don’t know if other men have experiencedwhat I am about to mention or not; but certainly tome there is no more painful sensation than to findyourself among a number of well-mounted, well-equippedpeople, while the animal you yourself bestride seemsonly fit for the kennel. Every look that is castat your unlucky steed—­every whispered observationabout you are so many thorns in your flesh, till atlast you begin to feel that your appearance is forvery little else than the amusem*nt and mirth of theassembly; and every time you rise in your stirrupsyou excite a laugh.

“‘Where for mercy’s sake did youfind that creature?’ said Fanny, surveying Mariusthrough her glass.

“’Oh, him, eh? Why he is a handsomehorse, if in condition—­a charger your know—­that’shis style.’

“‘Indeed,’ lisped a young lancer,’I should be devilish sorry to charge or becharged with him.’ And here they all chuckledat this puppy’s silly joke, and I drew up torepress further liberties.

“‘Is he anything of a fencer?’ saida young country gentleman.

“‘To judge from his near eye, I shouldsay much more of a boxer,’ said another.

“Here commenced a running fire of pleasantryat the expense of my poor steed; which, not contentwith attacking his physical, extended to his moralqualities. An old gentleman near me observing,’that I ought not to have mounted him at all,seeing he was so damned groggy;’ to which Ireplied, by insinuating, that if others present wereas free from the influence of ardent spirits, societywould not be a sufferer; an observation that I flattermyself turned the mirth against the old fellow, forthey all laughed for a quarter of an hour after.

“Well, at last we set out in a brisk trot, and,placed near Fanny, I speedily forgot all my annoyancesin the prospect of figuring to advantage before her. When we reached College-green the leaders of thecortege suddenly drew up, and we soon found that theentire street opposite the Bank was filled with adense mob of people, who appeared to be swayed hitherand thither, like some mighty beast, as the individualscomposing it were engaged in close conflict. It was nothing more nor less than one of those almostweekly rows, which then took place between the studentsof the University and the town’s-people, andwhich rarely ended without serious consequences. The numbers of people pressing on to the scene ofaction soon blocked up our retreat, and we found ourselvesmost unwilling spectators of the conflict. Politicalwatch-words were loudly shouted by each party; andat last the students, who appeared to be yieldingto superior numbers, called out for the interventionof the police. The aid was nearer than theyexpected; for at the same instant a body of mountedpolicemen, whose high helmets rendered them sufficientlyconspicuous, were seen trotting at a sharp pace downDame-street. On they came with drawn sabres,led by a well-looking gentlemanlike personage in plainclothes, who dashed at once into the midst of thefray, issuing his orders, and pointing out to his followersto secure the ringleaders. Up to this momentI had been a most patient, and rather amused spectator,of what was doing. Now, however, my part wasto commence, for at the word ‘charge,’given in a harsh, deep voice by the sergeant of theparty, Marius, remembering his ancient instinct, prickedup his ears, co*cked his tail, flung up both his hindlegs till they nearly broke the Provost’s windows,and plunged into the thickest of the fray like a devilincarnate.

“Self-preservation must be a strong instinct,for I well remember how little pain it cost me tosee the people tumbling and rolling before and beneathme, while I continued to keep my seat. It wasonly the moment before and that immense mass werein man to man encounter; now all the indignation ofboth parties seemed turned upon me; brick-bats wereloudly implored, and paving stones begged to throwat my devoted head; the wild huntsman of the Germanromance never created half the terror, nor one-tenthof the mischief that I did in less than fifteen minutes,for the ill-starred beast continued twining and twistinglike a serpent, plunging and kicking the entire time,and occasionally biting too; all which accomplishmentsI afterwards learned, however little in request incivil life, are highly prized in the horse police.

“Every new order of the sergeant was followedin his own fashion by Marius; who very soon contrivedto concentrate in my unhappy person, all the interestof about fifteen hundred people.

“‘Secure that scoundrel,’ said themagistrate, pointing with his finger towards me, asI rode over a respectable looking old lady, with agrey muff. ‘Secure him. Cut himdown.’

“‘Ah, devil’s luck to him, if yedo,’ said a newsmonger with a broken shin.

“On I went, however, and now, as the Fates wouldhave it, instead of bearing me out of further danger,the confounded brute dashed onwards to where the magistratewas standing, surrounded by policemen. I thoughtI saw him change colour as I came on. I supposemy own looks were none of the pleasantest, for theworthy man liked them not. Into the midst ofthem we plunged, upsetting a corporal, horse and all,and appearing as if bent upon reaching the alderman.

“‘Cut him down for heaven’s sake. Will nobody shoot him’ said he, with a voicetrembling with fear and anger.

“At these words a wretch lifted up his sabre,and made a cut at my head. I stooped suddenly,and throwing myself from the saddle, seized the pooralderman round the neck, and we both came rolling tothe ground together. So completely was he possessedwith the notion that I meant to assassinate him, thatwhile I was endeavouring to extricate myself fromhis grasp, he continued to beg his life in the mostheartrending manner.

“My story is now soon told. So effectuallydid they rescue the alderman from his danger, thatthey left me insensible; and I only came to myselfsome days after by finding myself in the dock in Green-street,charged with an indictment of nineteen counts; theonly word of truth is what lay in the preamble, forthe ‘devil inciting’ me only, would everhave made me the owner of that infernal beast, thecause of all my misfortunes. I was so stupifiedfrom my hearing, that I know little of the course ofthe proceedings. My friends told me afterwardsthat I had a narrow escape from transportation; butfor the greatest influence exerted in my behalf, Ishould certainly have passed the autumn in the agreeablerecreation of pounding oyster shells or carding wool;and it certainly must have gone hard with me, forstupified as I was, I remember the sensation in court,when the alderman made his appearance with a patchover his eye. The affecting admonition of thelittle judge—­who, when passing sentenceupon me, adverted to the former respectability ofmy life, and the rank of my relatives—­actuallymade the galleries weep.

“Four months in Newgate, and a fine to the king,then rewarded my taste for horse-exercise; and it’sno wonder if I prefer going on foot.

“As to Miss Eversham, the following short notefrom the dean concluded my hopes in that quarter.

“’Deanery,Wednesday morning.

“’Sir,—­Afterthe very distressing publicity to which your lateconduct has exposed you—­the so openavowal of political opinion, at variance withthose (I will say) of every gentleman—­andthe recorded sentence of a judge on the verdictof twelve of your countrymen—­I shouldhope that you will not feel my present admonitionnecessary to inform you, that your visits at my houseshall cease.

“’The presentsyou made my daughter, when under our unfortunate
ignorance of your realcharacter, have been addressed to your hotel,
and I am your most obedient,humble servant,

“‘OliverEversham.’

“Here ended my second affair ‘par amours;’and I freely confess to you that if I can only obtaina wife in a sea voyage, or a steeple chase, I am likelyto fulfill one great condition in modern advertising—­’ashaving no incumbrance, or any objection to travel.’”

CHAPTER XXXIV.

THE DUEL.

Mr. O’Leary had scarcely concluded the narrativeof his second adventure, when the grey light of thebreaking day was seen faintly struggling through thehalf-closed curtains, and apprising us of the latenessof the hour.

“I think we shall just have time for one finishingflask of Chambertin,” said O’Leary, ashe emptied the bottle into his glass.

“I forbid the bans, for one,” cried Trevanion. “We have all had wine enough, considering whatwe have before us this morning; and besides you arenot aware it is now past four o’clock. So garcon—­garcon, there—­howsoundly the poor fellow sleeps—­let us havesome coffee, and then inquire if a carriage is inwaiting at the corner of the Rue Vivienne.”

The coffee made its appearance, very much, as it seemed,to Mr. O’Leary’s chagrin, who, however,solaced himself by sundry petit* verres, to correctthe coldness of the wine he had drank, and at lengthrecovered his good humour.

“Do you know, now,” said he, after a shortpause, in which we had all kept silence, “Ithink what we are about to do, is the very ugliestway of finishing a pleasant evening. For myown part I like the wind up we used to have in ‘OldTrinity’ formerly; when, after wringing off halfa dozen knockers, breaking the lamps at the post-office,and getting out the fire engines of Werburgh’sparish, we beat a few watchmen, and went peaceablyto bed.”

“Well, not being an Irishman,” said Trevanion,“I’m half disposed to think that evenour present purpose is nearly as favourable to lifeand limb; but here comes my servant. Well, John,is all arranged, and the carriage ready?”

Having ascertained that the carriage was in waiting,and that the small box—­brass bound andBramah-locked—­reposed within, we paid ourbill and departed. A cold, raw, misty-lookingmorning, with masses of dark louring clouds overhead,and channels of dark and murky water beneath, werethe pleasant prospects which met us as we issued forthfrom the Cafe. The lamps, which hung suspendedmidway across the street, (we speak of some yearssince,) creaked, with a low and plaintive sound, asthey swung backwards and forwards in the wind. Not a footstep was heard in the street—­nothingbut the heavy patter of the rain as it fell ceaselesslyupon the broad pavement. It was, indeed, a mostdepressing and dispiriting accompaniment to our intendedexcursion: and even O’Leary, who seemedto have but slight sympathy with external influences,felt it, for he spoke but little, and was scarcelyten minutes in the carriage till he was sound asleep. This was, I confess, a great relief to me; for, howeverimpressed I was, and to this hour am, with the manysterling qualitites of my poor friend, yet, I acknowledge,that this was not precisely the time I should havecared for their exercise, and would have much preferredthe companionship of a different order of person,even though less long acquainted with him. Trevanionwas, of all others, the most suitable for this purpose;and I felt no embarrassment in opening my mind freelyto him upon subjects which, but twenty-four hoursprevious, I could not have imparted to a brother.

There is no such unlocker of the secrets of the heartas the possibly near approach of death. Indeed,I question if a great deal of the bitterness the thoughtof it inspires, does not depend upon that very circ*mstance. The reflection that the long-treasured mystery ofour lives (and who is there without some such?) isabout to become known, and the secret of our inmostheart laid bare, is in itself depressing. Notone kind word, nor one remembrancing adieu, to thosewe are to leave for ever, can be spoken or written,without calling up its own story of half-forgottengriefs or, still worse, at such a moment, of happinessnever again to be partaken of.

“I cannot explain why,” said I to Trevanion,“but although it has unfortunately been prettyoften my lot to have gone out on occasions like this,both as principal and friend, yet never before didI feel so completely depressed and low-spirited—­andnever, in fact, did so many thoughts of regret arisebefore me for much of the past, and sorrow for thechance of abandoning the future”—­

“I can understand,” said Trevanion, interrupting—­“Ihave heard of your prospect in the Callonby family,and certainly, with such hopes, I can well conceivehow little one would be disposed to brook the slightestincident which could interfere with their accomplishment;but, now that your cousin Guy’s pretensionsin that quarter are at an end, I suppose, from allI have heard, that there can be no great obstacle toyours.”

“Guy’s pretensions at an end! Forheaven’s sake, tell me all you know of thisaffair—­for up to this moment I am in utterignorance of every thing regarding his position amongthe Callonby family.”

“Unfortunately,” replied Trevanion, “Iknow but little, but still that little is authentic—­Guyhimself having imparted the secret to a very intimatefriend of mine. It appears, then, that your cousin,having heard that the Callonbys had been very civilto you in Ireland, and made all manner of advancesto you—­had done so under the impressionthat you were the other nephew of Sir Guy, and consequentlythe heir of a large fortune—­that is, Guyhimself—­and that they had never discoveredthe mistake during the time they resided in Ireland,when they not only permitted, but even encouragedthe closest intimacy between you and Lady Jane. Is so far true?”

“I have long suspected it. Indeed in noother way can I account for the reception I met withfrom the Callonbys. But is it possible that LadyJane could have lent herself to any thing so unworthy.”—­

“Pray, hear me out,” said Trevanion, whowas evidently struck by the despondency of my voiceand manner. “Guy having heard of theirmistake, and auguring well to himself from this evidenceof their disposition, no sooner heard of their arrivalin Paris, than he came over here and got introducedto them. From that time he scarcely ever lefttheir house, except to accompany them into society,or to the theatres. It is said that with LadyJane he made no progress. Her manner, at thebeginning cold and formal, became daily more so; until,at last, he was half disposed to abandon the pursuit—­inwhich, by the by, he has since confessed, monied viewsentered more than any affection for the lady —­whenthe thought struck him to benefit by what he supposedat first to be the great bar to his success. He suddenly pretended to be only desirous of intimacywith Lady Jane, from having heard so much of her fromyou—­affected to be greatly in your confidence—­and,in fact, assumed the character of a friend cognizantof all your feelings and hopes, and ardently desiring,by every means in his power, to advance your views—­”

“And was it thus he succeeded,” I brokein.

“’Twas thus he endeavoured to succeed,”said Trevanion.

“Ah, with what success I but too well know”said I. “My uncle himself showed me aletter from Guy, in which he absolutely speaks of theaffair as settled, and talks of Lady Jane as aboutto be his wife.”

“That may be all quite true; but a little considerationof Guy’s tactics will show what he intended;for I find that he induced your uncle, by some representationsof his, to make the most handsome proposals, withregard to the marriage, to the Callonbys; and that,to make the story short, nothing but the decided refusalof Lady Jane, who at length saw through his entiregame prevented the match.”

“And then she did refuse him,” said I,with ill-repressed exultation.

“Of that there can be no doubt; for independentlyof all the gossip and quizzing upon the subject, towhich Guy was exposed in the coteries, he made littlesecret of it himself—­openly avowing thathe did not consider a repulse a defeat, and that heresolved to sustain the siege as vigorously as ever.”

However interested I felt in all Trevanion was tellingme, I could not help falling into a train of thinkingon my first acquaintance with the Callonbys. There are, perhaps, but few things more humiliatingthan the knowledge that any attention or considerationwe have met with, has been paid us in mistake foranother; and in the very proportion that they wereprized before, are they detested when the truth isknown to us.

To all the depressing influences these thoughts suggested,came the healing balm that Lady Jane was true to me—­thatshe, at least, however others might be biassed byworldly considerations—­that she cared forme —­for myself alone. My reader (alas!for my character for judgment) knows upon how littleI founded the conviction; but I have often, in theseConfessions, avowed my failing, par excellence, tobe a great taste for self-deception; and here wasa capital occasion for its indulgence.

“We shall have abundant time to discuss thislater on,” said Trevanion, laying his hand uponmy shoulder to rouse my wandering attention—­“fornow, I perceive, we have only eight minutes to spare.”

As he spoke, a dragoon officer, in an undress, rodeup to the window of the carriage, and looking steadilyat our party for a few seconds, asked if we were “Messieursles Anglais;” and, almost without waiting forreply, added, “You had better not go any fartherin your carriage, for the next turn of the road willbring you in sight of the village.”

We accordingly stopped the driver, and having (with)some difficulty aroused O’Leary, got out uponthe road. The militaire here gave his horseto a groom, and proceeded to guide us through a corn-fieldby a narrow path, with whose windings and crossingshe appeared quite conversant. We at length reachedthe brow of a little hill, from which an extendedview of the country lay before us, showing the Seinewinding its tranquil course between the richly tilledfields, dotted with many a pretty cottage. Turningabruptly from this point, our guide led us, by a narrowand steep path, into a little glen, planted with poplarand willows. A small stream ran through this,and by the noise we soon detected that a mill wasnot far distant, which another turning brought usat once in front of.

And here I cannot help dwelling upon the “tableau”which met our view. In the porch of the littlerural mill sat two gentlemen, one of whom I immediatelyrecognised as the person who had waited upon me, andthe other I rightly conjectured to be my adversary. Before them stood a small table, covered with a spotlessnapkin, upon which a breakfast equipage was spread—­amost inviting melon and a long, slender-necked bottle,reposing in a little ice-pail, forming part of the“materiel.” My opponent was coolyenjoying his cigar—­a half-finished cup ofcoffee lay beside him—­his friend was occupiedin examining the caps of the duelling pistols, whichwere placed upon a chair. No sooner had we turnedthe angle which brought us in view, than they bothrose, and, taking off their hats with much courtesy,bade us good morning.

“May I offer you a cup of coffee,” saidMonsieur Derigny to me, as I came up, at the sametime filling it out, and pushing over a little flaskof Cogniac towards me.

A look from Trevanion decided my acceptance of theproferred civility, and I seated myself in the chairbeside the baron. Trevanion meanwhile had engagedmy adversary in conversation along with the stranger,who had been our guide, leaving O’Leary aloneunoccupied, which, however, he did not long remain;for, although uninvited by the others, he seized aknife and fork, and commenced a vigorous attack upona partridge pie near him; and, with equal absenceof ceremony, uncorked the champaign and filled outa foaming goblet, nearly one-third of the whole bottle,adding—­

“I think, Mr. Lorrequer, there’s nothinglike showing them that we are just as cool and unconcernedas themselves.”

If I might judge from the looks of the party, a happiermode of convincing them of our “free-and-easy”feelings could not possibly have been discovered. From any mortification this proceeding might havecaused me, I was speedily relieved by Trevanion callingO’Leary to one side, while he explained to himthat he must nominally act as second on the ground,as Trevanion, being a resident in Paris, might becomeliable to a prosecution, should any thing seriousarise, while O’Leary, as a mere passer through,could cross the frontier into Germany, and avoid alltrouble.

O’Leary at once acceded—­perhaps themore readily because he expected to be allowed toreturn to his breakfast—­but in this he soonfound himself mistaken, for the whole party now rose,and preceded by the baron, followed the course ofthe little stream.

After about five minutes’ walking, we foundourselves at the outlet of the glen, which was formedby a large stone quarry, making a species of amphitheatre,with lofty walls of rugged granite, rising thirty orforty feet on either side of us. The groundwas smooth and level as a boarded floor, and certainlyto amateurs in these sort of matters, presented amost perfect spot for a “meeting.”

The stranger who had just joined us, could not helpremarking our looks of satisfaction at the choiceof ground, and observed to me—­

“This is not the first affair that this littlespot has witnessed; and the moulinet of St. Cloudis, I think, the very best ‘meet’ aboutParis.”

Trevanion who, during these few minutes, had beenengaged with Derigny, now drew me aside.

“Well, Lorrequer, have you any recollectionnow of having seen your opponent before? or can youmake a guess at the source of all this?”

“Never till this instant,” said I, “haveI beheld him,” as I looked towards the tall,stoutly-built figure of my adversary, who was veryleisurely detaching a cordon from his tightly fittingfrock, doubtless to prevent its attracting my aim.

“Well, never mind, I shall manage every thingproperly. What can you do with the small sword,for they have rapiers at the mill?”

“Nothing whatever; I have not fenced since Iwas a boy.”

“N’importe—­then we’llfight at a barriere. I know they’re notprepared for that from Englishmen; so just step onone side now, and leave me to talk it over.”

As the limited nature of the ground did not permitme to retire to a distance, I became involuntarilyaware of a dialogue, which even the seriousness ofthe moment could scarcely keep me from laughing atoutright.

It was necessary, for the sake of avoiding any possiblelegal difficulty in the result, that O’Learyshould give his assent to every step of the arrangement;and being totally ignorant of French, Trevanion hadnot only to translate for him, but also to renderin reply O’Leary’s own comments or objectionsto the propositions of the others.

“Then it is agreed—­we fight at abarriere,” said the Captain Derigny.

“What’s that, Trevanion?”

“We have agreed to place them at a barriere,”replied Trevanion.

“That’s strange,” muttered O’Learyto himself, who, knowing that the word meant a “turnpike,”never supposed it had any other signification.

“Vingt quatre pas, n’est pas,” saidDerigny.

“Too far,” interposed Trevanion.

“What does he say now?” asked O’Leary.

“Twenty-four paces for the distance.”

“Twenty-four of my teeth he means,” saidO’Leary, snapping his fingers. “Whatdoes he think of the length of Sackville-street? Ask him that, will ye?”

“What says Monsieur?” said the Frenchman.

“He thinks the distance much too great.”

“He may be mistaken,” said the Captain,half sneeringly. “My friend is ‘dela premiere force.’”

“That must be something impudent, from yourlooks, Mr. Trevanion. Isn’t it a thousandpities I can’t speak French?”

“What say you, then, to twelve paces? Fire together, and two shots each, if the first firebe inconclusive,” said Trevanion.

“And if necessary,” added the Frenchman,carelessly, “conclude with these”—­touchingthe swords with his foot as he spoke.

“The choice of the weapon lies with us, I opine,”replied Trevanion. “We have already namedpistols, and by them we shall decide this matter.”

It was at length, after innumerable objections, agreedupon that we should be placed back to back, and ata word given each walk forward to a certain distancemarked out by a stone, where we were to halt, and atthe signal, “une,” “deux,”turn round and fire.

This, which is essentially a French invention in duelling,was perfectly new to me, but by no means to Trevanion,who was fully aware of the immense consequence ofnot giving even a momentary opportunity for aim tomy antagonist; and in this mode of firing the mostpractised and deadly shot is liable to err—­particularlyif the signal be given quickly.

While Trevanion and the Captain were measuring outthe ground, a little circ*mstance which was enactednear me was certainly not over calculated to strengthenmy nerve. The stranger who had led us to theground had begun to examine the pistols, and findingthat one of them was loaded, turned towards my adversary,saying, “De Haultpenne, you have forgotten todraw the charge. Come let us see what vein youare in.” At the same time, drawing offhis large cavalry glove, he handed the pistol to hisfriend.

“A double Napoleon you don’t hit the thumb.”

“Done,” said the other, adjusting theweapon in his hand.

The action was scarcely performed, when the bettorflung 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—­theglove turned round and round half-a-dozen times, andfell about twenty yards off, and the thumb was foundcut clearly off at the juncture with the hand.

This—­which did not occupy half as longas I have spent in recounting it —­was certainlya pleasant introduction to standing at fifteen yardsfrom the principal actor; and I should doubtless havefelt it in all its force, had not my attention beendrawn off by the ludicrous expression of grief inO’Leary’s countenance, who evidently regardedme as already defunct.

“Now, Lorrequer, we are ready,” said Trevanion,coming forward; and then, lowering his voice, added,“All is in your favour; I have won the ‘word,’which I shall give the moment you halt. So turnand fire at once: be sure not to go too far roundin the turn—­that is the invariable errorin this mode of firing; only no hurry—­becalm.”

“Now, Messieurs,” said Derigny, as heapproached with his friend leaning upon his arm, andplaced him in the spot allotted to him. Trevanionthen took my arm, and placed me back to back to myantagonist. As I took up my ground, it so chancedthat my adversary’s spur slightly grazed me,upon which he immediately turned round, and, with themost engaging smile, begged a “thousand pardons,”and hoped I was not hurt.

O’Leary, who saw the incident, and guessed theaction aright, called out:

“Oh, the cold-blooded villain; the devil a chancefor you, Mr. Lorrequer.”

“Messieurs, your pistols,” said Le Capitainela Garde, who, as he handed the weapons, and repeatedonce more the conditions of the combat, gave the wordto march.

I now walked slowly forward to the place marked outby the stone; but it seemed that I must have beenin advance of my opponent, for I remember some secondselapsed before Trevanion coughed slightly, and thenwith a clear full voice called out “Une,”“Deux.” I had scarcely turned myselfhalf round, when my right arm was suddenly lifted up,as if by a galvanic shock. My pistol jerkedupwards, and exploded the same moment, and then droppedpowerlessly from my hand, which I now felt was coveredwith warm blood from a wound near the elbow. From the acute but momentary pang this gave me, myattention was soon called off; for scarcely had myarm been struck, when a loud clattering noise to myleft induced me to turn, and then, to my astonishment,I saw my friend O’Leary about twelve feet fromthe ground, hanging on by some ash twigs that grewfrom the clefts of the granite. Fragments ofbroken rock were falling around him, and his own positionmomentarily threatened a downfall. He was screamingwith all his might; but what he said was entirely lostin the shouts of laughter of Trevanion and the Frenchmen,who could scarcely stand with the immoderate exuberanceof their mirth.

I had not time to run to his aid—­which,although wounded, I should have done—­whenthe branch he clung to, slowly yielded with his weight,and the round, plump figure of my poor friend rolledover the little cleft of rock, and, after a few faintstruggles, came tumbling heavily down, and at lastlay peaceably in the deep heather at the bottom—­hiscries the whole time being loud enough to rise evenabove the vociferous laughter of the others.

I now ran forward, as did Trevanion, when O’Leary,turning his eyes towards me, said, in the most piteousmanner—­

“Mr. Lorrequer, I forgive you—­hereis my hand—­bad luck to their French wayof fighting, that’s all—­it’sonly good for killing one’s friend. I thoughtI was safe up there, come what might.”

“My dear O’Leary,” said I, in anagony, which prevented my minding the laughing facesaround me, “surely you don’t mean to saythat I have wounded you?”

“No, dear, not wounded, only killed me outright—­throughthe brain it must be, from the torture I’m suffering.”

The shout with which this speech was received, sufficientlyaroused me; while Trevanion, with a voice nearly chokedwith laughter, said—­

“Why, Lorrequer, did you not see that your pistol,on being struck, threw your ball high up on the quarry;fortunately, however, about a foot and a half aboveMr. O’Leary’s head, whose most seriouswounds are his scratched hands and bruised bones fromhis tumble.”

This explanation, which was perfectly satisfactoryto me, was by no means so consoling to poor O’Leary,who lay quite unconscious to all around, moaning inthe most melancholy manner. Some of the blood,which continued to flow fast from my wound, havingdropped upon his face, roused him a little—­butonly to increase his lamentation for his own destiny,which he believed was fast accomplishing.

“Through the skull—­clean throughthe skull—­and preserving my senses to thelast! Mr. Lorrequer, stoop down—­itis a dying man asks you—­don’t refuseme a last request. There’s neither lucknor grace, honor nor glory in such a way of fighting—­sojust promise me you’ll shoot that grinning baboonthere, when he’s going off the ground, sinceit’s the fashion to fire at a man with his backto you. Bring him down, and I’ll die easy.”

And with these words he closed his eyes, and straightenedout his legs —­stretched his arm at eitherside, and arranged himself as much corpse fashionas the circ*mstances of the ground would permit—­whileI now freely participated in the mirth of the others,which, loud and boisterous as it was, never reachedthe ears of O’Leary.

My arm had now become so painful, that I was obligedto ask Trevanion to assist me in getting off my coat. The surprise of the Frenchmen on learning that Iwas wounded was very considerable—­O’Leary’scatastrophe having exclusively engaged all attention. My arm was now examined, when it was discovered thatthe ball had passed through from one side to the other,without apparently touching the bone; the bullet andthe portion of my coat carried in by it both lay inmy sleeve. The only serious consequence to beapprehended was the wound of the blood-vessel, whichcontinued to pour forth blood unceasingly, and I wasjust surgeon enough to guess that an artery had beencut.

Trevanion bound his handkerchief tightly across thewound, and assisted me to the high road, which, sosudden was the loss of blood, I reached with difficulty. During all these proceedings, nothing could be possiblymore kind and considerate than the conduct of our opponents. All the farouche and swaggering air which they haddeemed the “rigueur” before, at once fled,and in its place we found the most gentlemanlike attentionand true politeness.

As soon as I was enabled to speak upon the matter,I begged Trevanion to look to poor O’Leary,who still lay upon the ground in a state of perfectunconsciousness. Captain Derigny, on hearingmy wish, at once returned to the quarry, and, withthe greatest difficulty, persuaded my friend to riseand endeavour to walk, which at last he did attempt,calling him to bear witness that it perhaps was theonly case on record where a man with a bullet in hisbrain had made such an exertion.

With a view to my comfort and quiet, they put himinto the cab of Le Baron; and, having undertaken tosend Dupuytrien to me immediately on my reaching Paris,took their leave, and Trevanion and I set out homeward.

Not all my exhaustion and debility—­noreven the acute pain I was suffering, could preventmy laughing at O’Leary’s adventure; andit required all Trevanion’s prudence to preventmy indulging too far in my recollection of it.

When we reached Meurice’s, I found Dupuytrienin waiting, who immediately pronounced the main arteryof the limb as wounded; and almost as instantaneouslyproceeded to pass a ligature round it. This painfulbusiness being concluded, I was placed upon a sofa,and being plentifully supplied with lemonade, andenjoined to keep quiet, left to my own meditations,such as they were, till evening—­Trevanionhaving taken upon him to apologize for our absenceat Mrs. Bingham’s dejeune, and O’Learybeing fast asleep in his own apartments.

CHAPTER XXXV.

EARLY RECOLLECTIONS—­A FIRST LOVE.

I know of no sensations so very nearly alike, as thosefelt on awaking after very sudden and profuse lossof blood, and those resulting from a large dose ofopium. The dizziness, the confusion, and theabstraction at first, gradually yielding, as the sensesbecame clearer, to a vague and indistinct consciousness;then the strange mistiness, in which fact and fictionare wrapped up—­the confounding of persons,and places, and times, not so as to embarrass andannoy—­for the very debility you feel subduesall irritation—­but rather to present a panoramicpicture of odd and incongruous events more pleasingthan otherwise.

Of the circ*mstances by which I was thus brought toa sick couch, I had not even the most vague recollection—­thefaces and the dress of all those I had lately seenwere vividly before me; but how, and for what purposeI knew not. Something in their kindness and attentionhad left an agreeable impression upon my mind, andwithout being able, or even attempting to trace it,I felt happy in the thought. While thus the“hour before” was dim and indistinct, theevents of years past were vividly and brightly picturedbefore 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 mentallong-sightedness, which, though blind to the objectclose beside you, can reach the blue mountains andthe starry skies, which lie full many a league away. Is this a malady? or is it rather a providential giftto alleviate the tedious hours of the sick bed, andcheer the lonely sufferer, whose thoughts are hisonly realm?

My school-boy days, in all their holiday excitement;the bank where I had culled the earliest cowslipsof the year; the clear but rapid stream, where dayslong I have watched the speckled trout, as they swampeacefully beneath, or shook their bright fins in thegay sunshine; the gorgeous dragon-fly that playedabove the water, and dipped his bright wings in itsripple—­they were all before me. Andthen came the thought of school itself, with its little

world of boyish cares and emulations; the early imbibedpassion for success; the ardent longing for superiority;the high and swelling feeling of the heart, as homedrew near, to think that I had gained the wished forprize—­the object of many an hour’stoil—­the thought of many a long night’sdream; my father’s smile; my mother’skiss! Oh! what a very world of tender memorythat one thought suggests; for what are all our latersuccesses in life—­how bright soever ourfortune be—­compared with the early triumphsof our infancy? Where, among the jealous rivalryof some, the cold and half-wrung praise of others,the selfish and unsympathising regard of all, shallwe find any thing to repay us for the swelling extacyof our young hearts, as those who have cradled andloved us grow proud in our successes? For myself,a life that has failed in every prestige of thosethat prophesied favourably—­years that havefollowed on each other only to blight the promisethat kind and well-wishing friends foretold—­leavebut little to dwell upon, that can be reckoned as success. And yet, some moments I have had, which half seemedto realize my early dream of ambition, and rouse myspirit within me; but what were they all comparedto my boyish glories? what the passing excitement one’sown heart inspires in the lonely and selfish solitude,when compared with that little world of sympathy andlove our early home teemed with, as, proud in sometrifling distinction, we fell into a mother’sarms, and heard our father’s “God blessyou, boy?” No, no; the world has no requitalfor this. It is like the bright day-spring,which, as its glories gild the east, display beforeus a whole world of beauty and promise—­blightedhopes have not withered, false friendships have notscathed, cold, selfish interest has not yet hardenedour hearts, or dried up our affections, and we areindeed happy; but equally like the burst of morningis it fleeting and short-lived; and equally so, too,does it pass away, never, never to return.

From thoughts like these my mind wandered on to moreadvanced years, when, emerging from very boyhood,I half believed myself a man, and was fully convincedI was in love.

Perhaps, after all, for the time it lasted—­tendays, I think—­it was the most sincere passionI ever felt. I had been spending some weeks ata small watering-place in Wales with some relativesof my mother. There were, as might be supposed,but few “distractions” in such a place,save the scenery, and an occasional day’s fishingin the little river of Dolgelly, which ran near. In all these little rambles which the younger portionof the family made together, frequent mention was everbeing made of a visit from a very dear cousin, andto which all looked forward with the greatest eagerness—­theelder ones of the party with a certain air of quietpleasure, as though they knew more than they said,and the younger with all the childish exuberance ofyouthful delight. Clara Mourtray seemed to be,

from all I was hourly hearing, the very paragon andpattern of every thing. If any one was praisedfor beauty, Clara was immediately pronounced muchprettier—­did any one sing, Clara’svoice and taste were far superior. In our homewardwalk, should the shadows of the dark hills fall witha picturesque effect upon the blue lake, some one wassure to say, “Oh! how Clara would like to sketchthat.” In short, there was no charm noraccomplishment ever the gift of woman, that Clara didnot possess; or, what amounted pretty much to thesame thing, that my relatives did not implicitly giveher credit for. The constantly recurring praisesof the same person affect us always differently aswe go on in life. In youth the prevailing sentimentis an ardent desire to see the prodigy of whom wehave heard so much—­in after years, heartilyto detest what hourly hurts our self-love by comparisons. We would take any steps to avoid meeting what wehave inwardly decreed to be a “bore.”The former was my course; and though my curiosity wascertainly very great, I had made up my mind to asgreat a disappointment, and half wished for the longedarrival as a means of criticising what they couldsee no fault in.

The wished-for evening at length came, and we allset out upon a walk to meet the carriage which wasto bring the bien aime Clara among us. We hadnot walked above a mile when the eager eye of the foremostdetected a cloud of dust upon the road at some distance;and, after a few minutes more, four posters were seencoming along at a tremendous rate. The nextmoment she was making the tour of about a dozen uncles,aunts, cousins, and cousines, none of whom, it appearedto me, felt any peculiar desire to surrender the heartyembrace to the next of kin in succession. Atlast she came to me, when, perhaps, in the confusionof the moment, not exactly remembering whether ornot she had seen me before, she stood for a momentsilent—­a deep blush mantling her lovelycheek—­masses of waving brown hair disorderedand floating upon her shoulders—­her largeand liquid blue eyes beaming upon me. One lookwas enough. I was deeply —­irretrievablyin love.

“Our cousin Harry—­Harry Lorrequer—­wildHarry, as we used to call him, Clara,” saidone of the girls introducing me.

She held out her hand, and said something with a smile. What, I know not—­nor can I tell how Ireplied; but something absurd it must have been, forthey all laughed heartily, and the worthy papa himselftapped my shoulder jestingly, adding,

“Never mind, Harry—­you will do betterone day, or I am much mistaken in you.”

Whether I was conscious that I had behaved foolishlyor not, I cannot well say; but the whole of that nightI thought over plans innumerable how I should succeedin putting myself forward before “Cousin Clara,”and vindicating myself against any imputation of schoolboymannerisms that my first appearance might have caused.

The next day we remained at home. Clara wastoo much fatigued to walk out, and none of us wouldleave 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 notcultivated singing much. We therefore spentthe whole morning in this way. Then she producedher sketch-book, and I brought out mine, and we hada mutual interchange of prisoners. What cuttingout 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 wasmine, was the prettiest. In a word, before nightfell Clara had won my heart in its every fibre, andI went to my room the very happiest of mortals.

I need not chronicle my next three days—­tome the most glorious “trois jours” ofmy life. Clara had evidently singled me out andpreferred me to all the rest. It was besideme she rode—­upon my arm she leaned in walking—­and,to comble me with delight unutterable, I overheardher say to my uncle, “Oh, I doat upon poor Harry! And it is so pleasant, for I’m sure Mortimerwill be so jealous.”

“And who is Mortimer,” thought I; “heis a new character in the piece, of whom we have seennothing.”

I was not long in doubt upon this head, for that veryday, at dinner, the identical Mortimer presented himself. He was a fine, dashing-looking, soldier-like fellow,of about thirty-five, and with a heavy moustache,and a bronzed cheek—­rather grave in hismanner, but still perfectly good-natured, and whenhe smiled showing a most handsome set of regular teeth. Clara seemed less pleased (I thought) at his comingthan the others, and took pleasure in tormenting himby a thousand pettish and frivolous ways, which Iwas sorry for, as I thought he did not like it; andused 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, “Comeaway, Harry; you always are kind, and never look sulky. I can agree with you.” These were delightfulwords for me to listen to, but I could not hear themwithout feeling for him, who evidently was painedby Clara’s avowed preference for me; and whoseyears—­for I thought thirty-five at thattime a little verging upon the patriarchal—­entitledhim to more respect.

“Well,” thought I, one evening, as thisgame had been carried rather farther than usual, “Ihope she is content now, for certainly Mortimer isjealous;” and the result proved it, for the wholeof the following day he absented himself, and nevercame back till late in the evening. He had been,I found, from a chance observation I overheard, atthe bishop’s palace, and the bishop himself,I learned, was to breakfast with us in the morning.

“Harry, I have a commission for you,”said Clara. “You must get up very earlyto-morrow, and climb the Cader mountain, and bringme a grand bouquet of the blue and purple heath thatI liked so much the last time I was there. Mindvery early, for I intend to surprise the bishop to-morrowwith my taste in a nosegay.”

The sun had scarcely risen as I sprang from my bed,and started upon my errand. Oh! the gloriousbeauty of that morning’s walk. As I climbedthe mountain, the deep mists lay upon all around, andexcept the path I was treading, nothing was visible;but before I reached the top, the heavy masses ofvapour were yielding to the influence of the sun; andas they rolled from the valleys up the mountain sides,were every instant opening new glens and ravines beneathme—­bright in all their verdure, and speckledwith sheep, whose tingling bells reached me even whereI stood.

I counted above twenty lakes at different levels,below me; some brilliant, and shining like polishedmirrors; others not less beautiful, dark and solemnwith some mighty mountain shadow. As I lookedlandward, the mountains reared their huge crests,one above the other, to the farthest any eye couldreach. Towards the opposite side, the calm andtranquil sea lay beneath me, bathed in the yellow goldof a rising sun; a few ships were peaceably lyingat anchor in the bay; and the only thing in motionwas a row-boat, the heavy monotonous stroke of whoseoars rose in the stillness of the morning air. Not a single habitation of man could I descry, norany vestige of a human being, except that mass ofsomething upon the rock far down beneath be one, andI think it is, for I see the sheep-dog ever returningagain and again to the same spot.

My bouquet was gathered; the gentian of the Alps,which is found here, also contributing its evidenceto show where I had been to seek it, and I turnedhome.

The family were at breakfast as I entered; at leastso the servants said, for I only remembered then thatthe bishop was our guest, and that I could not presentmyself without some slight attention to my dress. I hastened to my room, and scarcely had I finished,when one of my cousins, a little girl of eight years,came to the door and said,

“Harry, come down; Clara wants you.”

I rushed down stairs, and as I entered the breakfastparlour, stood still with surprise. The ladieswere all dressed in white, and even my little cousinwore a gala costume that amazed me.

“My bouquet, Harry; I hope you have not forgottenit,” said Clara, as I approached.

I presented it at once, when she gaily and coquettishlyheld out her hand for me to kiss. This I did,my blood rushing to my face and temples the while,and almost depriving me of consciousness.

“Well, Clara, I am surprised at you,”said Mortimer. “How can you treat thepoor boy so?”

I grew deadly pale at these words, and, turning round,looked at the speaker full in the face. Poorfellow, thought I, he is jealous, and I am reallygrieved for him; and turned again to Clara.

“Here it is—­oh! how handsome, papa,”said one of the younger children, running eagerlyto the window, as a very pretty open carriage withfour horses drew up before the house.

“The bishop has taste,” I murmured tomyself, scarcely deigning to give a second look atthe equipage.

Clara now left the room, but speedily returned—­herdress changed, and shawled as if for a walk. What could all this mean?—­and the whispering,too, what is all that?—­and why are theyall so sad?—­Clara has been weeping.

“God bless you, my child—­good by,”said my aunt, as she folded her in her arms for thethird time.

“Good by, good by,” I heard on every side. At length, approaching me, Clara took my hand andsaid—­

“My poor Harry, so we are going to part. I am going to Italy.”

“To Italy, Clara? Oh! no—­sayno. Italy! I shall never see you again.”

“Won’t you wear this ring for me, Harry? It is an old favourite of yours—­and whenwe meet again”—­

“Oh! dearest Clara,” I said, “donot speak thus.”

“Good by, my poor boy, good by,” saidClara hurriedly; and, rushing out of the room, shewas lifted by Mortimer into the carriage, who, immediatelyjumping in after her, the whip cracked, the horsesclattered, and all was out of sight in a second.

“Why is she gone with him?” said I, reproachfully,turning towards my aunt.

“Why, my dear, a very sufficient reason. She was married this morning.”

This was my first love.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

WISE RESOLVES.

Musing over this boyish adventure, I fell into a deepslumber, and on awakening it took me some minutesbefore I could recall my senses sufficiently to knowwhere I was. The whole face of things in my roomwas completely changed. Flowers had been putin the china vases upon the tables—­twohandsome lamps, shaded with gauzes, stood upon theconsoles —­illustrated books, prints, andcaricatures, were scattered about. A piano-fortehad also, by some witchcraft, insinuated itself intoa recess near the sofa—­a handsome littletea service, of old Dresden china, graced a marquetrytable—­and a little picquet table stood mostinvitingly beside the fire. I had scarcely timeto turn my eyes from one to the other of these newoccupants, when I heard the handle of my door gentlyturn, as if by some cautious hand, and immediatelyclosed my eyes and feigned sleep. Through myhalf-shut lids I perceived the door opened. After a pause of about a second, the skirt of a whitemuslin dress appeared—­then a pretty footstole a little farther—­and at last theslight and graceful figure of Emily Bingham advancednoiselessly into the room. Fear had renderedher deadly pale; but the effect of her rich brownhair, braided plainly on either side of her cheek,suited so well the character of her features, I thoughther far handsomer than ever. She came forwardtowards the table, and I now could perceive that shehad something in her hand resembling a letter. This she placed near my hand —­so near

as almost to touch it. She leaned over me—­Ifelt 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—­themotion threw me off my guard, and I looked up. She gave a faint, scarce audible shriek, and sankinto the chair beside me. Recovering, however,upon the instant, she grasped the letter she had justlaid down, and, having crushed it between her fingers,threw it into the fire. This done—­asif the effort had been too much for her strength—­sheagain fell back upon her seat, and looked so paleI almost thought she had fainted.

Before I had time to speak, she rose once more; andnow her face was bathed in blushes, her eyes swamwith rising tears, and her lips trembled with emotionas she spoke.

“Oh, Mr. Lorrequer, what will you—­whatcan you think of this? If you but knew—­;”and here she faltered and again grew pale, while Iwith difficulty rising from the sofa, took her hand,and led her to the chair beside it.

“And may I not know?” said I; “mayI not know, my dear”—­I am not sureI did not say dearest—­“Miss Bingham,when, perhaps, the knowledge might make me the happiestof mortals?”

This was a pretty plunge as a sequel to my late resolutions. She hid her face between her hands, and sobbed forsome seconds.

“At least,” said I, “as that letterwas destined for me but a few moments since, I trustthat you will let me hear its contents.”

“Oh no—­not now—­not now,”said she entreatingly; and, rising at the same time,she turned to leave the room. I still held herhand, and pressed it within mine. I thoughtshe returned the pressure. I leaned forwardto catch her eye, when the door was opened hastily,and a most extraordinary figure presented itself.

It was a short, fat man, with a pair of enormous moustaches,of a fiery red; huge bushy whiskers of the same colour;a blue frock covered with braiding, and decoratedwith several crosses and ribbons; tight pantaloonsand Hessian boots, with long brass spurs. Heheld a large gold-headed cane in his hand, and lookedabout with an expression of very equivocal drollery,mingled with fear.

“May I ask, sir,” said I, as this individualclosed the door behind him, “may I ask the reasonfor this intrusion?”

“Oh, upon my conscience, I’ll do—­I’msure to pass muster now,” said the well-knownvoice of Mr. O’Leary, whose pleasant featuresbegan to dilate amid the forest of red hair he wasdisguised in. “But I see you are engaged,”said he, with a sly look at Miss Bingham, whom he hadnot yet recognised; “so I must contrive to hidemyself elsewhere, I suppose.”

“It is Miss Bingham,” said I, “whohas been kind enough to come here with her maid, tobring me some flowers. Pray present my respectfulcompliments to Mrs. Bingham, and say how deeply I feelher most kind attention.”

Emily rose at the instant, and recovering her self-possessionat once, said—­

“You forget, Mr. Lorrequer, it is a secret fromwhom the flowers came; at least mamma hoped to placethem in your vases without you knowing. So, pray,don’t speak of it—­and I’m sureMr. O’Leary will not tell.”

If Mr. O’Leary heard one word of this artfulspeech, I know not, but he certainly paid no attentionto it, nor the speaker, who left the room withouthis appearing aware of it.

“Now that she is gone—­for which heavenbe praised,” said I to myself; “let mesee what this fellow can mean.”

As I turned from the door, I could scarcely avoidlaughing aloud at the figure before me. He stoodopposite a large mirror, his hat on one side of hishead, one arm in his breast, and the other extended,leaning upon his stick; a look of as much ferocityas such features could accomplish had been assumed,and his whole attitude was a kind of caricature ofa melo-dramatic hero in a German drama.

“Why, O’Leary, what is all this?”

“Hush, hush,” said he, in a terrifiedwhisper—­“never mention that nameagain, till we are over the frontier.”

“But, man, explain—­what do you mean?”

“Can’t you guess,” said he drily.

“Impossible; unless the affair at the saloonhas induced you to take this disguise, I cannot conceivethe reason.”

“Nothing farther from it, my dear friend; muchworse than that.”

“Out with it, then, at once.”

“She’s come—­she’s here—­inthis very house—­No. 29, above the entresol.”

“Who is here, in No. 29, above the entre sol?”

“Who, but Mrs. O’Leary herself. I was near saying bad luck to her.”

“And does she know you are here?”

“That is what I can’t exactly say,”said he, “but she has had the Livre des Voyageursbrought up to her room, and has been making ratherunpleasant inquiries for the proprietor of certainhieroglyphics beginning with O, which have given megreat alarm—­the more, as all the waitershave been sent for in turn, and subjected to long examinationby her. So I have lost no time, but, under theauspices of your friend Trevanion, have become thefascinating figure you find me, and am now CompteO’Lieuki, a Pole of noble family, banished bythe 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 verypolice itself.”

The idea of O’Leary’s assuming such ametamorphosis was too absurd not to throw me intoa hearty fit of laughing, in which the worthy emigreindulged also.

“But why not leave this at once,” saidI, “if you are so much in dread of a recognition?”

“You forget the trial,” added O’Leary,“I must be here on the 18th or all my bail isforfeited.”

“True—­I had forgot that. Well,now, your plans?”—­

“Simply to keep very quiet here till the affairof the tribunal is over, and then quit France at once. Meanwhile, Trevanion thinks that we may, by a boldstratagem, send Mrs. O’Leary off on a wrong scent,and has requested Mrs. Bingham to contrive to makeher acquaintance, and ask her to tea in her room,when she will see me, en Polonais, at a distance, youknow—­hear something of my melancholy destinyfrom Trevanion—­and leave the hotel quitesure she has no claim on me. Meanwhile, someothers of the party are to mention incidentally havingmet Mr. O’Leary somewhere, or heard of his decease,or any pleasant little incident that may occur tothem.”

“The plan is excellent,” said I, “forin all probability she may never come in your wayagain, if sent off on a good errand this time.”

“That’s what I’m thinking,”said O’Leary; “and I am greatly disposedto let her hear that I’m with Belzoni in Egypt,with an engagement to spend the Christmas with theDey of Algiers. That would give her a very prettytour for the remainder of the year, and show her thepyramids. But, tell me fairly, am I a good Pole?”

“Rather short,” said I, “and a littletoo fat, perhaps.”

“That comes from the dash of Tartar blood, nothingmore; and my mother was a Fin,” said he, “she’llnever ask whether from Carlow or the Caucasus. How I revel in the thought, that I may smoke in companywithout a breach of the unities. But I must go:there is a gentleman with a quinsey in No. 9, thatgives me a lesson in Polish this morning. Sogood-by, and don’t forget to be well enough to-night,for you must be present at my debut.”

O’Leary had scarcely gone, when my thoughtsreverted to Emily Bingham. I was not such a coxcombas to fancy her in love with me; yet certainly therewas something in the affair which looked not unlikeit; and though, by such a circ*mstance, every embarrassmentwhich pressed upon me had become infinitely greater,I could not dissemble from myself a sense of pleasureat the thought. She was really a very prettygirl, and improved vastly upon acquaintance. “Le absens ont toujours torts” is thetruest proverb in any language, and I felt it in itsfullest force when Trevanion entered my room.

“Well, Lorrequer,” said he, “yourtime is certainly not likely to hang heavily on yourhands in Paris, if occupation will prevent it, forI find you are just now booked for a new scrape.”

“What can you mean?” said I, startingup.

“Why, O’Leary, who has been since yourillness, the constant visiter at the Binghams—­diningthere every day, and spending his evenings—­hasjust told me that the mamma is only waiting for thearrival of Sir Guy Lorrequer in Paris to open thetrenches in all form; and from what she has heardof Sir Guy, she deems it most likely he will give herevery aid and support to making you the husband ofthe fair Emily.”

“And with good reason, too,” said I; “forif my uncle were only given to understand that I hadonce gone far in my attentions, nothing would inducehim to break off the match. He was crossed inlove himself when young, and has made a score of peoplemiserable since, in the benevolent idea of marryingthem against every obstacle.”

“How very smart you have become,” saidTrevanion, taking a look round my room, and surveyingin turn each of the new occupants. “Youmust certainly reckon upon seeing your fair friendhere, or all this propriete is sadly wasted.”

This was the time to explain all about Miss Bingham’svisit; and I did so, of course omitting any detailswhich might seem to me needless, or involving myselfin inconsistency.

Trevanion listened patiently to the end—­wassilent for some moments —­then added—­

“And you never saw the letter?”

“Of course not. It was burned before myeyes.”

“I think the affair looks very serious, Lorrequer. You may have won this girl’s affections. It matters little whether the mamma be a hackniedmatch-maker, or the cousin a bullying duellist. If the girl have a heart, and that you have gainedit”—­

“Then I must marry, you would say.”

“Exactly so—­without the promptingof your worthy uncle, I see no other course open toyou without dishonour. My advice, therefore,is, ascertain—­and that speedily—­howfar your attentions have been attended with the successyou dread—­and then decide at once. Are you able to get as far as Mrs. Bingham’sroom this morning? If so, come along. Ishall take all the frais of la chere mamma off yourhands, while you talk to the daughter; and half-an-hour’scourage and resolution will do it all.”

Having made the most effective toilet my means wouldpermit, my right arm in a sling, and my step tremblingfrom weakness, I sallied forth with Trevanion to makelove with as many fears for the result as the mostbashful admirer ever experienced, when pressing hissuit upon some haughty belle—­but for afar different reason.

CHAPTER XXXVII.

THE PROPOSAL.

On reaching Mrs. Bingham’s apartments, we foundthat 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 deliverancethrough my trying mission, shook my hand warmly, anddeparted.

I stood for some minutes irresolutely, with my handupon the lock of the door. To think that thenext few moments may decide the fortune of one’safter life, is a sufficiently anxious thought; butthat your fate may be so decided, by compelling youto finish in sorrow what you have begun in folly,is still more insupportable. Such, then, wasmy condition. I had resolved within myself,if the result of this meeting should prove that Ihad won Miss Bingham’s affections, to proposefor her at once in all form, and make her my wife. If, on the other hand, I only found that she toohad amused herself with a little passing flirtation,why then, I was a free man once more: but, oncatechising myself a little closer, also, one somewhatdisposed to make love de novo.

With the speed of lightning, my mind ran over everypassage of our acquaintance—­our first meeting—­oursolitary walks—­our daily, hourly associations—­ourtravelling intimacy—­the adventure at Chantraine;—­There was, it is true, nothing in all thiswhich could establish the fact of wooing, but everything which should convince an old offender like myselfthat the young lady was “en prise,” andthat I myself —­despite my really strongattachment elsewhere—­was not entirely scathless.

“Yes,” said I, half aloud, as I once morereviewed the past, “it is but another chapterin my history in keeping with all the rest—­onestep 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, andthe false enthusiasm with which I ever follow any objectin life, blinds me for the time, and mistaking zealfor inclination, I never feel how little my heartis interested in success, till the fever of pursuitis over.”

These were pleasant thoughts for one about to throwhimself at a pretty girl’s feet, and pour outhis “soul of love before her;” but thatwith me was the least part of it. Curran, theysay, usually picked up his facts in a case from theopposite counsel’s statements; I always reliedfor my conduct in carrying on any thing, to the chancecirc*mstances of the moment, and trusted to my animalspirits to give me an interest in whatever for thetime being engaged me.

I opened the door. Miss Bingham was sittingat a table, her head leaning upon her hands—­someopen letters which lay before her, evidently so occupyingher attention, that my approach was unheard. On my addressing her, she turned round suddenly, andbecame at first deep scarlet, then pale as death:while, turning to the table, she hurriedly threw herletters into a drawer, and motioned me to a place besideher.

After the first brief and common-place inquiry formy health, and hopes for my speedy recovery, she becamesilent; and I too, primed with topics innumerableto discuss—­knowing how short my time mightprove before Mrs. Bingham’s return—­couldnot say a word.

“I hope, Mr. Lorrequer,” said she, atlength, “that you have incurred no risque byleaving your room so early.”

“I have not,” I replied, “but, evenwere there a certainty of it, the anxiety I labouredunder to see and speak with you alone, would haveovercome all fears on this account. Since thisunfortunate business has confined me to my chamber,I have done nothing but think over circ*mstances whichhave at length so entirely taken possession of me,that I must, at any sacrifice, have sought an opportunityto explain to you”—­here Emily lookeddown, and I continued—­“I need scarcelysay what my feelings must long since have betrayed,that to have enjoyed the daily happiness of livingin your society, of estimating your worth, of feelingyour 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 makeyou his; and yet, how little has prudence or cautionto do with situations like this.” Shedid not guess the animus of this speech. “Ifelt all I have described; and yet, and yet, I lingeredon, prizing too dearly the happiness of the presenthour, to risque it by any avowal of sentiments, whichmight have banished me from your presence for ever. If the alteration of these hopes and fears have provedtoo strong for my reason at last, I cannot help it;and this it is which now leads me to make this avowalto you.” Emily turned her head away fromme; but her agitated manner showed how deeply my wordshad affected her; and I too, now that I had finished,felt that I had been “coming it rather strong.”

“I hoped, Mr. Lorrequer,” said she, atlength, “I hoped, I confess, to have had anopportunity of speaking with you.” Then,thought I, the game is over, and Bishop Luscombe isricher by five pounds, than I wish him. —­“Something,I know not what, in your manner, led me to suspectthat your affections might lean towards me; hintsyou have dropped, and, now and then, your chance allusionsstrengthened the belief, and I determined, at length,that no feeling of maidenly shame on my part shouldendanger the happiness of either of us, and I determinedto see you; this was so difficult, that I wrote aletter, and that letter, which might have saved meall distressing explanation, I burned before you thismorning.”

“But, why, dearest girl,”—­herewas a plunge—­“why, if the letter couldremove any misconstruction, or could be the means ofdispelling any doubt—­why not let me seeit?”

“Hear me out,” cried she, eagerly, andevidently not heeding my interruption, “I determinedif your affections were indeed”—­aflood of tears here broke forth, and drowned her words;her head sank between her hands, and she sobbed bitterly.

“Corpo di Baccho!” said I to myself, “Itis all over with me; the poor girl is evidently jealous,and her heart will break.”

“Dearest, dearest Emily,” said I, passingmy arm round her, and approaching my head close toher’s, “if you think that any other lovethan yours could ever beat within this heart—­thatI could see you hourly before me—­live beneathyour smile, and gaze upon your beauty—­and,still more than all—­pardon the boldnessof the thought—­feel that I was not indifferentto you.”—­

“Oh! spare me this at least,” said she,turning round her tearful eyes upon me, and lookingmost bewitchingly beautiful. “Have I thenshowed you this plainly?”

“Yes, dearest girl! That instinct whichtells us we are loved has spoken within me. And here in this beating heart”—­

“Oh! say not more,” said she, “ifI have, indeed, gained your affections”—­

“If—­if you have,” said I, claspingher to my heart, while she continued to sob stillviolently, and I felt half disposed to blow my brainsout for my success. However, there is somethingin love-making as in fox-hunting, which carries youalong in spite of yourself; and I continued to pourforth whole rhapsodies of love that the Pastor Fidocould not equal.

“Enough,” said she, “it is enoughthat you love me and that I have encouraged your sodoing. But oh! tell me once more, and think howmuch of future happiness may rest upon your answer—­tellme, may not this be some passing attachment, whichcirc*mstances have created, and others may dispel? Say, might not absence, time, or another more worthy”—­

This was certainly a very rigid cross-examinationwhen I thought the trial was over; and not being exactlyprepared for it, I felt no other mode of reply thanpressing her taper fingers alternately to my lips,and muttering something that might pass for a declarationof love unalterable, but, to my own ears, resembleda lament on my folly.

“She is mine now,” thought I, “sowe must e’en make the best of it; and trulyshe is a very handsome girl, though not a Lady JaneCallonby. The next step is the mamma; but Ido not anticipate much difficulty in that quarter.”

“Leave me now,” said she, in a low andbroken voice; “but promise not to speak of thismeeting to any one before we meet again. I havemy reasons; believe me they are sufficient ones, sopromise me this before we part.”

Having readily given the pledge required, I againkissed her hand and bade farewell, not a little puzzledthe whole time at perceiving that ever since my declarationand acceptance Emily seemed any thing but happy, andevidently struggling against some secret feeling ofwhich I knew nothing. “Yes,” thoughtI, as I wended my way along the corridor, “thepoor girl is tremendously jealous, and I must havesaid may a thing during our intimacy to hurt her. However, that is all past and gone; and now comesa new character for me: my next appearance wilbe ’en bon mari.’”

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

THOUGHTS UPON MATRIMONY IN GENERAL, AND IN THE ARMY IN PARTICULAR—­THEKNIGHT OF KERRY AND BILLY M’CABE.

“So,” thought I, as I closed the doorof my room behind me, “I am accepted—­thedie is cast which makes me a Benedict: yet heavenknows that never was a man less disposed to be overjoyous at his good fortune!” What a happy inventionit were, if when adopting any road in life, we couldonly manage to forget that we had ever contemplatedany other! It is the eternal looking back inthis world that forms the staple of all our misery;and we are but ill-requited for such unhappiness bythe brightest anticipations we can conjure up for thefuture. 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 forwardwith even hope!

Our weaknesses are much more constantly the springof 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 thoughtcame home most forcibly to my bosom, as I reflectedupon the step which led me on imperceptibly to mypresent embarrassment. “Well, c’estfini, now,” said I, drawing upon that bountifulsource of consolation ever open to the man who marshis fortune—­that “what is past can’tbe amended;” which piece of philosophy, as wellas its twin brother, that “all will be the samea hundred years hence,” have been golden rulesto me from my childhood.

The transition from one mode of life to another perfectlydifferent has ever seemed to me a great trial of aman’s moral courage; besides that the fact ofquitting for ever any thing, no matter how insignificantor valueless, is always attended with painful misgivings. My bachelor life had its share of annoyances anddisappointments, it is true; but, upon the whole itwas a most happy one—­and now I was aboutto surrender it for ever, not yielding to the impulseof affection and love for one without whom life werevalueless to me, but merely a recompense for the indulgenceof that fatal habit I had contracted of pursuing witheagerness every shadow that crossed my path. All my early friends —­all my vagrant fancies—­allmy daydreams of the future I was now to surrender—­for,what becomes of any man’s bachelor friends whenhe is once married? Where are his rambles inhigh and bye-ways when he has a wife? and what isleft 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 areserious thoughts. All the fascinations of anarmy life, in war or peace, lie in the daily, hourlyassociations with your brother officers—­themorning cigar, the barrack-square lounge—­theafternoon ride—­the game of billiards beforedinner—­the mess (that perfection of dinnersociety)—­the plans for the evening—­thedeviled kidney at twelve—­forming so manypoints of departure whence you sail out upon yourdaily voyage through life. Versus those you havethat awful perversion of all that is natural—­anofficer’s wife. She has been a beauty whenyoung, had black eyes and high complexion, a goodfigure, rather inclined to embonpoint, and a certainspringiness in her walk, and a jauntiness in her air,that are ever sure attractions to a sub in a marchingregiment. She can play backgammon, and sing“di tanti palpiti,” and, if an Irishwoman,is certain to be able to ride a steeple-chase, andhas an uncle a lord, who (en parenthese) always turnsout to be a creation made by King James after hisabdication. In conclusion, she breakfasts enpapillote—­wears her shoes down at heel—­callsevery officer of the regiment by his name —­hasa great taste for increasing his majesty’s lieges,and delights in London porter. To this genusof Frow I have never ceased to entertain the mostthrilling abhorrence; and yet how often have I seenwhat appeared to be pretty and interesting girls fallinto something of this sort! and how often have Ivowed any fate to myself rather than become the husbandof a baggage-waggon wife!

Had all my most sanguine hopes promised realizing—­hadmy suit with Lady Jane been favourable, I could scarcelyhave bid adieu to my bachelor life without a sigh. No prospect of future happiness can ever perfectlyexclude all regret at quitting our present state forever. I am sure if I had been a caterpillar,it would have been with a heavy heart that I wouldhave donned my wings as a butterfly. Now themetamorphosis was reversed: need it be wonderedif I were sad?

So completely was I absorbed in my thoughts upon thismatter, that I had not perceived the entrance of O’Learyand Trevanion, who, unaware of my being in the apartment,as I was stretched upon a sofa in a dark corner, drewtheir chairs towards the fire and began chatting.

“Do you know, Mr. Trevanion,” said O’Leary,“I am half afraid of this disguise of mine. I sometimes think I am not like a Pole; and if sheshould discover me”—­

“No fear of that in the world; your costumeis perfect, your beard unexceptionable. I could,perhaps, have desired a little less paunch; but then”—­

“That comes of fretting, as Falstaff says; andyou must not forget that I am banished from my country.”

“Now, as to your conversation, I should adviseyou saying very little —­not one word inEnglish. You may, if you like, call in the assistanceof Irish when hard pressed?

“I have my fears on that score. Thereis no knowing where that might lead to discovery. You know the story of the Knight of Kerry and BillyMcCabe?”

“I fear I must confess my ignorance—­Ihave never heard of it.”

“Then may be you never knew Giles Daxon?”

“I have not had that pleasure either.”

“Lord bless me, how strange that is! Ithought he was better known than the Duke of Wellingtonor the travelling piper. Well, I must tell youthe story, for it has a moral, too—­indeedseveral morals; but you’ll find that out foryourself. Well, it seems that one day the Knightof Kerry was walking along the Strand in London, killingan hour’s time, till the house was done prayers,and Hume tired of hearing himself speaking; his eyewas caught by an enormous picture displayed upon thewall of a house, representing a human figure coveredwith long dark hair, with huge nails upon his hands,and a most fearful expression of face. At firstthe Knight thought it was Dr. Bowring; but on comingnearer he heard a man with a scarlet livery and aco*cked hat, call out, ’Walk in, ladies and gentlemen—­themost vonderful curiosity ever exhibited—­onlyone shilling—­the vild man from Chippoowango,in Africay—­eats raw wittles without beingcooked, and many other surprising and pleasing performances.’

“The knight paid his money, and was admitted. At first the crowd prevented his seeing any thing—­forthe place was full to suffocation, and the noise awful—­for,besides the exclamations and applause of the audience,there were three barrel-organs, playing ‘Home,sweet Home!’ and ‘Cherry Ripe,’and the wild man himself contributed his share to theuproar. At last, the Knight obtained, by dintof squeezing, and some pushing a place in the front,when, to his very great horror, he beheld a figurethat far eclipsed the portrait without doors.

“It was a man nearly naked, covered with long,shaggy hair, that grew even over his nose and cheekbones. He sprang about, sometimes on his feet,sometimes, all-fours, but always uttering the mostfearful yells, and glaring upon the crowd, in a mannerthat was really dangerous. The Knight did notfeel exactly happy at the whole proceeding, and beganheartily 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 keeperextended to him upon a long fork, like a tandem whip—­hewas not safe, it appears, at close quarters;—­thishe tore to pieces eagerly and devoured in the mostvoracious manner, amid great clapping of hands, andother evidences of satisfaction from the audience. I’ll go, now, thought the Knight: for,God knows whether, in his hungry moods, he might notfancy to conclude his dinner by a member of parliament. Just at this instant, some sounds struck upon hisear that surprised him not a little. He listenedmore attentively; and, conceive if you can, his amazement,to find that, amid his most fearful cries, and wildyells, the savage was talking Irish. Laugh, ifyou like; but it’s truth I am telling you; nothingless than Irish. There he was, jumping fourfeet high in the air, eating his raw meat: pullingout his hair by handfuls; and, amid all this, cursingthe whole company to his heart’s content, inas good Irish as ever was heard in Tralee. Now,though the Knight had heard of red Jews and whiteNegroes, he had never happened to read any accountof 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 hismind, and, turning to the savage, he addressed himin Irish, at the same time fixing a look of most scrutinizingimport upon him.

“‘Who are you, you scoundrel’ saidthe Knight.

“‘Billy M’Cabe your honour.’

“’And what do you mean by playing offthese tricks here, instead of earning your bread likean honest man?’

“‘Whisht,’ said Billy, ’andkeep the secret. I’m earning the rent foryour honour. One must do many a queer thing thatpays two pound ten an acre for bad land.’

“This was enough: the Knight wished Billyevery success, and left him amid the vociferous applauseof a well satisfied audience. This adventure,it seems, has made the worthy Knight a great friendto the introduction of poor laws; for, he remarksvery truly, ’more of Billy’s countrymenmight take a fancy to a savage life, if the secretwas found out.’”

It was impossible for me to preserve my incognito,as Mr. O’Leary concluded his story, and I wasobliged to join in the mirth of Trevanion, who laughedloud and long as he finished it.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

A REMINISCENCE.

O’Leary and Trevanion had scarcely left theroom when the waiter entered with two letters—­theone bore a German post-mark, and was in the well-knownhand of Lady Callonby—­the other in a writingwith which I was no less familiar—­thatof Emily Bingham.

Let any one who has been patient enough to followme through these “Confessions,” conceivemy agitation at this moment. There lay my fatebefore me, coupled, in all likelihood, with a viewof what it might have been under happier auspices—­atleast so in anticipation did I read the two unopenedepistles. My late interview with Miss Binghamleft no doubt upon my mind that I had secured heraffections; and acting in accordance with the counselof Trevanion, no less than of my own sense of right,I resolved upon marrying her, with what prospect ofhappiness I dared not to think of!

Alas! and alas! there is no infatuation like the tastefor flirtation —­mere empty, valueless,heartless flirtation. You hide the dice-box andthe billiard queue, lest your son become a gambler—­youput aside the racing calendar, lest he imbibe a jockeypredilection—­but you never tremble at hisfondness for white muslin and a satin slipper, farmore dangerous tastes though they be, and infinitelymore perilous to a man’s peace and prosperitythan all the “queens of trumps” that everfigured, whether on pasteboard or the Doncaster. “Woman’s my weakness, yer honor,”said an honest Patlander, on being charged before thelord mayor with having four wives living; and withouthaving any such “Algerine act” upon myconscience, I must, I fear, enter a somewhat similarplea for my downfallings, and avow in humble gratitude,that I have scarcely had a misfortune through lifeunattributable 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. inthe gallant 4_th, to this same hour, I have no otheravowal, no other confession to make. “Bealways ready with the pistol,” was the dyingadvice of an Irish statesman to his sons: mine,in a similar circ*mstance, would rather be “Gardezvous des femmes,” and more especially if theybe Irish.

There is something almost treacherous in the facilitywith which an Irish girl receives your early attentionsand appears to like them, that invariably turns ayoung fellow’s head very long before he has anyprospect of touching her heart. She thinks itso natural to be made love to, that there is neitherany affected coyness nor any agitated surprise.She listens to your declaration of love as quietlyas the chief justice would to one of law, and refersthe decision to a packed jury of her relatives, whorarely recommend you to mercy. Love and fighting,too, are so intimately united in Ireland, that a courtshiprarely progresses without at least one exchange ofshots between some of the parties concerned. My first twenty-four hours in Dublin is so pleasantlycharacteristic of this that I may as well relate ithere, while the subject is before us; besides, asthese “Confessions” are intended as warningsand guides to youth, I may convey a useful lesson,showing why a man should not “make love in thedark.”

It was upon a raw, cold, drizzling morning in February,18__, that our regiment landed on the North-wall fromLiverpool, whence we had been hurriedly ordered torepress some riots and disturbances then agitatingDublin.

We marched to the Royal Barracks, our band playingPatrick’s Day, to the very considerable admirationof as naked a population as ever loved music. The __th dragoons were at the same time quarteredthere—­right pleasant jovial fellows, whosoon gave us to understand that the troubles wereover before we arrived, and that the great city authoritieswere now returning thanks for their preservation fromfire and sword, by a series of entertainments of themost costly, but somewhat incongruous kind—­thecompany being scarce less melee than the dishes. Peers and playactors, judges and jailors, archbishops,tailors, attorneys, ropemakers and apothecaries, alluniting in the festive delight of good feeding, anddrinking the “glorious memory”—­butof whom half the company knew not, only surmising“it was something agin the papists.” You may smile, but these were pleasant times, andI scarcely care to go back there since they were changed. But to return. The __th had just received aninvitation to a ball, to be given by the high sheriff,and to which they most considerately said we shouldalso be invited. This negociation was so wellmanaged that before noon we all received our cardsfrom a green liveried youth, mounted on a very emaciatedpony—­the whole turn-out not auguring flatteringlyof the high sheriff’s taste in equipage.

We dined with the __th, and, as customary before goingto 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-joinedensign, there was not a face in the party that didnot betray “signs of the times” that bodedmost favourably for the mirth of the sheriff’sball. We were so perfectly up to the mark, thatour major, a Connemara man, said, as we left the mess-room,“a liqueure glass would spoil us.”

In this acme of our intellectual wealth, we startedabout eleven o’clock upon every species of conveyancethat chance could press into the service. Ofhackney coaches there were few—­but in jingles,noddies, and jaunting-cars, with three on a side and“one in the well,” we mustered strong—­DownBarrack-street we galloped, the mob cheering us, welaughing, and I’m afraid shouting a little, too—­thewatchmen springing their rattles, as if instinctivelyat noise, and the whole population up and awake, evidentlyentertaining a high opinion of our convivial qualities. Our voices became gradually more decorous, however,as we approached the more civilized quarter of thetown; and with only the slight stoppage of the processionto pick up an occasional dropper-off, as he lapsedfrom the seat of a jaunting-car, we arrived at lengthat our host’s residence, somewhere in Sackville-street.

Had our advent conferred the order of knighthood uponthe host, he could not have received us with more“empressem*nt.” He shook us all inturn by the hand, to the number of eight and thirty,and then presented us seriatim to his spouse, a verybejewelled lady of some forty years—­who,what between bugles, feathers, and her turban, lookedexcessively like a Chinese pagoda upon a saucer. The rooms were crowded to suffocation—­thenoise awful—­and the company crushing andelbowing rather a little more than you expect wherethe moiety are of the softer sex. However, “ons’habitue a tout,” sayeth the proverb,and with truth, for we all so perfectly fell in withthe habits of the place, that ere half an hour, wesqueezed, ogled, leered, and drank champagne like therest of the corporation.

“Devilish hot work, this,” said the colonel,as he passed me with two rosy-cheeked, smiling ladieson either arm; “the mayor—­that littlefellow in the punch-coloured shorts—­hasvery nearly put me hors de combat with champagne;take care of him, I advise you.”

Tipsy as I felt myself, I was yet sufficiently clearto be fully alive to the drollery of the scene beforeme. Flirtations that, under other circ*mstances,would demand the secrecy and solitude of a countrygreen lane, or some garden bower, were here conductedin all the open effrontery of wax lights and lustres;looks were interchanged, hands were squeezed, andsoft things whispered, and smiles returned; till theintoxication of “punch negus” and spicedport, gave way to the far greater one of bright looksand tender glances. Quadrilles and country dances—­waltzingthere was none, (perhaps all for the best)—­whist,backgammon, loo—­unlimited for uproar—­sandwiches,and warm liquors, employed us pretty briskly tillsupper was announced, when a grand squeeze took placeon the stairs—­the population tending thitherwardwith an eagerness that a previous starvation of twenty-fourhours could alone justify. Among this densemass of moving muslin, velvet and broad-cloth, I foundmyself 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 forthe passage.

“Miss Moriarty, Mr. Lorrequer,” said anold lady in green and spangles, who I afterwards foundwas the lady mayoress.

“The nicest girl in the room,” said agentleman with a Tipperary accent, “and hasa mighty nice place near Athlone.”

The hint was not lost upon me, and I speedily beganto faire l’amiable to my charge; and beforewe reached the supper room, learned certain particularsof 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 pleasingand 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 lookingglances 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, everything else, in the fascination of my fair companion. She shared her chair with me, upon which I supportedher by my arm passed round the back; we eat our pickledsalmon, jelly, blanc mange, cold chicken, ham, andcustard; off the same plate, with an occasional squeezeof the finger, as our hands met—­her eyesmaking sad havoc with me all the while, as I pouredmy tale of love—­love, lasting, burning,all-consuming—­into her not unwilling ear.

“Ah! now, ye’r not in earnest?”

“Yes, Mary Anne, by all that’s”—­

“Well, there now, don’t swear, and takecare—­sure Mark Anthony is looking.”

“Mark Anthony be—­”

“Oh! how passionate you are; I’m sureI never could live easy with you. There, now,give me some sponge cake, and don’t be squeezingme, or they’ll see you.”

“Yes, to my heart, dearest girl.”

“Och, it’s cheese you’re givingme,” said she, with a grimace that nearly curedmy passion.

“A cottage, a hut, with you—­withyou,” said I, in a cadence that I defy Macreadyto rival—­“what is worldly splendour,or the empty glitter of rank.”

I here glanced at my epaulettes, upon which I sawher eyes rivetted.

“Isn’t the ginger beer beautiful,”said she, emptying a glass of champagne.

Still I was not to be roused from my trance, and continuedmy courtship as warmly as ever.

“I suppose you’ll come home now,”said a gruff voice behind Mary Anne.

I turned and perceived Mark Anthony with a grim lookof peculiar import.

“Oh, Mark dear, I’m engaged to dance anotherset with this gentleman.”

“Ye are, are ye?” replied Mark, eyeingme askance. “Troth and I think the gentlemanwould be better if he went off to his flea-bag himself.”

In my then mystified intellect this west country synonymefor a bed a little puzzled me.

“Yes sir, the lady is engaged to me: haveyou any thing to say to that?”

“Nothing at present, at all,” said Mark,almost timidly.

“Oh dear, oh dear,” sobbed Mary Anne;“they’re going to fight, and he’llbe killed—­I know he will.”

For which of us this fate was destined, I stoppednot to consider, but amid a very sufficient pattingupon the back, and thumping between the shoulders,bestowed by members of the company who approved ofmy proceedings. The three fiddles, the flute,and bassoon, that formed our band, being by this timesufficiently drunk, played after a fashion of theirown, which by one of those strange sympathies of ournature, imparted its influence to our legs, and acountry dance was performed in a style of free andeasy gesticulation that defies description. Atthe end of eighteen couple, tired of my exertions—­and

they were not slight —­I leaned my backagainst the wall of the room, which I now, for thefirst time, perceived was covered with a very peculiarand novel species of hanging—­no less thana kind of rough, green baize cloth, that moved andfloated at every motion of the air. I paid littleattention to this, till suddenly turning my head,something gave way behind it. I felt myselfstruck upon the back of the neck, and fell forwardinto the room, covered by a perfect avalanche of fenders,fire-irons, frying-pans, and copper kettles, mingledwith the lesser artillery of small nails, door keys,and holdfasts. There I lay amid the most vociferousmirth I ever listened to, under the confounded torrentof ironmongery that half-stunned me. The laughterover, I was assisted to rise, and having drank abouta pint of vinegar, and had my face and temples washedin strong whiskey punch—­the allocationof 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 thanhis magazine of metals, and that to conceal the wellfilled shelves from the gaze of his aristocratic guests,they were clothed in the manner related; which myunhappy head, by some misfortune, displaced, and thusbrought on a calamity scarcely less afflicting tohim than to myself. I should scarcely have stoppedto mention this here, were it not that Mary Anne’sgentle nursing of me in my misery went far to completewhat her fascination had begun; and although she couldnot help laughing at the occurrence, I forgave herreadily for her kindness.

“Remember,” said I, trying to ogle througha black eye, painted by the angle of a register grate—­“remember,Mary Anne, I am to see you home.”

“Oh! dear, sir, sure I don’t know howyou can manage it—­”

Here Mark Anthony’s entrance cut short thisspeech, for he came to declare that some of the officershad taken his coach, and was, as might be supposed,in a towering passion.

“If, sir,” said I, with an air of themost balmy courtesy—­“If I can beof any use in assisting you to see your friends home—­”

“Ah! then, ye’r a nice looking articleto see ladies home. I wish you seen yourselfthis minute,” said he.

As I felt it would be no breach of the unities—­time,place, and every thing considered—­to smashhis skull, I should certainly have proceeded to doso, had not a look of the most imploring kind fromMary Anne restrained me. By this time, he hadtaken her under the arm, and was leading her away. I stood irresolute, till a glance from my charmercaught me; when I rallied at once, and followed themdown stairs. Here the scene was the full asamusing as above; the cloaking, shawling, shoeing,&c., of the ladies being certainly as mirth-movinga process as I should wish to see. Here weremothers trying to collect their daughters, as a henher 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 thefair throats of their sweethearts; vows of love, minglingwith lamentations for a lost slipper, or a stray mantle. Sometimes the candles were extinguished, and the meleebecame greater, till the order and light were restoredtogether. Meanwhile, each of our fellows hadsecured his fair one, save myself, and I was exposedto no small ridicule for my want of savoir faire. Nettled at this, I made a plunge to the corner ofthe room, where Mary Anne was shawling; I recognizedher pink sash, threw her cloak over her shoulders,and at the very moment that Mark Anthony drew his wife’sarm within his, I performed the same by my friend,and followed them to the door. Here, the grimbrother-in-law turned round to take Mary Anne’sarm, and seeing her with me, merely gave a kind ofhoarse chuckle, and muttered, “Very well, sir:upon my conscience you will have it, I see.” During this brief interval, so occupied was I inwatching him, that I never once looked in my fairfriend’s face; but the gentle squeeze of herarm, as she leaned upon me, assured me that I hadher approval of what I was doing.

What were the precise train of my thoughts, and whatthe subjects of conversation between us, I am unfortunatelynow unable to recollect. It is sufficient toremember, that I could not believe five minutes hadelapsed, when we arrived at York-street. “Thenyou confess you love me,” said I, as I squeezedher arm to my side.

“Then, by this kiss,” said I, “Iswear, never to relinquish.”—­

What I was about to add, I am sure I know not; buttrue it is, that a certain smacking noise here attractedMr. 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 youpleasant drames, Mr. Larry Kar, if that’s yourname; and you’ll hear from me in the morning.”

“I intend it,” said I. “Goodnight, dearest; think of—­” The slamof the street door in my face spoiled the peroration,and I turned towards home.

By the time I reached the barracks, the united effectsof the champagne, sherry, and Sheffield iron, had,in a good measure subsided, and my head had becomesufficiently clear to permit a slight retrospect ofthe evening’s amusem*nt.

From two illusions I was at least awakened:—­First,the high sheriff’s ball was not the most accuraterepresentation of high society; secondly, I was notdeeply enamoured of Mary Anne Moriarty. Strangeas it may seem, and how little soever the apparentconnexion between those two facts, the truth of onehad a considerable influence in deciding the other. N’importe, said I, the thing is over; it wasrather good fun, too, upon the whole—­savingthe “chute des casseroles;” and as to thelady, she must have seen it was a joke as well as myself. At least, so I am decided it shall be; and as therewas no witness to our conversation, the thing is easilygot out of.

The following day, as I was dressing to ride out,my servant announced no less a person than Mr. MarkAnthony Fitzpatrick, who said “that he cameupon a little business, and must see me immediately.”

Mr. Fitzpatrick, upon being announced, speedily openedhis negociation by asking in very terse and unequivocalphrase, my intentions regarding his sister-in-law. After professing the most perfect astonishment atthe question, and its possible import, I replied,that she was a most charming person, with whom I intendedto have nothing whatever to do.

“And maybe you never proposed for her at theball last night?”

“Propose for a lady at a ball the first timeI ever met her!”

“Just so. Can you carry your memory sofar back? or, perhaps I had better refresh it;”and he here repeated the whole substance of my conversationon the way homeward, sometimes in the very words Iused.

“But, my dear sir, the young lady could neverhave supposed I used such language as this you haverepeated?”

“So, then, you intend to break off? Well,then, it’s right to tell you that you’rein a very ugly scrape, for it was my wife you tookhome last night—­not Miss Moriarty; andI leave you to choose at your leisure whether you’drather be defendant in a suit for breach of promiseor seduction; and, upon my conscience, I think it’scivil in me to give you a choice.”

What a pretty disclosure was here! So that whileI was imaging myself squeezing the hand and winningthe heart of the fair Mary Anne, I was merely makinga case of strong evidence for a jury, that might exposeme to the world, and half ruin me in damages. There was but one course open—­to makea fight for it; and, from what I saw of my friend MarkAnthony, this did not seem difficult.

I accordingly assumed a high tone—­laughedat the entire affair—­said it was a “waywe had in the army”—­that “wenever meant any thing by it,” &c. &c.

In a few minutes I perceived the bait was taking. Mr. Fitzpatrick’s west country blood was up:all thought of the legal resource was abandoned; andhe flung out of the room to find a friend, I havinggiven him the name of “one of ours” asmine upon the occasion.

Very little time was lost, for before three o’clockthat afternoon a meeting was fixed for the followingmorning at the North Bull; and I had the satisfactionof hearing that I only escaped the malignant eloquenceof 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 indemnifiedmyself for the scrape by a very satisfactory anathemaupon the high sheriff and his ball, and his confoundedsaucepans; for to the lady’s sympathy for mysufferings I attributed much of my folly.

At eight the next morning I found myself standingwith Curzon and the doctor upon that bleak portionof her majesty’s dominion they term the NorthBull, waiting in a chilly rain, and a raw fog, tillit pleased Mark Anthony Fitzpatrick, to come and shootme—­such being the precise terms of ourcombat, in the opinion of all parties.

The time, however, passed on, and half-past eight,three quarters, and at last nine o’clock, withouthis appearing; when, just as Curzon had resolved uponour leaving the ground, a hack jaunting-car was seendriving at full speed along the road near us. It came nearer and at length drew up; two men leapedoff and came towards us; one of whom, as he came forward,took off his hat politely, and introduced himself asMr. O’Gorman, the fighting friend of Mark Anthony.

“It’s a mighty unpleasant business I’mcome upon, gentlemen,” said he, “Mr. Fitzpatrickhas been unavoidedly prevented from having the happinessto meet you this morning—­”

“Then you can’t expect us, sir, to danceattendance upon him here to-morrow,” said Curzon,interrupting.

“By no manner of means,” replied the other,placidly; “for it would be equally inconvenientfor him to be here then. But I have only to say,maybe you’d have the kindness to waive all etiquette,and let me stand in his place.”

“Certainly and decidedly not,” said Curzon. “Waive etiquette!—­why, sir, we haveno quarrel with you; never saw you before.”

“Well, now, isn’t this hard?” saidMr. O’Gorman, addressing his friend, who stoodby with a pistol-case under his arm; “but I toldMark that I was sure they’d be standing uponpunctilio, for they were English. Well, sir,”said he, turning towards Curzon, “there’sbut one way to arrange it now, that I see. Mr.Fitzpatrick, you must know, was arrested this morningfor a trifle of L140. If you or your friend there,will join us in the bail we can get him out, and he’llfight you in the morning to your satisfaction.”

When the astonishment this proposal had created subsided,we assured Mr. O’Gorman that we were nowaysdisposed to pay such a price for our amusem*nt—­afact that seemed considerably to surprise both himand his friend—­and adding, that to Mr.Fitzpatrick personally, we should feel bound to holdourselves pledged at a future period, we left the ground,Curzon laughing heartily at the original expedientthus suggested, and I inwardly pronounced a most glowingeulogy on the law of imprisonment for debt.

Before Mr. Fitzpatrick obtained the benefit of theact, we were ordered abroad, and I have never sinceheard of him.

CHAPTER XL.

THE TWO LETTERS.

From the digression of the last chapter I was recalledby the sight of the two letters which lay during myreverie unopened before me. I first broke theseal of Lady Callonby’s epistle, which ran thus:

“Munich, La CroixBlanche,

“My dear Mr. Lorrequer—­Ihave just heard from Kilkee, that you are atlength about to pay us your long promised visit, andwrite these few lines to beg that before leavingParis you will kindly execute for me the commissionsof which I enclose a formidable list, or at leastas many of them as you can conveniently accomplish. Our stay here now will be short, that it willrequire all your despatch to overtake us beforereaching Milan, Lady Jane’s health requiringan immediate change of climate. Our presentplans are, to winter in Italy, although suchwill interfere considerably with Lord Callonby, whois pressed much by his friends to accept office. However, all this and our other gossip I reservefor our meeting. Meanwhile, adieu, andif any of my tasks bore you, omit them at once, exceptthe white roses and the Brussels veil, which LadyJane is most anxious for.

“Sincerelyyours,
“CharlotteCallonby.”

How much did these few and apparently common-placelines convey to me? First, my visit was not onlyexpected, but actually looked forward to, canvassed—­perhapsI might almost whisper to myself the flattery—­wishedfor. Again, Lady Jane’s health was spokenof as precarious, less actual illness—­Isaid to myself—­than mere delicacy requiringthe bluer sky and warmer airs of Italy. Perhapsher spirits were affected—­some mental malady—­someill-placed passion—­que sais je? Infact my brain run on so fast in its devisings, thatby a quick process, less logical than pleasing, Isatisfied myself that the lovely Lady Jane Callonbywas actually in love, with whom let the reader guessat. And Lord Callonby too, about to join theministry—­well, all the better to have one’sfather-in-law in power—­promotion is so cursedslow now a-days. And lastly, the sly allusionto the commissions—­the mechancete of introducingher name to interest me. With such materialsas these to build upon, frail as they may seem toothers, I found no difficulty in regarding myselfas the dear friend of the family, and the acknowledgedsuitor of Lady Jane.

In the midst, however, of all my self-gratulation,my eye fell upon the letter of Emily Bingham, andI suddenly remembered how fatal to all such happyanticipations it might prove. I tore it openin passionate haste and read—­

“My dear Mr. Lorrequer—­Asfrom the interview we have had this morning Iam inclined to believe that I have gained your affections,I think that I should ill requite such a stateof your feeling for me, were I to conceal thatI cannot return you mine—­in fact they arenot mine to bestow. This frank avowal, whateverpain it may have cost me, I think I owe to youto make. You will perhaps say, the confessionshould have been earlier; to which I reply, it shouldhave been so, had I known, or even guessed atthe nature of your feelings for me. For—­andI write it in all truth, and perfect respectfor you—­I only saw in your attentions theflirting habits of a man of the world, with avery uninformed and ignorant girl of eighteen,with whom as it was his amusem*nt to travel, he deemedit worth his while to talk. I now see,and bitterly regret my error, yet deem it betterto make this painful confession than suffer you toremain in a delusion which may involve your happinessin the wreck of mine. I am most faithfullyyour friend,

“EmilyBingham.”

What a charming girl she is, I cried, as I finishedthe letter; how full of true feeling, how honourably,how straight-forward: and yet it is devilishstrange how cunningly she played her part—­andit seems now that I never did touch her affections;Master Harry, I begin to fear you are not altogetherthe awful lady-killer you have been thinking. Thus did I meditate upon this singular note—­mydelight at being once more “free” minglingwith some chagrin that I was jockied, and by a youngmiss of eighteen, too. Confoundedly disagreeableif the mess knew it, thought I. Per Baccho—­howthey would quiz upon my difficulty to break off a match,when the lady was only anxious to get rid of me.

This affair must never come to their ears, or I amruined; and now, the sooner all negociations are concludedthe 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 owngame back upon her; for it would be the devil to lether go off with the idea that she had singed me, yetnever caught fire herself; so that we both shall drawstakes, and part friends.

This valiant resolution taken, I wrote a very shortnote, begging an interview, and proceeded to makeas formidable a toilet as I could for the forthcomingmeeting; before I had concluded which, a verbal answerby her maid informed me, that “Miss Binghamwas alone, and ready to receive me.”

As I took my way along the corridor, I could not helpfeeling that among all my singular scrapes and embarassingsituations through life, my present mission was certainlynot the least—­the difficulty, such as itwas, being considerably increased by my own confounded“amour propre,” that would not leave mesatisfied with obtaining my liberty, if I could notinsist upon coming off scathless also. In fact,I was not content to evacuate the fortress, if I werenot 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 forsorrow.

My hand was upon the lock of the door. I stopped,hesitated, and listened. I certainly heard something. Yes, it is too true—­she is sobbing. What a total overthrow to all my selfish resolves,all my egotistical plans, did that slight cadencegive. She was crying—­her tears forthe bitter pain she concluded I was suffering—­minglingdoubtless with sorrow for her own sources of grief—­forit was clear to me that whoever may have been my favouredrival, the attachment was either unknown to, or unsanctionedby the mother. I wished I had not listened;all my determinations were completely routed and asI opened the door I felt my heart beating almost audiblyagainst my side.

In a subdued half-light—­tempered throughthe rose-coloured curtains, with a small sevres cupof newly-plucked moss-roses upon the table—­sat,or rather leaned, Emily Bingham, her face buried inher hands as I entered. She did not hear myapproach, so that I had above a minute to admire thegraceful character of her head, and the fine undulatingcurve of her neck and shoulders, before I spoke.

“Miss Bingham,” said I—­

She started—­looked up—­her darkblue eyes, brilliant though tearful, were fixed uponme 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. Strangegirl, thought I, that in the very moment of breakingwith a man for ever, puts on her most fascinating toilette—­arrays herself in her most bewitching manner,and gives him a reception only calculated to turnhis head, and render him ten times more in love thanever. Her hand, which remained still in mine,was burning as if in fever, and the convulsive movementof her neck and shoulders showed me how much thismeeting cost her. We were both silent, till atlength, feeling that any chance interruption mightleave us as far as ever from understanding each other,I resolved to begin.

“My dear, dear Emily,” I said, “donot I entreat of you add to the misery I am this momentenduring by letting me see you thus. Whateveryour wrongs towards me, this is far too heavy a retribution. My object was never to make you wretched, if I amnot to obtain the bliss, to strive and make you happy.”

“Oh, Harry”—­this was the firsttime she had ever so called me—­“howlike you, to think of me—­of me, at sucha time, as if I was not the cause of all our presentunhappiness—­but not wilfully, not intentionally. Oh, no, no—­your attentions—­theflattery of your notice, took me at once, and, inthe gratification of my self-esteem, I forgot all else. I heard, too, that you were engaged to another, andbelieving, as I did, that you were trifling with myaffections, I spared no effort to win your’s. I confess it, I wished this with all my soul.”

“And now,” said I, “that you havegained them”—­Here was a pretty sequelto my well matured plans!—­“And nowEmily”—­

“But have I really done so?” said she,hurriedly turning round and fixing her large fulleyes upon me, while one of her hands played convulsivelythrough my hair—­“have I your heart?your whole heart?”

“Can you doubt it, dearest,” said I, passionatelypressing her to my bosom; and at the same time muttering,“What the devil’s in the wind now; weare surely not going to patch up our separation, andmake love in earnest.”

There she lay, her head upon my shoulder, her long,brown, waving ringlets falling loosely across my faceand on my bosom, her hand in mine. What wereher thoughts I cannot guess—­mine, God forgiveme, were a fervent wish either for her mother’sappearance, or that the hotel would suddenly takefire, or some other extensive calamity arise to putthe finishing stroke to this embarassing situation.

None of these, however, were destined to occur; andEmily lay still and motionless as she was, scarceseeming to breathe, and pale as death. What canthis mean, said I, surely this is not the usual wayto treat with a rejected suitor; if it be, why then,by Jupiter the successful one must have rather theworst of it—­and I fervently hope that LadyJane be not at this moment giving his conge to somedisappointed swain. She slowly raised her long,black fringed eyelids, and looked into my face, withan expression at once so tender and so plaintive, thatI felt a struggle within myself whether to press herto my heart, or—­what the deuce was thealternative. I hope my reader knows, for I reallydo not. And after all, thought I, if we are tomarry, I am only anticipating a little; and if not,why then a “chaste salute,” as WinifredJenkins 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 flushedcheek, I was startled by my name, which I heard calledseveral times in the corridor. The door at thesame instant was burst suddenly open, and Trevanionappeared.

“Harry, Harry Lorrequer,” cried he, ashe entered; then suddenly checking himself, added“a thousand, ten thousand pardons. But—­”

“But what,” cried I passionately, forgettingall save the situation of poor Emily at the moment,“what can justify—­”

“Nothing certainly can justify such an intrusion,”said Trevanion, finishing my sentence for me, “exceptthe very near danger you run this moment in beingarrested. O’Leary’s imprudence hascompromised your safety, and you must leave Pariswithin an hour.”

“Oh, Mr. Trevanion,” said Emily, who bythis time had regained a more befitting attitude,“pray speak out; what is it? is Harry—­isMr. Lorrequer, I mean, in any danger?”

“Nothing of consequence, Miss Bingham, if heonly act with prudence, and be guided by his friends. Lorrequer, you will find me in your apartments inhalf an hour—­till then, adieu.”

While Emily poured forth question after question,as to the nature and extent of my present difficulty,I could not help thinking of the tact by which Trevanionescaped, leaving me to make my adieux to Emily as bestI might—­for I saw in a glance that I mustleave Paris at once. I, therefore, briefly gaveher to understand the affair at the salon —­whichI suspected to be the cause of the threatened arrest—­andwas about to profess my unaltered and unalterableattachment, when she suddenly stopped me.

“No, Mr. Lorrequer, no. All is over betweenus. We must never meet again—­never. We have been both playing a part. Good by—­goodby: do not altogether forget me—­andonce more, Harry good by.”

What I might have said, thought, or done, I know not;but the arrival of Mrs. Bingham’s carriage atthe door left no time for any thing but escape. So, once more pressing her hand firmly to my lips,I said—­“au revoir, Emily, au revoir,not good by,” and rushing from the room, regainedmy own, just as Mrs. Bingham reached the corridor.

CHAPTER XLI.

Mr. O’LEARY’S capture.

Does she really care for me? was my first questionto myself as I left the room. Is this storyabout pre-engaged affections merely a got up thing,to try the force of my attachment for her? for, ifnot, her conduct is most inexplicable; and great asmy experience has been in such affairs, I avow myselfout maneuvered. While I thought over this difficulty,Trevanion came up, and in a few words, informed memore fully upon what he hinted at before. Itappeared that O’Leary, much more alive to theimperative necessity of avoiding detection by his sposa,than of involving himself with the police, had thrownout most dark and mysterious hints in the hotel asto the reason of his residence at Paris; fully impressedwith the idea that, to be a good Pole, he need onlytalk “revolutionary;” devote to the powersbelow, all kings, czars, and kaisers; weep over thewrongs of his nation; wear rather seedy habiliments,and smoke profusely. The latter were with himeasy conditions, and he so completely acted the formerto the life, that he had been that morning arrestedin the Tuilleries gardens, under several treasonablecharges—­among others, the conspiracy, withsome of his compatriots to murder the minister ofwar.

However laughable such an accusation against poorO’Leary, one circ*mstance rendered the matterany thing but ludicrous. Although he must comeoff free of this grave offence, yet, the salon transactionwould necessarily now become known; I should be immediatelyinvolved, and my departure from Paris prevented.

“So,” said Trevanion, as he briefly laidbefore me the difficulty of my position, “youmay perceive that however strongly your affectionsmay be engaged in a certain quarter, it is quite aswell to think of leaving Paris without delay. O’Leary’s arrest will be followed by yours,depend upon it; and once under the surveillance ofthe police, escape is impossible.”

“But, seriously, Trevanion,” said I, nettledat the tone of raillery he spoke in, “you mustsee 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, andI—­”

“Only endeavouring to support her in her attachmentto the more favoured rival. Is it not so?”

“Come, no quizzing. Faith I began to feelvery uncomfortable about parting with her, the momentthat I discovered that I must do so.”

“So I guessed,” said Trevanion, with adry look, “from the interesting scene I so abruptlytrespassed upon. But you are right; a littlebit of tendresse is never misplaced, so long as theobject is young, pretty, and still more than all,disposed for it.”

“Quite out; perfectly mistaken, believe me. Emily not only never cared for me; but she has gonefar enough to tell me so.”

“Then, from all I know of such matters,”replied he, “you were both in a very fair wayto repair that mistake on her part. But hark!what is this?” A tremendous noise in the streethere interrupted our colloquy, and on opening thewindow, 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, weretwo 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 desirousof bestowing the most covam publico endearments uponthe culprit, whom a second glance showed us was O’Leary.

“I tell you, my dear madam, you are mistaken,”said O’Leary, addressing her with great sternnessof manner and voice.

“Mistaken! Never, never. How couldI ever be mistaken in that dear voice, those lovelyeyes, that sweet little nose?”

“Take her away; she’s deranged,”said O’Leary to the gens d’armes.“Sure, if I’m a Pole, that’s enoughof misfortune.”

“I’ll follow him to the end of the earth,I will.”

“I’m going to the galleys, God be praised,”said O’Leary.

“To the galleys—­to the guillotine—­anywhere,” responded she, throwing herself uponhis neck, much less, as it seemed, to his gratification,than that of the mob, who laughed and shouted mostuproariously.

“Mrs. Ram, ain’t you ashamed?”

“He calls me by my name,” said she, “andhe attempts to disown me. Ha! ha! ha! ha!”and immediately fell off into a strong paroxysm ofkicking, and pinching, and punching the bystanders,a malady well known under the name of hysterics; butbeing little more than a privileged mode, among certainladies, of paying off some scores, which it is notthought decent to do in their more sober moments.

“Lead me away—­anywhere—­convictme of what you like,” said he, “but don’tlet her follow me.”

The gens d’armes, who little comprehended thenature of the scene before them, were not sorry toanticipate a renewal of it on Mrs. Ram’s recovery,and accordingly seized the opportunity to march onwith O’Leary, who turned the corner of the RueRivoli, under a shower of “meurtriers”and “scelerats” from the mob, that fellfortunately most unconsciously upon his ears.

The possibility of figuring in such a procession contributedmuch to the force of Trevanion’s reasonings,and I resolved to leave Paris at once.

“Promise me, then, to involve yourself in nomore scrapes for half-an-hour. Pack every thingyou shall want with you, and, by seven o’clock,I shall be here with your passport and all ready fora start.”

With a beating brain, and in a whirlwind of conflictingthoughts, I threw my clothes hither and thither intomy trunk; Lady Jane and Emily both flitting everyinstant before my imagination, and frequently an irresolutionto proceed stopping all my preparations for departure,I sat down musing upon a chair, and half determinedto 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 oppositemy luggage, and waited impatiently for my friend’sreturn.

THE CONFESSIONS OF HARRY LORREQUER, v6

[By Charles James Lever (1806-1872)]

Dublin

MDCCCXXXIX.

Volume 6. (Chapter XLII-LV)

Contents:

Chapter XLII.
The Journey

Chapter XLIII.
The Journey

Chapter XLIV.
A Reminscence of the East

Chapter XLV.
A Day in the Phoenix

Chapter XLVI.
An Adventure in Canada

Chapter XLVII.
The Courier’s Passport

Chapter XLVIII.
A Night in Strasbourg

Chapter XLIX.
A Surprise

Chapter L.
Jack Waller’s Story

Chapter LI.
Munich

Chapter LII.
Inn at Munich

Chapter LIII.
The Ball

Chapter LIV.
A Discovery

Chapter LV.
Conclusion

CHAPTER XLII.

THE JOURNEY.

Trevanion came at last. He had obtained my passport,and engaged a carriage to convey me about eight miles,where I should overtake the diligence—­sucha mode of travelling being judged more likely to favourmy escape, by attracting less attention than posting. It was past ten when I left the Rue St. Honore, havingshaken hands with Trevanion for the last time, andcharged him with ten thousand soft messages for the“friends” I left behind me.

When I arrived at the village of St. Jacques, thediligence had not come up. To pass away thetime, 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 naturallydoes the fugitive suspect pursuit, that my immediateimpression was, that I was followed. In thisnotion I was strengthened by the tones of a cracked,discordant voice, asking in very peculiar French ifthe “diligence had passed?” Being answeredin the negative he walked into the room where I was,and speedily by his appearance, removed any apprehensionsI had felt as to my safety. Nothing could lessresemble the tall port and sturdy bearing of a gendarme,than the diminutive and dwarfish individual beforeme. His height could scarcely have reached fivefeet, of which the head formed fully a fourth part;and even this was rendered in appearance still greaterby a mass of loosely floating black hair that fellupon his neck and shoulders, and gave him much theair of a “black lion” on a sign board. His black frock, fur-collared and braided—­hisill-made boots, his meerschaum projecting from hisbreast-pocket, above all, his unwashed hands, and aheavy gold ring upon his thumb—­all madeup an ensemble of evidences that showed he could benothing but a German. His manner was bustling,impatient, and had it not been ludicrous, would certainlybe considered as insolent to every one about him,for he stared each person abruptly in the face, andmumbled some broken expressions of his opinion of themhalf-aloud in German. His comments ran on:—­“Bonsoir, Monsieur,” to the host: “Einboesewicht, ganz sicher”—­“ascoundrel without doubt;” and then added, stilllower, “Rob you here as soon as look at you.” “Ah, postillion! comment va?”—­“muchmore like a brigand after all—­I know whichI’d take you for.” “Ver fluchtefraw”—­“how ugly the woman is.” This compliment was intended for the hostess, whocurtsied down to the ground in her ignorance. At last approaching me, he stopped, and having steadilysurveyed me, muttered, “Ein echter Englander”—­“athorough Englishman, always eating.” Icould not resist the temptation to assure him thatI was perfectly aware of his flattering impressionin my behalf, though I had speedily to regret my precipitancy,for, less mindful of the rebuke than pleased at findingsome one who understood German, he drew his chairbeside me and entered into conversation.

Every one has surely felt, some time or other in life,the insufferable annoyance of having his thoughtsand reflections interfered with, and broken in uponby the vulgar impertinence and egotism of some “bore,”who, mistaking your abstraction for attention and yourdespair for delight, inflicts upon you his whole lifeand adventures, when your own immediate destiniesare perhaps vacillating in the scale.

Such a doom was now mine! Occupied as I wasby the hope of the future, and my fears lest any impedimentto my escape should blast my prospects for ever, Ipreferred appearing to pay attention to this confoundedfellow’s “personal narrative” lesthis questions, turning on my own affairs, might excitesuspicions as to the reasons of my journey.

I longed most ardently for the arrival of the diligence,trusting that with true German thrift, by friend mightprefer the cheapness of the “interieure”to the magnificence of the “coupe,” andthat thus I should see no more of him. But inthis pleasing hope I was destined to be disappointed,for I was scarcely seated in my place when I foundhim beside me. The third occupant of this “privilegedden,” as well as my lamp-light survey of himpermitted, afforded nothing to build on as a compensationfor the German. He was a tall, lanky, lantern-jawedman, 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 certainold fashioned horse-shoe wigs; his compressed lip andhard features gave the expression of one who had seena good deal of the world, and didn’t think thebetter of it in consequence. I observed thathe listened to the few words we spoke while gettingin with some attention, and then, like a person whodid not comprehend the language, turned his shouldertowards us, and soon fell asleep. I was now leftto the “tender mercies” of my talkativecompanion, who certainly spared me not. Notwithstandingmy vigorous resolves to turn a deaf ear to his narratives,I could not avoid learning that he was the directorof music to some German prince—­that hehad been to Paris to bring out an opera which having,as he said, a “success pyramidal,” he wasabout to repeat in Strasbourg. He further informedme that a depute from Alsace had obtained for hima government permission to travel with the courier;but that he being “social” withal, andno ways proud, preferred the democracy of the diligenceto the solitary grandeur of the caleche, (for whichheaven confound him,) and thus became my present companion.

Music, in all its shapes and forms made up the stapleof the little man’s talk. There was scarcelyan opera or an overture, from Mozart to Donizetti,that he did not insist upon singing a scene from; andwound up all by a very pathetic lamentation over Englishinsensibility to music, which he in great part attributedto our having only one opera, which he kindly informedme was “Bob et Joan.” However indisposedto check the current of his loquacity by any effortof mine, I could not avoid the temptation to translatefor him a story which Sir Walter Scott once relatedto me, and was so far apropos, as conveying my ownsense of the merits of our national music, such aswe have it, by its association with scenes, and persons,and places we are all familiar with, however unintelligibleto the ear of a stranger.

A young French viscomte was fortunate enough to obtainin marriage the hand of a singularly pretty Scotchheiress of an old family and good fortune, who, amongsther other endowments, possessed a large old-fashionedhouse in a remote district of the highlands, whereher ancestors had resided for centuries. Thitherthe young couple repaired to pass their honeymoon;the enamoured bridegroom gladly availing himself ofthe opportunity to ingratiate himself with his newconnexion, by adopting the seclusion he saw practisedby the English on such occasions. However consonantto our notions of happiness, and however conduciveto our enjoyment this custom be—­and I havestrong doubts upon the subject —­it certainlyprospered ill with the volatile Frenchman, who pinedfor Paris, its cafes, its boulevards, its maisonsde jeu, and its soirees. His days were passedin looking from the deep and narrow windows of someoak-framed room upon the bare and heath-clad moors,or watching the cloud’s shadows as they passedacross the dark pine trees that closed the distance.

Ennuyee to death, and convinced that he had sacrificedenough and more than enough to the barbarism whichdemanded such a “sejour,” he was sittingone evening listlessly upon the terrace in front ofthe house, plotting a speedy escape from his gloomyabode, and meditating upon the life of pleasure thatawaited him, when the discordant twang of some savagemusic broke upon his ear, and roused him from his reverie.The wild scream and fitful burst of a highland pibrochis certainly not the most likely thing in nature toallay the irritable and ruffled feelings of an irascibleperson—­unless, perhaps, the hearer eschewbreeches. So thought the viscomte. Hestarted hurriedly up, and straight before him, uponthe gravel-walk, beheld the stalwart figure and bonyframe of an old highlander, blowing, with all hislungs, the “Gathering of the clans.”With all the speed he could muster, he rushed intothe house, and, calling his servants, ordered themto expel the intruder, and drive him at once outsidethe demesne. When the mandate was made knownto the old piper, it was with the greatest difficultyhe could be brought to comprehend it—­for,time out of mind, his approach had been hailed withevery demonstration of rejoicing; and now—­butno; the thing was impossible—­there mustbe a mistake somewhere. He was accordingly aboutto recommence, when a second and stronger hint suggestedto him that it were safer to depart. “Maybethe ‘carl’ did na like the pipes,”said the highlander musingly, as he packed them upfor 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—­notsatisfied, probably, that he had hit upon the truesolution—­when suddenly his eye brightened,his lips curled, and fixing a look upon the angryFrenchman, he said—­“Maybe ye areright enow—­ye heard them ower muckle inWaterloo to like the skirl o’ them ever since;”with which satisfactory explanation, made in no spiritof bitterness or raillery, but in the simple beliefthat he had at last hit the mark of the viscomte’santipathy, the old man gathered up his plaid and departed.

However disposed I might have felt towards sleep,the little German resolved I should not obtain any,for when for half an hour together I would preservea rigid silence, he, nowise daunted, had recourse tosome German “lied,” which he gave forthwith an energy of voice and manner that must havearoused every sleeper in the diligence: so that,fain to avoid this, I did my best to keep him on thesubject of his adventures, which, as a man of successfulgallantry, were manifold indeed. Wearying atlast, even of this subordinate part, I fell into akind of half doze. The words of a student songhe continued to sing without ceasing for above anhour—­being the last waking thought on mymemory.

Less as a souvenir of the singer than a specimen ofits class I give here a rough translation of the well-knownBurschen melody called

Thepope

I.
The Pope, he leads a happy life,
He fears not married care, nor strife,
He drinks the best of Rhenish wine,
I would the Pope’s gay lot weremine.

Chorus.
He drinks the best of Rhenish wine.
I would the Pope’s gay lot weremine.

II.
Butthen all happy’s not his life,
Hehas not maid, nor blooming wife;
Norchild has he to raise his hope—­
Iwould not wish to be the Pope.

III.
TheSultan better pleases me,
Hisis a life of jollity;
Hiswives are many as he will—­
Iwould the Sultan’s throne then fill.

IV.
Buteven he’s a wretched man,
Hemust obey his Alcoran;
Anddares not drink one drop of wine—­
Iwould not change his lot for mine.

V.
Sothen I’ll hold my lowly stand,
Andlive in German Vaterland;
I’llkiss my maiden fair and fine,
Anddrink the best of Rhenish wine.

VI.
Whene’ermy maiden kisses me,
I’llthink that I the Sultan be;
Andwhen my cheery glass I tope,
I’llfancy then I am the Pope.

CHAPTER XLIII.

THE JOURNEY.

It was with a feeling of pleasure I cannot explain,that I awoke in the morning, and found myself uponthe road. The turmoil, the bustle, the never-endingdifficulties of my late life in Paris had so over-excitedand 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 uponthe grey dawn of the coming day, as it gradually meltedfrom its dull and leaden tint to the pink and yellowhue of the rising sun. The broad and richly-coloured

plains of “la belle France” were beforeme—­and it is “la belle France,”however inferior to parts of England in rural beauty—­thelarge tracts of waving yellow corn, undulating likea sea in the morning breeze—­the interminablereaches of forest, upon which the shadows played andflitted, deepening the effect and mellowing the mass,as we see them in Ruysdael’s pictures—­whilenow and then some tall-gabled, antiquated chateau,with its mutilated terrace and dowager-like air ofbye-gone grandeur, would peep forth at the end ofsome long avenue of lime trees, all having their ownfeatures of beauty—­and a beauty with whichevery object around harmonizes well. The sluggishpeasant, in his blouse and striped night-cap—­theheavily caparisoned horse, shaking his head amidsta Babel-tower of gaudy worsted tassels and brass bells—­thedeeply laden waggon, creeping slowly along—­areall in keeping with a scene, where the very mist thatrises from the valley seems indolent and lazy, andunwilling to impart the rich perfume of verdure withwhich it is loaded. Every land has its own peculiarcharacter of beauty. The glaciered mountain,the Alpine peak, the dashing cataract of Switzerlandand the Tyrol, are not finer in their way than thelong flat moorlands of a Flemish landscape, with itsclump of stunted willows cloistering over some limpidbrook, in which the oxen are standing for shelterfrom the noon-day heat—­while, lower down,some rude water-wheel is mingling its sounds withthe summer bees and the merry voices of the millerand his companions. So strayed my thoughts asthe German shook me by the arm, and asked if “Iwere not ready for my breakfast?” Luckily tothis 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 fromthe narrow limits of the dungeon-like diligence, whereyou sit with your knees next your collar-bone, faintingwith heat and suffocated by dust, and find yourselfsuddenly beside the tempting “plats” ofa little French dejeune, with its cutlets, its friedfish, its poulet, its salad, and its little entre offruit, tempered with a not despicable bottle of Beaune. If in England, the exchange is nearly as grateful—­forthough our travelling be better, and our equipage less“genante,” still it is no small alterativefrom the stage-coach to the inn parlour, redolentof aromatic black tea, eggs, and hot toast, with ahospitable side-board of red, raw surloins, and Yorkhams, 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 emancipatedfrom the stove-heat of a “nine-inside”leathern “conveniency,” bumping ten milesan hour over a corduroy road, the company smoking,if not worse; to the ample display of luxurious viandsdisplayed upon the breakfast-table, where, what withbuffalo steaks, pumpkin pie, gin co*ck-tail, and otheraristocratically called temptations, he must be indeedfastidious who cannot employ his half-hour. Pity it is, when there is so much good to eat, thatpeople will not partake of it like civilized beings,and with that air of cheerful thankfulness that allother nations more or less express when enjoying theearth’s bounties. But true it is, thatthere is a spirit of discontent in the Yankee, thatseems to accept of benefits with a tone of dissatisfaction,if not distrust. I once made this remark toan excellent friend of mine now no more, who, however,would not permit of my attributing this feature tothe Americans exclusively, adding, “Where haveyou more of this than in Ireland? and surely you wouldnot call the Irish ungrateful?” He illustratedhis first remark by the following short anecdote:—­

The rector of the parish my friend lived in was aman who added to the income he derived from his livinga very handsome private fortune, which he devotedentirely to the benefit of the poor around him. Among the objects of his bounty one old woman—­achildless widow, was remarkably distinguished. Whether commiserating her utter helplessness or hercomplete isolation, he went farther to relieve herthan to many, if not all, the other poor. Shefrequently was in the habit of pleading her povertyas a reason for not appearing in church among her neighbours;and he gladly seized an opportunity of so improvingher condition, that on this score at least no impedimentexisted. When all his little plans for her comforthad been carried into execution, he took the opportunityone day of dropping in, as if accidentally, to speakto her. By degrees he led the subject to herchanged condition in life—­the alterationfrom a cold, damp, smoky hovel, to a warm, clean,slated house—­the cheerful garden beforethe door that replaced the mud-heap and the duck-pool—­andall the other happy changes which a few weeks had effected. And he then asked, did she not feel grateful to abountiful Providence that had showered down so manyblessings upon her head?

“Ah, troth, its thrue for yer honour, I am grateful,”she replied, in a whining discordant tone, which astonishedthe worthy parson.

“Of course you are, my good woman, of courseyou are—­but I mean to say, don’tyou feel that every moment you live is too short toexpress your thankfulness to this kind Providencefor what he has done?”

“Ah, darlin’, it’s all thrue, he’svery good, he’s mighty kind, so he is.”

“Why then, not acknowledge it in a differentmanner?” said the parson, with some heat—­“hashe not housed you, and fed you, and clothed you?”

“Yes, alanah, he done it all.”

“Well, where is your gratitude for all thesemercies?”

“Ah, sure if he did,” said the old crone,roused at length by the importunity of the questioner—­“sureif he did, doesn’t he take it out o’ mein the corns?”

CHAPTER XLIV.

A REMINISCENCE OF THE EAST.

The breakfast-table assembled around it the threegenerations of men who issued from the three subdivisionsof the diligence, and presented that motley and mixedassemblage of ranks, ages, and countries, which formsso very amusing a part of a traveller’s experience.

First came the “haute aristocratie” ofthe coupe, then the middle class of the interieure,and lastly, the tiers etat of the rotonde, with itsmelange of Jew money-lenders, under-officers and theirwives, a Norman nurse with a high cap and a red jupe;while, to close the procession, a German student descendedfrom 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 speedilyamalgamated into a very social state of intimacy,and chatted away over our breakfast with much goodhumour and gaiety. Each person of the numberseeming pleased at the momentary opportunity of findinga new listener, save my tall companion of the coupe. He preserved a dogged silence, unbroken by even achance expression to the waiter, who observed hiswants and supplied them by a species of quick instinct,evidently acquired by practice. As I could nothelp feeling somewhat interested about the hermit-likeattachment he evinced for solitude, I watched himnarrowly for some time, and at length as the “roti”made its appearance before him, after he had helpedhimself and tasted it, he caught my eye fixed uponhim, and looking at me intently for a few seconds,he seemed to be satisfied in some passing doubt helaboured under, as he said with a most peculiar shakeof the head—­“No mangez, no mangezcela.”

“Ah,” said I, detecting in my friend’sFrench his English origin, “you are an EnglishmanI find.”

“The devil a doubt of it, darlin’,”said he half testily.

“An Irishman, too—­still better,”said I.

“Why then isn’t it strange that my Frenchalways shows me to be English, and my English provesme Irish? It’s lucky for me there’sno going farther any how.”

Delighted to have thus fallen upon a “character,”as the Irishman evidently appeared, I moved my chairtowards his; and finding, however, he was not halfpleased at the manner in which my acquaintance hadbeen made with him, and knowing his country’ssusceptibility of being taken by a story, I resolvedto make my advances by narrating a circ*mstance whichhad once befallen me in my early life.

Our countrymen, English and Irish, travel so muchnow a days, that one ought never to feel surprisedat finding them anywhere. The instance I amabout to relate will verify to a certain extent thefact, by showing that no situation is too odd or toounlikely to be within the verge of calculation.

When the 10th foot, to which I then belonged, wereat Corfu, I obtained with three other officers a shortleave of absence, to make a hurried tour of the Morea,and taking a passing glance at Constantinople—­inthose days much less frequently visited by travellersthan at present.

After rambling pleasantly about for some weeks, wewere about to return, when we determined that beforesailing we should accept an invitation some officersof the “Dwarf” frigate, then stationedthere, had given us, to pass a day at Pera, and pic-nicin the mountain.

One fine bright morning was therefore selected—­amost appetizing little dinner being carefully packedup—­we set out, a party of fourteen, uponour excursion.

The weather was glorious, and the scene far finerthan any of us had anticipated—­the viewfrom 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, crowdedwith ships of every nation, and, at the other, a glimpsemight be had of the sea of Marmora, blue and tranquilas it lay beneath. The broad bosom of the Bosphoruswas sheeted out like a map before us—­peacefulyet bustling with life and animation. Here laythe union-jack of old England, floating beside thelilies of France—­we speak of times whenlilies were and barricades were not—­thetall and taper spars of a Yankee frigate towering abovethe low timbers and heavy hull of a Dutch schooner—­thegilded poop and curved galleries of a Turkish three-decker,anchored beside the raking mast and curved deck ofa suspicious looking craft, whose red-capped and dark-visagedcrew needed not the naked creese at their sides tobespeak them Malays. The whole was redolent oflife, and teeming with food for one’s fancy toconjure from.

While we were debating upon the choice of a spot forour luncheon, which should command the chief pointsof view within our reach, one of the party came toinform us that he had just discovered the very thingwe were in search of. It was a small kiosk,built upon a projecting rock that looked down uponthe Bosphorus and the city, and had evidently, fromthe extended views it presented, been selected as thespot to build upon. The building itself was asmall octagon, open on every side, and presentinga series of prospects, land and seaward, of the mostvaried and magnificent kind.

Seeing no one near, nor any trace of habitation, weresolved to avail ourselves of the good taste of thefounder; and spreading out the contents of our hampers,proceeded to discuss a most excellent cold dinner. When the good things had disappeared, and the winebegan to circulate, one of the party observed thatwe should not think of enjoying ourselves before wehad filled a bumper to the brim, to the health of ourgood king, whose birth-day it chanced to be. Our homeward thoughts and loyalty uniting, we filledour glasses, and gave so hearty a “hip, hip,hurra,” to our toast, that I doubt if the echoesof those old rocks ever heard the equal of it.

Scarcely was the last cheer dying away in the distance,when the door of the kiosk opened, and a negro dressedin white muslin appeared, his arms and ancles bearingthose huge rings of massive gold, which only personsof rank distinguish their servants by.

After a most profound obeisance to the party, he explainedin 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 beggedthat if not considered as contrary to our usages, &c.we should permit him and his suite to approach thekiosk and observe us at our meal.

Independent of his politeness in the mode of conveyingthe request, as he would prove fully as entertaininga sight to us as we could possibly be to him, we immediatelyexpressed our great willingness to receive his visit,coupled with a half hint that perhaps he might honourus by joining the party.

After a half hour’s delay, the door was oncemore thrown open, and a venerable old Turk entered:he salaamed three times most reverently, and motionedto us to be seated, declining, at the same time, bya gentle gesture of his hand, our invitation. He was followed by a train of six persons, all splendidlyattired, and attesting, by their costume and manner,the rank and importance of their chief. Conceivingthat his visit had but one object—­to observeour convivial customs—­we immediately reseatedourselves, and filled our glasses.

As one after another the officers of the effendi’shousehold passed round the apartments, we offeredthem a goblet of champagne, which they severally declined,with a polite but solemn smile—­all exceptone, a large, savage-looking Turk, with a most ferociousscowl, and the largest black beard I ever beheld. He did not content himself with a mute refusal ofour offer, but stopping suddenly, he raised up hishands above his head, and muttered some words in Turkish,which one of the party informed us was a very satisfactoryrecommendation of the whole company to Satan for theirheretic abomination.

The procession moved slowly round the room, and whenit reached the door again retired, each member ofit salaaming three times as they had done on entering. Scarcely had they gone, when we burst into a loudfit of laughter at the savage-looking fellow who thoughtproper to excommunicate us, and were about to discusshis more than common appearance of disgust at ourproceedings, when again the door opened, and a turbanedhead peeped in, but so altered were the features,that although seen but the moment before, we couldhardly believe them the same. The dark complexion—­thelong and bushy beard were there—­but insteadof 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, thatmade a most laughable contrast with the head-dress. He looked stealthily around him for an instant, asif to see that all was right, and then, with an accentand expression I shall never forget, said, “I’lltaste your wine, gentleman, an it be pleasing to ye.”

CHAPTER XLV.

A day in the Phoenix.

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 toavoid the little German in the opposite corner.

“You have not been long in France, then, sir,”said I, as we resumed our conversation.

“Three weeks, and it seems like three yearsto me—­nothing to eat—­nothingto drink—­and nobody to speak to. ButI’ll go back soon —­I only came abroadfor a month.”

“You’ll scarcely see much of the Continentin so short a time.”

“Devil a much that will grieve me—­Ididn’t come to see it.”

“Indeed!”

“Nothing of the kind; I only came—­tobe away from home.”

“Oh! I perceive.”

“You’re quite out there,” said mycompanion, misinterpreting my meaning. “Itwasn’t any thing of that kind. I don’towe sixpence. I was laughed out of Ireland—­that’sall, though that same is bad enough.”

“Laughed out of it!”

“Just so—­and little you know of Irelandif that surprises you.”

After acknowledging that such an event was perfectlypossible, from what I myself had seen of that country,I obtained the following very brief account of mycompanion’s reasons for foreign travel:

“Well, sir,” began he, “it is aboutfour months since I brought up to Dublin from Galwaya little chesnut mare, with cropped ears and a shorttail, square-jointed, and rather low—­justwhat you’d call a smart hack for going to coverwith—­a lively thing on the road with a lightweight. Nobody ever suspected that she was aclean bred thing—­own sister to Jenny, thatwon the Corinthians, and ran second to Giles for theRiddlesworth—­but so she was, and a betterbred mare never leaped the pound in Ballinasloe. Well, I brought her to Dublin, and used to ride herout two or three times a week, making little matchessometimes to trot—­and, for a thorough bred,she was a clipper at trotting—­to trot amile or so on the grass—­another day to gallopthe length of the nine acres opposite the Lodge—­andthen sometimes, back her for a ten pound note, tojump the biggest furze bush that could be found—­allor which she could do with ease, nobody thinking,all the while, that the co*ck-tailed pony was out ofScroggins, by a “Lamplighter mare.” As every fellow that was beat to-day was sure tocome back to-morrow, with something better, eitherof his own or a friend’s, I had matches bookedfor every day in the week—­for I always mademy little boy that rode, win by half a neck, or anostril, and so we kept on day after day pocketingfrom ten to thirty pounds or thereabouts.

“It was mighty pleasant while it lasted, forbesides winning the money, I had my own fun laughingat the spoonies that never could book my bets fastenough. Young infantry officers and the juniorbar—­they were for the most part mightynice to look at, but very raw about racing. Howlong 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 appearedto give the rider a great deal of uneasiness.

“‘He’s a spicy hack you’reon, sir,’ said I, ’and has a go in him,I’ll be bound.’

“‘I rayther think he has,’ saidthe old gentleman, half testily.

“‘And can trot a bit, too.’

“‘Twelve Irish miles in fifty minutes,with my weight.’ Here he looked down ata paunch like a sugar hosghead.

“‘Maybe he’s not bad across a country,’said I, rather to humour the old fellow, who, I saw,was proud of his poney.

“‘I’d like to see his match, that’sall.’ Here he gave a rather contemptuousglance at my hack.

“Well, one word led to another, and it endedat last in our booking a match, with which one partywas no less pleased than the other. It was this:each was to ride his own horse, starting from the schoolin the Park, round the Fifteen Acres, outside theMonument, and back to the start—­just oneheat, about a mile and a half—­the groundgood, and only soft enough. In consideration,however, of his greater weight, I was to give oddsin the start; and as we could not well agree on howmuch, it was at length decided that he was to getaway first, and I to follow as fast as I could, afterdrinking a pewter quart full of Guinness’s doublestout—­droll odds, you’ll say, butit was the old fellow’s own thought, and asthe match was a soft one, I let him have his way.

“The next morning the Phoenix was crowded asif for a review. There were all the Dublin notorieties,swarming in barouches, and tilburies, and outsidejaunting-cars—­smart clerks in the post-office,mounted upon kicking devils from Dycer’s andLalouette’s stables—­attorney’swives and daughters from York-street, and a straydoctor or so on a hack that looked as if it had beenlectured on for the six winter months at the Collegeof Surgeons. My antagonist was half an hour late,which time I occupied in booking bets on every sideof me—­offering odds of ten, fifteen, andat last, to tempt the people, twenty-five to one againstthe dun. At last, the fat gentleman came upon a jaunting-car, followed by a groom leading thecob. I wish you heard the cheer that greetedhim on his arrival, for it appeared he was a well-knowncharacter 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 remainedfor about five minutes, at the end of which he cameout in full racing costume —­blue and yellowstriped jacket, blue cap and leathers—­lookingas 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 hadbeen winning in for two months past. While someof the party were sent on to station themselves atdifferent places round the Fifteen Acres, to markout the course, my fat friend was assisted into hissaddle, and gave a short preliminary gallop of a hundredyards or so, that set us all a-laughing. Theodds were now fifty to one in my favour, and I gave

them wherever I could find takers. ’Withyou, sir, if you please, in pounds, and the gentlemanin the red whiskers, too, if he likes—­verywell, in half sovereigns, if you prefer it.’ So I went on, betting on every side, till the bellrung to mount. As I knew I had plenty of timeto spare, I took little notice, and merely givinga look to my girths, I continued leisurely bookingmy bets. At last the time came, and at the word‘Away!’ off went the fat gentleman on thedun, at a spluttering gallop, that flung the mud onevery side of us, and once more threw us all a-laughing. I waited patiently till he got near the upper endof the park, taking bets every minute; and now thathe was away, every one offered to wager. Atlast, when I had let him get nearly half round, andfound no more money could be had, I called out tohis friends for the porter, and, throwing myself intothe saddle, gathered up the reins in my hand. The crowd fell back on each side, while from thetent I have already mentioned came a thin fellow withone eye, with a pewter quart in his hand: helifted it up towards me, and I took it; but what wasmy fright to find that the porter was boiling, andthe vessel so hot I could barely hold it. Iendeavoured to drink, however: the first mouthfultook all the skin off my lips and tongue—­thesecond half choked, and the third nearly threw meinto an apoplectic fit—­the mob cheeringall the time like devils. Meantime, the oldfellow had reached the furze, and was going alonglike fun. Again I tried the porter, and a fitof coughing came on that lasted five minutes. The pewter was now so hot that the edge of the quarttook away a piece of my mouth at every effort.I ventured once more, and with the desperation ofa madman I threw down the hot liquid to its last drop. My head reeled—­my eyes glared—­andmy brain was on fire. I thought I beheld fiftyfat gentlemen galloping on every side of me, and allthe sky raining jackets in blue and yellow. Halfmechanically I took the reins, and put spurs to myhorse; but before I got well away, a loud cheer fromthe crowd assailed me. I turned, and saw thedun coming in at a floundering gallop, covered withfoam, and so dead blown that neither himself nor therider could have got twenty yards farther. Therace was, however, won. My odds were lost toevery man on the field, and, worse than all, I wasso laughed at, that I could not venture out in thestreets, without hearing allusions to my misfortune;for a certain friend of mine, one Tom O’Flaherty—­”

“Tom of the 11th light dragoons?”

“The same—­you know Tom, then? Maybe you have heard him mention me —­MauriceMalone?”

“Not Mr. Malone, of Fort Peak?”

“Bad luck to him. I am as well known inconnexion with Fort Peak, as the Duke is with Waterloo. There is not a part of the globe where he has nottold that confounded story.”

As my readers may not possibly be all numbered inMr. O’Flaherty’s acquaintance, I shallventure to give the anecdote which Mr. Malone accountedto be so widely circulated.

CHAPTER XLVI.

An adventure in Canada.

Towards the close of the last war with America, asmall detachment of military occupied the little blockhouse of Fort Peak, which, about eight miles fromthe Falls of Niagara, formed the last outpost on thefrontier. The Fort, in itself inconsiderable,was only of importance as commanding a part of theriver where it was practicable to ford, and where theeasy ascent of the bank offered a safe situation forthe enemy to cross over, whenever they felt disposedto carry the war into our territory.

There having been, however, no threat of invasionin this quarter, and the natural strength of the positionbeing considerable, a mere handful of men, with twosubaltern officers, were allotted for this duty—­suchbeing conceived ample to maintain it till the arrivalof succour from head-quarters, then at Little York,on the opposite side of the lake. The officersof this party were our old acquaintance Tom O’Flaherty,and our newly-made one Maurice Malone.

Whatever may be the merits of commanding officers,one virtue they certainly can lay small claim to—­viz.any insight into character, or at least any regardfor the knowledge. Seldom are two men sent offon detachment duty to some remote quarter, to associatedaily and hourly for months together, that they arenot, 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 withthe essenced and dandified Adonis of the corps; theman of literary tastes and cultivated pursuits, withthe empty headed, ill informed youth, fresh from Harrowor Westminster. This case offered no exceptionto the rule; for though there were few men possessedof more assimilating powers than O’Flaherty,yet certainly his companion did put the faculty tothe test, for any thing more unlike him, there neverexisted. Tom all good humour and high spirits—­makingthe best of every thing—­never non-plussed—­nevertaken aback—­perfectly at home, whether flirtingwith a Lady Charlotte in her drawing-room, or crossinga grouse mountain in the highlands—­sufficientlywell read to talk on any ordinary topic—­andalways ready-witted enough to seem more so. Athorough sportsman, whether showing forth in the “park”at Melton, whipping a trout-stream in Wales, or fillinga country-house with black co*ck and moor-fowl; anunexceptionable judge of all the good things in life,from a pretty ancle to a well hung tilbury—­fromthe odds at hazard to the “Comet vintage.”Such, in brief, was Tom. Now his confrere wasnone of these; he had been drafted from the Galwaymilitia to the line, for some election services renderedby his family to the government candidate; was of asaturnine and discontented habit; always miserableabout some trifle or other, and never at rest tillhe had drowned his sorrows in Jamaica rum—­which,since the regiment was abroad, he had copiously usedas a substitute for whiskey. To such an extenthad this passion gained upon him, that a corporal’sguard was always in attendance whenever he dined out,to convey him home to the barracks.

The wearisome monotony of a close garrison, with soungenial a companion, would have damped any man’sspirits but O’Flaherty’s. He, however,upon this, as other occasions in life, rallied himselfto make the best of it; and by short excursions withincertain prescribed limits along the river side, contrivedto shoot and fish enough to get through the day, andimprove the meagre fare of his mess-table. Malonenever appeared before dinner—­his late sittingsat night requiring all the following day to recruithim for a new attack upon the rum bottle.

Now, although his seeing so little of his brotherofficer was any thing but unpleasant to O’Flaherty,yet the ennui of such a life was gradually wearinghim, and all his wits were put in requisition to furnishoccupation for his time. Never a day passed withouthis praying ardently for an attack from the enemy;any alternative, any reverse, had been a blessingcompared with his present life. No such spirit,however, seemed to animate the Yankee troops; nota soldier was to be seen for miles around, and everystraggler that passed the Fort concurred in sayingthat the Americans were not within four day’smarch of the frontier.

Weeks passed over, and the same state of things remainingunchanged, O’Flaherty gradually relaxed someof his strictness as to duty; small foraging partiesof three and four being daily permitted to leave theFort for a few hours, to which they usually returnedladen with wild turkeys and fish—­both beingfound in great abundance near them.

Such was the life of the little garrison for two orthree long summer months—­each day so resemblingits fellow, that no difference could be found.

As to how the war was faring, or what the aspect ofaffairs might be, they absolutely knew nothing. Newspapers never reached them; and whether from havingso much occupation at head-quarters, or that the difficultyof sending letters prevented, their friends never wrotea line; and thus they jogged on, a very vegetableexistence, till thought at last was stagnating intheir brains, and O’Flaherty half envied hiscompanion’s resource in the spirit flask.

Such was the state of affairs at the Fort, when oneevening O’Flaherty appeared to pace the littlerampart that looked towards Lake Ontario, with anappearance of anxiety and impatience strangely at variancewith his daily phlegmatic look. It seemed thatthe corporal’s party he had despatched thatmorning to forage, near the “Falls,” hadnot returned, and already were four hours later thantheir time away.

Every imaginable mode of accounting for their absencesuggested itself to his mind. Sometimes he fearedthat they had been attacked by the Indian hunters,who were far from favourably disposed towards theirpoaching neighbours. Then, again, it might bemerely that they had missed their track in the forest;or could it be that they had ventured to reach GoatIsland in a canoe, and had been carried down the rapids.

Such were the torturing doubts that passed as someshrill squirrel, or hoarse night owl pierced the airwith a cry, and then all was silent again. Whilethus the hours went slowly by, his attention was attractedby a bright light in the sky. It appeared asif part of the heavens were reflecting some strongglare from beneath, for as he looked, the light, atfirst pale and colourless, gradually deepened intoa rich mellow hue, and at length, through the murkyblackness of the night, a strong clear current of flamerose steadily upwards from the earth, and pointed towardsthe sky. From the direction, it must have beeneither at the Falls, or immediately near them; andnow the horrible conviction flashed upon his mind thatthe party had been waylaid by the Indians, who were,as is their custom, making a war feast over theirvictims.

Not an instant was to be lost. The little garrisonbeat to arms; and, as the men fell in, O’Flahertycast his eyes around, while he selected a few bravefellows to accompany him. Scarcely had the menfallen out from the ranks, when the sentinel at thegate was challenged by a well-known voice, and ina moment more the corporal of the foraging party wasamong them. Fatigue and exhaustion had so overcomehim, that for some minutes he was speechless. At length he recover sufficiently to give the followingbrief account:—­

The little party having obtained their supply of venisonabove Queenston, were returning to the Fort, whenthey suddenly came upon a track of feet, and littleexperience in forest life soon proved that some newarrivals had reached the hunting grounds, for on examiningthem 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 forthree or four miles, they reached the bank of the Niagarariver, above the whirlpools, where the crossing ismost easily effected from the American side. The mystery was at once explained: it was a surpriseparty of the Yankees, sent to attack Fort Peak; andnow the only thing to be done was to hasten back immediatelyto their friends, and prepare for their reception.

With this intent they took the river path as the shortest,but had not proceeded far when their fears were confirmed;for in a little embayment of the bank they perceiveda party of twenty blue coats, who, with their armspiled, were lying around as if waiting for the hourof attack. The sight of this party added greatlyto their alarm, for they now perceived that the Americanshad divided their force—­the foot-tracksfirst seen being evidently those of another division. As the corporal and his few men continued, from thelow and thick brushwood, to make their reconnaisanceof the enemy, they observed with delight that theywere not regulars, but a militia force. Withthis one animating thought, they again, with noiselessstep, regained the forest, and proceeded upon their

way. Scarcely, however, had they marched a mile,when the sound of voices and loud laughter apprisedthem that another party was near, which, as well asthey could observe in the increasing gloom, was stilllarger than the former. They were now obligedto make a considerable circuit, and advance stilldeeper into the forest—­their anxiety hourlyincreasing, lest the enemy should reach the Fort beforethemselves. In this dilemma it was resolvedthat the party should separate—­the corporaldetermining to proceed alone by the river bank, whilethe others, by a detour of some miles, should endeavourto learn the force of the Yankees, and, as far asthey could, their mode of attack. From that instantthe corporal knew no more; for, after two hours’weary exertion, he reached the Fort, which, had itbeen but another mile distant, his strength had notheld out for him to attain.

However gladly poor O’Flaherty might have hailedsuch information under other circ*mstances, now itcame like a thunderbolt upon him. Six of hissmall force were away, perhaps ere this made prisonersby the enemy; the Yankees, as well as he could judge,were a numerous party; and he himself totally withouta single adviser—­for Malone had dined, andwas, therefore, by this time in that pleasing stateof indifference, in which he could only recognisean enemy, in the man that did not send round the decanter.

In the half indulged hope that his state might permitsome faint exercise of the reasoning faculty, O’Flahertywalked towards the small den they had designated asthe mess-room, in search of his brother officer.

As he entered the apartment, little disposed as hefelt to mirth at such a moment, the tableau beforehim was too ridiculous not to laugh at. At oneside of the fire-place sat Malone, his face floridwith drinking, and his eyeballs projecting. Upon his head was a small Indian skull cap, with twopeaco*ck feathers, and a piece of scarlet cloth whichhung down behind. In one hand he held a smokinggoblet of rum punch, and in the other a long, IndianChibook pipe. Opposite to him, but squatted uponthe floor, reposed a red Indian, that lived in theFort as a guide, equally drunk, but preserving, evenin his liquor, an impassive, grave aspect, strangelycontrasting with the high excitement of Malone’sface. The red man wore Malone’s uniformcoat, which he had put on back foremost—­hishead-dress having, in all probability been exchangedfor it, as an amicable courtesy between the parties. There they sat, looking fixedly at each other; neitherspoke, nor even smiled—­the rum bottle,which at brief intervals passed from one to the other,maintained a friendly intercourse that each was contentwith.

To the hearty fit of laughing of O’Flaherty,Malone replied by a look of drunken defiance, andthen nodded to his red friend, who returned the courtesy. As poor Tom left the room, he saw that nothing wasto be hoped for in this quarter, and determined tobeat the garrison to arms without any further delay. Scarcely had he closed the door behind him, when asudden thought flashed through his brain. Hehesitated, walked forward a few paces, stopped again,and calling out to the corporal, said—­

“You are certain they were militia?”

“Yes, sir; quite sure.”

“Then, by Jove, I have it,” cried O’Flaherty. “If they should turn out to be the Buffalofencibles, we may get through this scrape better thanI hoped for.”

“I believe you are right, sir; for I heard oneof the men as I passed observe, ’what will theysay in Buffalo when it’s over?’.”

“Send Mathers here, corporal; and do you orderfour rank and file, with side-arms to be in readinessimmediately.”

“Mathers, you have heard the news,” saidO’Flaherty, as the sergeant entered. “Canthe Fort hold out against such a force as Jackson reports?You doubt; well, so do I; so let’s see what’sto be done. Can you remember, was it not theBuffalo militia that were so tremendously thrashedby the Delawares last autumn?”

“Yes, sir, they chased them for two days andnights, and had they not reached the town of Buffalo,the Delawares would not have left a scalp in the regiment.”

“Can you recollect the chief’s name—­itwas Carran—­something, eh?”

“Caudan-dacwagae.”

“Exactly. Where is he supposed to be now?”

“Up in Detroit, sir, they say, but no one knows. Those fellows are here to-day, and there to-morrow.”

“Well then, sergeant, here’s my plan.” Saying these words, O’Flaherty proceeded towalk towards his quarters, accompanied by the sergeant,with whom he conversed for some time eagerly—­occasionallyreplying, as it appeared, to objections, and offeringexplanations as the other seemed to require them. The colloquy lasted half an hour—­and althoughthe veteran sergeant seemed difficult of conviction,it ended by his saying, as he left the room,

“Well, sir, as you say, it can only come tohard knocks at worst. Here goes—­I’llsend off the scout party to make the fires and choosethe men for the out picquets, for no time is to belost.”

In about an hour’s time from the scene I havementioned, a number of militia officers, of differentgrades, were seated round a bivouac fire, upon thebank of the Niagara river. The conversation seemedof an angry nature, for the voices of the speakerswere loud and irrascible, and their gestures evidenceda state of high excitement.

“I see,” said one, who seemed the superiorof the party—­“I see well where thiswill end. We shall have another Queenston affair,as we had last fall with the Delawares.”

“I only say,” replied another, “thatif you wish our men to stand fire to-morrow morning,the less you remind them of the Delawares the better.What is that noise? Is not that a drum beating?”

The party at these words sprung to their legs, andstood in an attitude of listening for some seconds.

“Who goes there?” sung out a sentinelfrom his post; and then, after a moment’s delay,added—­“Pass flag of truce to MajorBrown’s quarters.”

Scarcely were the words spoken, when three officersin scarlet, preceded by a drummer with a white flag,stood before the American party.

“To whom may I address myself?” said oneof the British—­who, I may inform my reader,en passant, was no other than O’Flaherty—­“Towhom may I address myself as the officer in command?”

“I am Major Brown,” said a short, plethoricl*ttle man, in a blue uniform and round hat—­“Andwho are you?”

“Major O’Flaherty, of his majesty’sfifth foot,” said Tom, with a very sonorousemphasis on each word—­“the bearerof a flag of truce and an amicable proposition fromMajor-General Allen, commanding the garrison of FortPeak.”

The Americans, who were evidently taken by surpriseat their intentions of attack being known, were silent,while he continued—­

“Gentlemen, it may appear somewhat strange thata garrison, possessing the natural strength of a powerfulposition—­supplied with abundant ammunitionand every muniment of war—­should despatcha flag of truce on the eve of an attack, in preferenceto waiting for the moment, when a sharp and well-preparedreception 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 theriver above the whirlpool to your present position. Every man of your party is numbered by us; and, whatis still more, numbered by our allies —­yes,gentlemen, I must repeat it, “allies”—­though,as a Briton, I blush at the word. Shame anddisgrace for ever be that man’s portion, whofirst associated the honourable usages of war withthe atrocious and bloody cruelties of the savage. Yet so it is: the Delawares of the hills”—­herethe Yankees exchanged very peculiar looks—­“havethis morning arrived at Fort Peak, with orders toravage the whole of your frontier, from Fort Georgeto Lake Erie. They brought us the informationof your approach, and their chief is, while I speak,making an infamous proposition, by which a price isto paid for every scalp he produces in the morning. Now, as the general cannot refuse to co-operate withthe savages, without compromising himself with thecommander-in-chief, neither can he accept of suchassistance without some pangs of conscience. He has taken the only course open to him: hehas despatched myself and my brother officers here”—­O’Flahertyglanced at two privates dressed up in his regimentals—­“tooffer you terms”—­

O’Flaherty paused when he arrived thus far,expecting that the opposite party would make somereply; but they continued silent: when suddenly,from the dense forest, there rung forth a wild andsavage yell, that rose and fell several times, likethe pibroch of the highlander, and ended at last ina loud whoop, that was echoed and re-echoed again andagain for several seconds after.

“Hark!” said O’Flaherty, with anaccent of horror—­“Hark! the war-cryof the Delawares! The savages are eager fortheir prey. May it yet be time enough to rescueyou from such a fate! Time presses—­ourterms are these—­as they do not admit ofdiscussion, and must be at once accepted or rejected,to your own ear alone can I impart them.”

Saying which, he took Major Brown aside, and, walkingapart from the others, led him, by slow steps, intothe forest. While O’Flaherty continuedto dilate upon the atrocities of Indian war, and therevengeful character of the savages, he contrivedto be always advancing towards the river side, tillat length the glare of a fire was perceptible throughthe gloom. Major Brown stopped suddenly, andpointed in the direction of the flame.

“It is the Indian picquet,” said O’Flaherty,calmly; “and as the facts I have been detailingmay be more palpable to your mind, you shall see themwith your own eyes. Yes, I repeat it, you shall,through the cover of this brushwood, see Caudan-dacwagaehimself—­for he is with them in person.”

As O’Flaherty said this, he led Major Brown,now speechless with terror, behind a massive corktree, from which spot they could look down upon theriver side, where in a small creek sat five or sixpersons in blankets, and scarlet head-dresses; theirfaces 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 andsavage cries gave him the very appearance of a demon,as he resisted with all his might the efforts of theothers to restrain him, shouting like a maniac allthe while, and struggling to rise.

“It is the chief,” said O’Flaherty;“he will wait no longer. We have bribedthe others to keep him quiet, if possible, a littletime; but I see they cannot succeed.”

A loud yell of triumph from below interrupted Tom’sspeech. The infuriated savage—­whowas no other than Mr. Malone—­having obtainedthe rum bottle, for which he was fighting with allhis might—­his temper not being improvedin the struggle by occasional admonitions from thered end of a cigar, applied to his naked skin by theother Indians—­who were his own soldiersacting under O’Flaherty’s orders.

“Now,” said Tom, “that you haveconvinced yourself, and can satisfy your brother officers,will you take your chance? or will you accept thehonoured terms of the General—­pile yourarms, and retreat beyond the river before day-break? Your muskets and ammunition will offer a bribe tothe cupidity of the savage, and delay his pursuit tillyou can reach some place of safety.”

Major Brown heard the proposal in silence, and atlast determined upon consulting his brother officers.

“I have outstaid my time,” said O’Flaherty,“but stop; the lives of so many are at stake,I consent.” Saying which, they walked onwithout speaking, till they arrived where the otherswere standing around the watch-fire.

As Brown retired to consult with the officers, Tomheard with pleasure how much his two companions hadworked upon the Yankees’ fears, during his absence,by details of the vindictive feelings of the Delawares,and their vows to annihilate the Buffalo militia.

Before five minutes they had decided. Upon asolemn pledge from O’Flaherty that the termsof 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 makethe best of their way home.

By sunrise the next morning, all that remained ofthe threatened attack on Fort Peak, were the smoulderingashes of some wood fires—­eighty musketspiled in the fort—­and the yellow ochre,and red stripes that still adorned the countenanceof the late Indian chief,—­but now snoringLieutenant Maurice Malone.

CHAPTER XLVII.

The courier’s passport.

A second night succeeded the long dreary day of thediligence, and the only one agreeable reflection arosein the feeling that every mile travelled, was diminishingthe chance of pursuit, and removing me still furtherfrom that scene of trouble and annoyance that was soonto furnish gossip for Paris—­under the titleof “The Affaire O’Leary.”

How he was ever to extricate himself from the numerousand embarrassing difficulties of his position, gaveme, I confess, less uneasiness than the uncertaintyof my own fortunes. Luck seemed ever to befriendhim—­me it had always accompanied far enoughthrough life to make its subsequent desertion morepainful. How far I should blame myself for this,I stopped not to consider; but brooded over the factin a melancholy and discontented mood. The onethought uppermost in my mind was, how will Lady Janereceive me—­am I forgotten—­oram I only remembered as the subject of that unluckymistake, when, under the guise of an elder son, Iwas feted and made much of. What pretensionsI had, without fortune, rank, influence, or even expectationsof any kind, to seek the hand of the most beautifulgirl of the day, with the largest fortune as her dowry,I dare not ask myself—­the reply would havedashed all my hopes, and my pursuit would have atonce been abandoned. “Tell the peopleyou are an excellent preacher,” was the adviceof an old and learned divine to a younger and lessexperienced one—­“tell them so everymorning, and every noon, and every evening, and atlast they will begin to believe it.” Sothought I. I shall impress upon the Callonbys thatI am a most unexceptionable “parti.” Upon every occasion they shall hear it—­asthey open their newspapers at breakfast—­asthey sip their soup at luncheon—­as theyadjust their napkin at dinner—­as they chatover their wine at night. My influence in thehouse shall be unbounded—­my pleasures consulted—­mydislikes remembered. The people in favour withme shall dine there three times a-week—­thoseless fortunate shall be put into schedule A. My opinionson all subjects shall be a law—­whether Ipronounce upon politics, or discuss a dinner:and all this I shall accomplish by a successful flatteryof my lady—­a little bullying of my lord—­adevoted attention to the youngest sister—­aspecial cultivation of Kilkee—­and a very“prononce” neglect of Lady Jane. These were my half-waking thoughts, as the heavy diligencerumbled over the pave into Nancy; and I was arousedby the door being suddenly jerked open, and a bronzedface, with a black beard and moustache, being thrustin amongst us.

“Your passports, Messieurs,” as a lanternwas held up in succession across our faces, and wehanded forth our crumpled and worn papers to the official.

The night was stormy and dark—­gusts ofwind sweeping along, bearing with them the tail ofsome thunder cloud—­mingling their soundswith a falling tile from the roofs, or a broken chimney-pot. The officer in vain endeavoured to hold open thepassports while he inscribed his name; and just asthe last scrawl was completed, the lantern went out. Muttering a heavy curse upon the weather, he thrustthem in upon us en masse, and, banging the door to,called out to the conducteur, “en route.”

Again we rumbled on, and, ere we cleared the lastlamps of the town, the whole party were once moresunk in sleep, save myself. Hour after hourrolled by, the rain pattering upon the roof, and theheavy plash of the horses’ feet contributingtheir mournful sounds to the melancholy that was stealingover me. At length we drew up at the door ofa little auberge; and, by the noise and bustle without,I perceived there was a change of horses. Anxiousto stretch my legs, and relieve, if even for a moment,the wearisome monotony of the night, I got out andstrode into the little parlour of the inn. Therewas a cheerful fire in an open stove, beside whichstood a portly figure in a sheepskin bunta and a clothtravelling cap, with a gold band; his legs were casedin high Russia leather boots, all evident signs ofthe profession of the wearer, had even his haste atsupper not bespoke the fact that he was a governmentcourier.

“You had better make haste with the horses,Antoine, if you don’t wish the postmaster tohear of it,” said he, as I entered, his mouthfilled with pie crust and vin de Beaune, as he spoke.

A lumbering peasant, with a blouse, sabots, and astriped nightcap, replied in some unknown patois;when the courier again said—­

“Well, then, take the diligence horses; I mustget on at all events; they are not so presse, I’llbe bound; besides it will save the gens-d’armessome miles of a ride if they overtake them here.”

“Have we another vise of our passports here,then?” said I, addressing the courier, “forwe have already been examined at Nancy?”

“Not exactly a vise,” said the courier,eyeing me most suspiciously as he spoke, and thencontinuing to eat with his former voracity.

“Then, what, may I ask, have we to do with thegens-d’armes?”

“It is a search,” said the courier, gruffly,and with the air of one who desired no further questioning.

I immediately ordered a bottle of Burgundy, and fillingthe large goblet before him, said, with much respect,

“A votre bonne voyage, Monsier le Courier.”

To this he at once replied, by taking off his capand bowing politely as he drank off the wine.

“Have we any runaway felon or a stray galerienamong us?” said I, laughingly, “that theyare going to search us?”

“No, monsieur,” said the courier; “butthere has been a government order to arrest a personon this road connected with the dreadful Polish plot,that has just eclated at Paris. I passed a videtteof cavalry at Nancy, and they will be up here in halfan hour.”

“A Polish plot! Why, I left Paris onlytwo days ago, and never heard of it.”

“C’est bien possible, Monsieur? Perhaps, after all, it may only be an affair of thepolice; but they have certainly arrested one prisonerat Meurice, charged with this, as well as the attemptto rob Frascati, and murder the croupier.”

“Alas,” said I, with a half-suppressedgroan, “it is too true; that infernal fellowO’Leary has ruined me, and I shall be broughtback to Paris, and only taken from prison to meetthe open shame and ignominy of a public trial.”

What was to be done?—­every moment was precious. I walked to the door to conceal my agitation. All was dark and gloomy. The thought of escapewas my only one; but how to accomplish it! Everystir without suggested to my anxious mind the approachingtread of horses—­every rattle of the harnessseemed like the clink of accoutrements.

While I yet hesitated, I felt that my fate was inthe 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; heperhaps might be bribed to assist me at this juncture.Still his impression as to the enormity of the crimeimputed, might deter him; and there was no time forexplanation, if even he would listen to it. I returned to the room; he had finished his meal, andwas now engaged in all the preparations for encounteringa wet and dreary night. I hesitated; my fearsthat if he should refuse my offers, all chance ofmy escape was gone, deterred me for a moment. At length as he wound a large woollen shawl aroundhis throat, and seemed to have completed his costume,I summoned nerve for the effort, and with as much boldnessin my manner as I could muster, said—­

“Monsieur le Courier, one word with you.” I here closed the door, and continued. “Myfortunes—­my whole prospects in life dependupon 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 willrender me this service?—­if so, name it.”

“So then, Monsieur,” said the Courier,slowly—­“so, then, you are the—­”

“You have guessed it,” said I, interrupting. “Do you accept my proposal?”

“It is impossible,” said he, “utterlyimpossible; for even should I be disposed to run therisk on my own account, it would avail you nothing;the first town we entered your passport would be demanded,and not being vised by the minister to travel en courier,you would at once be detained and arrested.”

“Then am I lost,” said I, throwing myselfupon a chair; at the same instant my passport, whichI carried in my breast pocket, fell out at the feetof the courier. He lifted it and opened it leisurely. So engrossed was I by my misfortunes, that for someminutes I did not perceive, that as he continued toread the passport, he smiled from time to time, tillat length a hearty fit of laughing awoke me from myabstraction. My first impulse was to seize himby the throat; controlling my temper, however, withan effort, I said—­

“And pray, Monsieur, may I ask in what mannerthe position I stand in at this moment affords youso much amusem*nt? Is there any thing so particularlydroll—­any thing so excessively ludicrousin my situation —­or what particular giftdo you possess that shall prevent me throwing youout of the window?”

“Mais, Monsieur,” said he, half stifledwith laughter, “do you know the blunder I fellinto? it is really too good. Could you only guesswho I took you for, you would laugh too.”

Here he became so overcome with merriment, that hewas obliged to sit down, which he did opposite tome, and actually shook with laughter.

“When this comedy is over,” thought I,“we may begin to understand each other.” Seeing no prospect of this, I became at length impatient,and jumping on my legs, said—­

“Enough, sir, quite enough of this foolery. Believe me, you have every reason to be thankfulthat my present embarrassment should so far engrossme, that I cannot afford time to give you a thrashing.”

“Pardon, mille pardons,” said he humbly;“but you will, I am sure, forgive me when Itell you that I was stupid enough to mistake you forthe fugitive Englishman, whom the gens-d’armesare in pursuit of. How good, eh?”

“Oh! devilish good—­but what do youmean?”

“Why, the fellow that caused the attack at Frascati,and all that, and—­”

“Yes—­well, eh? Did you thinkI was him?”

“To be sure I did, till I saw your passport.”

“Till you saw my passport!” Why, whaton earth can he mean? thought I. “No, but,”said I, half jestingly, “how could you make sucha blunder?”

“Why, your confused manner—­your impatienceto get on—­your hurried questions, all convincedme. In fact, I’d have wagered any thingyou were the Englishman.”

“And what, in heaven’s name, does he thinkme now?” thought I, as I endeavoured to jointhe laugh so ludicrous a mistake occasioned.

“But we are delaying sadly,” said thecourier. “Are you ready?”

“Ready?—­ready for what?”

“To go on with me, of course. Don’tyou wish to get early to Strasbourg?”

“To be sure I do.”

“Well, then, come along. But, pray, don’tmind your luggage, for my caleche is loaded. Your instruments can come in the diligence.”

“My instruments in the diligence! He’smad—­that’s flat.”

“How they will laugh at Strasbourg at my mistake.”

“That they will,” thought I. “Theonly doubt is, will you join in the merriment?”

So saying, I followed the courier to the door, jumpedinto his caleche, and in another moment was hurryingover the pave at a pace that defied pursuit, and promisedsoon to make up for all our late delay. Scarcelywas the fur-lined apron of the caleche buttoned aroundme, and the German blinds let down, when I set towork to think over the circ*mstance that had justbefallen me. As I had never examined my passportfrom the moment Trevanion handed it to me in Paris,I knew nothing of its contents; therefore, as to whatimpression 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 hissudden change in my favour, or in what precise capacityI was travelling beside him. Once, and onceonly, 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’sis certainly an unenviable one. My reflectionson this head were soon broken in upon, for my companionagain returned to the subject of his “singularerror,” and assured me that he was as near aspossible leaving me behind, under the mistaken impressionof my being “myself;” and informed methat all Strasbourg would be delighted to see me, whichlatter piece of news was only the more flattering,that I knew no one there, nor had ever been in thatcity in my life; and after about an hour’s mystificationas to my tastes, habits, and pursuits, he fell fastasleep, leaving me to solve the difficult problem asto whether I was not somebody else, or the only alternative—­whethertravelling en courier might not be prescribed by physiciansas a mode of treating insane patients.

CHAPTER XLVIII.

A night in Strasbourg.

With the dawn of day my miseries recommenced; forafter letting down the sash, and venting some veryfervent imprecations upon the postillion for not goingfaster than his horses were able, the courier oncemore recurred to his last night’s blunder, andproceeded very leisurely to catechise me as to myprobable stay at Strasbourg, when I should go fromthere, &c. As I was still in doubt what or whomhe took me for, I answered with the greatest circ*mspection—­watching,the while, for any clue that might lead me to a discoveryof myself. Thus, occasionally evading all pushingand home queries, and sometimes, when hard pressed,feigning drowsiness, I passed the long and anxiousday—­the fear of being overtaken ever minglingwith the thoughts that some unlucky admission of minemight 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, thoughtI, and I might manage to keep up the illusion; butmy attention was so entirely engrossed by fencing offall his threats, that I could find out nothing. At last, as night drew near, the thought that wewere approaching Strasbourg rallied my spirits, suggestingan escape from all pursuit, as well as the welcomeprospect of getting rid of my present torturer, who,whenever I awoke from a doze, reverted to our singularmeeting with a pertinacity that absolutely seemedlike malice.

“As I am aware that this is your first visitto Strasbourg,” said the courier, “perhapsI can be of service to you in recommending a hotel.Put up, I advise you, at the ’Bear’—­acapital hotel, and not ten minutes’ distancefrom the theatre.”

I thanked him for the counsel; and, rejoicing in thefact that my prototype, whoever he might be, was unknownin the city, began to feel some little hope of gettingthrough this scrape, as I had done so many others.

“They have been keeping the ‘Huguenots’for your arrival, and all Strasbourg is impatientfor your coming.”

“Indeed!” said I, mumbling something meantto be modest. “Who the devil am I, then,to cause all this fracas? Heaven grant, not thenew ‘prefect,’ or the commander of theforces.”

“I am told the ‘Zauberflotte’ isyour favourite opera?”

“I can’t say that I ever heard it—­thatis, I mean that I could say—­well got up.”

Here I floundered on having so far forgot myself asto endanger every thing.

“How very unfortunate! Well, I hope youwill not long have as much to say. Meanwhile,here we are—­this is the ‘Bear.’”

We rattled into the ample porte cochere of a vasthotel—­the postillion cracking his enormouswhip, and bells ringing on every side, as if the crownprince of Russia had been the arrival, and not a poorsub. in the __th.

The courier jumped out, and running up to the landlord,whispered a few words in his ear, to which the otheranswered by a deep “ah, vraiment!” andthen saluted me with an obsequiousness that made myflesh quake.

“I shall make ‘mes hommages’ inthe morning,” said the courier, as he droveoff at full speed to deliver his despatches, and leftme to my own devices to perform a character, withouteven being able to guess what it might be. Mypassport, too, the only thing that could throw anylight upon the affair, he had taken along with him,promising to have it vised, and save me any trouble.

Of all my difficulties and puzzling situations inlife, this was certainly the worst; for however oftenmy lot had been to personate another, yet hithertoI had had the good fortune to be aware of what andwhom I was performing. Now I might be any bodyfrom Marshal Soult to Monsieur Scribe; one thing onlywas certain, I must be a “celebrity.”The confounded pains and trouble they were taking toreceive me, attested that fact, and left me to the

pleasing reflection that my detection, should it takeplace, would be sure of attracting a very generalpublicity. Having ordered my supper from thelandlord, with a certain air of reserve, sufficientto prevent even an Alsace host from obtruding anyquestions upon me, I took my opportunity to strollfrom the inn down to the river side. There laythe broad, rapid Rhine, separating me, by how narrowa gulph, from that land, where, if I once arrived,my safety was certain. Never did that greatboundary of nations strike me so forcibly, as nowwhen my own petty interests and fortunes were at stake.Night was fast settling upon the low flat banks ofthe stream, and nothing stirred, save the ceaselessripple of the river. One fishing barque alonewas on the water. I hailed the solitary tenantof it, and after some little parley, induced him toferry me over. This, however, could only bedone when the night was farther advanced—­itbeing against the law to cross the river except atcertain hours, and between two established points,where officers of the revenue were stationed. The fisherman was easily bribed, however, to evadethe regulation, and only bargained that I should meethim on the bank before daybreak. Having settledthis point to my satisfaction, I returned to my hotelin better spirits; and with a Strasbourg pate, anda flask of Nierensteiner, drank to my speedy deliverance.

How to consume the long, dreary hours between thistime and that of my departure, I knew not; for thoughgreatly fatigued, I felt that sleep was impossible;the usual resource of a gossip with the host was equallyout of the question; and all that remained was thetheatre, which I happily remembered was not far fromthe hotel.

It was an opera night, and the house was crowded toexcess; but with some little management, I obtaineda place in a box near the stage. The piece was“Les Franc Macons,” which was certainlyadmirably supported, and drew down from the audience—­nomean one as judges of music—­the loudestthunders of applause. As for me, the house wasa great a curiosity as the opera. The novelspectacle of some hundred (thousand?) people relishingand appreciating the highest order of musical genius,was something totally new and surprising to me. The curtain at length fell upon the fifth act.

And now the deafening roar of acclamation was tremendous;and amid a perfect shout of enthusiasm, the managerannounced the opera for the ensuing evening. Scarcely had this subsided, when a buzz ran throughthe house; at first subdued, but gradually gettinglouder—­extending from the boxes to thebalcone—­from the balcone to the parterre—­andfinally even to the galleries. Groups of peoplestood upon the benches, and looked fixedly in onepart of the house; then changed and regarded as eagerlythe other.

What can this mean? thought I. Is the theatre onfire? Something surely has gone wrong!

In this conviction, with the contagious spirit ofcuriosity, I mounted upon a seat, and looked aboutme on every side; but unable still to catch the objectwhich seemed to attract the rest, as I was about toresume my place, my eyes fell upon a well-known face,which in an instant I remembered was that of my latefellow-traveller the courier. Anxious to avoidhis recognition, I attempted to get down at once; butbefore I could accomplish it, the wretch had perceivedand recognised me; and I saw him, even with a gestureof delight, point me out to some friends beside him.

“Confound the fellow,” muttered I; “Imust leave this at once, or I shall be involved insome trouble.”

Scarcely was my my resolve taken, when a new burstof voices arose from the pit—­the words“l’Auteur,” “l’Auteur,”mingling with loud cries for “Meerberger,”“Meerberger,” to appear. So, thoughtI, 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 lookedanxiously about to catch one hasty glimpse of oneof the great men of his day and country. Whatwas my surprise, however, to perceive that about twothousand eyes were firmly rivetted upon the box Iwas seated in; while about half the number of tonguescalled out unceasingly, “Mr. Meerberger—­viveMeerberger—­vive l’Auteur des FrancMacons—­vive Franc Macons,” &c.Before I could turn to look for the hero of the scene,my legs were taken from under me, and I felt myselflifted by several strong men and held out in frontof the box, while the whole audience, rising en masse,saluted me—­yes, me, Harry Lorrequer—­witha cheer that shook the building. Fearful ofprecipitating myself into the pit beneath, if I madethe least effort, and half wild with terror and amazement,I stared about like a maniac, while a beautiful youngwoman tripped along the edge of the box, supportedby her companion’s hand, and placed lightly uponmy brow a chaplet of roses and laurel. Herethe applause was like an earthquake.

“May the devil fly away with half of ye,”was my grateful response, to as full a cheer of applauseas ever the walls of the house re-echoed to.

“On the stage—­on the stage!”shouted that portion of the audience who, occupyingthe same side of the house as myself, preferred havinga better view of me; and to the stage I was accordinglyhurried, down a narrow stair, through a side scene,and over half the corps de ballet who were waitingfor their entree. Kicking, plunging, buffettinglike 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 withmy bruised cheeks and torn habiliments. Humanbeings, God be praised, are only capable of certainefforts—­so that one-half the audience werecoughing their sides out, while the other were hoarseas bull-frogs from their enthusiasm in less than fiveminutes.

“You’ll have what my friend Rooney callsa chronic bronchitis for this, these three weeks,”said I, “that’s one comfort,” asI bowed my way back to the “practicable”door, through which I made my exit, with the thousandfaces of the parterre shouting my name, or, as fancydictated, that of one of “my” operas. I retreated behind the scenes, to encounter verynearly as much, and at closer quarters, too, as thatlately sustained before the audience. Afteran embrace of two minutes duration from the manager,I ran the gauntlet from the prima donna to the lasttriangle of the orchestra, who cut away a back buttonof my coat as a “souvenir.” Duringall this, I must confess, very little acting was neededon my part. They were so perfectly contentedwith their self-deception, that if I had made an affidavitbefore the mayor—­if there be such a functionaryin such an insane town—­they would not havebelieved 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, concealedmy face in my handkerchief. This was the firstmoment of relief I experienced since my arrival; butit was not to last long, for the manager, puttingdown his head close to my ear, whispered—­

“Monsieur Meerberger, I have a surprise foryou—­such as you have not had for some time,I venture to say”—­

“I defy you on this head,” thought I. “If they make me out king Solomon now, it willnot amaze me”—­

“And when I tell you my secret,” continuedhe, “you will acknowledge I cannot be of a veryjealous disposition. Madame Baptiste has justtold me she knew you formerly, and that—­she—­thatis, you—­were—­in fact, you understand—­therehad been—­so to say—­a little ‘amourette’between you.”

I groaned in spirit as I thought, now am I lost withouta chance of escape—­the devil take her reminiscences.

“I see,” continued le bon mari, “youcannot guess of whom I speak; but when I tell youof Amelie Grandet, your memory will, perhaps, be better.”

“Amelie Grandet!” said I, with a stagestart. I need not say that I had never heardthe name before. “Amelie Grandet here!”

“Yes, that she is,” said the manager,rubbing his hands; “and my wife, too”—­

“Married!—­Amelie Grandet married! No, no; it is impossible—­I cannot believeit. But were it true—­true, mark me—­forworlds would I not meet her.”

“Comment il est drole,” said the manager,soliloquising aloud; “for my wife takes it mucheasier, seeing they never met each other since theywere fifteen.”

“Ho, ho!” thought I, “the affairis not so bad either—­time makes great changesin that space.” “And does she stillremember me?” said I, in a very Romeo-in-the-gardenvoice.

“Why, so far as remembering the little boy thatused to play with her in the orchard at her mother’scottage near Pirna, and with whom she used to go boatingupon the Elbe, I believe the recollection is perfect. But come along—­she insists upon seeingyou, and is this very moment waiting supper in ourroom for you.”

“A thorough German she must be,” thoughtI, “with her sympathies and her supper—­herreminiscences and her Rhine wine hunting in couplesthrough her brain.”

Summoning courage from the fact of our long absencefrom each other, I followed the manager through awilderness of pavilions, forests, clouds and cataracts,and at length arrived at a little door, at which heknocked gently.

“Come in,” said a soft voice inside. We opened, and beheld a very beautiful young woman,in Tyrolese costume. She was to perform in theafterpiece—­her low boddice and short scarletpetticoat displaying the most perfect symmetry ofform and roundness of proportion. She was dressingher hair before a low glass as we came in, and scarcelyturned at our approach; but in an instant, as if somesudden thought had struck her, she sprung fully round,and looking at me fixedly for above a minute—­avery trying one for me—­she glanced at herhusband, whose countenance plainly indicated thatshe was right, and calling out, “C’estlui—­c’est bien lui,” threw herselfinto my arms, and sobbed convulsively.

“If this were to be the only fruits of my impersonation,”thought I, “it is not so bad—­butI am greatly afraid these good people will find outa wife and seven babies for me before morning.”

Whether the manager thought that enough had been donefor stage effect, I know not; but he gently disengagedthe lovely Amelie, and deposited her upon a sofa,to a place upon which she speedily motioned me by alook from a pair of very seducing blue eyes.

“Francois, mon cher, you must put off La Chaumiere. I can’t play to-night.”

“Put it off! But only think of the audience,ma mie—­they will pull down the house.”

“C’est possible,” said she, carelessly. “If that give them any pleasure, I supposethey must be indulged; but I, too, must have a littleof my own way. I shall not play.”

The tone this was said in—­the look—­theeasy gesture of command—­no less than theafflicted helplessness of the luckless husband, showedme that Amelie, however docile as a sweetheart, hadcertainly her own way as wife.

While Le cher Francois then retired, to make his propositionto the audience, of substituting something for theChaumiere—­the “sudden illness ofMadame Baptiste having prevented her appearance,”—­webegan to renew our old acquaintance, by a thousandinquiries from that long-past time, when we were sweetheartsand lovers.

“You remember me then so well?” said I.

“As of yesterday. You are much taller,and your eyes darker; but still—­there issomething. You know, however, I have been expectingto see you these two days; and tell me frankly howdo you find me looking?”

“More beautiful, a thousand times more beautifulthan ever—­all save in one thing, Amelie.”

“And that is—­”

“You are married.”

“How you jest. But let us look back. Do you ever think on any of our old compacts?” Here she pulled a leaf from a rose bud in her bouquet,and kissed it. “I wager you have forgottenthat.”

How I should have replied to this masonic sign, Godknows; but the manager fortunately entered, to assureus that the audience had kindly consented not to pulldown the house, but to listen to a five act tragedyinstead, in which he had to perform the principal character. “So, then, don’t wait supper, Amelie;but take care of Monsieur Meerberger till my return.”

Thus, once more were we left to our souvenirs, inwhich, whenever hard pushed myself, I regularly carriedthe war into the enemy’s camp, by allusionsto incidents, which I need not observe had never occurred.After a thousand stories of our early loves, mingledwith an occasional sigh over their fleeting character—­nowindulging a soft retrospect of the once happy past—­nowmoralising on the future—­Amelie and I chattedaway the hours till the conclusion of the tragedy.

By this time, the hour was approaching for my departure;so, after a very tender leave-taking with my new friendand my old love, I left the theatre, and walked slowlyalong to the river.

“So much for early associations,” thoughtI; “and how much better pleased are we everto paint the past according to our own fancy, thanto remember it as it really was. Hence all theinsufferable cant about happy infancy, and ‘theglorious schoolboy days,’ which have generallyno more foundation in fact than have the ‘Chateauxen Espagne’ we build up for the future. I wager that the real Amant d’enfance, whenhe arrives, is not half so great a friend with thefair Amelie as his unworthy shadow. At the sametime, I had just as soon that Lady Jane should haveno ‘premiers amours’ to look back upon,except such as I have performed a character in.”

The plash of oars near me broke up my reflections,and the next moment found me skimming the rapid Rhine,as I thought for the last time. What will theysay in Strasbourg to-morrow? How will they accountfor the mysterious disappearance of Monsieur Meerberger? Poor Amelie Grandet! For so completely had thelate incidents engrossed my attention, that I hadfor the moment lost sight of the most singular eventof all—­how I came to be mistaken for theillustrious composer.

CHAPTER XLIX.

A surprise.

It was late upon the following day ere I awoke fromthe long deep sleep that closed my labours in Strasbourg. In the confusion of my waking thoughts, I imaginedmyself still before a crowded and enthusiastic audience—­theglare of the foot-lights—­the crash of theorchestra—­the shouts of “l’Auteur,”“l’Auteur,” were all before me, andso completely possessed me, that, as the waiter enteredwith hot water, I could not resist the impulse topull off my night-cap with one hand, and press theother to my heart in the usual theatrical style ofacknowledgments for a most flattering reception. The startled look of the poor fellow as he nearedthe door to escape, roused me from my hallucination,and awakened me to the conviction that the suspicionof lunacy might be a still heavier infliction thanthe personation of Monsieur Meerberger.

With thoughts of this nature, I assumed my steadiestdemeanour—­ordered my breakfast in the mostorthodox fashion—­eat it like a man in hissenses; and when I threw myself back in the wickerconveniency they call a caleche, and bid adieu toKehl, the whole fraternity of the inn would have givenme a certificate of sanity before any court in Europe.

“Now for Munich,” said I, as we rattledalong down the steep street of the little town. “Now for Munich, with all the speed that firstof postmasters and slowest of men, the Prince of Tourand Taxis, will afford us.”

The future engrossed all my thoughts; and puzzlingas my late adventures had been to account for, I neverfor a moment reverted to the past. “Isshe to be mine?” was the ever-rising questionin my mind. The thousand difficulties that hadcrossed my path might long since have terminated apursuit where there was so little of promise, did Inot cherish the idea in my heart, that I was fatedto succeed. Sheridan answered the ribald sneersof his first auditory, by saying, “Laugh on;but I have it in me, and by ____ it shall come out.” So I whispered to myself:--Go on Harry. Luckhas been hitherto against you, it is true; but youhave yet one throw of the dice, and something seemsto say, a fortunate one in store; and, if so——­,but I cannot trust myself with such anticipations. I am well aware how little the world sympathiseswith the man whose fortunes are the sport of his temperament—­thatApril-day frame of mind is ever the jest and scoffof those hardier and sterner natures, who, if neveroverjoyed by success, are never much depressed by failure. That I have been cast in the former mould, theseConfessions have, alas! plainly proved; but that Iregret it, I fear also, for my character for soundjudgment, I must answer “No.”

Betterfar to be
Inutter darkness lying,
Thanbe blest with light, and see
Thatlight for ever flying

is, doubtless, very pretty poetry, but very poor philosophy. For myself —­and some glimpses of sunshinethis fair world has afforded me, fleeting and passingenough, in all conscience—­and yet I am notso ungrateful as to repine at my happiness, becauseit was not permanent, as I am thankful for those brighthours of “Love’s young dream,” which,if nothing more, are at least delightful souvenirs. They form the golden thread in the tangled web ofour existence, ever appearing amid the darker surfacearound, and throwing a fair halo of brilliancy on what,without it, were cold, bleak, and barren. No,no—­

Thelight that lies
Inwoman’s eyes,

were it twice as fleeting—­as it is tentimes more brilliant—­than the forked lightning,irradiates the dark gloom within us for many a longday after it has ceased to shine upon us. Asin boyhood it is the humanizing influence that tempersthe fierce and unruly passions of our nature, so inmanhood it forms the goal to which all our better andhigher aspirations tend, telling us there is somethingmore worthy than gold, and a more lofty pinnacle ofambition than the praise and envy of our fellow-men;and we may rest assured, that when this feeling dieswithin us, that all the ideal of life dies with it,and nothing remains save the dull reality of our dailycares and occupations. “I have lived andhave loved,” saith Schiller; and if it werenot that there seems some tautology in the phrase,I should say, such is my own motto. If LadyJane but prove true—­if I have really succeeded—­if,in a word—­but why speculate upon such chances?—­whatpretensions have I?—­what reasons to lookfor such a prize? Alas! and alas! were I to catechisemyself too closely, I fear that my horses’ headswould face towards Calais, and that I should turnmy back upon the only prospect of happiness I can pictureto myself in this world. In reflections suchas these, the hours rolled over, and it was alreadylate at night when we reached the little village ofMerchem. While fresh horses were being got ready,I seized the occasion to partake of the table d’hotesupper of the inn, at the door of which the diligencewas drawn up. Around the long, and not over-scrupulouslyclean table, sat the usual assemblage of a German“Eilwagen”—­smoking, dressingsalad, knitting, and occasionally picking their teethwith their forks, until the soup should make its appearance.Taking my place amid this motley assemblage of mustachioedshopkeepers and voluminously-petticoated frows, Isat calculating how long human patience could enduresuch companionship, when my attention was arousedby hearing a person near me narrate to his friend thecirc*mstances of my debut at Strasbourg, with certainmarginal notes of his own that not a little surprisedme.

“And so it turned out not to be Meerberger,after all,”: said the listener.

“Of course not,” replied the other. “Meerberger’s passport was stolen fromhim in the diligence by this English escroc, and theconsequence was, that our poor countryman was arrested,the other passport being found upon him; while theEnglishman, proceeding to Strasbourg, took his benefitat the opera, and walked away with above twelve thousandflorins.

“Sappermint” said the other, tossing offhis beer. “He must have been a cleverfellow, though, to lead the orchestra in the FrancMacons.”

“That is the most astonishing part of all; forthey say in Strasbourg that his performance upon theviolin was far finer than Paganini’s; but thereseems some secret in it, after all: for MadameBaptiste swears that he is Meerberger; and in factthe matter is far from being cleared up —­norcan it be till he is apprehended.”

“Which shall not be for some time to come,”said I to myself, as, slipping noiselessly from theroom, I regained my “caleche,” and in tenminutes more was proceeding on my journey. Somuch for correct information, thought I. One thing,however, is certain—­to the chance interchangeof passports I owe my safety, with the additionalsatisfaction that my little German acquaintance isreaping a pleasant retribution for all his worry andannoyance of me in the coupe.

Only he who has toiled over the weary miles of a longjourney —­exclusively occupied with onethought—­one overpowering feeling—­canadequately commiserate my impatient anxiety as thedays rolled slowly over on the long tiresome roadthat leads from the Rhine to the south of Germany.

The morning was breaking on the fourth day of my journeyas the tall spires of Munich rose to my view, amidthe dull and arid desert of sand that city is placedin. At last! was my exclamation as the postiliontapped at the window with his whip, and then pointedtowards the city. At last! Oh! what wouldbe the extacy of my feelings now could I exchangethe torturing anxieties of suspense for the gloriouscertainty my heart throbs for; now my journey is nearingits end to see me claim as my own what I now barelyaspire to in the sanguine hope of a heart that willnot despair. But cheer up, Harry. It isa noble stake you play for; and it is ever the boldgambler that wins. Scarcely was this reflectionmade half aloud, when a sudden shock threw me frommy seat. I fell towards the door, which, burstingopen, launched me out upon the road, at the same momentthat the broken axletree of the caleche had upsetit on the opposite side, carrying one horse along withit, and leaving the other with the postillion on hisback, kicking and plunging with all his might. After assisting the frightened fellow to dismount,and having cut the traces of the restive animal, Ithen perceived that in the melee I had not escapedscatheless. I could barely stand; and, on passingmy hand upon my instep, perceived I had sprained myancle 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 getthe other horse upon his legs, and despatching thepostillion to Munich, then about three leagues distant,for a carriage, wait patiently on the road-side forhis return. No sooner was the resolve made thancarried into execution; and in less than a quarterof an hour from the moment of the accident, I wasseated upon the bank, watching the retiring figureof the postillion, as he disappeared down a hill,on his way to Munich. When the momentary burstof impatience was over, I could not help congratulatingmyself, that I was so far fortunate in reaching theend of my journey ere the mischance befell me. Had it occurred at Stuttgard I really think thatit would have half driven me distracted.

I was not long in my present situation till a numberof peasants, with broad-brimmed hats, and many-buttonedcoats, passed on their way to work; they all salutedme respectfully; but although they saw the brokencarriage, and might well guess at the nature of myaccident, yet not one ever thought of proffering hisservices, or even indulging curiosity, by way of inquiry. “How thoroughly German,” thought I; “thesepeople are the Turks of Europe, stupified with tobaccoand ‘starkes bier.’ They have nothought for any thing but themselves, and their ownimmediate occupations.” Perceiving atlength one whose better dress and more intelligentlook bespoke a rank above the common, I made the effortwith such “platt deutsch,” as I couldmuster, to ask if there were any house near, whereI could remain till the postillion’s return?and learned greatly to my gratification, that by takingthe path which led through a grove of pine trees nearme, I should find a chateau; but who was the proprietorhe knew not; indeed the people were only newly come,and he believed were foreigners. English hethought. Oh, how my heart jumped as I said,“can they be the Callonbys; are they many infamily; are there ladies—­young ladies,among them?”—­he knew not. Havinghastily arranged with my new friend to watch the carriagetill my return, I took the path he showed me, andsmarting with pain at every step, hurried along asbest I could towards the chateau. I had notwalked many minutes, when a break in the wood gaveme a view of the old mansion, and at once dispelledthe illusion that was momentarily gaining upon me. “They could not be the Callonbys.” The house was old; and though it had once been a fineand handsome structure, exhibited now abundant tracesof decay; the rich cornices which supported the roofhad fallen in many places, and lay in fragments uponthe terrace beneath; the portico of the door was halftumbling; and the architraves of the windows were brokenand dismantled; the tall and once richly ornamentedchimnies, were bereft of all their tracery, and stoodbolt upright in all their nakedness above the highpitched roof. A straggling “jet d’eau”was vigorously fighting its way amid a mass of creepingshrubs and luxuriant lichens that had grown aroundand above a richly carved fountain, and fell in a showerof sparkling dew upon the rank grass and tall weedsaround. The gentle murmur was the only soundthat broke the stillness of the morning.

A few deities in lead and stone, mutilated and broken,stood like the Genii loci, guarding the desolationabout them, where an old, superannuated peaco*ck, withdropping, ragged tail was the only living thing tobe seen. All bespoke the wreck of what once wasgreat and noble, and all plainly told me that suchcould not be the abode of the Callonbys.

Half doubting that the house were inhabited, and halfscrupling if so to disturb its inmates from theirrest, I sat down upon the terrace steps and fell intoa fit of musing on the objects about. That strangepropensity of my countrymen to settle down in remoteand unfrequented spots upon the continent, had neverstruck me so forcibly; for although unquestionablythere were evident traces of the former grandeur ofthe place, yet it was a long past greatness; and inthe dilapidated walls, broken statues, weed grownwalls, and dark and tangled pine grove, there weremore hints for sadness than I should willingly surroundmyself by in a residence. The harsh gratingof a heavy door behind roused me; I turned and beheldan old man in a species of tarnished and worm-eatenlivery, who, holding the door, again gazed at me witha mingled expression of fear and curiosity. Having briefly explained the circ*mstances which hadbefallen me, and appealed to the broken caleche uponthe road to corroborate a testimony that I perceivedneeded 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, ofwhich by this time I stood much in want. Theroom into which I was ushered, corresponded well withthe 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 bluevelvet linings, faded and worn, a cracked marble tableupon legs that once had been gilt; two scarcely detectableportraits of a mail-clad hero and a scarcely lessformidable fair, with a dove upon her wrist, formedthe principal articles of furniture in the dismal abode,where so “triste” and depressing did everything appear, that I half regretted the curiositythat had tempted me from the balmy air, and cheerfulmorning without, to the gloom and solitude aroundme.

The old man soon re-appeared with a not despicablecup of “Cafe noir,” and a piece of breadas large as a teaspoon, and used by the Germans prettymuch in the same way. As the adage of the “gifthorse” is of tolerably general acceptation,I eat and was thankful, mingling my acknowledgmentsfrom time to time with some questions about the ownersof the mansion, concerning whom I could not help feelingcurious. The ancient servitor, however, knewlittle or nothing of those he served; his master wasthe honourable baron; but of his name he was ignorant;his mistress was young; they had not been many monthsthere; they knew no one—­had no visitors—­hehad heard they were English, but did not know it himself;they were “Gute leute,” “good people,”and that was enough for him. How strange didall this seem, that two people, young, too, shouldseparate themselves from all the attractions and pleasuresof the world, and settle down in the dark and dreary

solitude, where every association was of melancholy,every object a text for sad reflections. Lostin these thoughts I sat down beside the window, andheeded not the old man as he noiselessly left theroom. My thoughts ran on over the strange phasesin which life presents itself, and how little afterall external influences have to do with that peaceof mind whose origin is within. The Indian, whosewigwam is beside the cataract, heeds not its thunders,nor feels its sprays as they fall in everlasting dewsupon him; the Arab of the desert sees no bleaknessin those never ending plains, upon whose horizon hiseye has rested from childhood to age. Who knowsbut he who inhabits this lonely dwelling may haveonce shone in the gay world, mixing in its follies,tasting of its fascination; and to think that now—­the low murmurs of the pine tops, the gentlerustle of the water through the rank grass, and myown thoughts combining, overcame me at length, andI slept—­how long I know not; but when Iawoke, certain changes about showed me that some lengthof time had elapsed; a gay wood fire was burning onthe hearth; an ample breakfast covered the table; andthe broadsheet of the “Times” newspaperwas negligently reposing in the deep hollow of anarm chair. Before I had well thought how to apologizefor the cool insouciance of my intrusion, the dooropened, and a tall, well built man entered; his shootingjacket and gaiters were evidence of his English origin,while a bushy moustache and most ample “Henriquatre” nearly concealed features, that stillwere not quite unknown to me; he stopped, looked steadilyat me, placed a hand on either shoulder, and callingout, “Harry—­Harry Lorrequer, by allthat’s glorious!” rushed from the roomin a transport of laughter.

If my escape from the gallows depended upon my guessingmy friend, I should have submitted to the last penaltyof the law; never was I so completely nonplussed. Confound him what does he mean by running away inthat fashion. It would serve him right were Ito decamp by one of the windows before he comes back;but hark! some one is approaching.

“I tell you I cannot be mistaken,” saidthe man’s voice from without.

“Oh, impossible!” said a lady-like accentthat seemed not heard by me for the first time.

“Judge for yourself; though certainly the lasttime you saw him may confuse your memory a little.”

“What the devil does he mean by that?”said I, as the door opened, and a very beautiful youngwoman came forward, who, after a moment’s hesitation,called out—­

“True, indeed, it is Mr. Lorrequer, but he seemsto have forgotten me.”

The eyes, the lips, the tone of the voice, were allfamiliar. What! can it be possible? Hercompanion who had now entered, stood behind her, holdinghis sides with ill-suppressed mirth; and at lengthcalled out—­

“Harry, my boy, you scarcely were more discomposedthe last morning we parted, when the yellow plush—­”

“By Jove it is,” said I, as I sprang forward,and seizing my fair friend in my arms, saluted uponboth cheeks my quondam flame, Miss Kamworth, now thewife of my old friend Jack Waller, of whom I have madedue mention in an early chapter of these Confessions.

Were I given a muster roll of my acquaintance to saywhich of them might inhabit this deserted mansion,Jack Waller would certainly have been the last I shouldhave selected—­the gay, lively, dashing,high-spirited Jack, fond of society, dress, equipage,living greatly in the world, known to and liked byevery body, of universal reputation. Did youwant a cavalier to see your wife through a crush atthe opera, a friend in a duel, a rider for your kickinghorse in a stiff steeple chase, a bow oar for yourboat at a rowing match, Jack was your man. Suchthen was my surprise at finding him here, that althoughthere were many things I longed to inquire about,my first question was—­

“And how came you here?”

“Life has its vicissitudes,” replied Jack,laughing; “many stranger things have come topass than my reformation. But first of all letus think of breakfast; you shall have ample satisfactionfor all your curiosity afterwards.”

“Not now, I fear; I am hurrying on to Munich.”

“Oh, I perceive; but you are aware that—­yourfriends are not there.”

“The Callonbys not at Munich!” said I,with a start.

“No; they have been at Saltzburgh, in the Tyrol,for some weeks; but don’t fret yourself, theyare expected to-morrow in time for the court masquerade;so that until then at least you are my guest.”

Overjoyed at this information, I turned my attentiontowards madame, whom I found much improved; the embonpointof womanhood had still farther increased the charmsof one who had always been handsome; and I could nothelp acknowledging that my friend Jack was warrantablein any scheme for securing such a prize.

CHAPTER L.

Jack Waller’s story.

The day passed quickly over with my newly-found friends,whose curiosity to learn my adventures since we parted,anticipated me in my wish to learn theirs. Afteran early dinner, however, with a fresh log upon thehearth, a crusty flask of red hermitage before us,Jack and I found ourselves alone and at liberty tospeak freely together.

“I scarcely could have expected such would beour meeting, Jack,” said I, “from theway we last parted.”

“Yes, by Jove, Harry; I believe I behaved butshabbily to you in that affair; but ‘Love andWar,’ you know; and besides we had a distinctagreement drawn up between us.”

“All true; and after all you are perhaps lessto blame than my own miserable fortune that lies inwait to entrap and disappoint me at every turn inlife. Tell me what do you know of the Callonbys?”

“Nothing personally; we have met them at dinner,a visit passed subsequently between us, ‘etvoila tout;’ they have been scenery hunting,picture hunting, and all that sort of thing since theirarrival; and rarely much in Munich; but how do youstand there? to be or not to be—­eh?”

“That is the very question of all others I wouldfain solve; and yet am in most complete ignoranceof all about it; but the time approaches which mustdecide all. I have neither temper nor patiencefor further contemplation of it; so here goes; successto the Enterprize.”

“Or,” said Jack, tossing off his glassat the moment, “or, as they would say in Ireland,‘your health and inclinations, if they be virtuous.’”

“And now, Jack, tell me something of your ownfortunes since the day you passed me in the post-chaiseand four.”

“The story is soon told. You rememberthat when I carried off Mary, I had no intention ofleaving England whatever: my object was, aftermaking her my wife, to open negociations with theold colonel, and after the approved routine of penitentialletters, imploring forgiveness, and setting forthhappiness only wanting his sanction to make it heavenitself, to have thrown ourselves at his feet ‘selonles regles,’ sobbed, blubbered, blew our noses,and dressed for dinner, very comfortable inmates ofthat particularly snug residence, ‘Hydrabad Cottage.’ Now Mary, who behaved with great courage for a coupleof days, after that got low-spirited and depressed;the desertion of her father, as she called it, weighedupon her mind, and all my endeavours to rally and comforther, were fruitless and unavailing. Each day,however, I expected to hear something of, or from,the colonel, that would put an end to this feelingof suspense; but no—­three weeks rolled on,and although I took care that he knew of our address,we never received any communication. You areaware that when I married, I knew Mary had, or wasto have, a large fortune; and that I myself had notmore than enough in the world to pay the common expensesof our wedding tour. My calculation was this—­the reconciliation will possibly, whatwith delays of post—­distance —­anddeliberation, take a month—­say five weeks—­now,at forty pounds per week, that makes exactly two hundredpounds—­such being the precise limit ofmy exchequer, when blessed with a wife, a man, anda 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 thousanda year, looking for a new ‘distraction,’at any price; or still more—­were I a Londonshopkeeper, spending a Sunday in Boulogne sur Mer,and trying to find out something expensive, as hehad only one day to stay, I could not have more industriouslysought out opportunities for extravagance, and eachday contrived to find out some two or three acquaintancesto bring home to dinner. And as I affected tohave been married for a long time, Mary felt lessgenee among strangers, and we got on famously; stillthe silence of the colonel weighed upon her mind, andalthough she partook of none of my anxieties fromthat source, being perfectly ignorant of the stateof my finances, she dwelt so constantly upon thissubject, that I at length yielded to her repeated solicitations,

and permitted her to write to her father. Herletter was a most proper one; combining a dutifulregret for leaving her home, with the hope that herchoice 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, wasall 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 uponthe whole, satisfied me, and I waited anxiously forthe reply. At the end of five days the answerarrived. It was thus:—­

“’Dear Mary,

“’You have chosen yourown path in life, and having done so, I have neitherthe right nor inclination to interfere with your decision;I shall neither receive you, nor the person youhave made your husband; and to prevent any furtherdisappointment, inform you that, as I leave thisto-morrow, any future letters you might think properto address, will not reach me.

“’Yoursvery faithful,
C.Kamworth, Hydrabad Cottage.’

“This was a tremendous coup, and not in theleast anticipated by either of us; upon me the effectwas stunning, knowing, as I did, that our fast-diminishingfinances were nearly expended. Mary on the otherhand, who neither knew nor thought of the exchequer,rallied at once from her depression, and after a heartyfit of crying, dried her eyes, and putting her armround my neck, said:

“’Well, Jack, I must only love you themore, since papa will not share any of my affection.’

“‘I wish he would his purse though,’muttered I, as I pressed her in my arms, and stroveto seem perfectly happy.

“I shall not prolong my story by dwelling uponthe agitation this letter cost me; however, I hadyet a hundred pounds left, and an aunt in Harley-street,with whom I had always been a favourite. Thisthought, the only rallying one I possessed, savedme for the time; and as fretting was never my forte,I never let Mary perceive that any thing had gonewrong, and managed so well in this respect, that mygood spirits raised her’s, and we set out forLondon one fine sunshiny morning, as happy a lookingcouple as ever travelled the north road.

“When we arrived at the ‘Clarendon,’my first care was to get into a cab, and drive toHarley-street. I rung the bell; and not waitingto ask if my aunt was at home, I dashed up stairsto the drawing-room; in I bolted, and instead of theprecise old Lady Lilford, sitting at her embroidery,with her fat poodle beside her, beheld a strappinglooking fellow, with a black moustache, making fiercelove to a young lady on a sofa beside him.

“‘Why, how is this—­I really—­theremust be some mistake here.’ In my heartI knew that such doings in my good aunt’s dwellingwere impossible.

“‘I should suspect there is, sir,’drawled out he of the moustache, as he took a verycool survey of me, through his glass.

“‘Is Lady Lilford at home, may I ask,’said I, in a very apologetic tone of voice.

“‘I haven’t the honor of her ladyship’sacquaintance,’ replied he in a lisp, evidentlyenjoying my perplexity, which was every moment becomingmore evident.

“‘But this is her house,’ said I,‘at least—­’

“‘Lady Lilford is at Paris, sir,’said the young lady, who now spoke for the first time. ’Papa has taken the house for the season, andthat may perhaps account for your mistake.’

“What I muttered by way of apology for my intrusion,I know not; but I stammered—­the young ladyblushed—­the beau chuckled, and turned tothe window, and when I found myself in the street,I scarcely knew whether to laugh at my blunder, orcurse my disappointment.

“The next morning I called upon my aunt’slawyer, and having obtained her address in Paris,sauntered to the ‘Junior Club,’ to writeher a letter before post hour. As I scannedover the morning papers, I could not help smilingat the flaming paragraph which announced my marriage,to the only daughter and heiress of the Millionaire,Colonel Kamworth. Not well knowing how to openthe correspondence with my worthy relative, I foldedthe paper containing the news, and addressed it to’Lady Lilford, Hotel de Bristol, Paris.’

“When I arrived at the ‘Clarendon,’I found my wife and her maid surrounded by cases andband-boxes; laces, satins and velvets were displayedon all sides, while an emissary from ‘Storr andMortimer’ was arranging a grand review of jewelleryon a side table, one half of which would have ruinedthe Rajah of Mysore, to purchase. My advice wasimmediately called into requisition; and pressed intoservice, 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 Valencienneslace; and could not help associating a rich diamondaigrette, with hard labour for life, and the climateof New South Wales. The utter abstraction I wasin, led to some awkward contre temps; and as my wife’senthusiasm for her purchases increased, so did myreverie gain ground.

“’Is it not beautiful, Jack?—­howdelicately worked—­it must have taken along time to do it.’

“‘Seven years,’ I muttered, as mythoughts ran upon a very different topic.

“‘Oh, no—­not so much,’said she laughing; ’and it must be such a hardthing to do.’

“‘Not half so hard as carding wool, orpounding oyster shells.’

“‘How absurd you are. Well, I’lltake this, it will look so well in—­’

“‘Botany Bay,’ said I, with a sighthat set all the party laughing, which at last rousedme, and enabled me to join in the joke.

“As, at length, one half of the room becamefilled with millinery, and the other glittered withjewels and bijouterie, my wife grew weary with herexertions, and we found ourselves alone.

“When I told her that my aunt had taken up herresidence in Paris, it immediately occurred to her,how pleasant it would be to go there too; and, althoughI concurred in the opinion for very different reasons,it was at length decided we should do so; and theonly difficulty now existed as to the means, for althoughthe daily papers teem with ’four ways to gofrom London to Paris;’ they all resolved themselvesinto one, and that one, unfortunately to me, the mostdifficult and impracticable —­by money.

“There was, however, one last resource open—­thesale of my commission. I will not dwell uponwhat it cost me to resolve upon this—­thedetermination was a painful one, but it was soon cometo, and before five-o’clock that day, Cox andGreenwood had got their instructions to sell out forme, and had advanced a thousand pounds of the purchase. Our bill settled—­the waiters bowing tothe ground (it is your ruined man that is always mostliberal)—­the post-horses harnessed, andimpatient for the road, I took my place beside mywife, while my valet held a parasol over the soubrettein the rumble, all in the approved fashion of thosewho have an unlimited credit with Coutts and Drummond;the whips cracked, the leaders capered, and with apatronizing bow to the proprietor of the ‘Clarendon,’away we rattled to Dover.

“After the usual routine of sea sickness, fatigue,and poisonous cookery, we reached Paris on the fifthday, and put up at the ‘Hotel de Londres,’Place Vendome.

“To have an adequate idea of the state of myfeelings as I trod the splendid apartments of thisprincely Hotel, surrounded by every luxury that wealthcan procure, or taste suggest, you must imagine thecondition of a man, who is regaled with a sumptuousbanquet on the eve of his execution. The inevitabletermination to all my present splendour, was neverfor a moment absent from my thoughts, and the secrecywith which I was obliged to conceal my feelings, formedone of the greatest sources of my misery. Thecoup, when it does come, will be sad enough, and poorMary 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 resolveto break to her the real state of our finances, andsuch the frame of mind in which I spent my days atParis, the only really unhappy ones I can ever chargemy memory with.

“We had scarcely got settled in the hotel, whenmy aunt, who inhabited the opposite side of the ‘Place,’came over to see us and wish us joy. She hadseen the paragraph in the Post, and like all otherpeople with plenty of money, fully approved a matchlike mine.

“She was delighted with Mary, and despite thenatural reserve of the old maiden lady, became actuallycordial, and invited us to dine with her that day,and every succeeding one we might feel disposed todo so. So far so well, thought I, as I offeredher my arm to see her home; but if she knew of whatvalue even this small attention is to us, am I quiteso sure she would offer it?—­however, notime is to be lost; I cannot live in this state ofhourly agitation; I must make some one the confidantof my sorrows, and none so fit as she who can relieveas well as advise upon them. Although such wasmy determination, yet somehow I could not pluck upcourage for the effort. My aunt’s congratulationsupon my good luck, made me shrink from the avowal;and while she ran on upon the beauty and grace ofmy wife, topics I fully concurred in, I also chimedin with her satisfaction at the prudential and propermotives which led to the match. Twenty timesI was on the eve of interrupting her, and saying, ’But,madam, I am a beggar—­my wife has not a shilling—­Ihave absolutely nothing—­her father disownsus—­my commission is sold, and in threeweeks, the ‘Hotel de Londres’ and the ‘PalaisRoyale,’ will be some hundred pounds the richer,and I without the fare of a cab, to drive me to theSeine to drown myself.’

“Such were my thoughts; but whenever I endeavouredto speak them, some confounded fulness in my throatnearly 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 allthat I could get out was some flattery of my wife’sbeauty, or some vapid eulogy upon my own clevernessin securing such a prize. To give you in onebrief sentence an idea of my state, Harry—­know,then, that though loving Mary with all my heart andsoul, as I felt she deserved to be loved, fifty timesa day I would have given my life itself that you hadbeen the successful man, on the morning I carriedher off, and that Jack Waller was once more a bachelor,to see the only woman he ever loved, the wife of another.

“But, this is growing tedious, Harry, I mustget over the ground faster; two months passed overat 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 enoughfor an Englishwoman, knew how to dress herself. Our evening parties were the most recherche thingsgoing, and if I were capable of partaking of any pleasurein the eclat, I had my share, having won all the pigeonmatches in the Bois de Boulegard, and beat Lord HenrySeymour himself in a steeple chase. The continualround of occupation in which pleasure involves a man,is certainly its greatest attraction —­reflectionis impossible—­the present is too full toadmit 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 manifoldcares of my then existence. To this state offatalism, for such it was becoming, had I arrived,when the vision was dispelled in a moment, by a visitfrom my aunt, who came to say, that some businessrequiring her immediate presence in London, she wasto set out that evening, but hoped to find us in Parison her return. I was thunderstruck at the news,for, although as yet I had obtained no manner of assistancefrom the old lady, yet, I felt that her very presencewas a kind of security to us, and that in every suddenemergency, she was there to apply to. My moneywas nearly expended, the second and last instalmentof my commission was all that remained, and much ofeven that I owed to trades-people. I now resolvedto speak out—­the worst must be known, thoughtI, in a few days—­and now or never be it. So saying, I drew my aunt’s arm within my own,and telling her that I wished a few minutes conversationalone, led her to one of the less frequented walksin the Tuilleries gardens. When we had got sufficientlyfar to be removed from all listeners, I began then—­’mydearest aunt, what I have suffered in concealing fromyou so long, the subject of my present confession,will plead as my excuse in not making you sooner myconfidante.’ When I had got thus far, theagitation of my aunt was such, that I could not ventureto say more for a minute or two. At length, shesaid, in a kind of hurried whisper, ‘go on;’and although then I would have given all I possessedin the world to have continued, I could not speaka word.

“‘Dear John, what is it, any thing aboutMary—­for heavens sake speak.’

“‘Yes,’ dearest aunt, ‘itis about Mary, and entirely about Mary.’

“’Ah, dear me, I feared it long since;but then, John, consider she is very handsome—­verymuch admired—­and—­’

“’That makes it all the heavier, my dearaunt—­the prouder her present position,the more severely will she feel the reverse.’

“‘Oh, but surely, John, your fears mustexaggerate the danger.’

“‘Nothing of the kind—­I havenot words to tell you—­’

“‘Oh dear, oh dear, don’t say so,’said the old lady blushing, ’for though I haveoften remarked a kind of gay flirting manner she haswith men—­I am sure she means nothing byit—­she is so young—­and so—­’

“I stopped, stepped forward, and looking straightin my aunt’s face, broke out into a fit of laughter,that she, mistaking for hysterical from its violence,nearly fainted upon the spot.

“As soon as I could sufficiently recover gravityto explain to my aunt her mistake, I endeavoured todo so, but so ludicrous was the contre temps, andso ashamed the old lady for her gratuitous suspicions,that she would not listen to a word, and begged meto return to her hotel. Such an unexpected turnto my communication routed all my plans, and aftera very awkward silence of some minutes on both sides,I mumbled something about our expensive habits oflife, costly equipage, number of horses, &c., andhinted at the propriety of retrenchment.

“‘Mary rides beautifully,’ saidmy aunt, drily.’

“’Yes, but my dear aunt, it was not exactlyof that I was going to speak, for in fact—­’

“Oh John,’ said she, interrupting—­’Iknow your delicacy too well to suspect; but, in fact,I have myself perceived what you allude to, and wishedvery much to have some conversation with you on thesubject.’

“‘Thank God,’ said I to myself,’at length, we understand each other—­andthe ice is broken at last.’

“’Indeed, I think I have anticipated yourwish in the matter; but as time presses, and I mustlook after all my packing, I shall say good by fora few weeks, and in the evening, Jepson, who stayshere, will bring you, “what I mean,” overto your hotel; once more, then, good by.’

“‘Good by, my dearest, kindest friend,’said I, taking a most tender adieu of the old lady. ‘What an excellent creature she is,’ saidI, half aloud, as I turned towards home—­’howconsiderate, how truly kind—­to spare metoo all the pain of explanation.’ Now Ibegin to breathe once more. ’If therebe a flask of Johannisberg in the “Londres,”I’ll drink your health this day, and so shallMary;’ so saying, I entered the hotel with alighter heart, and a firmer step than ever it had beenmy fortune to do hitherto.

“‘We shall miss the old lady, I’msure, Mary, she is so kind.’

“‘Oh! indeed she is; but then, John, sheis such a prude.’

“Now I could not help recurring in my mind tosome of the conversation in the Tuilleries garden,and did not feel exactly at ease.

“‘Such a prude, and so very old-fashionedin her notions.’

“‘Yes, Mary,’ said I, with moregravity than she was prepared for, ’she is aprude; 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.’ WhatI was going to plunge into, heaven knows, for the waiterentered at the moment, and presenting me with a largeand carefully sealed package, said, ’de la partde mi ladi Lilfore,’—­’but stay,here comes, if I am not mistaken, a better eulogyupon my dear aunt, than any I can pronounce.’

“How heavy it is, said I to myself, balancingthe parcel in my hand. ‘There is no answer,’said I, aloud to the waiter, who stood as if expectingone.

“’The servant wishes to have some acknowledgmentin writing, sir, that it has been delivered into yourown hands.’

“Jepson entered,—­’well, George,your parcel is all right, and here is a Napoleon todrink my health.’

“Scarcely had the servants left the room, whenMary, whose curiosity was fully roused, rushed over,and tried to get the packet from me; after a shortstruggle, I yielded, and she flew to the end of theroom, and tearing open the seals, several papers fellto the ground; before I could have time to snatchthem 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 youhave said; look here,’ I turned and read—­withwhat feeling I leave to you to guess—­thefollowing:—­

“’Dear Nephew and Niece,

“’The enclosed will convey to you, withmy warmest wishes for your happiness, a ticket onthe Francfort Lottery, of which I inclose the scheme. I also take the opportunity of saying that I havepurchased the Hungarian pony for Mary—­whichwe spoke of this morning. It is at Johnston’sstable, and will be delivered on sending for it.’

“’Think of that, Jack, the Borghese poney,with the silky tail; mine—­Oh! what a deargood old soul; it was the very thing of all othersI longed for, for they told me the princess had refusedevery offer for it.’

“While Mary ran on in this strain, I sat muteand stupified; the sudden reverse my hopes had sustained,deprived me, for a moment, of all thought, and itwas several minutes before I could rightly take inthe full extent of my misfortunes.

“How that crazy old maid, for such, alas, Icalled her to myself now, could have so blunderedall my meaning—­how she could so palpablyhave mistaken, I could not conceive; what a remedyfor a man overwhelmed with debt—­a ticketin a German lottery, and a cream-coloured pony, asif my whole life had not been one continued lottery,with every day a blank; and as to horses, I had elevenin my stables already. Perhaps she thought twelvewould read better in my schedule, when I, next week,surrendered as insolvent.

“Unable to bear the delight, the childish delightof Mary, on her new acquisition, I rushed out of thehouse, 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 herdressing-room, where she was having her hair dressedfor a ball at the Embassy. My resolution failedme—­not now thought I—­to-morrowwill do as well—­one night more of happinessfor her and then—­I looked on with pleasureand pride, as ornament after ornament, brilliant withdiamonds and emeralds, shone in her hair, and uponher arms, still heightened her beauty, and lit up witha dazzling brilliancy her lovely figure.—­Butit must come—­and whenever the hour arrives—­thereverse will be fully as bitter; besides I am ablenow—­and when I may again be so, who cantell—­now then be it, said I, as I toldthe waiting-maid to retire; and taking a chair besidemy wife, put my arm round her.

“’There, John dearest, take care; don’tyou see you’ll crush all that great affair ofMalines lace, that Rosette has been breaking her heartto manage this half hour.’

“‘Et puis,’ said I.

“’Et puis. I could not go to theball, naughty boy. I am bent on great conquestto-night; so pray don’t mar such good intentions.’

“‘And you should be greatly disappointedwere you not to go?’

“’Of course I should; but what do youmean; is there any reason why I should not? You are silent, John—­speak—­ohspeak—­has any thing occurred to my—­’

“‘No, no, dearest—­nothing thatI know has occurred to the Colonel.’

“‘Well then, who is it? Oh tellme at once.’

“‘Oh, my dear, there is no one in thecase but ourselves;’ so saying, despite theinjunction about the lace, I drew her towards me, andin as few words, but as clearly as I was able, explainedall our circ*mstances —­my endeavour tobetter them—­my hopes—­my fears—­andnow my bitter disappointment, if not despair.

“The first shock over, Mary showed not onlymore courage, but more sound sense than I could havebelieved. All the frivolity of her former charactervanished at the first touch of adversity; just as ofold, Harry, we left the tinsel of our gay jacketsbehind, when active service called upon us for somethingmore sterling. She advised, counselled, andencouraged me by turns; and in half an hour the mostpoignant regret I had was in not having sooner madeher my confidante, and checked the progress of ourenormous expenditure somewhat earlier.

“I shall not now detain you much longer. In three weeks we sold our carriages and horses,our pictures, (we had begun this among our other extravagances,)and our china followed; and under the plea of healthset out for Baden; not one among our Paris acquaintancesever suspecting the real reason of our departure,and never attributing any monied difficulties to us—­forwe paid our debts.

“The same day we left Paris, I despatched aletter to my aunt, explaining fully all about us,and suggesting that as I had now left the army forever, perhaps she would interest some of her friends—­andshe has powerful ones—­to do something forme.

“After some little loitering on the Rhine, wefixed upon Hesse Cassel for our residence. Itwas very quiet—­very cheap. The countryaround picturesque, and last but not least, therewas not an Englishman in the neighbourhood. The second week after our arrival brought us lettersfrom my aunt. She had settled four hundred ayear upon us for the present, and sent the first yearin advance; promised us a visit as soon as we wereready to receive her; and pledged herself not to forgetwhen an opportunity of serving me should offer.

“From that moment to this,” said Jack,“all has gone well with us. We have, itis true, not many luxuries, but we have no wants, andbetter still, no debts. The dear old aunt isalways making us some little present or other; andsomehow I have a kind of feeling that better luckis still in store; but faith, Harry, as long as I havea happy home, and a warm fireside, for a friend whenhe drops in upon me, I scarcely can say that betterluck need be wished for.”

“There is only one point, Jack, you have notenlightened me upon, how came you here? Youare some hundred miles from Hesse, in your presentchateau.”

“Oh! by Jove, that was a great omission in mynarrative; but come, this will explain it; see here”—­sosaying, he drew from a little drawer a large lithographicprint of a magnificent castellated building, withtowers and bastions, keep, moat, and even draw-bridge,and the walls bristled with cannon, and an eagledbanner floated proudly above them.

“What in the name of the Sphynxes is this?”

“There,” said Jack, “is the Schlossvon Eberhausen; or, if you like it in English, EberhausenCastle, as it was the year of the deluge; for thepresent mansion that we are now sipping our wine inbears no very close resemblance to it. But tomake the mystery clear, this was the great prize inthe Francfort lottery, the ticket of which my aunt’sfirst note contained, and which we were fortunateenough to win. We have only been here a fewweeks, and though the affair looks somewhat meagre,we have hopes that in a little time, and with somepains, much may be done to make it habitable. There is a capital chasses of some hundred acres;plenty of wood and innumerable rights, seignorial,memorial, &c., which, fortunately for my neighbours,I neither understand nor care for; and we are thereforethe best friends in the world. Among others Iam styled the graf or count—.”

“Well, then, Monsieur Le Comte, do you intendfavouring me with your company at coffee this evening;for already it is ten o’clock; and consideringmy former claim upon Mr. Lorrequer, you have let meenjoy very little of his society.”

We now adjourned to the drawing-room, where we gossippedaway till past midnight; and I retired to my room,meditating over Jack’s adventures, and prayingin my heart, that despite all his mischances, my ownmight end as happily.

CHAPTER LI.

Munich.

The rest and quietness of the preceding day had sofar recovered me from the effects of my accident,that I resolved, as soon as breakfast was over, totake leave of my kind friends, and set out for Munich.

“We shall meet to-night, Harry,” saidWaller, as we parted—­“we shall meetat the Casino—­and don’t forget thatthe Croix Blanche is your hotel; and Schnetz, thetailor, in the Grande Place, will provide you withevery thing you need in the way of dress.”

This latter piece of information was satisfactory,inasmuch as the greater part of my luggage, containingmy uniform, &c., had been left in the French diligence;and as the ball was patronised by the court, I wasgreatly puzzled how to make my appearance.

Bad roads and worse horses made me feel the few leaguesI had to go the most tiresome part of my journey. But, of course, in this feeling impatience had itsshare. A few hours more, and my fate should bedecided; and yet I thought the time would never come. If the Callonbys should not arrive—­if,again, my evil star be in the ascendant, and any newimpediment to our meeting arise—­but I cannot,will not, think this —­Fortune must surelybe tired of persecuting me by this time, and, evento sustain her old character for fickleness, mustbefriend me now. Ah! here we are in Munich—­andthis is the Croix Blanche—­what a dingy oldmansion! Beneath a massive porch, supported byheavy stone pillars, stood the stout figure of Andreas

Behr, the host. A white napkin, fastened inone button-hole, and hanging gracefully down besidehim—­a soup-ladle held sceptre-wise in hisright hand, and the grinding motion of his netherjaw, all showed that he had risen from his table d’hoteto welcome the new arrival; and certainly, if noiseand uproar might explain the phenomenon, the clatterof my equipage over the pavement might have risenthe dead.

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 thatthe host came forward and said something to him—­onreplying, to which, he ceased his endeavours to openthe door, and looked vacantly about him. Uponthis I threw down the sash, and called out—­

“I say, is not this the Croix Blanche?”

“Ya,” said the man-mountain with the napkin.

“Well, then, open the door, pray—­I’mgoing to stop here.”

“Nein.”

“No! What do you mean by that? Hasnot Lord Callonby engaged rooms here?”

“Ya.”

“Well, then, I am a particular friend of his,and will stay here also.”

“Nein.”

“What the devil are you at, with your ya andnein?” said I. “Has your confoundedtongue nothing better than a monosyllable to replywith.”

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 leisurelyround, and waddled back into the house; where, in amoment after, I had the pleasure of beholding him atthe head of a long table, distributing viands witha very different degree of activity from what he displayedin dialogue.

With one vigorous jerk, I dashed open the door, upsetting,at the same time, the poor postillion, who had recommencedhis operations on the lock, and, foaming with passion,strode into the “salle a manger.”Nothing is such an immediate damper to any sudden explosionof temper, as the placid and unconcerned faces ofa number of people, who, ignorant of yourself andyour peculiar miseries at the moment, seem only toregard you as a madman. This I felt strongly,as, flushed in face and tingling in my fingers, Ientered the room.

“Take my luggage,” said I to a gapingwaiter, “and place a chair there, do you hear?”

There seemed, I suppose, something in my looks thatdid not admit of much parley, for the man made roomfor me at once at the table, and left the room, asif to discharge the other part of my injunction, withoutsaying a word. As I arranged my napkin beforeme, I was collecting my energies and my German, aswell 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 withouta word, and the dinner went on without any interruption. When the desert had made its appearance, I beckonedthe waiter towards me, and asked what the landlordmeant by his singular reception of me. The manshrugged his shoulders, and raised his eyebrows, withoutspeaking, as if to imply, “it’s his way.”

“Well, then, no matter,” said I. “Have you sent my luggage up stairs?”

“No, sir, there is no room—­the houseis full.”

“The house full! Confound it—­thisis too provoking. I have most urgent reasonsfor wishing to stay here. Cannot you make somearrangement—­see about it, waiter.” I here slipped a Napoleon into the fellow’shand, and hinted that as much more awaited the finaleof the negociation.

In about a minute after, I perceived him behind thehost’s chair, pleading my cause with considerableenergy; but to my complete chagrin, I heard the otheranswer all his eloquence by a loud “Nein,”that he grunted out in such a manner as closed theconference.

“I cannot succeed, sir,” said the man,as he passed behind me, “but don’t leavethe house till I speak with you again.”

What confounded mystery is there in all this, thoughtI. Is there any thing so suspicious in my look orappearance, that the old bear in the fur cap willnot even admit me. What can it all mean. One thing I’m resolved upon—­nothingless than force shall remove me.

So saying I lit my cigar, and in order to give thewaiter an opportunity of conferring with me unobservedby his master, walked out into the porch and sat down.

In a few minutes he joined me, and after a stealthylook on each side, said—­

“The Herr Andreas is a hard man to deal with,and when he says a thing, never goes back of it. Now he has been expecting the new English Charged’Affaires here these last ten days, and haskept the hotel half empty in consequence; and as miLor Callonby has engaged the other half, why we havenothing to do; so that when he asked the postillionif you were mi Lor, and found that you were not, hedetermined not to admit you.”

“But why not have the civility to explain that?”

“He seldom speaks, and when he does only a wordor two at a time. He is quite tired with whathe has gone through to-day, and will retire very earlyto bed; and for this reason I have requested you toremain, for as he never ventures up stairs, I willthen manage to give you one of the ambassador’srooms, which, even if he come, he’ll never miss. So that if you keep quiet, and do not attract anyparticular attention towards you, all will go well.”

This advice seemed so reasonable, that I determinedto follow it—­any inconvenience being preferable,provided I could be under the same roof with my belovedJane; and from the waiter’s account, there seemedno doubt whatever of their arrival that evening. In order, therefore, to follow his injunctions tothe letter, I strolled out toward the Place in searchof the tailor, and also to deliver a letter from Wallerto the chamberlain, to provide me with a card forthe ball. Monsieur Schnetz, who was the verypinnacle 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, whosetrunks had been sent in a wrong direction, and whohad despatched a courier from Frankfort, to ordera uniform. This second thwarting, and from thesame source, so nettled me, that I greatly fear, allmy respect for the foreign office and those who livethereby, would not have saved them from somethingmost unlike a blessing, had not Monsieur Schnetz saveddiplomacy from such desecration by saying, that ifI could content myself with a plain suit, such ascivilians wore, he would do his endeavour to accommodateme.

“Any thing, Monsieur Schnetz—­dressme like the Pope’s Nuncio, or the Mayor of London,if you like, but only enable me to go.”

Although my reply did not seem to convey a very exaltedidea of my taste in costume to the worthy artiste,it at least evinced my anxiety for the ball; and runninghis measure over me, he assured me that the dress hewould provide was both well looking and becoming; adding,“At nine o’clock, sir, you’ll haveit—­exactly the same size as his Excellencythe Charge d’Affaires.”

“Confound the Charge d’Affaires!”I added, and left the house.

CHAPTER LII.

Inn at Munich.

As I had never been in Munich before, I strolled aboutthe town till dusk. At that time the taste ofthe present king had not enriched the capital withthe innumerable objects of art which render it nowsecond to none in Europe. There were, indeed,then but few attractions—­narrow streets,tall, unarchitectural-looking houses, and gloomy, unimpressivechurches. Tired of this, I turned towards myinn, wondering in my mind if Antoine had succeededin procuring me the room, or whether yet I shouldbe obliged to seek my lodging elsewhere. Scarcelyhad I entered the porch, when I found him waitingmy arrival, candle in hand. He conducted meat once up the wide oaken stair, then along the gallery,into a large wainscotted room, with a most capaciousbed. A cheerful wood fire burned and crackledaway in the grate—­the cloth was alreadyspread for supper—­(remember it was in Germany)—­thenewspapers of the day were placed before me—­and,in a word, every attention showed that I had foundthe true avenue to Antoine’s good graces, whonow stood bowing before me, in apparent ecstasy athis own cleverness.

“All very well done, Antoine, and now for supper—­orderit yourself for me—­I never can find myway in a German ‘carte de diner;’ and besure to have a fiacre here at nine—­nineprecisely.”

Antoine withdrew, leaving me to my own reflections,which now, if not gloomy, were still of the most anxiouskind.

Scarcely was the supper placed upon the table, whena tremendous tramping of horses along the street,and loud cracking of whips, announced a new arrival.

“Here they are,” said I, as, springingup, I upset the soup, and nearly threw the roti intoAntoine’s face, as he was putting it before me.

Down stairs I rushed, through the hall, pushing asidewaiters and overturning chambermaids in my course. The carriage was already at the door. Now fora surprise, thought I, as I worked through the crowdin the porch, and reached the door just as the stepswere clattered down, and a gentleman began to descend,whom twenty expectant voices, now informed of hisidentity, welcomed as the new Charge d’Affaires.

“May all the—­”

What I wished for his excellency it would not be politeto repeat, nor most discreet even to remember; but,certes, I mounted the stairs with as little good willtowards the envoy extraordinary as was consistent withdue loyalty.

When once more in my room, I congratulated myselfthat now at least no more “false starts”could occur—­“the eternal Charge d’Affaires,of whom I have been hearing since my arrival, cannotcome twice—­he is here now, and I hope I’mdone with him.”

The supper—­some greasiness apart—­wasgood—­the wine excellent. My spiritswere gradually rising, and I paced my room in thatmingled state of hope and fear, that amid all itsanxieties, has such moments of ecstasy. A newnoise without—­some rabble in the street;hark, it comes nearer—­I hear the soundof wheels; yes, there go the horses—­nearerand nearer. Ah, it is dying away again—­stay—­yes,yes—­here it is—­here they are. The noise and tumult without now increased every instant—­theheavy trot of six or eight horses shook the very street,and I heard the round, dull, rumbling sound of a heavycarriage, as it drew up at last at the door of theinn. Why it was I know not, but this time I couldnot stir—­my heart beat almost loud enoughfor me to hear—­my temples throbbed, andthen a cold and clammy perspiration came over me, andI sank into a chair. Fearing that I was aboutto faint, sick as I was, I felt angry with myself,and tried to rally, but could not, and only at lengthwas roused by hearing that the steps were let down,and shortly after the tread of feet coming along thegallery towards my room.

They are coming—­she is coming, thoughtI. Now then for my doom!

There was some noise of voices outside. I listened,for I still felt unable to rise. The talkinggrew louder—­doors were opened and shut—­then came a lull—­then more slammingof doors, and more talking—­then all wasstill again—­and at last I heard the stepsof people as if retiring, and in a few minutes afterthe carriage door was jammed to, and again the heavytramp of the horses rattled over the pave. Atthis instant Antoine entered.

“Well, Antoine,” said I, in a voice tremblingwith weakness and agitation, “not them yet?”

“It was his Grace the Grand Mareschal,”said Antoine, scarcely heeding my question, in theimportance of the illustrious visitor who had arrived.

“Ah, the Grand Mareschal,” said I, carelessly;“does he live here?”

“Sappermint nein, Mein Herr; but he has justbeen to pay his respects to his Excellency the newCharge d’Affaires.”

In the name of all patience, I ask, who could endurethis? From the hour of my arrival I am hauntedby this one image—­the Charge d’Affaires. For him I have been almost condemned to go houseless,and naked; and now the very most sacred feelings ofmy heart are subject to his influence. I walkedup and down in an agony. Another such disappointment,and my brain will turn, thought I, and they may writemy epitaph—­“Died of love and a Charged’Affaires.”

“It is time to dress,” said the waiter.

“I could strangle him with my own hands,”muttered I, worked up into a real heat by the excitementof my passion.

“The Charge—­”

“Say that name again, villain, and I’llblow your brains out,” cried I, seizing Antoineby the throat, and pinning him against the wall; “onlydare to mutter it, and you’ll ever breathe anothersyllable.”

The poor fellow grew green with terror, and fell uponhis knees before me.

“Get my dressing things ready,” said I,in a more subdued tone. “I did not meanto terrify you—­but beware of what I toldyou.”

While Antoine occupied himself with the preparationsfor my toilette, I sat broodingly over the wood embers,thinking of my fate.

A knock came to the door. It was the tailor’sservant with my clothes. He laid down the parceland retired, while Antoine proceeded to open it, andexhibit before me a blue uniform with embroidered collarand cuffs —­the whole, without being gaudy,being sufficiently handsome, and quite as showy asI could wish.

The poor waiter expressed his unqualified approvalof the costume, and talked away about the approachingball as something pre-eminently magnificent.

“You had better look after the fiacre, Antoine,”said I; “it is past nine.”

He walked towards the door, opened it, and then, turninground, said, in a kind of low, confidential whisper,pointing, with the thumb of his left hand, towardsthe wall of the room as he spoke—­

“He won’t go—­very strange that.”

“Who do you mean?” said I, quite unconsciousof the allusion.

“The Charge d’Aff—­”

I made one spring at him, but he slammed the doorto, and before I could reach the lobby, I heard himrolling from top to bottom of the oak staircase, makingnoise enough in his fall to account for the fractureof every bone in his body.

CHAPTER LIII.

The ball.

As I was informed that the King would himself be presentat the ball, I knew that German etiquette requiredthat the company should arrive before his Majesty;and although now every minute I expected the arrivalof the Callonbys, I dared not defer my departure anylonger.

“They are certain to be at the ball,”said Waller, and that sentence never left my mind.

So saying, I jumped into the fiacre, and in a fewminutes found myself in the long line of carriagesthat led to the “Hof saal.” Any onewho has been in Munich will testify for me, that theball room is one of the most beautiful in Europe,and to me who for some time had not been living muchin the world, its splendour was positively dazzling. The glare of the chandeliers—­the clangof the music—­the magnificence of the dresses—­thebeauty of the Bavarian women too, all surprized andamazed me. There were several hundred peoplepresent, but the king not having yet arrived, dancinghad not commenced. Feeling as I then did, itwas rather a relief to me than otherwise, that I knewno one. There was quite amusem*nt enough inwalking through the saloons, observing the strangecostumes, and remarking the various groups as theycongregated around the trays of ices and the champagneglacee. The buzz of talking and the sounds oflaughter and merriment prevailed over even the orchestra;and, as the gay crowds paraded the rooms, all seemedpleasure and excitement. Suddenly a tremendousnoise was heard without—­then came a loudroll of the drums, which lasted for several seconds,and the clank of musketry—­then a cheer;—­itis the king.

The king! resounded on all sides; and in another momentthe large folding-doors at the end of the saal werethrown open, and the music struck up the nationalanthem of Bavaria.

His majesty entered, accompanied by the queen, hisbrother, two or three archduch*esses, and a long suiteof officers.

I could not help remarking upon the singular goodtaste with which the assembly—­all anxiousand eager to catch a glimpse of his majesty —­behavedon this occasion. There was no pressing forwardto the “estrade” where he stood,—­novulgar curiosity evinced by any one, but the groupcontinued, as before, to gather and scatter. The only difference being, that the velvet chair andcushion, which had attracted some observers before,were, now that they were tenanted by royalty, passedwith a deep and respectful salutation. How properthis, thought I, and what an inducement for a monarchto come among his people, who remember to receivehim with such true politeness. While these thoughtswere passing through my mind, as I was leaning againsta 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 asidewith 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 samefigure that I remarked before, approached me, bowingdeeply at every step, and shaking a very halo of powderfrom his hair at each reverence.

“May I take the liberty of introducing myselfto you?” said he.—­“Le ComteBenningsen.” Here he bowed again, and Ireturned the obeisance still deeper. “Regrettedmuch that I was not fortunate enough to make youracquaintance this evening, when I called upon you.”

“Never heard of that,” said I to myself.

“Your excellency arrived this evening?”

“Yes,” said I, “only a few hourssince.”

“How fond these Germans are of titles,”thought I. Remembering that in Vienna every one is“his grace,” I thought it might be Bavarianpoliteness to call every one his excellency.

“You have not been presented, I believe?”

“No,” said I; “but I hope to takean early opportunity of paying ’mes homages’to his majesty.”

“I have just received his orders to presentyou now,” replied he, with another bow.

“The devil, you have,” thought I. “How very civil that.” And, althoughI had heard innumerable anecdotes of the free-and-easyhabits of the Bavarian court, this certainly surprizedme, so that I actually, to prevent a blunder, said,“Am I to understand you, Monsieur le Comte, thathis majesty was graciously pleased”—­

“If you will follow me,” replied the courtier,motioning with his chapeau; and in another momentI was elbowing my way through the mob of marquissesand duch*esses, on my way to the raised platform wherethe king was standing.

“Heaven grant I have not misunderstood all hehas been saying,” was my last thought as thecrowd of courtiers fell back on either side, and Ifound myself bowing before his majesty. How thegrand mareschal entitled me I heard not; but whenthe king addressed me immediately in English, saying,

“I hope your excellency has had a good journey?”

I felt, “Come, there is no mistake here, Harry;and it is only another freak of fortune, who is nowin good humour with you.”

The king, who was a fine, tall, well-built man, witha large, bushy moustache, possessed, though not handsome,a most pleasing expression; his utterance was veryrapid, and his English none of the best, so that itwas with the greatest difficulty I contrived to followhis questions, which came thick as hail upon me. After some commonplaces about the roads, the weather,and the season, his majesty said,

“My Lord Callonby has been residing some timehere. You know him?” And then, not waitingfor a reply, added, “Pleasant person—­wellinformed —­like him much, and his daughters,too, how handsome they are.” Here I blushed,and felt most awkwardly, while the king continued.

“Hope they will remain some time—­quitean ornament to our court. Monsieur le Comte,his excellency will dance?” I here mutteredan apology about my sprained ankle, and the king turnedto converse with some of the ladies of the court. His majesty’s notice brought several personsnow around me, who introduced themselves; and, in aquarter of an hour, I felt myself surrounded by acquaintances,each vieing with the other in showing me attention.

Worse places than Munich, Master Harry, thought I,as I chaperoned a fat duch*ess, with fourteen quarterings,towards the refreshment-room, and had just acceptedinvitations enough to occupy me three weeks in advance.

“I have been looking every where for your excellency,”said the grand mareschal, bustling his way to me,breathless and panting. “His majesty desiresyou will make one of his party at whist, so pray comeat once.”

“Figaro qua, Figaro la,” muttered I. “Never was man in such request. God grantthe whole royal family of Bavaria be not mad, for thislooks very like it. Lady Jane had better looksharp, for I have only to throw my eyes on an archduch*ess,to be king of the Tyrol some fine morning.”

“You play whist, of course; every Englishmandoes,” said the king. “You shallbe my partner.”

Our adversaries were the Prince Maximilian, brotherto his Majesty and the Prussian Ambassador. As I sat down at the table, I could not help sayingin my heart, “now is your time, Harry, if myLord Callonby should see you, your fortune is made.” Waller passed at this moment, and as he saluted theking, I saw him actually start with amazement as hebeheld me—­“better fun this than figuringin the yellow plush, Master Jack,” I mutteredas 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 immensegood humour as he took some franc pieces from thePrussian minister, who, small as the stake was, seemednot to relish losing. His majesty now complimentedme upon my play, and was about to add something whenhe perceived some one in the crowd, and sent an Aidede camp for him.

“Ah, my Lord, we expected you earlier,”and then said some words in too low a tone for meto hear, motioning towards me as he spoke. IfWaller was surprised at seeing me where I was, itwas nothing to the effect produced upon the presentparty, whom I now recognized as Lord Callonby.Respect for the presence we were in, restrained anyexpression on either side, and a more ludicrous tableauthan 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’seulogy upon my play came too soon, for I was now so“destrait and unhinged,” my eyes wanderingfrom the table to see if Lady Jane was near, thatI lost every trick, and finished by revoking. The king rose half pettishly, observing that “SonExcellence a apparement perdu la tete,” and Irushed forward to shake hands with Lord Callonby,totally forgetting the royal censure in my delightat discovering my friend.

“Lorrequer, I am indeed rejoiced to see you,and when did you arrive.”

“This evening.”

“This evening! and how the deuce have you contrivedalready, eh? why you seem quite chez vous here?”

“You shall hear all,” said I hastily,“but is Lady Callonby here?”

“No. Kilkee only is with me, there heis figuranting away in a gallope. The ladieswere too tired to come, particularly as they dine atcourt to-morrow, the fatigue would be rather much.”

“I have his majesty’s order to inviteyour Excellency to dinner to-morrow,” said thegrand Mareschal coming up at this instant.

I bowed my acknowledgments, and turned again to LordCallonby, whose surprise now seemed to have reachedthe climax.

“Why Lorrequer, I never heard of this? whendid you adopt this new career?”

Not understanding the gist of the question, and conceivingthat it applied to my success at court, I answeredat random, something about “falling upon mylegs, good luck, &c.,” and once more returnedto the charge, enquiring most anxiously for Lady Callonby’shealth.

“Ah! she is tolerably well. Jane is theonly invalid, but then we hope Italy will restoreher.” Just at this instant, Kilkee caughtmy eye, and rushing over from his place beside hispartner, shook me by both hands, saying,

“Delighted to see you here Lorrequer, but asI can’t stay now, promise to sup with me to-nightat the ’Cross’.”

I accepted of course, and the next instant, he waswhirling along in his waltze, with one of the mostlovely German girls I ever saw. Lord Callonbysaw my admiration of her, and as it were replying tomy gaze, remarked,

“Yes, very handsome indeed, but really Kilkeeis going too far with it. I rely upon you verymuch to reason him out of his folly, and we have allagreed that you have most influence over him, and aremost likely to be listened to patiently.”

Here was a new character assigned me, the confidentialfriend and adviser of the family, trusted with a mostdelicate and important secret, likely to bring meinto most intimate terms of intercourse with them all,for the “we” of Lord Callonby bespokea family consultation, in which I was deputed as thenegociator. I at once promised my assistance,saying, at the same time, that if Kilkee really wasstrongly attached, and had also reason to supposethat the Lady liked him, it was not exactly fair; thatin short, if the matter had gone beyond flirtation,any interference of mine would be imprudent, if notimpertinent. Lord Callonby smiled slightly ashe replied,

“Quite right, Lorrequer, I am just as much againstconstraint as yourself, if only no great barriersexist; but here with a difference of religion, country,language, habits, in fact, everything that can createdisparity, the thing is not to be thought of.”

I suspected that his Lordship read in my partial defenceof Kilkee, a slight attempt to prop up my own case,and felt confused and embarrassed beyond measure atthe detection.

“Well, we shall have time enough for all this. Now let us hear something of my old friend Sir Guy. How is he looking?”

“I am unfortunately unable to give you any accountof him. I left Paris the very day before hewas expected to arrive there.”

“Oh then, I have all the news myself in thatcase, for in his letter which I received yesterday,he mentions that we are not to expect him before Tuesday.”

“Expect him. Is he coming here then?”

“Yes. Why, I thought you were aware ofthat, he has been long promising to pay us a visit,and at last, by great persuasion, we have succeededin getting him across the sea, and, indeed, were itnot that he was coming, we should have been in Florencebefore this.”

A gleam of hope shot through my heart as I said tomyself, what can this visit mean? and the moment afterI felt sick, almost to fainting, as I asked if “mycousin Guy were also expected.”

“Oh yes. We shall want him I should think”said Lord Callonby with a very peculiar smile.

I thought I should have fallen at these few words. Come, Harry, thought I, it is better to learn yourfate at once. Now or never; death itself werepreferable to this continued suspense. If theblow is to fall, it can scarcely sink me lower thanI now feel: so reasoning, I laid my hand uponLord Callonby’s arm, and with a face pale asdeath, and a voice all but inarticulate, said,

“My Lord, you will pardon, I am sure—­”

“My dear Lorrequer,” said his lordshipinterrupting me, “for heaven’s sake sitdown. How ill you are looking, we must nurseyou, my poor fellow.”

I sank upon a bench—­the light danced beforemy eyes—­the clang of the music soundedlike the roar of a waterfall, and I felt a cold perspirationburst over my face and forehead; at the same instant,I recognized Kilkee’s voice, and without wellknowing why, or how, discovered myself in the openair.

“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 goodenough to send us.”

“His majesty desires to know if his excellencyis better,” said an aide de camp.

I muttered my most grateful acknowledgments.

“One of the court carriages is in waiting foryour excellency,” said a venerable old gentlemanin a tie wig, whom I recognized as the minister forforeign affairs—­as he added in a lower toneto Lord Callonby, “I fear he has been greatlyoverworked lately—­his exertions on the subjectof the Greek loan are well known to his majesty.”

“Indeed,” said Lord Callonby, with a startof surprise, “I never heard of that before.”

If it had not been for that start of amazement, Ishould have died of terror. It was the onlything that showed me I was not out of my senses, whichI now concluded the old gentleman must be, for I neverhad heard of the Greek loan in my life before.

“Farewell, mon cher colleague,” said thevenerable minister as I got into the carriage, wonderingas well I might what singular band of brotherhoodunited one of his majesty’s __th with the ministerfor foreign affairs of the Court of Bavaria.

When I arrived at the White-cross, I found my nerves,usually proof to any thing, so shaken and shattered,that fearing with the difficult game before me anymistake, however trivial, might mar all my fortunesfor ever, I said a good night to my friends, and wentto bed.

CHAPTER LIV.

A discovery.

“A note for Monsieur,” said the waiter,awaking me at the same time from the soundest sleepand most delightful dream. The billet was thus:—­

“If your excellency does not intend to slumberduring the next twenty-four hours, it might be aswell to remember that we are waiting breakfast. Ever yours,

“Kilkee.”

“It is true, then,” said I—­followingup the delusion of my dream. “It is true,I am really domesticated once more with the Callonbys. My suit is prospering, and at length the long-sought,long-hoped for moment is come—­”

“Well, Harry,” said Kilkee, as he dashedopen the door. “Well, Harry, how are you,better than last night, I hope?”

“Oh yes, considerably. In fact, I can’tthink what could have been the matter with me; butI felt confoundedly uncomfortable.”

“You did! Why, man, what can you mean;was it not a joke?”

“A joke,” said I, with a start.

“Yes, to be sure. I thought it was onlythe sequel of the other humbug.”

“The sequel of the other humbug!” Graciousmercy! thought I, getting pale with horror, is itthus he ventures to designate my attachment to hissister?

“Come, come, it’s all over now. What the devil could have persuaded you to push thething so far?”

“Really, I am so completely in the dark as toyour meaning that I only get deeper in mystery bymy chance replies. What do you mean?”

“What do I mean! Why, the affair of lastnight of course. All Munich is full of it, andmost fortunately for you, the king has taken it allin the most good-humoured way, and laughs more thanany one else about it.”

Oh, then, thought I, I must have done or said somethinglast night during my illness, that I can’t remembernow. “Come, Kilkee, out with it. What happened last night, that has served to amusethe good people of Munich? for as I am a true man,I forget all you are alluding to.”

“And don’t remember the Greek Loan—­eh?”

“The Greek Loan!”

“And your Excellency’s marked receptionby his Majesty? By Jove though, it was the rarestpiece of impudence I ever heard of; hoaxing a crownedhead, quizzing one of the Lord’s anointed isun peu trop fort.”

“If you really do not wish to render me insaneat once, for the love of mercy say, in plain terms,what all this means.”

“Come, come, I see you are incorrigible; butas breakfast is waiting all this time, we shall haveyour explanations below stairs.”

Before I had time for another question Kilkee passedhis arm within mine, and led me along the corridor,pouring out, the entire time a whole rhapsody aboutthe practical joke of my late illness, which he waspleased to say would ring from one end of Europe tothe other.

Lord Callonby was alone in the breakfast-room whenwe entered, and the moment he perceived me calledout,

“Eh, Lorrequer, you here still? Why, man,I thought you’d have been over the frontierearly this morning?”

“Indeed, my lord, I am not exactly aware ofany urgent reason for so rapid a flight.”

“You are not! The devil, you are not. Why, you must surely have known his majesty to bethe best tempered man in his dominions then, or youwould never have played off such a ruse, though I mustsay, there never was anything better done. OldHeldersteen, the minister for foreign affairs, isnearly deranged this morning about it—­itseems that he was the first that fell into the trap;but seriously speaking, I think it would be betterif you got away from this; the king, it is true, hasbehaved with the best possible good feeling; but—­”

“My lord, I have a favour to ask, perhaps, indeedin all likelihood the last I shall ever ask of yourlordship, it is this—­what are you alludingto all this while, and for what especial reason doyou suggest my immediate departure from Munich?”

“Bless my heart and soul—­you surelycannot mean to carry the thing on any further—­younever can intend to assume your ministerial functionsby daylight?”

“My what!—­my ministerial functions.”

“Oh no, that were too much—­even thoughhis majesty did say—­that you were the mostagreeable diplomate he had met for a long time.”

“I, a diplomate.”

“You, certainly. Surely you cannot beacting now; why, gracious mercy, Lorrequer! can itbe possible that you were not doing it by design, doyou really not know in what character you appearedlast night?”

“If in any other than that of Harry Lorrequer,my lord, I pledge my honour, I am ignorant.”

“Nor the uniform you wore, don’t you knowwhat it meant?”

“The tailor sent it to my room.”

“Why, man, by Jove, this will kill me,”said Lord Callonby, bursting into a fit of laughter,in which Kilkee, a hitherto silent spectator of ourcolloquy, joined to such an extent, that I thoughthe should burst a bloodvessel. “Why man,you went as the Charge d’Affaires.”

“I, the Charge d’Affaires!”

“That you did, and a most successful debut youmade of it.”

While shame and confusion covered me from head tofoot at the absurd and ludicrous blunder I had beenguilty of, the sense of the ridiculous was so strongin me, that I fell upon a sofa and laughed on withthe others for full ten minutes.

“Your Excellency is, I am rejoiced to find,in good spirits,” said Lady Callonby, enteringand presenting her hand.

“He is so glad to have finished the Greek Loan,”said Lady Catherine, smiling with a half malicioustwinkle of the eye. Just at this instant anotherdoor opened, and Lady Jane appeared. Luckilyfor me, the increased mirth of the party, as LordCallonby informed them of my blunder, prevented theirpaying any attention to me, for as I half sprung forwardtoward her, my agitation would have revealed to anyobserver, the whole state of my feelings. Itook her hand which she extended to me, without speaking,and bowing deeply over it, raised my head and lookedinto her eyes, as if to read at one glance, my fate,and when I let fall her hand, I would not have exchangedmy fortune for a kingdom.

“You have heard, Jane, how our friend openedhis campaign in Munich last night.”

“Oh, I hope, Mr. Lorrequer, they are only quizzing. You surely could not—­”

“Could not. What he could not—­whathe would not do, is beyond my calculation to makeout,” said Kilkee, laughing, “anythingin 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’sinformation might lead, nor how he might feel disposedto use it. Lady Jane turned a half reproachfulglance at me, as if rebuking my folly; but in theinterest she thus took in me, I should not have barteredit for the smile of the proudest queen in Christendom.

Breakfast over, Lord Callonby undertook to explainto the Court the blunder, by which I had unwittinglybeen betrayed into personating the newly arrived minister,and as the mistake was more of their causing thanmy own, my excuses were accepted, and when his lordshipreturned to the hotel, he brought with him an invitationfor me to dine at Court in my own unaccredited character. By this time I had been carrying on the siege asbriskly as circ*mstances permitted; Lady Callonby beingdeeply interested in her newly arrived purchases,and Lady Catherine being good-natured enough to pretendto be so also, left me, at intervals, many opportunitiesof speaking to Lady Jane.

As I feared that such occasions would not often presentthemselves, I determined on making the best use ofmy time, and at once led the conversation towardsthe goal I aimed at, by asking, “if Lady Janehad completely forgotten the wild cliffs and rockycoast of Clare, amid the tall mountains and glacieredpeaks of the Tyrol?”

“Far from it,” she replied. “Ihave a most clear remembrance of bold Mogher and therolling swell of the blue Atlantic, and long to feelits spray once more upon my cheek; but then, I knewit in childhood—­your acquaintance withit was of a later date, and connected with fewer happyassociations.”

“Fewer happy associations—­how canyou say so? Was it not there the brightest hoursof my whole life were passed, was it not there I firstmet—­”

“Kilkee tells me,” said Lady Jane, interruptingme shortly, “that Miss Bingham is extremelypretty.”

This was turning my flank with a vengeance; so I mutteredsomething about differences of tastes, &c. and continued,“I understand my worthy cousin Guy, had thegood fortune to make your acquaintance in Paris.”

It was now her turn to blush, which she did deeply,and said nothing.

“He is expected, I believe, in a few days atMunich,” said I, fixing my eyes upon her, andendeavouring to read her thoughts; she blushed moredeeply, and the blood at my own heart ran cold, asI thought over all I had heard, and I muttered tomyself “she loves him.”

“Mr. Lorrequer, the carriage is waiting, andas we are going to the Gallery this morning, and havemuch to see, pray let us have your escort.”

“Oh, I am sure,” said Catherine, “hisassistance will be considerable —­particularlyif his knowledge of art only equals his tact in botany.Don’t you think so, Jane?”—­ButJane was gone.

They left the room to dress, and I was alone—­alonewith my anxious, now half despairing thoughts, crowdingand rushing upon my beating brain. She loveshim, and I have only come to witness her becoming thewife of another. I see it all, too plainly;—­myUncle’s arrival—­Lord Callonby’sfamiliar manner—­Jane’s own confession. All—­all convince me, that my fate is decided. Now, then, for one last brief explanation, and I leaveMunich, never to see her more. Just as I hadso spoken, she entered. Her gloves had been forgottenin the room, and she came in not knowing that I wasthere. 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 heartnot been as deeply engaged as I now felt it. Alas! My courage was gone; there was too muchat stake, and I preferred, now, that the time wascome, any suspense, any vacillation, to the dreadfulcertainty of refusal.

These were my first thoughts, as she entered; howthey were followed, I cannot say. The same evidentconfusion of my brain, which I once felt when mountingthe breach in a storm-party, now completely beset me;and as then, when death and destruction raged on everyside, I held on my way regardless of every obstacle,and forgetting all save the goal before me; so didI now, in the intensity of my excitement, disregardevery thing, save the story of my love, which I pouredforth with that fervour which truth only can give. But she spoke not,—­her averted head,—­hercold and tremulous hand, and half-drawn sigh wereall that replied to me, as I waited for that one wordupon which hung all my fortune. At length herhand, which I scarcely held within my own, was gentlywithdrawn. She lifted it to her eyes, but stillwas silent.

“Enough,” said I, “I seek not topain you more. The daring ambition that promptedme to love you, has met its heaviest retribution. Farewell, —­You, Lady Jane, have nothingto reproach yourself with—­You never encouraged,you never deceived me. I, and I alone have beento blame, and mine must be the suffering. Adieu,then once more, and now for ever.”

She turned slowly round, and as the handkerchief fellfrom her hand,—­her features were pale asmarble,—­I saw that she was endeavouringto speak, but could not; and at length, as the colourcame slowly back to her cheek, her lips moved, andjust as I leaned forward, with a beating heart tohear, her sister came running forward, and suddenlychecked herself in her career, as she said, laughingly,—­

“Mille pardons, Jane, but his Excellency musttake another occasion to explain the quadruple alliance,for mamma has been waiting in the carriage these tenminutes.”

I followed them to the door, placed them in the carriage,and was turning again towards the house, when LadyCallonby said—­

“Oh, Mr. Lorrequer, we count upon you—­youmust not desert us.”

I muttered something about not feeling well.

“And then, perhaps, the Greek loan is engagingyour attention,” said Catherine; “or,mayhap, some reciprocity treaty is not prospering.”

The malice of this last sally told, for Jane blusheddeeply, and I felt overwhelmed with confusion.

“But pray come—­the drive will doyou good.”

“Your ladyship will, I am certain, excuse”—­

Just as I had got so far, I caught Lady Jane’seye, 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 intothe carriage, and drove off, very much to the surpriseof Lady Callonby, who, never having studied magnetism,knew very little the cause of my sudden recovery.

The thrill of hope that shot through my heart succeedingso rapidly the dark gloom of my despairing thoughts,buoyed me up, and while I whispered to myself, “allmay not yet be lost,” I summoned my best energiesto my aid. Luckily for me, I was better qualifiedto act as cicerone in a gallery than as a guide ina green-house; and with the confidence that knowledgeof a subject ever inspires, I rattled away about artand artists, greatly to the edification of Lady Callonby—­muchto the surprise of Lady Catherine—­and,better than all, evidently to the satisfaction ofher, to win whose praise I would gladly have riskedmy life.

“There,” said I, as I placed my fair friendbefore a delicious little madonna of Carl Dolci—­“thereis, perhaps, the triumph of colouring—­forthe downy softness of that cheek—­the lusciousdepth of that blue eye —­the waving richnessof those sunny locks, all is perfect—­fortunatelyso beautiful a head is not a monopoly, for he paintedmany copies of this picture.”

“Quite true,” said a voice behind, “andmine at Elton is, I think, if anything, better thanthis.”

I turned, and beheld my good old uncle, Sir Guy, whowas standing beside Lady Callonby. While I welcomedmy worthy relative, I could not help casting a glancearound to see if Guy were also there, and not perceivinghim, my heart beat freely again.

My uncle, it appeared, had just arrived, and lostno time in joining us at the gallery. His mannerto me was cordial to a degree; and I perceived that,immediately upon being introduced to Lady Jane, hetook considerable pains to observe her, and paid herthe most marked attention.

The first moment I could steal unnoticed, I took theopportunity of asking if Guy were come. Thatone fact were to me all, and upon the answer to myquestion, I hung with deep anxiety.

“Guy here!—­no, not yet. Thefact is, Harry, my boy, Guy has not got on here aswell as I could have wished. Everything had beenarranged among us—­Callonby behaved mosthandsomely—­and, as far as regarded myself,I threw no impediment in the way. But still,I don’t know how it was, but Guy did not advance,and the matter now”—­

“Pray, how does it stand? Have you anyhopes to put all to rights again?”

“Yes, Harry, I think, with your assistance,much may be done.”

“Oh, count upon me by all means,” saidI, with a sneering bitterness, that my uncle couldnot have escaped remarking, had his attention notbeen drawn off by Lady Callonby.

What have I done—­what sin did I meditatebefore I was born, that I should come into the worldbranded with failure in all I attempt? Is itnot enough that my cousin, my elder by some months,should be rich while I am poor—­honouredand titled, while I am unknown and unnoticed?—­butis he also to be preferred to me in every stationin life? Is there no feeling of the heart sosacred that it must not succumb to primogeniture?

“What a dear old man Sir Guy is,” saidCatherine, interrupting my sad reflections, “andhow gallant; he is absolutely flirting with Lady Jane.”

And quite true it was. The old gentleman waspaying 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 sufferingone. My intention of suddenly leaving Munichhad been abandoned, why, I knew not. I felt thatI was hoping against hope, and that my stay was onlyto confirm, by the most “damning proof,”how surely I was fated to disappointment. Myreasonings all ended in one point. If she reallylove Guy, then my present attentions can only be asource of unhappiness to her; if she do not, is thereany prospect that from the bare fact of my attachment,so proud a family as the Callonbys will suffer theirdaughter to make a mere “marriage d’inclination?”

There was but one answer to this question, and I hadat last the courage to make it: and yet the Callonbyshad marked me out for their attentions, and had goneunusually out of their way to inflict injury upon me,if all were meant to end in nothing. If I onlycould bring myself to think that this was a systematicgame adopted by them, to lead to the subsequent arrangementwith my cousin!—­if I could but satisfy mydoubts on this head——­What threatsof vengeance I muttered, I cannot remember, for Iwas summoned at that critical moment to attend theparty to the palace.

The state of excitement I was in, was an ill preparativefor the rigid etiquette of a court dinner. Allpassed off, however, happily, and the king, by a mostgood-natured allusion to the blunder of the night before,set me perfectly at ease on that head.

I was placed next to Lady Jane at dinner; and halffrom wounded pride, half from the momentarily increasingconviction that all was lost, chatted away gaily,without any evidence of a stronger feeling than themere 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 ceaseto remember. One satisfaction I certainly didexperience —­she was manifestly piqued,

and several times turned towards the person on theother side of her, to avoid the tone of indifferencein which I discussed matters that were actually wringingmy own heart at the moment. Yet such was thebitterness of my spirit, that I set down this conducton her part as coquetry; and quite convinced myselfthat any slight encouragement she might ever havegiven my attentions, was only meant to indulge a spiritof vanity, by adding another to the list of her conquests.

As the feeling grew upon me, I suppose my manner toher became more palpably cutting, for it ended atlast in our discontinuing to speak, and when we retiredfrom the palace, I accompanied her to the carriagein silence, and wished her a cold and distant goodnight, without any advance to touch her hand at parting—­andyet that parting, I had destined for our last.

The greater part of that night I spent in writingletters. One was to Jane herself owning my affection,confessing that even the “rudesse” ofmy late conduct was the fruit of it, and finally assuringher that failing to win from her any return of mypassion, I had resolved never to meet her more—­Ialso wrote a short note to my uncle, thanking him forall he had formerly done in my behalf, but coldly decliningfor the future, any assistance upon his part, resolvingthat upon my own efforts alone should I now rest myfortunes. To Lord Callonby I wrote at greaterlength, recapitulating the history of our early intimacy,and accusing him of encouraging me in expectations,which, as he never intended to confirm them, werefated to prove my ruin. More—­muchmore I said, which to avow, I should gladly shrinkfrom, were it not that I have pledged myself to honestyin these “Confessions,” and as they depictthe bitterness and misery of my spirit, I must pleadguilty to them here. In a word, I felt myselfinjured. I saw no outlet for redress, and theonly consolation open to my wounded pride and crushedaffection, was to show, that if I felt myself a victim,at least I was not a dupe. I set about packingup for the journey, whither, I knew not. My leavewas nearly expired, yet I could not bear the thoughtof rejoining the regiment. My only desire wasto leave Munich, and that speedily. When allmy arrangements were completed I went down noiselesslyto 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 fromEngland for Lord Callonby, with some important dispatchesfrom the Government; this would, at any other time,have interested me deeply; now I heard the news withouta particle of feeling, and I made all the necessarydispositions for my journey, without paying the slightestattention to what was going on about me. I hadjust finished, when Lord Callonby’s valet cameto say, that his lordship wished to see me immediatelyin his dressing room. Though I would gladlyhave declined any further interview, I saw no meansof escape, and followed the servant to his lordship’sroom.

There I found Lord Callonby in his dressing gown andnight cap, surrounded by papers, letters, despatchboxes, and red tape-tied parcels, that all bespokebusiness.

“Lorrequer, sit down, my boy, I have much tosay to you, and as we have no time to lose, you mustforego a little sleep. Is the door closed?I have just received most important news from England,and to begin,” here his lordship opened a letterand read as follow:—­

“My Lord—­They are out at last—­themajority on Friday increased to forty yesterday evening,when they resigned; the Duke has, meanwhile, assumedthe reins till further arrangements can be perfected,and despatches are now preparing to bring all ourfriends 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 hopeyourself Viceroy to Ireland. In any case loseno time in coming back to England. The strugglewill be a sharp one, as the outs are distracted, andwe shall want you much. Ever yours, my dearlord,

“Henry ____.”

“This is much sooner than I looked for, Lorrequer,perhaps almost than I wished; but as it has takenplace, we must not decline the battle; now what Iwanted with you is this—­if I go to IrelandI should like your acceptance of the Private Secretary’sOffice. Come, come, no objections; you knowthat you need not leave the army, you can become unattached,I’ll arrange all that; apropos, this concernsyou, it is from the Horse Guards, you need not readit 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 wishyou to start for England to-morrow; circ*mstancesprevent my going from this for a few days. Youcan see L____ and W____, &c., and explain all I haveto say; I shall write a few letters, and some hintsfor your own guidance; and as Kilkee never would havehead for these matters, I look to your friendship todo it for me.”

Looking only to the post, as the proposal suited myalready made resolve to quit Munich, I acceded atonce, and assured Lord Callonby that I should be readyin an hour.

“Quite right, Lorrequer, but still I shall notneed this, you cannot leave before eleven or twelveo’clock, in fact I have another service to exactat your hands before we part with you; meanwhile, tryand get some sleep, you are not likely to know anythingof a bed before you reach the Clarendon.” So saying, he hurried me from the room, and as heclosed the door, I heard him muttering his satisfaction,that already so far all had been well arranged.

CHAPTER LV.

Conclusion.

Sleep came on me, without my feeling it, and amidall the distracting cares and pressing thoughts thatembarrassed me, I only awoke when the roll of thecaleche sounded beneath my window, and warned me thatI must be stirring and ready for the road.

Since it is to be thus, thought I, it is much betterthat this opportunity should occur of my getting awayat once, and thus obviate all the unpleasantness ofmy future meeting with Lady Jane; and the thousandconjectures that my departure, so sudden and unannouncedmight give rise to. So be it, and I have nowonly one hope more—­that the terms we lastparted on, may prevent her appearing at the breakfasttable; with these words I entered the room, wherethe Callonbys were assembled, all save Lady Jane.

“This is too provoking; really, Mr. Lorrequer,”said Lady Callonby, with her sweetest smile, and mostcivil manner, “quite too bad to lose you now,that you have just joined us.”

“Come, no tampering with our party,” saidLord Callonby, “my friend here must not be seducedby honied words and soft speeches, from the high roadthat leads to honours and distinctions—­nowfor your instructions.” Here his lordshipentered into a very deep discussion as to the conditionsupon which his support might be expected, and reliedupon, which Kilkee from time to time interrupted bycertain quizzing allusions to the low price he putupon his services, and suggested that a mission formyself should certainly enter into the compact.

At length breakfast was over, and Lord Callonby said,“now make your adieux, and let me see you fora moment in Sir Guy’s room, we have a littlediscussion 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 tomy surprise, she made me a very distant salute, andsaid in her coldest tone, “I hope you may havea pleasant journey.” Before I had recoveredmy surprise at this movement, Kilkee came forwardand offered to accompany me a few miles of the road. I accepted readily the kind offer, and once morebowing to the ladies, withdrew. And thus itis, thought I, that I leave all my long dreamed ofhappiness, and such is the end of many a long day’sardent expectation. When I entered my uncle’sroom, my temper was certainly not in the mood mostfit for further trials, though it was doomed to meetthem.

“Harry, my boy, we are in great want of youhere, and as time presses, we must state our casevery briefly. You are aware, Sir Guy tells me,that your cousin Guy has been received among us asthe suitor of my eldest daughter. It has beenan old compact between us to unite our families byties still stronger than our very ancient friendship,and this match has been accordingly looked to, byus both with much anxiety. Now, although onour parts I think no obstacle intervenes, yet I amsorry to say, there appear difficulties in other quarters. In fact, certain stories have reached Lady Jane’sears concerning your cousin, which have greatly prejudicedher against him, and we have reason to think most unfairly;for we have succeeded in tracing some of the offencesin question, not to Guy, but to a Mr. Morewood, who

it seems has personated your cousin upon more thanone 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 ventureto leave London—­find out this man, and ifpossible, make all straight; if money is wanting, hemust of course have it; but bear one thing in mind,that any possible step which may remove this unhappyimpression from my daughter’s mind, will be ofinfinite service, and never forgotten by us. Kilkee too has taken some dislike to Guy. Youhave only, however, to talk to him on the matter, andhe is sure to pay attention to you.”

“And, Harry,” said my uncle, “tellGuy, I am much displeased that he is not here, I expectedhim to leave Paris with me, but some absurd wager atthe Jockey Club detained him.”

“Another thing, Harry, you may as well mentionto your cousin, that Sir Guy has complied with everysuggestion that he formerly threw out—­hewill understand the allusion.”

“Oh yes,” said my uncle, “tell himroundly, he shall have Elton Hall; I have fitted upMarsden for myself; so no difficulty lies in thatquarter.”

“You may add, if you like, that my present positionwith the government enables me to offer him a speedyprospect of a Regiment, and that I think he had betternot leave the army.”

“And say that by next post Hamercloth’sbond for the six thousand shall be paid off, and lethim send me a note of any other large sum he owes.”

“And above all things, no more delays. I must leave this for England inevitably, and asthe ladies will probably prefer wintering in Italy—­”

“Oh certainly,” said my uncle, “thewedding must take place.”

“I scarcely can ask you to come to us on theoccasion, though I need not say how greatly we shouldall feel gratified if you could do so,” saidmy Lord.

While this cross fire went on from both sides, I lookedfrom one to the other of the speakers. My firstimpression being, that having perceived and dislikedmy attention to Lady Jane, they adopted this “mauvaiseplaisanterie” as a kind of smart lesson for myfuture guidance. My next impression was thatthey were really in earnest, but about the very stupidestpair of old gentlemen that ever wore hair powder.

“And this is all,” said I, drawing a longbreath, and inwardly uttering a short prayer for patience.

“Why, I believe, I have mentioned everything,”said Lord Callonby, “except that if anythingoccurs to yourself that offers a prospect of forwardingthis affair, we leave you a carte blanche to adoptit.”

“Of course, then,” said I, “I amto understand that as no other difficulties lie inthe way than those your Lordship has mentioned, thefeelings of the parties, their affections are mutual.”

“Oh, of course, your cousin, I suppose, hasmade himself agreeable; he is a good looking fellow,and in fact, I am not aware, why they should not likeeach other, eh Sir Guy?”

“To be sure, and the Elton estates run halfthe shire with your Gloucester property; never wasthere a more suitable match.”

“Then only one point remains, and that beingcomplied with, you may reckon upon my services; nay,more, I promise you success. Lady Jane’sown consent must be previously assured to me, withoutthis, I most positively decline moving a step in thematter; that once obtained, freely and without constraint,I pledge myself to do all you require.”

“Quite fair, Harry, I perfectly approve of yourscruples,” so saying, his Lordship rose andleft the room.

“Well, Harry, and yourself, what is to be donefor you, has Callonby offered you anything yet?”

“Yes sir, his Lordship has most kindly offeredme the under secretaryship in Ireland, but I haveresolved on declining it, though I shall not at presentsay so, lest he should feel any delicacy in employingme upon the present occasion.”

“Why, is the boy deranged—­declineit—­what have you got in the world, thatyou should refuse such an appointment.”

The colour mounted to my cheeks, my temples burned,and what I should have replied to this taunt, I knownot, for passion had completely mastered me. When Lord Callonby again entered the room, his usuallycalm and pale face was agitated and flushed; and hismanner tremulous and hurried; for an instant he wassilent, then turning towards my uncle, he took hishand affectionately, and said,

“My good old friend, I am deeply, deeply grieved;but we must abandon this scheme. I have justseen my daughter, and from the few words which wehave had together, I find that her dislike to the matchis invincible, and in fact, she has obtained my promisenever again to allude to it. If I were willingto constrain the feelings of my child, you yourselfwould not permit it. So here let us forget thatwe ever hoped for, ever calculated on a plan in whichboth our hearts were so deeply interested.”

These words, few as they were, were spoken with deepfeeling, and for the first time, I looked upon thespeaker with sincere regard. They were bothsilent for some minutes; Sir Guy, who was himself muchagitated, spoke first.

“So be it then, Callonby, and thus do I relinquishone—­perhaps the only cheering prospectmy advanced age held out to me. I have long wishedto have your daughter for my niece, and since I haveknown her, the wish has increased tenfold.”

“It was the chosen dream of all my anticipations,”said Lord Callonby, “and now Jane’s affectionsonly—­but let it pass.”

“And is there then really no remedy, can nothingbe struck out?”

“Nothing.”

“I am not quite so sure, my Lord,” saidI tremulously.

“No, no, Lorrequer, you are a ready witted fellowI know, but this passes even your ingenuity, besidesI have given her my word.”

“Even so.”

“Why, what do you mean, speak out man,”said Sir Guy, “I’ll give you ten thousandpounds on the spot if you suggest a means of overcomingthis difficulty.”

“Perhaps you might not accede afterwards.”

“I pledge myself to it.”

“And I too,” said Lord Callonby, “ifno unfair stratagem be resorted to towards my daughter. If she only give her free and willing consent, Iagree.”

“Then you must bid higher, uncle, ten thousandwon’t do, for the bargain is well worth themoney.”

“Name your price, boy, and keep your word.”

“Agreed then,” holding my uncle to hispromise, “I pledge myself that his nephew shallbe husband of Lady Jane Callonby, and now, my Lord,read Harry vice Guy in the contract, and I am certainmy uncle is too faithful to his plighted word, andtoo true to his promise not to say it shall be.”

The suddenness of this rash declaration absolutelystunned them both, and then recovering at the samemoment, their eyes met.

“Fairly caught, Guy” said Lord Callonby,“a bold stroke if it only succeeds.”

“And it shall, by G—­,” saidmy uncle, “Elton is yours, Harry, and with seventhousand a year, and my nephew to boot, Callonby won’trefuse you.”

There are moments in life in which conviction willfollow a bold “coup de main,” that neverwould have ensued from the slow process of reasoning.Luckily for me, this was one of those happy intervals. Lord Callonby catching my uncle’s enthusiasm,seized me by the hand and said,

“With her consent, Lorrequer, you may countupon mine, and faith if truth must be told, I alwayspreferred you to the other.”

What my uncle added, I waited not to listen to; butwith one bound sprung from the room—­dashedup stairs to Lady Callonby’s drawing-room—­lookedrapidly around to see if she were there, and thenwithout paying the slightest attention to the questionsof Lady Callonby and her younger daughter, was turningto leave the room, when my eye caught the flutterof a Cachmere shawl in the garden beneath. Inan instant the window was torn open—­I stoodupon the sill, and though the fall was some twentyfeet, with one spring I took it, and before the ladieshad recovered from their first surprise at my unaccountableconduct, put the finishing stroke to their amazement,by throwing my arms around Lady Jane, and claspingher to my heart.

I cannot remember by what process I explained thechange that had taken place in my fortunes. I had some very vague recollection of vows of eternallove being mingled with praises of my worthy uncle,and the state of my affections and finances were jumbledup together, but still sufficiently intelligible tosatisfy my beloved Jane—­that this time atleast, I made love with something more than my ownconsent to support me. Before we had walked halfround the garden, she had promised to be mine; andHarry Lorrequer, who rose that morning with nothingbut despair and darkness before him, was now the happiestof men.

Dear reader, I have little more to confess. Lord Callonby’s politics were fortunately deemedof more moment than maidenly scruples, and the treasurybenches more respected than the trousseau. Ourwedding was therefore settled for the following week. Meanwhile, every day seemed to teem with its ownmeed of good fortune. My good uncle, under whosepatronage, forty odd years before, Colonel Kamworthhad obtained his commission, undertook to effect thereconciliation between him and the Wallers, who nowonly waited for our wedding, before they set out forHydrabad cottage, that snug receptacle of Curry andMadeira, Jack confessing that he had rather listento the siege of Java, by that fire-side, than hearan account of Waterloo from the lips of the greatDuke himself.

I wrote to Trevanion to invite him to Munich for theceremony, and the same post which informed me thathe was en route to join us, brought also a letterfrom my eccentric friend O’Leary, whose namehaving so often occurred in these confessions, I amtempted to read aloud, the more so as its contentsare no secret, Kilkee having insisted upon readingit to a committee of the whole family assembled afterdinner.

“Dear Lorrequer,

“The trial is over, and I amacquitted, but still in St. Pelagie; for as thegovernment 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 wasin every print shop; plaster busts of me, with a greatorgan 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 thatit is proved I did not murder the “ministerat war,” (who is in excellent health andspirits) the popular feeling against me is very violent;and I am looked upon as an imposter, who obtained hisnotoriety under false pretences; and Vernet, whohad begun my picture for a Judas, has left offin disgust. Your friend Trevanion is atrump; he procured a Tipperary gentleman to run awaywith Mrs. Ram, and they were married at Frankfort,on Tuesday last. By the by, what an escapeyou had of Emily: she was only quizzing you allthe time. She is engaged to be married toTom O’Flaherty, who is here now. Emily’s imitation of you, with the hat a littleon one side, and a handkerchief flourishing awayin one hand, is capital; but when she kneelsdown and says, ‘dearest Emily, &c.’ you’dswear it was yourself.”—­[Herethe laughter of the auditory prevented Kilkeeproceeding, who, to my utter confusion, resumed aftera little.]—­“Don’t be losingyour time making up to Lord Callonby’s daughter”—­[herecame another burst of laughter]—­“theysay here you have not a chance, and moreovershe’s a downright flirt.”—­["Itis your turn now, Jane,” said Kilkee, scarcelyable to proceed.] —­“Besidesthat, her father’s a pompous old Tory, that won’tgive a sixpence with her; and the old curmudgeon,your uncle, has as much idea of providing foryou, as he has of dying.”—­[This lastsally absolutely convulsed all parties.]—­“Tobe sure Kilkee’s a fool, but he is no useto you.”—­["Begad I thought I was goingto escape,” said the individual alludedto, “but your friend O’Leary cuts on everyside of him.”] The letter, after some very gravereflections 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 comeout soon, under the title of ’the Loiteringsof Arthur O’Leary.’”

This elegant epistle formed the subject of much laughterand 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 passedthe last evening I spent in Munich—­the nextmorning I was married.

The end.

EBOOK EDITOR’S BOOKMARKS FOR ALL VOLUMES:

A c’est egal, mam’selle, they don’tmind 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 ofthe law
Air of one who seeks to consume than enjoy his time
Always a pleasure felt in the misfortunes of evenour best friend
Amount of children which is algebraically expressedby an X
And some did pray—­who never prayed before
Annoyance of her vulgar loquacity
Brought a punishment far exceeding the merits of thecase
Chateaux en Espagne
Chew over the cud of his misfortune
Daily association sustains the interest of the veriesttrifles
Dear, dirty Dublin—­Io te salute
Delectable modes of getting over the ground throughlife
Devilish hot work, this, said the colonel
Disputing “one brandy too much” in hisbill
Empty, valueless, heartless flirtation
Ending—­I never yet met the man who couldtell when it ended
Enjoy the name without the gain
Enough is as good as a feast
Escaped shot and shell to fall less gloriously beneathchampagne
Every misfortune has an end at last
Exclaimed with Othello himself, “Chaos was comeagain;”
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 theybe Irish
Green silk, “a little off the grass, and onthe 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 labourbefore 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 themdown
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 obstacleto my path
Jaunting-cars, with three on a side and “onein the well”
Least important functionaries took the greatest airsupon 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 atay 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 tomake love
Nine-inside leathern “conveniency,” bumpingten miles an hour
No equanimity like his who acts as your second ina duel
Nothing seemed extravagant to hopes so well founded
Nothing ever makes a man so agreeable as the beliefthat he is
Now, young ladies, come along, and learn something,if you can
Oh, the distance is nothing, but it is the pace thatkills
Opportunely been so overpowered as to fall senseless
Other bottle of claret that lies beyond the frontierof prudence
Packed jury of her relatives, who rarely recommendyou to mercy
Pleased are we ever to paint the past according toour own fancy
Profoundly and learnedly engaged in discussing medicine
Profuse in his legends of his own doings in love andwar
Rather better than people with better coats on them
Rather a dabbler in the “ologies”
Recovered as much of their senses as the wine hadleft them
Respectable heir-loom of infirmity
Seems ever to accompany dullness a sustaining powerof vanity
Sixteenthly, like a Presbyterian minister’ssermon
Stoicism which preludes sending your friend out ofthe world
Strong opinions against tobacco within doors
Suppose I have laughed at better men than ever hewas
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,’ willdisclose all
Unwashed hands, and a heavy gold ring upon his thumb
Vagabond if Providence had not made me a justice ofthe peace
We pass a considerable portion of our lives in a mimicwarfare
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 believedyou
Whenever he was sober his poverty disgusted him
Whiskey, the appropriate liquor in all treaties ofthis nature
Whose paraphrase of the book of Job was refused
Wretched, gloomy-looking picture of woe-begone poverty