CHARLES O'MALLEY, Vol. 1, by Charles Lever

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Title: Charles O'Malley, Vol. 1

Author: Charles Lever

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CHARLES O'MALLEY

The Irish Dragoon

BY CHARLES LEVER.

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY PHIZ.

IN TWO VOLUMES.

VOL. I.

[THE SUNK FENCE]

Contents

Illustrations

TO THE

MOST NOBLE THE MARQUESS OF DOURO, M.P., D.C.L., ETC., ETC.

       *       *       *       *       *

    MY DEAR LORD,—

    The imperfect attempt to picture forth some scenes of the most
    brilliant period of my country's history might naturally suggest their
    dedication to the son of him who gave that era its glory. I feel,
    however, in the weakness of the effort, the presumption of such a
    thought, and would simply ask of you to accept these volumes as a
    souvenir of many delightful hours passed long since in your society,
    and a testimony of the deep pride with which I regard the honor of your
    friendship.

    Believe me, my dear Lord, with every respect and esteem,

    Yours, most sincerely,

    THE AUTHOR.

    BRUSSELS, November, 1841.

A WORD OF EXPLANATION.

KIND PUBLIC,—

Having so lately taken my leave of the stage, in a farewell benefit, it is
but fitting that I should explain the circumstances which once more bring
me before you,—that I may not appear intrusive, where I have met with but
too much indulgence.

A blushing debutant—entre nous, the most impudent Irishman that ever
swaggered down Sackville Street—has requested me to present him to
your acquaintance. He has every ambition to be a favorite with you; but
says—God forgive him—he is too bashful for the foot-lights.

He has remarked—-as, doubtless, many others have done—upon what very
slight grounds, and with what slender pretension, my Confessions have
met with favor at the hands of the press and the public; and the idea has
occurred to him to indite his own. Had his determination ended here,
I should have nothing to object to; but unfortunately, he expects me to
become his editor, and in some sort responsible for the faults of his
production. I have wasted much eloquence and more breath in assuring him
that I was no tried favorite of the public, who dared take liberties
with them; that the small rag of reputation I enjoyed, was a very scanty
covering for my own nakedness; that the plank which swam with one, would
most inevitably sink with two; and lastly, that the indulgence so often
bestowed upon a first effort is as frequently converted into censure on the
older offender. My arguments have, however, totally failed, and he remains
obdurate and unmoved. Under these circumstances I have yielded; and as,
happily for me, the short and pithy direction to the river Thames, in the
Critic, "to keep between its banks," has been imitated by my friend, I find
all that is required of me is to write my name upon the title and go in
peace. Such, he informs me, is modern editorship.

In conclusion, I would beg, that if the debt he now incurs at your hands
remain unpaid, you would kindly bear in mind that your remedy lies against
the drawer of the bill and not against its mere humble indorser,

HARRY LORREQUER

BRUSSELS, March, 1840.

PREFACE

The success of Harry Lorrequer was the reason for writing Charles O'Malley.
That I myself was in no wise prepared for the favor the public bestowed on,
my first attempt is easily enough understood. The ease with which I strung
my stories together,—and in reality the Confessions of Harry Lorrequer are
little other than a note-book of absurd and laughable incidents,—led me
to believe that I could draw on this vein of composition without any limit
whatever. I felt, or thought I felt, an inexhaustible store of fun and
buoyancy within me, and I began to have a misty, half-confused impression
that Englishmen generally labored under a sad-colored temperament, took
depressing views of life, and were proportionately grateful to any one who
would rally them even passingly out of their despondency, and give them a
laugh without much trouble for going in search of it.

When I set to work to write Charles O'Malley I was, as I have ever been,
very low with fortune, and the success of a new venture was pretty much as
eventful to me as the turn of the right color at rouge-et-noir. At the
same time I had then an amount of spring in my temperament, and a power of
enjoying life which I can honestly say I never found surpassed. The world
had for me all the interest of an admirable comedy, in which the part
allotted myself, if not a high or a foreground one, was eminently suited
to my taste, and brought me, besides, sufficiently often on the stage to
enable me to follow all the fortunes of the piece. Brussels, where I was
then living, was adorned at the period by a most agreeable English society.
Some leaders of the fashionable world of London had come there to refit and
recruit, both in body and estate. There were several pleasant and a great
number of pretty people among them; and so far as I could judge, the
fashionable dramas of Belgrave Square and its vicinity were being performed
in the Rue Royale and the Boulevard de Waterloo with very considerable
success. There were dinners, balls, déjeûners, and picnics in the Bois de
Cambre, excursions to Waterloo, and select little parties to Bois-fort,—a
charming little resort in the forest whose intense cockneyism became
perfectly inoffensive as being in a foreign land, and remote from the
invasion of home-bred vulgarity. I mention all these things to show the
adjuncts by which I was aided, and the rattle of gayety by which I was, as
it were, "accompanied," when I next tried my voice.

The soldier element tinctured strongly our society, and I will say most
agreeably. Among those whom I remember best were several old Peninsulars.
Lord Combermere was of this number, and another of our set was an officer
who accompanied, if indeed he did not command, the first boat party who
crossed the Douro. It is needless to say how I cultivated a society so
full of all the storied details I was eager to obtain, and how generously
disposed were they to give me all the information I needed. On topography
especially were they valuable to me, and with such good result that I have
been more than once complimented on the accuracy of my descriptions of
places which I have never seen and whose features I have derived entirely
from the narratives of my friends.

When, therefore, my publishers asked me could I write a story in the
Lorrequer vein, in which active service and military adventure could figure
more prominently than mere civilian life, and where the achievements of a
British army might form the staple of the narrative,—when this question
was propounded me, I was ready to reply: Not one, but fifty. Do not mistake
me, and suppose that any overweening confidence in my literary powers would
have emboldened me to make this reply; my whole strength lay in the fact
that I could not recognize anything like literary effort in the matter. If
the world would only condescend to read that which I wrote precisely as I
was in the habit of talking, nothing could be easier than for me to occupy
them. Not alone was it very easy to me, but it was intensely interesting
and amusing to myself, to be so engaged.

The success of Harry Lorrequer had been freely wafted across the German
ocean, but even in its mildest accents it was very intoxicating incense to
me; and I set to work on my second book with a thrill of hope as regards
the world's favor which—and it is no small thing to say it—I can yet
recall.

I can recall, too, and I am afraid more vividly still, some of the
difficulties of my task when I endeavored to form anything like an accurate
or precise idea of some campaigning incident or some passage of arms from
the narratives of two distinct and separate "eye-witnesses." What mistrust
I conceived for all eye-witnesses from my own brief experience of their
testimonies! What an impulse did it lend me to study the nature and the
temperament of narrator, as indicative of the peculiar coloring he might
lend his narrative; and how it taught me to know the force of the French
epigram that has declared how it was entirely the alternating popularity of
Marshal Soult that decided whether he won or lost the battle of Toulouse.

While, however, I was sifting these evidences, and separating, as well as
I might, the wheat from the chaff, I was in a measure training myself for
what, without my then knowing it, was to become my career in life. This was
not therefore altogether without a certain degree of labor, but so light
and pleasant withal, so full of picturesque peeps at character and humorous
views of human nature, that it would be the very rankest ingratitude of me
if I did not own that I gained all my earlier experiences of the world in
very pleasant company,—highly enjoyable at the time, and with matter for
charming souvenirs long after.

That certain traits of my acquaintances found themselves embodied in some
of the characters of this story I do not to deny. The principal of natural
selection adapts itself to novels as to Nature, and it would have demanded
an effort above my strength to have disabused myself at the desk of all
the impressions of the dinner-table, and to have forgotten features which
interested or amused me.

One of the personages of my tale I drew, however, with very little aid from
fancy. I would go so far as to say that I took him from the life, if my
memory did not confront me with the lamentable inferiority of my picture to
the great original it was meant to portray.

With the exception of the quality of courage, I never met a man who
contained within himself so many of the traits of Falstaff as the
individual who furnished me with Major Monsoon. But the major—I must
call him so, though that rank was far beneath his own—was a man of
unquestionable bravery. His powers as a story-teller were to my thinking
unrivalled; the peculiar reflections on life which he would passingly
introduce, the wise apothegms, were after a morality essentially of his own
invention. Then he would indulge in the unsparing exhibition of himself in
situations such as other men would never have confessed to, all blended up
with a racy enjoyment of life, dashed occasionally with sorrow that our
tenure of it was short of patriarchal. All these, accompanied by a face
redolent of intense humor, and a voice whose modulations were managed with
the skill of a consummate artist,—all these, I say, were above me to
convey; nor indeed as I re-read any of the adventures in which he figures,
am I other than ashamed at the weakness of my drawing and the poverty of my
coloring.

That I had a better claim to personify him than is always the lot of a
novelist; that I possessed, so to say, a vested interest in his life and
adventures,—I will relate a little incident in proof; and my accuracy, if
necessary, can be attested by another actor in the scene, who yet survives.

I was living a bachelor life at Brussels, my family being at Ostende
for the bathing, during the summer of 1840. The city was comparatively
empty,—all the so-called society being absent at the various spas or baths
of Germany. One member of the British legation, who remained at his post to
represent the mission, and myself, making common cause of our desolation
and ennui, spent much of our time together, and dined tête-à-tête every
day.

It chanced that one evening, as we were hastening through the park on
our way to dinner, we espied the major—for as major I must speak of
him—lounging along with that half-careless, half-observant air we had both
of us remarked as indicating a desire to be somebody's, anybody's guest,
rather than surrender himself to the homeliness of domestic fare.

"There's that confounded old Monsoon," cried my diplomatic friend. "It's
all up if he sees us, and I can't endure him."

Now, I must remark that my friend, though very far from insensible to the
humoristic side of the major's character, was not always in the vein to
enjoy it; and when so indisposed he could invest the object of his dislike
with something little short of antipathy. "Promise me," said he, as Monsoon
came towards us,—"promise me, you'll not ask him to dinner." Before I
could make any reply, the major was shaking a hand of either of us, and
rapturously expatiating over his good luck at meeting us. "Mrs. M.," said
he, "has got a dreary party of old ladies to dine with her, and I have come
out here to find some pleasant fellow to join me, and take our mutton-chop
together."

"We're behind our time, Major," said my friend, "sorry to leave you
so abruptly, but must push on. Eh, Lorrequer," added he, to evoke
corroboration on my part.

"Harry says nothing of the kind," replied Monsoon, "he says, or he's going
to say, 'Major, I have a nice bit of dinner waiting for me at home, enough
for two, will feed three, or if there be a short-coming, nothing easier
than to eke out the deficiency by another bottle of Moulton; come along
with us then, Monsoon, and we shall be all the merrier for your company.'"

Repeating his last words, "Come along, Monsoon," etc., I passed my arm
within his, and away we went. For a moment my friend tried to get free and
leave me, but I held him fast and carried him along in spite of himself. He
was, however, so chagrined and provoked that till the moment we reached my
door he never uttered a word, nor paid the slightest attention to
Monsoon, who talked away in a vein that occasionally made gravity all but
impossible.

Our dinner proceeded drearily enough, the diplomatist's stiffness never
relaxed for a moment, and my own awkwardness damped all my attempts at
conversation. Not so, however, Monsoon, he ate heartily, approved of
everything, and pronounced my wine to be exquisite. He gave us a perfect
discourse on sherry and Spanish wines in general, told us the secret of the
Amontillado flavor, and explained that process of browning by boiling down
wine which some are so fond of in England. At last, seeing perhaps that the
protection had little charm for us, with his accustomed tact, he diverged
into anecdote. "I was once fortunate enough," said he, "to fall upon some
of that choice sherry from the St. Lucas Luentas which is always reserved
for royalty. It was a pale wine, delicious in the drinking, and leaving no
more flavor in the mouth than a faint dryness that seemed to say, another
glass. Shall I tell you how I came by it?" And scarcely pausing for reply,
he told the story of having robbed his own convoy, and stolen the wine he
was in charge of for safe conveyance.

I wish I could give any, even the weakest idea of how he narrated that
incident,—the struggle that he portrayed between duty and temptation, and
the apologetic tone of his voice in which he explained that the frame of
mind that succeeds to any yielding to seductive influences, is often, in
the main, more profitable to a man than is the vain-glorious sense of
having resisted a temptation. "Meekness is the mother of all the virtues,"
said he, "and there is no being meek without frailty." The story, told as
he told it, was too much for the diplomatist's gravity, he resisted all
signs of attention as long as he was able, and at last fairly roared out
with laughter.

As soon as I myself recovered from the effects of his drollery, I said,
"Major, I have a proposition to make you. Let me tell the story in print,
and I'll give you five naps."

"Are you serious, Harry?" asked he. "Is this on honor?"

"On honor, assuredly," I replied.

"Let me have the money down, on the nail, and I'll give you leave to have
me and my whole life, every adventure that ever befell me, ay, and if you
like, every moral reflection that my experiences have suggested."

"Done!" cried I, "I agree."

"Not so fast," cried the diplomatist, "we must make a protocol of this; the
high contracting parties must know what they give and what they receive,
I'll draw out the treaty."

He did so at full length on a sheet of that solemn blue-tinted paper, so
dedicated to despatch purposes; he duly set fourth the concession and the
consideration. We each signed the document; he witnessed and sealed it; and
Monsoon pocketed my five napoleons, filling a bumper to any success the
bargain might bring me, and of which I have never had reason to express
deep disappointment.

This document, along with my university degree, my commission in a militia
regiment, and a vast amount of letters very interesting to me, was seized
by the Austrian authorities on the way from Como to Florence, in the August
of 1847, being deemed part of a treasonable correspondence,—probably
purposely allegorical in form,—and never restored to me. I fairly own that
I'd give all the rest willingly to repossess myself of the Monsoon treaty,
not a little for the sake of that quaint old autograph, faintly shaken by
the quiet laugh with which he wrote it.

That I did not entirely fail in giving my major some faint resemblance
to the great original from whom I copied him, I may mention that he was
speedily recognized in print by the Marquis of Londonderry, the well-known
Sir Charles Stuart of the Peninsular campaign. "I know that fellow well,"
said he, "he once sent me a challenge, and I had to make him a very humble
apology. The occasion was this: I had been out with a single aide-de-camp
to make a reconnaissance in front of Victor's division; and to avoid
attracting any notice, we covered over our uniform with two common gray
overcoats which reached to the feet, and effectually concealed our rank as
officers. Scarcely, however, had we topped a hill which commanded the view
of the French, than a shower of shells flew over and around us. Amazed to
think how we could have been so quickly noticed, I looked around me, and
discovered, quite close in my rear, your friend Monsoon with what he called
his staff,—a popinjay set of rascals dressed out in green and gold, and
with more plumes and feathers than the general staff ever boasted. Carried
away by momentary passion at the failure of my reconnaissance, I burst out
with some insolent allusion to the harlequin assembly which had drawn the
French fire upon us. Monsoon saluted me respectfully, and retired without a
word; but I had scarcely reached my quarters when a 'friend' of his waited
on me with a message, a very categorical message it was, too, 'it must be a
meeting or an ample apology.' I made the apology, a most full one, for the
major was right, and I had not a fraction of reason to sustain me in my
conduct, and we have been the best of friends ever since."

I myself had heard the incident before this from Monsoon, but told among
other adventures whose exact veracity I was rather disposed to question,
and did not therefore accord it all the faith that was its due; and I admit
that the accidental corroboration of this one event very often served to
puzzle me afterwards, when I listened to stories in which the major seemed
a second Munchausen, but might, like in this of the duel, have been among
the truest and most matter-of-fact of historians. May the reader be not
less embarrassed than myself, is my sincere, if not very courteous, prayer.

I have no doubt myself, that often in recounting some strange incident,—a
personal experience it always was,—he was himself more amused by the
credulity of the hearers, and the amount of interest he could excite in
them, than were they by the story. He possessed the true narrative gusto,
and there was a marvellous instinct in the way in which he would vary a
tale to suit the tastes of an audience; while his moralizings were almost
certain to take the tone of a humoristic quiz on the company.

Though fully aware that I was availing myself of the contract that
delivered him into my hands, and dining with me two or three days a week,
he never lapsed into any allusion to his appearance in print; and the story
had been already some weeks published before he asked me to lend him "that
last thing—he forgot the name of it—I was writing."

Of Frank Webber I have said, in a former notice, that he was one of my
earliest friends, my chum in college, and in the very chambers where I have
located Charles O'Malley, in Old Trinity. He was a man of the highest order
of abilities, and with a memory that never forgot, but ruined and run to
seed by the idleness that came of a discursive, uncertain temperament.
Capable of anything, he spent his youth in follies and eccentricities;
every one of which, however, gave indications of a mind inexhaustible in
resources, and abounding in devices and contrivances that none other but
himself would have thought of. Poor fellow, he died young; and perhaps it
is better it should have been so. Had he lived to a later day, he would
most probably have been found a foremost leader of Fenianism; and from
what I knew of him, I can say he would have been a more dangerous enemy to
English rule than any of those dealers in the petty larceny of rebellion we
have lately seen among us.

I have said that of Mickey Free I had not one but one thousand types.
Indeed, I am not quite sure that in my last visit to Dublin, I did not
chance on a living specimen of the "Free" family, much readier in repartée,
quicker with an apropos, and droller in illustration than my own Mickey.
This fellow was "boots" at a great hotel in Sackville Street; and I owe him
more amusement and some heartier laughs than it has been always my fortune
to enjoy in a party of wits. His criticisms on my sketches of Irish
character were about the shrewdest and the best I ever listened to; and
that I am not bribed to this by any flattery, I may remark that they were
more often severe than complimentary, and that he hit every blunder of
image, every mistake in figure, of my peasant characters, with an acuteness
and correctness which made me very grateful to know that his daily
occupations were limited to blacking boots, and not polishing off authors.

I believe I have now done with my confessions, except I should like to own
that this story was the means of according me a more heartfelt glow of
satisfaction, a more gratifying sense of pride, than anything I ever have
or ever shall write, and in this wise. My brother, at that time the rector
of an Irish parish, once forwarded to me a letter from a lady unknown to
him, but who had heard he was the brother of "Harry Lorrequer," and who
addressed him not knowing where a letter might be directed to myself. The
letter was the grateful expression of a mother, who said, "I am the
widow of a field officer, and with an only son, for whom I obtained a
presentation to Woolwich; but seeing in my boy's nature certain traits of
nervousness and timidity which induced me to hesitate on embarking him in
the career of a soldier, I became very unhappy and uncertain which course
to decide on.

"While in this state of uncertainty, I chanced to make him a birthday
present of 'Charles O'Malley,' the reading of which seemed to act like a
charm on his whole character, inspiring him with a passion for movement and
adventure, and spiriting him to an eager desire for a military life. Seeing
that this was no passing enthusiasm, but a decided and determined bent,
I accepted the cadetship for him; and his career has been not alone
distinguished as a student, but one which has marked him out for an almost
hare-brained courage, and for a dash and heroism that give high promise for
his future.

"Thank your brother for me," wrote she, "a mother's thanks for the welfare
of an only son; and say how I wish that my best wishes for him and his
could recompense him for what I owe him."

I humbly hope that it may not be imputed to me as unpardonable vanity,—the
recording of this incident. It gave me an intense pleasure when I heard it;
and now, as I look back on it, it invests this story for myself with an
interest which nothing else that I have written can afford me.

I have now but to repeat what I have declared in former editions, my
sincere gratitude for the favor the public still continues to bestow
on me,—a favor which probably associates the memory of this book with
whatever I have since done successfully, and compels me to remember that
to the popularity of "Charles O'Malley" I am indebted for a great share of
that kindliness in criticism, and that geniality in judgment, which—for
more than a quarter of a century—my countrymen have graciously bestowed on
their faithful friend and servant,

CHARLES LEVER.

TRIESTE, 1872.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER

ILLUSTRATIONS BY PHIZ IN VOL. I

*Etchings

*THE SUNK FENCE
MR. BLAKE'S DRESSING-ROOM
THE ELECTION
*THE RESCUE
MR. CROW WELL PLUCKED
FRANK WEBBER AT HIS STUDIES
MISS JUDY MACAN
*CHARLES POPS THE QUESTION
THE ADJUTANT'S AFTER-DINNER RIDE
THE RIVAL FLUNKIES
MAJOR MONSOON AND DONNA MARIA
THE SALUTATION
*THE SKIRMISH
A TOUCH AT LEAP-FROG WITH NAPOLEON
MAJOR MONSOON TRYING TO CHARGE
MR. FREE'S SONG
THE COAT OF MAIL

CHARLES O'MALLEY.

THE IRISH DRAGOON.

CHAPTER I.

DALY'S CLUB-HOUSE.

The rain was dashing in torrents against the window-panes, and the wind
sweeping in heavy and fitful gusts along the dreary and deserted streets,
as a party of three persons sat over their wine, in that stately old pile
which once formed the resort of the Irish Members, in College Green,
Dublin, and went by the name of Daly's Club-House. The clatter of falling
tiles and chimney-pots, the jarring of the window-frames, and howling of
the storm without seemed little to affect the spirits of those within as
they drew closer to a blazing fire before which stood a small table covered
with the remains of a dessert, and an abundant supply of bottles, whose
characteristic length of neck indicated the rarest wines of France and
Germany; while the portly magnum of claret—the wine par excellence of
every Irish gentleman of the day—passed rapidly from hand to hand, the
conversation did not languish, and many a deep and hearty laugh followed
the stories which every now and then were told, as some reminiscence of
early days was recalled, or some trait of a former companion remembered.

One of the party, however, was apparently engrossed by other thoughts than
those of the mirth and merriment around; for in the midst of all he would
turn suddenly from the others, and devote himself to a number of scattered
sheets of paper, upon which he had written some lines, but whose crossed
and blotted sentences attested how little success had waited upon
his literary labors. This individual was a short, plethoric-looking,
white-haired man of about fifty, with a deep, round voice, and a chuckling,
smothering laugh, which, whenever he indulged not only shook his own ample
person, but generally created a petty earthquake on every side of him. For
the present, I shall not stop to particularize him more closely; but when I
add that the person in question was a well-known member of the Irish House
of Commons, whose acute understanding and practical good sense were veiled
under an affected and well-dissembled habit of blundering that did far
more for his party than the most violent and pointed attacks of his more
accurate associates, some of my readers may anticipate me in pronouncing
him to be Sir Harry Boyle. Upon his left sat a figure the most unlike him
possible. He was a tall, thin, bony man, with a bolt-upright air and a most
saturnine expression; his eyes were covered by a deep green shade, which
fell far over his face, but failed to conceal a blue scar that crossing his
cheek ended in the angle of his mouth, and imparted to that feature, when
he spoke, an apparently abortive attempt to extend towards his eyebrow; his
upper lip was covered with a grizzly and ill-trimmed mustache, which added
much to the ferocity of his look, while a thin and pointed beard on his
chin gave an apparent length to the whole face that completed its rueful
character. His dress was a single-breasted, tightly buttoned frock, in one
button-hole of which a yellow ribbon was fastened, the decoration of a
foreign service, which conferred upon its wearer the title of count; and
though Billy Considine, as he was familiarly called by his friends, was
a thorough Irishman in all his feelings and affections, yet he had no
objection to the designation he had gained in the Austrian army. The Count
was certainly no beauty, but somehow, very few men of his day had a fancy
for telling him so. A deadlier hand and a steadier eye never covered his
man in the Phoenix; and though he never had a seat in the House, he was
always regarded as one of the government party, who more than once had
damped the ardor of an opposition member by the very significant threat
of "setting Billy at him." The third figure of the group was a large,
powerfully built, and handsome man, older than either of the others, but
not betraying in his voice or carriage any touch of time. He was attired in
the green coat and buff vest which formed the livery of the club; and in
his tall, ample forehead, clear, well-set eye, and still handsome mouth,
bore evidence that no great flattery was necessary at the time which called
Godfrey O'Malley the handsomest man in Ireland.

"Upon my conscience," said Sir Harry, throwing down his pen with an air of
ill-temper, "I can make nothing of it! I have got into such an infernal
habit of making bulls, that I can't write sense when I want it!"

"Come, come," said O'Malley, "try again, my dear fellow. If you can't
succeed, I'm sure Billy and I have no chance."

"What have you written? Let us see," said Considine, drawing the paper
towards him, and holding it to the light. "Why, what the devil is all this?
You have made him 'drop down dead after dinner of a lingering illness
brought on by the debate of yesterday.'"

"Oh, impossible!"

"Well, read it yourself; there it is. And, as if to make the thing less
credible, you talk of his 'Bill for the Better Recovery of Small Debts.'
I'm sure, O'Malley, your last moments were not employed in that manner."

"Come, now," said Sir Harry, "I'll set all to rights with a postscript.
'Any one who questions the above statement is politely requested to call on
Mr. Considine, 16 Kildare Street, who will feel happy to afford him every
satisfaction upon Mr. O'Malley's decease, or upon miscellaneous matters."

"Worse and worse," said O'Malley. "Killing another man will never persuade
the world that I'm dead."

"But we'll wake you, and have a glorious funeral."

"And if any man doubt the statement, I'll call him out," said the Count.

"Or, better still," said Sir Harry, "O'Malley has his action at law for
defamation."

"I see I'll never get down to Galway at this rate," said O'Malley; "and as
the new election takes place on Tuesday week, time presses. There are more
writs flying after me this instant than for all the government boroughs."

"And there will be fewer returns, I fear," said Sir Harry.

"Who is the chief creditor?" asked the Count.

"Old Stapleton, the attorney in Fleet Street, has most of the mortgages."

"Nothing to be done with him in this way?" said Considine, balancing the
corkscrew like a hair trigger.

"No chance of it."

"May be," said Sir Harry, "he might come to terms if I were to call and
say, 'You are anxious to close accounts, as your death has just taken
place.' You know what I mean."

"I fear so should he, were you to say so. No, no, Boyle, just try a plain,
straightforward paragraph about my death; we'll have it in Falkner's paper
to-morrow. On Friday the funeral can take place, and, with the blessing
o' God, I'll come to life on Saturday at Athlone, in time to canvass the
market."

"I think it wouldn't be bad if your ghost were to appear to old Timins the
tanner, in Naas, on your way down. You know he arrested you once before."

"I prefer a night's sleep," said O'Malley. "But come, finish the squib for
the paper."

"Stay a little," said Sir Harry, musing; "it just strikes me that if ever
the matter gets out I may be in some confounded scrape. Who knows if it is
not a breach of privilege to report the death of a member? And to tell you
truth, I dread the Sergeant and the Speaker's warrant with a very lively
fear."

"Why, when did you make his acquaintance?" said the Count.

"Is it possible you never heard of Boyle's committal?" said O'Malley. "You
surely must have been abroad at the time. But it's not too late to tell it
yet."

"Well, it's about two years since old Townsend brought in his Enlistment
Bill, and the whole country was scoured for all our voters, who were
scattered here and there, never anticipating another call of the House, and
supposing that the session was just over. Among others, up came our friend
Harry, here, and the night he arrived they made him a 'Monk of the Screw,'
and very soon made him forget his senatorial dignities. On the evening
after his reaching town, the bill was brought in, and at two in the morning
the division took place,—a vote was of too much consequence not to look
after it closely,—and a Castle messenger was in waiting in Exchequer
Street, who, when the debate was closing, put Harry, with three others,
into a coach, and brought them down to the House. Unfortunately, however,
they mistook their friends, voted against the bill, and amidst the loudest
cheering of the opposition, the government party were defeated. The rage of
the ministers knew no bounds, and looks of defiance and even threats were
exchanged between the ministers and the deserters. Amidst all this poor
Harry fell fast asleep and dreamed that he was once more in Exchequer
Street, presiding among the monks, and mixing another tumbler. At length he
awoke and looked about him. The clerk was just at the instant reading out,
in his usual routine manner, a clause of the new bill, and the remainder
of the House was in dead silence. Harry looked again around on every side,
wondering where was the hot water, and what had become of the whiskey
bottle, and above all, why the company were so extremely dull and ungenial.
At length, with a half-shake, he roused up a little, and giving a look
of unequivocal contempt on every side, called out, 'Upon my soul, you're
pleasant companions; but I'll give you a chant to enliven you!' So saying,
he cleared his throat with a couple of short coughs, and struck up, with
the voice of a Stentor, the following verse of a popular ballad:—

    'And they nibbled away, both night and day,
      Like mice in a round of Glo'ster;
    Great rogues they were all, both great and small,
      From Flood to Leslie Foster.
           Great rogues all.

Chorus, boys!' If he was not joined by the voices of his friends in the
song, it was probably because such a roar of laughing never was heard since
the walls were roofed over. The whole House rose in a mass, and my friend
Harry was hurried over the benches by the sergeant-at-arms, and left for
three weeks in Newgate to practise his melody."

"All true," said Sir Harry; "and worse luck to them for not liking music.
But come, now, will this do? 'It is our melancholy duty to announce the
death of Godfrey O'Malley, Esq., late member for the county of Galway,
which took place on Friday evening, at Daly's Club-House. This esteemed
gentleman's family—one of the oldest in Ireland, and among whom it was
hereditary not to have any children—'"

Here a burst of laughter from Considine and O'Malley interrupted the
reader, who with the greatest difficulty could be persuaded that he was
again bulling it.

"The devil fly away with it," said he; "I'll never succeed."

"Never mind," said O'Malley, "the first part will do admirably; and let us
now turn our attention to other matters."

A fresh magnum was called for, and over its inspiring contents all the
details of the funeral were planned; and as the clock struck four the party
separated for the night, well satisfied with the result of their labors.

CHAPTER II.

THE ESCAPE.

When the dissolution of Parliament was announced the following morning in
Dublin, its interest in certain circles was manifestly increased by the
fact that Godfrey O'Malley was at last open to arrest; for as in olden
times certain gifted individuals possessed some happy immunity against
death by fire or sword, so the worthy O'Malley seemed to enjoy a no less
valuable privilege, and for many a year had passed among the myrmidons of
the law as writ-proof. Now, however, the charm seemed to have yielded; and
pretty much with the same feeling as a storming party may be supposed to
experience on the day that a breach is reported as practicable, did the
honest attorneys retained in the various suits against him rally round each
other that morning in the Four Courts.

Bonds, mortgages, post-obits, promissory notes—in fact, every imaginable
species of invention for raising the O'Malley exchequer for the preceding
thirty years—were handed about on all sides, suggesting to the mind of an
uninterested observer the notion that had the aforesaid O'Malley been an
independent and absolute monarch, instead of merely being the member for
Galway, the kingdom over whose destinies he had been called to preside
would have suffered not a little from a depreciated currency and an
extravagant issue of paper. Be that as it might, one thing was clear,—the
whole estates of the family could not possibly pay one fourth of the debt;
and the only question was one which occasionally arises at a scanty dinner
on a mail-coach road,—who was to be the lucky individual to carve the
joint, where so many were sure to go off hungry?

It was now a trial of address between these various and highly gifted
gentlemen who should first pounce upon the victim; and when the skill of
their caste is taken into consideration, who will doubt that every feasible
expedient for securing him was resorted to? While writs were struck against
him in Dublin, emissaries were despatched to the various surrounding
counties to procure others in the event of his escape. Ne exeats were
sworn, and water-bailiffs engaged to follow him on the high seas; and as
the great Nassau balloon did not exist in those days, no imaginable mode of
escape appeared possible, and bets were offered at long odds that within
twenty-four hours the late member would be enjoying his otium cum
dignitate in his Majesty's jail of Newgate.

Expectation was at the highest, confidence hourly increasing, success all
but certain, when in the midst of all this high-bounding hope the dreadful
rumor spread that O'Malley was no more. One had seen it just five minutes
before in the evening edition of Falkner's paper; another heard it in the
courts; a third overheard the Chief-Justice stating it to the Master of the
Rolls; and lastly, a breathless witness arrived from College Green with
the news that Daly's Club-House was shut up, and the shutters closed.
To describe the consternation the intelligence caused on every side is
impossible; nothing in history equals it,—except, perhaps, the entrance
of the French army into Moscow, deserted and forsaken by its former
inhabitants. While terror and dismay, therefore, spread amidst that wide
and respectable body who formed O'Malley's creditors, the preparations
for his funeral were going on with every rapidity. Relays of horses were
ordered at every stage of the journey, and it was announced that, in
testimony of his worth, a large party of his friends were to accompany his
remains to Portumna Abbey,—a test much more indicative of resistance
in the event of any attempt to arrest the body, than of anything like
reverence for their departed friend.

Such was the state of matters in Dublin when a letter reached me one
morning at O'Malley Castle, whose contents will at once explain the
writer's intention, and also serve to introduce my unworthy self to my
reader. It ran thus:—

                                  DALY'S, about eight in the evening.
    Dear Charley,—Your uncle Godfrey, whose debts (God pardon
    him!) are more numerous than the hairs of his wig, was obliged to
    die here last night. We did the thing for him completely; and all
    doubts as to the reality of the event are silenced by the
    circumstantial detail of the newspaper, "that he was confined six
    weeks to his bed from a cold he caught, ten days ago, while on guard."
    Repeat this; for it is better we had all the same story till he
    comes to life again, which, may be, will not take place before
    Tuesday or Wednesday. At the same time, canvass the county for him,
    and say he'll be with his friends next week, and up in Woodford and
    the Scariff barony. Say he died a true Catholic; it will serve him on
    the hustings. Meet us in Athlone on Saturday, and bring your uncle's
    mare with you. He says he'd rather ride home. And tell Father Mac
    Shane, to have a bit of dinner ready about four o'clock, for the corpse
    can get nothing after he leaves Mountmellick. No more now, from
    Yours ever,
    HARRY BOYLE

    To CHARLES O'MALLEY, Esq.,
    O'Malley Castle, Galway.

When this not over-clear document reached me I was the sole inhabitant of
O'Malley Castle,—a very ruinous pile of incongruous masonry, that stood in
a wild and dreary part of the county of Galway, bordering on the Shannon.
On every side stretched the property of my uncle, or at least what had once
been so; and indeed, so numerous were its present claimants that he would
have been a subtle lawyer who could have pronounced upon the rightful
owner. The demesne around the castle contained some well-grown and handsome
timber, and as the soil was undulating and fertile, presented many features
of beauty; beyond it, all was sterile, bleak, and barren. Long tracts of
brown heath-clad mountain or not less unprofitable valleys of tall and
waving fern were all that the eye could discern, except where the broad
Shannon, expanding into a tranquil and glassy lake, lay still and
motionless beneath the dark mountains, a few islands, with some ruined
churches and a round tower, alone breaking the dreary waste of water.

Here it was that I passed my infancy and my youth; and here I now stood,
at the age of seventeen, quite unconscious that the world contained aught
fairer and brighter than that gloomy valley with its rugged frame of
mountains.

When a mere child, I was left an orphan to the care of my worthy uncle. My
father, whose extravagance had well sustained the family reputation, had
squandered a large and handsome property in contesting elections for his
native county, and in keeping up that system of unlimited hospitality for
which Ireland in general, and Galway more especially, was renowned. The
result was, as might be expected, ruin and beggary. He died, leaving every
one of his estates encumbered with heavy debts, and the only legacy he left
to his brother was a boy four years of age, entreating him with his last
breath, "Be anything you like to him, Godfrey, but a father, or at least
such a one as I have proved."

Godfrey O'Malley some short time previous had lost his wife, and when this
new trust was committed to him he resolved never to remarry, but to rear
me up as his own child and the inheritor of his estates. How weighty and
onerous an obligation this latter might prove, the reader can form some
idea. The intention was, however, a kind one; and to do my uncle justice,
he loved me with all the affection of a warm and open heart.

From my earliest years his whole anxiety was to fit me for the part of a
country gentleman, as he regarded that character,—namely, I rode boldly
with fox-hounds; I was about the best shot within twenty miles of us; I
could swim the Shannon at Holy Island; I drove four-in-hand better than the
coachman himself; and from finding a hare to hooking a salmon, my equal
could not be found from Killaloe to Banagher. These were the staple of my
endowments. Besides which, the parish priest had taught me a little Latin,
a little French, a little geometry, and a great deal of the life and
opinions of Saint Jago, who presided over a holy well in the neighborhood,
and was held in very considerable repute.

When I add to this portraiture of my accomplishments that I was nearly six
feet high, with more than a common share of activity and strength for my
years, and no inconsiderable portion of good looks, I have finished my
sketch, and stand before my reader.

It is now time I should return to Sir Harry's letter, which so completely
bewildered me that, but for the assistance of Father Roach, I should have
been totally unable to make out the writer's intentions. By his advice, I
immediately set out for Athlone, where, when I arrived, I found my
uncle addressing the mob from the top of the hearse, and recounting his
miraculous escapes as a new claim upon their gratitude.

"There was nothing else for it, boys; the Dublin people insisted on
my being their member, and besieged the club-house. I refused; they
threatened. I grew obstinate; they furious. 'I'll die first,' said I.
'Galway or nothing!'"

"Hurrah!" from the mob. "O'Malley forever!"

"And ye see, I kept my word, boys,—I did die; I died that evening at a
quarter past eight. There, read it for yourselves; there's the paper. Was
waked and carried out, and here I am after all, ready to die in earnest for
you, but never to desert you."

The cheers here were deafening, and my uncle was carried through the market
down to the mayor's house, who, being a friend of the opposite party, was
complimented with three groans; then up the Mall to the chapel, beside
which father Mac Shane resided. He was then suffered to touch the earth
once more; when, having shaken hands with all of his constituency within
reach, he entered the house, to partake of the kindest welcome and best
reception the good priest could afford him.

My uncle's progress homeward was a triumph. The real secret of his escape
had somehow come out, and his popularity rose to a white heat. "An' it's
little O'Malley cares for the law,—bad luck to it; it's himself can laugh
at judge and jury. Arrest him? Nabocklish! Catch a weasel asleep!" etc.
Such were the encomiums that greeted him as he passed on towards home;
while shouts of joy and blazing bonfires attested that his success was
regarded as a national triumph.

The west has certainly its strong features of identity. Had my uncle
possessed the claims of the immortal Howard; had he united in his person
all the attributes which confer a lasting and an ennobling fame upon
humanity,—he might have passed on unnoticed and unobserved; but for
the man that had duped a judge and escaped the sheriff, nothing was
sufficiently flattering to mark their approbation. The success of the
exploit was twofold; the news spread far and near, and the very story
canvassed the county better than Billy Davern himself, the Athlone
attorney.

This was the prospect now before us; and however little my readers may
sympathize with my taste, I must honestly avow that I looked forward to
it with a most delighted feeling. O'Malley Castle was to be the centre
of operations, and filled with my uncle's supporters; while I, a mere
stripling, and usually treated as a boy, was to be intrusted with an
important mission, and sent off to canvass a distant relation, with whom
my uncle was not upon terms, and who might possibly be approachable by a
younger branch of the family, with whom he had never any collision.

CHAPTER III.

MR. BLAKE.

Nothing but the exigency of the case could ever have persuaded my uncle to
stoop to the humiliation of canvassing the individual to whom I was now
about to proceed as envoy-extraordinary, with full powers to make any or
every amende, provided only his interest and that of his followers should
be thereby secured to the O'Malley cause. The evening before I set out was
devoted to giving me all the necessary instructions how I was to proceed,
and what difficulties I was to avoid.

"Say your uncle's in high feather with the government party," said Sir
Harry, "and that he only votes against them as a ruse de guerre, as the
French call it."

"Insist upon it that I am sure of the election without him; but that for
family reasons he should not stand aloof from me; that people are talking
of it in the country."

"And drop a hint," said Considine, "that O'Malley is greatly improved in
his shooting."

"And don't get drunk too early in the evening, for Phil Blake has beautiful
claret," said another.

"And be sure you don't make love to the red-headed girls," added a third;
"he has four of them, each more sinfully ugly than the other."

"You'll be playing whist, too," said Boyle; "and never mind losing a few
pounds. Mrs. B., long life to her, has a playful way of turning the king."

"Charley will do it all well," said my uncle; "leave him alone. And now let
us have in the supper."

It was only on the following morning, as the tandem came round to the door,
that I began to feel the importance of my mission, and certain misgivings
came over me as to my ability to fulfil it. Mr. Blake and his family,
though estranged from my uncle for several years past, had been always most
kind and good-natured to me; and although I could not, with propriety, have
cultivated any close intimacy with them, I had every reason to suppose that
they entertained towards me nothing but sentiments of good-will. The head
of the family was a Galway squire of the oldest and most genuine stock, a
great sportsman, a negligent farmer, and most careless father; he looked
upon a fox as an infinitely more precious part of the creation than a
French governess, and thought that riding well with hounds was a far better
gift than all the learning of a Parson. His daughters were after his
own heart,—the best-tempered, least-educated, most high-spirited, gay,
dashing, ugly girls in the county, ready to ride over a four-foot paling
without a saddle, and to dance the "Wind that shakes the barley" for four
consecutive hours, against all the officers that their hard fate, and the
Horse Guards, ever condemned to Galway.

The mamma was only remarkable for her liking for whist, and her invariable
good fortune thereat,—a circumstance the world were agreed in ascribing
less to the blind goddess than her own natural endowments.

Lastly, the heir of the house was a stripling of about my own age, whose
accomplishments were limited to selling spavined and broken-winded horses
to the infantry officers, playing a safe game at billiards, and acting as
jackal-general to his sisters at balls, providing them with a sufficiency
of partners, and making a strong fight for a place at the supper-table for
his mother. These fraternal and filial traits, more honored at home than
abroad, had made Mr. Matthew Blake a rather well-known individual in the
neighborhood where he lived.

Though Mr. Blake's property was ample, and strange to say for his county,
unencumbered, the whole air and appearance of his house and grounds
betrayed anything rather than a sufficiency of means. The gate lodge was a
miserable mud-hovel with a thatched and falling roof; the gate itself, a
wooden contrivance, one half of which was boarded and the other railed; the
avenue was covered with weeds, and deep with ruts; and the clumps of young
plantation, which had been planted and fenced with care, were now open to
the cattle, and either totally uprooted or denuded of their bark and dying.
The lawn, a handsome one of some forty acres, had been devoted to an
exercise-ground for training horses, and was cut up by their feet beyond
all semblance of its original destination; and the house itself, a large
and venerable structure of above a century old, displayed every variety of
contrivance, as well as the usual one of glass, to exclude the weather. The
hall-door hung by a single hinge, and required three persons each morning
and evening to open and shut it; the remainder of the day it lay pensively
open; the steps which led to it were broken and falling; and the whole
aspect of things without was ruinous in the extreme. Within, matters were
somewhat better, for though the furniture was old, and none of it clean,
yet an appearance of comfort was evident; and the large grate, blazing with
its pile of red-hot turf, the deep-cushioned chairs, the old black mahogany
dinner-table, and the soft carpet, albeit deep with dust, were not to be
despised on a winter's evening, after a hard day's run with the "Blazers."
Here it was, however, that Mr. Philip Blake had dispensed his hospitalities
for above fifty years, and his father before him; and here, with a retinue
of servants as gauches and ill-ordered as all about them, was he
accustomed to invite all that the county possessed of rank and wealth,
among which the officers quartered in his neighborhood were never
neglected, the Miss Blakes having as decided a taste for the army as any
young ladies of the west of Ireland; and while the Galway squire, with
his cords and tops, was detailing the latest news from Ballinasloe in one
corner, the dandy from St. James's Street might be seen displaying more
arts of seductive flattery in another than his most accurate insouciane
would permit him to practise in the elegant salons of London or Paris, and
the same man who would have "cut his brother," for a solecism of dress or
equipage, in Bond Street, was now to be seen quietly domesticated, eating
family dinners, rolling silk for the young ladies, going down the middle
in a country dance, and even descending to the indignity of long whist at
"tenpenny" points, with only the miserable consolation that the company
were not honest.

It was upon a clear frosty morning, when a bright blue sky and a sharp but
bracing air seem to exercise upon the feelings a sense no less pleasurable
than the balmiest breeze and warmest sun of summer, that I whipped my
leader short round, and entered the precincts of "Gurt-na-Morra." As I
proceeded along the avenue, I was struck by the slight traces of repairs
here and there evident,—a gate or two that formerly had been parallel to
the horizon had been raised to the perpendicular; some ineffectual efforts
at paint were also perceptible upon the palings; and, in short, everything
seemed to have undergone a kind of attempt at improvement.

When I reached the door, instead of being surrounded, as of old, by a tribe
of menials frieze-coated, bare-headed, and bare-legged, my presence was
announced by a tremendous ringing of bells from the hands of an old
functionary in a very formidable livery, who peeped at me through the
hall-window, and whom, with the greatest difficulty, I recognized as my
quondam acquaintance, the butler. His wig alone would have graced a king's
counsel; and the high collar of his coat, and the stiff pillory of his
cravat denoted an eternal adieu to so humble a vocation as drawing a cork.
Before I had time for any conjecture as to the altered circumstances about,
the activity of my friend at the bell had surrounded me with "four others
worse than himself," at least they were exactly similarly attired; and
probably from the novelty of their costume, and the restraints of so
unusual a thing as dress, were as perfectly unable to assist themselves
or others as the Court of Aldermen would be were they to rig out in plate
armor of the fourteenth century. How much longer I might have gone on
conjecturing the reasons for the masquerade around, I cannot say; but my
servant, an Irish disciple of my uncle's, whispered in my ear, "It's a
red-breeches day, Master Charles,—they'll have the hoith of company in the
house." From the phrase, it needed little explanation to inform me that it
was one of those occasions on which Mr. Blake attired all the hangers-on
of his house in livery, and that great preparations were in progress for a
more than usually splendid reception.

In the next moment I was ushered into the breakfast-room, where a party of
above a dozen persons were most gayly enjoying all the good cheer for which
the house had a well-deserved repute. After the usual shaking of hands and
hearty greetings were over, I was introduced in all form to Sir George
Dashwood, a tall and singularly handsome man of about fifty, with an
undress military frock and ribbon. His reception of me was somewhat
strange; for as they mentioned my relationship to Godfrey O'Malley, he
smiled slightly, and whispered something to Mr. Blake, who replied, "Oh,
no, no; not the least. A mere boy; and besides—" What he added I lost, for
at that moment Nora Blake was presenting me to Miss Dashwood.

If the sweetest blue eyes that ever beamed beneath a forehead of snowy
whiteness, over which dark brown and waving hair fell less in curls than
masses of locky richness, could only have known what wild work they were
making of my poor heart, Miss Dashwood, I trust, would have looked at her
teacup or her muffin rather than at me, as she actually did on that fatal
morning. If I were to judge from her costume, she had only just arrived,
and the morning air had left upon her cheek a bloom that contributed
greatly to the effect of her lovely countenance. Although very young, her
form had all the roundness of womanhood; while her gay and sprightly manner
indicated all the sans gêne which only very young girls possess, and
which, when tempered with perfect good taste, and accompanied by beauty and
no small share of talent, forms an irresistible power of attraction.

Beside her sat a tall, handsome man of about five-and-thirty or perhaps
forty years of age, with a most soldierly air, who as I was presented to
him scarcely turned his head, and gave me a half-nod of very unequivocal
coldness. There are moments in life in which the heart is, as it were, laid
bare to any chance or casual impression with a wondrous sensibility of
pleasure or its opposite. This to me was one of those; and as I turned from
the lovely girl, who had received me with a marked courtesy, to the cold
air and repelling hauteur of the dark-browed captain, the blood rushed
throbbing to my forehead; and as I walked to my place at the table, I
eagerly sought his eye, to return him a look of defiance and disdain,
proud and contemptuous as his own. Captain Hammersley, however, never took
further notice of me, but continued to recount, for the amusement of those
about him, several excellent stories of his military career, which, I
confess, were heard with every test of delight by all save me. One thing
galled me particularly,—and how easy is it, when you have begun by
disliking a person, to supply food for your antipathy,—all his allusions
to his military life were coupled with half-hinted and ill-concealed
sneers at civilians of every kind, as though every man not a soldier were
absolutely unfit for common intercourse with the world, still more for any
favorable reception in ladies' society.

The young ladies of the family were a well-chosen auditory, for their
admiration of the army extended from the Life Guards to the Veteran
Battalion, the Sappers and Miners included; and as Miss Dashwood was the
daughter of a soldier, she of course coincided in many of, if not all, his
opinions. I turned towards my neighbor, a Clare gentleman, and tried to
engage him in conversation, but he was breathlessly attending to the
captain. On my left sat Matthew Blake, whose eyes were firmly riveted
upon the same person, and who heard his marvels with an interest scarcely
inferior to that of his sisters. Annoyed and in ill-temper, I ate my
breakfast in silence, and resolved that the first moment I could obtain a
hearing from Mr. Blake I would open my negotiation, and take my leave at
once of Gurt-na-Morra.

We all assembled in a large room, called by courtesy the library, when
breakfast was over; and then it was that Mr. Blake, taking me aside,
whispered, "Charley, it's right I should inform you that Sir George
Dashwood there is the Commander of the Forces, and is come down here at
this moment to—" What for, or how it should concern me, I was not to
learn; for at that critical instant my informant's attention was called off
by Captain Hammersley asking if the hounds were to hunt that day.

"My friend Charley here is the best authority upon that matter," said Mr.
Blake, turning towards me.

"They are to try the Priest's meadows," said I, with an air of some
importance; "but if your guests desire a day's sport, I'll send word over
to Brackely to bring the dogs over here, and we are sure to find a fox in
your cover."

"Oh, then, by all means," said the captain, turning towards Mr. Blake, and
addressing himself to him,—"by all means; and Miss Dashwood, I'm sure,
would like to see the hounds throw off."

Whatever chagrin the first part of his speech caused me, the latter set my
heart a-throbbing; and I hastened from the room to despatch a messenger to
the huntsman to come over to Gurt-na-Morra, and also another to O'Malley
Castle to bring my best horse and my riding equipments as quickly as
possible.

"Matthew, who is this captain?" said I, as young Blake met me in the hall.

"Oh, he is the aide-de-camp of General Dashwood. A nice fellow, isn't he?"

"I don't know what you may think," said I, "but I take him for the most
impertinent, impudent, supercilious—"

The rest of my civil speech was cut short by the appearance of the very
individual in question, who, with his hands in his pockets and a cigar in
his mouth, sauntered forth down the steps, taking no more notice of Matthew
Blake and myself than the two fox-terriers that followed at his heels.

However anxious I might be to open negotiations on the subject of my
mission, for the present the thing was impossible; for I found that Sir
George Dashwood was closeted closely with Mr. Blake, and resolved to wait
till evening, when chance might afford me the opportunity I desired.

As the ladies had retired to dress for the hunt, and as I felt no peculiar
desire to ally myself with the unsocial captain, I accompanied Matthew to
the stable to look after the cattle, and make preparations for the coming
sport.

"There's Captain Hammersley's mare," said Matthew, as he pointed out a
highly bred but powerful English hunter. "She came last night; for as he
expected some sport, he sent his horses from Dublin on purpose. The others
will be here to-day."

"What is his regiment?" said I, with an appearance of carelessness, but in
reality feeling curious to know if the captain was a cavalry or infantry
officer.

"The —th Light Dragoons,"

"You never saw him ride?" said I.

"Never; but his groom there says he leads the way in his own country."

"And where may that be?"

"In Leicestershire, no less," said Matthew.

"Does he know Galway?"

"Never was in it before. It's only this minute he asked Moses Daly if the
ox-fences were high here."

"Ox-fences! Then he does not know what a wall is?"

"Devil a bit; but we'll teach him."

"That we will," said I, with as bitter a resolution to impart the
instruction as ever schoolmaster did to whip Latin grammar into one of the
great unbreeched.

"But I had better send the horses down to the Mill," said Matthew; "we'll
draw that cover first."

So saying, he turned towards the stable, while I sauntered alone towards
the road by which I expected the huntsman. I had not walked half a mile
before I heard the yelping of the dogs, and a little farther on I saw old
Brackely coming along at a brisk trot, cutting the hounds on each side, and
calling after the stragglers.

"Did you see my horse on the road, Brackely?" said I.

"I did, Misther Charles; and troth, I'm sorry to see him. Sure yerself
knows better than to take out the Badger, the best steeple-chaser in
Ireland, in such a country as this,—nothing but awkward stone-fences, and
not a foot of sure ground in the whole of it."

"I know it well, Brackely; but I have my reasons for it."

"Well, may be you have; what cover will your honor try first?"

"They talk of the Mill," said I; "but I'd much rather try Morran-a-Gowl."

"Morran-a-Gowl! Do you want to break your neck entirely?"

"No, Brackely, not mine."

"Whose, then, alannah?"

"An English captain's, the devil fly away with him! He's come down here
to-day, and from all I can see is a most impudent fellow; so, Brackely—"

"I understand. Well, leave it to me; and though I don't like the only
deer-park wall on the hill, we'll try it this morning with the blessing.
I'll take him down by Woodford, over the Devil's Mouth,—it's eighteen foot
wide this minute with the late rains,—into the four callows; then over the
stone-walls, down to Dangan; then take a short cast up the hill, blow him
a bit, and give him the park wall at the top. You must come in then fresh,
and give him the whole run home over Sleibhmich. The Badger knows it all,
and takes the road always in a fly,—a mighty distressing thing for the
horse that follows, more particularly if he does not understand a stony
country. Well, if he lives through this, give him the sunk fence and the
stone wall at Mr. Blake's clover-field, for the hounds will run into the
fox about there; and though we never ride that leap since Mr. Malone broke
his neck at it, last October, yet upon an occasion like this, and for the
honor of Galway—"

"To be sure, Brackely; and here's a guinea for you, and now trot on towards
the house. They must not see us together, or they might suspect something.
But, Brackely," said I, calling out after him, "if he rides at all fair,
what's to be done?"

"Troth, then, myself doesn't know. There is nothing so bad west of Athlone.
Have ye a great spite again him?"

"I have," said I, fiercely.

"Could ye coax a fight out of him?"

"That's true," said I; "and now ride on as fast as you can."

Brackely's last words imparted a lightness to my heart and my step, and I
strode along a very different man from what I had left the house half an
hour previously.

CHAPTER IV.

THE HUNT.

Although we had not the advantages of a southerly wind and cloudy sky, the
day towards noon became strongly over-cast, and promised to afford us good
scenting weather; and as we assembled at the meet, mutual congratulations
were exchanged upon the improved appearance of the day. Young Blake had
provided Miss Dashwood with a quiet and well-trained horse, and his sisters
were all mounted as usual upon their own animals, giving to our turnout
quite a gay and lively aspect. I myself came to cover upon a hackney,
having sent Badger with a groom, and longed ardently for the moment when,
casting the skin of my great-coat and overalls, I should appear before the
world in my well-appointed "cords and tops." Captain Hammersley had not as
yet made his appearance, and many conjectures were afloat as to whether "he
might have missed the road, or changed his mind," or "forgot all about it,"
as Miss Dashwood hinted.

"Who, pray, pitched upon this cover?" said Caroline Blake, as she looked
with a practised eye over the country on either side.

"There is no chance of a fox late in the day at the Mill," said the
huntsman, inventing a lie for the occasion.

"Then of course you never intend us to see much of the sport; for after you
break cover, you are entirely lost to us."

"I thought you always followed the hounds," said Miss Dashwood, timidly.

"Oh, to be sure we do, in any common country, but here it is out of the
question; the fences are too large for any one, and if I am not mistaken,
these gentlemen will not ride far over this. There, look yonder, where
the river is rushing down the hill: that stream, widening as it advances,
crosses the cover nearly midway,—well, they must clear that; and then you
may see these walls of large loose stones nearly five feet in height. That
is the usual course the fox takes, unless he heads towards the hills and
goes towards Dangan, and then there's an end of it; for the deer-park wall
is usually a pull up to every one except, perhaps, to our friend Charley
yonder, who has tried his fortune against drowning more than once there."

"Look, here he comes," said Matthew Blake, "and looking splendidly too,—a
little too much in flesh perhaps, if anything."

"Captain Hammersley!" said the four Miss Blakes, in a breath. "Where is
he?"

"No; it's the Badger I'm speaking of," said Matthew, laughing, and pointing
with his finger towards a corner of the field where my servant was
leisurely throwing down a wall about two feet high to let him pass.

"Oh, how handsome! What a charger for a dragoon!" said Miss Dashwood.

Any other mode of praising my steed would have been much more acceptable.
The word "dragoon" was a thorn in my tenderest part that rankled and
lacerated at every stir. In a moment I was in the saddle, and scarcely
seated when at once all the mauvais honte of boyhood left me, and I
felt every inch a man. I often look back to that moment of my life, and
comparing it with similar ones, cannot help acknowledging how purely is the
self-possession which so often wins success the result of some slight and
trivial association. My confidence in my horsemanship suggested moral
courage of a very different kind; and I felt that Charles O'Malley
curvetting upon a thorough-bred, and the same man ambling upon a shelty,
were two and very dissimilar individuals.

"No chance of the captain," said Matthew, who had returned from a
reconnaissance upon the road; "and after all it's a pity, for the day is
getting quite favorable."

While the young ladies formed pickets to look out for the gallant
militaire, I seized the opportunity of prosecuting my acquaintance with
Miss Dashwood, and even in the few and passing observations that fell from
her, learned how very different an order of being she was from all I had
hitherto seen of country belles. A mixture of courtesy with naïveté; a
wish to please, with a certain feminine gentleness, that always flatters a
man, and still more a boy that fain would be one,—gained momentarily
more and more upon me, and put me also on my mettle to prove to my fair
companion that I was not altogether a mere uncultivated and unthinking
creature, like the remainder of those about me.

"Here he is at last," said Helen Blake, as she cantered across a field
waving her handkerchief as a signal to the captain, who was now seen
approaching at a brisk trot.

As he came along, a small fence intervened; he pressed his horse a little,
and as he kissed hands to the fair Helen, cleared it in a bound, and was in
an instant in the midst of us.

"He sits his horse like a man, Misther Charles," said the old huntsman;
"troth, we must give him the worst bit of it."

Captain Hammersley was, despite all the critical acumen with which I
canvassed him, the very beau-ideal of a gentleman rider; indeed, although a
very heavy man, his powerful English thorough-bred, showing not less bone
than blood, took away all semblance of overweight; his saddle was well
fitting and well placed, as also was his large and broad-reined snaffle;
his own costume of black coat, leathers, and tops was in perfect keeping,
and even to his heavy-handled hunting-whip I could find nothing to cavil
at. As he rode up he paid his respects to the ladies in his usual free and
easy manner, expressed some surprise, but no regret, at hearing that he was
late, and never deigning any notice of Matthew or myself, took his place
beside Miss Dashwood, with whom he conversed in a low undertone.

"There they go!" said Matthew, as five or six dogs, with their heads up,
ran yelping along a furrow, then stopped, howled again, and once more set
off together. In an instant all was commotion in the little valley
below us. The huntsman, with his hand to his mouth, was calling off the
stragglers, and the whipper-in followed up the leading dogs with the rest
of the pack. "They've found! They're away!" said Matthew; and as he spoke
a yell burst from the valley, and in an instant the whole pack were off at
full speed. Rather more intent that moment upon showing off my horsemanship
than anything else, I dashed spurs into Badger's sides, and turned him
towards a rasping ditch before me; over we went, hurling down behind us a
rotten bank of clay and small stones, showing how little safety there had
been in topping instead of clearing it at a bound. Before I was well-seated
again the captain was beside me. "Now for it, then," said I; and away we
went. What might be the nature of his feelings I cannot pretend to state,
but my own were a strange mélange of wild, boyish enthusiasm, revenge,
and recklessness. For my own neck I cared little,—nothing; and as I led
the way by half a length, I muttered to myself, "Let him follow me fairly
this day, and I ask no more."

The dogs had got somewhat the start of us; and as they were in full cry,
and going fast, we were a little behind. A thought therefore struck me
that, by appearing to take a short cut upon the hounds, I should come down
upon the river where its breadth was greatest, and thus, at one coup, might
try my friend's mettle and his horse's performance at the same time. On
we went, our speed increasing, till the roar of the river we were now
approaching was plainly audible. I looked half around, and now perceived
the captain was standing in his stirrups, as if to obtain a view of what
was before him; otherwise his countenance was calm and unmoved, and not
a muscle betrayed that he was not cantering on a parade. I fixed myself
firmly in my seat, shook my horse a little together, and with a shout whose
import every Galway hunter well knows rushed him at the river. I saw the
water dashing among the large stones; I heard it splash; I felt a bound
like the ricochet of a shot; and we were over, but so narrowly that the
bank had yielded beneath his hind legs, and it needed a bold effort of the
noble animal to regain his footing. Scarcely was he once more firm, when
Hammersley flew by me, taking the lead, and sitting quietly in his saddle,
as if racing. I know of little in my after-life like the agony of that
moment; for although I was far, very far, from wishing real ill to him, yet
I would gladly have broken my leg or my arm if he could not have been
able to follow me. And now, there he was, actually a length and a half in
advance! and worse than all, Miss Dashwood must have witnessed the whole,
and doubtless his leap over the river was better and bolder than mine.
One consolation yet remained, and while I whispered it to myself I felt
comforted again. "His is an English mare. They understand these leaps; but
what can he make of a Galway wall?" The question was soon to be solved.
Before us, about three fields, were the hounds still in full cry; a large
stone-wall lay between, and to it we both directed our course together.
"Ha!" thought I, "he is floored at last," as I perceived that the captain
held his course rather more in hand, and suffered me to lead. "Now, then,
for it!" So saying, I rode at the largest part I could find, well knowing
that Badger's powers were here in their element. One spring, one plunge,
and away we were, galloping along at the other side. Not so the captain;
his horse had refused the fence, and he was now taking a circuit of the
field for another trial of it.

"Pounded, by Jove!" said I, as I turned round in my saddle to observe him.
Once more she came at it, and once more balked, rearing up, at the same
time, almost so as to fall backward.

My triumph was complete; and I again was about to follow the hounds, when,
throwing a look back, I saw Hammersley clearing the wall in a most splendid
manner, and taking a stretch of at least thirteen feet beyond it. Once
more he was on my flanks, and the contest renewed. Whatever might be the
sentiments of the riders (mine I confess to), between the horses it now
became a tremendous struggle. The English mare, though evidently superior
in stride and strength, was slightly overweighted, and had not, besides,
that cat-like activity an Irish horse possesses; so that the advantages and
disadvantages on either side were about equalized. For about half an hour
now the pace was awful. We rode side by side, taking our leaps at
exactly the same instant, and not four feet apart. The hounds were still
considerably in advance, and were heading towards the Shannon, when
suddenly the fox doubled, took the hillside, and made for Dangan. "Now,
then, comes the trial of strength," I said, half aloud, as I threw my eye
up a steep and rugged mountain, covered with wild furze and tall heath,
around the crest of which ran, in a zigzag direction, a broken and
dilapidated wall, once the enclosure of a deer park. This wall, which
varied from four to six feet in height, was of solid masonry, and would, in
the most favorable ground, have been a bold leap. Here, at the summit of a
mountain, with not a yard of footing, it was absolutely desperation.

By the time that we reached the foot of the hill, the fox, followed closely
by the hounds, had passed through a breach in the wall; while Matthew
Blake, with the huntsmen and whipper-in, was riding along in search of a
gap to lead the horses through. Before I put spurs to Badger to face the
hill, I turned one look towards Hammersley. There was a slight curl,
half-smile, half-sneer, upon his lip that actually maddened me, and had a
precipice yawned beneath my feet, I should have dashed at it after that.
The ascent was so steep that I was obliged to take the hill in a slanting
direction; and even thus, the loose footing rendered it dangerous in the
extreme.

At length I reached the crest, where the wall, more than five feet in
height, stood frowning above and seeming to defy me. I turned my horse full
round, so that his very chest almost touched the stones, and with a bold
cut of the whip and a loud halloo, the gallant animal rose, as if rearing,
pawed for an instant to regain his balance, and then, with a frightful
struggle, fell backwards, and rolled from top to bottom of the hill,
carrying me along with him; the last object that crossed my sight, as I lay
bruised and motionless, being the captain as he took the wall in a flying
leap, and disappeared at the other side. After a few scrambling efforts to
rise, Badger regained his legs and stood beside me; but such was the shock
and concussion of my fall that all the objects around seemed wavering and
floating before me, while showers of bright sparks fell in myriads before
my eyes. I tried to rise, but fell back helpless. Cold perspiration broke
over my forehead, and I fainted. From that moment I can remember nothing,
till I felt myself galloping along at full speed upon a level table-land,
with the hounds about three fields in advance, Hammersley riding foremost,
and taking all his leaps coolly as ever. As I swayed to either side upon my
saddle, from weakness, I was lost to all thought or recollection, save a
flickering memory of some plan of vengeance, which still urged me forward.
The chase had now lasted above an hour, and both hounds and horses began to
feel the pace at which they were going. As for me, I rode mechanically; I
neither knew nor cared for the dangers before me. My eye rested on but one
object; my whole being was concentrated upon one vague and undefined sense
of revenge. At this instant the huntsman came alongside of me.

"Are you hurted, Misther Charles? Did you fall? Your cheek is all blood,
and your coat is torn in two; and, Mother o' God! his boot is ground to
powder; he does not hear me! Oh, pull up! pull up, for the love of the
Virgin! There's the clover-field and the sunk fence before you, and you'll
be killed on the spot!"

"Where?" cried I, with the cry of a madman. "Where's the clover-field;
where's the sunk fence? Ha! I see it; I see it now."

So saying, I dashed the rowels into my horse's flanks, and in an instant
was beyond the reach of the poor fellow's remonstances. Another moment I
was beside the captain. He turned round as I came up; the same smile was
upon his mouth; I could have struck him. About three hundred yards before
us lay the sunk fence; its breadth was about twenty feet, and a wall of
close brickwork formed its face. Over this the hounds were now clambering;
some succeeded in crossing, but by far the greater number fell back,
howling, into the ditch.

I turned towards Hammersley. He was standing high in his stirrups, and as
he looked towards the yawning fence, down which the dogs were tumbling in
masses, I thought (perhaps it was but a thought) that his cheek was paler.
I looked again; he was pulling at his horse. Ha! it was true then; he would
not face it. I turned round in my saddle, looked him full in the face, and
as I pointed with my whip to the leap, called out in a voice hoarse with
passion, "Come on!" I saw no more. All objects were lost to me from that
moment. When next my senses cleared, I was standing amidst the dogs, where
they had just killed. Badger stood blown and trembling beside me, his head
drooping and his flanks gored with spur-marks. I looked about, but all
consciousness of the past had fled; the concussion of my fall had shaken
my intellect, and I was like one but half-awake. One glimpse, short and
fleeting, of what was taking place shot through my brain, as old Brackely
whispered to me, "By my soul, ye did for the captain there." I turned a
vague look upon him, and my eyes fell upon the figure of a man that lay
stretched and bleeding upon a door before me. His pale face was crossed
with a purple stream of blood that trickled from a wound beside his
eyebrow; his arms lay motionless and heavily at either side. I knew him
not. A loud report of a pistol aroused me from my stupor; I looked back. I
saw a crowd that broke suddenly asunder and fled right and left. I heard
a heavy crash upon the ground; I pointed with my finger, for I could not
utter a word.

"It is the English mare, yer honor; she was a beauty this morning, but
she's broke her shoulder-bone and both her legs, and it was best to put her
out of pain."

CHAPTER V.

THE DRAWING-ROOM.

On the fourth day following the adventure detailed in the last chapter, I
made my appearance in the drawing-room, my cheek well blanched by copious
bleeding, and my step tottering and uncertain. On entering the room, I
looked about in vain for some one who might give me an insight into the
occurrences of the four preceding days; but no one was to be met with. The
ladies, I learned, were out riding; Matthew was buying a new setter, Mr.
Blake was canvassing, and Captain Hammersley was in bed. Where was Miss
Dashwood?—in her room; and Sir George?—he was with Mr. Blake.

"What! Canvassing, too?"

"Troth, that same was possible," was the intelligent reply of the old
butler, at which I could not help smiling. I sat down, therefore, in the
easiest chair I could find, and unfolding the county paper, resolved upon
learning how matters were going on in the political world. But somehow,
whether the editor was not brilliant or the fire was hot or that my own
dreams were pleasanter to indulge in than his fancies, I fell sound asleep.

How differently is the mind attuned to the active, busy world of thought
and action when awakened from sleep by any sudden and rude summons to arise
and be stirring, and when called into existence by the sweet and silvery
notes of softest music stealing over the senses, and while they impart
awakening thoughts of bliss and beauty, scarcely dissipating the dreamy
influence of slumber! Such was my first thought, as, with closed lids, the
thrilling chords of a harp broke upon my sleep and aroused me to a feeling
of unutterable pleasure. I turned gently round in my chair and beheld Miss
Dashwood. She was seated in a recess of an old-fashioned window; the pale
yellow glow of a wintry sun at evening fell upon her beautiful hair, and
tinged it with such a light as I have often since then seen in Rembrandt's
pictures; her head leaned upon the harp, and as she struck its chords at
random, I saw that her mind was far away from all around her. As I looked,
she suddenly started from her leaning attitude, and parting back her curls
from her brow, she preluded a few chords, and then sighed forth, rather
than sang, that most beautiful of Moore's melodies,—

    "She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps."

Never before had such pathos, such deep utterance of feeling, met my
astonished sense; I listened breathlessly as the tears fell one by one down
my cheek; my bosom heaved and fell; and when she ceased, I hid my head
between my hands and sobbed aloud. In an instant, she was beside me, and
placing her hand upon my shoulder, said,—

"Poor dear boy, I never suspected you of being there, or I should not have
sung that mournful air."

I started and looked up; and from what I know not, but she suddenly
crimsoned to her very forehead, while she added in a less assured tone,—

"I hope, Mr. O'Malley, that you are much better; and I trust there is no
imprudence in your being here."

"For the latter, I shall not answer," said I, with a sickly smile; "but
already I feel your music has done me service."

"Then let me sing more for you."

"If I am to have a choice, I should say, Sit down, and let me hear you talk
to me. My illness and the doctor together have made wild work of my poor
brain; but if you will talk to me—"

"Well, then, what shall it be about? Shall I tell you a fairy tale?"

"I need it not; I feel I am in one this instant."

"Well, then, what say you to a legend; for I am rich in my stores of them?"

"The O'Malleys have their chronicles, wild and barbarous enough without the
aid of Thor and Woden."

"Then, shall we chat of every-day matters? Should you like to hear how the
election and the canvass go on?"

"Yes; of all things."

"Well, then, most favorably. Two baronies, with most unspeakable names,
have declared for us, and confidence is rapidly increasing among our party.
This I learned, by chance, yesterday; for papa never permits us to know
anything of these matters,—not even the names of the candidates."

"Well, that was the very point I was coming to; for the government were
about to send down some one just as I left home, and I am most anxious to
learn who it is."

"Then am I utterly valueless; for I really can't say what party the
government espouses, and only know of our own."

"Quite enough for me that you wish it success," said I, gallantly. "Perhaps
you can tell me if my uncle has heard of my accident?"

"Oh, yes; but somehow he has not been here himself, but sent a friend,—a
Mr. Considine, I think; a very strange person he seemed. He demanded to see
papa, and it seems, asked him if your misfortune had been a thing of his
contrivance, and whether he was ready to explain his conduct about it; and,
in fact, I believe he is mad."

"Heaven confound him!" I muttered between my teeth.

"And then he wished to have an interview with Captain Hammersley. However,
he is too ill; but as the doctor hoped he might be down-stairs in a week,
Mr. Considine kindly hinted that he should wait."

"Oh, then, do tell me how is the captain."

"Very much bruised, very much disfigured, they say," said she, half
smiling; "but not so much hurt in body as in mind."

"As how, may I ask?" said I, with an appearance of innocence.

"I don't exactly understand it; but it would appear that there was
something like rivalry among you gentlemen chasseurs on that luckless
morning, and that while you paid the penalty of a broken head, he was
destined to lose his horse and break his arm."

"I certainly am sorry,—most sincerely sorry for any share I might have had
in the catastrophe; and my greatest regret, I confess, arises from the fact
that I should cause you unhappiness."

"Me? Pray explain."

"Why, as Captain Hammersley—"

"Mr. O'Malley, you are too young now to mate me suspect you have an
intention to offend; but I caution you, never repeat this."

I saw that I had transgressed, but how, I most honestly confess, I could
not guess; for though I certainly was the senior of my fair companion in
years, I was most lamentably her junior in tact and discretion.

The gray dusk of evening had long fallen as we continued to chat together
beside the blazing wood embers,—she evidently amusing herself with the
original notions of an untutored, unlettered boy, and I drinking deep
those draughts of love that nerved my heart through many a breach and
battlefield.

Our colloquy was at length interrupted by the entrance of Sir George, who
shook me most cordially by the hand, and made the kindest inquiries about
my health.

"They tell me you are to be a lawyer. Mr. O'Malley," said he; "and if so, I
must advise you to take better care of your headpiece."

"A lawyer, Papa; oh dear me! I should never have thought of his being
anything so stupid."

"Why, silly girl, what would you have a man be?"

"A dragoon, to be sure, Papa," said the fond girl, as she pressed her arm
around his manly figure, and looked up in his face with an expression of
mingled pride and affection.

That word sealed my destiny.

CHAPTER VI.

THE DINNER.

When I retired to my room to dress for dinner, I found my servant waiting
with a note from my uncle, to which, he informed me, the messenger expected
an answer.

I broke the seal and read:—

    DEAR CHARLEY,—Do not lose a moment in securing old Blake,—if
    you have not already done so,—as information has just reached
    me that the government party has promised a cornetcy to young
    Matthew if he can bring over his father. And these are the people
    I have been voting with—a few private cases excepted—for thirty
    odd years!

    I am very sorry for your accident. Considine informs me that it
    will need explanation at a later period. He has been in Athlone
    since Tuesday, in hopes to catch the new candidate on his way down,
    and get him into a little private quarrel before the day; if he
    succeeds, it will save the county much expense, and conduce greatly to
    the peace and happiness of all parties. But "these things," as Father
    Roach says, "are in the hands of Providence." You must also persuade
    old Blake to write a few lines to Simon Mallock, about the
    Coolnamuck mortgage. We can give him no satisfaction at present,
    at least such as he looks for; and don't be philandering any longer
    where you are, when your health permits a change of quarters.

    Your affectionate uncle,
    GODFREY O'MALLEY.

    P.S. I have just heard from Considine. He was out this morning
    and shot a fellow in the knee; but finds that after all he was
    not the candidate, but a tourist that was writing a book about
    Connemara.

    P.S. No. 2. Bear the mortgage in mind, for old Mallock is a
    spiteful fellow, and has a grudge against me, since I horsewhipped
    his son in Banagher. Oh, the world, the world! G. O'M.

Until I read this very clear epistle to the end, I had no very precise
conception how completely I had forgotten all my uncle's interests, and
neglected all his injunctions. Already five days had elapsed, and I had not
as much as mooted the question to Mr. Blake, and probably all this time my
uncle was calculating on the thing as concluded; but, with one hole in my
head and some half-dozen in my heart, my memory was none of the best.

Snatching up the letter, therefore, I resolved to lose no more time, and
proceeded at once to Mr. Blake's room, expecting that I should, as the
event proved, find him engaged in the very laborious duty of making his
toilet.

[MR. BLAKE'S DRESSING ROOM.]

"Come in, Charley," said he, as I tapped gently at the door. "It's only
Charley, my darling. Mrs. B. won't mind you."

"Not the least in life," responded Mrs. B., disposing at the same time a
pair of her husband's corduroys tippet fashion across her ample shoulders,
which before were displayed in the plenitude and breadth of coloring we
find in a Rubens. "Sit down, Charley, and tell us what's the matter."

As until this moment I was in perfect ignorance of the Adam-and-Eve-like
simplicity in which the private economy of Mr. Blake's household was
conducted, I would have gladly retired from what I found to be a mutual
territory of dressing-room had not Mr. Blake's injunctions been issued
somewhat like an order to remain.

"It's only a letter, sir," said I, stuttering, "from my uncle about the
election. He says that as his majority is now certain, he should feel
better pleased in going to the poll with all the family, you know, sir,
along with him. He wishes me just to sound your intentions,—to make out
how you feel disposed towards him; and—and, faith, as I am but a poor
diplomatist, I thought the best way was to come straight to the point and
tell you so."

"I perceive," said Mr. Blake, giving his chin at the moment an awful gash
with the razor,—"I perceive; go on."

"Well, sir, I have little more to say. My uncle knows what influence you
have in Scariff, and expects you'll do what you can there."

"Anything more?" said Blake, with a very dry and quizzical expression I
didn't half like,—"anything more?"

"Oh, yes; you are to write a line to old Mallock."

"I understand; about Coolnamuck, isn't it?"

"Exactly; I believe that's all."

"Well, now, Charley, you may go down-stairs, and we'll talk it over after
dinner."

"Yes, Charley dear, go down, for I'm going to draw on my stockings," said
the fair Mrs. Blake, with a look of very modest consciousness.

When I had left the room I couldn't help muttering a "Thank God!" for the
success of a mission I more than once feared for, and hastened to despatch
a note to my uncle, assuring him of the Blake interest, and adding that for
propriety's sake I should defer my departure for a day or two longer.

This done, with a heart lightened of its load and in high spirits at my
cleverness, I descended to the drawing-room. Here a very large party were
already assembled, and at every opening of the door a new relay of Blakes,
Burkes, and Bodkins was introduced. In the absence of the host, Sir George
Dashwood was "making the agreeable" to the guests, and shook hands with
every new arrival with all the warmth and cordiality of old friendship.
While thus he inquired for various absent individuals, and asked most
affectionately for sundry aunts and uncles not forthcoming, a slight
incident occurred which by its ludicrous turn served to shorten the long
half-hour before dinner. An individual of the party, a Mr. Blake, had, from
certain peculiarities of face, obtained in his boyhood the sobriquet of
"Shave-the-wind." This hatchet-like conformation had grown with his growth,
and perpetuated upon him a nickname by which alone was he ever spoken of
among his friends and acquaintances; the only difference being that as he
came to man's estate, brevity, that soul of wit, had curtailed the epithet
to mere "Shave." Now, Sir George had been hearing frequent reference made
to him always by this name, heard him ever so addressed, and perceived him
to reply to it; so that when he was himself asked by some one what sport he
had found that day among the woodcocks, he answered at once, with a bow of
very grateful acknowledgment, "Excellent, indeed; but entirely owing to
where I was placed in the copse. Had it not been for Mr. Shave there—"

I need not say that the remainder of his speech, being heard on all sides,
became one universal shout of laughter, in which, to do him justice, the
excellent Shave himself heartily joined. Scarcely were the sounds of mirth
lulled into an apparent calm, when the door opened and the host and hostess
appeared. Mrs. Blake advanced in all the plenitude of her charms, arrayed
in crimson satin, sorely injured in its freshness by a patch of grease
upon the front about the same size and shape as the continent of Europe in
Arrowsmith's Atlas. A swan's-down tippet covered her shoulders; massive
bracelets ornamented her wrists; while from her ears descended two Irish
diamond ear-rings, rivalling in magnitude and value the glass pendants of
a lustre. Her reception of her guests made ample amends, in warmth and
cordiality, for any deficiency of elegance; and as she disposed her ample
proportions upon the sofa, and looked around upon the company, she appeared
the very impersonation of hospitality.

After several openings and shuttings of the drawing-room door, accompanied
by the appearance of old Simon the butler, who counted the party at least
five times before he was certain that the score was correct, dinner was
at length announced. Now came a moment of difficulty, and one which, as
testing Mr. Blake's tact, he would gladly have seen devolve upon some other
shoulders; for he well knew that the marshalling a room full of mandarins,
blue, green, and yellow, was "cakes and gingerbread" to ushering a Galway
party in to dinner.

First, then, was Mr. Miles Bodkin, whose grandfather would have been a lord
if Cromwell had not hanged him one fine morning. Then Mrs. Mosey Blake's
first husband was promised the title of Kilmacud if it was ever restored;
whereas Mrs. French of Knocktunmor's mother was then at law for a title.
And lastly, Mrs. Joe Burke was fourth cousin to Lord Clanricarde, as is or
will be every Burke from this to the day of judgment. Now, luckily for her
prospects, the lord was alive; and Mr. Blake, remembering a very sage adage
about "dead lions," etc., solved the difficulty at once by gracefully
tucking the lady under his arm and leading the way. The others soon
followed, the priest of Portumna and my unworthy self bringing up the rear.

When, many a year afterwards, the hard ground of a mountain bivouac,
with its pitiful portion of pickled cork-tree yclept mess-beef, and that
pyroligneous aquafortis they call corn-brandy have been my hard fare,
I often looked back to that day's dinner with a most heart-yearning
sensation,—a turbot as big as the Waterloo shield, a sirloin that seemed
cut from the sides of a rhinoceros, a sauce-boat that contained an
oyster-bed. There was a turkey, which singly would have formed the main
army of a French dinner, doing mere outpost duty, flanked by a picket of
ham and a detached squadron of chickens carefully ambushed in a forest
of greens; potatoes, not disguised à la maître d'hôtel and tortured to
resemble bad macaroni, but piled like shot in an ordnance-yard, were posted
at different quarters; while massive decanters of port and sherry stood
proudly up like standard bearers amidst the goodly array. This was none
of your austere "great dinners," where a cold and chilling plateau of
artificial nonsense cuts off one-half of the table from intercourse with
the other; when whispered sentences constitute the conversation, and all
the friendly recognition of wine-drinking, which renews acquaintance and
cements an intimacy, is replaced by the ceremonious filling of your glass
by a lackey; where smiles go current in lieu of kind speeches, and epigram
and smartness form the substitute for the broad jest and merry story. Far
from it. Here the company ate, drank, talked, laughed,—did all but sing,
and certainly enjoyed themselves heartily. As for me, I was little more
than a listener; and such was the crash of plates, the jingle of glasses,
and the clatter of voices, that fragments only of what was passing
around reached me, giving to the conversation of the party a character
occasionally somewhat incongruous. Thus such sentences as the following ran
foul of each other every instant:—

"No better land in Galway"—"where could you find such facilities"—"for
shooting Mr. Jones on his way home"—"the truth, the whole truth, and
nothing but the truth"—"kiss"—"Miss Blake, she's the girl with a foot and
ankle"—"Daly has never had wool on his sheep"—"how could he"—"what
does he pay for the mountain"—"four and tenpence a yard"—"not a penny
less"—"all the cabbage-stalks and potato-skins"—"with some bog stuff
through it"—"that's the thing to"—"make soup, with a red herring in it
instead of salt"—"and when he proposed for my niece, ma'am, says he"—"mix
a strong tumbler, and I'll make a shake-down for you on the floor"—"and
may the Lord have mercy on your soul"—"and now, down the middle and
up again"—"Captain Magan, my dear, he is the man"—"to shave a pig
properly"—"it's not money I'm looking for, says he, the girl of my
heart"—"if she had not a wind-gall and two spavins"—"I'd have given her
the rights of the church, of coorse," said Father Roach, bringing up the
rear of this ill-assorted jargon.

Such were the scattered links of conversation I was condemned to listen to,
till a general rise on the part of the ladies left us alone to discuss our
wine and enter in good earnest upon the more serious duties of the evening.

Scarcely was the door closed when one of the company, seizing the
bell-rope, said, "With your leave, Blake, we'll have the 'dew' now."

"Good claret,—no better," said another; "but it sits mighty cold on the
stomach."

"There's nothing like the groceries, after all,—eh, Sir George?" said an
old Galway squire to the English general, who acceded to the fact, which he
understood in a very different sense.

"Oh, punch, you are my darlin'," hummed another, as a large, square,
half-gallon decanter of whiskey was placed on the table, the various
decanters of wine being now ignominiously sent down to the end of the board
without any evidence of regret on any face save Sir George Dashwood's, who
mixed his tumbler with a very rebellious conscience.

Whatever were the noise and clamor of the company before, they were nothing
to what now ensued. As one party were discussing the approaching contest,
another was planning a steeple-chase, while two individuals, unhappily
removed from each other the entire length of the table, were what is called
"challenging each other's effects" in a very remarkable manner,—the
process so styled being an exchange of property, when each party, setting
an imaginary value upon some article, barters it for another, the amount
of boot paid and received being determined by a third person, who is the
umpire. Thus a gold breast-pin was swopped, as the phrase is, against a
horse; then a pair of boots, then a Kerry bull, etc.,—every imaginable
species of property coming into the market. Sometimes, as matters of very
dubious value turned up, great laughter was the result. In this very
national pastime, a Mr. Miles Bodkin, a noted fire-eater of the west, was
a great proficient; and it is said he once so completely succeeded in
despoiling an uninitiated hand, that after winning in succession his horse,
gig, harness, etc., he proceeded seriatim to his watch, ring, clothes,
and portmanteau, and actually concluded by winning all he possessed, and
kindly lent him a card-cloth to cover him on his way to the hotel.
His success on the present occasion was considerable, and his spirits
proportionate. The decanter had thrice been replenished, and the flushed
faces and thickened utterance of the guests evinced that from the cold
properties of the claret there was but little to dread. As for Mr. Bodkin,
his manner was incapable of any higher flight, when under the influence of
whiskey, than what it evinced on common occasions; and as he sat at the end
of the table fronting Mr. Blake, he assumed all the dignity of the ruler of
the feast, with an energy no one seemed disposed to question. In answer to
some observations of Sir George, he was led into something like an oration
upon the peculiar excellences of his native country, which ended in a
declaration that there was nothing like Galway.

"Why don't you give us a song, Miles? And may be the general would learn
more from it than all your speech-making."

"To be sure," cried the several voices together,—"to be sure; let us hear
the 'Man for Galway'!"

Sir George having joined most warmly in the request, Mr. Bodkin filled up
his glass to the brim, bespoke a chorus to his chant, and clearing his
voice with a deep hem, began the following ditty, to the air which Moore
has since rendered immortal by the beautiful song, "Wreath the Bowl," etc.
And, although the words are well known in the west, for the information of
less-favored regions, I here transcribe—

                 THE MAN FOR GALWAY.

              To drink a toast,
              A proctor roast,
                Or bailiff as the case is;
              To kiss your wife,
              Or take your life
                At ten or fifteen paces;
              To keep game-cocks, to hunt the fox,
                To drink in punch the Solway,
              With debts galore, but fun far more,—
                Oh, that's "the man for Galway."
                          CHORUS: With debts, etc.

              The King of Oude
              Is mighty proud,
                And so were onst the Caysars;
              But ould Giles Eyre
              Would make them stare,
                Av he had them with the Blazers.
              To the devil I fling—ould Runjeet Sing,
                He's only a prince in a small way,
              And knows nothing at all of a six-foot wall;
                Oh, he'd never "do for Galway."
                          CHORUS: With debts, etc.

              Ye think the Blakes
              Are no "great shakes;"
                They're all his blood relations.
              And the Bodkins sneeze
              At the grim Chinese,
                For they come from the Phenaycians.
              So fill the brim, and here's to him
                Who'd drink in punch the Solway,
              With debts galore, but fun far more,—
                Oh, that's "the man for Galway."
                          CHORUS: With debts, etc.

I much fear that the reception of this very classic ode would not be as
favorable in general companies as it was on the occasion I first heard it;
for certainly the applause was almost deafening, and even Sir George, the
defects of whose English education left some of the allusions out of his
reach, was highly amused, and laughed heartily.

The conversation once more reverted to the election; and although I was too
far from those who seemed best informed on the matter to hear much, I could
catch enough to discover that the feeling was a confident one. This was
gratifying to me, as I had some scruples about my so long neglecting my
uncle's cause.

"We have Scariff to a man," said Bodkin.

"And Mosey's tenantry," said another. "I swear, though there's not a
freehold registered on the estate, that they'll vote, every mother's son
of them, or devil a stone of the court-house they'll leave standing on
another."

"And may the Lord look to the returning officer!" said a third, throwing up
his eyes.

"Mosey's tenantry are droll boys; and like their landlord, more by token,
they never pay any rent."

"And what for shouldn't they vote?" said a dry-looking little old fellow in
a red waistcoat; "when I was the dead agent—"

"The dead agent!" interrupted Sir George, with a start.

"Just so," said the old fellow, pulling down his spectacles from his
forehead, and casting a half-angry look at Sir George, for what he had
suspected to be a doubt of his veracity.

"The general does not know, may be, what that is," said some one.

"You have just anticipated me," said Sir George; "I really am in most
profound ignorance."

"It is the dead agent," says Mr. Blake, "who always provides substitutes
for any voters that may have died since the last election. A very important
fact in statistics may thus be gathered from the poll-books of this county,
which proves it to be the healthiest part of Europe,—a freeholder has not
died in it for the last fifty years."

"The 'Kiltopher boys' won't come this time; they say there's no use trying
to vote when so many were transported last assizes for perjury."

"They're poor-spirited creatures," said another.

"Not they,—they are as decent boys as any we have; they're willing to
wreck the town for fifty shillings' worth of spirits. Besides, if they
don't vote for the county, they will for the borough."

This declaration seemed to restore these interesting individuals to favor;
and now all attention was turned towards Bodkin, who was detailing the plan
of a grand attack upon the polling-booths, to be headed by himself. By this
time, all the prudence and guardedness of the party had given way; whiskey
was in the ascendant, and every bold stroke of election policy, every
cunning artifice, every ingenious device, was detailed and applauded in
a manner which proved that self-respect was not the inevitable gift of
"mountain dew."

The mirth and fun grew momentarily more boisterous, and Miles Bodkin, who
had twice before been prevented proposing some toast by a telegraphic
signal from the other end of the table, now swore that nothing should
prevent him any longer, and rising with a smoking tumbler in his hand,
delivered himself as follows:—

"No, no, Phil Blake, ye needn't be winkin' at me that way; it's little I
care for the spawn of the ould serpent. [Here great cheers greeted the
speaker, in which, without well knowing why, I heartily joined.] I'm going
to give a toast, boys,—a real good toast, none of your sentimental things
about wall-flowers or the vernal equinox, or that kind of thing, but a
sensible, patriotic, manly, intrepid toast,—toast you must drink in the
most universal, laborious, and awful manner: do ye see now? [Loud cheers.]
If any man of you here present doesn't drain this toast to the bottom [here
the speaker looked fixedly at me, as did the rest of the company]—then, by
the great-gun of Athlone, I'll make him eat the decanter, glass-stopper and
all, for the good of his digestion: d'ye see now?"

The cheering at this mild determination prevented my hearing what followed;
but the peroration consisted in a very glowing eulogy upon some person
unknown, and a speedy return to him as member for Galway. Amidst all the
noise and tumult at this critical moment, nearly every eye at the table was
turned upon me; and as I concluded that they had been drinking my uncle's
health, I thundered away at the mahogany with all my energy. At length the
hip-hipping over, and comparative quiet restored, I rose from my seat to
return thanks; but, strange enough, Sir George Dashwood did so likewise.
And there we both stood, amidst an uproar that might well have shaken the
courage of more practised orators; while from every side came cries of
"Hear, hear!"—"Go on, Sir George!"—"Speak out, General!"—"Sit down,
Charley!"—"Confound the boy!"—"Knock the legs from under him!" etc. Not
understanding why Sir George should interfere with what I regarded as my
peculiar duty, I resolved not to give way, and avowed this determination in
no very equivocal terms. "In that case," said the general, "I am to suppose
that the young gentleman moves an amendment to your proposition; and as the
etiquette is in his favor, I yield." Here he resumed his place amidst a
most terrific scene of noise and tumult, while several humane proposals as
to my treatment were made around me, and a kind suggestion thrown out to
break my neck by a near neighbor. Mr. Blake at length prevailed upon the
party to hear what I had to say,—for he was certain I should not detain
them above a minute. The commotion having in some measure subsided, I
began: "Gentlemen, as the adopted son of the worthy man whose health you
have just drunk—" Heaven knows how I should have continued; but here my
eloquence was met by such a roar of laughing as I never before listened to.
From one end of the board to the other it was one continued shout, and went
on, too, as if all the spare lungs of the party had been kept in reserve
for the occasion. I turned from one to the other; I tried to smile, and
seemed to participate in the joke, but failed; I frowned; I looked savagely
about where I could see enough to turn my wrath thitherward,—and, as it
chanced, not in vain; for Mr. Miles Bodkin, with an intuitive perception of
my wishes, most suddenly ceased his mirth, and assuming a look of frowning
defiance that had done him good service upon many former occasions, rose
and said:—

"Well, sir, I hope you're proud of yourself. You've made a nice beginning
of it, and a pretty story you'll have for your uncle. But if you'd like to
break the news by a letter the general will have great pleasure in franking
it for you; for, by the rock of Cashel, we'll carry him in against all the
O'Malley's that ever cheated the sheriff."

Scarcely were the words uttered, when I seized my wineglass, and hurled it
with all my force at his head; so sudden was the act, and so true the aim,
that Mr. Bodkin measured his length upon the floor ere his friends could
appreciate his late eloquent effusion. The scene now became terrific;
for though the redoubted Miles was hors-de-combat, his friends made a
tremendous rush at, and would infallibly have succeeded in capturing me,
had not Blake and four or five others interposed. Amidst a desperate
struggle, which lasted for some minutes, I was torn from the spot, carried
bodily up-stairs, and pitched headlong into my own room; where, having
doubly locked the door on the outside, they left me to my own cool and not
over-agreeable reflections.

CHAPTER VII.

THE FLIGHT FROM GURT-NA-MORRA.

It was by one of those sudden and inexplicable revulsions which
occasionally restore to sense and intellect the maniac of years standing,
that I was no sooner left alone in my chamber than I became perfectly
sober. The fumes of the wine—and I had drunk deeply—were dissipated at
once; my head, which but a moment before was half wild with excitement, was
now cool, calm, and collected; and stranger than all, I, who had only an
hour since entered the dining-room with all the unsuspecting freshness of
boyhood, became, by a mighty bound, a man,—a man in all my feelings of
responsibility, a man who, repelling an insult by an outrage, had resolved
to stake his life upon the chance. In an instant a new era in life had
opened before me; the light-headed gayety which fearlessness and youth
impart was replaced by one absorbing thought,—one all-engrossing,
all-pervading impression, that if I did not follow up my quarrel with
Bodkin, I was dishonored and disgraced, my little knowledge of such matters
not being sufficient to assure me that I was now the aggressor, and that
any further steps in the affair should come from his side.

So thoroughly did my own griefs occupy me, that I had no thought for the
disappointment my poor uncle was destined to meet with in hearing that the
Blake interest was lost to him, and the former breach between the families
irreparably widened by the events of the evening. Escape was my first
thought; but how to accomplish it? The door, a solid one of Irish oak,
doubly locked and bolted, defied all my efforts to break it open; the
window was at least five-and-twenty feet from the ground, and not a tree
near to swing into. I shouted, I called aloud, I opened the sash, and tried
if any one outside were within hearing; but in vain. Weary and exhausted,
I sat down upon my bed and ruminated over my fortunes. Vengeance—quick,
entire, decisive vengeance—I thirsted and panted for; and every moment
I lived under the insult inflicted on me seemed an age of torturing and
maddening agony. I rose with a leap; a thought had just occurred to me.
I drew the bed towards the window, and fastening the sheet to one of the
posts with a firm knot, I twisted it into a rope, and let myself down to
within about twelve feet of the ground, when I let go my hold, and dropped
upon the grass beneath safe and uninjured. A thin, misty rain was falling,
and I now perceived, for the first time, that in my haste I had forgotten
my hat; this thought, however, gave me little uneasiness, and I took my way
towards the stable, resolving, if I could, to saddle my horse and get off
before any intimation of my escape reached the family.

When I gained the yard, all was quiet and deserted; the servants were
doubtless enjoying themselves below stairs, and I met no one on the way. I
entered the stable, threw the saddle upon "Badger," and before five minutes
from my descent from the window, was galloping towards O'Malley Castle at a
pace that defied pursuit, had any one thought of it.

It was about five o'clock on a dark, wintry morning as I led my horse
through the well-known defiles of out-houses and stables which formed the
long line of offices to my uncle's house. As yet no one was stirring; and
as I wished to have my arrival a secret from the family, after
providing for the wants of my gallant gray, I lifted the latch of the
kitchen-door—no other fastening being ever thought necessary, even at
night—and gently groped my way towards the stairs; all was perfectly
still, and the silence now recalled me to reflection as to what course I
should pursue. It was all-important that my uncle should know nothing of my
quarrel, otherwise he would inevitably make it his own, and by treating
me like a boy in the matter, give the whole affair the very turn I most
dreaded. Then, as to Sir Harry Boyle, he would most certainly turn the
whole thing into ridicule, make a good story, perhaps a song out of it, and
laugh at my notions of demanding satisfaction. Considine, I knew, was my
man; but then he was at Athlone,—at least so my uncle's letter mentioned.
Perhaps he might have returned; if not, to Athlone I should set off at
once. So resolving, I stole noiselessly up-stairs, and reached the door of
the count's chamber; I opened it gently and entered; and though my step
was almost imperceptible to myself, it was quite sufficient to alarm the
watchful occupant of the room, who, springing up in his bed, demanded
gruffly, "Who's there?"

"Charles, sir," said I, shutting the door carefully, and approaching his
bedside. "Charles O'Malley, sir. I'm come to have a bit of your advice; and
as the affair won't keep, I have been obliged to disturb you."

"Never mind, Charley," said the count; "sit down, there's a chair somewhere
near the bed,—have you found it? There! Well now, what is it? What news of
Blake?"

"Very bad; no worse. But it is not exactly that I came about; I've got
into a scrape, sir."

"Run off with one of the daughters," said Considine. "By jingo, I knew what
those artful devils would be after."

"Not so bad as that," said I, laughing. "It's just a row, a kind of
squabble; something that must come—"

"Ay, ay," said the count, brightening up; "say you so, Charley? Begad, the
young ones will beat us all out of the field. Who is it with,—not old
Blake himself; how was it? Tell me all."

I immediately detailed the whole events of the preceding chapter, as well
as his frequent interruptions would permit, and concluded by asking what
farther step was now to be taken, as I was resolved the matter should be
concluded before it came to my uncle's ears.

"There you are all right; quite correct, my boy. But there are many points
I should have wished otherwise in the conduct of the affair hitherto."

Conceiving that he was displeased at my petulance and boldness, I was about
to commence a kind of defence, when he added,—

"Because, you see," said he, assuming an oracular tone of voice, "throwing
a wine-glass, with or without wine, in a man's face is merely, as you may
observe, a mark of denial and displeasure at some observation he may have
made,—not in any wise intended to injure him, further than in the wound to
his honor at being so insulted, for which, of course, he must subsequently
call you out. Whereas, Charley, in the present case, the view I take
is different; the expression of Mr. Bodkin, as regards your uncle, was
insulting to a degree,—gratuitously offensive,—and warranting a blow.
Therefore, my boy, you should, under such circumstances, have preferred
aiming at him with a decanter: a cut-glass decanter, well aimed and low, I
have seen do effective service. However, as you remark it was your first
thing of the kind, I am pleased with you—very much pleased with you. Now,
then, for the next step." So saying, he arose from his bed, and striking a
light with a tinder-box, proceeded to dress himself as leisurely as if for
a dinner party, talking all the while.

"I will just take Godfrey's tax-cart and the roan mare on to Meelish, put
them up at the little inn,—it is not above a mile from Bodkin's; and I'll
go over and settle the thing for you. You must stay quiet till I come
back, and not leave the house on any account. I've got a case of old broad
barrels there that will answer you beautifully; if you were anything of
a shot, I'd give you my own cross handles, but they'd only spoil your
shooting."

"I can hit a wine-glass in the stem at fifteen paces," said I, rather
nettled at the disparaging tone in which he spoke of my performance.

"I don't care sixpence for that; the wine-glass had no pistol in his hand.
Take the old German, then; see now, hold your pistol thus,—no finger on
the guard there, these two on the trigger. They are not hair-triggers; drop
the muzzle a bit; bend your elbow a trifle more; sight your man outside
your arm,—outside, mind,—and take him in the hip, and if anywhere higher,
no matter."

By this time the count had completed his toilet, and taking the small
mahogany box which contained his peace-makers under his arm, led the way
towards the stables. When we reached the yard, the only person stirring
there was a kind of half-witted boy, who, being about the house, was
employed to run of messages from the servants, walk a stranger's horse, or
to do any of the many petty services that regular domestics contrive always
to devolve upon some adopted subordinate. He was seated upon a stone step
formerly used for mounting, and though the day was scarcely breaking, and
the weather severe and piercing, the poor fellow was singing an Irish song,
in a low monotonous tone, as he chafed a curb chain between his hands with
some sand. As we came near he started up, and as he pulled off his cap to
salute us, gave a sharp and piercing glance at the count, then at me,
then once more upon my companion, from whom his eyes were turned to the
brass-bound box beneath his arm,—when, as if seized with a sudden impulse,
he started on his feet, and set off towards the house with the speed of a
greyhound, not, however, before Considine's practised eye had anticipated
his plan; for throwing down the pistol-case, he dashed after him, and in an
instant had seized him by the collar.

"It won't do, Patsey," said the count; "you can't double on me."

"Oh, Count, darlin', Mister Considine avick, don't do it, don't now," said
the poor fellow, falling on his knees, and blubbering like an infant.

"Hold your tongue, you villain, or I'll cut it out of your head," said
Considine.

"And so I will; but don't do it, don't for the love of—"

"Don't do what, you whimpering scoundrel? What does he think I'll do?"

"Don't I know very well what you're after, what you're always after too?
Oh, wirra, wirra!" Here he wrung his hands, and swayed himself backwards
and forwards, a true picture of Irish grief.

"I'll stop his blubbering," said Considine, opening the box and taking out
a pistol, which he cocked leisurely, and pointed at the poor fellow's head;
"another syllable now, and I'll scatter your brains upon that pavement."

"And do, and divil thank you; sure, it's your trade."

The coolness of the reply threw us both off our guard so completely that we
burst out into a hearty fit of laughing.

"Come, come," said the count, at last, "this will never do; if he goes on
this way, we'll have the whole house about us. Come, then, harness the roan
mare; and here's half a crown for you."

"I wouldn't touch the best piece in your purse," said the poor boy; "sure
it's blood-money, no less."

The words were scarcely spoken, when Considine seized him by the collar
with one hand, and by the wrist with the other, and carried him over the
yard to the stable, where, kicking open the door, he threw him on a heap of
stones, adding, "If you stir now, I'll break every bone in your body;" a
threat that seemed certainly considerably increased in its terrors, from
the rough gripe he had already experienced, for the lad rolled himself up
like a ball, and sobbed as if his heart were breaking.

Very few minutes sufficed us now to harness the mare in the tax-cart, and
when all was ready, Considine seized the whip, and locking the stable-door
upon Patsey, was about to get up, when a sudden thought struck him.
"Charley," said he, "that fellow will find some means to give the alarm; we
must take him with us." So saying, he opened the door, and taking the poor
fellow by the collar, flung him at my feet in the tax-cart.

We had already lost some time, and the roan mare was put to her fastest
speed to make up for it. Our pace became, accordingly, a sharp one; and as
the road was bad, and the tax-cart no "patent inaudible," neither of us
spoke. To me this was a great relief. The events of the last few days had
given them the semblance of years, and all the reflection I could muster
was little enough to make anything out of the chaotic mass,—love,
mischief, and misfortune,—in which I had been involved since my leaving
O'Malley Castle.

"Here we are, Charley," said Considine, drawing up short at the door of a
little country ale-house, or, in Irish parlance, shebeen, which stood at
the meeting of four bleak roads, in a wild and barren mountain tract beside
the Shannon. "Here we are, my boy! Jump out and let us be stirring."

"Here, Patsey, my man," said the count, unravelling the prostrate and
doubly knotted figure at our feet; "lend a hand, Patsey." Much to my
astonishment, he obeyed the summons with alacrity, and proceeded to
unharness the mare with the greatest despatch. My attention was, however,
soon turned from him to my own more immediate concerns, and I followed my
companion into the house.

"Joe," said the count to the host, "is Mr. Bodkin up at the house this
morning?"

"He's just passed this way, sir, with Mr. Malowney of Tillnamuck, in the
gig, on their way from Mr. Blake's. They stopped here to order horses to go
over to O'Malley Castle, and the gossoon is gone to look for a pair."

"All right," said Considine, and added, in a whisper, "we've done it well,
Charley, to be beforehand, or the governor would have found it all out and
taken the affair into his own hands. Now all you have to do is to stay
quietly here till I come back, which will not be above an hour at farthest.
Joe, send me the pony; keep an eye on Patsey, that he doesn't play us a
trick. The short way to Mr. Bodkin's is through Scariff. Ay, I know it
well; good-by, Charley. By the Lord, we'll pepper him!"

These were the last words of the worthy count as he closed the door behind
him, and left me to my own not very agreeable reflections. Independently of
my youth and perfect ignorance of the world, which left me unable to form
any correct judgment on my conduct, I knew that I had taken a great deal
of wine, and was highly excited when my unhappy collision with Mr. Bodkin
occurred. Whether, then, I had been betrayed into anything which could
fairly have provoked his insulting retort or not, I could not remember; and
now my most afflicting thought was, what opinion might be entertained of me
by those at Blake's table; and above all, what Miss Dashwood herself would
think, and what narrative of the occurrence would reach her. The great
effort of my last few days had been to stand well in her estimation, to
appear something better in feeling, something higher in principle, than the
rude and unpolished squirearchy about me; and now here was the end of
it! What would she, what could she, think, but that I was the same
punch-drinking, rowing, quarrelling bumpkin as those whom I had so lately
been carefully endeavoring to separate myself from? How I hated myself for
the excess to which passion had betrayed me, and how I detested my opponent
as the cause of all my present misery. "How very differently," thought
I, "her friend the captain would have conducted himself. His quiet and
gentlemanly manner would have done fully as much to wipe out any insult on
his honor as I could do, and after all, would neither have disturbed the
harmony of a dinner-table, nor made himself, as I shuddered to think I
had, a subject of rebuke, if not of ridicule." These harassing, torturing
reflections continued to press on me, and I paced the room with my hands
clasped and the perspiration upon my brow. "One thing is certain,—I can
never see her again," thought I; "this disgraceful business must, in some
shape or other, become known to her, and all I have been saying these
last three days rise up in judgment against this one act, and stamp me an
impostor! I that decried—nay, derided—our false notion of honor. Would
that Considine were come! What can keep him now?" I walked to the door; a
boy belonging to the house was walking the roan before the door. "What had,
then, become of Pat?" I inquired; but no one could tell. He had disappeared
shortly after our arrival, and had not been seen afterwards. My own
thoughts were, however, too engrossing to permit me to think more of this
circumstance, and I turned again to enter the house, when I saw Considine
advancing up the road at the full speed of his pony.

"Out with the mare, Charley! Be alive, my boy!—all's settled." So saying,
he sprang from the pony and proceeded to harness the roan with the greatest
haste, informing me in broken sentences, as he went on with all the
arrangements.

"We are to cross the bridge of Portumna. They won the ground, and it seems
Bodkin likes the spot; he shot Peyton there three years ago. Worse luck
now, Charley, you know; by all the rule of chance, he can't expect the same
thing twice,—never four by honors in two deals. Didn't say that, though. A
sweet meadow, I know it well; small hillocks, like molehills; all over it.
Caught him at breakfast; I don't think he expected the message to come from
us, but said it was a very polite attention,—and so it was, you know."

So he continued to ramble on as we once more took our seats in the tax-cart
and set out for the ground.

"What are you thinking of, Charley?" said the count, as I kept silent for
some minutes.

"I'm thinking, sir, if I were to kill him, what I must do after."

"Right, my boy; nothing like that, but I'll settle all for you. Upon my
conscience, if it wasn't for the chance of his getting into another quarrel
and spoiling the election, I'd go back for Godfrey; he'd like to see you
break ground so prettily. And you say you're no shot?"

"Never could do anything with the pistol to speak of, sir," said I,
remembering his rebuke of the morning.

"I don't mind that. You've a good eye; never take it off him after you're
on the ground,—follow him everywhere. Poor Callaghan, that's gone, shot
his man always that way. He had a way of looking without winking that was
very fatal at a short distance; a very good thing to learn, Charley, when
you have a little spare time."

Half-an-hour's sharp driving brought us to the river side, where a boat
had been provided by Considine to ferry us over. It was now about eight
o'clock, and a heavy, gloomy morning. Much rain had fallen overnight, and
the dark and lowering atmosphere seemed charged with more. The mountains
looked twice their real size, and all the shadows were increased to
an enormous extent. A very killing kind of light it was, as the count
remarked.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE DUEL.

As the boatmen pulled in towards the shore we perceived, a few hundred
yards off, a group of persons standing, whom we soon recognized as our
opponents. "Charley," said the count, grasping my arm tightly, as I stood
up to spring on the land,—"Charley, although you are only a boy, as I may
say, I have no fear for your courage; but still more than that is needful
here. This Bodkin is a noted duellist, and will try to shake your nerve.
Now, mind that you take everything that happens quite with an air of
indifference; don't let him think that he has any advantage over you, and
you'll see how the tables will be turned in your favor."

"Trust to me, Count" said I; "I'll not disgrace you."

He pressed my hand tightly, and I thought that I discerned something like
a slight twitch about the corners of his grim mouth, as if some sudden and
painful thought had shot across his mind; but in a moment he was calm, and
stern-looking as ever.

"Twenty minutes late, Mr. Considine," said a short, red-faced little
man, with a military frock and foraging cap, as he held out his watch in
evidence.

"I can only say, Captain Malowney, that we lost no time since we parted. We
had some difficulty in finding a boat; but in any case, we are here now,
and that, I opine, is the important part of the matter."

"Quite right,—very just indeed. Will you present me to your young friend.
Very proud to make your acquaintance, sir; your uncle and I met more than
once in this kind of way. I was out with him in '92,—was it? no, I think
it was '93,—when he shot Harry Burgoyne, who, by-the-bye, was called the
crack shot of our mess; but, begad, your uncle knocked his pistol hand to
shivers, saying, in his dry way, 'He must try the left hand this morning.'
Count, a little this side, if you please."

While Considine and the captain walked a few paces apart from where I
stood, I had leisure to observe my antagonist, who stood among a group of
his friends, talking and laughing away in great spirits. As the tone they
spoke in was not of the lowest, I could catch much of their conversation at
the distance I was from them. They were discussing the last occasion that
Bodkin had visited this spot, and talking of the fatal event which happened
then.

"Poor devil," said Bodkin, "it wasn't his fault; but you see some of the
—th had been showing white feathers before that, and he was obliged to go
out. In fact, the colonel himself said, 'Fight, or leave the corps.' Well,
out he came; it was a cold morning in February, with a frost the night
before going off in a thin rain. Well, it seems he had the consumption or
something of that sort, with a great cough and spitting of blood, and this
weather made him worse; and he was very weak when he came to the ground.
Now, the moment I got a glimpse of him, I said to myself, 'He's pluck
enough, but as nervous as a lady;' for his eye wandered all about, and his
mouth was constantly twitching. 'Take off your great-coat, Ned,' said one
of his people, when they were going to put him up; 'take it off, man.' He
seemed to hesitate for an instant, when Michael Blake remarked, 'Arrah, let
him alone; it's his mother makes him wear it, for the cold he has.' They
all began to laugh at this; but I kept my eye upon him, and I saw that his
cheek grew quite livid and a kind of gray color, and his eyes filled up. 'I
have you now,' said I to myself, and I shot him through the lung."

"And this poor fellow," thought I, "was the only son of a widowed mother."
I walked from the spot to avoid hearing further, and felt, as I did so,
something like a spirit of vengeance rising within me, for the fate of one
so untimely cut off.

"Here we are, all ready," said Malowney, springing over a small fence into
the adjoining field. "Take your ground, gentlemen."

Considine took my arm and walked forward. "Charley," said he, "I am to give
the signal; I'll drop my glove when you are to fire, but don't look at me
at all. I'll manage to catch Bodkin's eye; and do you watch him steadily,
and fire when he does."

"I think that the ground we are leaving behind us is rather better," said
some one.

"So it is," said Bodkin; "but it might be troublesome to carry the young
gentleman down that way,—here all is fair and easy."

The next instant we were placed; and I well remember the first thought that
struck me was, that there could be no chance of either of us escaping.

"Now then," said the count, "I'll walk twelve paces, turn and drop this
glove; at which signal you fire, and together mind. The man who reserves
his shot falls by my hand." This very summary denunciation seemed to meet
general approbation, and the count strutted forth. Notwithstanding the
advice of my friend, I could not help turning my eyes from Bodkin to watch
the retiring figure of the count. At length he stopped; a second or two
elapsed; he wheeled rapidly round, and let fall the glove. My eye glanced
towards my opponent; I raised my pistol and fired. My hat turned half round
upon my head, and Bodkin fell motionless to the earth. I saw the people
around me rush forward; I caught two or three glances thrown at me with an
expression of revengeful passion; I felt some one grasp me round the waist,
and hurry me from the spot; and it was at least ten minutes after, as we
were skimming the surface of the broad Shannon, before I could well collect
my scattered faculties to remember all that was passing, as Considine,
pointing to the two bullet-holes in my hat, remarked, "Sharp practice,
Charley; it was the overcharge saved you."

"Is he killed, sir?" I asked.

"Not quite, I believe, but as good. You took him just above the hip."

"Can he recover?" said I, with a voice tremulous from agitation, which I
vainly endeavored to conceal from my companion.

"Not if the doctor can help it," said Considine; "for the fool keeps poking
about for the ball. But now let's think of the next step,—you'll have to
leave this, and at once, too."

Little more passed between us. As we rowed towards the shore, Considine
was following up his reflections, and I had mine,—alas! too many and too
bitter to escape from.

As we neared the land a strange spectacle caught our eye. For a
considerable distance along the coast crowds of country people were
assembled, who, forming in groups and breaking into parties of two and
three, were evidently watching with great anxiety what was taking place at
the opposite side. Now, the distance was at least a mile, and therefore any
part of the transaction which had been enacting there must have been quite
beyond their view. While I was wondering at this, Considine cried out
suddenly, "Too infamous, by Jove! We're murdered men!"

"What do you mean?" said I.

"Don't you see that?" said he, pointing to something black which floated
from a pole at the opposite side of the river.

"Yes; what is it?"

"It's his coat they've put upon an oar to show the people he's
killed,—that's all. Every man here's his tenant; and look—there! They're
not giving us much doubt as to their intention."

Here a tremendous yell burst forth from the mass of people along the shore,
which rising to a terrific cry sunk gradually down to a low wailing, then
rose and fell again several times as the Irish death-cry filled the air and
rose to Heaven, as if imploring vengeance on a murderer.

The appalling influence of the keen, as it is called, had been familiar
to me from my infancy; but it needed the awful situation I was placed in to
consummate its horrors. It was at once my accusation and my doom. I knew
well—none better—the vengeful character of the Irish peasant of the west,
and that my death was certain I had no doubt. The very crime that sat upon
my heart quailed its courage and unnerved my arm. As the boatmen
looked from us towards the shore and again at our faces, they, as if
instinctively, lay upon their oars, and waited for our decision as to what
course to pursue.

"Rig the spritsail, my boys," said Considine, "and let her head lie up the
river; and be alive, for I see they're bailing a boat below the little reef
there, and will be after us in no time."

The poor fellows, who, although strangers to us, sympathizing in what they
perceived to be our imminent danger, stepped the light spar which acted
as mast, and shook out their scanty rag of canvas in a minute. Considine
meanwhile went aft, and steadying her head with an oar, held the small
craft up to the wind till she lay completely over, and as she rushed
through the water, ran dipping her gun-wale through the white foam.

"Where can we make without tacking, boys?" inquired the count.

"If it blows on as fresh, sir, we'll run you ashore within half a mile of
the Castle."

"Put an oar to leeward," said Considine, "and keep her up more to the wind,
and I promise you, my lads, you will not go home fresh and fasting if you
land us where you say."

"Here they come," said the other boatman, as he pointed back with his
finger towards a large yawl which shot suddenly from the shore, with six
sturdy fellows pulling at their oars, while three or four others were
endeavoring to get up their rigging, which appeared tangled and confused at
the bottom of the boat; the white splash of water which fell each moment
beside her showing that the process of bailing was still continued.

"Ah, then, may I never—av it isn't the ould 'Dolphin' they have launched
for the cruise," said one of our fellows.

"What's the 'Dolphin,' then?"

"An ould boat of the Lord's [Lord Clanricarde's] that didn't see water,
except when it rained, these four years, and is sun-cracked from stem to
stern."

"She can sail, however," said Considine, who watched with a painful anxiety
the rapidity of her course through the water.

"Nabocklish, she was a smuggler's jolly-boat, and well used to it. Look
how they're pulling. God pardon them, but they're in no blessed humor this
morning."

"Lay out upon your oars, boys; the wind's failing us," cried the count, as
the sail flapped lazily against the mast.

"It's no use, yer honor," said the elder. "We'll be only breaking our
hearts to no purpose. They're sure to catch us."

"Do as I bade you, at all events. What's that ahead of us there?"

"The Oat Rock, sir. A vessel with grain struck there and went down with
all aboard, four years last winter. There's no channel between it and the
shore,—all sunk rocks, every inch of it. There's the breeze."

The canvas fell over as he spoke, and the little craft lay down to it till
the foaming water bubbled over her lee bow.

"Keep her head up, sir; higher—higher still."

But Considine little heeded the direction, steering straight for the narrow
channel the man alluded to.

"Tear and ages, but you're going right for the cloch na quirka!"

"Arrah, an' the devil a taste I'll be drowned for your devarsion!" said the
other, springing up.

"Sit down there, and be still," roared Considine, as he drew a pistol from
the case at his feet, "if you don't want some leaden ballast to keep you
so! Here, Charley, take this, and if that fellow stirs hand or foot—you
understand me."

The two men sat sulkily in the bottom of the boat, which now was actually
flying through the water. Considine's object was a clear one. He saw that
in sailing we were greatly overmatched, and that our only chance lay in
reaching the narrow and dangerous channel between Oat Rock and the shore,
by which we should distance the pursuit, the long reef of rocks that ran
out beyond requiring a wide berth to escape from. Nothing but the danger
behind us could warrant so rash a daring. The whole channel was dotted with
patches of white and breaking foam,—the sure evidence of the mischief
beneath,—while here and there a dash of spurting spray flew up from the
dark water, where some cleft rock lay hid below the flood. Escape seemed
impossible; but who would not have preferred even so slender a chance with
so frightful an alternative behind him? As if to add terror to the scene,
Considine had scarcely turned the boat ahead of the channel when a
tremendous blackness spread over all around, the thunder pealed forth, and
amidst the crashing of the hail and the bright glare of lightning a squall
struck us and laid us nearly keel uppermost for several minutes. I well
remember we rushed through the dark and blackened water, our little craft
more than half filled, the oars floating off to leeward, and we ourselves
kneeling on the bottom planks for safety. Roll after roll of loud thunder
broke, as it were, just above our heads; while in the swift dashing rain
that seemed to hiss around us every object was hidden, and even the other
boat was lost to our view. The two poor fellows—I shall never forget their
expression. One, a devout Catholic, had placed a little leaden image of a
saint before him in the bow, and implored its intercession with a torturing
agony of suspense that wrung my very heart. The other, apparently less
alive to such consolations as his Church afforded, remained with his hands
clasped, his mouth compressed, his brows knitted, and his dark eyes bent
upon me with the fierce hatred of a deadly enemy; his eyes were sunken and
bloodshot, and all told of some dreadful conflict within. The wild ferocity
of his look fascinated my gaze, and amidst all the terrors of the scene I
could not look from him. As I gazed, a second and more awful squall struck
the boat; the mast went over, and with a loud report like a pistol-shot
smashed at the thwart and fell over, trailing the sail along the milky sea
behind us. Meanwhile the water rushed clean over us, and the boat seemed
settling. At this dreadful moment the sailor's eye was bent upon me, his
lips parted, and he muttered, as if to himself, "This it is to go to sea
with a murderer." Oh, God! the agony of that moment! the heartfelt and
accusing conscience that I was judged and doomed! that the brand of Cain
was upon my brow! that my fellow-men had ceased forever to regard me as a
brother! that I was an outcast and a wanderer forever! I bent forward till
my forehead fell upon my knees, and I wept. Meanwhile the boat flew through
the water, and Considine, who alone among us seemed not to lose his
presence of mind, cut away the mast and sent it overboard. The storm began
now to abate; and as the black mass of cloud broke from around us we beheld
the other boat, also dismasted, far behind us, while all on board of
her were employed in bailing out the water with which she seemed almost
sinking. The curtain of mist that had hidden us from each other no sooner
broke than they ceased their labors for a moment, and looking towards us,
burst forth into a yell so wild, so savage, so dreadful, my very heart
quailed as its cadence fell upon my ear.

"Safe, my boy," said Considine, clapping me on the shoulder, as he steered
the boat forth from its narrow path of danger, and once more reached the
broad Shannon,—"safe, Charley; though we've had a brush for it." In a
minute more we reached the land, and drawing our gallant little craft on
shore, set out for O'Malley Castle.

CHAPTER IX.

THE RETURN.

O'Malley Castle lay about four miles from the spot we landed at, and
thither accordingly we bent our steps without loss of time. We had not,
however, proceeded far, when, before us on the road, we perceived a mixed
assemblage of horse and foot, hurrying along at a tremendous rate. The mob,
which consisted of some hundred country people, were armed with sticks,
scythes, and pitchforks, and although not preserving any very military
aspect in their order of march, were still a force quite formidable enough
to make us call a halt, and deliberate upon what we were to do.

"They've outflanked us, Charley," said Considine; "however, all is not yet
lost. But see, they've got sight of us; here they come."

At these words, the vast mass before us came pouring along, splashing the
mud on every side, and huzzaing like so many Indians. In the front ran a
bare-legged boy, waving his cap to encourage the rest, who followed him at
about fifty yards behind.

"Leave that fellow for me," said the count, coolly examining the lock of
his pistol; "I'll pick him out, and load again in time for his friends'
arrival. Charley, is that a gentleman I see far back in the crowd? Yes,
to be sure it is? He's on a large horse—now he's pressing forward; so
let—no—oh—ay, it's Godfrey O'Malley himself, and these are our own
people." Scarcely were the words out when a tremendous cheer arose from
the multitude, who, recognizing us at the same instant, sprang from their
horses and ran forward to welcome us. Among the foremost was the scarecrow
leader, whom I at once perceived as poor Patsey, who, escaping in the
morning, had returned at full speed to O'Malley Castle, and raised the
whole country to my rescue. Before I could address one word to my faithful
followers I was in my uncle's arms.

"Safe, my boy, quite safe?"

"Quite safe, sir."

"No scratch anywhere?"

"Nothing but a hat the worse, sir," said I, showing the two bullet-holes in
my headpiece.

His lip quivered as he turned and whispered something into Considine's ear,
which I heard not; but the count's reply was, "Devil a bit, as cool as you
see him this minute."

"And Bodkin, what of him?"

"This day's work's his last," said Considine; "the ball entered here. But
come along, Godfrey; Charley's new at this kind of thing, and we had better
discuss matters in the house."

Half-an-hour's brisk trot—for we were soon supplied with horses—brought
us back to the Castle, much to the disappointment of our cortege, who had
been promised a scrimmage, and went back in very ill-humor at the breach
of contract.

The breakfast-room, as we entered, was filled with my uncle's supporters,
all busily engaged over poll-books and booth tallies, in preparation for
the eventful day of battle. These, however, were immediately thrown aside
to hasten round me and inquire all the details of my duel. Considine,
happily for me, however, assumed all the dignity of an historian, and
recounted the events of the morning so much to my honor and glory, that I,
who only a little before felt crushed and bowed down by the misery of my
late duel, began, amidst the warm congratulations and eulogiums about me,
to think I was no small hero, and in fact, something very much resembling
"the man for Galway." To this feeling a circumstance that followed assisted
in contributing. While we were eagerly discussing the various results
likely to arise from the meeting, a horse galloped rapidly to the door and
a loud voice called out, "I can't get off, but tell him to come here." We
rushed out and beheld Captain Malowney, Mr. Bodkin's second, covered with
mud from head to foot, and his horse reeking with foam and sweat. "I am
hurrying on to Athlone for another doctor; but I've called to tell you
that the wound is not supposed to be mortal,—he may recover yet." Without
waiting for another word, he dashed spurs into his nag and rattled down the
avenue at full gallop. Mr. Bodkin's dearest friend on earth could not have
received the intelligence with more delight; and I now began to listen to
the congratulations of my friends with a more tranquil spirit. My uncle,
too, seemed much relieved by the information, and heard with great good
temper my narrative of the few days at Gurt-na-Morra. "So then," said he,
as I concluded, "my opponent is at least a gentleman; that is a comfort."

"Sir George Dashwood," said I, "from all I have seen, is a remarkably nice
person, and I am certain you will meet with only the fair and legitimate
opposition of an opposing candidate in him,—no mean or unmanly
subterfuge."

"All right, Charley. Well, now, your affair of this morning must keep you
quiet for a few days, come what will; by Monday next, when the election
takes place, Bodkin's fate will be pretty clear, one way or the other, and
if matters go well, you can come into town; otherwise, I have arranged with
Considine to take you over to the Continent for a year or so; but we'll
discuss all this in the evening. Now I must start on a canvass. Boyle
expects to meet you at dinner to-day; he is coming from Athlone on purpose.
Now, good-by!"

When my uncle had gone, I sank into a chair and fell into a musing fit over
all the changes a few hours had wrought in me. From a mere boy whose most
serious employment was stocking the house with game or inspecting the
kennel, I had sprung at once into man's estate, was complimented for my
coolness, praised for my prowess, lauded for my discretion, by those
who were my seniors by nearly half a century; talked to in a tone of
confidential intimacy by my uncle, and, in a word, treated in all respects
as an equal,—and such was all the work of a few hours. But so it is; the
eras in life are separated by a narrow boundary,—some trifling accident,
some casual rencontre impels us across the Rubicon, and we pass from
infancy to youth, from youth to manhood, from manhood to age, less by
the slow and imperceptible step of time than by some one decisive act
or passion which, occurring at a critical moment, elicits a long latent
feeling, and impresses our existence with a color that tinges us for many
a long year. As for me, I had cut the tie which bound me to the careless
gayety of boyhood with a rude gash. In three short days I had fallen
deeply, desperately in love, and had wounded, if not killed, an antagonist
in a duel. As I meditated on these things, I was aroused by the noise of
horses' feet in the yard beneath. I opened the window and beheld no less a
person than Captain Hammersley. He was handing a card to a servant, which
he was accompanying by a verbal message; the impression of something like
hostility on the part of the captain had never left my mind, and I hastened
down-stairs just in time to catch him as he turned from the door.

"Ah, Mr. O'Malley!" said he, in a most courteous tone. "They told me you
were not at home."

I apologized for the blunder, and begged of him to alight and come in.

"I thank you very much, but, in fact, my hours are now numbered here. I
have just received an order to join my regiment; we have been ordered for
service, and Sir George has most kindly permitted my giving up my staff
appointment. I could not, however, leave the country without shaking hands
with you. I owe you a lesson in horsemanship, and I'm only sorry that we
are not to have another day together."

"Then you are going out to the Peninsula?" said I.

"Why, we hope so; the commander-in-chief, they say, is in great want of
cavalry, and we scarcely less in want of something to do. I'm sorry you are
not coming with us."

"Would to Heaven I were!" said I, with an earnestness that almost made my
brain start.

"Then, why not?"

"Unfortunately, I am peculiarly situated. My worthy uncle, who is all to me
in this world, would be quite alone if I were to leave him; and although he
has never said so, I know he dreads the possibility of my suggesting such
a thing to him: so that, between his fears and mine, the matter is never
broached by either party, nor do I think ever can be."

"Devilish hard—but I believe you are right; something, however, may turn
up yet to alter his mind, and if so, and if you do take to dragooning,
don't forget George Hammersley will be always most delighted to meet you;
and so good-by, O'Malley, good-by."

He turned his horse's head and was already some paces off, when he returned
to my side, and in a lower tone of voice said,—

"I ought to mention to you that there has been much discussion on your
affair at Blake's table, and only one opinion on the matter among all
parties,—that you acted perfectly right. Sir George Dashwood,—no mean
judge of such things,—quite approves of your conduct, and, I believe,
wishes you to know as much; and now, once more, good-by."

CHAPTER X.

THE ELECTION.

The important morning at length arrived, and as I looked from my bed-room
window at daybreak, the crowd of carriages of all sorts and shapes
decorated with banners and placards; the incessant bustle; the hurrying
hither and thither; the cheering as each new detachment of voters came up,
mounted on jaunting-cars, or on horses whose whole caparison consisted in
a straw rope for a bridle, and a saddle of the same frail material,—all
informed me that the election day was come. I lost no further time, but
proceeded to dress with all possible despatch. When I appeared in the
breakfast-room, it was already filled with some seventy or eighty persons
of all ranks and ages, mingled confusedly together, and enjoying the
hospitable fare of my uncle's house, while they discussed all the details
and prospects of the election. In the hall, the library, the large
drawing-room, too, similar parties were also assembled, and as newcomers
arrived, the servants were busy in preparing tables before the door and up
the large terrace that ran the entire length of the building. Nothing could
be more amusing than the incongruous mixture of the guests, who, with every
variety of eatable that chance or inclination provided, were thus thrown
into close contact, having only this in common,—the success of the cause
they were engaged in. Here was the old Galway squire, with an ancestry that
reached to Noah, sitting side by side with the poor cotter, whose whole
earthly possession was what, in Irish phrase, is called a "potato
garden,"—meaning the exactly smallest possible patch of ground out of
which a very Indian-rubber conscience could presume to vote. Here sat the
old simple-minded, farmer-like man, in close conversation with a little
white-foreheaded, keen-eyed personage, in a black coat and eye-glass,—a
flash attorney from Dublin, learned in flaws of the registry, and deep in
the subtleties of election law. There was an Athlone horse-dealer, whose
habitual daily practices in imposing the halt, the lame, and the blind upon
the unsuspecting, for beasts of blood and mettle, well qualified him for
the trickery of a county contest. Then there were scores of squireen
gentry, easily recognized on common occasions by a green coat, brass
buttons, dirty cords, and dirtier top-boots, a lash-whip, and a half-bred
fox-hound; but now, fresh-washed for the day, they presented something the
appearance of a swell mob, adjusted to the meridian of Galway. A mass of
frieze-coated, brow-faced, bullet-headed peasantry filled up the large
spaces, dotted here and there with a sleek, roguish-eyed priest, or some
low electioneering agent detailing, for the amusement of the company, some
of those cunning practices of former times which if known to the proper
authorities would in all likelihood cause the talented narrator to be
improving the soil of Sidney, or fishing on the banks of the Swan river;
while at the head and foot of each table sat some personal friend of my
uncle, whose ready tongue, and still readier pistol, made him a personage
of some consequence, not more to his own people than to the enemy. While of
such material were the company, the fare before them was no less varied:
here some rubicund squire was deep in amalgamating the contents of a
venison pasty with some of Sneyd's oldest claret; his neighbor, less
ambitious, and less erudite in such matters, was devouring rashers of
bacon, with liberal potations of potteen; some pale-cheeked scion of the
law, with all the dust of the Four Courts in his throat, was sipping
his humble beverage of black tea beside four sturdy cattle-dealers from
Ballinasloe, who were discussing hot whiskey punch and spoleaion (boiled
beef) at the very primitive hour of eight in the morning. Amidst the clank
of decanters, the crash of knives and plates, and the jingling of glasses,
the laughter and voices of the guests were audibly increasing; and the
various modes of "running a buck" (Anglicé, substituting a vote), or
hunting a badger, were talked over on all sides, while the price of a
veal (a calf), or a voter, was disputed with all the energy of debate.

Refusing many an offered place, I went through the different rooms in
search of Considine, to whom circumstances of late had somehow greatly
attached me.

"Here, Charley," cried a voice I was very familiar with,—"here's a place
I've been keeping for you."

"Ah, Sir Harry, how do you do? Any of that grouse-pie to spare?"

"Abundance, my boy; but I'm afraid I can't say as much for the liquor.
I have been shouting for claret this half-hour in vain,—do get us some
nutriment down here, and the Lord will reward you. What a pity it is," he
added, in a lower tone, to his neighbor—"what a pity a quart-bottle won't
hold a quart; but I'll bring it before the House one of these days." That
he kept his word in this respect, a motion on the books of the Honorable
House will bear me witness.

"Is this it?" said he, turning towards a farmer-like old man, who had put
some question to him across the table; "is it the apple-pie you'll have?"

"Many thanks to your honor,—I'd like it, av it was wholesome."

"And why shouldn't it be wholesome?" said Sir Harry.

"Troth, then, myself does not know; but my father, I heerd tell, died of an
apple-plexy, and I'm afeerd of it."

I at length found Considine, and learned that, as a very good account of
Bodkin had arrived, there was no reason why I should not proceed to the
hustings; but I was secretly charged not to take any prominent part in the
day's proceedings. My uncle I only saw for an instant,—he begged me to
be careful, avoid all scrapes, and not to quit Considine. It was past ten
o'clock when our formidable procession got under way, and headed towards
the town of Galway. The road was, for miles, crowded with our followers;
banners flying and music playing, we presented something of the spectacle
of a very ragged army on its march. At every cross-road a mountain-path
reinforcement awaited us, and as we wended along, our numbers were
momentarily increasing; here and there along the line, some energetic
and not over-sober adherent was regaling his auditory with a speech in
laudation of the O'Malleys since the days of Moses, and more than one
priest was heard threatening the terrors of his Church in aid of a cause
to whose success he was pledged and bound. I rode beside the count, who,
surrounded by a group of choice spirits, recounted the various happy
inventions by which he had, on divers occasions, substituted a personal
quarrel for a contest. Boyle also contributed his share of election
anecdote, and one incident he related, which, I remember, amused me much at
the time.

[THE ELECTION.]

"Do you remember Billy Calvert, that came down to contest Kilkenny?"
inquired Sir Harry.

"What, ever forget him!" said Considine, "with his well-powdered wig and
his hessians. There never was his equal for lace ruffles and rings."

"You never heard, may be, how he lost the election?"

"He resigned, I believe, or something of that sort."

"No, no," said another; "he never came forward at all. There's some secret
in it; for Tom Butler was elected without a contest."

"Jack, I'll tell you how it happened. I was on my way up from Cork, having
finished my own business, and just carried the day, not without a push for
it. When we reached,—Lady Mary was with me,—when we reached Kilkenny, the
night before the election, I was not ten minutes in town till Butler
heard of it, and sent off express to see me; I was at my dinner when the
messenger came, and promised to go over when I'd done. But faith, Tom
didn't wait, but came rushing up-stairs himself, and dashed into the room
in the greatest hurry.

"'Harry,' says he, 'I'm done for; the corporation of free smiths, that were
always above bribery, having voted for myself and my father before, for
four pounds ten a man, won't come forward under six guineas and whiskey.
Calvert has the money; they know it. The devil a farthing we have; and
we've been paying all our fellows that can't read in Hennesy's notes, and
you know the bank's broke this three weeks.'

"On he went, giving me a most disastrous picture of his cause, and
concluded by asking if I could suggest anything under the circumstances.

"'You couldn't get a decent mob and clear the poll?'

"'I am afraid not,' said he, despondingly.

"'Then I don't see what's to be done, if you can't pick a fight with
himself. Will he go out?'

"'Lord knows! They say he's so afraid of that, that it has prevented him
coming down till the very day. But he is arrived now; he came in the
evening, and is stopping at Walsh's in Patrick Street.'

"'Then I'll see what can be done,' said I.

"'Is that Calvert, the little man that blushes when the Lady-Lieutenant
speaks to him?' said Lady Mary.

"'The very man.'

"'Would it be of any use to you if he could not come on the hustings
to-morrow?' said she, again.

"''Twould gain us the day. Half the voters don't believe he's here at all,
and his chief agent cheated all the people on the last election; and if
Calvert didn't appear, he wouldn't have ten votes to register. But why do
you ask?'

"'Why, that, if you like, I'll bet you a pair of diamond ear-rings he
sha'n't show.'

"'Done!' said Butler. 'And I promise a necklace into the bargain, if you
win; but I'm afraid you're only quizzing me.'

"'Here's my hand on it,' said she. 'And now let's talk of something else.'"

As Lady Mary never asked my assistance, and as I knew she was very well
able to perform whatever she undertook, you may be sure I gave myself very
little trouble about the whole affair; and when they came, I went off to
breakfast with Tom's committee, not knowing anything that was to be done.

Calvert had given orders that he was to be called at eight o'clock, and so
a few minutes before that time a gentle knock came to the door.

'Come in,' said he, thinking it was the waiter, and covering himself up in
the clothes; for he was the most bashful creature ever was seen,—'come
in.'

The door opened, and what was his horror to find that a lady entered in her
dressing-gown, her hair on her shoulders, very much tossed and dishevelled.
The moment she came in, she closed the door and locked it, and then sat
leisurely down upon a chair.

Billy's teeth chattered, and his limbs trembled; for this was an adventure
of a very novel kind for him. At last he took courage to speak.

'I am afraid, madam,' said he, 'that you are under some unhappy mistake,
and that you suppose this chamber is—'

'Mr. Calvert's,' said the lady, with a solemn voice, 'is it not?'

'Yes, madam, I am that person.'

'Thank God!' said the lady, with a very impressive tone. 'Here I am safe.'

Billy grew very much puzzled at these words; but hoping that by his silence
the lady would proceed to some explanation, he said no more. She, however,
seemed to think that nothing further was necessary, and sat still and
motionless, with her hands before her and her eyes fixed on Billy.

"'You seem to forget me, sir?' said she, with a faint smile.

"'I do, indeed, madam; the half-light, the novelty of your costume, and the
strangeness of the circumstance altogether must plead for me, if I appear
rude enough.'

"'I am Lady Mary Boyle,' said she.

"'I do remember you, madam; but may I ask—'

"'Yes, yes; I know what you would ask. You would say, Why are you here? How
comes it that you have so far outstepped the propriety of which your whole
life is an example, that alone, at such a time, you appear in the chamber
of a man whose character for gallantry—'

"'Oh, indeed—indeed, my lady, nothing of the kind!'

"'Ah, alas! poor defenceless women learn, too late, how constantly
associated is the retiring modesty which decries, with the pleasing powers
which ensure success—'

"Here she sobbed, Billy blushed, and the clock struck nine.

"'May I then beg, madam—'

"'Yes, yes, you shall hear it all; but my poor scattered faculties will
not be the clearer by your hurrying me. You know, perhaps,' continued
she, 'that my maiden name was Rogers?' He of the blankets bowed, and she
resumed, 'It is now eighteen years since, that a young, unsuspecting, fond
creature, reared in all the care and fondness of doting parents, tempted
her first step in life, and trusted her fate to another's keeping. I am
that unhappy person; the other, that monster in human guise that smiled but
to betray, that won but to ruin and destroy, is he whom you know as Sir
Harry Boyle.'

"Here she sobbed for some minutes, wiped her eyes, and resumed her
narrative. Beginning at the period of her marriage, she detailed a number
of circumstances in which poor Calvert, in all his anxiety to come au
fond at matters, could never perceive bore upon the question in any way;
but as she recounted them all with great force and precision, entreating
him to bear in mind certain circumstances to which she should recur by and
by, his attention was kept on the stretch, and it was only when the clock
struck ten that he was fully aware how his morning was passing, and what
surmises his absence might originate.

"'May I interrupt you for a moment, dear madam? Was it nine or ten o'clock
which struck last?'

"'How should I know?' said she, frantically. 'What are hours and minutes to
her who has passed long years of misery?'

"'Very true, very true,' replied he, timidly, and rather fearing for the
intellect of his fair companion.

She continued. The narrative, however, so far from becoming clearer, grew
gradually more confused and intricate; and as frequent references were made
by the lady to some previous statement, Calvert was more than once rebuked
for forgetfulness and inattention, where in reality nothing less than
short-hand could have borne him through.

"'Was it in '93 I said that Sir Harry left me at Tuam?'

"'Upon my life, madam, I am afraid to aver; but it strikes me—'

"'Gracious powers! and this is he whom I fondly trusted to make the
depository of my woes! Cruel, cruel man!'

"Here she sobbed considerably for several minutes, and spoke not. A loud
cheer of 'Butler forever!' from the mob without now burst upon their
hearing, and recalled poor Calvert at once to the thought that the hours
were speeding fast and no prospect of the everlasting tale coming to an
end.

"'I am deeply, most deeply grieved, my dear madam,' said the little man,
sitting up in a pyramid of blankets; 'but hours, minutes, are most precious
to me this morning. I am about to be proposed as member for Kilkenny.'

"At these words the lady straightened her figure out, threw her arms at
either side, and burst into a fit of laughter which poor Calvert knew
at once to be hysterics. Here was a pretty situation! The bell-rope lay
against the opposite wall; and even if it did not, would he be exactly
warranted in pulling it?

"'May the devil and all his angels take Sir Harry Boyle and his whole
connection to the fifth generation!' was his sincere prayer as he sat like
a Chinese juggler under his canopy.

"At length the violence of the paroxysm seemed to subside; the sobs became
less frequent, the kicking less forcible, and the lady's eyes closed, and
she appeared to have fallen asleep.

"'Now is the moment,' said Billy. 'If I could only get as far as my
dressing-gown.' So saying, he worked himself down noiselessly to the foot
of his bed, looked fixedly at the fallen lids of the sleeping lady, and
essayed one leg from the blanket. 'Now or never,' said he, pushing aside
the curtain and preparing for a spring. One more look he cast at his
companion, and then leaped forth; but just as he lit upon the floor she
again roused herself, screaming with horror. Billy fell upon the bed, and
rolling himself in the bedclothes, vowed never to rise again till she was
out of the visible horizon.

"'What is all this? What do you mean, sir?' said the lady, reddening with
indignation.

"'Nothing, upon my soul, madam; it was only my dressing-gown.'

"'Your dressing-gown!' said she, with an emphasis worthy of Siddons; 'a
likely story for Sir Harry to believe, sir! Fie, fie, sir!'

"This last allusion seemed a settler; for the luckless Calvert heaved a
profound sigh, and sunk down as if all hope had left him. 'Butler forever!'
roared the mob. 'Calvert forever!' cried a boy's voice from without. 'Three
groans for the runaway!' answered this announcement; and a very tender
inquiry of, 'Where is he?' was raised by some hundred mouths.

"'Madam,' said the almost frantic listener,—'madam, I must get up! I must
dress! I beg of you to permit me!'

"'I have nothing to refuse, sir. Alas, disdain has long been my only
portion! Get up, if you will.'

"'But,' said the astonished man, who was well-nigh deranged at the coolness
of this reply,—'but how am I to do so if you sit there?'

"'Sorry for any inconvenience I may cause you; but in the crowded state of
the hotel I hope you see the impropriety of my walking about the passages
in this costume?'

"'And, great God! madam, why did you come out in it?'

"A cheer from the mob prevented her reply being audible. One o'clock tolled
out from the great bell of the cathedral.

"'There's one o'clock, as I live!'

"'I heard it,' said the lady.

"'The shouts are increasing. What is that I hear? "Butler is in!" Gracious
mercy! is the election over?'

"The lady stepped to the window, drew aside the curtain, and said, 'Indeed,
it would appear so. The mob are cheering Mr. Butler.' A deafening shout
burst from the street. 'Perhaps you'd like to see the fun, so I'll not
detain you any longer. So, good-by, Mr. Calvert; and as your breakfast will
be cold, in all likelihood, come down to No. 4, for Sir Harry's a late man,
and will be glad to see you.'"

CHAPTER XI.

AN ADVENTURE.

As thus we lightened the road with chatting, the increasing concourse of
people, and the greater throng of carriages that filled the road, announced
that we had nearly reached our destination.

"Considine," said my uncle, riding up to where we were, "I have just got a
few lines from Davern. It seems Bodkin's people are afraid to come in; they
know what they must expect, and if so, more than half of that barony is
lost to our opponent."

"Then he has no chance whatever."

"He never had, in my opinion," said Sir Harry.

"We'll see soon," said my uncle, cheerfully, and rode to the post.

The remainder of the way was occupied in discussing the various
possibilities of the election, into which I was rejoiced to find that
defeat never entered.

In the goodly days I speak of, a county contest was a very different thing
indeed from the tame and insipid farce that now passes under that name:
where a briefless barrister, bullied by both sides, sits as assessor; a few
drunken voters, a radical O'Connellite grocer, a demagogue priest, a deputy
grand-purple-something from the Trinity College lodge, with some half-dozen
followers, shouting, "To the Devil with Peel!" or "Down with Dens!" form
the whole corp-de-ballet. No, no; in the times I refer to the voters were
some thousands in number, and the adverse parties took the field, far less
dependent for success upon previous pledge or promise made them than upon
the actual stratagem of the day. Each went forth, like a general to battle,
surrounded by a numerous and well-chosen staff,—one party of friends,
acting as commissariat, attended to the victualling of the voters, that
they obtained a due, or rather undue allowance of liquor, and came properly
drunk to the poll; others, again, broke into skirmishing parties, and
scattered over the country, cut off the enemy's supplies, breaking
down their post-chaises, upsetting their jaunting-cars, stealing their
poll-books, and kidnapping their agents. Then there were secret-service
people, bribing the enemy and enticing them to desert; and lastly, there
was a species of sapper-and-miner force, who invented false documents,
denied the identity of the opposite party's people, and when hard pushed,
provided persons who took bribes from the enemy, and gave evidence
afterwards on a petition. Amidst all these encounters of wit and ingenuity,
the personal friends of the candidate formed a species of rifle brigade,
picking out the enemy's officers, and doing sore damage to their tactics
by shooting a proposer or wounding a seconder,—a considerable portion of
every leading agent's fee being intended as compensation for the duels he
might, could, would, should, or ought to fight during the election. Such,
in brief, was a contest in the olden time. And when it is taken into
consideration that it usually lasted a fortnight or three weeks; that a
considerable military force was always engaged (for our Irish law permits
this), and which, when nothing pressing was doing, was regularly assailed
by both parties; that far more dependence was placed in a bludgeon than a
pistol; and that the man who registered a vote without a cracked pate was
regarded as a kind of natural phenomenon,—some faint idea may be formed
how much such a scene must have contributed to the peace of the county, and
the happiness and welfare of all concerned in it.

As we rode along, a loud cheer from a road that ran parallel to the one we
were pursuing attracted our attention, and we perceived that the cortége of
the opposite party was hastening on to the hustings. I could distinguish
the Blake girls on horseback among a crowd of officers in undress, and
saw something like a bonnet in the carriage-and-four which headed the
procession, and which I judged to be that of Sir George Dashwood. My heart
beat strongly as I strained my eyes to see if Miss Dashwood was there; but
I could not discern her, and it was with a sense of relief that I reflected
on the possibility of our not meeting under circumstances wherein our
feelings and interests were so completely opposed. While I was engaged in
making this survey, I had accidentally dropped behind my companions; my
eyes were firmly fixed upon that carriage, and in the faint hope that it
contained the object of all my wishes, I forgot everything else. At length
the cortége entered the town, and passing beneath a heavy stone gateway,
was lost to my view. I was still lost in revery, when an under-agent of my
uncle's rode up.

"Oh, Master Charles!" said he, "what's to be done? They've forgotten Mr.
Holmes at Woodford, and we haven't a carriage, chaise, or even a car left
to send for him."

"Have you told Mr. Considine?" inquired I.

"And sure you know yourself how little Mr. Considine thinks of a lawyer.
It's small comfort he'd give me if I went to tell him. If it was a case of
pistols or a bullet mould he'd ride back the whole way himself for them."

"Try Sir Harry Boyle, then."

"He's making a speech this minute before the court-house."

This had sufficed to show me how far behind my companions I had been
loitering, when a cheer from the distant road again turned my eyes in that
direction; it was the Dashwood carriage returning after leaving Sir George
at the hustings. The head of the britska, before thrown open, was now
closed, and I could not make out if any one were inside.

"Devil a doubt of it," said the agent, in answer to some question of a
farmer who rode beside him; "will you stand to me?"

"Troth, to be sure I will."

"Here goes, then," said he, gathering up his reins and turning his horse
towards the fence at the roadside; "follow me now, boys."

The order was well obeyed; for when he had cleared the ditch, a dozen
stout country fellows, well mounted, were beside him. Away they went, at a
hunting pace, taking every leap before them, and heading towards the road
before us.

Without thinking further of the matter, I was laughing at the droll effect
the line of frieze coats presented as they rode side by side over the
stone-walls, when an observation near me aroused my attention.

"Ah, then, av they know anything of Tim Finucane, they'll give it up
peaceably; it's little he'd think of taking the coach from under the judge
himself."

"What are they about, boys?" said I.

"Goin' to take the chaise-and-four forninst ye, yer honor," said the man.

I waited not to hear more, but darting spurs into my horse's sides, cleared
the fence in one bound. My horse, a strong-knit half-breed, was as fast as
a racer for a short distance; so that when the agent and his party had come
up with the carriage, I was only a few hundred yards behind. I shouted out
with all my might, but they either heard not or heeded not, for scarcely
was the first man over the fence into the road when the postilion on the
leader was felled to the ground, and his place supplied by his slayer; the
boy on the wheeler shared the same fate, and in an instant, so well managed
was the attack, the carriage was in possession of the assailants. Four
stout fellows had climbed into the box and the rumble, and six others were
climbing to the interior, regardless of the aid of steps. By this time the
Dashwood party had got the alarm, and returned in full force, not, however,
before the other had laid whip to the horses and set out in full gallop;
and now commenced the most terrific race I ever witnessed.

The four carriage-horses, which were the property of Sir George, were
English thorough-breds of great value, and, totally unaccustomed to the
treatment they experienced, dashed forward at a pace that threatened
annihilation to the carriage at every bound. The pursuers, though well
mounted, were speedily distanced, but followed at a pace that in the end
was certain to overtake the carriage. As for myself, I rode on beside
the road at the full speed of my horse, shouting, cursing, imploring,
execrating, and beseeching at turns, but all in vain; the yells and shouts
of the pursuers and pursued drowned all other sounds, except when the
thundering crash of the horses' feet rose above all. The road, like most
western Irish roads until the present century, lay straight as an arrow
for miles, regardless of every opposing barrier, and in the instance in
question, crossed a mountain at its very highest point. Towards this
pinnacle the pace had been tremendous; but owing to the higher breeding of
the cattle, the carriage party had still the advance, and when they reached
the top they proclaimed the victory by a cheer of triumph and derision. The
carriage disappeared beneath the crest of the mountain, and the pursuers
halted as if disposed to relinquish the chase.

"Come on, boys; never give up," cried I, springing over into the road, and
heading the party to which by every right I was opposed.

It was no time for deliberation, and they followed me with a hearty cheer
that convinced me I was unknown. The next instant we were on the mountain
top, and beheld the carriage half way down beneath us, still galloping at
full stretch.

"We have them now," said a voice behind me; "they'll never turn Lurra
Bridge, if we only press on."

The speaker was right; the road at the mountain foot turned at a perfect
right angle, and then crossed a lofty one-arched bridge over a mountain
torrent that ran deep and boisterously beneath. On we went, gaining at
every stride; for the fellows who rode postilion well knew what was before
them, and slackened their pace to secure a safe turning. A yell of victory
arose from the pursuers, but was answered by the others with a cheer of
defiance. The space was now scarcely two hundred yards between us, when the
head of the britska was flung down, and a figure that I at once recognized
as the redoubted Tim Finucane, one of the boldest and most reckless fellows
in the county, was seen standing on the seat, holding,—gracious Heavens!
it was true,—holding in his arms the apparently lifeless figure of Miss
Dashwood.

"Hold in!" shouted the ruffian, with a voice that rose high above all the
other sounds. "Hold in! or by the Eternal, I'll throw her, body and bones,
into the Lurra Gash!" for such was the torrent called that boiled and
foamed a few yards before us.

[THE RESCUE.]

He had by this time got firmly planted on the hind seat, and held the
drooping form on one arm with all the ease of a giant's grasp.

"For the love of God!" said I, "pull up. I know him well; he'll do it to a
certainty if you press on."

"And we know you, too," said a ruffianly fellow, with a dark whisker
meeting beneath his chin, "and have some scores to settle ere we part—"

But I heard no more. With one tremendous effort I dashed my horse forward.
The carriage turned an angle of the road, for an instant was out of sight,
another moment I was behind it.

"Stop!" I shouted, with a last effort, but in vain. The horses, maddened
and infuriated, sprang forward, and heedless of all efforts to turn them
the leaders sprang over the low parapet of the bridge, and hanging for a
second by the traces, fell with a crash into the swollen torrent beneath.
By this time I was beside the carriage. Finucane had now clambered to the
box, and regardless of the death and ruin around, bent upon his murderous
object, he lifted the light and girlish form above his head, bent backwards
as if to give greater impulse to his effort, when, twining my lash around
my wrist, I levelled my heavy and loaded hunting-whip at his head. The
weighted ball of lead struck him exactly beneath his hat; he staggered, his
hands relaxed, and he fell lifeless to the ground; the same instant I was
felled to the earth by a blow from behind, and saw no more.

CHAPTER XII.

MICKEY FREE.

Nearly three weeks followed the event I have just narrated ere I again was
restored to consciousness. The blow by which I was felled—from what hand
coming it was never after discovered—had brought on concussion of the
brain, and for several days my life was despaired of. As by slow steps I
advanced towards recovery, I learned from Considine that Miss Dashwood,
whose life was saved by my interference, had testified, in the warmest
manner, her gratitude, and that Sir George had, up to the period of his
leaving the country, never omitted a single day to ride over and inquire
for me.

"You know, of course," said the count, supposing such news was the most
likely to interest me,—"you know we beat them?"

"No. Pray tell me all. They've not let me hear anything hitherto."

"One day finished the whole affair. We polled man for man till past two
o'clock, when our fellows lost all patience and beat their tallies out
of the town. The police came up, but they beat the police; then they got
soldiers, but, begad, they were too strong for them, too. Sir George
witnessed it all, and knowing besides how little chance he had of success,
deemed it best to give in; so that a little before five o'clock he
resigned. I must say no man could behave better. He came across the
hustings and shook hands with Godfrey; and as the news of the scrimmage
with his daughter had just arrived, said that he was sorry his prospect of
success had not been greater, that in resigning he might testify how deeply
he felt the debt the O'Malleys had laid him under."

"And my uncle, how did he receive his advances?"

"Like his own honest self,—grasped his hand firmly; and upon my soul, I
think he was half sorry that he gained the day. Do you know, he took a
mighty fancy to that blue-eyed daughter of the old general's. Faith,
Charley, if he was some twenty years younger, I would not say but—Come,
come, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings; but I have been staying here too
long. I'll send up Mickey to sit with you. Mind and don't be talking too
much to him."

So saying, the worthy count left the room fully impressed that in hinting
at the possibility of my uncle's marrying again, he had said something to
ruffle my temper.

For the next two or three weeks my life was one of the most tiresome
monotony. Strict injunctions had been given by the doctors to avoid
exciting me; and consequently, every one that came in walked on tiptoe,
spoke in whispers, and left me in five minutes. Reading was absolutely
forbidden; and with a sombre half-light to sit in, and chicken broth to
support nature, I dragged out as dreary an existence as any gentleman west
of Athlone.

Whenever my uncle or Considine were not in the room, my companion was my
own servant, Michael, or as he was better known, "Mickey Free." Now, had
Mickey been left to his own free and unrestricted devices, the time would
not have hung so heavily; for among Mike's manifold gifts he was possessed
of a very great flow of gossiping conversation. He knew all that was
doing in the county, and never was barren in his information wherever his
imagination could come into play. Mickey was the best hurler in the barony,
no mean performer on the violin, could dance the national bolero of "Tatter
Jack Walsh" in a way that charmed more than one soft heart beneath a red
woolsey bodice, and had, withal, the peculiar free-and-easy devil-may-care
kind of off-hand Irish way that never deserted him in the midst of his
wiliest and most subtle moments, giving to a very deep and cunning fellow
all the apparent frankness and openness of a country lad.

He had attached himself to me as a kind of sporting companion; and growing
daily more and more useful, had been gradually admitted to the honors of
the kitchen and the prerogatives of cast clothes, without ever having been
actually engaged as a servant; and while thus no warrant officer, as, in
fact, he discharged all his duties well and punctually, was rated among the
ship's company, though no one could say at what precise period he changed
his caterpillar existence and became the gay butterfly with cords and
tops, a striped vest, and a most knowing jerry hat who stalked about
the stable-yard and bullied the helpers. Such was Mike. He had made his
fortune, such as it was, and had a most becoming pride in the fact that he
made himself indispensable to an establishment which, before he entered
it, never knew the want of him. As for me, he was everything to me. Mike
informed me what horse was wrong, why the chestnut mare couldn't go out,
and why the black horse could. He knew the arrival of a new covey of
partridge quicker than the "Morning Post" does of a noble family from the
Continent, and could tell their whereabouts twice as accurately. But
his talents took a wider range than field sports afford, and he was the
faithful chronicler of every wake, station, wedding, or christening for
miles round; and as I took no small pleasure in those very national
pastimes, the information was of great value to me. To conclude this
brief sketch, Mike was a devout Catholic in the same sense that he was
enthusiastic about anything,—that is, he believed and obeyed exactly as
far as suited his own peculiar notions of comfort and happiness. Beyond
that, his scepticism stepped in and saved him from inconvenience; and
though he might have been somewhat puzzled to reduce his faith to a rubric,
still it answered his purpose, and that was all he wanted. Such, in short,
was my valet, Mickey Free, and who, had not heavy injunctions been laid on
him as to silence and discretion, would well have lightened my weary hours.

"Ah, then, Misther Charles!" said he, with a half-suppressed yawn at the
long period of probation his tongue had been undergoing in silence,—"ah,
then, but ye were mighty near it!"

"Near what?" said I.

"Faith, then, myself doesn't well know. Some say it's purgathory; but it's
hard to tell."

"I thought you were too good a Catholic, Mickey, to show any doubts on the
matter?"

"May be I am; may be I ain't," was the cautious reply.

"Wouldn't Father Roach explain any of your difficulties for you, if you
went over to him?"

"Faix, it's little I'd mind his explainings."

"And why not?"

"Easy enough. If you ax ould Miles there, without, what does he be doing
with all the powther and shot, wouldn't he tell you he's shooting the
rooks, and the magpies, and some other varmint? But myself knows he sells
it to Widow Casey, at two-and-fourpence a pound; so belikes, Father Roach
may be shooting away at the poor souls in purgathory, that all this time
are enjoying the hoith of fine living in heaven, ye understand."

"And you think that's the way of it, Mickey?"

"Troth, it's likely. Anyhow, I know its not the place they make it out."

"Why, how do you mean?"

"Well, then, I'll tell you, Misther Charles; but you must not be saying
anything about it afther, for I don't like to talk about these kind of
things."

Having pledged myself to the requisite silence and secrecy, Mickey began:—

"May be you heard tell of the way my father, rest his soul wherever he is,
came to his end. Well, I needn't mind particulars, but, in short, he was
murdered in Ballinasloe one night, when he was baitin' the whole town with
a blackthorn stick he had; more by token, a piece of a scythe was stuck at
the end of it,—a nate weapon, and one he was mighty partial to; but those
murdering thieves, the cattle-dealers, that never cared for diversion of
any kind, fell on him and broke his skull.

"Well, we had a very agreeable wake, and plenty of the best of everything,
and to spare, and I thought it was all over; but somehow, though I paid
Father Roach fifteen shillings, and made him mighty drunk, he always gave
me a black look wherever I met him, and when I took off my hat, he'd turn
away his head displeased like.

"'Murder and ages,' says I, 'what's this for?' But as I've a light heart,
I bore up, and didn't think more about it. One day, however, I was coming
home from Athlone market, by myself on the road, when Father Roach overtook
me. 'Devil a one a me 'ill take any notice of you now,' says I, 'and we'll
see what'll come out of it.' So the priest rid up and looked me straight in
the face.

"'Mickey,' says he,—'Mickey.'

"'Father,' says I.

"'Is it that way you salute your clargy,' says he, 'with your caubeen on
your head?'

"'Faix,' says I, 'it's little ye mind whether it's an or aff; for you never
take the trouble to say, "By your leave," or "Damn your soul!" or any other
politeness when we meet.'

"'You're an ungrateful creature,' says he; 'and if you only knew, you'd be
trembling in your skin before me, this minute.'

"'Devil a tremble,' says I, 'after walking six miles this way.'

"'You're an obstinate, hard-hearted sinner,' says he; 'and it's no use in
telling you.'

"'Telling me what?' says I; for I was getting curious to make out what he
meant.

"'Mickey,' says he, changing his voice, and putting his head down close to
me,—'Mickey, I saw your father last night.'

"'The saints be merciful to us!' said I, 'did ye?'

"'I did,' says he.

"'Tear an ages,' says I, 'did he tell you what he did with the new
corduroys he bought in the fair?'

"'Oh, then, you are a could-hearted creature!' says he, 'and I'll not lose
time with you.' With that he was going to ride away, when I took hold of
the bridle.

"'Father, darling,' says I, 'God pardon me, but them breeches is goin'
between me an' my night's rest; but tell me about my father?'

"'Oh, then, he's in a melancholy state!'

"'Whereabouts is he?' says I.

"'In purgathory,' says he; 'but he won't be there long.'

"'Well,' says I, 'that's a comfort, anyhow.'

"'I am glad you think so,' says he; 'but there's more of the other
opinion.'

"'What's that?' says I.

"'That hell's worse.'

"'Oh, melia-murther!' says I, 'is that it?'

"'Ay, that's it.'

"Well, I was so terrified and frightened, I said nothing for some time, but
trotted along beside the priest's horse.

"'Father,' says I, 'how long will it be before they send him where you
know?'

"'It will not be long now,' says he, 'for they're tired entirely with him;
they've no peace night or day,' says he. 'Mickey, your father is a mighty
hard man.'

"'True for you, Father Roach,' says I to myself; 'av he had only the ould
stick with the scythe in it, I wish them joy of his company.'

"'Mickey,' says he, 'I see you're grieved, and I don't wonder; sure, it's a
great disgrace to a decent family.'

"'Troth, it is,' says I; 'but my father always liked low company. Could
nothing be done for him now, Father Roach?' says I, looking up in the
priest's face.

"'I'm greatly afraid, Mickey, he was a bad man, a very bad man.'

"'And ye think he'll go there?' says I.

"'Indeed, Mickey, I have my fears.'

"'Upon my conscience,' says I, 'I believe you're right; he was always a
restless crayture.'

"'But it doesn't depind on him,' says the priest, crossly.

"'And, then, who then?' says I.

"'Upon yourself, Mickey Free,' says he, 'God pardon you for it, too!'

"'Upon me?' says I.

"'Troth, no less,' says he; 'how many Masses was said for your father's
soul; how many Aves; how many Paters? Answer me.'

"'Devil a one of me knows!—may be twenty.'

"'Twenty, twenty!—no, nor one.'

"'And why not?' says I; 'what for wouldn't you be helping a poor crayture
out of trouble, when it wouldn't cost you more nor a handful of prayers?'

"'Mickey, I see,' says he, in a solemn tone, 'you're worse nor a haythen;
but ye couldn't be other, ye never come to yer duties.'

"'Well, Father,' says I, Looking very penitent, 'how many Masses would get
him out?'

"'Now you talk like a sensible man,' says he. 'Now, Mickey, I've hopes for
you. Let me see,' here he went countin' upon his fingers, and numberin' to
himself for five minutes. 'Mickey,' says he, 'I've a batch coming out on
Tuesday week, and if you were to make great exertions, perhaps your father
could come with them; that is, av they have made no objections.'

"'And what for would they?' says I; 'he was always the hoith of company,
and av singing's allowed in them parts—'

"'God forgive you, Mickey, but yer in a benighted state,' says he, sighing.

"'Well,' says I, 'how'll we get him out on Tuesday week? For that's
bringing things to a focus.'

"'Two Masses in the morning, fastin',' says Father Roach, half aloud, 'is
two, and two in the afternoon is four, and two at vespers is six,' says he;
'six Masses a day for nine days is close by sixty Masses,—say sixty,' says
he; 'and they'll cost you—mind, Mickey, and don't be telling it again, for
it's only to yourself I'd make them so cheap—a matter of three pounds.'

"'Three pounds!' says I; 'be-gorra ye might as well ax me to give you the
rock of Cashel.'

"'I'm sorry for ye, Mickey,' says he, gatherin' up the reins to ride
off,—'I'm sorry for ye; and the time will come when the neglect of your
poor father will be a sore stroke agin yourself.'

"'Wait a bit, your reverence,' says I,—'wait a bit. Would forty shillings
get him out?'

"'Av course it wouldn't,' says he.

"'May be,' says I, coaxing,—'may be, av you said that his son was a poor
boy that lived by his indhustry, and the times was bad—'

"'Not the least use,' says he.

"'Arrah, but it's hard-hearted they are,' thinks I. 'Well, see now, I'll
give you the money, but I can't afford it all at onst; but I'll pay five
shillings a week. Will that do?'

"'I'll do my endayvors,' says Father Roach; 'and I'll speak to them to
treat him peaceably in the meantime.'

"'Long life to yer reverence, and do. Well, here now, here's five hogs to
begin with; and, musha, but I never thought I'd be spending my loose change
that way.'

"Father Roach put the six tinpinnies in the pocket of his black leather
breeches, said something in Latin, bid me good-morning, and rode off.

"Well, to make my story short, I worked late and early to pay the five
shillings a week, and I did do it for three weeks regular; then I brought
four and fourpence; then it came down to one and tenpence halfpenny, then
ninepence, and at last I had nothing at all to bring.

"'Mickey Free,' says the priest, 'ye must stir yourself. Your father is
mighty displeased at the way you've been doing of late; and av ye kept yer
word, he'd be near out by this time.'

"'Troth,' says I, 'it's a very expensive place.'

"'By coorse it is,' says he; 'sure all the quality of the land's there.
But, Mickey, my man, with a little exertion, your father's business is
done. What are you jingling in your pocket there?'

"'It's ten shillings, your reverence, I have to buy seed potatoes.'

"'Hand it here, my son. Isn't it better your father would be enjoying
himself in paradise, than if ye were to have all the potatoes in Ireland?'

"'And how do ye know,' says I, 'he's so near out?'

"'How do I know,—how do I know, is it? Didn't I see him?'

"'See him! Tear an ages, was you down there again?'

"'I was,' says he; 'I was down there for three quarters of an hour
yesterday evening, getting out Luke Kennedy's mother. Decent people the
Kennedy's; never spared expense.'

"'And ye seen my father?' says I.

'I did,' says he; 'he had an ould flannel waistcoat on, and a pipe sticking
out of the pocket av it.'

"'That's him,' says I. 'Had he a hairy cap?'

"'I didn't mind the cap,' says he; 'but av coorse he wouldn't have it on
his head in that place.'

"'Thrue for you,' says I. 'Did he speak to you?'

"'He did,' says Father Roach; 'he spoke very hard about the way he was
treated down there; that they was always jibin' and jeerin' him about
drink, and fightin', and the course he led up here, and that it was a
queer thing, for the matter of ten shillings, he was to be kept there so
long.'

"'Well,' says I, taking out the ten shillings and counting it with one
hand, 'we must do our best, anyhow; and ye think this'll get him out
surely?'

"'I know it will,' says he; 'for when Luke's mother was leaving the place,
and yer father saw the door open, he made a rush at it, and, be-gorra,
before it was shut he got his head and one shoulder outside av it,—so
that, ye see, a thrifle more'll do it.'

"'Faix, and yer reverence,' says I, 'you've lightened my heart this
morning.' And I put my money back again in my pocket.

"'Why, what do you mean?' says he, growing very red, for he was angry.

"'Just this,' says I, 'that I've saved my money; for av it was my father
you seen, and that he got his head and one shoulder outside the door, oh,
then, by the powers!' says I, 'the devil a jail or jailer from hell to
Connaught id hould him. So, Father Roach, I wish you the top of the
morning.' And I went away laughing; and from that day to this I never heard
more of purgathory; and ye see, Master Charles, I think I was right."

Scarcely had Mike concluded when my door was suddenly burst open, and Sir
Harry Boyle, without assuming any of his usual precautions respecting
silence and quiet, rushed into the room, a broad grin upon his honest
features, and his eyes twinkling in a way that evidently showed me
something had occurred to amuse him.

"By Jove, Charley, I mustn't keep it from you; it's too good a thing not
to tell you. Do you remember that very essenced young gentleman who
accompanied Sir George Dashwood from Dublin, as a kind of electioneering
friend?"

"Do you mean Mr. Prettyman?"

"The very man; he was, you are aware, an under-secretary in some government
department. Well, it seems that he had come down among us poor savages as
much from motives of learned research and scientific inquiry, as though we
had been South Sea Islanders; report had gifted us humble Galwayans with
some very peculiar traits, and this gifted individual resolved to record
them. Whether the election week might have sufficed his appetite for
wonders I know not; but he was peaceably taking his departure from the west
on Saturday last, when Phil Macnamara met him, and pressed him to dine that
day with a few friends at his house. You know Phil; so that when I tell you
Sam Burke, of Greenmount, and Roger Doolan were of the party, I need
not say that the English traveller was not left to his own unassisted
imagination for his facts. Such anecdotes of our habits and customs as they
crammed him with, it would appear, never were heard before; nothing was
too hot or too heavy for the luckless cockney, who, when not sipping
his claret, was faithfully recording in his tablet the mems. for a very
brilliant and very original work on Ireland.

"Fine country, splendid country; glorious people,—gifted, brave,
intelligent, but not happy,—alas! Mr. Macnamara, not happy. But we don't
know you, gentlemen,—we don't indeed,—at the other side of the Channel.
Our notions regarding you are far, very far from just."

"I hope and trust," said old Burke, "you'll help them to a better
understanding ere long."

"Such, my dear sir, will be the proudest task of my life. The facts I have
heard here this evening have made so profound an impression upon me that I
burn for the moment when I can make them known to the world at large. To
think—just to think that a portion of this beautiful island should be
steeped in poverty; that the people not only live upon the mere potatoes,
but are absolutely obliged to wear the skins for raiment, as Mr. Doolan has
just mentioned to me!"

"'Which accounts for our cultivation of lumpers,' added Mr. Doolan, 'they
being the largest species of the root, and best adapted for wearing
apparel.'

"'I should deem myself culpable—indeed I should—did I not inform my
countrymen upon the real condition of this great country.'

"'Why, after your great opportunities for judging,' said Phil, 'you ought
to speak out. You've seen us in a way, I may fairly affirm, few Englishmen
have, and heard more.'

"'That's it,—that's the very thing, Mr. Macnamara. I've looked at you more
closely; I've watched you more narrowly; I've witnessed what the French
call your vie intime.'

"'Begad you have,' said old Burke, with a grin, 'and profited by it to the
utmost.'

"'I've been a spectator of your election contests; I've partaken of your
hospitality; I've witnessed your popular and national sports; I've
been present at your weddings, your fairs, your wakes; but no,—I was
forgetting,—I never saw a wake.'

"'Never saw a wake?' repeated each of the company in turn, as though the
gentleman was uttering a sentiment of very dubious veracity.

"'Never,' said Mr. Prettyman, rather abashed at this proof of his
incapacity to instruct his English friends upon all matters of Irish
interest.

"'Well, then,' said Macnamara, 'with a blessing, we'll show you one.
Lord forbid that we shouldn't do the honors of our poor country to an
intelligent foreigner when he's good enough to come among us.'

"'Peter,' said he, turning to the servant behind him, 'who's dead
hereabouts?'

"'Sorra one, yer honor. Since the scrimmage at Portumna the place is
peaceable.'

"'Who died lately in the neighborhood?'

"'The widow Macbride, yer honor.'

"'Couldn't they take her up again, Peter? My friend here never saw a wake.'

"'I'm afeered not; for it was the boys roasted her, and she wouldn't be a
decent corpse for to show a stranger,' said Peter, in a whisper.

"Mr. Prettyman shuddered at these peaceful indications of the neighborhood,
and said nothing.

"'Well, then, Peter, tell Jimmy Divine to take the old musket in my
bedroom, and go over to the Clunagh bog,—he can't go wrong. There's twelve
families there that never pay a halfpenny rent; and when it's done, let
him give notice to the neighborhood, and we'll have a rousing wake.'

"'You don't mean, Mr. Macnamara,—you don't mean to say—' stammered out
the cockney, with a face like a ghost.

"'I only mean to say,' said Phil, laughing, 'that you're keeping the
decanter very long at your right hand.'

"Burke contrived to interpose before the Englishman could ask any
explanation of what he had just heard,—and for some minutes he could only
wait in impatient anxiety,—when a loud report of a gun close beside the
house attracted the attention of the guests. The next moment old Peter
entered, his face radiant with smiles.

"'Well, what's that?' said Macnamara.

"''T was Jimmy, yer honor. As the evening was rainy, he said he'd take one
of the neighbors; and he hadn't to go far, for Andy Moore was going home,
and he brought him down at once.'

"'Did he shoot him?' said Mr. Prettyman, while cold perspiration broke over
his forehead. 'Did he murder the man?'

"'Sorra murder,' said Peter, disdainfully. 'But why shouldn't he shoot him
when the master bid him?'

"I needn't tell you more, Charley; but in ten minutes after, feigning some
excuse to leave the room, the terrified cockney took flight, and offering
twenty guineas for a horse to convey him to Athlone, he left Galway, fully
convinced that they don't yet know us on the other side of the Channel."

CHAPTER XIII.

THE JOURNEY.

The election concluded, the turmoil and excitement of the contest over, all
was fast resuming its accustomed routine around us, when one morning my
uncle informed me that I was at length to leave my native county and enter
upon the great world as a student of Trinity College, Dublin. Although long
since in expectation of this eventful change, it was with no slight feeling
of emotion I contemplated the step which, removing me at once from all my
early friends and associations, was to surround me with new companions and
new influences, and place before me very different objects of ambition from
those I had hitherto been regarding.

My destiny had been long ago decided. The army had had its share of the
family, who brought little more back with them from the wars than a short
allowance of members and shattered constitutions; the navy had proved, on
more than one occasion, that the fate of the O'Malleys did not incline to
hanging; so that, in Irish estimation, but one alternative remained, and
that was the bar. Besides, as my uncle remarked, with great truth and
foresight, "Charley will be tolerably independent of the public, at all
events; for even if they never send him a brief, there's law enough in the
family to last his time,"—a rather novel reason, by-the-bye, for making
a man a lawyer, and which induced Sir Harry, with his usual clearness, to
observe to me:—

"Upon my conscience, boy, you are in luck. If there had been a Bible in the
house, I firmly believe he'd have made you a parson."

Considine alone, of all my uncle's advisers, did not concur in this
determination respecting me. He set forth, with an eloquence that certainly
converted me, that my head was better calculated for bearing hard knocks
than unravelling knotty points, that a shako would become it infinitely
better than a wig; and declared, roundly, that a boy who began so well and
had such very pretty notions about shooting was positively thrown away
in the Four Courts. My uncle, however, was firm, and as old Sir Harry
supported him, the day was decided against us, Considine murmuring as he
left the room something that did not seem quite a brilliant anticipation of
the success awaiting me in my legal career. As for myself, though only a
silent spectator of the debate, all my wishes were with the count. Prom my
earliest boyhood a military life had been my strongest desire; the roll of
the drum, and the shrill fife that played through the little village,
with its ragged troop of recruits following, had charms for me I cannot
describe; and had a choice been allowed me, I would infinitely rather have
been a sergeant in the dragoons than one of his Majesty's learned in the
law. If, then, such had been the cherished feeling of many a year, how much
more strongly were my aspirations heightened by the events of the last few
days. The tone of superiority I had witnessed in Hammersley, whose conduct
to me at parting had placed him high in my esteem; the quiet contempt of
civilians implied in a thousand sly ways; the exalted estimate of his own
profession,—at once wounded my pride and stimulated my ambition; and
lastly, more than all, the avowed preference that Lucy Dashwood evinced for
a military life, were stronger allies than my own conviction needed to make
me long for the army. So completely did the thought possess me that I felt,
if I were not a soldier, I cared not what became of me. Life had no other
object of ambition for me than military renown, no other success for
which I cared to struggle, or would value when obtained. "Aut Caesar aut
nullus," thought I; and when my uncle determined I should be a lawyer,
I neither murmured nor objected, but hugged myself in the prophecy of
Considine that hinted pretty broadly, "the devil a stupider fellow ever
opened a brief; but he'd have made a slashing light dragoon."

The preliminaries were not long in arranging. It was settled that I should
be immediately despatched to Dublin to the care of Dr. Mooney, then a
junior fellow in the University, who would take me into his especial
charge; while Sir Harry was to furnish me with a letter to his old friend,
Doctor Barret, whose advice and assistance he estimated at a very high
price. Provided with such documents I was informed that the gates of
knowledge were more than half ajar for me, without an effort upon my
part. One only portion of all the arrangements I heard with anything like
pleasure; it was decided that my man Mickey was to accompany me to Dublin,
and remain with me during my stay.

It was upon a clear, sharp morning in January, of the year 18—, that I
took my place upon the box-seat of the old Galway mail and set out on my
journey. My heart was depressed, and my spirits were miserably low. I had
all that feeling of sadness which leave-taking inspires, and no sustaining
prospect to cheer me in the distance. For the first time in my life, I had
seen a tear glisten in my poor uncle's eye, and heard his voice falter as
he said, "Farewell!" Notwithstanding the difference of age, we had been
perfectly companions together; and as I thought now over all the thousand
kindnesses and affectionate instances of his love I had received, my heart
gave way, and the tears coursed slowly down my cheeks. I turned to give one
last look at the tall chimneys and the old woods, my earliest friends; but
a turn of the road had shut out the prospect, and thus I took my leave of
Galway.

My friend Mickey, who sat behind with the guard, participated but little in
my feelings of regret. The potatoes in the metropolis could scarcely be as
wet as the lumpers in Scariff; he had heard that whiskey was not dearer,
and looked forward to the other delights of the capital with a longing
heart. Meanwhile, resolved that no portion of his career should be lost, he
was lightening the road by anecdote and song, and held an audience of four
people, a very crusty-looking old guard included, in roars of laughter.
Mike had contrived, with his usual savoir faire, to make himself very
agreeable to an extremely pretty-looking country girl, around whose waist
he had most lovingly passed his arm under pretence of keeping her from
falling, and to whom, in the midst of all his attentions to the party at
large, he devoted himself considerably, pressing his suit with all the aid
of his native minstrelsy.

"Hould me tight, Miss Matilda, dear."

"My name's Mary Brady, av ye plase."

"Ay, and I do plase.

    'Oh, Mary Brady, you are my darlin',
    You are my looking-glass from night till morning;
    I'd rayther have ye without one farthen,
    Nor Shusey Gallagher and her house and garden.'

May I never av I wouldn't then; and ye needn't be laughing."

"Is his honor at home?"

This speech was addressed to a gaping country fellow that leaned on his
spade to see the coach pass.

"Is his honor at home? I've something for him from Mr. Davern."

Mickey well knew that few western gentlemen were without constant
intercourse with the Athlone attorney. The poor countryman accordingly
hastened through the fence and pursued the coach with all speed for above
a mile, Mike pretending all the time to be in the greatest anxiety for his
overtaking them, until at last, as he stopped in despair, a hearty roar of
laughter told him that, in Mickey's parlance, he was "sould."

"Taste it, my dear; devil a harm it'll do ye. It never paid the king
sixpence."

Here he filled a little horn vessel from a black bottle he carried,
accompanying the action with a song, the air to which, if any of my
readers feel disposed to sing it, I may observe, bore a resemblance to the
well-known, "A Fig for Saint Denis of France."

    POTTEEN, GOOD LUCK TO YE, DEAR.

    Av I was a monarch in state,
      Like Romulus or Julius Caysar,
    With the best of fine victuals to eat,
      And drink like great Nebuchadnezzar,
    A rasher of bacon I'd have,
      And potatoes the finest was seen, sir,
    And for drink, it's no claret I'd crave,
      But a keg of ould Mullens's potteen, sir,
               With the smell of the smoke on it still.

    They talk of the Romans of ould,
      Whom they say in their own times was frisky;
    But trust me, to keep out the cowld,
      The Romans at home here like whiskey.
    Sure it warms both the head and the heart,
      It's the soul of all readin' and writin';
    It teaches both science and art,
      And disposes for love or for fightin'.
               Oh, potteen, good luck to ye, dear.

This very classic production, and the black bottle which accompanied it,
completely established the singer's pre-eminence in the company; and I
heard sundry sounds resembling drinking, with frequent good wishes to the
provider of the feast,—"Long life to ye, Mr. Free," "Your health and
inclinations, Mr. Free," etc.; to which Mr. Free responded by drinking
those of the company, "av they were vartuous." The amicable relations thus
happily established promised a very lasting reign, and would doubtless have
enjoyed such, had not a slight incident occurred which for a brief season
interrupted them. At the village where we stopped to breakfast, three very
venerable figures presented themselves for places in the inside of the
coach; they were habited in black coats, breeches, and gaiters, wore hats
of a very ecclesiastic breadth in their brim, and had altogether the
peculiar air and bearing which distinguishes their calling, being no less
than three Roman Catholic prelates on their way to Dublin to attend a
convocation. While Mickey and his friends, with the ready tact which every
low Irishman possesses, immediately perceived who and what these worshipful
individuals were, another traveller who had just assumed his place on the
outside participated but little in the feelings of reverence so manifestly
displayed, but gave a sneer of a very ominous kind as the skirt of the
last black coat disappeared within the coach. This latter individual was a
short, thick-set, bandy-legged man of about fifty, with an enormous nose,
which, whatever its habitual coloring, on the morning in question was of a
brilliant purple. He wore a blue coat with bright buttons, upon which some
letters were inscribed; and around his neck was fastened a ribbon of the
same color, to which a medal was attached. This he displayed with something
of ostentation whenever an opportunity occurred, and seemed altogether a
person who possessed a most satisfactory impression of his own importance.
In fact, had not this feeling been participated in by others, Mr. Billy
Crow would never have been deputed by No. 13,476 to carry their warrant
down to the west country, and establish the nucleus of an Orange Lodge in
the town of Foxleigh; such being, in brief, the reason why he, a very well
known manufacturer of "leather continuations" in Dublin, had ventured upon
the perilous journey from which he was now returning. Billy was going on
his way to town rejoicing, for he had had most brilliant success: the
brethren had feasted and fêted him; he had made several splendid orations,
with the usual number of prophecies about the speedy downfall of Romanism,
the inevitable return of Protestant ascendancy, the pleasing prospect that
with increased effort and improved organization they should soon be able
to have everything their own way, and clear the Green Isle of the horrible
vermin Saint Patrick forgot when banishing the others; and that if Daniel
O'Connell (whom might the Lord confound!) could only be hanged, and Sir
Harcourt Lees made Primate of all Ireland, there were still some hopes of
peace and prosperity to the country.

Mr. Crow had no sooner assumed his place upon the coach than he saw that he
was in the camp of the enemy. Happily for all parties, indeed, in Ireland,
political differences have so completely stamped the externals of each
party that he must be a man of small penetration who cannot, in the first
five minutes he is thrown among strangers, calculate with considerable
certainty whether it will be more conducive to his happiness to sing,
"Croppies Lie Down," or "The Battle of Ross." As for Billy Crow, long life
to him! you might as well attempt to pass a turkey upon M. Audubon for a
giraffe, as endeavor to impose a Papist upon him for a true follower of
King William. He could have given you more generic distinctions to guide
you in the decision than ever did Cuvier to designate an antediluvian
mammoth; so that no sooner had he seated himself upon the coach than he
buttoned up his great-coat, stuck his hands firmly in his side-pockets,
pursed up his lips, and looked altogether like a man that, feeling himself
out of his element, resolves to "bide his time" in patience until chance
may throw him among more congenial associates. Mickey Free, who was himself
no mean proficient in reading a character, at one glance saw his man, and
began hammering his brains to see if he could not overreach him. The
small portmanteau which contained Billy's wardrobe bore the conspicuous
announcement of his name; and as Mickey could read, this was one important
step already gained.

He accordingly took the first opportunity of seating himself beside him,
and opened the conversation by some very polite observation upon the
other's wearing apparel, which is always in the west considered a piece of
very courteous attention. By degrees the dialogue prospered, and Mickey
began to make some very important revelations about himself and his master,
intimating that the "state of the country" was such that a man of his way
of thinking had no peace or quiet in it.

"That's him there, forenent ye," said Mickey, "and a better Protestant
never hated Mass. Ye understand."

"What!" said Billy, unbuttoning the collar of his coat to get a fairer view
at his companion; "why, I thought you were—"

Here he made some resemblance of the usual manner of blessing oneself.

"Me, devil a more nor yourself, Mr. Crow."

"Why, do you know me, too?"

"Troth, more knows you than you think."

Billy looked very much puzzled at all this; at last he said,—

"And ye tell me that your master there's the right sort?"

"Thrue blue," said Mike, with a wink, "and so is his uncles."

"And where are they, when they are at home?"

"In Galway, no less; but they're here now."

"Where?"

"Here."

At these words he gave a knock of his heel to the coach, as if to intimate
their "whereabouts."

"You don't mean in the coach, do ye?"

"To be sure I do; and troth you can't know much of the west, av ye don't
know the three Mr. Trenches of Tallybash!—them's they."

"You don't say so?"

"Faix, but I do."

"May I never drink the 12th of July if I didn't think they were priests."

"Priests!" said Mickey, in a roar of laughter,—"priests!"

"Just priests!"

"Be-gorra, though, ye had better keep that to yourself; for they're not the
men to have that same said to them."

"Of course I wouldn't offend them," said Mr. Crow; "faith, it's not me
would cast reflections upon such real out-and-outers as they are. And where
are they going now?"

"To Dublin straight; there's to be a grand lodge next week. But sure Mr.
Crow knows better than me."

Billy after this became silent. A moody revery seemed to steal over him;
and he was evidently displeased with himself for his want of tact in not
discovering the three Mr. Trenches of Tallybash, though he only caught
sight of their backs.

Mickey Free interrupted not the frame of mind in which he saw conviction
was slowly working its way, but by gently humming in an undertone the loyal
melody of "Croppies Lie Down," fanned the flame he had so dexterously
kindled. At length they reached the small town of Kinnegad. While the coach
changed horses, Mr. Crow lost not a moment in descending from the top, and
rushing into the little inn, disappeared for a few moments. When he again
issued forth, he carried a smoking tumbler of whiskey punch, which he
continued to stir with a spoon. As he approached the coach-door he tapped
gently with his knuckles; upon which the reverend prelate of Maronia, or
Mesopotamia, I forget which, inquired what he wanted.

"I ask your pardon, gentlemen," said Billy, "but I thought I'd make bold to
ask you to take something warm this cold day."

"Many thanks, my good friend; but we never do," said a bland voice from
within.

"I understand," said Billy, with a sly wink; "but there are circumstances
now and then,—and one might for the honor of the cause, you know. Just put
it to your lips, won't you?"

"Excuse me," said a very rosy-cheeked little prelate, "but nothing stronger
than water—"

"Botheration," thought Billy, as he regarded the speaker's nose. "But I
thought," said he, aloud, "that you would not refuse this."

Here he made a peculiar manifestation in the air, which, whatever respect
and reverence it might carry to the honest brethren of 13,476, seemed only
to increase the wonder and astonishment of the bishops.

"What does he mean?" said one.

"Is he mad?" said another.

"Tear and ages," said Mr. Crow, getting quite impatient at the slowness of
his friends' perception,—"tear and ages, I'm one of yourselves."

"One of us," said the three in chorus,—"one of us?"

"Ay, to be sure," here he took a long pull at the punch,—"to be sure I am;
here's 'No surrender,' your souls! whoop—" a loud yell accompanying the
toast as he drank it.

"Do you mean to insult us?" said Father P———. "Guard, take the fellow."

"Are we to be outraged in this manner?" chorussed the priests.

"'July the 1st, in Oldbridge town,'" sang Billy, "and here it is, 'The
glorious, pious, and immortal memory of the great and good—'"

"Guard! Where is the guard?"

"'And good King William, that saved us from Popery—'"

"Coachman! Guard!" screamed Father ———.

"'Brass money—'"

"Policeman! policeman!" shouted the priests.

"'Brass money and wooden shoes;' devil may care who hears me!" said Billy,
who, supposing that the three Mr. Trenches were skulking the avowal of
their principles, resolved to assert the pre-eminence of the great cause
single-handed and alone.

[MR. CROW WELL PLUCKED.]

"'Here's the Pope in the pillory, and the Devil pelting him with priests.'"

At these words a kick from behind apprised the loyal champion that a very
ragged auditory, who for some time past had not well understood the gist of
his eloquence, had at length comprehended enough to be angry. Ce n'est que
le premier pas qui coûte, certainly, in an Irish row. "The merest urchin
may light the train; one handful of mud often ignites a shindy that ends in
a most bloody battle."

And here, no sooner did the vis-a-tergo impel Billy forward than a severe
rap of a closed fist in the eye drove him back, and in one instant he
became the centre to a periphery of kicks, cuffs, pullings, and haulings
that left the poor deputy-grand not only orange, but blue.

He fought manfully, but numbers carried the day; and when the coach drove
off, which it did at last without him, the last thing visible to the
outsides was the figure of Mr. Crow,—whose hat, minus the crown, had been
driven over his head down upon his neck, where it remained like a dress
cravat,—buffeting a mob of ragged vagabonds who had so completely
metamorphosed the unfortunate man with mud and bruises that a committee of
the grand lodge might actually have been unable to identify him.

As for Mickey and his friends behind, their mirth knew no bounds; and
except the respectable insides, there was not an individual about the coach
who ceased to think of and laugh at the incident till we arrived in Dublin
and drew up at the Hibernian in Dawson Street.

CHAPTER XIV.

DUBLIN.

No sooner had I arrived in Dublin than my first care was to present myself
to Dr. Mooney, by whom I was received in the most cordial manner. In fact,
in my utter ignorance of such persons, I had imagined a college fellow to
be a character necessarily severe and unbending; and as the only two very
great people I had ever seen in my life were the Archbishop of Tuam and the
chief-baron when on circuit, I pictured to myself that a university
fellow was, in all probability, a cross between the two, and feared him
accordingly.

The doctor read over my uncle's letter attentively, invited me to partake
of his breakfast, and then entered upon something like an account of the
life before me; for which Sir Harry Boyle had, however, in some degree
prepared me.

"Your uncle, I find, wishes you to live in college,—perhaps it is better,
too,—so that I must look out for chambers for you. Let me see: it will be
rather difficult, just now, to find them." Here he fell for some moments
into a musing fit, and merely muttered a few broken sentences, as: "To be
sure, if other chambers could be had—but then—and after all, perhaps, as
he is young—besides, Frank will certainly be expelled before long, and
then he will have them all to himself. I say, O'Malley, I believe I must
quarter you for the present with a rather wild companion; but as your uncle
says you're a prudent fellow,"—here he smiled very much, as if my uncle
had not said any such thing,—"why, you must only take the better care of
yourself until we can make some better arrangement. My pupil, Frank Webber,
is at this moment in want of a 'chum,' as the phrase is,—his last three
having only been domesticated with him for as many weeks; so that until we
find you a more quiet resting-place, you may take up your abode with him."

During breakfast, the doctor proceeded to inform me that my destined
companion was a young man of excellent family and good fortune who, with
very considerable talents and acquirements, preferred a life of rackety and
careless dissipation to prospects of great success in public life, which
his connection and family might have secured for him. That he had been
originally entered at Oxford, which he was obliged to leave; then tried
Cambridge, from which he escaped expulsion by being rusticated,—that
is, having incurred a sentence of temporary banishment; and lastly, was
endeavoring, with what he himself believed to be a total reformation, to
stumble on to a degree in the "silent sister."

"This is his third year," said the doctor, "and he is only a freshman,
having lost every examination, with abilities enough to sweep the
university of its prizes. But come over now, and I'll present you to him."

I followed him down-stairs, across the court to an angle of the old square
where, up the first floor left, to use the college direction, stood the
name of Mr. Webber, a large No. 2 being conspicuously painted in the middle
of the door and not over it, as is usually the custom. As we reached the
spot, the observations of my companion were lost to me in the tremendous
noise and uproar that resounded from within. It seemed as if a number of
people were fighting pretty much as a banditti in a melodrama do, with
considerable more of confusion than requisite; a fiddle and a French horn
also lent their assistance to shouts and cries which, to say the best, were
not exactly the aids to study I expected in such a place.

Three times was the bell pulled with a vigor that threatened its downfall,
when at last, as the jingle of it rose above all other noises, suddenly
all became hushed and still; a momentary pause succeeded, and the door was
opened by a very respectable looking servant who, recognizing the doctor,
at once introduced us into the apartment where Mr. Webber was sitting.

In a large and very handsomely furnished room, where Brussels carpeting and
softly cushioned sofas contrasted strangely with the meagre and comfortless
chambers of the doctor, sat a young man at a small breakfast-table beside
the fire. He was attired in a silk dressing-gown and black velvet slippers,
and supported his forehead upon a hand of most lady-like whiteness, whose
fingers were absolutely covered with rings of great beauty and price. His
long silky brown hair fell in rich profusion upon the back of his neck and
over his arm, and the whole air and attitude was one which a painter might
have copied. So intent was he upon the volume before him that he never
raised his head at our approach, but continued to read aloud, totally
unaware of our presence.

"Dr. Mooney, sir," said the servant.

"Ton dapamey bominos, prosephe, crione Agamemnon" repeated the student,
in an ecstasy, and not paying the slightest attention to the announcement.

"Dr. Mooney, sir," repeated the servant, in a louder tone, while the doctor
looked around on every side for an explanation of the late uproar, with a
face of the most puzzled astonishment.

"Be dakiown para thina dolekoskion enkos" said Mr. Webber, finishing a
cup of coffee at a draught.

"Well, Webber, hard at work I see," said the doctor.

"Ah, Doctor, I beg pardon! Have you been long here?" said the most soft and
insinuating voice, while the speaker passed his taper fingers across his
brow, as if to dissipate the traces of deep thought and study.

While the doctor presented me to my future companion, I could perceive, in
the restless and searching look he threw around, that the fracas he had so
lately heard was still an unexplained and vexata questio in his mind.

"May I offer you a cup of coffee, Mr. O'Malley?" said the youth, with an
air of almost timid bashfulness. "The doctor, I know, breakfasts at a very
early hour."

"I say, Webber," said the doctor, who could no longer restrain his
curiosity, "what an awful row I heard here as I came up to the door. I
thought Bedlam was broke loose. What could it have been?"

"Ah, you heard it too, sir," said Mr. Webber, smiling most benignly.

"Hear it? To be sure I did. O'Malley and I could not hear ourselves talking
with the uproar."

"Yes, indeed, it is very provoking; but then, what's to be done? One can't
complain, under the circumstances."

"Why, what do you mean?" said Mooney, anxiously.

"Nothing, sir; nothing. I'd much rather you'd not ask me; for after all,
I'll change my chambers."

"But why? Explain this at once. I insist upon it."

"Can I depend upon the discretion of your young friend?" said Mr. Webber,
gravely.

"Perfectly," said the doctor, now wound up to the greatest anxiety to learn
a secret.

"And you'll promise not to mention the thing except among your friends?"

"I do," said the doctor.

"Well, then," said he, in a low and confident whisper, "it's the dean."

"The dean!" said Mooney, with a start. "The dean! Why, how can it be the
dean?"

"Too true," said Mr. Webber, making a sign of drinking,—"too true, Doctor.
And then, the moment he is so, he begins smashing the furniture. Never was
anything heard like it. As for me, as I am now become a reading man, I must
go elsewhere."

Now, it so chanced that the worthy dean, who albeit a man of most
abstemious habits, possessed a nose which, in color and development, was a
most unfortunate witness to call to character, and as Mooney heard Webber
narrate circumstantially the frightful excesses of the great functionary, I
saw that something like conviction was stealing over him.

"You'll, of course, never speak of this except to your most intimate
friends," said Webber.

"Of course not," said the doctor, as he shook his hand warmly, and prepared
to leave the room. "O'Malley, I leave you here," said he; "Webber and you
can talk over your arrangements."

Webber followed the doctor to the door, whispered something in his ear, to
which the other replied, "Very well, I will write; but if your father
sends the money, I must insist—" The rest was lost in protestations and
professions of the most fervent kind, amidst which the door was shut, and
Mr. Webber returned to the room.

Short as was the interspace from the door without to the room within, it
was still ample enough to effect a very thorough and remarkable change in
the whole external appearance of Mr. Frank Webber; for scarcely had the
oaken panel shut out the doctor, when he appeared no longer the shy, timid,
and silvery-toned gentleman of five minutes before, but dashing boldly
forward, he seized a key-bugle that lay hid beneath a sofa-cushion and blew
a tremendous blast.

[FRANK WEBBER AT HIS STUDIES.]

"Come forth, ye demons of the lower world," said he, drawing a cloth from
a large table, and discovering the figures of three young men coiled up
beneath. "Come forth, and fear not, most timorous freshmen that ye are,"
said he, unlocking a pantry, and liberating two others. "Gentlemen, let
me introduce to your acquaintance Mr. O'Malley. My chum, gentlemen. Mr.
O'Malley, that is Harry Nesbitt, who has been in college since the days of
old Perpendicular, and numbers more cautions than any man who ever had his
name on the books. Here is my particular friend, Cecil Cavendish, the only
man who could ever devil kidneys. Captain Power, Mr. O'Malley, a dashing
dragoon, as you see; aide-de-camp to his Excellency the Lord Lieutenant,
and love-maker-general to Merrion Square West. These," said he, pointing to
the late denizens of the pantry, "are jibs whose names are neither known to
the proctor nor the police-office; but with due regard to their education
and morals, we don't despair."

"By no means," said Power; "but come, let us resume our game." At these
words he took a folio atlas of maps from a small table, and displayed
beneath a pack of cards, dealt as if for whist. The two gentlemen to whom
I was introduced by name returned to their places; the unknown two put on
their boxing gloves, and all resumed the hilarity which Dr. Mooney's advent
had so suddenly interrupted.

"Where's Moore?" said Webber, as he once more seated himself at his
breakfast.

"Making a spatch-cock, sir," said the servant.

At the same instant, a little, dapper, jovial-looking personage appeared
with the dish in question.

"Mr. O'Malley, Mr. Moore, the gentleman who, by repeated remonstrances to
the board, has succeeded in getting eatable food for the inhabitants of
this penitentiary, and has the honored reputation of reforming the commons
of college."

"Anything to Godfrey O'Malley, may I ask, sir?" said Moore.

"His nephew," I replied.

"Which of you winged the gentleman the other day for not passing the
decanter, or something of that sort?"

"If you mean the affair with Mr. Bodkin, it was I."

"Glorious, that; begad, I thought you were one of us. I say, Power, it was
he pinked Bodkin."

"Ah, indeed," said Power, not turning his head from his game, "a pretty
shot, I heard,—two by honors,—and hit him fairly,—the odd trick.
Hammersley mentioned the thing to me."

"Oh, is he in town?" said I.

"No; he sailed for Portsmouth yesterday. He is to join the llth—game. I
say, Webber, you've lost the rubber."

"Double or quit, and a dinner at Dunleary," said Webber. "We must show
O'Malley,—confound the Mister!—something of the place."

"Agreed."

The whist was resumed; the boxers, now refreshed by a leg of the
spatch-cock, returned to their gloves; Mr. Moore took up his violin; Mr.
Webber his French horn; and I was left the only unemployed man in the
company.

"I say, Power, you'd better bring the drag over here for us; we can all go
down together."

"I must inform you," said Cavendish, "that, thanks to your philanthropic
efforts of last night, the passage from Grafton Street to Stephen's
Green is impracticable." A tremendous roar of laughter followed this
announcement; and though at the time the cause was unknown to me, I may as
well mention it here, as I subsequently learned it from my companions.

Among the many peculiar tastes which distinguished Mr. Francis Webber was
an extraordinary fancy for street-begging. He had, over and over, won large
sums upon his success in that difficult walk; and so perfect were his
disguises,—both of dress, voice, and manner,—that he actually at one time
succeeded in obtaining charity from his very opponent in the wager. He
wrote ballads with the greatest facility, and sang them with infinite
pathos and humor; and the old woman at the corner of College Green was
certain of an audience when the severity of the night would leave all other
minstrelsy deserted. As these feats of jonglerie usually terminated in a
row, it was a most amusing part of the transaction to see the singer's part
taken by the mob against the college men, who, growing impatient to carry
him off to supper somewhere, would invariably be obliged to have a fight
for the booty.

Now it chanced that a few evenings before, Mr. Webber was returning with a
pocket well lined with copper from a musical reunion he had held at the
corner of York Street, when the idea struck him to stop at the end of
Grafton Street, where a huge stone grating at that time exhibited—perhaps
it exhibits still—the descent to one of the great main sewers of the city.

The light was shining brightly from a pastrycook's shop, and showed the
large bars of stone between which the muddy water was rushing rapidly down
and plashing in the torrent that ran boisterously several feet beneath.

To stop in the street of any crowded city is, under any circumstances, an
invitation to others to do likewise which is rarely unaccepted; but when
in addition to this you stand fixedly in one spot and regard with stern
intensity any object near you, the chances are ten to one that you have
several companions in your curiosity before a minute expires.

Now, Webber, who had at first stood still without any peculiar thought in
view, no sooner perceived that he was joined by others than the idea of
making something out of it immediately occurred to him.

"What is it, agra?" inquired an old woman, very much in his own style of
dress, pulling at the hood of his cloak. "And can't you see for yourself,
darling?" replied he, sharply, as he knelt down and looked most intensely
at the sewer.

"Are ye long there, avick?" inquired he of an imaginary individual below,
and then waiting as if for a reply, said,

"Two hours! Blessed Virgin, he's two hours in the drain!"

By this time the crowd had reached entirely across the street, and the
crushing and squeezing to get near the important spot was awful.

"Where did he come from?" "Who is he?" "How did he get there?" were
questions on every side; and various surmises were afloat till Webber,
rising from his knees, said, in a mysterious whisper, to those nearest him,
"He's made his escape to-night out o' Newgate by the big drain, and lost
his way; he was looking for the Liffey, and took the wrong turn."

To an Irish mob what appeal could equal this? A culprit at any time has
his claim upon their sympathy; but let him be caught in the very act of
cheating the authorities and evading the law, and his popularity knows
no bounds. Webber knew this well, and as the mob thickened around him
sustained an imaginary conversation that Savage Landor might have envied,
imparting now and then such hints concerning the runaway as raised their
interest to the highest pitch, and fifty different versions were related on
all sides,—of the crime he was guilty of, the sentence that was passed on
him, and the day he was to suffer.

"Do you see the light, dear?" said Webber, as some ingeniously benevolent
individual had lowered down a candle with a string,—"do ye see the light?
Oh, he's fainted, the creature!" A cry of horror burst forth from the crowd
at these words, followed by a universal shout of, "Break open the street."

Pickaxes, shovels, spades, and crowbars seemed absolutely the walking
accompaniments of the crowd, so suddenly did they appear upon the field of
action; and the work of exhumation was begun with a vigor that speedily
covered nearly half of the street with mud and paving-stones. Parties
relieved each other at the task, and ere half an hour a hole capable
of containing a mail-coach was yawning in one of the most frequented
thoroughfares of Dublin. Meanwhile, as no appearance of the culprit could
be had, dreadful conjectures as to his fate began to gain ground. By this
time the authorities had received intimation of what was going forward, and
attempted to disperse the crowd; but Webber, who still continued to conduct
the prosecution, called on them to resist the police and save the poor
creature. And now began a most terrific fray: the stones, forming a ready
weapon, were hurled at the unprepared constables, who on their side fought
manfully, but against superior numbers; so that at last it was only by the
aid of a military force the mob could be dispersed, and a riot which had
assumed a very serious character got under. Meanwhile Webber had reached
his chambers, changed his costume, and was relating over a supper-table the
narrative of his philanthropy to a very admiring circle of his friends.

Such was my chum, Frank Webber; and as this was the first anecdote I had
heard of him, I relate it here that my readers may be in possession of the
grounds upon which my opinion of that celebrated character was founded,
while yet our acquaintance was in its infancy.

CHAPTER XV.

CAPTAIN POWER.

Within a few weeks after my arrival in town I had become a matriculated
student of the university, and the possessor of chambers within its walls
in conjunction with the sage and prudent gentleman I have introduced to my
readers in the last chapter. Had my intentions on entering college been of
the most studious and regular kind, the companion into whose society I
was then immediately thrown would have quickly dissipated them. He voted
morning chapels a bore, Greek lectures a humbug, examinations a farce,
and pronounced the statute-book, with its attendant train of fines
and punishment, an "unclean thing." With all my country habits and
predilections fresh upon me, that I was an easily-won disciple to his code
need not be wondered at; and indeed ere many days had passed over, my
thorough indifference to all college rules and regulations had given me a
high place in the esteem of Webber and his friends. As for myself, I was
most agreeably surprised to find that what I had looked forward to as a
very melancholy banishment, was likely to prove a most agreeable sojourn.
Under Webber's directions there was no hour of the day that hung heavily
upon our hands. We rose about eleven and breakfasted, after which succeeded
fencing, sparring, billiards, or tennis in the park; about three, got on
horseback, and either cantered in the Phoenix or about the squares till
visiting time; after which, made our calls, and then dressed for
dinner, which we never thought of taking at commons, but had it from
Morrison's,—we both being reported sick in the dean's list, and thereby
exempt from the routine fare of the fellows' table. In the evening our
occupations became still more pressing; there were balls, suppers, whist
parties, rows at the theatre, shindies in the street, devilled drumsticks
at Hayes's, select oyster parties at the Carlingford,—in fact, every known
method of remaining up all night, and appearing both pale and penitent the
following morning.

Webber had a large acquaintance in Dublin, and soon made me known to them
all. Among others, the officers of the —th Light Dragoons, in which
regiment Power was captain, were his particular friends; and we had
frequent invitations to dine at their mess. There it was first that
military life presented itself to me in its most attractive possible form,
and heightened the passion I had already so strongly conceived for
the army. Power, above all others, took my fancy. He was a gay,
dashing-looking, handsome fellow of about eight-and-twenty, who had already
seen some service, having joined while his regiment was in Portugal; was in
heart and soul a soldier; and had that species of pride and enthusiasm in
all that regarded a military career that forms no small part of the charm
in the character of a young officer.

I sat near him the second day we dined at the mess, and was much pleased at
many slight attentions in his manner towards me.

"I called on you to-day, Mr. O'Malley," said he, "in company with a friend
who is most anxious to see you."

"Indeed," said I, "I did not hear of it."

"We left no cards, either of us, as we were determined to make you out on
another day; my companion has most urgent reasons for seeing you. I see you
are puzzled," said he; "and although I promised to keep his secret, I must
blab. It was Sir George Dashwood was with me; he told us of your most
romantic adventure in the west,—and faith there is no doubt you saved the
lady's life."

"Was she worth the trouble of it?" said the old major, whose conjugal
experiences imparted a very crusty tone to the question.

"I think," said I, "I need only tell her name to convince you of it."

"Here's a bumper to her," said Power, filling his glass; "and every true
man will follow my example."

When the hip-hipping which followed the toast was over, I found myself
enjoying no small share of the attention of the party as the deliverer of
Lucy Dashwood.

"Sir George is cudgelling his brain to show his gratitude to you," said
Power.

"What a pity, for the sake of his peace of mind, that you're not in the
army," said another; "it's so easy to show a man a delicate regard by a
quick promotion."

"A devil of a pity for his own sake, too," said Power, again; "they're
going to make a lawyer of as strapping a fellow as ever carried a
sabretasche."

"A lawyer!" cried out half a dozen together, pretty much with the same tone
and emphasis as though he had said a twopenny postman; "the devil they
are."

"Cut the service at once; you'll get no promotion in it," said the colonel;
"a fellow with a black eye like you would look much better at the head of
a squadron than of a string of witnesses. Trust me, you'd shine more in
conducting a picket than a prosecution."

"But if I can't?" said I.

"Then take my plan," said Power, "and make it cut you."

"Yours?" said two or three in a breath,—"yours?"

"Ay, mine; did you never know that I was bred to the bar? Come, come, if
it was only for O'Malley's use and benefit, as we say in the parchments, I
must tell you the story."

The claret was pushed briskly round, chairs drawn up to fill any vacant
spaces, and Power began his story.

"As I am not over long-winded, don't be scared at my beginning my
history somewhat far back. I began life that most unlucky of all earthly
contrivances for supplying casualties in case anything may befall the heir
of the house,—a species of domestic jury-mast, only lugged out in a gale
of wind,—a younger son. My brother Tom, a thick-skulled, pudding-headed
dog, that had no taste for anything save his dinner, took it into his wise
head one morning that he would go into the army, and although I had been
originally destined for a soldier, no sooner was his choice made than
all regard for my taste and inclination was forgotten; and as the family
interest was only enough for one, it was decided that I should be put in
what is called a 'learned profession,' and let push my fortune. 'Take
your choice, Dick,' said my father, with a most benign smile,—'take your
choice, boy: will you be a lawyer, a parson, or a doctor?'

"Had he said, 'Will you be put in the stocks, the pillory, or publicly
whipped?' I could not have looked more blank than at the question.

"As a decent Protestant, he should have grudged me to the Church; as a
philanthropist, he might have scrupled at making me a physician; but as he
had lost deeply by law-suits, there looked something very like a lurking
malice in sending me to the bar. Now, so far, I concurred with him; for
having no gift for enduring either sermons or senna, I thought I'd make a
bad administrator of either, and as I was ever regarded in the family as
rather of a shrewd and quick turn, with a very natural taste for roguery, I
began to believe he was right, and that Nature intended me for the circuit.

"From the hour my vocation was pronounced, it had been happy for the family
that they could have got rid of me. A certain ambition to rise in my
profession laid hold on me, and I meditated all day and night how I was to
get on. Every trick, every subtle invention to cheat the enemy that I could
read of, I treasured up carefully, being fully impressed with the notion
that roguery meant law, and equity was only another name for odd and even.

"My days were spent haranguing special juries of housemaids and
laundresses, cross-examining the cook, charging the under-butler, and
passing sentence of death upon the pantry boy, who, I may add, was
invariably hanged when the court rose.

"If the mutton were overdone, or the turkey burned, I drew up an indictment
against old Margaret, and against the kitchen-maid as accomplice, and the
family hungered while I harangued; and, in fact, into such disrepute did I
bring the legal profession, by the score of annoyance of which I made
it the vehicle, that my father got a kind of holy horror of law courts,
judges, and crown solicitors, and absented himself from the assizes the
same year, for which, being a high sheriff, he paid a penalty of five
hundred pounds.

"The next day I was sent off in disgrace to Dublin to begin my career in
college, and eat the usual quartos and folios of beef and mutton which
qualify a man for the woolsack.

"Years rolled over, in which, after an ineffectual effort to get through
college, the only examination I ever got being a jubilee for the king's
birthday, I was at length called to the Irish bar, and saluted by my
friends as Counsellor Power. The whole thing was so like a joke to me that
it kept me in laughter for three terms; and in fact it was the best thing
could happen me, for I had nothing else to do. The hall of the Four Courts
was a very pleasant lounge; plenty of agreeable fellows that never earned
sixpence or were likely to do so. Then the circuits were so many country
excursions, that supplied fun of one kind or other, but no profit. As for
me, I was what was called a good junior. I knew how to look after the
waiters, to inspect the decanting of the wine and the airing of the claret,
and was always attentive to the father of the circuit,—the crossest old
villain that ever was a king's counsel. These eminent qualities, and my
being able to sing a song in honor of our own bar, were recommendations
enough to make me a favorite, and I was one.

"Now, the reputation I obtained was pleasant enough at first, but I began
to wonder that I never got a brief. Somehow, if it rained civil bills or
declarations, devil a one would fall upon my head; and it seemed as if
the only object I had in life was to accompany the circuit, a kind of
deputy-assistant commissary-general, never expected to come into action.
To be sure, I was not alone in misfortune; there were several promising
youths, who cut great figures in Trinity, in the same predicament, the only
difference being, that they attributed to jealousy what I suspected was
forgetfulness, for I don't think a single attorney in Dublin knew one of
us.

"Two years passed over, and then I walked the hall with a bag filled with
newspapers to look like briefs, and was regularly called by two or three
criers from one court to the other. It never took. Even when I used to
seduce a country friend to visit the courts, and get him into an animated
conversation in a corner between two pillars, devil a one would believe him
to be a client, and I was fairly nonplussed.

"'How is a man ever to distinguish himself in such a walk as this?' was my
eternal question to myself every morning, as I put on my wig. 'My face is
as well known here as Lord Manners's.' Every one says, 'How are you, Dick?'
'How goes it, Power?' But except Holmes, that said one morning as he passed
me, 'Eh, always busy?' no one alludes to the possibility of my having
anything to do.

"'If I could only get a footing,' thought I, 'Lord, how I'd astonish them!
As the song says:—

    "Perhaps a recruit
    Might chance to shoo
      Great General Buonaparté."

So,' said I to myself, 'I'll make these halls ring for it some day or
other, if the occasion ever present itself.' But, faith, it seemed as if
some cunning solicitor overheard me and told his associates, for they
avoided me like a leprosy. The home circuit I had adopted for some time
past, for the very palpable reason that being near town it was least
costly, and it had all the advantages of any other for me in getting me
nothing to do. Well, one morning we were in Philipstown; I was lying awake
in bed, thinking how long it would be before I'd sum up resolution to cut
the bar, where certainly my prospects were not the most cheering, when some
one tapped gently at my door.

"'Come in,' said I.

"The waiter opened gently, and held out his hand with a large roll of paper
tied round with a piece of red tape.

"'Counsellor,' said he, 'handsel.'

"'What do you mean?' said I, jumping out of bed. 'What is it, you villain?'

"'A brief.'

"'A brief. So I see; but it's for Counsellor Kinshella, below stairs.' That
was the first name written on it.

"'Bethershin,' said he, 'Mr. M'Grath bid me give it to you carefully.'

"By this time I had opened the envelope and read my own name at full length
as junior counsel in the important case of Monaghan v. M'Shean, to be
tried in the Record Court at Ballinasloe. 'That will do,' said I, flinging
it on the bed with a careless air, as if it were a very every-day matter
with me.

"'But Counsellor, darlin', give us a thrifle to dhrink your health with
your first cause, and the Lord send you plenty of them!'

"'My first,' said I, with a smile of most ineffable compassion at his
simplicity; 'I'm worn out with them. Do you know, Peter, I was thinking
seriously of leaving the bar, when you came into the room? Upon my
conscience, it's in earnest I am.'

"Peter believed me, I think, for I saw him give a very peculiar look as he
pocketed his half-crown and left the room.

"The door was scarcely closed when I gave way to the free transport of my
ecstasy; there it lay at last, the long looked-for, long wished-for object
of all my happiness, and though I well knew that a junior counsel has about
as much to do in the conducting of a case as a rusty handspike has in a
naval engagement, yet I suffered not such thoughts to mar the current of my
happiness. There was my name in conjunction with the two mighty leaders on
the circuit; and though they each pocketed a hundred, I doubt very much if
they received their briefs with one half the satisfaction. My joy at length
a little subdued, I opened the roll of paper and began carefully to peruse
about fifty pages of narrative regarding a watercourse that once had turned
a mill; but, from some reasons doubtless known to itself or its friends,
would do so no longer, and thus set two respectable neighbors at
loggerheads, and involved them in a record that had been now heard three
several times.

"Quite forgetting the subordinate part I was destined to fill, I opened
the case in a most flowery oration, in which I descanted upon the benefits
accruing to mankind from water-communication since the days of Noah;
remarking upon the antiquity of mills, and especially of millers, and
consumed half an hour in a preamble of generalities that I hoped would make
a very considerable impression upon the court. Just at the critical moment
when I was about to enter more particularly into the case, three or four
of the great unbriefed came rattling into my room, and broke in upon the
oration.

"'I say, Power,' said one, 'come and have an hour's skating on the canal;
the courts are filled, and we sha'n't be missed.'

"'Skate, my dear friend,' said I, in a most dolorous tone, 'out of the
question; see, I am chained to a devilish knotty case with Kinshella and
Mills.'

"'Confound your humbugging,' said another, 'that may do very well in Dublin
for the attorneys, but not with us.'

"'I don't well understand you,' I replied; 'there is the brief. Hennesy
expects me to report upon it this evening, and I am so hurried.'

"Here a very chorus of laughing broke forth, in which, after several vain
efforts to resist, I was forced to join, and kept it up with the others.

"When our mirth was over, my friends scrutinized the red-tape-tied packet,
and pronounced it a real brief, with a degree of surprise that certainly
augured little for their familiarity with such objects of natural history.

"When they had left the room, I leisurely examined the all-important
document, spreading it out before me upon the table, and surveying it as
a newly-anointed sovereign might be supposed to contemplate a map of his
dominions.

"'At last,' said I to myself,—'at last, and here is the footstep to the
woolsack.' For more than an hour I sat motionless, my eyes fixed upon
the outspread paper, lost in a very maze of revery. The ambition which
disappointments had crushed, and delay had chilled, came suddenly back, and
all my day-dreams of legal success, my cherished aspirations after silk
gowns and patents of precedence, rushed once more upon me, and I was
resolved to do or die. Alas, a very little reflection showed me that the
latter was perfectly practicable; but that, as a junior counsel, five
minutes of very common-place recitation was all my province, and with the
main business of the day I had about as much to do as the call-boy of a
playhouse has with the success of a tragedy.

"'My Lord, this is an action brought by Timothy Higgin,' etc., and down I
go, no more to be remembered and thought of than if I had never existed.
How different it would be if I were the leader! Zounds, how I would worry
the witnesses, browbeat the evidence, cajole the jury, and soften the
judges! If the Lord were, in His mercy, to remove old Mills and Kinshella
before Tuesday, who knows but my fortune might be made? This supposition
once started, set me speculating upon all the possible chances that might
cut off two king's counsel in three days, and left me fairly convinced that
my own elevation was certain, were they only removed from my path.

"For two whole days the thought never left my mind; and on the evening of
the second day, I sat moodily over my pint of port, in the Clonbrock Arms,
with my friend Timothy Casey, Captain in the North Cork Militia, for my
companion.

"'Dick,' said Tim, 'take off your wine, man. When does this confounded
trial come on?'

"'To-morrow,' said I, with a deep groan.

"'Well, well, and if it does, what matter?' he said; 'you'll do well
enough, never be afraid.'

"'Alas!' said I, 'you don't understand the cause of my depression.' I here
entered upon an account of my sorrows, which lasted for above an hour, and
only concluded just as a tremendous noise in the street without announced
an arrival. For several minutes such was the excitement in the house, such
running hither and thither, such confusion, and such hubbub, that we could
not make out who had arrived.

"At last a door opened quite near us, and we saw the waiter assisting a
very portly-looking gentleman off with his great-coat, assuring him the
while that if he would only walk into the coffee-room for ten minutes, the
fire in his apartment should be got ready. The stranger accordingly entered
and seated himself at the fireplace, having never noticed that Casey and
myself, the only persons there, were in the room.

"'I say, Phil, who is he?' inquired Casey of the waiter.

"'Counsellor Mills, Captain,' said the waiter, and left the room.

"'That's your friend,' said Casey.

"'I see,' said I; 'and I wish with all my heart he was at home with his
pretty wife, in Leeson Street.'

"'Is she good-looking?' inquired Tim.

"'Devil a better,' said I; 'and he's as jealous as old Nick.'

"'Hem,' said Tim, 'mind your cue, and I'll give him a start.' Here he
suddenly changed his whispering tone for one in a louder key, and resumed:
'I say, Power, it will make some work for you lawyers. But who can she be?
that's the question.' Here he took a much crumpled letter from his pocket,
and pretended to read: '"A great sensation was created in the neighborhood
of Merrion Square, yesterday, by the sudden disappearance from her house of
the handsome Mrs. ———." Confound it!—what's the name? What a hand he
writes! Hill, or Miles, or something like that,—"the lady of an eminent
barrister, now on circuit. The gay Lothario is, they say, the Hon. George
———."' I was so thunderstruck at the rashness of the stroke, I could say
nothing; while the old gentleman started as if he had sat down on a pin.
Casey, meanwhile, went on.

"'Hell and fury!' said the king's counsel, rushing over, 'what is it you're
saying?'

"'You appear warm, old gentleman,' said Casey, putting up the letter and
rising from the table.

"'Show me that letter!—show me that infernal letter, sir, this instant!'

"'Show you my letter,' said Casey; 'cool, that, anyhow. You are certainly a
good one.'

"'Do you know me, sir? Answer me that,' said the lawyer, bursting with
passion.

"'Not at present,' said Tim, quietly; 'but I hope to do so in the morning
in explanation of your language and conduct.' A tremendous ringing of the
bell here summoned the waiter to the room.

"'Who is that—' inquired the lawyer. The epithet he judged it safe to
leave unsaid, as he pointed to my friend Casey.

"'Captain Casey, sir, the commanding officer here.'

"'Just so,' said Casey. 'And very much, at your service any hour after five
in the morning.'

"'Then you refuse, sir, to explain the paragraph I have just heard you
read?'

"'Well done, old gentleman; so you have been listening to a private
conversation I held with my friend here. In that case we had better retire
to our room.' So saying, he ordered the waiter to send a fresh bottle
and glasses to No. 14, and taking my arm, very politely wished Mr. Mills
good-night, and left the coffee-room.

"Before we had reached the top of the stairs the house was once more in
commotion. The new arrival had ordered out fresh horses, and was hurrying
every one in his impatience to get away. In ten minutes the chaise rolled
off from the door; and Casey, putting his head out of the window, wished
him a pleasant journey; while turning to me, he said,—

"'There's one of them out of the way for you, if we are even obliged to
fight the other.'

"The port was soon despatched, and with it went all the scruples of
conscience I had at first felt for the cruel ruse we had just practised.
Scarcely was the other bottle called for when we heard the landlord calling
out in a stentorian voice,—

"'Two horses for Goran Bridge to meet Counsellor Kinshella.'

"'That's the other fellow?' said Casey.

"'It is,' said I.

"'Then we must be stirring,' said he. 'Waiter, chaise and pair in five
minutes,—d'ye hear? Power, my boy, I don't want you; stay here and study
your brief. It's little trouble Counsellor Kinshella will give you in the
morning.'

"All he would tell me of his plans was that he didn't mean any serious
bodily harm to the counsellor, but that certainly he was not likely to be
heard of for twenty-four hours.

"'Meanwhile, Power, go in and win, my boy,' said he; 'such another walk
over may never occur.'

"I must not make my story longer. The next morning the great record of
Monaghan v. M'Shean was called on; and as the senior counsel were not
present, the attorney wished a postponement. I, however, was firm; told
the court I was quite prepared, and with such an air of assurance that I
actually puzzled the attorney. The case was accordingly opened by me in a
very brilliant speech, and the witnesses called; but such was my unlucky
ignorance of the whole matter that I actually broke down the testimony of
our own, and fought like a Trojan, for the credit and character of the
perjurers against us! The judge rubbed his eyes; the jury looked amazed;
and the whole bar laughed outright. However, on I went, blundering,
floundering, and foundering at every step; and at half-past four, amidst
the greatest and most uproarious mirth of the whole court, heard the jury
deliver a verdict against us, just as old Kinshella rushed into the court
covered with mud and spattered with clay. He had been sent for twenty miles
to make a will for Mr. Daly, of Daly's Mount, who was supposed to be at
the point of death, but who, on his arrival, threatened to shoot him for
causing an alarm to his family by such an imputation.

"The rest is soon told. They moved for a new trial, and I moved out of the
profession. I cut the bar, for it cut me. I joined the gallant 14th as a
volunteer; and here I am without a single regret, I must confess, that I
didn't succeed in the great record of Monaghan v. M'Shean."

Once more the claret went briskly round, and while we canvassed Power's
story, many an anecdote of military life was told, as every instant
increased the charm of that career I longed for.

"Another cooper, Major," said Power.

"With all my heart," said the rosy little officer, as he touched the bell
behind him; "and now let's have a song."

"Yes, Power," said three or four together; "let us have 'The Irish
Dragoon,' if it's only to convert your friend O'Malley there."

"Here goes, then," said Dick, taking off a bumper as he began the following
chant to the air of "Love is the Soul of a gay Irishman":—

    THE IRISH DRAGOON.

    Oh, love is the soul of an Irish dragoon
    In battle, in bivouac, or in saloon,
      From the tip of his spur to his bright sabretasche.
    With his soldierly gait and his bearing so high,
    His gay laughing look and his light speaking eye,
    He frowns at his rival, he ogles his wench,
    He springs in his saddle and chasses the French,
      With his jingling spur and his bright sabretasche.

    His spirits are high, and he little knows care,
    Whether sipping his claret or charging a square,
      With his jingling spur and his bright sabretasche.
    As ready to sing or to skirmish he's found,
    To take off his wine or to take up his ground;
    When the bugle may call him, how little he fears
    To charge forth in column and beat the Mounseers,
      With his jingling spur and his bright sabretasche.

    When the battle is over, he gayly rides back
    To cheer every soul in the night bivouac,
      With his jingling spur and his bright sabretasche.
    Oh, there you may see him in full glory crowned,
    As he sits 'midst his friends on the hardly won ground,
    And hear with what feeling the toast he will give,
    As he drinks to the land where all Irishmen live,
      With his jingling spur and his bright sabretasche.

It was late when we broke up; but among all the recollections of that
pleasant evening none clung to me so forcibly, none sank so deeply in my
heart, as the gay and careless tone of Power's manly voice; and as I fell
asleep towards morning, the words of "The Irish Dragoon" were floating
through my mind and followed me in my dreams.

CHAPTER XVI.

THE VICE-PROVOST.

I had now been for some weeks a resident within the walls of the
university, and yet had never presented my letter of introduction to Dr.
Barret. Somehow, my thoughts and occupations had left me little leisure to
reflect upon my college course, and I had not felt the necessity suggested
by my friend Sir Harry, of having a supporter in the very learned and
gifted individual to whom I was accredited. How long I might have continued
in this state of indifference it is hard to say, when chance brought about
my acquaintance with the doctor.

Were I not inditing a true history in this narrative of my life, to the
events and characters of which so many are living witnesses, I should
certainly fear to attempt anything like a description of this very
remarkable man; so liable would any sketch, however faint and imperfect, be
to the accusation of caricature, when all was so singular and so eccentric.

Dr. Barret was, at the time I speak of, close upon seventy years of age,
scarcely five feet in height, and even that diminutive stature lessened
by a stoop. His face was thin, pointed, and russet-colored; his nose so
aquiline as nearly to meet his projecting chin, and his small gray eyes,
red and bleary, peered beneath his well-worn cap with a glance of mingled
fear and suspicion. His dress was a suit of the rustiest black, threadbare,
and patched in several places, while a pair of large brown leather
slippers, far too big for his feet, imparted a sliding motion to his walk
that added an air of indescribable meanness to his appearance; a gown that
had been worn for twenty years, browned and coated with the learned dust of
the Fagel, covered his rusty habiliments, and completed the equipments of
a figure that it was somewhat difficult for the young student to recognize
as the vice-provost of the university. Such was he in externals. Within, a
greater or more profound scholar never graced the walls of the college;
a distinguished Grecian, learned in all the refinements of a hundred
dialects; a deep Orientalist, cunning in all the varieties of Eastern
languages, and able to reason with a Moonshee, or chat with a Persian
ambassador. With a mind that never ceased acquiring, he possessed a memory
ridiculous for its retentiveness, even of trifles; no character in history,
no event in chronology was unknown to him, and he was referred to by his
contemporaries for information in doubtful and disputed cases, as men
consult a lexicon or dictionary. With an intellect thus stored with deep
and far-sought knowledge, in the affairs of the world he was a child.
Without the walls of the college, for above forty years, he had not
ventured half as many times, and knew absolutely nothing of the busy,
active world that fussed and fumed so near him; his farthest excursion was
to the Bank of Ireland, to which he made occasional visits to fund the
ample income of his office, and add to the wealth which already had
acquired for him a well-merited repute of being the richest man in college.

His little intercourse with the world had left him, in all his habits and
manners, in every respect exactly as when he entered college nearly half
a century before; and as he had literally risen from the ranks in the
university, all the peculiarities of voice, accent, and pronunciation which
distinguished him as a youth, adhered to him in old age. This was singular
enough, and formed a very ludicrous contrast with the learned and deep-read
tone of his conversation; but another peculiarity, still more striking,
belonged to him. When he became a fellow, he was obliged, by the rules of
the college, to take holy orders as a sine qua non to his holding his
fellowship. This he did, as he would have assumed a red hood or blue one,
as bachelor of laws or doctor of medicine, and thought no more of it;
but frequently, in his moments of passionate excitement, the venerable
character with which he was invested was quite forgotten, and he would
utter some sudden and terrific oath, more productive of mirth to his
auditors than was seemly, and for which, once spoken, the poor doctor felt
the greatest shame and contrition. These oaths were no less singular than
forcible; and many a trick was practised, and many a plan devised, that the
learned vice-provost might be entrapped into his favorite exclamation of,
"May the devil admire me!" which no place or presence could restrain.

My servant, Mike, who had not been long in making himself acquainted with
all the originals about him, was the cause of my first meeting the doctor,
before whom I received a summons to appear on the very serious charge of
treating with disrespect the heads of the college.

The circumstances were shortly these: Mike had, among the other gossip of
the place, heard frequent tales of the immense wealth and great parsimony
of the doctor, and of his anxiety to amass money on all occasions, and the
avidity with which even the smallest trifle was added to his gains. He
accordingly resolved to amuse himself at the expense of this trait, and
proceeded thus. Boring a hole in a halfpenny, he attached a long string to
it, and having dropped it on the doctor's step stationed himself on the
opposite side of the court, concealed from view by the angle of the
Commons' wall. He waited patiently for the chapel bell, at the first toll
of which the door opened, and the doctor issued forth. Scarcely was his
foot upon the step, when he saw the piece of money, and as quickly stooped
to seize it; but just as his finger had nearly touched it, it evaded his
grasp and slowly retreated. He tried again, but with the like success. At
last, thinking he had miscalculated the distance, he knelt leisurely down,
and put forth his hand, but lo! it again escaped him; on which, slowly
rising from his posture, he shambled on towards the chapel, where, meeting
the senior lecturer at the door, he cried out, "H——— to my soul, Wall,
but I saw the halfpenny walk away!"

For the sake of the grave character whom he addressed, I need not recount
how such a speech was received; suffice it to say, that Mike had been seen
by a college porter, who reported him as my servant.

I was in the very act of relating the anecdote to a large party at
breakfast in my rooms, when a summons arrived, requiring my immediate
attendance at the board, then sitting in solemn conclave at the examination
hall.

I accordingly assumed my academic costume as speedily as possible, and
escorted by that most august functionary, Mr. M'Alister, presented myself
before the seniors.

The members of the board, with the provost at their head, were seated at a
long oak table covered with books, papers, etc., and from the silence they
maintained as I walked up the hall, I augured that a very solemn scene was
before me.

"Mr. O'Malley," said the dean, reading my name from a paper he held in his
hand, "you have been summoned here at the desire of the vice-provost, whose
questions you will reply to."

I bowed. A silence of a few minutes followed, when, at length, the learned
doctor, hitching up his nether garments with both hands, put his old and
bleary eyes close to my face, while he croaked out, with an accent that no
hackney-coachman could have exceeded in vulgarity,—

"Eh, O'Malley, you're quartus, I believe; a'n't you?"

"I believe not. I think I am the only person of that name now on the
books."

"That's thrue; but there were three O'Malleys before you. Godfrey O'Malley,
that construed Calve Neroni to Nero the Calvinist,—ha! ha! ha!—was
cautioned in 1788."

"My uncle, I believe, sir."

"More than likely, from what I hear of you,—Ex uno, etc. I see your name
every day on the punishment roll. Late hours, never at chapel, seldom at
morning lecture. Here ye are, sixteen shillings, wearing a red coat."

"Never knew any harm in that, Doctor."

"Ay, but d'ye see me, now? 'Grave raiment,' says the statute. And then, ye
keep numerous beasts of prey, dangerous in their habits, and unseemly to
behold."

"A bull terrier, sir, and two game-cocks, are, I assure you, the only
animals in my household."

"Well. I'll fine you for it."

"I believe, Doctor," said the dean, interrupting in an undertone, "that you
cannot impose a penalty in this matter."

"Ay, but I can. 'Singing-birds,' says the statute, 'are forbidden within
the wall.'"

"And then, ye dazzled my eyes at Commons with a bit of looking-glass, on
Friday. I saw you. May the devil!—ahem! As I was saying, that's casting
reflections on the heads of the college; and your servant it was,
Michaelis Liber, Mickey Free,—may the flames of!—ahem!—an insolent
varlet! called me a sweep."

"You, Doctor; impossible!" said I, with pretended horror.

"Ay, but d'ye see me, now? It's thrue, for I looked about me at the time,
and there wasn't another sweep in the place but myself. Hell to!—I
mean—God forgive me for swearing! but I'll fine you a pound for this."

As I saw the doctor was getting on at such a pace, I resolved,
notwithstanding the august presence of the board, to try the efficacy of
Sir Harry's letter of introduction, which I had taken in my pocket in the
event of its being wanted.

"I beg your pardon, sir, if the time be an unsuitable one; but may I take
the opportunity of presenting this letter to you?"

"Ha! I know the hand—Boyle's. Boyle secundus. Hem, ha, ay! 'My young
friend; and assist him by your advice.' To be sure! Oh, of course. Eh, tell
me, young man, did Boyle say nothing to you about the copy of Erasmus,
bound in vellum, that I sold him in Trinity term, 1782?"

"I rather think not, sir," said I, doubtfully.

"Well, then, he might. He owes me two-and-fourpence of the balance."

"Oh, I beg pardon, sir; I now remember he desired me to repay you that sum;
but he had just sealed the letter when he recollected it."

"Better late than never," said the doctor, smiling graciously. "Where's the
money? Ay! half-a-crown. I haven't twopence—never mind. Go away, young
man; the case is dismissed. Vehementer miror quare hue venisti. You're
more fit for anything than a college life. Keep good hours; mind the terms;
and dismiss Michaelis Liber. Ha, ha, ha! May the devil!—hem!—that is
do—" So saying, the little doctor's hand pushed me from the hall, his mind
evidently relieved of all the griefs from which he had been suffering, by
the recovery of his long-lost two-and-four-pence.

Such was my first and last interview with the vice-provost, and it made an
impression upon me that all the intervening years have neither dimmed nor
erased.

CHAPTER XVII.

TRINITY COLLEGE.—A LECTURE.

I had not been many weeks a resident of Old Trinity ere the flattering
reputation my chum, Mr. Francis Webber, had acquired, extended also to
myself; and by universal consent, we were acknowledged the most riotous,
ill-conducted, disorderly men on the books of the university. Were the
lamps of the squares extinguished, and the college left in total darkness,
we were summoned before the dean; was the vice-provost serenaded with
a chorus of trombones and French horns, to our taste in music was the
attention ascribed; did a sudden alarm of fire disturb the congregation
at morning chapel, Messrs. Webber and O'Malley were brought before the
board,—and I must do them the justice to say that the most trifling
circumstantial evidence was ever sufficient to bring a conviction. Reading
men avoided the building where we resided as they would have done the
plague. Our doors, like those of a certain classic precinct commemorated by
a Latin writer, lay open night and day, while mustached dragoons, knowingly
dressed four-in-hand men, fox-hunters in pink, issuing forth to the
Dubber or returning splashed from a run with the Kildare hounds, were
everlastingly seen passing and repassing. Within, the noise and confusion
resembled rather the mess-room of a regiment towards eleven at night
than the chambers of a college student; while, with the double object of
affecting to be in ill-health, and to avoid the reflections that daylight
occasionally inspires, the shutters were never opened, but lamps and
candles kept always burning. Such was No. 2, Old Square, in the goodly days
I write of. All the terrors of fines and punishments fell scathless on the
head of my worthy chum. In fact, like a well-known political character,
whose pleasure and amusement it has been for some years past to drive
through acts of Parliament and deride the powers of the law, so did Mr.
Webber tread his way, serpenting through the statute-book, ever grazing,
but rarely trespassing upon some forbidden ground which might involve the
great punishment of expulsion. So expert, too, had he become in his special
pleadings, so dexterous in the law of the university, that it was no easy
matter to bring crime home to him; and even when this was done, his pleas
of mitigation rarely failed of success.

There was a sweetness of demeanor, a mild, subdued tone about him, that
constantly puzzled the worthy heads of the college how the accusations
ever brought against him could be founded on truth; that the pale,
delicate-looking student, whose harsh, hacking cough terrified the hearers,
could be the boisterous performer upon a key-bugle, or the terrific
assailant of watchmen, was something too absurd for belief. And when Mr.
Webber, with his hand upon his heart, and in his most dulcet accents,
assured them that the hours he was not engaged in reading for the medal
were passed in the soothing society of a few select and intimate friends
of literary tastes and refined minds, who, knowing the delicacy of his
health,—here he would cough,—were kind enough to sit up with him for an
hour or so in the evening, the delusion was perfect; and the story of the
dean's riotous habits having got abroad, the charge was usually suppressed.

Like most idle men, Webber never had a moment to spare. Except read, there
was nothing he did not do; training a hack for a race in the Phoenix,
arranging a rowing-match, getting up a mock duel between two white-feather
acquaintances, were his almost daily avocations. Besides that, he was at
the head of many organized societies, instituted for various benevolent
purposes. One was called "The Association for Discountenancing Watchmen;"
another, "The Board of Works," whose object was principally devoted to the
embellishment of the university, in which, to do them justice, their labors
were unceasing, and what with the assistance of some black paint, a ladder,
and a few pounds of gunpowder, they certainly contrived to effect many
important changes. Upon an examination morning, some hundred luckless
"jibs" might be seen perambulating the courts, in the vain effort to
discover their tutors' chambers, the names having undergone an alteration
that left all trace of their original proprietors unattainable: Doctor
Francis Mooney having become Doctor Full Moon; Doctor Hare being, by the
change of two letters, Doctor Ape; Romney Robinson, Romulus and Remus, etc.
While, upon occasions like these, there could be but little doubt of Master
Frank's intentions, upon many others, so subtle were his inventions, so
well-contrived his plots, it became a matter of considerable difficulty to
say whether the mishap which befell some luckless acquaintance were the
result of design or mere accident; and not unfrequently well-disposed
individuals were found condoling with "Poor Frank" upon his ignorance of
some college rule or etiquette, his breach of which had been long and
deliberately planned. Of this latter description was a circumstance which
occurred about this time, and which some who may throw an eye over these
pages will perhaps remember.

The dean, having heard (and, indeed, the preparations were not intended to
secure secrecy) that Webber destined to entertain a party of his friends
at dinner on a certain day, sent a peremptory order for his appearance at
Commons, his name being erased from the sick list, and a pretty strong hint
conveyed to him that any evasion upon his part would be certainly followed
by an inquiry into the real reasons for his absence. What was to be done?
That was the very day he had destined for his dinner. To be sure, the
majority of his guests were college men, who would understand the
difficulty at once; but still there were some others, officers of the 14th,
with whom he was constantly dining, and whom he could not so easily
put off. The affair was difficult, but still Webber was the man for a
difficulty; in fact, he rather liked one. A very brief consideration
accordingly sufficed, and he sat down and wrote to his friends at the Royal
Barracks thus:—

                                                               Saturday.
    DEAR POWER,—I have a better plan for Tuesday than that I
    had proposed. Lunch here at three (we'll call it dinner), in the hall
    with the great guns. I can't say much for the grub; but the
    company—glorious!
    After that we'll start for Lucan in the drag; take
    our coffee, strawberries, etc., and return to No. 2 for supper at ten.
    Advertise your fellows of this change, and believe me,

    Most unchangeably yours, FRANK WEBBER.

Accordingly, as three o'clock struck, six dashing-looking light dragoons
were seen slowly sauntering up the middle of the dining-hall, escorted
by Webber, who, in full academic costume, was leisurely ciceroning his
friends, and expatiating upon the excellences of the very remarkable
portraits which graced the walls.

The porters looked on with some surprise at the singular hour selected
for sight-seeing; but what was their astonishment to find that the party,
having arrived at the end of the hall, instead of turning back again, very
composedly unbuckled their belts, and having disposed of their sabres in a
corner, took their places at the Fellows' table, and sat down amidst the
collective wisdom of Greek lecturers and Regius professors, as though they
had been mere mortals like themselves.

Scarcely was the long Latin grace concluded, when Webber, leaning forward,
enjoined his friends, in a very audible whisper, that if they intended to
dine no time was to be lost.

"We have but little ceremony here, gentlemen, and all we ask is a fair
start," said he, as he drew over the soup, and proceeded to help himself.

The advice was not thrown away; for each man, with an alacrity a campaign
usually teaches, made himself master of some neighboring dish, a very quick
interchange of good things speedily following the appropriation. It was
in vain that the senior lecturer looked aghast, that the professor of
astronomy frowned. The whole table, indeed, were thunderstruck, even to the
poor vice-provost himself, who, albeit given to the comforts of the table,
could not lift a morsel to his mouth, but muttered between his teeth, "May
the devil admire me, but they're dragoons!" The first shock of surprise
over, the porters proceeded to inform them that except Fellows of the
University or Fellow-commoners, none were admitted to the table. Webber
however assured them that it was a mistake, there being nothing in the
statute to exclude the 14th Light Dragoons, as he was prepared to prove.
Meanwhile dinner proceeded, Power and his party performing with great
self-satisfaction upon the sirloins and saddles about them, regretting
only, from time to time, that there was a most unaccountable absence of
wine, and suggesting the propriety of napkins whenever they should dine
there again. Whatever chagrin these unexpected guests caused among their
entertainers of the upper table, in the lower part of the hall the laughter
was loud and unceasing; and long before the hour concluded, the Fellows
took their departure, leaving to Master Frank Webber the task of doing the
honors alone and unassisted. When summoned before the board for the offence
on the following morning, Webber excused himself by throwing the blame upon
his friends, with whom, he said, nothing short of a personal quarrel—a
thing for a reading man not to be thought of—could have prevented
intruding in the manner related. Nothing less than his tact could have
saved him on this occasion, and at last he carried the day; while by an
act of the board the 14th Light Dragoons were pronounced the most insolent
corps in the service.

An adventure of his, however, got wind about this time, and served to
enlighten many persons as to his real character, who had hitherto been most
lenient in their expressions about him. Our worthy tutor, with a zeal for
our welfare far more praiseworthy than successful, was in the habit of
summoning to his chambers, on certain mornings of the week, his various
pupils, whom he lectured in the books for the approaching examinations.
Now, as these séances were held at six o'clock in winter as well as summer,
in a cold fireless chamber,—the lecturer lying snug amidst his blankets,
while we stood shivering around the walls,—the ardor of learning must
indeed have proved strong that prompted a regular attendance. As to Frank,
he would have as soon thought of attending chapel as of presenting himself
on such an occasion. Not so with me. I had not yet grown hackneyed enough
to fly in the face of authority, and I frequently left the whist-table, or
broke off in a song, to hurry over to the doctor's chambers and spout Homer
and Hesiod. I suffered on in patience, till at last the bore became so
insupportable that I told my sorrows to my friend, who listened to me out,
and promised me succor.

It so chanced that upon some evening in each week Dr. Mooney was in the
habit of visiting some friends who resided a short distance from town,
and spending the night at their house. He, of course, did not lecture the
following morning,—a paper placard, announcing no lecture, being affixed
to the door on such occasions. Frank waited patiently till he perceived the
doctor affixing this announcement upon his door one evening; and no sooner
had he left the college than he withdrew the paper and departed.

On the next morning he rose early, and concealing himself on the staircase,
waited the arrival of the venerable damsel who acted as servant to the
doctor. No sooner had she opened the door and groped her way into the
sitting-room than Frank crept forward, and stealing gently into the
bedroom, sprang into the bed and wrapped himself up in the blankets. The
great bell boomed forth at six o'clock, and soon after the sounds of the
feet were heard upon the stairs. One by one they came along, and gradually
the room was filled with cold and shivering wretches, more than half
asleep, and trying to arouse themselves into an approach to attention.

"Who's there?" said Frank, mimicking the doctor's voice, as he yawned three
or four times in succession and turned in the bed.

"Collisson, O'Malley, Nesbitt," etc., said a number of voices, anxious to
have all the merit such a penance could confer.

"Where's Webber?"

"Absent, sir," chorussed the whole party.

"Sorry for it," said the mock doctor. "Webber is a man of first-rate
capacity; and were he only to apply, I am not certain to what eminence his
abilities might raise him. Come, Collisson, any three angles of a triangle
are equal to—are equal to—what are they equal to?" Here he yawned as
though he would dislocate his jaw.

"Any three angles of a triangle are equal to two right angles," said
Collisson, in the usual sing-song tone of a freshman.

As he proceeded to prove the proposition, his monotonous tone seemed to
have lulled the doctor into a doze, for in a few minutes a deep, long-drawn
snore announced from the closed curtains that he listened no longer. After
a little time, however, a short snort from the sleeper awoke him suddenly,
and he called out, "Go on, I'm waiting. Do you think I can arouse at this
hour of the morning for nothing but to listen to your bungling? Can no one
give me a free translation of the passage?"

This digression from mathematics to classics did not surprise the hearers,
though it somewhat confused them, no one being precisely aware what the
line in question might be.

"Try it, Nesbitt,—you, O'Malley. Silent all? Really this is too bad!" An
indistinct muttering here from the crowd was followed by an announcement
from the doctor that the speaker was an ass, and his head a turnip! "Not
one of you capable of translating a chorus from Euripides,—'Ou, ou, papai,
papai,' etc.; which, after all, means no more than, 'Oh, whilleleu, murder,
why did you die!' etc. What are you laughing at, gentlemen? May I ask, does
it become a set of ignorant, ill-informed savages—yes, savages, I repeat
the word—to behave in this manner? Webber is the only man I have with
common intellect,—the only man among you capable of distinguishing
himself. But as for you, I'll bring you before the board; I'll write to
your friends; I'll stop your college indulgences; I'll confine you to the
walls; I'll be damned, eh—"

This lapse confused him. He stammered, stuttered, endeavored to recover
himself; but by this time we had approached the bed, just at the moment
when Master Frank, well knowing what he might expect if detected, had
bolted from the blankets and rushed from the room. In an instant we were in
pursuit; but he regained his chambers, and double-locked the door before we
could overtake him, leaving us to ponder over the insolent tirade we had so
patiently submitted to.

That morning the affair got wind all over college. As for us, we were
scarcely so much laughed at as the doctor; the world wisely remembering,
if such were the nature of our morning's orisons, we might nearly as
profitably have remained snug in our quarters.

Such was our life in Old Trinity; and strange enough it is that one should
feel tempted to the confession, but I really must acknowledge these were,
after all, happy times, and I look back upon them with mingled pleasure and
sadness. The noble lord who so pathetically lamented that the devil was not
so strong in him as he used to be forty years before, has an echo in my
regrets that the student is not as young in me as when these scenes were
enacting of which I write.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE INVITATION.—THE WAGER.

I was sitting at breakfast with Webber, a few mornings after the mess
dinner I have spoken of, when Power came in hastily.

"Ha, the very man!" said he. "I say, O'Malley, here's an invitation for you
from Sir George, to dine on Friday. He desired me to say a thousand civil
things about his not having made you out, regrets that he was not at home
when you called yesterday, and all that. By Jove, I know nothing like the
favor you stand in; and as for Miss Dashwood, faith! the fair Lucy blushed,
and tore her glove in most approved style, when the old general began his
laudation of you."

"Pooh, nonsense," said I; "that silly affair in the west."

"Oh, very probably; there's reason the less for you looking so excessively
conscious. But I must tell you, in all fairness, that you have no chance;
nothing short of a dragoon will go down."

"Be assured," said I, somewhat nettled, "my pretensions do not aspire to
the fair Miss Dashwood."

"Tant mieux et tant pis, mon cher. I wish to Heaven mine did; and, by
Saint Patrick, if I only played the knight-errant half as gallantly
as yourself, I would not relinquish my claims to the Secretary at War
himself."

"What the devil brought the old general down to your wild regions?"
inquired Webber.

"To contest the county."

"A bright thought, truly. When a man was looking for a seat, why not try a
place where the law is occasionally heard of?"

"I'm sure I can give you no information on that head; nor have I ever heard
how Sir George came to learn that such a place as Galway existed."

"I believe I can enlighten you," said Power. "Lady Dashwood—rest her
soul!—came west of the Shannon; she had a large property somewhere in
Mayo, and owned some hundred acres of swamp, with some thousand starving
tenantry thereupon, that people dignified as an estate in Connaught. This
first suggested to him the notion of setting up for the county, probably
supposing that the people who never paid in rent might like to do so in
gratitude. How he was undeceived, O'Malley there can inform us. Indeed, I
believe the worthy general, who was confoundedly hard up when he married,
expected to have got a great fortune, and little anticipated the three
chancery suits he succeeded to, nor the fourteen rent-charges to his wife's
relatives that made up the bulk of the dower. It was an unlucky hit for him
when he fell in with the old 'maid' at Bath; and had she lived, he must
have gone to the colonies. But the Lord took her one day, and Major
Dashwood was himself again. The Duke of York, the story goes, saw him at
Hounslow during a review, was much struck with his air and appearance, made
some inquiries, found him to be of excellent family and irreproachable
conduct, made him an aide-de-camp, and, in fact, made his fortune. I do not
believe that, while doing so kind, he could by possibility have done a more
popular thing. Every man in the army rejoiced at his good fortune; so that,
after all, though he has had some hard rubs, he has come well through,
the only vestige of his unfortunate matrimonial connection being a
correspondence kept up by a maiden sister of his late wife's with him. She
insists upon claiming the ties of kindred upon about twenty family eras
during the year, when she regularly writes a most loving and ill-spelled
epistle, containing the latest information from Mayo, with all particulars
of the Macan family, of which she is a worthy member. To her constant hints
of the acceptable nature of certain small remittances, the poor general is
never inattentive; but to the pleasing prospect of a visit in the flesh
from Miss Judy Macan, the good man is dead. In fact, nothing short of being
broke by general court-martial could complete his sensations of horror at
such a stroke of fortune; and I am not certain, if choice were allowed him,
that he would not prefer the latter."

"Then he has never yet seen her?" said Webber.

"Never," replied Power; "and he hopes to leave Ireland without that
blessing, the prospect of which, however remote and unlikely, has, I know
well, more than once terrified him since his arrival."

"I say, Power, and has your worthy general sent me a card for his ball?"

"Not through me, Master Frank."

"Well, now, I call that devilish shabby, do you know. He asks O'Malley
there from my chambers, and never notices the other man, the superior in
the firm. Eh, O'Malley, what say you?"

"Why, I didn't know you were acquainted."

"And who said we were? It was his fault, though, entirely, that we were
not. I am, as I have ever been, the most easy fellow in the world on
that score, never give myself airs to military people, endure anything,
everything, and you see the result; hard, ain't it?"

"But, Webber, Sir George must really be excused in this matter. He has
a daughter, a most attractive, lovely daughter, just at that budding,
unsuspecting age when the heart is most susceptible of impressions; and
where, let me ask, could she run such a risk as in the chance of a casual
meeting with the redoubted lady-killer, Master Frank Webber? If he has not
sought you out, then here be his apology."

"A very strong case, certainly," said Frank; "but, still, had he confided
his critical position to my honor and secrecy, he might have depended on
me; now, having taken the other line—"

"Well, what then?"

"Why, he must abide the consequences. I'll make fierce love to Louisa;
isn't that the name?"

"Lucy, so please you."

"Well, be it so,—to Lucy,—talk the little girl into a most deplorable
attachment for me."

"But, how, may I ask, and when?"

"I'll begin at the ball, man."

"Why, I thought you said you were not going?"

"There you mistake seriously. I merely said that I had not been invited."

"Then, of course," said I, "Webber, you can't think of going, in any case,
on my account."

"My very dear friend, I go entirely upon my own. I not only shall go, but
I intend to have most particular notice and attention paid me. I shall be
prime favorite with Sir George, kiss Lucy—"

"Come, come, this is too strong."

"What do you bet I don't? There, now, I'll give you a pony apiece, I do. Do
you say done?"

"That you kiss Miss Dashwood, and are not kicked down-stairs for your
pains; are those the terms of the wager?" inquired Power.

"With all my heart. That I kiss Miss Dashwood, and am not kicked
down-stairs for my pains."

"Then, I say, done."

"And with you, too, O'Malley?"

"I thank you," said I, coldly; "I am not disposed to make such a return for
Sir George Dashwood's hospitality as to make an insult to his family the
subject of a bet."

"Why, man, what are you dreaming of? Miss Dashwood will not refuse my
chaste salute. Come, Power, I'll give you the other pony."

"Agreed," said he. "At the same time, understand me distinctly, that I hold
myself perfectly eligible to winning the wager by my own interference; for
if you do kiss her, by Jove! I'll perform the remainder of the compact."

"So I understand the agreement," said Webber, arranging his curls before
the looking-glass. "Well, now, who's for Howth? The drag will be here in
half an hour."

"Not I," said Power; "I must return to the barracks."

"Nor I," said I, "for I shall take this opportunity of leaving my card at
Sir George Dashwood's."

"I have won my fifty, however," said Power, as we walked out in the courts.

"I am not quite certain—"

"Why, the devil, he would not risk a broken neck for that sum; besides, if
he did, he loses the bet."

"He's a devilish keen fellow."

"Let him be. In any case I am determined to be on my guard here."

So chatting, we strolled along to the Royal Hospital, when, having dropped
my pasteboard, I returned to the college.

CHAPTER XIX

THE BALL.

I have often dressed for a storming party with less of trepidation than I
felt on the evening of Sir George Dashwood's ball. Since the eventful day
of the election I had never seen Miss Dashwood; therefore, as to what
precise position I might occupy in her favor was a matter of great doubt in
my mind, and great import to my happiness. That I myself loved her, was
a matter of which all the badinage of my friends regarding her made
me painfully conscious; but that, in our relative positions, such an
attachment was all but hopeless, I could not disguise from myself. Young as
I was, I well knew to what a heritage of debt, lawsuit, and difficulty I
was born to succeed. In my own resources and means of advancement I had no
confidence whatever, had even the profession to which I was destined been
more of my choice. I daily felt that it demanded greater exertions, if not
far greater abilities, than I could command, to make success at all likely;
and then, even if such a result were in store, years, at least, must elapse
before it could happen; and where would she then be, and where should I?
Where the ardent affection I now felt and gloried in,—perhaps all the more
for its desperate hopelessness,—when the sanguine and buoyant spirit to
combat with difficulties which youth suggests, and which, later, manhood
refuses, should have passed away? And even if all these survived the toil
and labor of anxious days and painful nights, what of her? Alas, I now
reflected that, although only of my own age, her manner to me had taken all
that tone of superiority and patronage which an elder assumes towards
one younger, and which, in the spirit of protection it proceeds upon,
essentially bars up every inlet to a dearer or warmer feeling,—at least,
when the lady plays the former part. "What, then, is to be done?" thought
I. "Forget her?—but how? How shall I renounce all my plans, and unweave
the web of life I have been spreading around me for many a day, without
that one golden thread that lent it more than half its brilliancy and all
its attraction? But then the alternative is even worse, if I encourage
expectations and nurture hopes never to be realized. Well, we meet
to-night, after a long and eventful absence; let my future fate be ruled by
the results of this meeting. If Lucy Dashwood does care for me, if I can
detect in her manner enough to show me that my affection may meet a return,
the whole effort of my life shall be to make her mine; if not, if my
own feelings be all that I have to depend upon to extort a reciprocal
affection, then shall I take my last look of her, and with it the first and
brightest dream of happiness my life has hitherto presented."

       *       *       *       *       *

It need not be wondered at if the brilliant coup d'oeil of the ball-room,
as I entered, struck me with astonishment, accustomed as I had hitherto
been to nothing more magnificent than an evening party of squires and
their squiresses or the annual garrison ball at the barracks. The glare of
wax-lights, the well-furnished saloons, the glitter of uniforms, and the
blaze of plumed and jewelled dames, with the clang of military music, was a
species of enchanted atmosphere which, breathing for the first time, rarely
fails to intoxicate. Never before had I seen so much beauty. Lovely faces,
dressed in all the seductive flattery of smiles, were on every side; and as
I walked from room to room, I felt how much more fatal to a man's peace and
heart's ease the whispered words and silent glances of those fair damsels,
than all the loud gayety and boisterous freedom of our country belles, who
sought to take the heart by storm and escalade.

As yet I had seen neither Sir George nor his daughter, and while I looked
on every side for Lucy Dashwood, it was with a beating and anxious heart
I longed to see how she would bear comparison with the blaze of beauty
around.

Just at this moment a very gorgeously dressed hussar stepped from a doorway
beside me, as if to make a passage for some one, and the next moment she
appeared leaning upon the arm of another lady. One look was all that I had
time for, when she recognized me.

"Ah, Mr. O'Malley, how happy—has Sir George—has my father seen you?"

"I have only arrived this moment; I trust he is quite well?"

"Oh, yes, thank you—"

"I beg your pardon with all humility, Miss Dashwood," said the hussar, in a
tone of the most knightly courtesy, "but they are waiting for us."

"But, Captain Fortescue, you must excuse me one moment more. Mr. Lechmere,
will you do me the kindness to find out Sir George? Mr. O'Malley—Mr.
Lechmere." Here she said something in French to her companion, but so
rapidly that I could not detect what it was, but merely heard the reply,
"Pas mal!"—which, as the lady continued to canvass me most deliberately
through her eye-glass, I supposed referred to me. "And now, Captain
Fortescue—" And with a look of most courteous kindness to me she
disappeared in the crowd.

The gentleman to whose guidance I was entrusted was one of the
aides-de-camp, and was not long in finding Sir George. No sooner had the
good old general heard my name, than he held out both his hands and shook
mine most heartily.

"At last, O'Malley; at last I am able to thank you for the greatest
service ever man rendered me. He saved Lucy, my Lord; rescued her under
circumstances where anything short of his courage and determination must
have cost her her life."

"Ah, very pretty indeed," said a stiff old gentleman addressed, as he
bowed a most superbly powdered scalp before me; "most happy to make your
acquaintance."

"Who is he?" added he, in nearly as loud a tone to Sir George.

"Mr. O'Malley, of O'Malley Castle."

"True, I forgot; why is he not in uniform?"

"Because, unfortunately, my Lord, we don't own him; he's not in the army."

"Ha! ha! thought he was."

"You dance, O'Malley, I suppose? I'm sure you'd rather be over there than
hearing all my protestations of gratitude, sincere and heartfelt as they
really are."

"Lechmere, introduce my friend, Mr. O'Malley; get him a partner."

I had not followed my new acquaintance many steps, when Power came up to
me. "I say, Charley," cried he, "I have been tormented to death by half the
ladies in the room to present you to them, and have been in quest of you
this half-hour. Your brilliant exploit in savage land has made you a
regular preux chevalier; and if you don't trade on that adventure to your
most lasting profit, you deserve to be—a lawyer. Come along here! Lady
Muckleman, the adjutant-general's lady and chief, has four Scotch daughters
you are to dance with; then I am to introduce you in all form to the Dean
of Something's niece,—she is a good-looking girl, and has two livings in
a safe county. Then there's the town-major's wife; and, in fact, I have
several engagements from this to supper-time."

"A thousand thanks for all your kindness in prospective, but I think,
perhaps, it were right I should ask Miss Dashwood to dance, if only as a
matter of form,—you understand?"

"And if Miss Dashwood should say, 'With pleasure, sir,' only as a matter of
form,—you understand?" said a silvery voice beside me. I turned, and saw
Lucy Dashwood, who, having overheard my free-and-easy suggestion, replied
to me in this manner.

I here blundered out my excuses. What I said, and what I did not say, I do
not now remember; but certainly, it was her turn now to blush, and her arm
trembled within mine as I led her to the top of the room. In the little
opportunity which our quadrille presented for conversation, I could not
help remarking that, after the surprise of her first meeting with me, Miss
Dashwood's manner became gradually more and more reserved, and that there
was an evident struggle between her wish to appear grateful for what had
occurred, with a sense of the necessity of not incurring a greater degree
of intimacy. Such was my impression, at least, and such the conclusion I
drew from a certain quiet tone in her manner that went further to wound my
feelings and mar my happiness than any other line of conduct towards me
could possibly have effected.

Our quadrille over, I was about to conduct her to a seat, when Sir George
came hurriedly up, his face greatly flushed, and betraying every semblance
of high excitement.

"Dear Papa, has anything occurred? Pray what is it?" inquired she.

He smiled faintly, and replied, "Nothing very serious, my dear, that
I should alarm you in this way; but certainly, a more disagreeable
contretemps could scarcely occur."

"Do tell me: what can it be?"

"Read this," said he, presenting a very dirty-looking note which bore the
mark of a red wafer most infernally plain upon its outside.

Miss Dashwood unfolded the billet, and after a moment's silence, instead of
participating, as he expected, in her father's feeling of distress, burst
out a-laughing, while she said: "Why, really, Papa, I do not see why this
should put you out much, after all. Aunt may be somewhat of a character, as
her note evinces, but after a few days—"

"Nonsense, child; there's nothing in this world I have such a dread of as
that confounded woman,—and to come at such a time."

"When does she speak of paying her visit?"

"I knew you had not read the note," said Sir George, hastily; "she's coming
here to-night,—is on her way this instant, perhaps. What is to be done? If
she forces her way in here, I shall go deranged outright; O'Malley, my boy,
read this note, and you will not feel surprised if I appear in the humor
you see me."

I took the billet from the hands of Miss Dashwood, and read as follows:—

    DEAR BROTHER,—When this reaches your hand, I'll not be far
    off. I'm on my way up to town, to be under Dr. Dease for the ould
    complaint. Cowley mistakes my case entirely; he says it's nothing
    but religion and wind. Father Magrath, who understands a good
    deal about females, thinks otherwise; but God knows who's right.
    Expect me to tea, and, with love to Lucy,
    Believe me, yours in haste,
    JUDITH MACAN.

Let the sheets be well aired in my room; and if you have a spare bed,
perhaps we could prevail upon Father Magrath to stop too.

I scarcely could contain my laughter till I got to the end of this very
free-and-easy epistle; when at last I burst forth in a hearty fit, in which
I was joined by Miss Dashwood.

From the account Power had given me in the morning, I had no difficulty in
guessing that the writer was the maiden sister of the late Lady Dashwood;
and for whose relationship Sir George had ever testified the greatest
dread, even at the distance of two hundred miles; and for whom, in any
nearer intimacy, he was in no wise prepared.

"I say, Lucy," said he, "there's only one thing to be done: if this horrid
woman does arrive, let her be shown to her room; and for the few days of
her stay in town, we'll neither see nor be seen by any one."

Without waiting for a reply, Sir George was turning away to give the
necessary instructions, when the door of the drawing-room was flung open,
and the servant announced, in his loudest voice, "Miss Macan." Never shall
I forget the poor general's look of horror as the words reached him; for as
yet, he was too far to catch even a glimpse of its fair owner. As for me, I
was already so much interested in seeing what she was like, that I made my
way through the crowd towards the door. It is no common occurrence that can
distract the various occupations of a crowded ball-room, where, amidst the
crash of music and the din of conversation, goes on the soft, low voice
of insinuating flattery, or the light flirtation of a first acquaintance;
every clique, every coterie, every little group of three or four has its
own separate and private interests, forming a little world of its own, and
caring for and heeding nothing that goes on around; and even when some
striking character or illustrious personage makes his entrée, the
attention he attracts is so momentary, that the buzz of conversation is
scarcely, if at all, interrupted, and the business of pleasure continues
to flow on. Not so now, however. No sooner had the servant pronounced the
magical name of Miss Macan, than all seemed to stand still. The spell thus
exercised over the luckless general seemed to have extended to his company;
for it was with difficulty that any one could continue his train of
conversation, while every eye was directed towards the door. About two
steps in advance of the servant, who still stood door in hand, was a tall,
elderly lady, dressed in an antique brocade silk, with enormous flowers
gaudily embroidered upon it. Her hair was powdered and turned back in the
fashion of fifty years before; while her high-pointed and heeled shoes
completed a costume that had not been seen for nearly a century. Her short,
skinny arms were bare and partly covered by a falling flower of old point
lace, while on her hands she wore black silk mittens; a pair of green
spectacles scarcely dimmed the lustre of a most piercing pair of eyes, to
whose effect a very palpable touch of rouge on the cheeks certainly added
brilliancy. There stood this most singular apparition, holding before her
a fan about the size of a modern tea-tray; while at each repetition of her
name by the servant, she curtesied deeply, bestowing the while upon the gay
crowd before her a very curious look of maidenly modesty at her solitary
and unprotected position.

[MISS JUDY MACAN.]

As no one had ever heard of the fair Judith, save one or two of Sir
George's most intimate friends, the greater part of the company were
disposed to regard Miss Macan as some one who had mistaken the character of
the invitation, and had come in a fancy dress. But this delusion was but
momentary, as Sir George, armed with the courage of despair, forced his way
through the crowd, and taking her hand affectionately, bid her welcome to
Dublin. The fair Judy, at this, threw her arms about his neck, and saluted
him with a hearty smack that was heard all over the room.

"Where's Lucy, Brother? Let me embrace my little darling," said the lady,
in an accent that told more of Miss Macan than a three-volume biography
could have done. "There she is, I'm sure; kiss me, my honey."

This office Miss Dashwood performed with an effort at courtesy really
admirable; while, taking her aunt's arm, she led her to a sofa.

It needed all the poor general's tact to get over the sensation of this
most malapropos addition to his party; but by degrees the various groups
renewed their occupations, although many a smile, and more than one
sarcastic glance at the sofa, betrayed that the maiden aunt had not escaped
criticism.

Power, whose propensity for fun very considerably out-stripped his sense of
decorum to his commanding officer, had already made his way towards Miss
Dashwood, and succeeded in obtaining a formal introduction to Miss Macan.

"I hope you will do me the favor to dance next set with me, Miss Macan?"

"Really, Captain, it's very polite of you, but you must excuse me. I was
never anything great in quadrilles; but if a reel or a jig—"

"Oh, dear Aunt, don't think of it, I beg of you."

"Or even Sir Roger de Coverley," resumed Miss Macan.

"I assure you, quite equally impossible."

"Then I'm certain you waltz," said Power.

"What do you take me for, young man? I hope I know better. I wish Father
Magrath heard you ask me that question, and for all your laced jacket—"

"Dearest Aunt, Captain Power didn't mean to offend you; I'm certain he—"

"Well, why did he dare to [sob, sob]—did he see anything light about me,
that he [sob, sob, sob]—oh, dear! oh, dear! is it for this I came up
from my little peaceful place in the west [sob, sob, sob]?—General,
George, dear; Lucy, my love, I'm taken bad. Oh, dear! oh, dear! is there
any whiskey negus?"

Whatever sympathy Miss Macan's sufferings might have excited in the crowd
about her before, this last question totally routed them, and a most hearty
fit of laughter broke forth from more than one of the bystanders.

At length, however, she was comforted, and her pacification completely
effected by Sir George setting her down to a whist-table. From this moment
I lost sight of her for above two hours. Meanwhile I had little opportunity
of following up my intimacy with Miss Dashwood, and as I rather suspected
that, on more than one occasion, she seemed to avoid our meeting, I took
especial care on my part, to spare her the annoyance.

For one instant only had I any opportunity of addressing her, and then
there was such an evident embarrassment in her manner that I readily
perceived how she felt circumstanced, and that the sense of gratitude to
one whose further advances she might have feared, rendered her constrained
and awkward. "Too true," said I, "she avoids me. My being here is only a
source of discomfort and pain to her; therefore, I'll take my leave, and
whatever it may cost me, never to return." With this intention, resolving
to wish Sir George a very good night, I sought him out for some minutes. At
length I saw him in a corner, conversing with the old nobleman to whom he
had presented me early in the evening.

"True, upon my honor, Sir George," said he; "I saw it myself, and she did
it just as dexterously as the oldest blackleg in Paris."

"Why, you don't mean to say that she cheated?"

"Yes, but I do, though,—turned the ace every time. Lady Herbert said to
me, 'Very extraordinary it is,—four by honors again.' So I looked, and
then I perceived it,—a very old trick it is; but she did it beautifully.
What's her name?"

"Some western name; I forget it," said the poor general, ready to die with
shame.

"Clever old woman, very!" said the old lord, taking a pinch of snuff; "but
revokes too often."

Supper was announced at this critical moment, and before I had further
thought of my determination to escape, I felt myself hurried along in the
crowd towards the staircase. The party immediately in front of me were
Power and Miss Macan, who now appeared reconciled, and certainly testified
most openly their mutual feelings of good-will.

"I say, Charley," whispered Power, as I came along, "it is capital
fun,—never met anything equal to her; but the poor general will never
live through it, and I'm certain of ten day's arrest for this night's
proceeding."

"Any news of Webber?" I inquired.

"Oh, yes, I fancy I can tell something of him; for I heard of some one
presenting himself, and being refused the entrée, so that Master Frank
has lost his money. Sit near us, I pray you, at supper. We must take care
of the dear aunt for the niece's sake, eh?"

Not seeing the force of this reasoning, I soon separated myself from them,
and secured a corner at a side-table. Every supper on such an occasion as
this is the same scene of solid white muslin, faded flowers, flushed faces,
torn gloves, blushes, blanc-mange, cold chicken, jelly, sponge cakes,
spooney young gentlemen doing the attentive, and watchful mammas
calculating what precise degree of propinquity in the crush is safe or
seasonable for their daughters to the mustached and unmarrying lovers
beside them. There are always the same set of gratified elders, like the
benchers in King's Inn, marched up to the head of the table, to eat, drink,
and be happy, removed from the more profane looks and soft speeches of the
younger part of the creation. Then there are the hoi polloi of outcasts,
younger sons of younger brothers, tutors, governesses, portionless cousins,
and curates, all formed in phalanx round the side-tables, whose primitive
habits and simple tastes are evinced by their all eating off the same plate
and drinking from nearly the same wine-glass,—too happy if some better-off
acquaintance at the long table invites them to "wine," though the ceremony
on their part is limited to the pantomime of drinking. To this miserable
tiers etat I belonged, and bore my fate with unconcern; for, alas, my
spirits were depressed and my heart heavy. Lucy's treatment of me was every
moment before me, contrasted with her gay and courteous demeanor to all
save myself, and I longed for the moment to get away.

Never had I seen her looking so beautiful; her brilliant eyes were lit with
pleasure, and her smile was enchantment itself. What would I not have given
for one moment's explanation, as I took my leave forever!—one brief avowal
of my unalterable, devoted love; for which I sought not nor expected
return, but merely that I might not be forgotten.

Such were my thoughts, when a dialogue quite near me aroused me from my
revery. I was not long in detecting the speakers, who, with their backs
turned to us, were seated at the great table discussing a very liberal
allowance of pigeon-pie, a flask of champagne standing between them.

"Don't now! don't I tell ye; it's little ye know Galway, or ye wouldn't
think to make up to me, squeezing my foot."

"Upon my soul, you're an angel, a regular angel. I never saw a woman suit
my fancy before."

"Oh, behave now. Father Magrath says—"

"Who's he?"

"The priest; no less."

"Oh, confound him!"

"Confound Father Magrath, young man?"

"Well, then, Judy, don't be angry; I only meant that a dragoon knows rather
more of these matters than a priest."

"Well, then, I'm not so sure of that. But anyhow, I'd have you to remember
it ain't a Widow Malone you have beside you."

"Never heard of the lady," said Power.

"Sure, it's a song,—poor creature,—it's a song they made about her in the
North Cork, when they were quartered down in our county."

"I wish to Heaven you'd sing it."

"What will you give me, then, if I do?"

"Anything,—everything; my heart, my life."

"I wouldn't give a trauneen for all of them. Give me that old green ring on
your finger, then."

"It's yours," said Power, placing it gracefully upon Miss Macan's finger;
"and now for your promise."

"May be my brother might not like it."

"He'd be delighted," said Power; "he dotes on music."

"Does he now?"

"On my honor, he does."

"Well, mind you get up a good chorus, for the song has one, and here it
is."

"Miss Macan's song!" said Power, tapping the table with his knife.

"Miss Macan's song!" was re-echoed on all sides; and before the luckless
general could interfere, she had begun. How to explain the air I know not,
for I never heard its name; but at the end of each verse a species of echo
followed the last word that rendered it irresistibly ridiculous.

    THE WIDOW MALONE.

    Did ye hear of the Widow Malone,
                                 Ohone!
    Who lived in the town of Athlone,
                                 Alone?
    Oh, she melted the hearts
    Of the swains in them parts,
    So lovely the Widow Malone,
                                 Ohone!
    So lovely the Widow Malone.

    Of lovers she had a full score,
                                 Or more;
    And fortunes they all had galore,
                                 In store;
    From the minister down
    To the clerk of the crown,
    All were courting the Widow Malone,
                                 Ohone!
    All were courting the Widow Malone.

    But so modest was Mrs. Malone,
                                 'T was known
    No one ever could see her alone,
                                 Ohone!
    Let them ogle and sigh,
    They could ne'er catch her eye,
    So bashful the Widow Malone,
                                 Ohone!
    So bashful the Widow Malone.

    Till one Mister O'Brien from Clare,
                                 How quare!
    It's little for blushin' they care
                                 Down there;
    Put his arm round her waist,
    Gave ten kisses at laste,
    "Oh," says he, "you're my Molly Malone,
                                 My own;
    Oh," says he, "you're my Molly Malone."

    And the widow they all thought so shy,
                                 My eye!
    Ne'er thought of a simper or sigh,
                                 For why?
    But "Lucius," says she,
    "Since you've made now so free,
    You may marry your Mary Malone,
                                 Ohone!
    You may marry your Mary Malone."

    There's a moral contained in my song,
                                 Not wrong;
    And one comfort it's not very long,
                                 But strong;
    If for widows you die,
    Larn to kiss, not to sigh,
    For they're all like sweet Mistress Malone,
                                 Ohone!
    Oh, they're very like Mistress Malone.

Never did song create such a sensation as Miss Macan's; and certainly
her desires as to the chorus were followed to the letter, for "The Widow
Malone, ohone!" resounded from one end of the table to the other, amidst
one universal shout of laughter. None could resist the ludicrous effect of
her melody; and even poor Sir George, sinking under the disgrace of his
relationship, which she had contrived to make public by frequent allusions
to her "dear brother the general," yielded at last, and joined in the mirth
around him.

"I insist upon a copy of 'The Widow,' Miss Macan," said Power.

"To be sure; give me a call to-morrow,—let me see,—about two. Father
Magrath won't be at home," said she, with a coquettish look.

"Where, pray, may I pay my respects?"

"No. 22 South Anne Street,—very respectable lodgings. I'll write the
address in your pocket-book."

Power produced a card and pencil, while Miss Macan wrote a few lines,
saying, as she handed it:—

"There, now, don't read it here before the people; they'll think it mighty
indelicate in me to make an appointment."

Power pocketed the card, and the next minute Miss Macan's carriage was
announced.

Sir George Dashwood, who little flattered himself that his fair guest
had any intention of departure, became now most considerately attentive,
reminded her of the necessity of muffling against the night air, hoped she
would escape cold, and wished her a most cordial good-night, with a promise
of seeing her early the following day.

Notwithstanding Power's ambition to engross the attention of the lady, Sir
George himself saw her to her carriage, and only returned to the room as a
group was collecting around the gallant captain, to whom he was relating
some capital traits of his late conquest,—for such he dreamed she was.

"Doubt it who will," said he, "she has invited me to call on her to-morrow,
written her address on my card, told me the hour she is certain of being
alone. See here!" At these words he pulled forth the card, and handed it to
Lechmere.

Scarcely were the eyes of the other thrown upon the writing, when he said,
"So, this isn't it, Power."

"To be sure it is, man," said Power. "Anne Street is devilish seedy, but
that's the quarter."

"Why, confound it, man!" said the other; "there's not a word of that here."

"Read it out," said Power. "Proclaim aloud my victory."

Thus urged, Lechmere read:—

    DEAR P.,—

    Please pay to my credit,—and soon, mark ye!—the two ponies
    lost this evening. I have done myself the pleasure of enjoying your
    ball, kissed the lady, quizzed the papa, and walked into the cunning
    Fred Power.               Yours,
                                 FRANK WEBBER.
    "The Widow Malone, ohone!" is at your service.

Had a thunderbolt fallen at his feet, his astonishment could not have
equalled the result of this revelation. He stamped, swore, raved, laughed,
and almost went deranged. The joke was soon spread through the room, and
from Sir George to poor Lucy, now covered with blushes at her part in the
transaction, all was laughter and astonishment.

"Who is he? That is the question," said Sir George, who, with all the
ridicule of the affair hanging over him, felt no common relief at the
discovery of the imposition.

"A friend of O'Malley's," said Power, delighted, in his defeat, to involve
another with himself.

"Indeed!" said the general, regarding me with a look of a very mingled
cast.

"Quite true, sir," said I, replying to the accusation that his manner
implied; "but equally so, that I neither knew of his plot nor recognized
him when here."

"I am perfectly sure of it, my boy," said the general; "and, after all, it
was an excellent joke,—carried a little too far, it's true; eh, Lucy?"

But Lucy either heard not, or affected not to hear; and after some little
further assurance that he felt not the least annoyed, the general turned to
converse with some other friends; while I, burning with indignation against
Webber, took a cold farewell of Miss Dashwood, and retired.

CHAPTER XX.

THE LAST NIGHT IN TRINITY.

How I might have met Master Webber after his impersonation of Miss Macan, I
cannot possibly figure to myself. Fortunately, indeed, for all parties, he
left town early the next morning; and it was some weeks ere he returned.
In the meanwhile I became a daily visitor at the general's, dined there
usually three or four times a week, rode out with Lucy constantly, and
accompanied her every evening either to the theatre or into society. Sir
George, possibly from my youth, seemed to pay little attention to an
intimacy which he perceived every hour growing closer, and frequently gave
his daughter into my charge in our morning excursions on horseback. As for
me, my happiness was all but perfect. I loved, and already began to hope
that I was not regarded with indifference; for although Lucy's manner never
absolutely evinced any decided preference towards me, yet many slight and
casual circumstances served to show me that my attentions to her were
neither unnoticed nor uncared for. Among the many gay and dashing
companions of our rides, I remarked that, however anxious for such a
distinction, none ever seemed to make any way in her good graces; and I had
already gone far in my self-deception that I was destined for good fortune,
when a circumstance which occurred one morning at length served to open my
eyes to the truth, and blast by one fatal breath the whole harvest of my
hopes.

We were about to set out one morning on a long ride, when Sir George's
presence was required by the arrival of an officer who had been sent from
the Horse Guards on official business. After half an hour's delay, Colonel
Cameron, the officer in question, was introduced, and entered into
conversation with our party. He had only landed in England from the
Peninsula a few days before, and had abundant information of the stirring
events enacting there. At the conclusion of an anecdote,—I forget
what,—he turned suddenly round to Miss Dashwood, who was standing beside
me, and said in a low voice:—

"And now, Miss Dashwood, I am reminded of a commission I promised a very
old brother officer to perform. Can I have one moment's conversation with
you in the window?"

As he spoke, I perceived that he crumpled beneath his glove something like
a letter.

"To me?" said Lucy, with a look of surprise that sadly puzzled me whether
to ascribe it to coquetry or innocence,—"to me?"

"To you," said the colonel, bowing; "and I am sadly deceived by my friend
Hammersley—"

"Captain Hammersley?" said she, blushing deeply as she spoke.

I heard no more. She turned towards the window with the colonel, and all I
saw was that he handed her a letter, which, having hastily broken open and
thrown her eyes over, she grew at first deadly pale, then red, and while
her eyes filled with tears, I heard her say, "How like him! How truly
generous this is!" I listened for no more; my brain was wheeling round and
my senses reeling. I turned and left the room; in another moment I was on
my horse, galloping from the spot, despair, in all its blackness, in my
heart, and in my broken-hearted misery, wishing for death.

I was miles away from Dublin ere I remembered well what had occurred, and
even then not over clearly. The fact that Lucy Dashwood, whom I imagined
to be my own in heart, loved another, was all that I really knew. That
one thought was all my mind was capable of, and in it my misery, my
wretchedness were centred.

Of all the grief my life has known, I have had no moments like the long
hours of that dreary night. My sorrow, in turn, took every shape and
assumed every guise. Now I remembered how the Dashwoods had courted my
intimacy and encouraged my visits,—how Lucy herself had evinced in a
thousand ways that she felt a preference for me. I called to mind the many
unequivocal proofs I had given her that my feeling at least was no common
one; and yet, how had she sported with my affections, and jested with my
happiness! That she loved Hammersley I had now a palpable proof. That this
affection must have been mutual, and prosecuted at the very moment I was
not only professing my own love for her, but actually receiving all but an
avowal of its return,—oh, it was too, too base! and in my deepest heart I
cursed my folly, and vowed never to see her more.

It was late on the next day ere I retraced my steps towards town, my heart
sad and heavy, careless what became of me for the future, and pondering
whether I should not at once give up my college career and return to my
uncle. When I reached my chambers, all was silent and comfortless; Webber
had not returned; my servant was from home; and I felt myself more than
ever wretched in the solitude of what had been so oft the scene of noisy
and festive gayety. I sat some hours in a half-musing state, every sad
depressing thought that blighted hopes can conjure up rising in turn before
me. A loud knocking at the door at length aroused me. I got up and opened
it. No one was there. I looked around as well as the coming gloom of
evening would permit, but saw nothing. I listened, and heard, at some
distance off, my friend Power's manly voice as he sang,—

    "Oh, love is the soul of an Irish dragoon!"

I hallooed out, "Power!"

"Eh, O'Malley, is that you?" inquired he. "Why, then, it seems it required
some deliberation whether you opened your door or not. Why, man, you can
have no great gift of prophecy, or you wouldn't have kept me so long
there."

"And have you been so?"

"Only twenty minutes; for as I saw the key in the lock, I had determined to
succeed if noise would do it."

"How strange! I never heard it."

"Glorious sleeper you must be; but come, my dear fellow, you don't appear
altogether awake yet."

"I have not been quite well these few days."

"Oh, indeed! The Dashwoods thought there must have been something of that
kind the matter by your brisk retreat. They sent me after you yesterday;
but wherever you went, Heaven knows. I never could come up with you; so
that your great news has been keeping these twenty-four hours longer than
need be."

"I am not aware what you allude to."

"Well, you are not over likely to be the wiser when you hear it, if you can
assume no more intelligent look than that. Why, man, there's great luck in
store for you."

"As how, pray? Come, Power, out with it; though I can't pledge myself to
feel half as grateful for my good fortune as I should do. What is it?"

"You know Cameron?"

"I have seen him," said I, reddening.

"Well, old Camy, as we used to call him, has brought over, among his other
news, your gazette."

"My gazette! What do you mean?"

"Confound your uncommon stupidity this evening! I mean, man, that you are
one of us,—gazetted to the 14th Light,—the best fellows for love, war,
and whiskey that ever sported a sabretasche.

    'Oh, love is the soul of an Irish dragoon!'

By Jove, I am as delighted to have rescued you from the black harness of
the King's Bench as though you had been a prisoner there! Know, then,
friend Charley, that on Wednesday we proceed to Fermoy, join some score
of gallant fellows,—all food for powder,—and, with the aid of a rotten
transport and the stormy winds that blow, will be bronzing our beautiful
faces in Portugal before the month's out. But come, now, let's see about
supper. Some of ours are coming over here at eleven, and I promised them a
devilled bone; and as it's your last night among these classic precincts,
let us have a shindy of it."

While I despatched Mike to Morrison's to provide supper, I heard from Power
that Sir George Dashwood had interested himself so strongly for me that I
had obtained my cornetcy in the 14th; that, fearful lest any disappointment
might arise, he had never mentioned the matter to me, but that he had
previously obtained my uncle's promise to concur in the arrangement if his
negotiation succeeded. It had so done, and now the long-sought-for object
of many days was within my grasp. But, alas, the circumstance which lent it
all its fascinations was a vanished dream; and what but two days before had
rendered my happiness perfect, I listened to listlessly and almost without
interest. Indeed, my first impulse at finding that I owed my promotion to
Sir George was to return a positive refusal of the cornetcy; but then I
remembered how deeply such conduct would hurt my poor uncle, to whom I
never could give an adequate explanation. So I heard Power in silence to
the end, thanked him sincerely for his own good-natured kindness in the
matter, which already, by the interest he had taken in me, went far to heal
the wounds that my own solitary musings were deepening in my heart. At
eighteen, fortunately, consolations are attainable that become more
difficult at eight-and-twenty, and impossible at eight-and-thirty.

While Power continued to dilate upon the delights of a soldier's life—a
theme which many a boyish dream had long since made hallowed to my
thoughts—I gradually felt my enthusiasm rising, and a certain throbbing at
my heart betrayed to me that, sad and dispirited as I felt, there was still
within that buoyant spirit which youth possesses as its privilege, and
which answers to the call of enterprise as the war-horse to the trumpet.
That a career worthy of manhood, great, glorious, and inspiriting, opened
before me, coming so soon after the late downfall of my hopes, was in
itself a source of such true pleasure that ere long I listened to my
friend, and heard his narrative with breathless interest. A lingering sense
of pique, too, had its share in all this. I longed to come forward in some
manly and dashing part, where my youth might not be ever remembered against
me, and when, having brought myself to the test, I might no longer be
looked upon and treated as a boy.

We were joined at length by the other officers of the 14th, and, to the
number of twelve, sat down to supper.

It was to be my last night in Old Trinity, and we resolved that the
farewell should be a solemn one. Mansfield, one of the wildest young
fellows in the regiment, had vowed that the leave-taking should be
commemorated by some very decisive and open expressions of our feelings,
and had already made some progress in arrangements for blowing up the great
bell, which had more than once obtruded upon our morning convivialities;
but he was overruled by his more discreet associates, and we at length
assumed our places at table, in the midst of which stood a hecatomb
of all my college equipments, cap, gown, bands, etc. A funeral pile of
classics was arrayed upon the hearth, surmounted by my "Book on the
Cellar," and a punishment-roll waved its length, like a banner, over the
doomed heroes of Greece and Rome.

It is seldom that any very determined attempt to be gay par excellence
has a perfect success, but certainly upon this evening ours had. Songs,
good stories, speeches, toasts, high visions of the campaign before us, the
wild excitement which such a meeting cannot be free from, gradually, as
the wine passed from hand to hand, seized upon all, and about four in the
morning, such was the uproar we caused, and so terrific the noise of our
proceedings, that the accumulated force of porters, sent one by one to
demand admission, was now a formidable body at the door, and Mike at last
came in to assure us that the bursar,—the most dread official of all
collegians,—was without, and insisted, with a threat of his heaviest
displeasure in case of refusal, that the door should be opened.

A committee of the whole house immediately sat upon the question; and it
was at length resolved, nemine contradicente, that the request should be
complied with. A fresh bowl of punch, in honor of our expected guest, was
immediately concocted, a new broil put on the gridiron, and having seated
ourselves with as great a semblance of decorum as four bottles a man admits
of, Curtis the junior captain, being most drunk, was deputed to receive the
bursar at the door, and introduce him to our august presence.

Mike's instructions were, that immediately on Dr. Stone the bursar
entering, the door was to be slammed to, and none of his followers
admitted. This done, the doctor was to be ushered in and left to our polite
attentions.

A fresh thundering from without scarcely left time for further
deliberation; and at last Curtis moved towards the door in execution of his
mission.

"Is there any one there?" said Mike, in a tone of most unsophisticated
innocence, to a rapping that, having lasted three quarters of an hour,
threatened now to break in the panel. "Is there any one there?"

"Open the door this instant,—the senior bursar desires you,—this
instant."

"Sure it's night, and we're all in bed," said Mike.

"Mr. Webber, Mr. O'Malley," said the bursar, now boiling with indignation,
"I summon you, in the name of the board, to admit me."

"Let the gemman in," hiccoughed Curtis; and at the same instant the
heavy bars were withdrawn, and the door opened, but so sparingly as with
difficulty to permit the passage of the burly figure of the bursar.

Forcing his way through, and regardless of what became of the rest, he
pushed on vigorously through the antechamber, and before Curtis could
perform his functions of usher, stood in the midst of us. What were his
feelings at the scene before him, Heaven knows. The number of figures in
uniform at once betrayed how little his jurisdiction extended to the great
mass of the company, and he immediately turned towards me.

"Mr. Webber—"

"O'Malley, if you please, Mr. Bursar," said I, bowing with, most
ceremonious politeness.

"No matter, sir; arcades ambo, I believe."

"Both archdeacons," said Melville, translating, with a look of withering
contempt upon the speaker.

The doctor continued, addressing me,—

"May I ask, sir, if you believe yourself possessed of any privilege for
converting this university into a common tavern?"

"I wish to Heaven he did," said Curtis; "capital tap your old commons would
make."

"Really, Mr. Bursar," replied I, modestly, "I had begun to flatter myself
that our little innocent gayety had inspired you with the idea of joining
our party."

"I humbly move that the old cove in the gown do take the chair," sang
out one. "All who are of this opinion say, 'Ay.'" A perfect yell of ayes
followed this. "All who are of the contrary say, 'No.' The ayes have it."

Before the luckless doctor had a moment for thought, his legs were lifted
from under him, and he was jerked, rather than placed, upon a chair, and
put sitting upon the table.

"Mr. O'Malley, your expulsion within twenty-four hours—"

"Hip, hip, hurra, hurra, hurra!" drowned the rest, while Power, taking off
the doctor's cap, replaced it by a foraging cap, very much to the amusement
of the party.

"There is no penalty the law permits of that I shall not—"

"Help the doctor," said Melville, placing a glass of punch in his
unconscious hand.

"Now for a 'Viva la Compagnie!'" said Telford, seating himself at the
piano, and playing the first bars of that well-known air, to which, in our
meetings, we were accustomed to improvise a doggerel in turn.

    "I drink to the graces, Law, Physic, Divinity,
                                 Viva la Compagnie!
    And here's to the worthy old Bursar of Trinity,
                                 Viva la Compagnie!"

"Viva, viva la va!" etc., were chorussed with a shout that shook the old
walls, while Power took up the strain:

    "Though with lace caps and gowns they look so like asses,
                                 Viva la Compagnie!"
    They'd rather have punch than the springs of Parnassus,
                                 Viva la Compagnie!
    What a nose the old gentleman has, by the way,
                                 Viva la Compagnie!
    Since he smelt out the Devil from Botany Bay,[1]
                                 Viva la Compagnie!

[Footnote:1 Botany Bay was the slang name given by college men to a new
square rather remotely situated from the remainder of the college.]

Words cannot give even the faintest idea of the poor bursar's feelings
while these demoniacal orgies were enacting around him. Held fast in his
chair by Lechmere and another, he glowered on the riotous mob around like a
maniac, and astonishment that such liberties could be taken with one in his
situation seemed to have surpassed even his rage and resentment; and every
now and then a stray thought would flash across his mind that we were
mad,—a sentiment which, unfortunately, our conduct was but too well
calculated to inspire.

"So you're the morning lecturer, old gentleman, and have just dropped in
here in the way of business; pleasant life you must have of it," said
Casey, now by far the most tipsy man present.

"If you think, Mr. O'Malley, that the events of this evening are to end
here—"

"Very far from it, Doctor," said Power; "I'll draw up a little account of
the affair for 'Saunders.' They shall hear of it in every corner and nook
of the kingdom."

"The bursar of Trinity shall be a proverb for a good fellow that loveth his
lush," hiccoughed out Fegan.

"And if you believe that such conduct is academical," said the doctor, with
a withering sneer.

"Perhaps not," lisped Melville, tightening his belt; "but it's devilish
convivial,—eh, Doctor?"

"Is that like him?" said Moreton, producing a caricature which he had just
sketched.

"Capital,—very good,—perfect. M'Cleary shall have it in his window by
noon to-day," said Power.

At this instant some of the combustibles disposed among the rejected
habiliments of my late vocation caught fire, and squibs, crackers, and
detonating shots went off on all sides. The bursar, who had not been deaf
to several hints and friendly suggestions about setting fire to him,
blowing him up, etc., with one vigorous spring burst from his antagonists,
and clearing the table at a bound, reached the floor. Before he could be
seized, he had gained the door, opened it, and was away. We gave chase,
yelling like so many devils. But wine and punch, songs and speeches, had
done their work, and more than one among the pursuers measured his length
upon the pavement; while the terrified bursar, with the speed of terror,
held on his way, and gained his chambers by about twenty yards in advance
of Power and Melville, whose pursuit only ended when the oaken panel of the
door shut them out from their victim. One loud cheer beneath his window
served for our farewell to our friend, and we returned to my rooms. By
this time a regiment of those classic functionaries ycleped porters had
assembled around the door, and seemed bent upon giving battle in honor
of their maltreated ruler; but Power explained to them, in a neat speech
replete with Latin quotations, that their cause was a weak one, that we
were more than their match, and finally proposed to them to finish the
punch-bowl, to which we were really incompetent,—a motion that met
immediate acceptance; and old Duncan, with his helmet in one hand and a
goblet in the other, wished me many happy days and every luck in this life
as I stepped from the massive archway, and took my last farewell of Old
Trinity.

Should any kind reader feel interested as to the ulterior course assumed by
the bursar, I have only to say that the terrors of the "Board" were never
fulminated against me, harmless and innocent as I should have esteemed
them. The threat of giving publicity to the entire proceedings by the
papers, and the dread of figuring in a sixpenny caricature in M'Cleary's
window, were too much for the worthy doctor, and he took the wiser course
under the circumstances, and held his peace about the matter. I, too, have
done so for many a year, and only now recall the scene among the wild
transactions of early days and boyish follies.

CHAPTER XXI

THE PHOENIX PARK.

What a glorious thing it is when our first waking thoughts not only dispel
some dark, depressing dream, but arouse us to the consciousness of a new
and bright career suddenly opening before us, buoyant in hope, rich in
promise for the future! Life has nothing better than this. The bold spring
by which the mind clears the depth that separates misery from happiness is
ecstasy itself; and then what a world of bright visions come teeming before
us,—what plans we form; what promises we make to ourselves in our own
hearts; how prolific is the dullest imagination; how excursive the tamest
fancy, at such a moment! In a few short and fleeting seconds, the events of
a whole life are planned and pictured before us. Dreams of happiness
and visions of bliss, of which all our after-years are insufficient to
eradicate the prestige, come in myriads about us; and from that narrow
aperture through which this new hope pierces into our heart, a flood of
light is poured that illumines our path to the very verge of the grave. How
many a success in after-days is reckoned but as one step in that ladder of
ambition some boyish review has framed, perhaps, after all, destined to be
the first and only one! With what triumph we hail some goal attained, some
object of our wishes gained, less for its present benefit, than as the
accomplishment of some youthful prophecy, when picturing to our hearts all
that we would have in life, we whispered within us the flattery of success.

Who is there who has not had some such moment; and who would exchange
it, with all the delusive and deceptive influences by which it comes
surrounded, for the greatest actual happiness he has partaken of? Alas,
alas, it is only in the boundless expanse of such imaginations, unreal and
fictitious as they are, that we are truly blessed! Our choicest blessings
in life come even so associated with some sources of care that the cup of
enjoyment is not pure but dregged in bitterness.

To such a world of bright anticipation did I awake on the morning after the
events I have detailed in the last chapter. The first thing my eyes fell
upon was an official letter from the Horse Guards:—

    "The commander of the forces desires that Mr. O'Malley will report
    himself, immediately on the receipt of this letter, at the headquarters
    of the regiment to which he is gazetted."

Few and simple as the lines were, how brimful of pleasure they sounded to
my ears. The regiment to which I was gazetted! And so I was a soldier at
last! The first wish of my boyhood was then really accomplished. And my
uncle, what will he say; what will he think?

"A letter, sir, by the post," said Mike, at the moment.

I seized it eagerly; it came from home, but was in Considine's handwriting.
How my heart failed me as I turned to look at the seal. "Thank God!" said
I, aloud, on perceiving that it was a red one. I now tore it open and
read:—

    My Dear Charley,—Godfrey, being laid up with the gout, has
    desired me to write to you by this day's post. Your appointment to
    the 14th, notwithstanding all his prejudices about the army, has
    given him sincere pleasure. I believe, between ourselves, that your
    college career, of which he has heard something, convinced him that
    your forte did not lie in the classics; you know I said so always, but
    nobody minded me. Your new prospects are all that your best friends
    could wish for you: you begin early; your corps is a crack one; you
    are ordered for service. What could you have more?

    Your uncle hopes, if you can get a few days' leave, that you will
    come down here before you join, and I hope so too; for he is unusually
    low-spirited, and talks about his never seeing you again, and
    all that sort of thing.

    I have written to Merivale, your colonel, on this subject, as well
    as generally on your behalf. We were cornets together forty years
    ago. A strict fellow you'll find him, but a trump on service. If
    you can't manage the leave, write a long letter home at all events.
    And so, God bless you, and all success!
    Yours sincerely,
    W. Considine.

    I had thought of writing you a long letter of advice for your new
    career; and, indeed, half accomplished one. After all, however, I
    can tell you little that your own good sense will not teach you as you
    go on; and experience is ever better than precept. I know of but
    one rule in life which admits of scarcely any exception, and having
    followed it upwards of sixty years, approve of it only the more:
    Never quarrel when you can help it; but meet any man,—your
    tailor, your hairdresser,—if he wishes to have you out.
    W. C.

I had scarcely come to the end of this very characteristic epistle, when
two more letters were placed upon my table. One was from Sir George
Dashwood, inviting me to dinner to meet some of my "brother officers."
How my heart beat at the expression. The other was a short note, marked
"Private," from my late tutor, Dr. Mooney, saying, "that if I made a
suitable apology to the bursar for the late affair at my room, he might
probably be induced to abandon any further step; otherwise—" then followed
innumerable threats about fine, penalties, expulsion, etc., that fell most
harmlessly upon my ears. I accepted the invitation; declined the apology;
and having ordered my horse, cantered off to the barracks to consult my
friend Power as to all the minor details of my career.

As the dinner hour grew near, my thoughts became again fixed upon Miss
Dashwood; and a thousand misgivings crossed my mind as to whether I should
have nerve enough to meet her, without disclosing in my manner the altered
state of my feelings; a possibility which I now dreaded fully as much as I
had longed some days before to avow my affection for her, however slight
its prospect of return. All my valiant resolves and well-contrived plans
for appearing unmoved and indifferent in her presence, with which I stored
my mind while dressing and when on the way to dinner, were, however,
needless, for it was a party exclusively of men; and as the coffee was
served in the dining-room, no move was made to the drawing-room by any of
the company. "Quite as well as it is!" was my muttered opinion, as I got
into my cab at the door. "All is at an end as regards me in her esteem, and
I must not spend my days sighing for a young lady that cares for another."
Very reasonable, very proper resolutions these; but, alas! I went home to
bed, only to think half the night long of the fair Lucy, and dream of her
the remainder of it.

When morning dawned my first thought was, Shall I see her once more? Shall
I leave her forever thus abruptly? Or, rather, shall I not unburden my
bosom of its secret, confess my love, and say farewell? I felt such a
course much more in unison with my wishes than the day before; and as Power
had told me that before a week we should present ourselves at Fermoy, I
knew that no time was to be lost.

My determination was taken. I ordered my horse, and early as it was, rode
out to the Royal Hospital. My heart beat so strongly as I rode up to the
door that I half resolved to return. I rang the bell. Sir George was in
town. Miss Dashwood had just gone, five minutes before, to spend some days
at Carton. "It is fate!" thought I as I turned from the spot and walked
slowly beside my horse towards Dublin.

In the few days that intervened before my leaving town, my time was
occupied from morning to night; the various details of my uniform, outfit,
etc., were undertaken for me by Power. My horses were sent for to Galway;
and I myself, with innumerable persons to see, and a mass of business to
transact, contrived at least three times a day to ride out to the Royal
Hospital, always to make some trifling inquiry for Sir George, and always
to hear repeated that Miss Dashwood had not returned.

Thus passed five of my last six days in Dublin; and as the morning of
the last opened, it was with a sorrowing spirit that I felt my hour of
departure approach without one only opportunity of seeing Lucy, even to
say good-by. While Mike was packing in one corner, and I in another was
concluding a long letter to my poor uncle, my door opened and Webber
entered.

"Eh, O'Malley, I'm only in time to say adieu, it seems. To my surprise this
morning I found you had cut the 'Silent Sister.' I feared I should be too
late to catch one glimpse of you ere you started for the wars."

"You are quite right, Master Frank, and I scarcely expected to have seen
you. Your last brilliant achievement at Sir George's very nearly involved
me in a serious scrape."

"A mere trifle. How confoundedly silly Power must have looked, eh? Should
like so much to have seen his face. He booked up next day,—very proper
fellow. By-the-bye, O'Malley, I rather like the little girl; she is
decidedly pretty, and her foot,—did you remark her foot?—capital."

"Yes, she's very good-looking," said I, carelessly.

"I'm thinking of cultivating her a little," said Webber, pulling up his
cravat and adjusting his hair at the glass. "She's spoiled by all the
tinsel vaporing of her hussar and aide-de-camp acquaintances; but something
may be done for her, eh?"

"With your most able assistance and kind intentions."

"That's what I mean exactly. Sorry you're going,—devilish sorry. You
served out Stone gloriously: perhaps it's as well, though,—you know they'd
have expelled you; but still something might turn up. Soldiering is a
bad style of thing, eh? How the old general did take his sister-in-law's
presence to heart! But he must forgive and forget, for I am going to be
very great friends with him and Lucy. Where are you going now?"

"I am about to try a new horse before troops," said I. "He's stanch enough
with the cry of the fox-pack in his ears; but I don't know how he'll stand
a peal of artillery."

"Well, come along," said Webber; "I'll ride with you." So saying, we
mounted and set off to the Park, where two regiments of cavalry and some
horse artillery were ordered for inspection.

The review was over when we reached the exercising ground, and we slowly
walked our horses towards the end of the Park, intending to return to
Dublin by the road. We had not proceeded far, when, some hundred yards in
advance, we perceived an officer riding with a lady, followed by an orderly
dragoon.

"There he goes," said Webber; "I wonder if he'd ask me to dinner, if I were
to throw myself in his way?"

"Who do you mean?" said I.

"Sir George Dashwood, to be sure, and, la voilà , Miss Lucy. The little
darling rides well, too; how squarely she sits her horse. O'Malley, I've a
weakness there; upon my soul I have."

"Very possible," said I; "I am aware of another friend of mine
participating in the sentiment."

"One Charles O'Malley, of his Majesty's—"

"Nonsense, man; no, no. I mean a very different person, and, for all I can
see, with some reason to hope for success."

"Oh, as to that, we flatter ourselves the thing does not present any very
considerable difficulties."

"As how, pray?"

"Why, of course, like all such matters, a very decisive determination to
be, to do, and to suffer, as Lindley Murray says, carries the day. Tell her
she's an angel every day for three weeks. She may laugh a little at first,
but she'll believe it in the end. Tell her that you have not the slightest
prospect of obtaining her affections, but still persist in loving her.
That, finally, you must die from the effects of despair, etc., but rather
like the notion of it than otherwise. That you know she has no fortune;
that you haven't a sixpence; and who should marry, if people whose position
in the world was similar did not?"

"But halt; pray, how are you to get time and place for all such interesting
conversations?"

"Time and place! Good Heavens, what a question! Is not every hour of the
twenty-four the fittest? Is not every place the most suitable? A sudden
pause in the organ of St. Patrick's did, it is true, catch me once in a
declaration of love, but the choir came in to my aid and drowned the lady's
answer. My dear O'Malley, what could prevent you this instant, if you are
so disposed, from doing the amiable to the darling Lucy there?"

"With the father for an umpire in case we disagreed," said I.

"Not at all. I should soon get rid of him."

"Impossible, my dear friend."

"Come now, just for the sake of convincing your obstinacy. If you like
to say good-by to the little girl without a witness, I'll take off the
he-dragon."

"You don't mean—"

"I do, man; I do mean it." So saying, he drew a crimson silk handkerchief
from his pocket, and fastened it round his waist like an officer's sash.
This done, and telling me to keep in their wake for some minutes, he turned
from me, and was soon concealed by a copse of white-thorn near us.

I had not gone above a hundred yards farther when I heard Sir George's
voice calling for the orderly. I looked and saw Webber at a considerable
distance in front, curvetting and playing all species of antics. The
distance between the general and myself was now so short that I overheard
the following dialogue with his sentry:—

"He's not in uniform, then?"

"No, sir; he has a round hat."

"A round hat!"

"His sash—"

"A sword and sash. This is too bad. I'm determined to find him out."

"How d'ye do, General?" cried Webber, as he rode towards the trees.

"Stop, sir!" shouted Sir George.

"Good-day, Sir George," replied Webber, retiring.

"Stay where you are, Lucy," said the general as, dashing spurs into his
horse, he sprang forward at a gallop, incensed beyond endurance that his
most strict orders should be so openly and insultingly transgressed.

Webber led on to a deep hollow, where the road passed between two smooth
slopes, covered with furze-trees, and from which it emerged afterwards in
the thickest and most intricate part of the Park. Sir George dashed boldly
after, and in less than half a minute both were lost to my view, leaving me
in breathless amazement at Master Frank's ingenuity, and some puzzle as to
my own future movements.

"Now then, or never!" said I, as I pushed boldly forward, and in an instant
was alongside of Miss Dashwood. Her astonishment at seeing me so suddenly
increased the confusion from which I felt myself suffering, and for some
minutes I could scarcely speak. At last I plucked up courage a little, and
said:—

"Miss Dashwood, I have looked most anxiously, for the last four days, for
the moment which chance has now given me. I wished, before I parted forever
with those to whom I owe already so much, that I should at least speak my
gratitude ere I said good-by."

"But when do you think of going?"

"To-morrow. Captain Power, under whose command I am, has received orders to
embark immediately for Portugal."

I thought—perhaps it was but a thought—that her cheek grew somewhat paler
as I spoke; but she remained silent; and I, scarcely knowing what I had
said, or whether I had finished, spoke not either.

"Papa, I'm sure, is not aware," said she, after a long pause, "of your
intention of leaving so soon, for only last night he spoke of some letters
he meant to give you to some friends in the Peninsula; besides, I know,"
here she smiled faintly,—"that he destined some excellent advice for your
ears, as to your new path in life, for he has an immense opinion of the
value of such to a young officer."

"I am, indeed, most grateful to Sir George, and truly never did any one
stand more in need of counsel than I do." This was said half musingly, and
not intended to be heard.

"Then, pray, consult papa," said she, eagerly; "he is much attached to you,
and will, I am certain, do all in his power—"

"Alas! I fear not, Miss Dashwood."

"Why, what can you mean. Has anything so serious occurred?"

"No, no; I'm but misleading you, and exciting your sympathy with false
pretences. Should I tell you all the truth, you would not pardon, perhaps
not hear me."

"You have, indeed, puzzled me; but if there is anything in which my
father—"

"Less him than his daughter," said I, fixing my eyes full upon her as I
spoke. "Yes, Lucy, I feel I must confess it, cost what it may; I love you.
Stay, hear me out; I know the fruitlessness, the utter despair, that awaits
such a sentiment. My own heart tells me that I am not, cannot be, loved in
return; yet would I rather cherish in its core my affection, slighted and
unblessed, such as it is, than own another heart. I ask for nothing, I hope
for nothing; I merely entreat that, for my truth, I may meet belief, and
for my heart's worship of her whom alone I can love, compassion. I see that
you at least pity me. Nay, one word more; I have one favor more to ask,—it
is my last, my only one. Do not, when time and distance may have separated
us, perhaps forever, think that the expressions I now use are prompted by
a mere sudden ebullition of boyish feeling; do not attribute to the
circumstance of my youth alone the warmth of the attachment I profess,—for
I swear to you, by every hope that I have, that in my heart of hearts my
love to you is the source and spring of every action in my life, of every
aspiration in my heart; and when I cease to love you, I shall cease to
feel."

"And now, farewell,—farewell forever!" I pressed her hand to my lips, gave
one long, last look, turned my horse rapidly away, and ere a minute was far
out of sight of where I had left her.

CHAPTER XXII.

THE ROAD.

Power was detained in town by some orders from the adjutant-general, so
that I started for Cork the next morning with no other companion than my
servant Mike. For the first few stages upon the road, my own thoughts
sufficiently occupied me to render me insensible or indifferent to all
else. My opening career, the prospects my new life as a soldier held out,
my hopes of distinction, my love of Lucy with all its train of doubts and
fears, passed in review before me, and I took no note of time till far past
noon. I now looked to the back part of the coach, where Mike's voice had
been, as usual, in the ascendant for some time, and perceived that he was
surrounded by an eager auditory of four raw recruits, who, under the care
of a sergeant, were proceeding to Cork to be enrolled in their regiment.
The sergeant, whose minutes of wakefulness were only those when the coach
stopped to change horses, and when he got down to mix a "summat hot," paid
little attention to his followers, leaving them perfectly free in all their
movements, to listen to Mike's eloquence and profit by his suggestions,
should they deem fit. Master Michael's services to his new acquaintances,
I began to perceive, were not exactly of the same nature as Dibdin is
reported to have rendered to our navy in the late war. Far from it. His
theme was no contemptuous disdain for danger; no patriotic enthusiasm
to fight for home and country; no proud consciousness of British valor,
mingled with the appropriate hatred of our mutual enemies,—on the
contrary, Mike's eloquence was enlisted for the defendant. He detailed,
and in no unimpressive way either, the hardships of a soldier's life,—its
dangers, its vicissitudes, its chances, its possible penalties, its
inevitably small rewards; and, in fact, so completely did he work on the
feelings of his hearers that I perceived more than one glance exchanged
between the victims that certainly betokened anything save the resolve to
fight for King George. It was at the close of a long and most powerful
appeal upon the superiority of any other line in life, petty larceny and
small felony inclusive, that he concluded with the following quotation:—

"Thrue for ye, boys!

    'With your red scarlet coat,
    You're as proud as a goat,
      And your long cap and feather.'

But, by the piper that played before Moses! it's more whipping nor
gingerbread is going on among them, av ye knew but all, and heerd the
misfortune that happened to my father."

"And was he a sodger?" inquired one.

"Troth was he, more sorrow to him; and wasn't he a'most whipped one day for
doing what he was bid?"

"Musha, but that was hard!"

"To be sure it was hard; but faix, when my father seen that they didn't
know their own minds, he thought, anyhow, he knew his, so he ran away,—and
devil a bit of him they ever cotch afther. May be ye might like to hear the
story; and there's instruction in it for yez, too."

A general request to this end being preferred by the company, Mike took a
shrewd look at the sergeant, to be sure that he was still sleeping, settled
his coat comfortably across his knees, and began:—

Well, it's a good many years ago my father 'listed in the North Cork, just
to oblige Mr. Barry, the landlord there. For,' says he, 'Phil,' says he,
'it's not a soldier ye'll be at all, but my own man, to brush my clothes
and go errands, and the like o' that; and the king, long life to him! will
help to pay ye for your trouble. Ye understand me?' Well, my father agreed,
and Mr. Barry was as good as his word. Never a guard did my father mount,
nor as much as a drill had he, nor a roll-call, nor anything at all, save
and except wait on the captain, his master, just as pleasant as need be,
and no inconvenience in life.

"Well, for three years this went on as I am telling, and the regiment was
ordered down to Bantry, because of a report that the 'boys' was rising
down there; and the second evening there was a night party patrolling with
Captain Barry for six hours in the rain, and the captain, God be marciful
to him! tuk could and died. More by token, they said it was drink, but
my father says it wasn't: 'for' says he, 'after he tuk eight tumblers
comfortable,' my father mixed the ninth, and the captain waived his hand
this way, as much as to say he'd have no more. 'Is it that ye mean?' says
my father; and the captain nodded. 'Musha, but it's sorry I am,' says my
father, 'to see you this way; for ye must be bad entirely to leave off in
the beginning of the evening.' And thrue for him, the captain was dead in
the morning.

"A sorrowful day it was for my father when he died. It was the finest
place in the world; little to do, plenty of divarsion, and a kind man he
was,—when he was drunk. Well, then, when the captain was buried and all
was over, my father hoped they'd be for letting him away, as he said,
'Sure, I'm no use in life to anybody, save the man that's gone, for his
ways are all I know, and I never was a sodger.' But, upon my conscience,
they had other thoughts in their heads, for they ordered him into the ranks
to be drilled just like the recruits they took the day before.

"'Musha, isn't this hard?' said my father. 'Here I am, an ould vitrin that
ought to be discharged on a pension with two-and-sixpence a day, obliged
to go capering about the barrack-yard, practising the goose-step, or some
other nonsense not becoming my age nor my habits.' But so it was. Well,
this went on for some time, and sure, if they were hard on my father,
hadn't he his revenge; for he nigh broke their hearts with his stupidity.
Oh, nothing in life could equal him! Devil a thing, no matter how easy, he
could learn at all; and so far from caring for being in confinement, it was
that he liked best. Every sergeant in the regiment had a trial of him, but
all to no good; and he seemed striving so hard to learn all the while that
they were loath to punish him, the ould rogue!

"This was going on for some time, when, one day, news came in that a
body of the rebels, as they called them, was coming down from the Gap of
Mulnavick to storm the town and burn all before them. The whole regiment
was of coorse under arms, and great preparations was made for a battle.
Meanwhile patrols were ordered to scour the roads, and sentries posted at
every turn of the way and every rising ground to give warning when the boys
came in sight; and my father was placed at the Bridge of Drumsnag, in the
wildest and bleakest part of the whole country, with nothing but furze
mountains on every side, and a straight road going over the top of them.

"'This is pleasant,' says my father, as soon as they left him there alone
by himself, with no human creature to speak to, nor a whiskey-shop within
ten miles of him; 'cowld comfort,' says he, 'on a winter's day; and faix,
but I have a mind to give ye the slip.'

"Well, he put his gun down on the bridge, and he lit his pipe, and he sat
down under an ould tree and began to ruminate upon his affairs.

"'Oh, then, it's wishing it well I am,' says he, 'for sodgering; and bad
luck to the hammer that struck the shilling that 'listed me, that's all,'
for he was mighty low in his heart.

"Just then a noise came rattling down near him. He listened, and before
he could get on his legs, down comes' the general, ould Cohoon, with an
orderly after him.

"'Who goes there?' says my father.

"'The round,' says the general, looking about all the time to see where was
the sentry, for my father was snug under the tree.

"'What round?' says my father.

"'The grand round,' says the general, more puzzled than afore.

"'Pass on, grand round, and God save you kindly!' says my father, putting
his pipe in his mouth again, for he thought all was over.

"'D—n your soul, where are you?' says the general, for sorrow bit of my
father could he see yet.

"'It's here I am,' says he, 'and a cowld place I have of it; and if it
wasn't for the pipe I'd be lost entirely.'

"The words wasn't well out of his mouth when the general began laughing,
till ye'd think he'd fall off his horse; and the dragoon behind him—more
by token, they say it wasn't right for him—laughed as loud as himself.

"'Yer a droll sentry,' says the general, as soon as he could speak.

"'Be-gorra, it's little fun there's left in me,' says my father, 'with this
drilling, and parading, and blackguarding about the roads all night.'

"'And is this the way you salute your officer?' says the general.

"'Just so,' says my father; 'devil a more politeness ever they taught me.'

"'What regiment do you belong to?' says the general.

"'The North Cork, bad luck to them!' says my father, with a sigh.

"'They ought to be proud of ye,' says the general.

"'I'm sorry for it,' says my father, sorrowfully, 'for may be they'll keep
me the longer.'

"'Well, my good fellow,' says the general, 'I haven't more time to waste
here; but let me teach you something before I go. Whenever your officer
passes, it's your duty to present to him.'

"'Arrah, it's jokin' ye are,' says my father.

"'No, I'm in earnest,' says he, 'as ye might learn, to your cost, if I
brought you to a court-martial.'

"'Well, there's no knowing,' says my father, 'what they'd be up to; but
sure, if that's all, I'll do it, with all "the veins," whenever yer coming
this way again.'

"The general began to laugh again here; but said,—

'I'm coming back in the evening,' says he, 'and mind you don't forget your
respect to your officer.'

"'Never fear, sir,' says my father; 'and many thanks to you for your
kindness for telling me.'

"Away went the general, and the orderly after him, and in ten minutes they
were out of sight.

"The night was falling fast, and one half of the mountain was quite dark
already, when my father began to think they were forgetting him entirely.
He looked one way, and he looked another, but sorra bit of a sergeant's
guard was coming to relieve him. There he was, fresh and fasting, and
daren't go for the bare life. 'I'll give you a quarter of an hour more,'
says my father, 'till the light leaves that rock up there; after that,'
says he, 'by the Mass! I'll be off, av it cost me what it may.'

"Well, sure enough, his courage was not needed this time; for what did
he see at the same moment but a shadow of something coming down the road
opposite the bridge. He looked again; and then he made out the general
himself, that was walking his horse down the steep part of the mountain,
followed by the orderly. My father immediately took up his musket off the
wall, settled his belts, shook the ashes out of his pipe and put it into
his pocket, making himself as smart and neat-looking as he could be,
determining, when ould Cohoon came up, to ask him for leave to go home, at
least for the night. Well, by this time the general was turning a sharp
part of the cliff that looks down upon the bridge, from where you might
look five miles round on every side. 'He sees me,' says my father; 'but
I'll be just as quick as himself.' No sooner said than done; for coming
forward to the parapet of the bridge, he up with his musket to his
shoulder, and presented it straight at the general. It wasn't well there,
when the officer pulled up his horse quite short, and shouted out, 'Sentry!
sentry!'

"'Anan?' says my father, still covering him.

"'Down with your musket you rascal. Don't you see it's the grand round?'

"'To be sure I do,' says my father, never changing for a minute.

"'The ruffian will shoot me,' says the general.

"'Devil a fear,' says my father, 'av it doesn't go off of itself.'

"'What do you mean by that, you villian?' says the general, scarcely able
to speak with fright, for every turn he gave on his horse, my father
followed with the gun,—what do you mean?'

"'Sure, ain't I presenting?' says my father. 'Blood an ages! do you want me
to fire next?'

"With that the general drew a pistol from his holster, and took deliberate
aim at my father; and there they both stood for five minutes, looking at
each other, the orderly all the while breaking his heart laughing behind a
rock; for, ye see, the general knew av he retreated that my father might
fire on purpose, and av he came on, that he might fire by chance,—and
sorra bit he knew what was best to be done.

"'Are ye going to pass the evening up there, grand round?' says my father;
'for it's tired I'm getting houldin' this so long.'

"'Port arms!' shouted the general, as if on parade.

"'Sure I can't, till yer past,' says my father, angrily; 'and my hands
trembling already.'

"'By Heavens! I shall be shot,' says the general.

"'Be-gorra, it's what I'm afraid of,' says my father; and the words wasn't
out of his mouth before off went the musket, bang!—and down fell the
general, smack on the ground, senseless. Well the orderly ran out at this,
and took him up and examined his wound; but it wasn't a wound at all, only
the wadding of the gun. For my father—God be kind to him!—ye see, could
do nothing right; and so he bit off the wrong end of the cartridge when he
put it in the gun, and, by reason, there was no bullet in it. Well, from
that day after they never got a sight of him; for the instant that the
general dropped, he sprang over the bridge-wall and got away; and
what, between living in a lime-kiln for two months, eating nothing but
blackberries and sloes, and other disguises, he never returned to the army,
but ever after took to a civil situation, and drive a hearse for many
years."

How far Mike's narrative might have contributed to the support of his
theory, I am unable to pronounce; for his auditory were, at some distance
from Cork, made to descend from their lofty position and join a larger body
of recruits, all proceeding to the same destination, under a strong escort
of infantry. For ourselves, we reached the "beautiful city" in due time,
and took up our quarters at the Old George Hotel.

CHAPTER XXIII.

CORK.

The undress rehearsal of a new piece, with its dirty-booted actors, its
cloaked and hooded actresses en papillote, bears about the same relation
to the gala, wax-lit, and bespangled ballet, as the raw young gentleman
of yesterday to the epauletted, belted, and sabretasched dragoon, whose
transformation is due to a few hours of head-quarters, and a few interviews
with the adjutant.

So, at least, I felt it; and it was with a very perfect concurrence in his
Majesty's taste in a uniform, and a most entire approval of the regimental
tailor, that I strutted down George's Street a few days after my arrival in
Cork. The transports had not as yet come round; there was a great doubt of
their doing so for a week or so longer; and I found myself as the
dashing cornet, the centre of a thousand polite attentions and most kind
civilities.

The officer under whose orders I was placed for the time was a great friend
of Sir George Dashwood's, and paid me, in consequence, much attention.
Major Dalrymple had been on the staff from the commencement of his military
career, had served in the commissariat for some time, was much on foreign
stations; but never, by any of the many casualties of his life, had he seen
what could be called service. His ideas of the soldier's profession were,
therefore, what might almost be as readily picked up by a commission in the
battle-axe guards, as one in his Majesty's Fiftieth. He was now a species
of district paymaster, employed in a thousand ways, either inspecting
recruits, examining accounts, revising sick certificates, or receiving
contracts for mess beef. Whether the nature of his manifold occupations had
enlarged the sphere of his talents and ambition, or whether the abilities
had suggested the variety of his duties, I know not, but truly the major
was a man of all work. No sooner did a young ensign join his regiment at
Cork, than Major Dalrymple's card was left at his quarters; the next day
came the major himself; the third brought an invitation to dinner; on the
fourth he was told to drop in, in the evening; and from thenceforward,
he was the ami de la maison, in company with numerous others as
newly-fledged and inexperienced as himself.

One singular feature of the society at the house was that although the
major was as well known as the flag on Spike Island, yet somehow, no
officer above the rank of an ensign was ever to be met with there. It
was not that he had not a large acquaintance; in fact, the "How are you,
Major?" "How goes it, Dalrymple?" that kept everlastingly going on as
he walked the streets, proved the reverse; but strange enough, his
predilections leaned towards the newly gazetted, far before the bronzed
and seared campaigners who had seen the world, and knew more about it. The
reasons for this line of conduct were twofold. In the first place, there
was not an article of outfit, from a stock to a sword-belt, that he could
not and did not supply to the young officer,—from the gorget of the
infantry to the shako of the grenadier, all came within his province;
not that he actually kept a magasin of these articles, but he had so
completely interwoven his interests with those of numerous shopkeepers in
Cork that he rarely entered a shop over whose door Dalrymple & Co. might
not have figured on the sign-board. His stables were filled with a perfect
infirmary of superannuated chargers, fattened and conditioned up to a
miracle, and groomed to perfection. He could get you—only you—about
three dozen of sherry to take out with you as sea-store; he knew of such a
servant; he chanced upon such a camp-furniture yesterday in his walks; in
fact, why want for anything? His resources were inexhaustible; his kindness
unbounded.

Then money was no object,—hang it, you could pay when you liked; what
signified it? In other words, a bill at thirty-one days, cashed and
discounted by a friend of the major's, would always do. While such were the
unlimited advantages his acquaintance conferred, the sphere of his benefits
took another range. The major had two daughters; Matilda and Fanny were as
well known in the army as Lord Fitzroy Somerset, or Picton, from the Isle
of Wight to Halifax, from Cape Coast to Chatham, from Belfast to the
Bermudas. Where was the subaltern who had not knelt at the shrine of one
or the other, if not of both, and vowed eternal love until a change of
quarters? In plain words, the major's solicitude for the service was such,
that, not content with providing the young officer with all the necessary
outfit of his profession, he longed also to supply him with a comforter for
his woes, a charmer for his solitary hours, in the person of one of his
amiable daughters. Unluckily, however, the necessity for a wife is not
enforced by "general orders," as is the cut of your coat, or the length of
your sabre; consequently, the major's success in the home department of his
diplomacy was not destined for the same happy results that awaited it when
engaged about drill trousers and camp kettles, and the Misses Dalrymple
remained misses through every clime and every campaign. And yet, why was
it so? It is hard to say. What would men have? Matilda was a dark-haired,
dark-eyed, romantic-looking girl, with a tall figure and a slender waist,
with more poetry in her head than would have turned any ordinary brain;
always unhappy, in need of consolation, never meeting with the kindred
spirit that understood her, destined to walk the world alone, her fair
thoughts smothered in the recesses of her own heart. Devilish hard to stand
this, when you began in a kind of platonic friendship on both sides. More
than one poor fellow nearly succumbed, particularly when she came to quote
Cowley, and told him, with tears in her eyes,—

    "There are hearts that live and love alone," etc.

I'm assured that this coup-de-grace rarely failed in being followed by
a downright avowal of open love, which, somehow, what between the route
coming, what with waiting for leave from home, etc., never got further than
a most tender scene, and exchange of love tokens; and, in fact, such became
so often the termination, that Power swears Matty had to make a firm
resolve about cutting off any more hair, fearing a premature baldness
during the recruiting season.

Now, Fanny had selected another arm of the service. Her hair was fair; her
eyes blue, laughing, languishing,—mischief-loving blue, with long lashes,
and a look in them that was wont to leave its impression rather longer than
you exactly knew of; then, her figure was petite, but perfect; her feet
Canova might have copied; and her hand was a study for Titian; her voice,
too, was soft and musical, but full of that gaiété de coeur that never
fails to charm. While her sister's style was il penserono, hers was
l'allegro; every imaginable thing, place, or person supplied food for her
mirth, and her sister's lovers all came in for their share. She hunted
with Smith Barry's hounds; she yachted with the Cove Club; she coursed,
practised at a mark with a pistol, and played chicken hazard with all
the cavalry,—for, let it be remarked as a physiological fact, Matilda's
admirers were almost invariably taken from the infantry, while Fanny's
adorers were as regularly dragoons. Whether the former be the romantic
arm of the service, and the latter be more adapted to dull realities, or
whether the phenomenon had any other explanation, I leave to the curious.
Now, this arrangement, proceeding upon that principle which has wrought
such wonders in Manchester and Sheffield,—the division of labor,—was a
most wise and equitable one, each having her one separate and distinct
field of action, interference was impossible; not but that when, as in the
present instance, cavalry was in the ascendant, Fanny would willingly spare
a dragoon or two to her sister, who likewise would repay the debt when
occasion offered.

The mamma—for it is time I should say something of the head of the
family—was an excessively fat, coarse-looking, dark-skinned personage, of
some fifty years, with a voice like a boatswain in a quinsy. Heaven can
tell, perhaps, why the worthy major allied his fortunes with hers, for she
was evidently of a very inferior rank in society, could never have been
aught than downright ugly, and I never heard that she brought him any
money. "Spoiled five," the national amusement of her age and sex in Cork,
scandal, the changes in the army list, the failures in speculation of her
luckless husband, the forlorn fortunes of the girls, her daughters, kept
her in occupation, and her days were passed in one perpetual, unceasing
current of dissatisfaction and ill-temper with all around, that formed a
heavy counterpoise to the fascinations of the young ladies. The repeated
jiltings to which they had been subject had blunted any delicacy upon the
score of their marriage; and if the newly-introduced cornet or ensign was
not coming forward, as became him, at the end of the requisite number
of days, he was sure of receiving a very palpable admonition from Mrs.
Dalrymple. Hints, at first dimly shadowed, that Matilda was not in spirits
this morning; that Fanny, poor child, had a headache,—directed especially
at the culprit in question,—grew gradually into those little motherly
fondnesses in mamma, that, like the fascination of the rattlesnake, only
lure on to ruin. The doomed man was pressed to dinner when all others were
permitted to take their leave; he was treated like one of the family, God
help him! After dinner, the major would keep him an hour over his wine,
discussing the misery of an ill-assorted marriage; detailing his own
happiness in marrying a woman like the Tonga Islander I have mentioned;
hinting that girls should be brought up, not only to become companions to
their husbands, but with ideas fitting their station; if his auditor were
a military man, that none but an old officer (like him) could know how to
educate girls (like his); and that feeling he possessed two such treasures,
his whole aim in life was to guard and keep them,—a difficult task, when
proposals of the most flattering kind were coming constantly before him.
Then followed a fresh bottle, during which the major would consult his
young friend upon a very delicate affair,—no less than a proposition for
the hand of Miss Matilda, or Fanny, whichever he was supposed to be soft
upon. This was generally a coup-de-maître; should he still resist, he was
handed over to Mrs. Dalrymple, with a strong indictment against him, and
rarely did he escape a heavy sentence. Now, is it not strange that two
really pretty girls, with fully enough of amiable and pleasing qualities
to have excited the attention and won the affections of many a man, should
have gone on for years,—for, alas! they did so in every climate, under
every sun,—to waste their sweetness in this miserable career of intrigue
and man-trap, and yet nothing come of it? But so it was. The first question
a newly-landed regiment was asked, if coming from where they resided, was,
"Well, how are the girls?" "Oh, gloriously. Matty is there." "Ah, indeed!
poor thing." "Has Fan sported a new habit?" "Is it the old gray with the
hussar braiding? Confound it, that was seedy when I saw them in Corfu. And
Mother Dal as fat and vulgar as ever?" "Dawson of ours was the last,
and was called up for sentence when we were ordered away; of course,
he bolted," etc. Such was the invariable style of question and answer
concerning them; and although some few, either from good feeling or
fastidiousness, relished but little the mode in which it had become
habitual to treat them, I grieve to say that, generally, they were
pronounced fair game for every species of flirtation and love-making
without any "intentions" for the future. I should not have trespassed so
far upon my readers' patience, were I not, in recounting these traits of
my friends above, narrating matters of history. How many are there who may
cast their eyes upon these pages, that will say, "Poor Matilda! I knew her
at Gibraltar. Little Fanny was the life and soul of us all in Quebec."

"Mr. O'Malley," said the adjutant, as I presented myself in the afternoon
of my arrival in Cork to a short, punchy, little red-faced gentleman, in a
short jacket and ducks, "you are, I perceive, appointed to the 14th;
you will have the goodness to appear on parade to-morrow morning. The
riding-school hours are——. The morning drill is——; evening drill——.
Mr. Minchin, you are a 14th man, I believe? No, I beg pardon! a carbineer;
but no matter. Mr. O'Malley, Mr. Minchin; Captain Dounie, Mr. O'Malley.
You'll dine with us to-day, and to-morrow you shall be entered at the
mess."

"Yours are at Santarem, I believe?" said an old, weather-beaten looking
officer with one arm.

"I'm ashamed to say, I know nothing whatever of them; I received my gazette
unexpectedly enough."

"Ever in Cork before, Mr. O'Malley?"

"Never," said I.

"Glorious place," lisped a white-eyelashed, knocker-kneed ensign; "splendid
gals, eh?"

"Ah, Brunton," said Minchin, "you may boast a little; but we poor devils—"

"Know the Dals?" said the hero of the lisp, addressing me.

"I haven't that honor," I replied, scarcely able to guess whether what he
alluded to were objects of the picturesque or a private family.

"Introduce him, then, at once," said the adjutant; "we'll all go in the
evening. What will the old squaw think?"

"Not I," said Minchin. "She wrote to the Duke of York about my helping
Matilda at supper, and not having any honorable intentions afterwards."

"We dine at 'The George' to-day, Mr. O'Malley, sharp seven. Until then—"

So saying, the little man bustled back to his accounts, and I took my leave
with the rest, to stroll about the town till dinner-time.

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE ADJUTANT'S DINNER.

The adjutant's dinner was as professional an affair as need be. A circuit
or a learned society could not have been more exclusively devoted to
their own separate and immediate topics than were we. Pipeclay in all its
varieties came on the tapis; the last regulation cap, the new button,
the promotions, the general orders, the colonel and the colonel's wife,
stoppages, and the mess fund were all well and ably discussed; and strange
enough, while the conversation took this wide range, not a chance allusion,
not one stray hint ever wandered to the brave fellows who were covering the
army with glory in the Peninsula, nor one souvenir of him that, was even
then enjoying a fame as a leader second to none in Europe. This surprised
me not a little at the time; but I have since that learned how little
interest the real services of an army possess for the ears of certain
officials, who, stationed at home quarters, pass their inglorious lives in
the details of drill, parade, mess-room gossip, and barrack scandal. Such,
in fact, were the dons of the present dinner. We had a commissary-general,
an inspecting brigade-major of something, a physician to the forces, the
adjutant himself, and Major Dalrymple; the hoi polloi consisting of the
raw ensign, a newly-fledged cornet (Mr. Sparks), and myself.

The commissary told some very pointless stories about his own department;
the doctor read a dissertation upon Walcheren fever; the adjutant got very
stupidly tipsy; and Major Dalrymple succeeded in engaging the three juniors
of the party to tea, having previously pledged us to purchase nothing
whatever of outfit without his advice, he well knowing (which he did) how
young fellows like us were cheated, and resolving to be a father to us
(which he certainly tried to be).

As we rose from the table, about ten o'clock, I felt how soon a few such
dinners would succeed in disenchanting me of all my military illusions;
for, young as I was, I saw that the commissary was a vulgar bore, the
doctor a humbug, the adjutant a sot, and the major himself I greatly
suspected to be an old rogue.

"You are coming with us, Sparks?" said Major Dalrymple, as he took me by
one arm and the ensign by the other. "We are going to have a little tea
with the ladies; not five minutes' walk."

"Most happy, sir," said Mr. Sparks, with a very flattered expression of
countenance.

"O'Malley, you know Sparks, and Burton too."

This served for a species of triple introduction, at which we all bowed,
simpered, and bowed again. We were very happy to have the pleasure, etc.

"How pleasant to get away from these fellows!" said the major, "they are so
uncommonly prosy! That commissary, with his mess beef, and old Pritchard,
with black doses and rigors,—nothing so insufferable! Besides, in
reality, a young officer never needs all that nonsense. A little medicine
chest—I'll get you one each to-morrow for five pounds—no, five pounds
ten—the same thing—that will see you all through the Peninsula. Remind me
of it in the morning." This we all promised to do, and the major resumed:
"I say, Sparks, you've got a real prize in that gray horse,—such a trooper
as he is! O'Malley, you'll be wanting something of that kind, if we can
find it for you."

"Many thanks, Major; but my cattle are on the way here already. I've only
three horses, but I think they are tolerably good ones."

The major now turned to Burton and said something in a low tone, to which
the other replied, "Well, if you say so, I'll get it; but it's devilish
dear."

"Dear, my young friend! Cheap, dog cheap."

"Only think, O'Malley, a whole brass bed, camp-stool, basin-stand, all
complete, for sixty pounds! If it was not that a widow was disposing of
it in great distress, one hundred could not buy it. Here we are; come
along,—no ceremony. Mind the two steps; that's it, Mrs, Dalrymple, Mr.
O'Malley; Mr. Sparks, Mr. Burton, my daughters. Is tea over, girls?"

"Why, Papa, it's nearly eleven o'clock," said Fanny, as she rose to ring
the bell, displaying in so doing the least possible portion of a very
well-turned ankle.

Miss Matilda Dal laid down her book, but seemingly lost in abstraction, did
not deign to look at us. Mrs. Dalrymple, however, did the honors with much
politeness, and having by a few adroit and well-put queries ascertained
everything concerning our rank and position, seemed perfectly satisfied
that our intrusion was justifiable.

While my confrère, Mr. Sparks, was undergoing his examination I had time
to look at the ladies, whom I was much surprised at finding so very
well looking; and as the ensign had opened a conversation with Fanny, I
approached my chair towards the other, and having carelessly turned over
the leaves of the book she had been reading, drew her on to talk of it. As
my acquaintance with young ladies hitherto had been limited to those who
had "no soul," I felt some difficulty at first in keeping up with the
exalted tone of my fair companion, but by letting her take the lead for
some time, I got to know more of the ground. We went on tolerably together,
every moment increasing my stock of technicals, which were all that was
needed to sustain the conversation. How often have I found the same plan
succeed, whether discussing a question of law or medicine, with a learned
professor of either! or, what is still more difficult, canvassing the
merits of a preacher or a doctrine with a serious young lady, whose
"blessed privileges" were at first a little puzzling to comprehend.

I so contrived it, too, that Miss Matilda should seem as much to be making
a convert to her views as to have found a person capable of sympathizing
with her; and thus, long before the little supper, with which it was the
major's practice to regale his friends every evening, made its appearance,
we had established a perfect understanding together,—a circumstance that,
a bystander might have remarked, was productive of a more widely diffused
satisfaction than I could have myself seen any just cause for. Mr. Burton
was also progressing, as the Yankees say, with the sister; Sparks had
booked himself as purchaser of military stores enough to make the campaign
of the whole globe; and we were thus all evidently fulfilling our various
vocations, and affording perfect satisfaction to our entertainers.

Then came the spatch-cock, and the sandwiches, and the negus, which Fanny
first mixed for papa, and subsequently, with some little pressing, for Mr.
Burton; Matilda the romantic assisted me; Sparks helped himself. Then we
laughed, and told stories; pressed Sparks to sing, which, as he declined,
we only pressed the more. How, invariably, by-the-bye, is it the custom to
show one's appreciation of anything like a butt by pressing him for a song!
The major was in great spirits; told us anecdotes of his early life in
India, and how he once contracted to supply the troops with milk, and made
a purchase, in consequence, of some score of cattle, which turned out to be
bullocks. Matilda recited some lines from Pope in my ear. Fanny challenged
Burton to a rowing match. Sparks listened to all around him, and Mrs.
Dalrymple mixed a very little weak punch, which Dr. Lucas had recommended
to her to take the last thing at night,—Noctes coenoeque etc. Say
what you will, these were very jovial little réunions. The girls were
decidedly very pretty. We were in high favor; and when we took leave at the
door, with a very cordial shake hands, it was with no arrière pensée we
promised to see them in the morning.

CHAPTER XXV.

THE ENTANGLEMENT.

When we think for a moment over all the toils, all the anxieties, all the
fevered excitement of a grande passion, it is not a little singular that
love should so frequently be elicited by a state of mere idleness; and yet
nothing, after all, is so predisposing a cause as this. Where is the man
between eighteen and eight-and-thirty—might I not say forty—who,
without any very pressing duns, and having no taste for strong liquor and
rouge-et-noir, can possibly lounge through the long hours of his day
without at least fancying himself in love? The thousand little occupations
it suggests become a necessity of existence; its very worries are like the
wholesome opposition that purifies and strengthens the frame of a free
state. Then, what is there half so sweet as the reflective flattery which
results from our appreciation of an object who in return deems us the ne
plus ultra of perfection? There it is, in fact; that confounded bump of
self-esteem does it all, and has more imprudent matches to answer for than
all the occipital protuberances that ever scared poor Harriet Martineau.

Now, to apply my moralizing. I very soon, to use the mess phrase, got
"devilish spooney" about the "Dals." The morning drill, the riding-school,
and the parade were all most fervently consigned to a certain military
character that shall be nameless, as detaining me from some appointment
made the evening before; for as I supped there each night, a party of one
kind or another was always planned for the day following. Sometimes we had
a boating excursion to Cove, sometimes a picnic at Foaty; now a rowing
party to Glanmire, or a ride, at which I furnished the cavalry. These
doings were all under my especial direction, and I thus became speedily
the organ of the Dalrymple family; and the simple phrase, "It was Mr.
O'Malley's arrangement," "Mr. O'Malley wished it," was like the Moi le
roi of Louis XIV.

Though all this while we continued to carry on most pleasantly, Mrs.
Dalrymple, I could perceive, did not entirely sympathize with our projects
of amusement. As an experienced engineer might feel when watching the
course of some storming projectile—some brilliant congreve—flying over
a besieged fortress, yet never touching the walls nor harming the
inhabitants, so she looked on at all these demonstrations of attack with
no small impatience, and wondered when would the breach be reported
practicable. Another puzzle also contributed its share of anxiety,—which
of the girls was it? To be sure, he spent three hours every morning with
Fanny; but then, he never left Matilda the whole evening. He had given his
miniature to one; a locket with his hair was a present to the sister.
The major thinks he saw his arm round Matilda's waist in the garden; the
housemaid swears she saw him kiss Fanny in the pantry. Matilda smiles when
we talk of his name with her sister's; Fanny laughs outright, and
says, "Poor Matilda! the man never dreamed of her." This is becoming
uncomfortable. The major must ask his intentions. It is certainly one
or the other; but then, we have a right to know which. Such was a very
condensed view of Mrs. Dalrymple's reflections on this important topic,—a
view taken with her usual tact and clear-sightedness.

Matters were in this state when Power at length arrived in Cork, to
take command of our detachment and make the final preparations for our
departure. I had been, as usual, spending the evening at the major's, and
had just reached my quarters, when I found my friend sitting at my fire,
smoking his cigar and solacing himself with a little brandy-and-water.

"At last," said he, as I entered,—"at last! Why, where the deuce have you
been till this hour,—past two o'clock? There is no ball, no assembly going
on, eh?"

"No," said I, half blushing at the eagerness of the inquiry; "I've been
spending the evening with a friend."

"Spending the evening! Say, rather, the night! Why, confound you, man, what
is there in Cork to keep you out of bed till near three?"

"Well, if you must know, I have been supping at a Major Dalrymple's,—a
devilish good fellow, with two such daughters!"

"Ahem!" said Power, shutting one eye knowingly, and giving a look like a
Yorkshire horse-dealer. "Go on."

"Why, what do you mean?"

"Go on; continue."

"I've finished; I've nothing more to tell."

"So, they're here, are they?" said he, reflectingly.

"Who?" said I.

"Matilda and Fanny, to be sure."

"Why, you know them, then?"

"I should think I do."

"Where have you met them?"

"Where have I not? When I was in the Rifles they were quartered at Zante.
Matilda was just then coming it rather strong with Villiers, of ours, a
regular greenhorn. Fanny, also, nearly did for Harry Nesbitt, by riding a
hurdle race. Then they left for Gibraltar, in the year,—what year was it?"

"Come, come," said I, "this is a humbug; the girls are quite young; you
just have heard their names."

"Well, perhaps so; only tell me which is your peculiar weakness, as they
say in the west, and may be I'll convince you."

"Oh, as to that," said I, laughing, "I'm not very far gone on either side."

"Then, Matilda, probably, has not tried you with Cowley, eh?—you look a
little pink—'There are hearts that live and love alone.' Oh, poor fellow,
you've got it! By Jove, how you've been coming it, though, in ten days! She
ought not to have got to that for a month, at least; and how like a young
one it was, to be caught by the poetry. Oh, Master Charley, I thought that
the steeple-chaser might have done most with your Galway heart,—the girl
in the gray habit, that sings 'Moddirederoo,' ought to have been the prize!
Halt! by Saint George, but that tickles you also! Why, zounds, if I go on,
probably, at this rate, I'll find a tender spot occupied by the 'black
lady' herself."

It was no use concealing, or attempting to conceal, anything from my
inquisitive friend; so I mixed my grog, and opened my whole heart; told how
I had been conducting myself for the entire preceding fortnight; and when
I concluded, sat silently awaiting Power's verdict, as though a jury were
about to pronounce upon my life.

"Have you ever written?"

"Never; except, perhaps, a few lines with tickets for the theatre, or
something of that kind."

"Have you copies of your correspondence?"

"Of course not. Why, what do you mean?"

"Has Mrs. Dal ever been present; or, as the French say, has she assisted at
any of your tender interviews with the young ladies?"

"I'm not aware that one kisses a girl before mamma."

"I'm not speaking of that; I merely allude to an ordinary flirtation."

"Oh, I suppose she has seen me attentive."

"Very awkward, indeed! There is only one point in your favor; for as your
attentions were not decided, and as the law does not, as yet, permit
polygamy—"

"Come, come, you know I never thought of marrying."

"Ah, but they did."

"Not a bit of it."

"Ay, but they did. What do you wager but that the major asks your
intentions, as he calls it, the moment he hears the transport has arrived?"

"By Jove! now you remind me, he asked this evening, when he could have a
few minutes' private conversation with me to-morrow, and I thought it was
about some confounded military chest or sea-store, or one of his infernal
contrivances that he every day assures me are indispensable; though, if
every officer had only as much baggage as I have got, under his directions,
it would take two armies, at least, to carry the effects of the fighting
one."

"Poor fellow!" said he, starting upon his legs; "what a burst you've made
of it!" So saying, he began in a nasal twang,—

"I publish the banns of marriage between Charles O'Malley, late of his
Majesty's 14th Dragoons, and ——— Dalrymple, spinster, of this city—"

"I'll be hanged if you do, though," said I, seeing pretty clearly, by this
time, something of the estimation my friends were held in. "Come, Power,
pull me through, like a good fellow,—pull me through, without doing
anything to hurt the girls' feelings."

"Well, we'll see about it," said he,—"we'll see about it in the morning;
but, at the same time, let me assure you, the affair is not so easy as
you may at first blush suppose. These worthy people have been so often
'done'—to use the cant phrase—before, that scarcely a ruse remains
untried. It is of no use pleading that your family won't consent; that your
prospects are null; that you arc ordered for India; that you are engaged
elsewhere; that you have nothing but your pay; that you are too young or
too old,—all such reasons, good and valid with any other family, will
avail you little here. Neither will it serve your cause that you may
be warranted by a doctor as subject to periodical fits of insanity;
monomaniacal tendencies to cut somebody's throat, etc. Bless your heart,
man, they have a soul above such littlenesses! They care nothing for
consent of friends, means, age, health, climate, prospects, or temper.
Firmly believing matrimony to be a lottery, they are not superstitious
about the number they pitch upon; provided only that they get a ticket,
they are content."

"Then it strikes me, if what you say is correct, that I have no earthly
chance of escape, except some kind friend will undertake to shoot me."

"That has been also tried."

"Why, how do you mean?"

"A mock duel, got up at mess,—we had one at Malta. Poor Vickers was the
hero of that affair. It was right well planned, too. One of the letters
was suffered, by mere accident, to fall into Mrs. Dal's hands, and she was
quite prepared for the event when he was reported shot the next morning.
Then the young lady, of course, whether she cared or not, was obliged to be
perfectly unconcerned, lest the story of engaged affections might get wind
and spoil another market. The thing went on admirably, till one day, some
few months later, they saw, in a confounded army-list, that the late
George Vickers was promoted to the 18th Dragoons, so that the trick was
discovered, and is, of course, stale at present."

"Then could I not have a wife already, and a large family of interesting
babies?"

"No go,—only swell the damages, when they come to prosecute. Besides, your
age and looks forbid the assumption of such a fact. No, no; we must go
deeper to work."

"But where shall we go?" said I, impatiently; "for it appears to me these
good people have been treated to every trick and subterfuge that ever
ingenuity suggested."

"Come, I think I have it; but it will need a little more reflection.
So, now, let us to bed. I'll give you the result of my lucubrations at
breakfast; and, if I mistake not, we may get you through this without any
ill-consequences. Good-night, then, old boy; and now dream away of your
lady-love till our next meeting."

CHAPTER XXVI.

THE PREPARATION.

To prevent needless repetitions in my story, I shall not record here the
conversation which passed between my friend Power and myself on the morning
following at breakfast. Suffice it to say, that the plan proposed by him
for my rescue was one I agreed to adopt, reserving to myself, in case
of failure, a pis aller of which I knew not the meaning, but of whose
efficacy Power assured me I need not doubt.

"If all fail," said he,—"if every bridge break down beneath you, and no
road of escape be left, why, then, I believe you must have recourse to
another alternative. Still I should wish to avoid it, if possible, and I
put it to you, in honor, not to employ it unless as a last expedient. You
promise me this?"

"Of course," said I, with great anxiety for the dread final measure. "What
is it?"

He paused, smiled dubiously, and resumed,—

"And, after all,—but, to be sure, there will not be need for it,—the
other plan will do,—must do. Come, come, O'Malley, the admiralty say that
nothing encourages drowning in the navy like a life-buoy. The men have such
a prospect of being picked up that they don't mind falling overboard; so,
if I give you this life-preserver of mine, you'll not swim an inch. Is it
not so, eh?"

"Far from it," said I. "I shall feel in honor bound to exert myself the
more, because I now see how much it costs you to part with it."

"Well, then, hear it. When everything fails; when all your resources are
exhausted; when you have totally lost your memory, in fact, and your
ingenuity in excuses say,—but mind, Charley, not till then,—say that you
must consult your friend, Captain Power, of the 14th; that's all."

"And is this it?" said I, quite disappointed at the lame and impotent
conclusion to all the high-sounding exordium; "is this all?"

"Yes," said he, "that is all. But stop, Charley; is not that the major
crossing the street there? Yes, to be sure it is; and, by Jove! he has got
on the old braided frock this morning. Had you not told me one word of your
critical position, I should have guessed there was something in the wind
from that. That same vestment has caused many a stout heart to tremble that
never quailed before a shot or shell."

"How can that be? I should like to hear."

"Why, my dear boy, that's his explanation coat, as we called it at
Gibraltar. He was never known to wear it except when asking some poor
fellow's 'intentions.' He would no more think of sporting it as an
every-day affair, than the chief-justice would go cook-shooting in his
black cap and ermine. Come, he is bound for your quarters, and as it
will not answer our plans to let him see you now, you had better hasten
down-stairs, and get round by the back way into George's Street, and you'll
be at his house before he can return."

Following Power's directions, I seized my foraging-cap and got clear out of
the premises before the major had reached them. It was exactly noon as I
sounded my loud and now well-known summons at the major's knocker. The door
was quickly opened; but instead of dashing up-stairs, four steps at a time,
as was my wont, to the drawing-room, I turned short into the dingy-looking
little parlor on the right, and desired Matthew, the venerable servitor of
the house, to say that I wished particularly to see Mrs. Dalrymple for a
few minutes, if the hour were not inconvenient.

There was something perhaps of excitement in my manner, some flurry in my
look, or some trepidation in my voice, or perhaps it was the unusual hour,
or the still more remarkable circumstance of my not going at once to the
drawing-room, that raised some doubts in Matthew's mind as to the object of
my visit; and instead of at once complying with my request to inform Mrs.
Dalrymple that I was there, he cautiously closed the door, and taking a
quick but satisfactory glance round the apartment to assure himself that we
were alone, he placed his back against it and heaved a deep sigh.

We were both perfectly silent: I in total amazement at what the old man
could possibly mean; he, following up the train of his own thoughts,
comprehended little or nothing of my surprise, and evidently was so
engrossed by his reflections that he had neither ears nor eyes for aught
around him. There was a most singular semi-comic expression in the old
withered face that nearly made me laugh at first; but as I continued to
look steadily at it, I perceived that, despite the long-worn wrinkles that
low Irish drollery and fun had furrowed around the angles of his mouth, the
real character of his look was one of sorrowful compassion.

Doubtless, my readers have read many interesting narratives wherein the
unconscious traveller in some remote land has been warned of a plan to
murder him, by some mere passing wink, a look, a sign, which some one, less
steeped in crime, less hardened in iniquity than his fellows, has ventured
for his rescue. Sometimes, according to the taste of the narrator, the
interesting individual is an old woman, sometimes a young one, sometimes
a black-bearded bandit, sometimes a child; and not unfrequently, a dog is
humane enough to do this service. One thing, however, never varies,—be the
agent biped or quadruped, dumb or speechful, young or old, the stranger
invariably takes the hint, and gets off scott free for his sharpness. This
never-varying trick on the doomed man, I had often been sceptical enough to
suspect; however, I had not been many minutes a spectator of the old man's
countenance, when I most thoroughly recanted my errors, and acknowledged
myself wrong. If ever the look of a man conveyed a warning, his did; but
there was more in it than even that,—there was a tone of sad and pitiful
compassion, such as an old gray-bearded rat might be supposed to put on at
seeing a young and inexperienced one opening the hinge of an iron trap,
to try its efficacy upon his neck. Many a little occasion had presented
itself, during my intimacy with the family, of doing Matthew some small
services, of making him some trifling presents; so that, when he assumed
before me the gesture and look I have mentioned, I was not long in
deciphering his intentions.

"Matthew!" screamed a sharp voice which I recognized at once for that of
Mrs. Dalrymple. "Matthew! Where is the old fool?"

But Matthew heard not, or heeded not.

"Matthew! Matthew! I say."

"I'm comin', ma'am," said he, with a sigh, as, opening the parlor-door, he
turned upon me one look of such import that only the circumstances of my
story can explain its force, or my reader's own ingenious imagination can
supply.

"Never fear, my good old friend," said I, grasping his hand warmly, and
leaving a guinea in the palm,—"never fear."

"God grant it, sir!" said he, setting on his wig in preparation for his
appearance in the drawing-room.

"Matthew! The old wretch!"

"Mr. O'Malley," said the often-called Matthew, as opening the door, he
announced me unexpectedly among the ladies there assembled, who, not
hearing of my approach, were evidently not a little surprised and
astonished. Had I been really the enamored swain that the Dalrymple family
were willing to believe, I half suspect that the prospect before me might
have cured me of my passion. A round bullet-head, papilloté, with
the "Cork Observer," where still-born babes and maids-of-all-work were
descanted upon in very legible type, was now the substitute for the classic
front and Italian ringlets of la belle Matilda; while the chaste Fanny
herself, whose feet had been a fortune for a statuary, was, in the most
slatternly and slipshod attire, pacing the room in a towering rage, at
some thing, place, or person, unknown (to me). If the ballet-master at the
Académie could only learn to get his imps, demons, angels, and goblins
"off" half as rapidly as the two young ladies retreated on my being
announced, I answer for the piece so brought out having a run for half the
season. Before my eyes had regained their position parallel to the plane of
the horizon, they were gone, and I found myself alone with Mrs. Dalrymple.
Now, she stood her ground, partly to cover the retreat of the main body,
partly, too, because—representing the baggage wagons, ammunition stores,
hospital, staff, etc.—her retirement from the field demanded more time and
circumspection than the light brigade.

Let not my readers suppose that the mère Dalrymple was so perfectly
faultless in costume that her remaining was a matter of actual
indifference; far from it. She evidently had a struggle for it; but a sense
of duty decided her, and as Ney doggedly held back to cover the retreating
forces on the march from Moscow, so did she resolutely lurk behind till
the last flutter of the last petticoat assured her that the fugitives were
safe. Then did she hesitate for a moment what course to take; but as I
assumed my chair beside her, she composedly sat down, and crossing her
hands before her, waited for an explanation of this ill-timed visit.

Had the Horse Guards, in the plenitude of their power and the perfection of
their taste, ordained that the 79th and 42d Regiments should in future,
in lieu of their respective tartans, wear flannel kilts and black worsted
hose, I could readily have fallen into the error of mistaking Mrs.
Dalrymple for a field officer in the new regulation dress; the philabeg
finding no mean representation in a capacious pincushion that hung down
from her girdle, while a pair of shears, not scissors, corresponded to the
dirk. After several ineffectual efforts on her part to make her vestment (I
know not its fitting designation) cover more of her legs than its length
could possibly effect, and after some most bland smiles and half blushes at
dishabille, etc., were over, and that I had apologized most humbly for
the unusually early hour of my call, I proceeded to open my negotiations,
and unfurl my banner for the fray.

"The old 'Racehorse' has arrived at last," said I, with a half-sigh, "and I
believe that we shall not obtain a very long time for our leave-taking; so
that, trespassing upon your very great kindness, I have ventured upon an
early call."

"The 'Racehorse,' surely can't sail to-morrow," said Mrs. Dalrymple, whose
experience of such matters made her a very competent judge; "her stores—"

"Are taken in already," said I; "and an order from the Horse Guards
commands us to embark in twenty-four hours; so that, in fact, we scarcely
have time to look about us."

"Have you seen the major?" inquired Mrs. Dalrymple, eagerly.

"Not to-day," I replied, carelessly; "but, of course, during the morning we
are sure to meet. I have many thanks yet to give him for all his most kind
attentions."

"I know he is most anxious to see you," said Mrs. Dalrymple, with a very
peculiar emphasis, and evidently desiring that I should inquire the
reasons of this anxiety. I, however, most heroically forbore indulging my
curiosity, and added that I should endeavor to find him on my way to the
barracks; and then, hastily looking at my watch, I pronounced it a full
hour later than it really was, and promising to spend the evening—my last
evening—with them, I took my leave and hurried away, in no small flurry to
be once more out of reach of Mrs. Dalrymple's fire, which I every moment
expected to open upon me.

CHAPTER XXVII.

THE SUPPER.

Power and I dined together tête-à-tête at the hotel, and sat chatting
over my adventures with the Dalrymples till nearly nine o'clock.

"Come, Charley," said he, at length, "I see your eye wandering very often
towards the timepiece; another bumper, and I'll let you off. What shall it
be?"

"What you like," said I, upon whom a share of three bottles of strong
claret had already made a very satisfactory impression.

"Then champagne for the coup-de-grace. Nothing like your vin mousseux
for a critical moment,—every bubble that rises sparkling to the surface
prompts some bright thought, or elicits some brilliant idea, that would
only have been drowned in your more sober fluids. Here's to the girl you
love, whoever she be."

"To her bright eyes, then, be it," said I, clearing off a brimming goblet
of nearly half the bottle, while my friend Power seemed multiplied into
any given number of gentlemen standing amidst something like a glass
manufactory of decanters.

"I hope you feel steady enough for this business," said my friend,
examining me closely with the candle.

"I'm an archdeacon," muttered I, with one eye involuntarily closing.

"You'll not let them double on you!"

"Trust me, old boy," said I, endeavoring to look knowing.

"I think you'll do," said he, "so now march. I'll wait for you here,
and we'll go on board together; for old Bloater the skipper says he'll
certainly weigh by daybreak."

"Till then," said I, as opening the door, I proceeded very cautiously to
descend the stairs, affecting all the time considerable nonchalance, and
endeavoring, as well as my thickened utterance would permit, to hum:—

    "Oh, love is the soul of an Irish dragoon."

If I was not in the most perfect possession of my faculties in the house,
the change to the open air certainly but little contributed to their
restoration; and I scarcely felt myself in the street when my brain became
absolutely one whirl of maddened and confused excitement. Time and space
are nothing to a man thus enlightened, and so they appeared to me; scarcely
a second had elapsed when I found myself standing in the Dalrymples'
drawing-room.

If a few hours had done much to metamorphose me, certes, they had done
something for my fair friends also; anything more unlike what they appeared
in the morning can scarcely be imagined. Matilda in black, with her hair in
heavy madonna bands upon her fair cheek, now paler even than usual, never
seemed so handsome; while Fanny, in a light-blue dress, with blue flowers
in her hair, and a blue sash, looked the most lovely piece of coquetry ever
man set his eyes upon. The old major, too, was smartened up, and put into
an old regimental coat that he had worn during the siege of Gibraltar; and
lastly, Mrs. Dalrymple herself was attired in a very imposing costume that
made her, to my not over-accurate judgment, look very like an elderly
bishop in a flame-colored cassock. Sparks was the only stranger, and
wore upon his countenance, as I entered, a look of very considerable
embarrassment that even my thick-sightedness could not fail of detecting.

Parlez-moi de I'amitié, my friends. Talk to me of the warm embrace of
your earliest friend, after years of absence; the cordial and heartfelt
shake hands of your old school companion, when in after years, a chance
meeting has brought you together, and you have had time and opportunity for
becoming distinguished and in repute, and are rather a good hit to be known
to than otherwise; of the close grip you give your second when he comes up
to say, that the gentleman with the loaded detonator opposite won't fire,
that he feels he's in the wrong. Any or all of these together, very
effective and powerful though they be, are light in the balance when
compared with the two-handed compression you receive from the gentleman
that expects you to marry one of his daughters.

"My dear O'Malley, how goes it? Thought you'd never come," said he, still
holding me fast and looking me full in the face, to calculate the extent to
which my potations rendered his flattery feasible.

"Hurried to death with preparations, I suppose," said Mrs. Dalrymple,
smiling blandly. "Fanny dear, some tea for him."

"Oh, Mamma, he does not like all that sugar; surely not," said she, looking
up with a most sweet expression, as though to say, "I at least know his
tastes."

"I believed you were going without seeing us," whispered Matilda, with a
very glassy look about the corner of her eyes.

Eloquence was not just then my forte, so that I contented myself with a
very intelligible look at Fanny, and a tender squeeze of Matilda's hand, as
I seated myself at the table.

Scarcely had I placed myself at the tea-table, with Matilda beside and
Fanny opposite me, each vying with the other in their delicate and kind
attentions, when I totally forgot all my poor friend Power's injunctions
and directions for my management. It is true, I remembered that there was
a scrape of some kind or other to be got out of, and one requiring some
dexterity, too; but what or with whom I could not for the life of me
determine. What the wine had begun, the bright eyes completed; and amidst
the witchcraft of silky tresses and sweet looks, I lost all my reflection,
till the impression of an impending difficulty remained fixed in my mind,
and I tortured my poor, weak, and erring intellect to detect it. At last,
and by a mere chance, my eyes fell upon Sparks; and by what mechanism I
contrived it, I know not, but I immediately saddled him with the whole of
my annoyances, and attributed to him and to his fault any embarrassment I
labored under.

The physiological reason of the fact I'm very ignorant of, but for the
truth and frequency I can well vouch, that there are certain people,
certain faces, certain voices, certain whiskers, legs, waistcoats, and
guard-chains, that inevitably produce the most striking effects upon the
brain of a gentleman already excited by wine, and not exactly cognizant of
his own peculiar fallacies.

These effects are not produced merely among those who are quarrelsome in
their cups, for I call the whole 14th to witness that I am not such; but to
any person so disguised, the inoffensiveness of the object is no security
on the other hand,—for I once knew an eight-day clock kicked down a
barrack stairs by an old Scotch major, because he thought it was laughing
at him. To this source alone, whatever it be, can I attribute the feeling
of rising indignation with which I contemplated the luckless cornet, who,
seated at the fire, unnoticed and uncared for, seemed a very unworthy
object to vent anger or ill-temper upon.

"Mr. Sparks, I fear," said I, endeavoring at the time to call up a look of
very sovereign contempt,—"Mr. Sparks, I fear, regards my visit here in the
light of an intrusion."

Had poor Mr. Sparks been told to proceed incontinently up the chimney
before him, he could not have looked more aghast. Reply was quite out of
his power. So sudden and unexpectedly was this charge of mine made that he
could only stare vacantly from one to the other; while I, warming with
my subject, and perhaps—but I'll not swear it—stimulated by a gentle
pressure from a soft hand near me, continued:—

"If he thinks for one moment that my attentions in this family are in any
way to be questioned by him, I can only say—"

"My dear O'Malley, my dear boy!" said the major, with the look of a
father-in-law in his eye.

"The spirit of an officer and a gentleman spoke there," said Mrs.
Dalrymple, now carried beyond all prudence by the hope that my attack might
arouse my dormant friend into a counter-declaration; nothing, however, was
further from poor Sparks, who began to think he had been unconsciously
drinking tea with five lunatics.

"If he supposes," said I, rising from my chair, "that his silence will pass
with me as any palliation—"

"Oh, dear! oh, dear! there will be a duel. Papa, dear, why don't you speak
to Mr. O'Malley?"

"There now, O'Malley, sit down. Don't you see he is quite in error?"

"Then let him say so," said I, fiercely.

"Ah, yes, to be sure," said Fanny. "Do say it; say anything he likes, Mr.
Sparks."

"I must say," said Mrs. Dalrymple, "however sorry I may feel in my own
house to condemn any one, that Mr. Sparks is very much in the wrong."

Poor Sparks looked like a man in a dream.

"If he will tell Charles,—Mr. O'Malley, I mean," said Matilda, blushing
scarlet, "that he meant nothing by what he said—"

"But I never spoke, never opened my lips!" cried out the wretched man, at
length sufficiently recovered to defend himself.

"Oh, Mr. Sparks!"

"Oh, Mr. Sparks!"

"Oh, Mr. Sparks!" chorussed the three ladies.

While the old major brought up the rear with an "Oh, Sparks, I must say—"

"Then, by all the saints in the calendar, I must be mad," said he; "but if
I have said anything to offend you, O'Malley, I am sincerely sorry for it."

"That will do, sir," said I, with a look of royal condescension at the
amende I considered as somewhat late in coming, and resumed my seat.

This little intermezzo, it might be supposed, was rather calculated to
interrupt the harmony of our evening. Not so, however. I had apparently
acquitted myself like a hero, and was evidently in a white heat, in which I
could be fashioned into any shape. Sparks was humbled so far that he would
probably feel it a relief to make any proposition; so that by our opposite
courses we had both arrived at a point at which all the dexterity and
address of the family had been long since aiming without success.
Conversation then resumed its flow, and in a few minutes every trace of our
late fracas had disappeared.

By degrees I felt myself more and more disposed to turn my attention
towards Matilda, and dropping my voice into a lower tone, opened a
flirtation of a most determined kind. Fanny had, meanwhile, assumed a place
beside Sparks, and by the muttered tones that passed between them, I could
plainly perceive they were similarly occupied. The major took up the
"Southern Reporter," of which he appeared deep in the contemplation, while
Mrs. Dal herself buried her head in her embroidery and neither heard nor
saw anything around her.

I know, unfortunately, but very little what passed between myself and my
fair companion; I can only say that when supper was announced at twelve (an
hour later than usual), I was sitting upon the sofa with my arm round
her waist, my cheek so close that already her lovely tresses brushed my
forehead, and her breath fanned my burning brow.

"Supper, at last," said the major, with a loud voice, to arouse us from
our trance of happiness without taking any mean opportunity of looking
unobserved. "Supper, Sparks, O'Malley; come now, it will be some time
before we all meet this way again."

"Perhaps not so long, after all," said I, knowingly.

"Very likely not," echoed Sparks, in the same key.

"I've proposed for Fanny," said he, whispering in my ear.

"Matilda's mine," replied I, with the look of an emperor.

"A word with you, Major," said Sparks, his eye flashing with enthusiasm,
and his cheek scarlet. "One word,—I'll not detain you."

They withdrew into a corner for a few seconds, during which Mrs. Dalrymple
amused herself by wondering what the secret could be, why Mr. Sparks
couldn't tell her, and Fanny meanwhile pretended to look for something at a
side table, and never turned her head round.

"Then give me your hand," said the major, as he shook Sparks's with a
warmth of whose sincerity there could be no question. "Bess, my love," said
he, addressing his wife. The remainder was lost in a whisper; but whatever
it was, it evidently redounded to Sparks's credit, for the next moment a
repetition of the hand-shaking took place, and Sparks looked the happiest
of men.

"A mon tour," thought I, "now," as I touched the major's arm, and led him
towards the window. What I said may be one day matter for Major Dalrymple's
memoirs, if he ever writes them; but for my part I have not the least idea.
I only know that while I was yet speaking he called over Mrs. Dal, who,
in a frenzy of joy, seized me in her arms and embraced me. After which, I
kissed her, shook hands with the major, kissed Matilda's hand, and laughed
prodigiously, as though I had done something confoundedly droll,—a
sentiment evidently participated in by Sparks, who laughed too, as did the
others; and a merrier, happier party never sat down to supper.

"Make your company pleased with themselves," says Mr. Walker, in his
Original work upon dinner-giving, "and everything goes on well." Now,
Major Dalrymple, without having read the authority in question, probably
because it was not written at the time, understood the principle fully
as well as the police-magistrate, and certainly was a proficient in the
practice of it.

To be sure, he possessed one grand requisite for success,—he seemed most
perfectly happy himself. There was that air dégagé about him which, when
an old man puts it on among his juniors, is so very attractive. Then the
ladies, too, were evidently well pleased; and the usually austere mamma had
relaxed her "rigid front" into a smile in which any habitué of the house
could have read our fate.

We ate, we drank, we ogled, smiled, squeezed hands beneath the table,
and, in fact, so pleasant a party had rarely assembled round the major's
mahogany. As for me, I made a full disclosure of the most burning love,
backed by a resolve to marry my fair neighbor, and settle upon her a
considerably larger part of my native county than I had ever even rode
over. Sparks, on the other side, had opened his fire more cautiously,
but whether taking courage from my boldness, or perceiving with envy the
greater estimation I was held in, was now going the pace fully as fast as
myself, and had commenced explanations of his intentions with regard to
Fanny that evidently satisfied her friends. Meanwhile the wine was passing
very freely, and the hints half uttered an hour before began now to be more
openly spoken and canvassed.

Sparks and I hob-nobbed across the table and looked unspeakable things at
each other; the girls held down their heads; Mrs. Dal wiped her eyes; and
the major pronounced himself the happiest father in Europe.

It was now wearing late, or rather early; some gray streaks of dubious
light were faintly forcing their way through the half-closed curtains, and
the dread thought of parting first presented itself. A cavalry trumpet,
too, at this moment sounded a call that aroused us from our trance of
pleasure, and warned us that our moments were few. A dead silence crept
over all; the solemn feeling which leave-taking ever inspires was
uppermost, and none spoke. The major was the first to break it.

"O'Malley, my friend, and you, Mr. Sparks; I must have a word with you,
boys, before we part."

"Here let it be, then, Major," said I, holding his arm as he turned to
leave the room,—"here, now; we are all so deeply interested, no place is
so fit."

"Well, then," said the major, "as you desire it, now that I'm to regard
you both in the light of my sons-in-law,—at least, as pledged to become
so,—it is only fair as respects—"

"I see,—I understand perfectly," interrupted I, whose passion for
conducting the whole affair myself was gradually gaining on me. "What
you mean is, that we should make known our intentions before some mutual
friends ere we part; eh, Sparks? eh, Major?"

"Right, my boy,—right on every point."

"Well, then, I thought of all that; and if you'll just send your servant
over to my quarters for our captain,—he's the fittest person, you know, at
such a time—"

"How considerate!" said Mrs. Dalrymple.

"How perfectly just his idea is!" said the major.

"We'll then, in his presence, avow our present and unalterable
determination as regards your fair daughters; and as the time is short—"

Here I turned towards Matilda, who placed her arm within mine; Sparks
possessed himself of Fanny's hand, while the major and his wife consulted
for a few seconds.

"Well, O'Malley, all you propose is perfect. Now, then, for the captain.
Who shall he inquire for?"

[CHARLES POPS THE QUESTION.]

"Oh, an old friend of yours," said I, jocularly; "you'll be glad to see
him."

"Indeed!" said all together.

"Oh, yes, quite a surprise, I'll warrant it."

"Who can it be? Who on earth is it?"

"You can't guess," added I, with a very knowing look. "Knew you at Corfu; a
very intimate friend, indeed, if he tell the truth."

A look of something like embarrassment passed around the circle at these
words, while I, wishing to end the mystery, resumed:—

"Come, then, who can be so proper for all parties, at a moment like this,
as our mutual friend Captain Power?"

Had a shell fallen into the cold grouse pie in the midst of us, scattering
death and destruction on every side, the effect could scarcely have been
more frightful than that my last words produced. Mrs. Dalrymple fell with
a sough upon the floor, motionless as a corpse; Fanny threw herself,
screaming, upon a sofa; Matilda went off into strong hysterics upon the
hearth-rug; while the major, after giving me a look a maniac might have
envied, rushed from the room in search of his pistols with a most terrific
oath to shoot somebody, whether Sparks or myself, or both of us, on his
return, I cannot say. Fanny's sobs and Matilda's cries, assisted by a
drumming process by Mrs. Dal's heels upon the floor, made a most infernal
concert and effectually prevented anything like thought or reflection; and
in all probability so overwhelmed was I at the sudden catastrophe I had so
innocently caused, I should have waited in due patience for the major's
return, had not Sparks seized my arm, and cried out,—

"Run for it, O'Malley; cut like fun, my boy, or we're done for."

"Run; why? What for? Where?" said I, stupefied by the scene before me.

"Here he is!" called out Sparks, as throwing up the window, he sprang out
upon the stone sill, and leaped into the street. I followed mechanically,
and jumped after him, just as the major had reached the window. A ball
whizzed by me, that soon determined my further movements; so, putting on
all speed, I flew down the street, turned the corner, and regained the
hotel breathless and without a hat, while Sparks arrived a moment later,
pale as a ghost, and trembling like an aspen-leaf.

"Safe, by Jove!" said Sparks, throwing himself into a chair, and panting
for breath.

"Safe, at last," said I, without well knowing why or for what.

"You've had a sharp run of it, apparently," said Power, coolly, and without
any curiosity as to the cause; "and now, let us on board; there goes the
trumpet again. The skipper is a surly old fellow, and we must not lose his
tide for him." So saying, he proceeded to collect his cloaks, cane, etc.,
and get ready for departure.

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE VOYAGE.

When I awoke from the long, sound sleep which succeeded my last adventure,
I had some difficulty in remembering where I was or how I had come there.
From my narrow berth I looked out upon the now empty cabin, and at length
some misty and confused sense of my situation crept slowly over me. I
opened the little shutter beside me and looked out. The bold headlands of
the southern coast were frowning in sullen and dark masses about a couple
of miles distant, and I perceived that we were going fast through the
water, which was beautifully calm and still. I now looked at my watch;
it was past eight o'clock; and as it must evidently be evening, from the
appearance of the sky, I felt that I had slept soundly for above twelve
hours.

In the hurry of departure the cabin had not been set to rights, and there
lay every species of lumber and luggage in all imaginable confusion.
Trunks, gun-cases, baskets of eggs, umbrellas, hampers of sea-store,
cloaks, foraging-caps, maps, and sword-belts were scattered on every
side,—while the débris of a dinner, not over-remarkable for its
propriety in table equipage, added to the ludicrous effect. The heavy tramp
of a foot overhead denoted the step of some one taking his short walk of
exercise; while the rough voice of the skipper, as he gave the word to "Go
about!" all convinced me that we were at last under way, and off to "the
wars."

The confusion our last evening on shore produced in my brain was such
that every effort I made to remember anything about it only increased my
difficulty, and I felt myself in a web so tangled and inextricable that
all endeavor to escape free was impossible. Sometimes I thought that I had
really married Matilda Dalrymple; then, I supposed that the father had
called me out, and wounded me in a duel; and finally, I had some confused
notion about a quarrel with Sparks, but what for, when, and how it ended, I
knew not. How tremendously tipsy I must have been! was the only conclusion
I could draw from all these conflicting doubts; and after all, it was the
only thing like fact that beamed upon my mind. How I had come on board and
reached my berth was a matter I reserved for future inquiry, resolving that
about the real history of my last night on shore I would ask no questions,
if others were equally disposed to let it pass in silence.

I next began to wonder if Mike had looked after all my luggage, trunks,
etc., and whether he himself had been forgotten in our hasty departure.
About this latter point I was not destined for much doubt; for a well-known
voice, from the foot of the companion-ladder, at once proclaimed my
faithful follower, and evidenced his feelings at his departure from his
home and country.

Mr. Free was, at the time I mention, gathered up like a ball opposite a
small, low window that looked upon the bluff headlands now fast becoming
dim and misty as the night approached. He was apparently in low spirits,
and hummed in a species of low, droning voice, the following ballad, at the
end of each verse of which came an Irish chorus which, to the erudite in
such matters, will suggest the air of Moddirederoo:—

    MICKEY FREE'S LAMENT.

    Then fare ye well, ould Erin dear;
      To part, my heart does ache well:
    From Carrickfergus to Cape Clear,
      I'll never see your equal.
    And though to foreign parts we're bound,
      Where cannibals may ate us,
    We'll ne'er forget the holy ground
      Of potteen and potatoes.
               Moddirederoo aroo, aroo, etc.

    When good Saint Patrick banished frogs,
      And shook them from his garment,
    He never thought we'd go abroad,
      To live upon such varmint;
    Nor quit the land where whiskey grew
      To wear King George's button,
    Take vinegar for mountain dew,
      And toads for mountain mutton.
               Moddirederoo aroo, aroo, etc.

"I say, Mike, stop that confounded keen, and tell me where are we?"

"Off the ould head of Kinsale, sir."

"Where is Captain Power?"

"Smoking a cigar on deck, with the captain, sir."

"And Mr. Sparks?"

"Mighty sick in his own state-room. Oh, but it's himself has enough of
glory—bad luck to it!—by this time. He'd make your heart break to look at
him."

"Who have you got on board besides?"

"The adjutant's here, sir; and an old gentleman they call the major."

"Not Major Dalrymple?" said I, starting up with terror at the thought, "eh,
Mike?"

"No, sir, another major; his name is Mulroon, or Mundoon, or something like
that."

"Monsoon, you son of a lumper potato," cried out a surly, gruff voice from
a berth opposite. "Monsoon. Who's at the other side?"

"Mr. O'Malley, 14th," said I, by way of introduction.

"My service to you, then," said the voice. "Going to join your regiment?"

"Yes; and you, are you bound on a similar errand?"

"No, Heaven be praised! I'm attached to the commissariat, and only going to
Lisbon. Have you had any dinner?"

"Not a morsel; have you?"

"No more than yourself; but I always lie by for three or four days this
way, till I get used to the confounded rocking and pitching, and with
a little grog and some sleep, get over the time gayly enough. Steward,
another tumbler like the last; there—very good—that will do. Your good
health, Mr.—what was it you said?"

"O'Malley."

"O'Malley—your good health! Good-night." And so ended our brief colloquy,
and in a few minutes more, a very decisive snore pronounced my friend to be
fulfilling his precept for killing the hours.

I now made the effort to emancipate myself from my crib, and at last
succeeded in getting on the floor, where, after one chassez at a small
looking-glass opposite, followed by a very impetuous rush at a little brass
stove, in which I was interrupted by a trunk and laid prostrate, I finally
got my clothes on, and made my way to the deck. Little attuned as was my
mind at the moment to admire anything like scenery, it was impossible to be
unmoved by the magnificent prospect before me. It was a beautiful evening
in summer; the sun had set above an hour before, leaving behind him in the
west one vast arch of rich and burnished gold, stretching along the whole
horizon, and tipping all the summits of the heavy rolling sea, as it rolled
on, unbroken by foam or ripple, in vast moving mountains, from the far
coast of Labrador. We were already in blue water, though the bold cliffs
that were to form our departing point were but a few miles to leeward.
There lay the lofty bluff of Old Kinsale, whose crest, overhanging, peered
from a summit of some hundred feet into the deep water that swept its rocky
base, many a tangled lichen and straggling bough trailing in the flood
beneath. Here and there upon the coast a twinkling gleam proclaimed the hut
of the fisherman, whose swift hookers had more than once shot by us and
disappeared in a moment. The wind, which began to fall at sunset, freshened
as the moon rose; and the good ship, bending to the breeze, lay gently
over, and rushed through the waters with a sound of gladness. I was alone
upon the deck. Power and the captain, whom I expected to have found, had
disappeared somehow, and I was, after all, not sorry to be left to my own
reflections uninterrupted.

My thoughts turned once more to my home,—to my first, my best, earliest
friend, whose hearth I had rendered lonely and desolate, and my heart
sank within me as I remembered it. How deeply I reproached myself for the
selfish impetuosity with which I had ever followed any rising fancy, any
new and sudden desire, and never thought of him whose every hope was in,
whose every wish was for me. Alas! alas, my poor uncle! how gladly would
I resign every prospect my soldier's life may hold out, with all its
glittering promise, and all the flattery of success, to be once more beside
you; to feel your warm and manly grasp; to see your smile; to hear your
voice; to be again where all our best feelings are born and nurtured, our
cares assuaged, our joys more joyed in, and our griefs more wept,—at home!
These very words have more music to my ears than all the softest strains
that ever siren sung. They bring us back to all we have loved, by ties that
are never felt but through such simple associations. And in the earlier
memories called up, our childish feelings come back once more to visit us
like better spirits, as we walk amidst the dreary desolation that years of
care and uneasiness have spread around us.

Wretched must he be who ne'er has felt such bliss; and thrice happy he who,
feeling it, knows that still there lives for him that same early home, with
all its loved inmates, its every dear and devoted object waiting his coming
and longing for his approach.

Such were my thoughts as I stood gazing at the bold line of coast now
gradually growing more and more dim while evening fell, and we continued
to stand farther out to sea. So absorbed was I all this time in my
reflections, that I never heard the voices which now suddenly burst upon my
ears quite close beside me. I turned, and saw for the first time that at
the end of the quarter-deck stood what is called a roundhouse, a small
cabin, from which the sounds in question proceeded. I walked gently forward
and peeped in, and certainly anything more in contrast with my late revery
need not be conceived. There sat the skipper, a bluff, round-faced,
jolly-looking little tar, mixing a bowl of punch at a table, at which sat
my friend Power, the adjutant, and a tall, meagre-looking Scotchman, whom
I once met in Cork, and heard that he was the doctor of some infantry
regiment. Two or three black bottles, a paper of cigars, and a tallow
candle were all the table equipage; but certainly the party seemed not to
want for spirits and fun, to judge from the hearty bursts of laughing that
every moment pealed forth, and shook the little building that held them.
Power, as usual with him, seemed to be taking the lead, and was evidently
amusing himself with the peculiarities of his companions.

"Come, Adjutant, fill up; here's to the campaign before us. We, at least,
have nothing but pleasure in the anticipation; no lovely wife behind; no
charming babes to fret and be fretted for, eh?"

"Vara true," said the doctor, who was mated with a tartar, "ye maun have
less regrets at leaving hame; but a married man is no' entirely denied his
ain consolations."

"Good sense in that," said the skipper; "a wide berth and plenty of sea
room are not bad things now and then."

"Is that your experience also?" said Power, with a knowing look. "Come,
come, Adjutant, we're not so ill off, you see; but, by Jove, I can't
imagine how it is a man ever comes to thirty without having at least one
wife,—without counting his colonial possessions of course."

"Yes," said the adjutant, with a sigh, as he drained his glass to the
bottom. "It is devilish strange,—woman, lovely woman!" Here he filled and
drank again, as though he had been proposing a toast for his own peculiar
drinking.

"I say, now," resumed Power, catching at once that there was something
working in his mind,—"I say, now, how happened it that you, a right
good-looking, soldier-like fellow, that always made his way among the fair
ones, with that confounded roguish eye and slippery tongue,—how the deuce
did it come to pass that you never married?"

"I've been more than once on the verge of it," said the adjutant, smiling
blandly at the flattery.

"And nae bad notion yours just to stay there," said the doctor, with a very
peculiar contortion of countenance.

"No pleasing you, no contenting a fellow like you," said Power, returning
to the charge; "that's the thing; you get a certain ascendancy; you have a
kind of success that renders you, as the French say, téte montée, and you
think no woman rich enough or good-looking enough or big enough."

"No; by Jove you're wrong," said the adjutant, swallowing the bait, hook
and all,—"quite wrong there; for some how, all my life, I was decidedly
susceptible. Not that I cared much for your blushing sixteen, or budding
beauties in white muslin, fresh from a back-board and a governess; no, my
taste inclined rather to the more sober charms of two or three-and-thirty,
the embonpoint, a good foot and ankle, a sensible breadth about the
shoulders—"

"Somewhat Dutch-like, I take it," said the skipper, puffing out a volume of
smoke; "a little bluff in the bows, and great stowage, eh"

"You leaned then towards the widows?" said Power.

"Exactly; I confess, a widow always was my weakness. There was something
I ever liked in the notion of a woman who had got over all the awkward
girlishness of early years, and had that self-possession which habit and
knowledge of the world confer, and knew enough of herself to understand
what she really wished, and where she would really go."

"Like the trade winds," puffed the skipper.

"Then, as regards fortune, they have a decided superiority over
the spinster class. I defy any man breathing,—let him be half
police-magistrate, half chancellor,—to find out the figure of a young
lady's dower. On your first introduction to the house, some kind friend
whispers, 'Go it, old boy; forty thousand, not a penny less.' A few weeks
later, as the siege progresses, a maiden aunt, disposed to puffing, comes
down to twenty; this diminishes again one half, but then 'the money is in
bank stock, hard Three-and-a-Half.' You go a little farther, and as you sit
one day over your wine with papa, he certainly promulgates the fact that
his daughter has five thousand pounds, two of which turn out to be in
Mexican bonds, and three in an Irish mortgage."

"Happy for you," interrupted Power, "that it be not in Galway, where a
proposal to foreclose, would be a signal for your being called out and shot
without benefit of clergy."

"Bad luck to it, for Galway," said the adjutant. "I was nearly taken in
there once to marry a girl that her brother-in-law swore had eight hundred
a year; and it came out afterwards that so she had, but it was for one year
only; and he challenged me for doubting his word too."

"There's an old formula for finding out an Irish fortune," says Power,
"worth, all the algebra they ever taught in Trinity. Take the half of the
assumed sum, and divide it by three; the quotient will be a flattering
representative of the figure sought for."

"Not in the north," said the adjutant, firmly,—"not in the north, Power.
They are all well off there. There's a race of canny, thrifty, half-Scotch
niggers,—your pardon, Doctor, they are all Irish,—linen-weaving,
Presbyterian, yarn-factoring, long-nosed, hard-drinking fellows, that lay
by rather a snug thing now and then. Do you know, I was very near it once
in the north. I've half a mind to tell you the story; though, perhaps,
you'll laugh at me."

The whole party at once protested that nothing could induce them to deviate
so widely from the line of propriety; and the skipper having mixed a fresh
bowl and filled all the glasses round, the cigars were lighted, and the
adjutant began.

CHAPTER XXIX.

THE ADJUTANT'S STORY.—LIFE IN DERBY.

"It is now about eight, may be ten, years since we were ordered to march
from Belfast and take up our quarters in Londonderry. We had not been more
than a few weeks altogether in Ulster when the order came; and as we had
been, for the preceding two years, doing duty in the south and west, we
concluded that the island was tolerably the same in all parts. We opened
our campaign in the maiden city exactly as we had been doing with
'unparalleled success' in Cashel, Fermoy, Tuam, etc.,—that is to say, we
announced garrison balls and private theatricals; offered a cup to be run
for in steeple-chase; turned out a four-in-hand drag, with mottled grays;
and brought over two Deal boats to challenge the north."

"The 18th found the place stupid," said his companions.

"To be sure, they did; slow fellows like them must find any place stupid.
No dinners; but they gave none. No fun; but they had none in themselves.
In fact, we knew better; we understood how the thing was to be done, and
resolved that, as a mine of rich ore lay unworked, it was reserved for us
to produce the shining metal that others, less discerning, had failed to
discover. Little we knew of the matter; never was there a blunder like
ours. Were you ever in Derry?"

"Never," said the three listeners.

"Well, then, let me inform you that the place has its own peculiar
features. In the first place, all the large towns in the south and west
have, besides the country neighborhood that surrounds them, a certain
sprinkling of gentlefolk, who, though with small fortunes and not much
usage of the world, are still a great accession to society, and make up the
blank which, even in the most thickly peopled country, would be sadly
felt without them. Now, in Derry, there is none of this. After the great
guns—and, per Baccho! what great guns they are!—you have nothing but
the men engaged in commerce,—sharp, clever, shrewd, well-informed fellows;
they are deep in flax-seed, cunning in molasses, and not to be excelled
in all that pertains to coffee, sassafras, cinnamon, gum, oakum, and
elephants' teeth. The place is a rich one, and the spirit of commerce is
felt throughout it. Nothing is cared for, nothing is talked of, nothing
alluded to, that does not bear upon this; and, in fact, if you haven't a
venture in Smyrna figs, Memel timber, Dutch dolls, or some such commodity,
you are absolutely nothing, and might as well be at a ball with a cork leg,
or go deaf to the opera."

"Now, when I've told thus much, I leave you to guess what impression our
triumphal entry into the city produced. Instead of the admiring crowds
that awaited us elsewhere, as we marched gayly into quarters, here we saw
nothing but grave, sober-looking, and, I confess it, intelligent-looking
faces, that scrutinized our appearance closely enough, but evidently with
no great approval and less enthusiasm. The men passed on hurriedly to the
counting-houses and wharves; the women, with almost as little interest,
peeped at us from the windows, and walked away again. Oh, how we wished for
Galway, glorious Galway, that paradise of the infantry that lies west of
the Shannon! Little we knew, as we ordered the band, in lively anticipation
of the gayeties before us, to strike up 'Payne's first set,' that, to the
ears of the fair listeners in Ship Quay Street, the rumble of a sugar
hogshead or the crank of a weighing crane were more delightful music."

"By Jove!" interrupted Power, "you are quite right. Women are strongly
imitative in their tastes. The lovely Italian, whose very costume is a
natural following of a Raphael, is no more like the pretty Liverpool damsel
than Genoa is to Glasnevin; and yet what the deuce have they, dear souls,
with their feet upon a soft carpet and their eyes upon the pages of Scott
or Byron, to