Charles O'Malley, The Irish Dragoon, Volume 1 (2024)

The Irish Dragoon

BY CHARLES LEVER.

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY PHIZ.

IN TWO VOLUMES.

Volume I.

CONTENTS

A WORD OF EXPLANATION.

PREFACE

CHARLES O’MALLEY.

CHAPTER I.

CHAPTER II.

CHAPTER III.

CHAPTER IV.

CHAPTER V.

CHAPTER VI.

CHAPTER VII.

CHAPTER VIII.

CHAPTER IX.

CHAPTER X.

CHAPTER XI.

CHAPTER XII.

CHAPTER XIII.

CHAPTER XIV.

CHAPTER XV.

CHAPTER XVI.

CHAPTER XVII.

CHAPTER XVIII.

CHAPTER XIX

CHAPTER XX.

CHAPTER XXI

CHAPTER XXII.

CHAPTER XXIII.

CHAPTER XXIV.

CHAPTER XXV.

CHAPTER XXVI.

CHAPTER XXVII.

CHAPTER XXVIII

CHAPTER XXIX.

CHAPTER XXX.

CHAPTER XXXI.

CHAPTER XXXII

CHAPTER XXXIII.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

CHAPTER XXXV.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

CHAPTER XXXVII

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

CHAPTER XXXIX

CHAPTER XL

CHAPTER XLI.

CHAPTER XLII.

CHAPTER XXLIII.

CHAPTER XLIV.

CHAPTER XLV.

CHAPTER XLVI.

CHAPTER XLVII.

CHAPTER XLVIII.

CHAPTER XLIX.

CHAPTER L.

CHAPTER LI.

CHAPTER LII.

CHAPTER LIII.

CHAPTER LIV.

CHAPTER LV.

CHAPTER LVI.

CHAPTER LVII.

CHAPTER LVIII.

CHAPTER LXIX.

CHAPTER LX.

CHAPTER LXI.

CHAPTER LXII.

CHAPTER LXIII.

CHAPTER LXIV.

CHAPTER LXV.

CHAPTER LXVI.

CHAPTER LXVII.

ILLUSTRATIONS

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.

TO THEMOST 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 mostbrilliant period of my country’s history might naturally suggest theirdedication to the son of him who gave that era its glory. I feel,however, in the weakness of the effort, the presumption of such athought, and would simply ask of you to accept these volumes as asouvenir of many delightful hours passed long since in your society,and a testimony of the deep pride with which I regard the honor of yourfriendship.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 isbut fitting that I should explain the circ*mstances which once more bringme before you,—that I may not appear intrusive, where I have metwith but too much indulgence.

A blushing debutante—entre nous, the most impudentIrishman that ever swaggered down Sackville Street—has requested meto present him to your acquaintance. He has every ambition to be afavorite with you; but says—God forgive him—he is too bashfulfor the foot-lights.

He has remarked—-as, doubtless, many others have done—uponwhat very slight grounds, and with what slender pretension, myConfessions 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 hisdetermination ended here, I should have nothing to object to; butunfortunately, he expects me to become his editor, and in some sortresponsible for the faults of his production. I have wasted much eloquenceand more breath in assuring him that I was no tried favorite of thepublic, who dared take liberties with them; that the small rag ofreputation 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 isas frequently converted into censure on the older offender. My argumentshave, however, totally failed, and he remains obdurate and unmoved. Underthese circ*mstances I have yielded; and as, happily for me, the short andpithy direction to the river Thames, in the Critic, “to keep between itsbanks,” has been imitated by my friend, I find all that is required of meis 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 handsremain unpaid, you would kindly bear in mind that your remedy lies againstthe 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 CharlesO’Malley. That I myself was in no wise prepared for the favor the publicbestowed on my first attempt is easily enough understood. The ease withwhich I strung my stories together,—and in reality the Confessionsof Harry Lorrequer are little other than a note-book of absurd andlaughable incidents,—led me to believe that I could draw on thisvein 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 havea misty, half-confused impression that Englishmen generally labored undera sad-colored temperament, took depressing views of life, and wereproportionately grateful to any one who would rally them even passinglyout of their despondency, and give them a laugh without much trouble forgoing 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 aseventful to me as the turn of the right color at rouge-et-noir. Atthe same time I had then an amount of spring in my temperament, and apower 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 thepart allotted myself, if not a high or a foreground one, was eminentlysuited to my taste, and brought me, besides, sufficiently often on thestage 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 agreeableEnglish society. Some leaders of the fashionable world of London had comethere to refit and recruit, both in body and estate. There were severalpleasant and a great number of pretty people among them; and so far as Icould judge, the fashionable dramas of Belgrave Square and its vicinitywere being performed in the Rue Royale and the Boulevard de Waterloo withvery considerable success. There were dinners, balls, déjeûners, andpicnics in the Bois de Cambre, excursions to Waterloo, and select littleparties to Bois-fort,—a charming little resort in the forest whoseintense co*ckneyism became perfectly inoffensive as being in a foreignland, and remote from the invasion of home-bred vulgarity. I mention allthese things to show the adjuncts by which I was aided, and the rattle ofgayety by which I was, as it were, “accompanied,” when I next tried myvoice.

The soldier element tinctured strongly our society, and I will say mostagreeably. Among those whom I remember best were several old Peninsulars.Lord Combermere was of this number, and another of our set was an officerwho accompanied, if indeed he did not command, the first boat party whocrossed the Douro. It is needless to say how I cultivated a society sofull of all the storied details I was eager to obtain, and how generouslydisposed were they to give me all the information I needed. On topographyespecially were they valuable to me, and with such good result that I havebeen more than once complimented on the accuracy of my descriptions ofplaces which I have never seen and whose features I have derived entirelyfrom the narratives of my friends.

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

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

I can recall, too, and I am afraid more vividly still, some of thedifficulties of my task when I endeavored to form anything like anaccurate or precise idea of some campaigning incident or some passage ofarms from the narratives of two distinct and separate “eye-witnesses.” What mistrust I conceived for all eye-witnesses from my own briefexperience of their testimonies! What an impulse did it lend me to studythe nature and the temperament of narrator, as indicative of the peculiarcoloring he might lend his narrative; and how it taught me to know theforce of the French epigram that has declared how it was entirely thealternating popularity of Marshal Soult that decided whether he won orlost the battle of Toulouse.

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

That certain traits of my acquaintances found themselves embodied in someof the characters of this story I do not to deny. The principal of naturalselection adapts itself to novels as to Nature, and it would have demandedan effort above my strength to have disabused myself at the desk of allthe impressions of the dinner-table, and to have forgotten features whichinterested or amused me.

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

With the exception of the quality of courage, I never met a man whocontained within himself so many of the traits of Falstaff as theindividual who furnished me with Major Monsoon. But the major—I mustcall him so, though that rank was far beneath his own—was a man ofunquestionable bravery. His powers as a story-teller were to my thinkingunrivalled; the peculiar reflections on life which he would passinglyintroduce, the wise apothegms, were after a morality essentially of hisown invention. Then he would indulge in the unsparing exhibition ofhimself in situations such as other men would never have confessed to, allblended up with a racy enjoyment of life, dashed occasionally with sorrowthat our tenure of it was short of patriarchal. All these, accompanied bya face redolent of intense humor, and a voice whose modulations weremanaged 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 inwhich he figures, am I other than ashamed at the weakness of my drawingand the poverty of my coloring.

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

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

It chanced that one evening, as we were hastening through the park on ourway to dinner, we espied the major—for as major I must speak of him—loungingalong with that half-careless, half-observant air we had both of usremarked as indicating a desire to be somebody’s, anybody’s guest, ratherthan surrender himself to the homeliness of domestic fare.

“There’s that confounded old Monsoon,” cried my diplomatic friend. “It’sall up if he sees us, and I can’t endure him.”

Now, I must remark that my friend, though very far from insensible to thehumoristic side of the major’s character, was not always in the vein toenjoy it; and when so indisposed he could invest the object of his dislikewith something little short of antipathy. “Promise me,” said he, asMonsoon 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 ofus, 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, andI have come out here to find some pleasant fellow to join me, and take ourmutton-chop together.”

“We’re behind our time, Major,” said my friend, “sorry to leave you soabruptly, but must push on. Eh, Lorrequer,” added he, to evokecorroboration on my part.

“Harry says nothing of the kind,” replied Monsoon, “he says, or he’s goingto say, ‘Major, I have a nice bit of dinner waiting for me at home, enoughfor two, will feed three, or if there be a short-coming, nothing easierthan to eke out the deficiency by another bottle of Moulton; come alongwith us then, Monsoon, and we shall be all the merrier for your company.’”

Repeating his last words, “Come along, Monsoon,” etc., I passed my armwithin his, and away we went. For a moment my friend tried to get free andleave 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 reachedmy door he never uttered a word, nor paid the slightest attention toMonsoon, who talked away in a vein that occasionally made gravity all butimpossible.

Our dinner proceeded drearily enough, the diplomatist’s stiffness neverrelaxed for a moment, and my own awkwardness damped all my attempts atconversation. Not so, however, Monsoon, he ate heartily, approved ofeverything, and pronounced my wine to be exquisite. He gave us a perfectdiscourse on sherry and Spanish wines in general, told us the secret ofthe Amontillado flavor, and explained that process of browning by boilingdown wine which some are so fond of in England. At last, seeing perhapsthat the protection had little charm for us, with his accustomed tact, hediverged into anecdote. “I was once fortunate enough,” said he, “to fallupon some of that choice sherry from the St. Lucas Luentas which is alwaysreserved for royalty. It was a pale wine, delicious in the drinking, andleaving no more flavor in the mouth than a faint dryness that seemed tosay, another glass. Shall I tell you how I came by it?” And scarcelypausing for reply, he told the story of having robbed his own convoy, andstolen the wine he was in charge of for safe conveyance.

I wish I could give any, even the weakest idea of how he narrated thatincident,—the struggle that he portrayed between duty andtemptation, and the apologetic tone of his voice in which he explainedthat the frame of mind that succeeds to any yielding to seductiveinfluences, is often, in the main, more profitable to a man than is thevain-glorious sense of having resisted a temptation. “Meekness is themother of all the virtues,” said he, “and there is no being meek withoutfrailty.” The story, told as he told it, was too much for thediplomatist’s gravity, he resisted all signs of attention as long as hewas 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 haveme and my whole life, every adventure that ever befell me, ay, and if youlike, 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 theyreceive, I’ll draw out the treaty.”

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

This document, along with my university degree, my commission in a militiaregiment, and a vast amount of letters very interesting to me, was seizedby the Austrian authorities on the way from Como to Florence, in theAugust of 1847, being deemed part of a treasonable correspondence,—probablypurposely allegorical in form,—and never restored to me. I fairlyown that I’d give all the rest willingly to repossess myself of theMonsoon 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 tothe great original from whom I copied him, I may mention that he wasspeedily recognized in print by the Marquis of Londonderry, the well-knownSir 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 humbleapology. The occasion was this: I had been out with a single aide-de-campto make a reconnaissance in front of Victor’s division; and to avoidattracting any notice, we covered over our uniform with two common grayovercoats which reached to the feet, and effectually concealed our rank asofficers. Scarcely, however, had we topped a hill which commanded the viewof the French, than a shower of shells flew over and around us. Amazed tothink how we could have been so quickly noticed, I looked around me, anddiscovered, quite close in my rear, your friend Monsoon with what hecalled his staff,—a popinjay set of rascals dressed out in green andgold, and with more plumes and feathers than the general staff everboasted. Carried away by momentary passion at the failure of myreconnaissance, I burst out with some insolent allusion to the harlequinassembly which had drawn the French fire upon us. Monsoon saluted merespectfully, and retired without a word; but I had scarcely reached myquarters when a ‘friend’ of his waited on me with a message, a verycategorical message it was, too, ‘it must be a meeting or an ampleapology.’ 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 wehave been the best of friends ever since.”

I myself had heard the incident before this from Monsoon, but told amongother adventures whose exact veracity I was rather disposed to question,and did not therefore accord it all the faith that was its due; and Iadmit that the accidental corroboration of this one event very oftenserved to puzzle me afterwards, when I listened to stories in which themajor 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 thereader be not less embarrassed than myself, is my sincere, if not verycourteous, prayer.

I have no doubt myself, that often in recounting some strange incident,—apersonal experience it always was,—he was himself more amused by thecredulity of the hearers, and the amount of interest he could excite inthem, 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 atale to suit the tastes of an audience; while his moralizings were almostcertain to take the tone of a humoristic quiz on the company.

Though fully aware that I was availing myself of the contract thatdelivered 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 thestory 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 myearliest friends, my chum in college, and in the very chambers where Ihave located Charles O’Malley, in Old Trinity. He was a man of the highestorder of abilities, and with a memory that never forgot, but ruined andrun to seed by the idleness that came of a discursive, uncertaintemperament. Capable of anything, he spent his youth in follies andeccentricities; every one of which, however, gave indications of a mindinexhaustible in resources, and abounding in devices and contrivances thatnone 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 laterday, he would most probably have been found a foremost leader ofFenianism; and from what I knew of him, I can say he would have been amore dangerous enemy to English rule than any of those dealers in thepetty 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 notchance on a living specimen of the “Free” family, much readier inrepartée, quicker with an apropos, and droller in illustration than my ownMickey. This fellow was “boots” at a great hotel in Sackville Street; andI owe him more amusem*nt and some heartier laughs than it has been alwaysmy fortune to enjoy in a party of wits. His criticisms on my sketches ofIrish 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 theywere more often severe than complimentary, and that he hit every blunderof image, every mistake in figure, of my peasant characters, with anacuteness and correctness which made me very grateful to know that hisdaily occupations were limited to blacking boots, and not polishing offauthors.

I believe I have now done with my confessions, except I should like to ownthat this story was the means of according me a more heartfelt glow ofsatisfaction, a more gratifying sense of pride, than anything I ever haveor ever shall write, and in this wise. My brother, at that time the rectorof an Irish parish, once forwarded to me a letter from a lady unknown tohim, but who had heard he was the brother of “Harry Lorrequer,” and whoaddressed him not knowing where a letter might be directed to myself. Theletter was the grateful expression of a mother, who said, “I am the widowof a field officer, and with an only son, for whom I obtained apresentation to Woolwich; but seeing in my boy’s nature certain traits ofnervousness and timidity which induced me to hesitate on embarking him inthe career of a soldier, I became very unhappy and uncertain which courseto decide on.

“While in this state of uncertainty, I chanced to make him a birthdaypresent of ‘Charles O’Malley,’ the reading of which seemed to act like acharm on his whole character, inspiring him with a passion for movementand adventure, and spiriting him to an eager desire for a military life.Seeing that this was no passing enthusiasm, but a decided and determinedbent, I accepted the cadetship for him; and his career has been not alonedistinguished as a student, but one which has marked him out for an almosthare-brained courage, and for a dash and heroism that give high promisefor his future.

“Thank your brother for me,” wrote she, “a mother’s thanks for the welfareof an only son; and say how I wish that my best wishes for him and hiscould recompense him for what I owe him.”

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

I have now but to repeat what I have declared in former editions, mysincere gratitude for the favor the public still continues to bestow onme,—a favor which probably associates the memory of this book withwhatever I have since done successfully, and compels me to remember thatto the popularity of “Charles O’Malley” I am indebted for a great share ofthat kindliness in criticism, and that geniality in judgment, which—formore than a quarter of a century—my countrymen have graciouslybestowed on their faithful friend and servant,

THE IRISH DRAGOON.

CHAPTER I.

DALY’S CLUB-HOUSE.

The rain was dashing in torrents against the window-panes, and the windsweeping 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 pilewhich 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 fallingtiles and chimney-pots, the jarring of the window-frames, and howling ofthe storm without seemed little to affect the spirits of those within asthey drew closer to a blazing fire before which stood a small tablecovered with the remains of a dessert, and an abundant supply of bottles,whose characteristic length of neck indicated the rarest wines of Franceand Germany; while the portly magnum of claret—the wine parexcellence of every Irish gentleman of the day—passed rapidlyfrom hand to hand, the conversation did not languish, and many a deep andhearty laugh followed the stories which every now and then were told, assome reminiscence of early days was recalled, or some trait of a formercompanion remembered.

One of the party, however, was apparently engrossed by other thoughts thanthose of the mirth and merriment around; for in the midst of all he wouldturn suddenly from the others, and devote himself to a number of scatteredsheets of paper, upon which he had written some lines, but whose crossedand blotted sentences attested how little success had waited upon hisliterary labors. This individual was a short, plethoric-looking,white-haired man of about fifty, with a deep, round voice, and achuckling, smothering laugh, which, whenever he indulged not only shookhis own ample person, but generally created a petty earthquake on everyside of him. For the present, I shall not stop to particularize him moreclosely; but when I add that the person in question was a well-knownmember of the Irish House of Commons, whose acute understanding andpractical good sense were veiled under an affected and well-dissembledhabit of blundering that did far more for his party than the most violentand pointed attacks of his more accurate associates, some of my readersmay anticipate me in pronouncing him to be Sir Harry Boyle. Upon his leftsat 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 werecovered by a deep green shade, which fell far over his face, but failed toconceal a blue scar that crossing his cheek ended in the angle of hismouth, and imparted to that feature, when he spoke, an apparently abortiveattempt to extend towards his eyebrow; his upper lip was covered with agrizzly and ill-trimmed mustache, which added much to the ferocity of hislook, while a thin and pointed beard on his chin gave an apparent lengthto the whole face that completed its rueful character. His dress was asingle-breasted, tightly buttoned frock, in one button-hole of which ayellow ribbon was fastened, the decoration of a foreign service, whichconferred upon its wearer the title of count; and though Billy Considine,as he was familiarly called by his friends, was a thorough Irishman in allhis feelings and affections, yet he had no objection to the designation hehad gained in the Austrian army. The Count was certainly no beauty, butsomehow, very few men of his day had a fancy for telling him so. Adeadlier hand and a steadier eye never covered his man in the Phoenix; andthough he never had a seat in the House, he was always regarded as one ofthe government party, who more than once had damped the ardor of anopposition member by the very significant threat of “setting Billy athim.” The third figure of the group was a large, powerfully built, andhandsome man, older than either of the others, but not betraying in hisvoice or carriage any touch of time. He was attired in the green coat andbuff vest which formed the livery of the club; and in his tall, ampleforehead, clear, well-set eye, and still handsome mouth, bore evidencethat no great flattery was necessary at the time which called GodfreyO’Malley the handsomest man in Ireland.

“Upon my conscience,” said Sir Harry, throwing down his pen with an air ofill-temper, “I can make nothing of it! I have got into such an infernalhabit 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’tsucceed, I’m sure Billy and I have no chance.”

“What have you written? Let us see,” said Considine, drawing the papertowards him, and holding it to the light. “Why, what the devil is allthis? You have made him ‘drop down dead after dinner of a lingeringillness brought on by the debate of yesterday.’”

“Oh, impossible!”

“Well, read it yourself; there it is. And, as if to make the thing lesscredible, 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 callon Mr. Considine, 16 Kildare Street, who will feel happy to afford himevery satisfaction upon Mr. O’Malley’s decease, or upon miscellaneousmatters.”

“Worse and worse,” said O’Malley. “Killing another man will never persuadethe 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 fordefamation.”

“I see I’ll never get down to Galway at this rate,” said O’Malley; “and asthe new election takes place on Tuesday week, time presses. There are morewrits 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 thecorkscrew like a hair trigger.

“No chance of it.”

“May be,” said Sir Harry, “he might come to terms if I were to call andsay, ‘You are anxious to close accounts, as your death has just takenplace.’ 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 paperto-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 themarket.”

“I think it wouldn’t be bad if your ghost were to appear to old Timins thetanner, 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 forthe paper.”

“Stay a little,” said Sir Harry, musing; “it just strikes me that if everthe matter gets out I may be in some confounded scrape. Who knows if it isnot a breach of privilege to report the death of a member? And to tell youtruth, I dread the Sergeant and the Speaker’s warrant with a very livelyfear.”

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

“Is it possible you never heard of Boyle’s committal?” said O’Malley. “Yousurely must have been abroad at the time. But it’s not too late to tell ityet.”

“Well, it’s about two years since old Townsend brought in his EnlistmentBill, and the whole country was scoured for all our voters, who werescattered here and there, never anticipating another call of the House,and supposing that the session was just over. Among others, up came ourfriend Harry, here, and the night he arrived they made him a ‘Monk of theScrew,’ and very soon made him forget his senatorial dignities. On theevening after his reaching town, the bill was brought in, and at two inthe morning the division took place,—a vote was of too muchconsequence not to look after it closely,—and a Castle messenger wasin waiting in Exchequer Street, who, when the debate was closing, putHarry, with three others, into a coach, and brought them down to theHouse. Unfortunately, however, they mistook their friends, voted againstthe bill, and amidst the loudest cheering of the opposition, thegovernment party were defeated. The rage of the ministers knew no bounds,and looks of defiance and even threats were exchanged between theministers and the deserters. Amidst all this poor Harry fell fast asleepand dreamed that he was once more in Exchequer Street, presiding among themonks, and mixing another tumbler. At length he awoke and looked abouthim. The clerk was just at the instant reading out, in his usual routinemanner, a clause of the new bill, and the remainder of the House was indead silence. Harry looked again around on every side, wondering where wasthe 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 ahalf-shake, he roused up a little, and giving a look of unequivocalcontempt on every side, called out, ‘Upon my soul, you’re pleasantcompanions; but I’ll give you a chant to enliven you!’ So saying, hecleared his throat with a couple of short coughs, and struck up, with thevoice 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 thesong, it was probably because such a roar of laughing never was heardsince the walls were roofed over. The whole House rose in a mass, and myfriend Harry was hurried over the benches by the sergeant-at-arms, andleft 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 thedeath of Godfrey O’Malley, Esq., late member for the county of Galway,which took place on Friday evening, at Daly’s Club-House. This esteemedgentleman’s family—one of the oldest in Ireland, and among whom itwas hereditary not to have any children—‘”

Here a burst of laughter from Considine and O’Malley interrupted thereader, who with the greatest difficulty could be persuaded that he wasagain 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 usnow turn our attention to other matters.”

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

CHAPTER II.

THE ESCAPE.

When the dissolution of Parliament was announced the following morning inDublin, its interest in certain circles was manifestly increased by thefact that Godfrey O’Malley was at last open to arrest; for as in oldentimes certain gifted individuals possessed some happy immunity againstdeath by fire or sword, so the worthy O’Malley seemed to enjoy a no lessvaluable privilege, and for many a year had passed among the myrmidons ofthe law as writ-proof. Now, however, the charm seemed to have yielded; andpretty much with the same feeling as a storming party may be supposed toexperience on the day that a breach is reported as practicable, did thehonest attorneys retained in the various suits against him rally roundeach other that morning in the Four Courts.

Bonds, mortgages, post-obits, promissory notes—in fact, everyimaginable species of invention for raising the O’Malley exchequer for thepreceding thirty years—were handed about on all sides, suggesting tothe mind of an uninterested observer the notion that had the aforesaidO’Malley been an independent and absolute monarch, instead of merely beingthe member for Galway, the kingdom over whose destinies he had been calledto preside would have suffered not a little from a depreciated currencyand an extravagant issue of paper. Be that as it might, one thing wasclear,—the whole estates of the family could not possibly pay onefourth of the debt; and the only question was one which occasionallyarises at a scanty dinner on a mail-coach road,—who was to be thelucky individual to carve the joint, where so many were sure to go offhungry?

It was now a trial of address between these various and highly giftedgentlemen who should first pounce upon the victim; and when the skill oftheir caste is taken into consideration, who will doubt that everyfeasible expedient for securing him was resorted to? While writs werestruck against him in Dublin, emissaries were despatched to the varioussurrounding counties to procure others in the event of his escape. Neexeats were sworn, and water-bailiffs engaged to follow him on thehigh seas; and as the great Nassau balloon did not exist in those days, noimaginable mode of escape appeared possible, and bets were offered at longodds that within twenty-four hours the late member would be enjoying hisotium cum dignitate in his Majesty’s jail of Newgate.

Expectation was at the highest, confidence hourly increasing, success allbut certain, when in the midst of all this high-bounding hope the dreadfulrumor spread that O’Malley was no more. One had seen it just five minutesbefore in the evening edition of Falkner’s paper; another heard it in thecourts; a third overheard the Chief-Justice stating it to the Master ofthe Rolls; and lastly, a breathless witness arrived from College Greenwith the news that Daly’s Club-House was shut up, and the shutters closed.To describe the consternation the intelligence caused on every side isimpossible; nothing in history equals it,—except, perhaps, theentrance of the French army into Moscow, deserted and forsaken by itsformer inhabitants. While terror and dismay, therefore, spread amidst thatwide and respectable body who formed O’Malley’s creditors, thepreparations for his funeral were going on with every rapidity. Relays ofhorses were ordered at every stage of the journey, and it was announcedthat, in testimony of his worth, a large party of his friends were toaccompany his remains to Portumna Abbey,—a test much more indicativeof resistance in the event of any attempt to arrest the body, than ofanything like reverence for their departed friend.

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

DALY’S, about eight in the evening.Dear Charley,—Your uncle Godfrey, whose debts (God pardonhim!) are more numerous than the hairs of his wig, was obliged todie here last night. We did the thing for him completely; and alldoubts as to the reality of the event are silenced by thecirc*mstantial detail of the newspaper, “that he was confined sixweeks 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 hecomes to life again, which, may be, will not take place beforeTuesday 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 andthe Scariff barony. Say he died a true Catholic; it will serve him onthe hustings. Meet us in Athlone on Saturday, and bring your uncle’smare with you. He says he’d rather ride home. And tell Father MacShane, to have a bit of dinner ready about four o’clock, for the corpsecan get nothing after he leaves Mountmellick. No more now, fromYours ever,HARRY BOYLETo CHARLES O’MALLEY, Esq.,O’Malley Castle, Galway.

When this not over-clear document reached me I was the sole inhabitant ofO’Malley Castle,—a very ruinous pile of incongruous masonry, thatstood in a wild and dreary part of the county of Galway, bordering on theShannon. On every side stretched the property of my uncle, or at leastwhat had once been so; and indeed, so numerous were its present claimantsthat he would have been a subtle lawyer who could have pronounced upon therightful owner. The demesne around the castle contained some well-grownand handsome timber, and as the soil was undulating and fertile, presentedmany features of beauty; beyond it, all was sterile, bleak, and barren.Long tracts of brown heath-clad mountain or not less unprofitable valleysof tall and waving fern were all that the eye could discern, except wherethe broad Shannon, expanding into a tranquil and glassy lake, lay stilland motionless beneath the dark mountains, a few islands, with some ruinedchurches 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 aughtfairer and brighter than that gloomy valley with its rugged frame ofmountains.

When a mere child, I was left an orphan to the care of my worthy uncle. Myfather, whose extravagance had well sustained the family reputation, hadsquandered a large and handsome property in contesting elections for hisnative county, and in keeping up that system of unlimited hospitality forwhich Ireland in general, and Galway more especially, was renowned. Theresult was, as might be expected, ruin and beggary. He died, leaving everyone of his estates encumbered with heavy debts, and the only legacy heleft to his brother was a boy four years of age, entreating him with hislast breath, “Be anything you like to him, Godfrey, but a father, or atleast such a one as I have proved.”

Godfrey O’Malley some short time previous had lost his wife, and when thisnew trust was committed to him he resolved never to remarry, but to rearme up as his own child and the inheritor of his estates. How weighty andonerous an obligation this latter might prove, the reader can form someidea. 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 acountry gentleman, as he regarded that character,—namely, I rodeboldly with fox-hounds; I was about the best shot within twenty miles ofus; I could swim the Shannon at Holy Island; I drove four-in-hand betterthan the coachman himself; and from finding a hare to hooking a salmon, myequal could not be found from Killaloe to Banagher. These were the stapleof my endowments. Besides which, the parish priest had taught me a littleLatin, a little French, a little geometry, and a great deal of the lifeand opinions of Saint Jago, who presided over a holy well in theneighborhood, and was held in very considerable repute.

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

It is now time I should return to Sir Harry’s letter, which so completelybewildered me that, but for the assistance of Father Roach, I should havebeen totally unable to make out the writer’s intentions. By his advice, Iimmediately set out for Athlone, where, when I arrived, I found my uncleaddressing the mob from the top of the hearse, and recounting hismiraculous escapes as a new claim upon their gratitude.

“There was nothing else for it, boys; the Dublin people insisted on mybeing their member, and besieged the club-house. I refused; theythreatened. 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 ata 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 inearnest for you, but never to desert you.”

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

My uncle’s progress homeward was a triumph. The real secret of his escapehad somehow come out, and his popularity rose to a white heat. “An’ it’slittle O’Malley cares for the law,—bad luck to it; it’s himself canlaugh at judge and jury. Arrest him? Nabocklish! Catch a weasel asleep!” etc. Such were the encomiums that greeted him as he passed on towardshome; while shouts of joy and blazing bonfires attested that his successwas regarded as a national triumph.

The west has certainly its strong features of identity. Had my unclepossessed the claims of the immortal Howard; had he united in his personall the attributes which confer a lasting and an ennobling fame uponhumanity,—he might have passed on unnoticed and unobserved; but forthe man that had duped a judge and escaped the sheriff, nothing wassufficiently flattering to mark their approbation. The success of theexploit was twofold; the news spread far and near, and the very storycanvassed the county better than Billy Davern himself, the Athloneattorney.

This was the prospect now before us; and however little my readers maysympathize with my taste, I must honestly avow that I looked forward to itwith a most delighted feeling. O’Malley Castle was to be the centre ofoperations, and filled with my uncle’s supporters; while I, a merestripling, and usually treated as a boy, was to be intrusted with animportant mission, and sent off to canvass a distant relation, with whommy uncle was not upon terms, and who might possibly be approachable by ayounger 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 tostoop to the humiliation of canvassing the individual to whom I was nowabout to proceed as envoy-extraordinary, with full powers to make any orevery amende, provided only his interest and that of his followersshould be thereby secured to the O’Malley cause. The evening before I setout was devoted to giving me all the necessary instructions how I was toproceed, and what difficulties I was to avoid.

“Say your uncle’s in high feather with the government party,” said SirHarry, “and that he only votes against them as a ruse de guerre, asthe French call it.”

“Insist upon it that I am sure of the election without him; but that forfamily reasons he should not stand aloof from me; that people are talkingof it in the country.”

“And drop a hint,” said Considine, “that O’Malley is greatly improved inhis shooting.”

“And don’t get drunk too early in the evening, for Phil Blake hasbeautiful 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 fewpounds. 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 nowlet us have in the supper.”

It was only on the following morning, as the tandem came round to thedoor, that I began to feel the importance of my mission, and certainmisgivings came over me as to my ability to fulfil it. Mr. Blake and hisfamily, though estranged from my uncle for several years past, had beenalways most kind and good-natured to me; and although I could not, withpropriety, have cultivated any close intimacy with them, I had everyreason to suppose that they entertained towards me nothing but sentimentsof good-will. The head of the family was a Galway squire of the oldest andmost genuine stock, a great sportsman, a negligent farmer, and mostcareless father; he looked upon a fox as an infinitely more precious partof the creation than a French governess, and thought that riding well withhounds was a far better gift than all the learning of a Parson. Hisdaughters were after his own heart,—the best-tempered,least-educated, most high-spirited, gay, dashing, ugly girls in thecounty, ready to ride over a four-foot paling without a saddle, and todance the “Wind that shakes the barley” for four consecutive hours,against all the officers that their hard fate, and the Horse Guards, evercondemned to Galway.

The mamma was only remarkable for her liking for whist, and her invariablegood fortune thereat,—a circ*mstance the world were agreed inascribing less to the blind goddess than her own natural endowments.

Lastly, the heir of the house was a stripling of about my own age, whoseaccomplishments were limited to selling spavined and broken-winded horsesto the infantry officers, playing a safe game at billiards, and acting asjackal-general to his sisters at balls, providing them with a sufficiencyof partners, and making a strong fight for a place at the supper-table forhis mother. These fraternal and filial traits, more honored at home thanabroad, had made Mr. Matthew Blake a rather well-known individual in theneighborhood 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 groundsbetrayed anything rather than a sufficiency of means. The gate lodge was amiserable mud-hovel with a thatched and falling roof; the gate itself, awooden contrivance, one half of which was boarded and the other railed;the avenue was covered with weeds, and deep with ruts; and the clumps ofyoung plantation, which had been planted and fenced with care, were nowopen to the cattle, and either totally uprooted or denuded of their barkand dying. The lawn, a handsome one of some forty acres, had been devotedto an exercise-ground for training horses, and was cut up by their feetbeyond all semblance of its original destination; and the house itself, alarge and venerable structure of above a century old, displayed everyvariety of contrivance, as well as the usual one of glass, to exclude theweather. The hall-door hung by a single hinge, and required three personseach morning and evening to open and shut it; the remainder of the day itlay pensively open; the steps which led to it were broken and falling; andthe whole aspect of things without was ruinous in the extreme. Within,matters were somewhat better, for though the furniture was old, and noneof it clean, yet an appearance of comfort was evident; and the largegrate, blazing with its pile of red-hot turf, the deep-cushioned chairs,the old black mahogany dinner-table, and the soft carpet, albeit deep withdust, were not to be despised on a winter’s evening, after a hard day’srun with the “Blazers.” Here it was, however, that Mr. Philip Blake haddispensed his hospitalities for above fifty years, and his father beforehim; and here, with a retinue of servants as gauches andill-ordered as all about them, was he accustomed to invite all that thecounty possessed of rank and wealth, among which the officers quartered inhis neighborhood were never neglected, the Miss Blakes having as decided ataste for the army as any young ladies of the west of Ireland; and whilethe Galway squire, with his cords and tops, was detailing the latest newsfrom Ballinasloe in one corner, the dandy from St. James’s Street might beseen displaying more arts of seductive flattery in another than his mostaccurate insouciane would permit him to practise in the elegantsalons of London or Paris, and the same man who would have “cut hisbrother,” for a solecism of dress or equipage, in Bond Street, was now tobe seen quietly domesticated, eating family dinners, rolling silk for theyoung ladies, going down the middle in a country dance, and evendescending to the indignity of long whist at “tenpenny” points, with onlythe miserable consolation that the company were not honest.

It was upon a clear frosty morning, when a bright blue sky and a sharp butbracing air seem to exercise upon the feelings a sense no less pleasurablethan the balmiest breeze and warmest sun of summer, that I whipped myleader short round, and entered the precincts of “Gurt-na-Morra.” As Iproceeded along the avenue, I was struck by the slight traces of repairshere and there evident,—a gate or two that formerly had beenparallel to the horizon had been raised to the perpendicular; someineffectual efforts at paint were also perceptible upon the palings; and,in short, everything seemed to have undergone a kind of attempt atimprovement.

When I reached the door, instead of being surrounded, as of old, by atribe of menials frieze-coated, bare-headed, and bare-legged, my presencewas announced by a tremendous ringing of bells from the hands of an oldfunctionary in a very formidable livery, who peeped at me through thehall-window, and whom, with the greatest difficulty, I recognized as myquondam acquaintance, the butler. His wig alone would have graced a king’scounsel; and the high collar of his coat, and the stiff pillory of hiscravat denoted an eternal adieu to so humble a vocation as drawing a cork.Before I had time for any conjecture as to the altered circ*mstancesabout, the activity of my friend at the bell had surrounded me with “fourothers worse than himself,” at least they were exactly similarly attired;and probably from the novelty of their costume, and the restraints of sounusual a thing as dress, were as perfectly unable to assist themselves orothers as the Court of Aldermen would be were they to rig out in platearmor of the fourteenth century. How much longer I might have gone onconjecturing the reasons for the masquerade around, I cannot say; but myservant, an Irish disciple of my uncle’s, whispered in my ear, “It’s ared-breeches day, Master Charles,—they’ll have the hoith of companyin the house.” From the phrase, it needed little explanation to inform methat it was one of those occasions on which Mr. Blake attired all thehangers-on of his house in livery, and that great preparations were inprogress for a more than usually splendid reception.

In the next moment I was ushered into the breakfast-room, where a party ofabove a dozen persons were most gayly enjoying all the good cheer forwhich the house had a well-deserved repute. After the usual shaking ofhands and hearty greetings were over, I was introduced in all form to SirGeorge Dashwood, a tall and singularly handsome man of about fifty, withan undress military frock and ribbon. His reception of me was somewhatstrange; for as they mentioned my relationship to Godfrey O’Malley, hesmiled slightly, and whispered something to Mr. Blake, who replied, “Oh,no, no; not the least. A mere boy; and besides—” What he added Ilost, for at that moment Nora Blake was presenting me to Miss Dashwood.

If the sweetest blue eyes that ever beamed beneath a forehead of snowywhiteness, over which dark brown and waving hair fell less in curls thanmasses of locky richness, could only have known what wild work they weremaking of my poor heart, Miss Dashwood, I trust, would have looked at herteacup or her muffin rather than at me, as she actually did on that fatalmorning. 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 contributedgreatly to the effect of her lovely countenance. Although very young, herform had all the roundness of womanhood; while her gay and sprightlymanner indicated all the sans gêne which only very young girlspossess, and which, when tempered with perfect good taste, and accompaniedby beauty and no small share of talent, forms an irresistible power ofattraction.

Beside her sat a tall, handsome man of about five-and-thirty or perhapsforty years of age, with a most soldierly air, who as I was presented tohim scarcely turned his head, and gave me a half-nod of very unequivocalcoldness. There are moments in life in which the heart is, as it were,laid bare to any chance or casual impression with a wondrous sensibilityof pleasure or its opposite. This to me was one of those; and as I turnedfrom the lovely girl, who had received me with a marked courtesy, to thecold air and repelling hauteur of the dark-browed captain, theblood rushed throbbing to my forehead; and as I walked to my place at thetable, I eagerly sought his eye, to return him a look of defiance anddisdain, proud and contemptuous as his own. Captain Hammersley, however,never took further notice of me, but continued to recount, for theamusem*nt of those about him, several excellent stories of his militarycareer, which, I confess, were heard with every test of delight by allsave me. One thing galled me particularly,—and how easy is it, whenyou have begun by disliking a person, to supply food for your antipathy,—allhis allusions to his military life were coupled with half-hinted andill-concealed sneers at civilians of every kind, as though every man not asoldier were absolutely unfit for common intercourse with the world, stillmore for any favorable reception in ladies’ society.

The young ladies of the family were a well-chosen auditory, for theiradmiration of the army extended from the Life Guards to the VeteranBattalion, the Sappers and Miners included; and as Miss Dashwood was thedaughter of a soldier, she of course coincided in many of, if not all, hisopinions. I turned towards my neighbor, a Clare gentleman, and tried toengage him in conversation, but he was breathlessly attending to thecaptain. On my left sat Matthew Blake, whose eyes were firmly riveted uponthe same person, and who heard his marvels with an interest scarcelyinferior to that of his sisters. Annoyed and in ill-temper, I ate mybreakfast in silence, and resolved that the first moment I could obtain ahearing from Mr. Blake I would open my negotiation, and take my leave atonce of Gurt-na-Morra.

We all assembled in a large room, called by courtesy the library, whenbreakfast was over; and then it was that Mr. Blake, taking me aside,whispered, “Charley, it’s right I should inform you that Sir GeorgeDashwood there is the Commander of the Forces, and is come down here atthis moment to—” What for, or how it should concern me, I was not tolearn; for at that critical instant my informant’s attention was calledoff 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 someimportance; “but if your guests desire a day’s sport, I’ll send word overto Brackely to bring the dogs over here, and we are sure to find a fox inyour cover.”

“Oh, then, by all means,” said the captain, turning towards Mr. Blake, andaddressing himself to him,—“by all means; and Miss Dashwood, I’msure, would like to see the hounds throw off.”

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

“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 mostimpertinent, impudent, supercilious—”

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

However anxious I might be to open negotiations on the subject of mymission, for the present the thing was impossible; for I found that SirGeorge Dashwood was closeted closely with Mr. Blake, and resolved to waittill 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 peculiardesire to ally myself with the unsocial captain, I accompanied Matthew tothe stable to look after the cattle, and make preparations for the comingsport.

“There’s Captain Hammersley’s mare,” said Matthew, as he pointed out ahighly bred but powerful English hunter. “She came last night; for as heexpected some sport, he sent his horses from Dublin on purpose. The otherswill be here to-day.”

“What is his regiment?” said I, with an appearance of carelessness, but inreality feeling curious to know if the captain was a cavalry or infantryofficer.

“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 theox-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 theinstruction as ever schoolmaster did to whip Latin grammar into one of thegreat unbreeched.

“But I had better send the horses down to the Mill,” said Matthew; “we’lldraw that cover first.”

So saying, he turned towards the stable, while I sauntered alone towardsthe road by which I expected the huntsman. I had not walked half a milebefore I heard the yelping of the dogs, and a little farther on I saw oldBrackely 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 yerselfknows better than to take out the Badger, the best steeple-chaser inIreland, in such a country as this,—nothing but awkwardstone-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 hereto-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 onlydeer-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’seighteen foot wide this minute with the late rains,—into the fourcallows; then over the stone-walls, down to Dangan; then take a short castup the hill, blow him a bit, and give him the park wall at the top. Youmust 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,—amighty distressing thing for the horse that follows, more particularly ifhe 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 ridethat leap since Mr. Malone broke his neck at it, last October, yet upon anoccasion like this, and for the honor of Galway—”

“To be sure, Brackely; and here’s a guinea for you, and now trot ontowards the house. They must not see us together, or they might suspectsomething. But, Brackely,” said I, calling out after him, “if he rides atall fair, what’s to be done?”

“Troth, then, myself doesn’t know. There is nothing so bad west ofAthlone. 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 Istrode along a very different man from what I had left the house half anhour previously.

CHAPTER IV.

THE HUNT.

Although we had not the advantages of a southerly wind and cloudy sky, theday towards noon became strongly over-cast, and promised to afford us goodscenting weather; and as we assembled at the meet, mutual congratulationswere exchanged upon the improved appearance of the day. Young Blake hadprovided Miss Dashwood with a quiet and well-trained horse, and hissisters were all mounted as usual upon their own animals, giving to ourturnout quite a gay and lively aspect. I myself came to cover upon ahackney, having sent Badger with a groom, and longed ardently for themoment when, casting the skin of my great-coat and overalls, I shouldappear before the world in my well-appointed “cords and tops.” CaptainHammersley had not as yet made his appearance, and many conjectures wereafloat 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 lookedwith a practised eye over the country on either side.

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

“Then of course you never intend us to see much of the sport; for afteryou 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 thequestion; 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 theriver is rushing down the hill: that stream, widening as it advances,crosses the cover nearly midway,—well, they must clear that; andthen you may see these walls of large loose stones nearly five feet inheight. That is the usual course the fox takes, unless he heads towardsthe hills and goes towards Dangan, and then there’s an end of it; for thedeer-park wall is usually a pull up to every one except, perhaps, to ourfriend Charley yonder, who has tried his fortune against drowning morethan once there.”

“Look, here he comes,” said Matthew Blake, “and looking splendidly too,—alittle too much in flesh perhaps, if anything.”

“Captain Hammersley!” said the four Miss Blakes, in a breath. “Where ishe?”

“No; it’s the Badger I’m speaking of,” said Matthew, laughing, andpointing with his finger towards a corner of the field where my servantwas 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 andlacerated at every stir. In a moment I was in the saddle, and scarcelyseated when at once all the mauvais honte of boyhood left me, and Ifelt every inch a man. I often look back to that moment of my life, andcomparing it with similar ones, cannot help acknowledging how purely isthe self-possession which so often wins success the result of some slightand trivial association. My confidence in my horsemanship suggested moralcourage of a very different kind; and I felt that Charles O’Malleycurvetting 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 reconnaissanceupon the road; “and after all it’s a pity, for the day is getting quitefavorable.”

While the young ladies formed pickets to look out for the gallant militaire,I seized the opportunity of prosecuting my acquaintance with MissDashwood, 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 hadhitherto seen of country belles. A mixture of courtesy with naïveté;a wish to please, with a certain feminine gentleness, that always flattersa man, and still more a boy that fain would be one,—gainedmomentarily more and more upon me, and put me also on my mettle to proveto my fair companion that I was not altogether a mere uncultivated andunthinking creature, like the remainder of those about me.

“Here he is at last,” said Helen Blake, as she cantered across a fieldwaving her handkerchief as a signal to the captain, who was now seenapproaching 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 wasin 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 Icanvassed him, the very beau-ideal of a gentleman rider; indeed, althougha very heavy man, his powerful English thorough-bred, showing not lessbone than blood, took away all semblance of overweight; his saddle waswell fitting and well placed, as also was his large and broad-reinedsnaffle; his own costume of black coat, leathers, and tops was in perfectkeeping, and even to his heavy-handled hunting-whip I could find nothingto cavil at. As he rode up he paid his respects to the ladies in his usualfree and easy manner, expressed some surprise, but no regret, at hearingthat he was late, and never deigning any notice of Matthew or myself, tookhis 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 setoff together. In an instant all was commotion in the little valley belowus. The huntsman, with his hand to his mouth, was calling off thestragglers, and the whipper-in followed up the leading dogs with the restof the pack. “They’ve found! They’re away!” said Matthew; and as he spokea yell burst from the valley, and in an instant the whole pack were off atfull speed. Rather more intent that moment upon showing off myhorsemanship than anything else, I dashed spurs into Badger’s sides, andturned him towards a rasping ditch before me; over we went, hurling downbehind us a rotten bank of clay and small stones, showing how littlesafety there had been in topping instead of clearing it at a bound. BeforeI 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 Icannot pretend to state, but my own were a strange mélange of wild,boyish enthusiasm, revenge, and recklessness. For my own neck I caredlittle,—nothing; and as I led the way by half a length, I mutteredto 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 methat, by appearing to take a short cut upon the hounds, I should come downupon 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 nowapproaching was plainly audible. I looked half around, and now perceivedthe captain was standing in his stirrups, as if to obtain a view of whatwas before him; otherwise his countenance was calm and unmoved, and not amuscle betrayed that he was not cantering on a parade. I fixed myselffirmly in my seat, shook my horse a little together, and with a shoutwhose import every Galway hunter well knows rushed him at the river. I sawthe water dashing among the large stones; I heard it splash; I felt abound like the ricochet of a shot; and we were over, but sonarrowly that the bank had yielded beneath his hind legs, and it needed abold effort of the noble animal to regain his footing. Scarcely was heonce more firm, when Hammersley flew by me, taking the lead, and sittingquietly in his saddle, as if racing. I know of little in my after-lifelike the agony of that moment; for although I was far, very far, fromwishing real ill to him, yet I would gladly have broken my leg or my armif 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 Dashwoodmust have witnessed the whole, and doubtless his leap over the river wasbetter and bolder than mine. One consolation yet remained, and while Iwhispered 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?” Thequestion was soon to be solved. Before us, about three fields, were thehounds still in full cry; a large stone-wall lay between, and to it weboth directed our course together. “Ha!” thought I, “he is floored atlast,” as I perceived that the captain held his course rather more inhand, and suffered me to lead. “Now, then, for it!” So saying, I rode atthe largest part I could find, well knowing that Badger’s powers were herein their element. One spring, one plunge, and away we were, gallopingalong at the other side. Not so the captain; his horse had refused thefence, and he was now taking a circuit of the field for another trial ofit.

“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 sametime, 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 mostsplendid 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 bethe sentiments of the riders (mine I confess to), between the horses itnow became a tremendous struggle. The English mare, though evidentlysuperior in stride and strength, was slightly overweighted, and had not,besides, that cat-like activity an Irish horse possesses; so that theadvantages and disadvantages on either side were about equalized. Forabout half an hour now the pace was awful. We rode side by side, takingour leaps at exactly the same instant, and not four feet apart. The houndswere 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 threwmy eye up a steep and rugged mountain, covered with wild furze and tallheath, around the crest of which ran, in a zigzag direction, a broken anddilapidated wall, once the enclosure of a deer park. This wall, whichvaried 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 summitof 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, followedclosely by the hounds, had passed through a breach in the wall; whileMatthew Blake, with the huntsmen and whipper-in, was riding along insearch of a gap to lead the horses through. Before I put spurs to Badgerto face the hill, I turned one look towards Hammersley. There was a slightcurl, half-smile, half-sneer, upon his lip that actually maddened me, andhad a precipice yawned beneath my feet, I should have dashed at it afterthat. The ascent was so steep that I was obliged to take the hill in aslanting direction; and even thus, the loose footing rendered it dangerousin the extreme.

At length I reached the crest, where the wall, more than five feet inheight, stood frowning above and seeming to defy me. I turned my horsefull round, so that his very chest almost touched the stones, and with abold cut of the whip and a loud halloo, the gallant animal rose, as ifrearing, pawed for an instant to regain his balance, and then, with afrightful struggle, fell backwards, and rolled from top to bottom of thehill, 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 ina flying leap, and disappeared at the other side. After a few scramblingefforts to rise, Badger regained his legs and stood beside me; but suchwas the shock and concussion of my fall that all the objects around seemedwavering and floating before me, while showers of bright sparks fell inmyriads before my eyes. I tried to rise, but fell back helpless. Coldperspiration broke over my forehead, and I fainted. From that moment I canremember nothing, till I felt myself galloping along at full speed upon alevel table-land, with the hounds about three fields in advance,Hammersley riding foremost, and taking all his leaps coolly as ever. As Iswayed to either side upon my saddle, from weakness, I was lost to allthought or recollection, save a flickering memory of some plan ofvengeance, which still urged me forward. The chase had now lasted above anhour, and both hounds and horses began to feel the pace at which they weregoing. As for me, I rode mechanically; I neither knew nor cared for thedangers before me. My eye rested on but one object; my whole being wasconcentrated upon one vague and undefined sense of revenge. At thisinstant 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 topowder; he does not hear me! Oh, pull up! pull up, for the love of theVirgin! There’s the clover-field and the sunk fence before you, and you’llbe 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 instantwas beyond the reach of the poor fellow’s remonstances. Another moment Iwas beside the captain. He turned round as I came up; the same smile wasupon his mouth; I could have struck him. About three hundred yards beforeus lay the sunk fence; its breadth was about twenty feet, and a wall ofclose 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 ashe looked towards the yawning fence, down which the dogs were tumbling inmasses, 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; hewould not face it. I turned round in my saddle, looked him full in theface, and as I pointed with my whip to the leap, called out in a voicehoarse with passion, “Come on!” I saw no more. All objects were lost to mefrom that moment. When next my senses cleared, I was standing amidst thedogs, where they had just killed. Badger stood blown and trembling besideme, his head drooping and his flanks gored with spur-marks. I lookedabout, but all consciousness of the past had fled; the concussion of myfall had shaken my intellect, and I was like one but half-awake. Oneglimpse, short and fleeting, of what was taking place shot through mybrain, as old Brackely whispered to me, “By my soul, ye did for thecaptain there.” I turned a vague look upon him, and my eyes fell upon thefigure of a man that lay stretched and bleeding upon a door before me. Hispale face was crossed with a purple stream of blood that trickled from awound beside his eyebrow; his arms lay motionless and heavily at eitherside. 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 rightand 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, butshe’s broke her shoulder-bone and both her legs, and it was best to puther out of pain.”

CHAPTER V.

THE DRAWING-ROOM.

On the fourth day following the adventure detailed in the last chapter, Imade my appearance in the drawing-room, my cheek well blanched by copiousbleeding, and my step tottering and uncertain. On entering the room, Ilooked about in vain for some one who might give me an insight into theoccurrences of the four preceding days; but no one was to be met with. Theladies, I learned, were out riding; Matthew was buying a new setter, Mr.Blake was canvassing, and Captain Hammersley was in bed. Where was MissDashwood?—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 oldbutler, at which I could not help smiling. I sat down, therefore, in theeasiest chair I could find, and unfolding the county paper, resolved uponlearning 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 owndreams were pleasanter to indulge in than his fancies, I fell soundasleep.

How differently is the mind attuned to the active, busy world of thoughtand action when awakened from sleep by any sudden and rude summons toarise and be stirring, and when called into existence by the sweet andsilvery notes of softest music stealing over the senses, and while theyimpart awakening thoughts of bliss and beauty, scarcely dissipating thedreamy influence of slumber! Such was my first thought, as, with closedlids, the thrilling chords of a harp broke upon my sleep and aroused me toa feeling of unutterable pleasure. I turned gently round in my chair andbeheld Miss Dashwood. She was seated in a recess of an old-fashionedwindow; the pale yellow glow of a wintry sun at evening fell upon herbeautiful hair, and tinged it with such a light as I have often since thenseen in Rembrandt’s pictures; her head leaned upon the harp, and as shestruck its chords at random, I saw that her mind was far away from allaround her. As I looked, she suddenly started from her leaning attitude,and parting back her curls from her brow, she preluded a few chords, andthen sighed forth, rather than sang, that most beautiful of Moore’smelodies,—

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

Never before had such pathos, such deep utterance of feeling, met myastonished sense; I listened breathlessly as the tears fell one by onedown my cheek; my bosom heaved and fell; and when she ceased, I hid myhead 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 havesung that mournful air.”

I started and looked up; and from what I know not, but she suddenlycrimsoned 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 noimprudence in your being here.”

“For the latter, I shall not answer,” said I, with a sickly smile; “butalready 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 youtalk to me. My illness and the doctor together have made wild work of mypoor 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 ofthem?”

“The O’Malleys have their chronicles, wild and barbarous enough withoutthe aid of Thor and Woden.”

“Then, shall we chat of every-day matters? Should you like to hear how theelection 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 ourparty. This I learned, by chance, yesterday; for papa never permits us toknow anything of these matters,—not even the names of thecandidates.”

“Well, that was the very point I was coming to; for the government wereabout to send down some one just as I left home, and I am most anxious tolearn who it is.”

“Then am I utterly valueless; for I really can’t say what party thegovernment 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,—aMr. Considine, I think; a very strange person he seemed. He demanded tosee papa, and it seems, asked him if your misfortune had been a thing ofhis 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, halfsmiling; “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 wassomething like rivalry among you gentlemen chasseurs on thatluckless morning, and that while you paid the penalty of a broken head, hewas destined to lose his horse and break his arm.”

“I certainly am sorry,—most sincerely sorry for any share I mighthave had in the catastrophe; and my greatest regret, I confess, arisesfrom the fact that I should cause you unhappiness.”

“Me? Pray explain.”

“Why, as Captain Hammersley—”

“Mr. O’Malley, you are too young now to make me suspect you have anintention to offend; but I caution you, never repeat this.”

I saw that I had transgressed, but how, I most honestly confess, I couldnot guess; for though I certainly was the senior of my fair companion inyears, I was most lamentably her junior in tact and discretion.

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

Our colloquy was at length interrupted by the entrance of Sir George, whoshook me most cordially by the hand, and made the kindest inquiries aboutmy 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 beinganything 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 armaround his manly figure, and looked up in his face with an expression ofmingled 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 waitingwith a note from my uncle, to which, he informed me, the messengerexpected an answer.

I broke the seal and read:—

DEAR CHARLEY,—Do not lose a moment in securing old Blake,—ifyou have not already done so,—as information has just reachedme that the government party has promised a cornetcy to youngMatthew if he can bring over his father. And these are the peopleI have been voting with—a few private cases excepted—for thirtyodd years!I am very sorry for your accident. Considine informs me that itwill need explanation at a later period. He has been in Athlonesince Tuesday, in hopes to catch the new candidate on his way down,and get him into a little private quarrel before the day; if hesucceeds, it will save the county much expense, and conduce greatly tothe peace and happiness of all parties. But “these things,” as FatherRoach says, “are in the hands of Providence.” You must also persuadeold Blake to write a few lines to Simon Mallock, about theCoolnamuck mortgage. We can give him no satisfaction at present,at least such as he looks for; and don’t be philandering any longerwhere 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 morningand shot a fellow in the knee; but finds that after all he wasnot the candidate, but a tourist that was writing a book aboutConnemara.P.S. No. 2. Bear the mortgage in mind, for old Mallock is aspiteful fellow, and has a grudge against me, since I horsewhippedhis 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 preciseconception how completely I had forgotten all my uncle’s interests, andneglected all his injunctions. Already five days had elapsed, and I hadnot as much as mooted the question to Mr. Blake, and probably all thistime my uncle was calculating on the thing as concluded; but, with onehole in my head and some half-dozen in my heart, my memory was none of thebest.

Snatching up the letter, therefore, I resolved to lose no more time, andproceeded at once to Mr. Blake’s room, expecting that I should, as theevent proved, find him engaged in the very laborious duty of making histoilet.

“Come in, Charley,” said he, as I tapped gently at the door. “It’s onlyCharley, my darling. Mrs. B. won’t mind you.”

“Not the least in life,” responded Mrs. B., disposing at the same time apair of her husband’s corduroys tippet fashion across her ample shoulders,which before were displayed in the plenitude and breadth of coloring wefind 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-likesimplicity in which the private economy of Mr. Blake’s household wasconducted, I would have gladly retired from what I found to be a mutualterritory of dressing-room had not Mr. Blake’s injunctions been issuedsomewhat like an order to remain.

“It’s only a letter, sir,” said I, stuttering, “from my uncle about theelection. He says that as his majority is now certain, he should feelbetter 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 makeout how you feel disposed towards him; and—and, faith, as I am but apoor diplomatist, I thought the best way was to come straight to the pointand tell you so.”

“I perceive,” said Mr. Blake, giving his chin at the moment an awful gashwith the razor,—“I perceive; go on.”

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

“Anything more?” said Blake, with a very dry and quizzical expression Ididn’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 afterdinner.”

“Yes, Charley dear, go down, for I’m going to draw on my stockings,” saidthe 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 thesuccess of a mission I more than once feared for, and hastened to despatcha note to my uncle, assuring him of the Blake interest, and adding thatfor 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 mycleverness, I descended to the drawing-room. Here a very large party werealready 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 GeorgeDashwood was “making the agreeable” to the guests, and shook hands withevery new arrival with all the warmth and cordiality of old friendship.While thus he inquired for various absent individuals, and asked mostaffectionately for sundry aunts and uncles not forthcoming, a slightincident occurred which by its ludicrous turn served to shorten the longhalf-hour before dinner. An individual of the party, a Mr. Blake, had,from certain peculiarities of face, obtained in his boyhood the sobriquetof “Shave-the-wind.” This hatchet-like conformation had grown with hisgrowth, and perpetuated upon him a nickname by which alone was he everspoken of among his friends and acquaintances; the only difference beingthat as he came to man’s estate, brevity, that soul of wit, had curtailedthe epithet to mere “Shave.” Now, Sir George had been hearing frequentreference 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 bysome one what sport he had found that day among the woodco*cks, he answeredat 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 forMr. 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, theexcellent Shave himself heartily joined. Scarcely were the sounds of mirthlulled into an apparent calm, when the door opened and the host andhostess appeared. Mrs. Blake advanced in all the plenitude of her charms,arrayed in crimson satin, sorely injured in its freshness by a patch ofgrease upon the front about the same size and shape as the continent ofEurope in Arrowsmith’s Atlas. A swan’s-down tippet covered her shoulders;massive bracelets ornamented her wrists; while from her ears descended twoIrish diamond ear-rings, rivalling in magnitude and value the glasspendants of a lustre. Her reception of her guests made ample amends, inwarmth and cordiality, for any deficiency of elegance; and as she disposedher 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, accompaniedby the appearance of old Simon the butler, who counted the party at leastfive times before he was certain that the score was correct, dinner was atlength announced. Now came a moment of difficulty, and one which, astesting Mr. Blake’s tact, he would gladly have seen devolve upon someother shoulders; for he well knew that the marshalling a room full ofmandarins, blue, green, and yellow, was “cakes and gingerbread” toushering a Galway party in to dinner.

First, then, was Mr. Miles Bodkin, whose grandfather would have been alord if Cromwell had not hanged him one fine morning. Then Mrs. MoseyBlake’s first husband was promised the title of Kilmacud if it was everrestored; whereas Mrs. French of Knocktunmor’s mother was then at law fora 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, rememberinga very sage adage about “dead lions,” etc., solved the difficulty at onceby gracefully tucking the lady under his arm and leading the way. Theothers soon followed, the priest of Portumna and my unworthy self bringingup the rear.

When, many a year afterwards, the hard ground of a mountain bivouac, withits pitiful portion of pickled cork-tree yclept mess-beef, and thatpyroligneous aquafortis they call corn-brandy have been my hard fare, Ioften looked back to that day’s dinner with a most heart-yearningsensation,—a turbot as big as the Waterloo shield, a sirloin thatseemed cut from the sides of a rhinoceros, a sauce-boat that contained anoyster-bed. There was a turkey, which singly would have formed the mainarmy of a French dinner, doing mere outpost duty, flanked by a picket ofham and a detached squadron of chickens carefully ambushed in a forest ofgreens; potatoes, not disguised à la maître d’hôtel and tortured toresemble bad macaroni, but piled like shot in an ordnance-yard, wereposted at different quarters; while massive decanters of port and sherrystood proudly up like standard bearers amidst the goodly array. This wasnone of your austere “great dinners,” where a cold and chilling plateauof artificial nonsense cuts off one-half of the table from intercoursewith the other; when whispered sentences constitute the conversation, andall the friendly recognition of wine-drinking, which renews acquaintanceand cements an intimacy, is replaced by the ceremonious filling of yourglass by a lackey; where smiles go current in lieu of kind speeches, andepigram and smartness form the substitute for the broad jest and merrystory. Far from it. Here the company ate, drank, talked, laughed,—didall but sing, and certainly enjoyed themselves heartily. As for me, I waslittle more than a listener; and such was the crash of plates, the jingleof glasses, and the clatter of voices, that fragments only of what waspassing around reached me, giving to the conversation of the party acharacter occasionally somewhat incongruous. Thus such sentences as thefollowing ran foul of each other every instant:—

“No better land in Galway”—“where could you find such facilities”—“forshooting Mr. Jones on his way home”—“the truth, the whole truth, andnothing but the truth”—“kiss”—“Miss Blake, she’s the girl witha foot and ankle”—“Daly has never had wool on his sheep”—“howcould he”—“what does he pay for the mountain”—“four andtenpence a yard”—“not a penny less”—“all the cabbage-stalksand potato-skins”—“with some bog stuff through it”—“that’s thething to”—“make soup, with a red herring in it instead of salt”—“andwhen he proposed for my niece, ma’am, says he”—“mix a strongtumbler, and I’ll make a shake-down for you on the floor”—“and maythe Lord have mercy on your soul”—“and now, down the middle and upagain”—“Captain Magan, my dear, he is the man”—“to shave a pigproperly”—“it’s not money I’m looking for, says he, the girl of myheart”—“if she had not a wind-gall and two spavins”—“I’d havegiven 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 listento, till a general rise on the part of the ladies left us alone to discussour wine and enter in good earnest upon the more serious duties of theevening.

Scarcely was the door closed when one of the company, seizing thebell-rope, said, “With your leave, Blake, we’ll have the ‘dew’ now.”

“Good claret,—no better,” said another; “but it sits mighty cold onthe 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 variousdecanters of wine being now ignominiously sent down to the end of theboard without any evidence of regret on any face save Sir GeorgeDashwood’s, who mixed his tumbler with a very rebellious conscience.

Whatever were the noise and clamor of the company before, they werenothing to what now ensued. As one party were discussing the approachingcontest, another was planning a steeple-chase, while two individuals,unhappily removed from each other the entire length of the table, werewhat is called “challenging each other’s effects” in a very remarkablemanner,—the process so styled being an exchange of property, wheneach party, setting an imaginary value upon some article, barters it foranother, the amount of boot paid and received being determined by a thirdperson, who is the umpire. Thus a gold breast-pin was swopped, as thephrase is, against a horse; then a pair of boots, then a Kerry bull, etc.,—everyimaginable species of property coming into the market. Sometimes, asmatters of very dubious value turned up, great laughter was the result. Inthis very national pastime, a Mr. Miles Bodkin, a noted fire-eater of thewest, was a great proficient; and it is said he once so completelysucceeded in despoiling an uninitiated hand, that after winning insuccession his horse, gig, harness, etc., he proceeded seriatim tohis watch, ring, clothes, and portmanteau, and actually concluded bywinning all he possessed, and kindly lent him a card-cloth to cover him onhis way to the hotel. His success on the present occasion wasconsiderable, and his spirits proportionate. The decanter had thrice beenreplenished, and the flushed faces and thickened utterance of the guestsevinced that from the cold properties of the claret there was but littleto dread. As for Mr. Bodkin, his manner was incapable of any higherflight, when under the influence of whiskey, than what it evinced oncommon 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 anenergy no one seemed disposed to question. In answer to some observationsof Sir George, he was led into something like an oration upon the peculiarexcellences of his native country, which ended in a declaration that therewas nothing like Galway.

“Why don’t you give us a song, Miles? And may be the general would learnmore from it than all your speech-making.”

“To be sure,” cried the several voices together,—“to be sure; let ushear the ‘Man for Galway’!”

Sir George having joined most warmly in the request, Mr. Bodkin filled uphis glass to the brim, bespoke a chorus to his chant, and clearing hisvoice with a deep hem, began the following ditty, to the air which Moorehas since rendered immortal by the beautiful song, “Wreath the Bowl,” etc.And, although the words are well known in the west, for the information ofless-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 lifeAt ten or fifteen paces;To keep game-co*cks, 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 OudeIs mighty proud,And so were onst the Caysars;But ould Giles EyreWould 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 BlakesAre no “great shakes;” They’re all his blood relations.And the Bodkins sneezeAt the grim Chinese,For they come from the Phenaycians.So fill the brim, and here’s to himWho’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 asfavorable in general companies as it was on the occasion I first heard it;for certainly the applause was almost deafening, and even Sir George, thedefects of whose English education left some of the allusions out of hisreach, was highly amused, and laughed heartily.

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

“We have Scariff to a man,” said Bodkin.

“And Mosey’s tenantry,” said another. “I swear, though there’s not afreehold registered on the estate, that they’ll vote, every mother’s sonof them, or devil a stone of the court-house they’ll leave standing onanother.”

“And may the Lord look to the returning officer!” said a third, throwingup 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 fellowin 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 hisforehead, and casting a half-angry look at Sir George, for what he hadsuspected 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 mostprofound ignorance.”

“It is the dead agent,” says Mr. Blake, “who always provides substitutesfor any voters that may have died since the last election. A veryimportant fact in statistics may thus be gathered from the poll-books ofthis county, which proves it to be the healthiest part of Europe,—afreeholder has not died in it for the last fifty years.”

“The ‘Kiltopher boys’ won’t come this time; they say there’s no use tryingto 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 willingto wreck the town for fifty shillings’ worth of spirits. Besides, if theydon’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 theplan 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 applaudedin 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, whohad twice before been prevented proposing some toast by a telegraphicsignal from the other end of the table, now swore that nothing shouldprevent 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 Icare for the spawn of the ould serpent. [Here great cheers greeted thespeaker, in which, without well knowing why, I heartily joined.] I’m goingto give a toast, boys,—a real good toast, none of your sentimentalthings about wall-flowers or the vernal equinox, or that kind of thing,but a sensible, patriotic, manly, intrepid toast,—toast you mustdrink 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 tothe bottom [here the speaker looked fixedly at me, as did the rest of thecompany]—then, by the great-gun of Athlone, I’ll make him eat thedecanter, glass-stopper and all, for the good of his digestion: d’ye seenow?”

The cheering at this mild determination prevented my hearing whatfollowed; but the peroration consisted in a very glowing eulogy upon someperson unknown, and a speedy return to him as member for Galway. Amidstall the noise and tumult at this critical moment, nearly every eye at thetable was turned upon me; and as I concluded that they had been drinkingmy uncle’s health, I thundered away at the mahogany with all my energy. Atlength the hip-hipping over, and comparative quiet restored, I rose frommy seat to return thanks; but, strange enough, Sir George Dashwood did solikewise. And there we both stood, amidst an uproar that might well haveshaken the courage of more practised orators; while from every side camecries of “Hear, hear!”—“Go on, Sir George!”—“Speak out,General!”—“Sit down, Charley!”—“Confound the boy!”—“Knockthe legs from under him!” etc. Not understanding why Sir George shouldinterfere with what I regarded as my peculiar duty, I resolved not to giveway, and avowed this determination in no very equivocal terms. “In thatcase,” said the general, “I am to suppose that the young gentleman movesan amendment to your proposition; and as the etiquette is in his favor, Iyield.” Here he resumed his place amidst a most terrific scene of noiseand tumult, while several humane proposals as to my treatment were madearound me, and a kind suggestion thrown out to break my neck by a nearneighbor. Mr. Blake at length prevailed upon the party to hear what I hadto say,—for he was certain I should not detain them above a minute.The commotion having in some measure subsided, I began: “Gentlemen, as theadopted son of the worthy man whose health you have just drunk—” Heaven knows how I should have continued; but here my eloquence was met bysuch a roar of laughing as I never before listened to. From one end of theboard to the other it was one continued shout, and went on, too, as if allthe spare lungs of the party had been kept in reserve for the occasion. Iturned from one to the other; I tried to smile, and seemed to participatein the joke, but failed; I frowned; I looked savagely about where I couldsee enough to turn my wrath thitherward,—and, as it chanced, not invain; for Mr. Miles Bodkin, with an intuitive perception of my wishes,most suddenly ceased his mirth, and assuming a look of frowning defiancethat 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 beginningof it, and a pretty story you’ll have for your uncle. But if you’d like tobreak the news by a letter the general will have great pleasure infranking it for you; for, by the rock of Cashel, we’ll carry him inagainst all the O’Malley’s that ever cheated the sheriff.”

Scarcely were the words uttered, when I seized my wineglass, and hurled itwith 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 couldappreciate his late eloquent effusion. The scene now became terrific; forthough the redoubted Miles was hors-de-combat, his friends made atremendous rush at, and would infallibly have succeeded in capturing me,had not Blake and four or five others interposed. Amidst a desperatestruggle, which lasted for some minutes, I was torn from the spot, carriedbodily up-stairs, and pitched headlong into my own room; where, havingdoubly locked the door on the outside, they left me to my own cool and notover-agreeable reflections.

CHAPTER VII.

THE FLIGHT FROM GURT-NA-MORRA.

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

So thoroughly did my own griefs occupy me, that I had no thought for thedisappointment my poor uncle was destined to meet with in hearing that theBlake interest was lost to him, and the former breach between the familiesirreparably widened by the events of the evening. Escape was my firstthought; 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; thewindow was at least five-and-twenty feet from the ground, and not a treenear to swing into. I shouted, I called aloud, I opened the sash, andtried if any one outside were within hearing; but in vain. Weary andexhausted, I sat down upon my bed and ruminated over my fortunes.Vengeance—quick, entire, decisive vengeance—I thirsted andpanted for; and every moment I lived under the insult inflicted on meseemed an age of torturing and maddening agony. I rose with a leap; athought had just occurred to me. I drew the bed towards the window, andfastening the sheet to one of the posts with a firm knot, I twisted itinto a rope, and let myself down to within about twelve feet of theground, when I let go my hold, and dropped upon the grass beneath safe anduninjured. A thin, misty rain was falling, and I now perceived, for thefirst 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 anyintimation of my escape reached the family.

When I gained the yard, all was quiet and deserted; the servants weredoubtless enjoying themselves below stairs, and I met no one on the way. Ientered the stable, threw the saddle upon “Badger,” and before fiveminutes from my descent from the window, was galloping towards O’MalleyCastle 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 horsethrough the well-known defiles of out-houses and stables which formed thelong line of offices to my uncle’s house. As yet no one was stirring; andas I wished to have my arrival a secret from the family, after providingfor the wants of my gallant gray, I lifted the latch of the kitchen-door—noother fastening being ever thought necessary, even at night—andgently groped my way towards the stairs; all was perfectly still, and thesilence 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 aboy 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 thinginto ridicule, make a good story, perhaps a song out of it, and laugh atmy notions of demanding satisfaction. Considine, I knew, was my man; butthen 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 atonce. So resolving, I stole noiselessly up-stairs, and reached the door ofthe count’s chamber; I opened it gently and entered; and though my stepwas almost imperceptible to myself, it was quite sufficient to alarm thewatchful occupant of the room, who, springing up in his bed, demandedgruffly, “Who’s there?”

“Charles, sir,” said I, shutting the door carefully, and approaching hisbedside. “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 chairsomewhere near the bed,—have you found it? There! Well now, what isit? What news of Blake?”

“Very bad; no worse. But it is not exactly that I came about; I’vegot into a scrape, sir.”

“Run off with one of the daughters,” said Considine. “By jingo, I knewwhat those artful devils would be after.”

“Not so bad as that,” said I, laughing. “It’s just a row, a kind ofsquabble; something that must come—”

“Ay, ay,” said the count, brightening up; “say you so, Charley? Begad, theyoung ones will beat us all out of the field. Who is it with,—notold Blake himself; how was it? Tell me all.”

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

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

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

“Because, you see,” said he, assuming an oracular tone of voice, “throwinga wine-glass, with or without wine, in a man’s face is merely, as you mayobserve, a mark of denial and displeasure at some observation he may havemade,—not in any wise intended to injure him, further than in thewound to his honor at being so insulted, for which, of course, he mustsubsequently call you out. Whereas, Charley, in the present case, the viewI take is different; the expression of Mr. Bodkin, as regards your uncle,was insulting to a degree,—gratuitously offensive,—andwarranting a blow. Therefore, my boy, you should, under suchcirc*mstances, have preferred aiming at him with a decanter: a cut-glassdecanter, 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—verymuch pleased with you. Now, then, for the next step.” So saying, he arosefrom his bed, and striking a light with a tinder-box, proceeded to dresshimself 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, putthem up at the little inn,—it is not above a mile from Bodkin’s; andI’ll go over and settle the thing for you. You must stay quiet till I comeback, and not leave the house on any account. I’ve got a case of old broadbarrels there that will answer you beautifully; if you were anything of ashot, I’d give you my own cross handles, but they’d only spoil yourshooting.”

“I can hit a wine-glass in the stem at fifteen paces,” said I, rathernettled 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 fingeron 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 manoutside your arm,—outside, mind,—and take him in the hip, andif anywhere higher, no matter.”

By this time the count had completed his toilet, and taking the smallmahogany box which contained his peace-makers under his arm, led the waytowards the stables. When we reached the yard, the only person stirringthere was a kind of half-witted boy, who, being about the house, wasemployed to run of messages from the servants, walk a stranger’s horse, orto do any of the many petty services that regular domestics contrivealways to devolve upon some adopted subordinate. He was seated upon astone step formerly used for mounting, and though the day was scarcelybreaking, and the weather severe and piercing, the poor fellow was singingan Irish song, in a low monotonous tone, as he chafed a curb chain betweenhis hands with some sand. As we came near he started up, and as he pulledoff 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 wereturned to the brass-bound box beneath his arm,—when, as if seizedwith a sudden impulse, he started on his feet, and set off towards thehouse with the speed of a greyhound, not, however, before Considine’spractised 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,” saidthe 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,” saidConsidine.

“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 backwardsand forwards, a true picture of Irish grief.

“I’ll stop his blubbering,” said Considine, opening the box and taking outa pistol, which he co*cked leisurely, and pointed at the poor fellow’shead; “another syllable now, and I’ll scatter your brains upon thatpavement.”

“And do, and divil thank you; sure, it’s your trade.”

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

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

“I wouldn’t touch the best piece in your purse,” said the poor boy; “sureit’s blood-money, no less.”

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

Very few minutes sufficed us now to harness the mare in the tax-cart, andwhen all was ready, Considine seized the whip, and locking the stable-doorupon 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 thepoor 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 fastestspeed to make up for it. Our pace became, accordingly, a sharp one; and asthe road was bad, and the tax-cart no “patent inaudible,” neither of usspoke. To me this was a great relief. The events of the last few days hadgiven them the semblance of years, and all the reflection I could musterwas little enough to make anything out of the chaotic mass,—love,mischief, and misfortune,—in which I had been involved since myleaving O’Malley Castle.

“Here we are, Charley,” said Considine, drawing up short at the door of alittle country ale-house, or, in Irish parlance, shebeen, whichstood at the meeting of four bleak roads, in a wild and barren mountaintract beside the Shannon. “Here we are, my boy! Jump out and let us bestirring.”

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

“Joe,” said the count to the host, “is Mr. Bodkin up at the house thismorning?”

“He’s just passed this way, sir, with Mr. Malowney of Tillnamuck, in thegig, on their way from Mr. Blake’s. They stopped here to order horses togo 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 andtaken the affair into his own hands. Now all you have to do is to stayquietly here till I come back, which will not be above an hour atfarthest. Joe, send me the pony; keep an eye on Patsey, that he doesn’tplay us a trick. The short way to Mr. Bodkin’s is through Scariff. Ay, Iknow 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 behindhim, and left me to my own not very agreeable reflections. Independentlyof my youth and perfect ignorance of the world, which left me unable toform any correct judgment on my conduct, I knew that I had taken a greatdeal of wine, and was highly excited when my unhappy collision with Mr.Bodkin occurred. Whether, then, I had been betrayed into anything whichcould fairly have provoked his insulting retort or not, I could notremember; and now my most afflicting thought was, what opinion might beentertained of me by those at Blake’s table; and above all, what MissDashwood herself would think, and what narrative of the occurrence wouldreach her. The great effort of my last few days had been to stand well inher estimation, to appear something better in feeling, something higher inprinciple, than the rude and unpolished squirearchy about me; and now herewas the end of it! What would she, what could she, think, but that I wasthe same punch-drinking, rowing, quarrelling bumpkin as those whom I hadso lately been carefully endeavoring to separate myself from? How I hatedmyself for the excess to which passion had betrayed me, and how I detestedmy opponent as the cause of all my present misery. “How very differently,” thought I, “her friend the captain would have conducted himself. His quietand gentlemanly manner would have done fully as much to wipe out anyinsult on his honor as I could do, and after all, would neither havedisturbed the harmony of a dinner-table, nor made himself, as I shudderedto 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 withmy hands clasped and the perspiration upon my brow. “One thing is certain,—Ican never see her again,” thought I; “this disgraceful business must, insome shape or other, become known to her, and all I have been saying theselast three days rise up in judgment against this one act, and stamp me animpostor! I that decried—nay, derided—our false notion ofhonor. Would that Considine were come! What can keep him now?” I walked tothe door; a boy belonging to the house was walking the roan before thedoor. “What had, then, become of Pat?” I inquired; but no one could tell.He had disappeared shortly after our arrival, and had not been seenafterwards. My own thoughts were, however, too engrossing to permit me tothink more of this circ*mstance, 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.” Sosaying, he sprang from the pony and proceeded to harness the roan with thegreatest haste, informing me in broken sentences, as he went on with allthe arrangements.

“We are to cross the bridge of Portumna. They won the ground, and it seemsBodkin likes the spot; he shot Peyton there three years ago. Worse lucknow, Charley, you know; by all the rule of chance, he can’t expect thesame thing twice,—never four by honors in two deals. Didn’t saythat, though. A sweet meadow, I know it well; small hillocks, likemolehills; all over it. Caught him at breakfast; I don’t think he expectedthe message to come from us, but said it was a very polite attention,—andso it was, you know.”

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

“What are you thinking of, Charley?” said the count, as I kept silent forsome 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 myconscience, if it wasn’t for the chance of his getting into anotherquarrel and spoiling the election, I’d go back for Godfrey; he’d like tosee 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’reon the ground,—follow him everywhere. Poor Callaghan, that’s gone,shot his man always that way. He had a way of looking without winking thatwas 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 boathad been provided by Considine to ferry us over. It was now about eighto’clock, and a heavy, gloomy morning. Much rain had fallen overnight, andthe dark and lowering atmosphere seemed charged with more. The mountainslooked twice their real size, and all the shadows were increased to anenormous extent. A very killing kind of light it was, as the countremarked.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE DUEL.

As the boatmen pulled in towards the shore we perceived, a few hundredyards off, a group of persons standing, whom we soon recognized as ouropponents. “Charley,” said the count, grasping my arm tightly, as I stoodup to spring on the land,—“Charley, although you are only a boy, asI may say, I have no fear for your courage; but still more than that isneedful here. This Bodkin is a noted duellist, and will try to shake yournerve. Now, mind that you take everything that happens quite with an airof 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 likea slight twitch about the corners of his grim mouth, as if some sudden andpainful thought had shot across his mind; but in a moment he was calm, andstern-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 inevidence.

“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 youngfriend. Very proud to make your acquaintance, sir; your uncle and I metmore than once in this kind of way. I was out with him in ‘92,—wasit? 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 uncleknocked his pistol hand to shivers, saying, in his dry way, ‘He must trythe left hand this morning.’ Count, a little this side, if you please.”

While Considine and the captain walked a few paces apart from where Istood, I had leisure to observe my antagonist, who stood among a group ofhis friends, talking and laughing away in great spirits. As the tone theyspoke in was not of the lowest, I could catch much of their conversationat the distance I was from them. They were discussing the last occasionthat Bodkin had visited this spot, and talking of the fatal event whichhappened 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 obligedto 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 thenight before going off in a thin rain. Well, it seems he had theconsumption or something of that sort, with a great cough and spitting ofblood, and this weather made him worse; and he was very weak when he cameto 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 allabout, 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 itoff, man.’ He seemed to hesitate for an instant, when Michael Blakeremarked, ‘Arrah, let him alone; it’s his mother makes him wear it, forthe cold he has.’ They all began to laugh at this; but I kept my eye uponhim, 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 himthrough 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 oneso untimely cut off.

“Here we are, all ready,” said Malowney, springing over a small fence intothe adjoining field. “Take your ground, gentlemen.”

Considine took my arm and walked forward. “Charley,” said he, “I am togive the signal; I’ll drop my glove when you are to fire, but don’t lookat me at all. I’ll manage to catch Bodkin’s eye; and do you watch himsteadily, and fire when he does.”

“I think that the ground we are leaving behind us is rather better,” saidsome one.

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

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

“Now then,” said the count, “I’ll walk twelve paces, turn and drop thisglove; at which signal you fire, and together mind. The man whor*serves his shot falls by my hand.” This very summary denunciation seemedto meet general approbation, and the count strutted forth. Notwithstandingthe advice of my friend, I could not help turning my eyes from Bodkin towatch the retiring figure of the count. At length he stopped; a second ortwo elapsed; he wheeled rapidly round, and let fall the glove. My eyeglanced towards my opponent; I raised my pistol and fired. My hat turnedhalf round upon my head, and Bodkin fell motionless to the earth. I sawthe people around me rush forward; I caught two or three glances thrown atme with an expression of revengeful passion; I felt some one grasp meround the waist, and hurry me from the spot; and it was at least tenminutes after, as we were skimming the surface of the broad Shannon,before I could well collect my scattered faculties to remember all thatwas 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 Ivainly endeavored to conceal from my companion.

“Not if the doctor can help it,” said Considine; “for the fool keepspoking about for the ball. But now let’s think of the next step,—you’llhave to leave this, and at once, too.”

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

As we neared the land a strange spectacle caught our eye. For aconsiderable distance along the coast crowds of country people wereassembled, who, forming in groups and breaking into parties of two andthree, were evidently watching with great anxiety what was taking place atthe opposite side. Now, the distance was at least a mile, and thereforeany part of the transaction which had been enacting there must have beenquite beyond their view. While I was wondering at this, Considine criedout 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 floatedfrom 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’sall. Every man here’s his tenant; and look—there! They’re not givingus much doubt as to their intention.”

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

The appalling influence of the keen, as it is called, had beenfamiliar to me from my infancy; but it needed the awful situation I wasplaced in to consummate its horrors. It was at once my accusation and mydoom. I knew well—none better—the vengeful character of theIrish 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 myarm. As the boatmen looked from us towards the shore and again at ourfaces, they, as if instinctively, lay upon their oars, and waited for ourdecision as to what course to pursue.

“Rig the spritsail, my boys,” said Considine, “and let her head lie up theriver; and be alive, for I see they’re bailing a boat below the littlereef there, and will be after us in no time.”

The poor fellows, who, although strangers to us, sympathizing in what theyperceived to be our imminent danger, stepped the light spar which acted asmast, and shook out their scanty rag of canvas in a minute. Considinemeanwhile went aft, and steadying her head with an oar, held the smallcraft up to the wind till she lay completely over, and as she rushedthrough 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 ofthe Castle.”

“Put an oar to leeward,” said Considine, “and keep her up more to thewind, and I promise you, my lads, you will not go home fresh and fastingif you land us where you say.”

“Here they come,” said the other boatman, as he pointed back with hisfinger towards a large yawl which shot suddenly from the shore, with sixsturdy fellows pulling at their oars, while three or four others wereendeavoring to get up their rigging, which appeared tangled and confusedat the bottom of the boat; the white splash of water which fell eachmoment beside her showing that the process of bailing was still continued.

“Ah, then, may I never—av it isn’t the ould ‘Dolphin’ they havelaunched 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 tostern.”

“She can sail, however,” said Considine, who watched with a painfulanxiety the rapidity of her course through the water.

“Nabocklish, she was a smuggler’s jolly-boat, and well used to it. Lookhow they’re pulling. God pardon them, but they’re in no blessed humor thismorning.”

“Lay out upon your oars, boys; the wind’s failing us,” cried the count, asthe sail flapped lazily against the mast.

“It’s no use, yer honor,” said the elder. “We’ll be only breaking ourhearts 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 withall aboard, four years last winter. There’s no channel between it and theshore,—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 tillthe foaming water bubbled over her lee bow.

“Keep her head up, sir; higher—higher still.”

But Considine little heeded the direction, steering straight for thenarrow 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!” saidthe other, springing up.

“Sit down there, and be still,” roared Considine, as he drew a pistol fromthe case at his feet, “if you don’t want some leaden ballast to keep youso! Here, Charley, take this, and if that fellow stirs hand or foot—youunderstand me.”

The two men sat sulkily in the bottom of the boat, which now was actuallyflying through the water. Considine’s object was a clear one. He saw thatin sailing we were greatly overmatched, and that our only chance lay inreaching the narrow and dangerous channel between Oat Rock and the shore,by which we should distance the pursuit, the long reef of rocks that ranout beyond requiring a wide berth to escape from. Nothing but the dangerbehind us could warrant so rash a daring. The whole channel was dottedwith patches of white and breaking foam,—the sure evidence of themischief beneath,—while here and there a dash of spurting spray flewup from the dark water, where some cleft rock lay hid below the flood.Escape seemed impossible; but who would not have preferred even so slendera chance with so frightful an alternative behind him? As if to add terrorto the scene, Considine had scarcely turned the boat ahead of the channelwhen a tremendous blackness spread over all around, the thunder pealedforth, and amidst the crashing of the hail and the bright glare oflightning a squall struck us and laid us nearly keel uppermost for severalminutes. 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 rollof loud thunder broke, as it were, just above our heads; while in theswift 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—Ishall never forget their expression. One, a devout Catholic, had placed alittle leaden image of a saint before him in the bow, and implored itsintercession with a torturing agony of suspense that wrung my very heart.The other, apparently less alive to such consolations as his Churchafforded, remained with his hands clasped, his mouth compressed, his browsknitted, and his dark eyes bent upon me with the fierce hatred of a deadlyenemy; his eyes were sunken and bloodshot, and all told of some dreadfulconflict within. The wild ferocity of his look fascinated my gaze, andamidst 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, andwith 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 waterrushed clean over us, and the boat seemed settling. At this dreadfulmoment the sailor’s eye was bent upon me, his lips parted, and hemuttered, 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 thatI was judged and doomed! that the brand of Cain was upon my brow! that myfellow-men had ceased forever to regard me as a brother! that I was anoutcast and a wanderer forever! I bent forward till my forehead fell uponmy knees, and I wept. Meanwhile the boat flew through the water, andConsidine, who alone among us seemed not to lose his presence of mind, cutaway the mast and sent it overboard. The storm began now to abate; and asthe 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 inbailing out the water with which she seemed almost sinking. The curtain ofmist that had hidden us from each other no sooner broke than they ceasedtheir labors for a moment, and looking towards us, burst forth into a yellso wild, so savage, so dreadful, my very heart quailed as its cadence fellupon my ear.

“Safe, my boy,” said Considine, clapping me on the shoulder, as he steeredthe boat forth from its narrow path of danger, and once more reached thebroad Shannon,—“safe, Charley; though we’ve had a brush for it.” Ina minute more we reached the land, and drawing our gallant little craft onshore, set out for O’Malley Castle.

CHAPTER IX.

THE RETURN.

O’Malley Castle lay about four miles from the spot we landed at, andthither accordingly we bent our steps without loss of time. We had not,however, proceeded far, when, before us on the road, we perceived a mixedassemblage of horse and foot, hurrying along at a tremendous rate. Themob, which consisted of some hundred country people, were armed withsticks, scythes, and pitchforks, and although not preserving any verymilitary aspect in their order of march, were still a force quiteformidable enough to make us call a halt, and deliberate upon what we wereto do.

“They’ve outflanked us, Charley,” said Considine; “however, all is not yetlost. But see, they’ve got sight of us; here they come.”

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

“Leave that fellow for me,” said the count, coolly examining the lock ofhis 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, tobe sure it is? He’s on a large horse—now he’s pressing forward; solet—no—oh—ay, it’s Godfrey O’Malley himself, and theseare our own people.” Scarcely were the words out when a tremendous cheerarose from the multitude, who, recognizing us at the same instant, sprangfrom their horses and ran forward to welcome us. Among the foremost wasthe 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 wordto 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-holesin my headpiece.

His lip quivered as he turned and whispered something into Considine’sear, which I heard not; but the count’s reply was, “Devil a bit, as coolas you see him this minute.”

“And Bodkin, what of him?”

“This day’s work’s his last,” said Considine; “the ball entered here. Butcome along, Godfrey; Charley’s new at this kind of thing, and we hadbetter discuss matters in the house.”

Half-an-hour’s brisk trot—for we were soon supplied with horses—broughtus back to the Castle, much to the disappointment of our cortege, who hadbeen promised a scrimmage, and went back in very ill-humor at thebreach 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 forthe eventful day of battle. These, however, were immediately thrown asideto hasten round me and inquire all the details of my duel. Considine,happily for me, however, assumed all the dignity of an historian, andrecounted 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 mylate 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 circ*mstance that followedassisted in contributing. While we were eagerly discussing the variousresults likely to arise from the meeting, a horse galloped rapidly to thedoor and a loud voice called out, “I can’t get off, but tell him to comehere.” We rushed out and beheld Captain Malowney, Mr. Bodkin’s second,covered with mud from head to foot, and his horse reeking with foam andsweat. “I am hurrying on to Athlone for another doctor; but I’ve called totell you that the wound is not supposed to be mortal,—he may recoveryet.” Without waiting for another word, he dashed spurs into his nag andrattled down the avenue at full gallop. Mr. Bodkin’s dearest friend onearth could not have received the intelligence with more delight; and Inow began to listen to the congratulations of my friends with a moretranquil spirit. My uncle, too, seemed much relieved by the information,and heard with great good temper my narrative of the few days atGurt-na-Morra. “So then,” said he, as I concluded, “my opponent is atleast a gentleman; that is a comfort.”

“Sir George Dashwood,” said I, “from all I have seen, is a remarkably niceperson, and I am certain you will meet with only the fair and legitimateopposition of an opposing candidate in him,—no mean or unmanlysubterfuge.”

“All right, Charley. Well, now, your affair of this morning must keep youquiet for a few days, come what will; by Monday next, when the electiontakes place, Bodkin’s fate will be pretty clear, one way or the other, andif matters go well, you can come into town; otherwise, I have arrangedwith Considine to take you over to the Continent for a year or so; butwe’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 onpurpose. Now, good-by!”

When my uncle had gone, I sank into a chair and fell into a musing fitover all the changes a few hours had wrought in me. From a mere boy whosemost serious employment was stocking the house with game or inspecting thekennel, I had sprung at once into man’s estate, was complimented for mycoolness, praised for my prowess, lauded for my discretion, by those whowere my seniors by nearly half a century; talked to in a tone ofconfidential intimacy by my uncle, and, in a word, treated in all respectsas 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 triflingaccident, some casual rencontre impels us across the Rubicon, andwe 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 decisiveact or passion which, occurring at a critical moment, elicits a longlatent feeling, and impresses our existence with a color that tinges usfor many a long year. As for me, I had cut the tie which bound me to thecareless gayety of boyhood with a rude gash. In three short days I hadfallen deeply, desperately in love, and had wounded, if not killed, anantagonist in a duel. As I meditated on these things, I was aroused by thenoise of horses’ feet in the yard beneath. I opened the window and beheldno less a person than Captain Hammersley. He was handing a card to aservant, which he was accompanying by a verbal message; the impression ofsomething like hostility on the part of the captain had never left mymind, and I hastened down-stairs just in time to catch him as he turnedfrom the door.

“Ah, Mr. O’Malley!” said he, in a most courteous tone. “They told me youwere 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. Ihave just received an order to join my regiment; we have been ordered forservice, and Sir George has most kindly permitted my giving up my staffappointment. I could not, however, leave the country without shaking handswith you. I owe you a lesson in horsemanship, and I’m only sorry that weare 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 ofcavalry, and we scarcely less in want of something to do. I’m sorry youare not coming with us.”

“Would to Heaven I were!” said I, with an earnestness that almost made mybrain start.

“Then, why not?”

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

“Devilish hard—but I believe you are right; something, however, mayturn up yet to alter his mind, and if so, and if you do take todragooning, don’t forget George Hammersley will be always most delightedto meet you; and so good-by, O’Malley, good-by.”

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

“I ought to mention to you that there has been much discussion on youraffair at Blake’s table, and only one opinion on the matter among allparties,—that you acted perfectly right. Sir George Dashwood,—nomean judge of such things,—quite approves of your conduct, and, Ibelieve, 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-roomwindow at daybreak, the crowd of carriages of all sorts and shapesdecorated with banners and placards; the incessant bustle; the hurryinghither and thither; the cheering as each new detachment of voters came up,mounted on jaunting-cars, or on horses whose whole caparison consisted ina straw rope for a bridle, and a saddle of the same frail material,—allinformed me that the election day was come. I lost no further time, butproceeded to dress with all possible despatch. When I appeared in thebreakfast-room, it was already filled with some seventy or eighty personsof all ranks and ages, mingled confusedly together, and enjoying thehospitable fare of my uncle’s house, while they discussed all the detailsand prospects of the election. In the hall, the library, the largedrawing-room, too, similar parties were also assembled, and as newcomersarrived, the servants were busy in preparing tables before the door and upthe large terrace that ran the entire length of the building. Nothingcould be more amusing than the incongruous mixture of the guests, who,with every variety of eatable that chance or inclination provided, werethus thrown into close contact, having only this in common,—thesuccess 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 poorcotter, whose whole earthly possession was what, in Irish phrase, iscalled a “potato garden,”—meaning the exactly smallest possiblepatch of ground out of which a very Indian-rubber conscience could presumeto vote. Here sat the old simple-minded, farmer-like man, in closeconversation with a little white-foreheaded, keen-eyed personage, in ablack coat and eye-glass,—a flash attorney from Dublin, learned inflaws of the registry, and deep in the subtleties of election law. Therewas an Athlone horse-dealer, whose habitual daily practices in imposingthe halt, the lame, and the blind upon the unsuspecting, for beasts ofblood and mettle, well qualified him for the trickery of a county contest.Then there were scores of squireen gentry, easily recognized on commonoccasions by a green coat, brass buttons, dirty cords, and dirtiertop-boots, a lash-whip, and a half-bred fox-hound; but now, fresh-washedfor 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 therewith a sleek, roguish-eyed priest, or some low electioneering agentdetailing, for the amusem*nt of the company, some of those cunningpractices of former times which if known to the proper authorities wouldin all likelihood cause the talented narrator to be improving the soil ofSidney, or fishing on the banks of the Swan river; while at the head andfoot of each table sat some personal friend of my uncle, whose readytongue, and still readier pistol, made him a personage of someconsequence, not more to his own people than to the enemy. While of suchmaterial were the company, the fare before them was no less varied: heresome rubicund squire was deep in amalgamating the contents of a venisonpasty with some of Sneyd’s oldest claret; his neighbor, less ambitious,and less erudite in such matters, was devouring rashers of bacon, withliberal potations of potteen; some pale-cheeked scion of the law, with allthe dust of the Four Courts in his throat, was sipping his humble beverageof black tea beside four sturdy cattle-dealers from Ballinasloe, who werediscussing hot whiskey punch and spoleaion (boiled beef) at thevery primitive hour of eight in the morning. Amidst the clank ofdecanters, the crash of knives and plates, and the jingling of glasses,the laughter and voices of the guests were audibly increasing; and thevarious modes of “running a buck” (Anglicé, substituting a vote),or hunting a badger, were talked over on all sides, while the price of aveal (a calf), or a voter, was disputed with all the energy ofdebate.

Refusing many an offered place, I went through the different rooms insearch of Considine, to whom circ*mstances of late had somehow greatlyattached me.

“Here, Charley,” cried a voice I was very familiar with,—“here’s aplace 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. Ihave been shouting for claret this half-hour in vain,—do get us somenutriment down here, and the Lord will reward you. What a pity it is,” headded, in a lower tone, to his neighbor—“what a pity a quart-bottlewon’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 theHonorable House will bear me witness.

“Is this it?” said he, turning towards a farmer-like old man, who had putsome 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 ofan apple-plexy, and I’m afeerd of it.”

I at length found Considine, and learned that, as a very good account ofBodkin had arrived, there was no reason why I should not proceed to thehustings; but I was secretly charged not to take any prominent part in theday’s proceedings. My uncle I only saw for an instant,—he begged meto be careful, avoid all scrapes, and not to quit Considine. It was pastten o’clock when our formidable procession got under way, and headedtowards the town of Galway. The road was, for miles, crowded with ourfollowers; banners flying and music playing, we presented something of thespectacle of a very ragged army on its march. At every cross-road amountain-path reinforcement awaited us, and as we wended along, ournumbers were momentarily increasing; here and there along the line, someenergetic and not over-sober adherent was regaling his auditory with aspeech in laudation of the O’Malleys since the days of Moses, and morethan one priest was heard threatening the terrors of his Church in aid ofa cause to whose success he was pledged and bound. I rode beside thecount, who, surrounded by a group of choice spirits, recounted the varioushappy inventions by which he had, on divers occasions, substituted apersonal quarrel for a contest. Boyle also contributed his share ofelection anecdote, and one incident he related, which, I remember, amusedme much at the time.

“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 andhis 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 secretin 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, havingfinished my own business, and just carried the day, not without a push forit. When we reached,—Lady Mary was with me,—when we reachedKilkenny, the night before the election, I was not ten minutes in towntill Butler heard of it, and sent off express to see me; I was at mydinner when the messenger came, and promised to go over when I’d done. Butfaith, Tom didn’t wait, but came rushing up-stairs himself, and dashedinto the room in the greatest hurry.

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

“On he went, giving me a most disastrous picture of his cause, andconcluded by asking if I could suggest anything under the circ*mstances.

“‘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 withhimself. Will he go out?’

“‘Lord knows! They say he’s so afraid of that, that it has prevented himcoming down till the very day. But he is arrived now; he came in theevening, 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-Lieutenantspeaks to him?’ said Lady Mary.

“‘The very man.’

“‘Would it be of any use to you if he could not come on the hustingsto-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 ifCalvert didn’t appear, he wouldn’t have ten votes to register. But why doyou ask?’

“‘Why, that, if you like, I’ll bet you a pair of diamond ear-rings hesha’n’t show.’

“‘Done!’ said Butler. ‘And I promise a necklace into the bargain, if youwin; but I’m afraid you’re only quizzing me.’

“‘Here’s my hand on it,’ said she. ‘And now let’s talk of somethingelse.’”

As Lady Mary never asked my assistance, and as I knew she was very wellable to perform whatever she undertook, you may be sure I gave myself verylittle trouble about the whole affair; and when they came, I went off tobreakfast 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 soa 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 inthe clothes; for he was the most bashful creature ever was seen,—‘comein.’

The door opened, and what was his horror to find that a lady entered inher dressing-gown, her hair on her shoulders, very much tossed anddishevelled. 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 adventureof 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 hissilence the lady would proceed to some explanation, he said no more. She,however, seemed to think that nothing further was necessary, and sat stilland 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, andthe strangeness of the circ*mstance altogether must plead for me, if Iappear 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 yourwhole life is an example, that alone, at such a time, you appear in thechamber 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 constantlyassociated is the retiring modesty which decries, with the pleasing powerswhich 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 willnot be the clearer by your hurrying me. You know, perhaps,’ continued she,‘that my maiden name was Rogers?’ He of the blankets bowed, and sheresumed, ‘It is now eighteen years since, that a young, unsuspecting, fondcreature, reared in all the care and fondness of doting parents, temptedher first step in life, and trusted her fate to another’s keeping. I amthat unhappy person; the other, that monster in human guise that smiledbut to betray, that won but to ruin and destroy, is he whom you know asSir Harry Boyle.’

“Here she sobbed for some minutes, wiped her eyes, and resumed hernarrative. Beginning at the period of her marriage, she detailed a numberof circ*mstances in which poor Calvert, in all his anxiety to come aufond at matters, could never perceive bore upon the question in anyway; but as she recounted them all with great force and precision,entreating him to bear in mind certain circ*mstances to which she shouldrecur by and by, his attention was kept on the stretch, and it was onlywhen the clock struck ten that he was fully aware how his morning waspassing, and what surmises his absence might originate.

“‘May I interrupt you for a moment, dear madam? Was it nine or ten o’clockwhich struck last?’

“‘How should I know?’ said she, frantically. ‘What are hours and minutesto her who has passed long years of misery?’

“‘Very true, very true,’ replied he, timidly, and rather fearing for theintellect of his fair companion.

She continued. The narrative, however, so far from becoming clearer, grewgradually more confused and intricate; and as frequent references weremade by the lady to some previous statement, Calvert was more than oncerebuked for forgetfulness and inattention, where in reality nothing lessthan 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 thedepository of my woes! Cruel, cruel man!’

“Here she sobbed considerably for several minutes, and spoke not. A loudcheer of ‘Butler forever!’ from the mob without now burst upon theirhearing, and recalled poor Calvert at once to the thought that the hourswere speeding fast and no prospect of the everlasting tale coming to anend.

“‘I am deeply, most deeply grieved, my dear madam,’ said the little man,sitting up in a pyramid of blankets; ‘but hours, minutes, are mostprecious to me this morning. I am about to be proposed as member forKilkenny.’

“At these words the lady straightened her figure out, threw her arms ateither side, and burst into a fit of laughter which poor Calvert knew atonce to be hysterics. Here was a pretty situation! The bell-rope layagainst the opposite wall; and even if it did not, would he be exactlywarranted in pulling it?

“‘May the devil and all his angels take Sir Harry Boyle and his wholeconnection to the fifth generation!’ was his sincere prayer as he sat likea Chinese juggler under his canopy.

“At length the violence of the paroxysm seemed to subside; the sobs becameless frequent, the kicking less forcible, and the lady’s eyes closed, andshe appeared to have fallen asleep.

“‘Now is the moment,’ said Billy. ‘If I could only get as far as mydressing-gown.’ So saying, he worked himself down noiselessly to the footof his bed, looked fixedly at the fallen lids of the sleeping lady, andessayed one leg from the blanket. ‘Now or never,’ said he, pushing asidethe curtain and preparing for a spring. One more look he cast at hiscompanion, and then leaped forth; but just as he lit upon the floor sheagain roused herself, screaming with horror. Billy fell upon the bed, androlling himself in the bedclothes, vowed never to rise again till she wasout of the visible horizon.

“‘What is all this? What do you mean, sir?’ said the lady, reddening withindignation.

“‘Nothing, upon my soul, madam; it was only my dressing-gown.’

“‘Your dressing-gown!’ said she, with an emphasis worthy of Siddons; ‘alikely story for Sir Harry to believe, sir! Fie, fie, sir!’

“This last allusion seemed a settler; for the luckless Calvert heaved aprofound sigh, and sunk down as if all hope had left him. ‘Butlerforever!’ roared the mob. ‘Calvert forever!’ cried a boy’s voice fromwithout. ‘Three groans for the runaway!’ answered this announcement; and avery tender inquiry of, ‘Where is he?’ was raised by some hundred mouths.

“‘Madam,’ said the almost frantic listener,—‘madam, I must get up! Imust dress! I beg of you to permit me!’

“‘I have nothing to refuse, sir. Alas, disdain has long been my onlyportion! Get up, if you will.’

“‘But,’ said the astonished man, who was well-nigh deranged at thecoolness 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 ofthe hotel I hope you see the impropriety of my walking about the passagesin 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’clocktolled 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!” Graciousmercy! 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 deafeningshout burst from the street. ‘Perhaps you’d like to see the fun, so I’llnot detain you any longer. So, good-by, Mr. Calvert; and as your breakfastwill be cold, in all likelihood, come down to No. 4, for Sir Harry’s alate man, and will be glad to see you.’”

CHAPTER XI.

AN ADVENTURE.

As thus we lightened the road with chatting, the increasing concourse ofpeople, 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 afew 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 baronyis 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 variouspossibilities of the election, into which I was rejoiced to find thatdefeat never entered.

In the goodly days I speak of, a county contest was a very different thingindeed from the tame and insipid farce that now passes under that name:where a briefless barrister, bullied by both sides, sits as assessor; afew drunken voters, a radical O’Connellite grocer, a demagogue priest, adeputy grand-purple-something from the Trinity College lodge, with somehalf-dozen followers, shouting, “To the Devil with Peel!” or “Down withDens!” form the whole corp-de-ballet. No, no; in the times I referto the voters were some thousands in number, and the adverse parties tookthe field, far less dependent for success upon previous pledge or promisemade them than upon the actual stratagem of the day. Each went forth, likea general to battle, surrounded by a numerous and well-chosen staff,—oneparty of friends, acting as commissariat, attended to the victualling ofthe voters, that they obtained a due, or rather undue allowance of liquor,and came properly drunk to the poll; others, again, broke into skirmishingparties, and scattered over the country, cut off the enemy’s supplies,breaking down their post-chaises, upsetting their jaunting-cars, stealingtheir poll-books, and kidnapping their agents. Then there weresecret-service people, bribing the enemy and enticing them to desert; andlastly, there was a species of sapper-and-miner force, who invented falsedocuments, denied the identity of the opposite party’s people, and whenhard pushed, provided persons who took bribes from the enemy, and gaveevidence afterwards on a petition. Amidst all these encounters of wit andingenuity, the personal friends of the candidate formed a species of riflebrigade, picking out the enemy’s officers, and doing sore damage to theirtactics by shooting a proposer or wounding a seconder,—aconsiderable portion of every leading agent’s fee being intended ascompensation for the duels he might, could, would, should, or ought tofight during the election. Such, in brief, was a contest in the oldentime. And when it is taken into consideration that it usually lasted afortnight or three weeks; that a considerable military force was alwaysengaged (for our Irish law permits this), and which, when nothing pressingwas doing, was regularly assailed by both parties; that far moredependence was placed in a bludgeon than a pistol; and that the man whor*gistered a vote without a cracked pate was regarded as a kind of naturalphenomenon,—some faint idea may be formed how much such a scene musthave contributed to the peace of the county, and the happiness and welfareof all concerned in it.

As we rode along, a loud cheer from a road that ran parallel to the one wewere pursuing attracted our attention, and we perceived that the cortégeof the opposite party was hastening on to the hustings. I coulddistinguish the Blake girls on horseback among a crowd of officers inundress, and saw something like a bonnet in the carriage-and-four whichheaded the procession, and which I judged to be that of Sir GeorgeDashwood. My heart beat strongly as I strained my eyes to see if MissDashwood was there; but I could not discern her, and it was with a senseof relief that I reflected on the possibility of our not meeting undercirc*mstances wherein our feelings and interests were so completelyopposed. While I was engaged in making this survey, I had accidentallydropped behind my companions; my eyes were firmly fixed upon thatcarriage, and in the faint hope that it contained the object of all mywishes, I forgot everything else. At length the cortége entered the town,and passing beneath a heavy stone gateway, was lost to my view. I wasstill 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 leftto 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 ofpistols 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 beenloitering, when a cheer from the distant road again turned my eyes in thatdirection; it was the Dashwood carriage returning after leaving Sir Georgeat the hustings. The head of the britska, before thrown open, was nowclosed, 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 afarmer 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 horsetowards the fence at the roadside; “follow me now, boys.”

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

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

“Ah, then, av they know anything of Tim Finucane, they’ll give it uppeaceably; it’s little he’d think of taking the coach from under the judgehimself.”

“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 asfast as a racer for a short distance; so that when the agent and his partyhad come up with the carriage, I was only a few hundred yards behind. Ishouted 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 thepostilion on the leader was felled to the ground, and his place suppliedby his slayer; the boy on the wheeler shared the same fate, and in aninstant, so well managed was the attack, the carriage was in possession ofthe assailants. Four stout fellows had climbed into the box and therumble, and six others were climbing to the interior, regardless of theaid of steps. By this time the Dashwood party had got the alarm, andreturned in full force, not, however, before the other had laid whip tothe horses and set out in full gallop; and now commenced the most terrificrace I ever witnessed.

The four carriage-horses, which were the property of Sir George, wereEnglish thorough-breds of great value, and, totally unaccustomed to thetreatment they experienced, dashed forward at a pace that threatenedannihilation to the carriage at every bound. The pursuers, though wellmounted, were speedily distanced, but followed at a pace that in the endwas certain to overtake the carriage. As for myself, I rode on beside theroad at the full speed of my horse, shouting, cursing, imploring,execrating, and beseeching at turns, but all in vain; the yells and shoutsof the pursuers and pursued drowned all other sounds, except when thethundering crash of the horses’ feet rose above all. The road, like mostwestern Irish roads until the present century, lay straight as an arrowfor miles, regardless of every opposing barrier, and in the instance inquestion, crossed a mountain at its very highest point. Towards thispinnacle the pace had been tremendous; but owing to the higher breeding ofthe cattle, the carriage party had still the advance, and when theyreached the top they proclaimed the victory by a cheer of triumph andderision. The carriage disappeared beneath the crest of the mountain, andthe pursuers halted as if disposed to relinquish the chase.

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

It was no time for deliberation, and they followed me with a hearty cheerthat convinced me I was unknown. The next instant we were on the mountaintop, and beheld the carriage half way down beneath us, still galloping atfull stretch.

“We have them now,” said a voice behind me; “they’ll never turn LurraBridge, if we only press on.”

The speaker was right; the road at the mountain foot turned at a perfectright angle, and then crossed a lofty one-arched bridge over a mountaintorrent that ran deep and boisterously beneath. On we went, gaining atevery stride; for the fellows who rode postilion well knew what was beforethem, and slackened their pace to secure a safe turning. A yell of victoryarose from the pursuers, but was answered by the others with a cheer ofdefiance. The space was now scarcely two hundred yards between us, whenthe head of the britska was flung down, and a figure that I at oncerecognized as the redoubted Tim Finucane, one of the boldest and mostreckless fellows in the county, was seen standing on the seat, holding,—graciousHeavens! it was true,—holding in his arms the apparently lifelessfigure of Miss Dashwood.

“Hold in!” shouted the ruffian, with a voice that rose high above all theother 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 andfoamed a few yards before us.

He had by this time got firmly planted on the hind seat, and held thedrooping 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 acertainty if you press on.”

“And we know you, too,” said a ruffianly fellow, with a dark whiskermeeting 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, maddenedand infuriated, sprang forward, and heedless of all efforts to turn themthe leaders sprang over the low parapet of the bridge, and hanging for asecond 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 thebox, and regardless of the death and ruin around, bent upon his murderousobject, he lifted the light and girlish form above his head, bentbackwards as if to give greater impulse to his effort, when, twining mylash around my wrist, I levelled my heavy and loaded hunting-whip at hishead. The weighted ball of lead struck him exactly beneath his hat; hestaggered, his hands relaxed, and he fell lifeless to the ground; the sameinstant 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 wasrestored to consciousness. The blow by which I was felled—from whathand coming it was never after discovered—had brought on concussionof the brain, and for several days my life was despaired of. As by slowsteps I advanced towards recovery, I learned from Considine that MissDashwood, whose life was saved by my interference, had testified, in thewarmest manner, her gratitude, and that Sir George had, up to the periodof his leaving the country, never omitted a single day to ride over andinquire for me.

“You know, of course,” said the count, supposing such news was the mostlikely 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 twoo’clock, when our fellows lost all patience and beat their tallies out ofthe town. The police came up, but they beat the police; then they gotsoldiers, but, begad, they were too strong for them, too. Sir Georgewitnessed 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 heresigned. I must say no man could behave better. He came across thehustings and shook hands with Godfrey; and as the news of the scrimmagewith his daughter had just arrived, said that he was sorry his prospect ofsuccess had not been greater, that in resigning he might testify howdeeply 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 mysoul, I think he was half sorry that he gained the day. Do you know, hetook 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 heretoo long. I’ll send up Mickey to sit with you. Mind and don’t be talkingtoo much to him.”

So saying, the worthy count left the room fully impressed that in hintingat the possibility of my uncle’s marrying again, he had said something toruffle my temper.

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

Whenever my uncle or Considine were not in the room, my companion was myown servant, Michael, or as he was better known, “Mickey Free.” Now, hadMickey been left to his own free and unrestricted devices, the time wouldnot have hung so heavily; for among Mike’s manifold gifts he was possessedof a very great flow of gossiping conversation. He knew all that was doingin the county, and never was barren in his information wherever hisimagination could come into play. Mickey was the best hurler in thebarony, no mean performer on the violin, could dance the national boleroof “Tatter Jack Walsh” in a way that charmed more than one soft heartbeneath a red woolsey bodice, and had, withal, the peculiar free-and-easydevil-may-care kind of off-hand Irish way that never deserted him in themidst of his wiliest and most subtle moments, giving to a very deep andcunning fellow all the apparent frankness and openness of a country lad.

He had attached himself to me as a kind of sporting companion; and growingdaily more and more useful, had been gradually admitted to the honors ofthe kitchen and the prerogatives of cast clothes, without ever having beenactually engaged as a servant; and while thus no warrant officer, as, infact, he discharged all his duties well and punctually, was rated amongthe ship’s company, though no one could say at what precise period hechanged his caterpillar existence and became the gay butterfly with cordsand tops, a striped vest, and a most knowing jerry hat who stalked aboutthe stable-yard and bullied the helpers. Such was Mike. He had made hisfortune, such as it was, and had a most becoming pride in the fact that hemade himself indispensable to an establishment which, before he enteredit, never knew the want of him. As for me, he was everything to me. Mikeinformed 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 ofpartridge quicker than the “Morning Post” does of a noble family from theContinent, and could tell their whereabouts twice as accurately. But histalents took a wider range than field sports afford, and he was thefaithful chronicler of every wake, station, wedding, or christening formiles round; and as I took no small pleasure in those very nationalpastimes, the information was of great value to me. To conclude this briefsketch, Mike was a devout Catholic in the same sense that he wasenthusiastic about anything,—that is, he believed and obeyed exactlyas far as suited his own peculiar notions of comfort and happiness. Beyondthat, his scepticism stepped in and saved him from inconvenience;and though he might have been somewhat puzzled to reduce his faith to arubric, still it answered his purpose, and that was all he wanted. Such,in short, was my valet, Mickey Free, and who, had not heavy injunctionsbeen laid on him as to silence and discretion, would well have lightenedmy weary hours.

“Ah, then, Misther Charles!” said he, with a half-suppressed yawn at thelong 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’shard to tell.”

“I thought you were too good a Catholic, Mickey, to show any doubts on thematter?”

“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 youwent 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 doingwith all the powther and shot, wouldn’t he tell you he’s shooting therooks, and the magpies, and some other varmint? But myself knows he sellsit to Widow Casey, at two-and-fourpence a pound; so belikes, Father Roachmay be shooting away at the poor souls in purgathory, that all this timeare 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 sayinganything about it afther, for I don’t like to talk about these kind ofthings.”

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 wasmurdered in Ballinasloe one night, when he was baitin’ the whole town witha blackthorn stick he had; more by token, a piece of a scythe was stuck atthe end of it,—a nate weapon, and one he was mighty partial to; butthose murdering thieves, the cattle-dealers, that never cared fordiversion 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 paidFather Roach fifteen shillings, and made him mighty drunk, he always gaveme a black look wherever I met him, and when I took off my hat, he’d turnaway 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 cominghome from Athlone market, by myself on the road, when Father Roachovertook 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 mestraight in the face.

“‘Mickey,’ says he,—‘Mickey.’

“‘Father,’ says I.

“‘Is it that way you salute your clargy,’ says he, ‘with your caubeen onyour head?’

“‘Faix,’ says I, ‘it’s little ye mind whether it’s an or aff; for younever take the trouble to say, “By your leave,” or “Damn your soul!” orany other politeness when we meet.’

“‘You’re an ungrateful creature,’ says he; ‘and if you only knew, you’d betrembling 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 intelling you.’

“‘Telling me what?’ says I; for I was getting curious to make out what hemeant.

“‘Mickey,’ says he, changing his voice, and putting his head down close tome,—‘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 newcorduroys he bought in the fair?’

“‘Oh, then, you are a could-hearted creature!’ says he, ‘and I’ll not losetime with you.’ With that he was going to ride away, when I took hold ofthe 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 otheropinion.’

“‘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 youknow?’

“‘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 mightyhard man.’

“‘True for you, Father Roach,’ says I to myself; ‘av he had only the ouldstick 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’sa great disgrace to a decent family.’

“‘Troth, it is,’ says I; ‘but my father always liked low company. Couldnothing be done for him now, Father Roach?’ says I, looking up in thepriest’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 arestless 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’ssoul; 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 craytureout 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 gethim out?’

“‘Now you talk like a sensible man,’ says he. ‘Now, Mickey, I’ve hopes foryou. Let me see,’ here he went countin’ upon his fingers, and numberin’ tohimself for five minutes. ‘Mickey,’ says he, ‘I’ve a batch coming out onTuesday week, and if you were to make great exertions, perhaps your fathercould 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’sbringing things to a focus.’

“‘Two Masses in the morning, fastin’,’ says Father Roach, half aloud, ‘istwo, and two in the afternoon is four, and two at vespers is six,’ sayshe; ‘six Masses a day for nine days is close by sixty Masses,—saysixty,’ says he; ‘and they’ll cost you—mind, Mickey, and don’t betelling it again, for it’s only to yourself I’d make them so cheap—amatter of three pounds.’

“‘Three pounds!’ says I; ‘be-gorra ye might as well ax me to give you therock of Cashel.’

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

“‘Wait a bit, your reverence,’ says I,—‘wait a bit. Would fortyshillings get him out?’

“‘Av course it wouldn’t,’ says he.

“‘May be,’ says I, coaxing,—‘may be, av you said that his son was apoor 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’llgive you the money, but I can’t afford it all at onst; but I’ll pay fiveshillings a week. Will that do?’

“‘I’ll do my endayvors,’ says Father Roach; ‘and I’ll speak to them totreat him peaceably in the meantime.’

“‘Long life to yer reverence, and do. Well, here now, here’s five hogs tobegin with; and, musha, but I never thought I’d be spending my loosechange that way.’

“Father Roach put the six tinpinnies in the pocket of his black leatherbreeches, 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 fiveshillings a week, and I did do it for three weeks regular; then I broughtfour and fourpence; then it came down to one and tenpence halfpenny, thenninepence, and at last I had nothing at all to bring.

“‘Mickey Free,’ says the priest, ‘ye must stir yourself. Your father ismighty displeased at the way you’ve been doing of late; and av ye kept yerword, 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 isdone. 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 enjoyinghimself 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 houryesterday evening, getting out Luke Kennedy’s mother. Decent people theKennedy’s; never spared expense.’

“‘And ye seen my father?’ says I.

“‘I did,’ says he; ‘he had an ould flannel waistcoat on, and a pipesticking 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 onhis 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 wastreated 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 queerthing, 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 onehand, ‘we must do our best, anyhow; and ye think this’ll get him outsurely?’

“‘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,—sothat, ye see, a thrifle more’ll do it.’

“‘Faix, and yer reverence,’ says I, ‘you’ve lightened my heart thismorning.’ 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 fatheryou 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 toConnaught id hould him. So, Father Roach, I wish you the top of themorning.’ And I went away laughing; and from that day to this I neverheard more of purgathory; and ye see, Master Charles, I think I wasright.”

Scarcely had Mike concluded when my door was suddenly burst open, and SirHarry Boyle, without assuming any of his usual precautions respectingsilence and quiet, rushed into the room, a broad grin upon his honestfeatures, and his eyes twinkling in a way that evidently showed mesomething had occurred to amuse him.

“By Jove, Charley, I mustn’t keep it from you; it’s too good a thing notto tell you. Do you remember that very essenced young gentleman whoaccompanied Sir George Dashwood from Dublin, as a kind of electioneeringfriend?”

“Do you mean Mr. Prettyman?”

“The very man; he was, you are aware, an under-secretary in somegovernment department. Well, it seems that he had come down among us poorsavages as much from motives of learned research and scientific inquiry,as though we had been South Sea Islanders; report had gifted us humbleGalwayans with some very peculiar traits, and this gifted individualresolved to record them. Whether the election week might have sufficed hisappetite for wonders I know not; but he was peaceably taking his departurefrom the west on Saturday last, when Phil Macnamara met him, and pressedhim to dine that day with a few friends at his house. You know Phil; sothat when I tell you Sam Burke, of Greenmount, and Roger Doolan were ofthe party, I need not say that the English traveller was not left to hisown unassisted imagination for his facts. Such anecdotes of our habits andcustoms as they crammed him with, it would appear, never were heardbefore; nothing was too hot or too heavy for the luckless co*ckney, who,when not sipping his claret, was faithfully recording in his tablet themems. 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 wedon’t know you, gentlemen,—we don’t indeed,—at the other sideof 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 betterunderstanding ere long.”

“Such, my dear sir, will be the proudest task of my life. The facts I haveheard here this evening have made so profound an impression upon me that Iburn for the moment when I can make them known to the world at large. Tothink—just to think that a portion of this beautiful island shouldbe steeped in poverty; that the people not only live upon the merepotatoes, 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, ‘theybeing the largest species of the root, and best adapted for wearingapparel.’

“‘I should deem myself culpable—indeed I should—did I notinform my countrymen upon the real condition of this great country.’

“‘Why, after your great opportunities for judging,’ said Phil, ‘you oughtto speak out. You’ve seen us in a way, I may fairly affirm, few Englishmenhave, and heard more.’

“‘That’s it,—that’s the very thing, Mr. Macnamara. I’ve looked atyou more closely; I’ve watched you more narrowly; I’ve witnessed what theFrench call your vie intime.’

“‘Begad you have,’ said old Burke, with a grin, ‘and profited by it to theutmost.’

“‘I’ve been a spectator of your election contests; I’ve partaken of yourhospitality; I’ve witnessed your popular and national sports; I’ve beenpresent at your weddings, your fairs, your wakes; but no,—I wasforgetting,—I never saw a wake.’

“‘Never saw a wake?’ repeated each of the company in turn, as though thegentleman was uttering a sentiment of very dubious veracity.

“‘Never,’ said Mr. Prettyman, rather abashed at this proof of hisincapacity to instruct his English friends upon all matters ofIrish interest.

“‘Well, then,’ said Macnamara, ‘with a blessing, we’ll show you one. Lordforbid that we shouldn’t do the honors of our poor country to anintelligent foreigner when he’s good enough to come among us.’

“‘Peter,’ said he, turning to the servant behind him, ‘who’s deadhereabouts?’

“‘Sorra one, yer honor. Since the scrimmage at Portumna the place ispeaceable.’

“‘Who died lately in the neighborhood?’

“‘The widow Macbride, yer honor.’

“‘Couldn’t they take her up again, Peter? My friend here never saw awake.’

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

“Mr. Prettyman shuddered at these peaceful indications of theneighborhood, and said nothing.

“‘Well, then, Peter, tell Jimmy Divine to take the old musket in mybedroom, and go over to the Clunagh bog,—he can’t go wrong. There’stwelve families there that never pay a halfpenny rent; and when it’sdone, let him give notice to the neighborhood, and we’ll have arousing wake.’

“‘You don’t mean, Mr. Macnamara,—you don’t mean to say—’stammered out the co*ckney, with a face like a ghost.

“‘I only mean to say,’ said Phil, laughing, ‘that you’re keeping thedecanter very long at your right hand.’

“Burke contrived to interpose before the Englishman could ask anyexplanation of what he had just heard,—and for some minutes he couldonly wait in impatient anxiety,—when a loud report of a gun closebeside the house attracted the attention of the guests. The next momentold 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 oneof 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 brokeover his forehead. ‘Did he murder the man?’

“‘Sorra murder,’ said Peter, disdainfully. ‘But why shouldn’t he shoot himwhen the master bid him?’

“I needn’t tell you more, Charley; but in ten minutes after, feigning someexcuse to leave the room, the terrified co*ckney took flight, and offeringtwenty guineas for a horse to convey him to Athlone, he left Galway, fullyconvinced 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 morningmy uncle informed me that I was at length to leave my native county andenter upon the great world as a student of Trinity College, Dublin.Although long since in expectation of this eventful change, it was with noslight feeling of emotion I contemplated the step which, removing me atonce from all my early friends and associations, was to surround me withnew companions and new influences, and place before me very differentobjects of ambition from those I had hitherto been regarding.

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

“Upon my conscience, boy, you are in luck. If there had been a Bible inthe house, I firmly believe he’d have made you a parson.”

Considine alone, of all my uncle’s advisers, did not concur in thisdetermination respecting me. He set forth, with an eloquence thatcertainly converted me, that my head was better calculated forbearing hard knocks than unravelling knotty points, that a shako wouldbecome it infinitely better than a wig; and declared, roundly, that a boywho began so well and had such very pretty notions about shooting waspositively 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 quitea brilliant anticipation of the success awaiting me in my legal career. Asfor myself, though only a silent spectator of the debate, all my wisheswere with the count. From my earliest boyhood a military life had been mystrongest desire; the roll of the drum, and the shrill fife that playedthrough the little village, with its ragged troop of recruits following,had charms for me I cannot describe; and had a choice been allowed me, Iwould infinitely rather have been a sergeant in the dragoons than one ofhis Majesty’s learned in the law. If, then, such had been the cherishedfeeling of many a year, how much more strongly were my aspirationsheightened by the events of the last few days. The tone of superiority Ihad witnessed in Hammersley, whose conduct to me at parting had placed himhigh in my esteem; the quiet contempt of civilians implied in a thousandsly ways; the exalted estimate of his own profession,—at oncewounded my pride and stimulated my ambition; and lastly, more than all,the avowed preference that Lucy Dashwood evinced for a military life, werestronger allies than my own conviction needed to make me long for thearmy. So completely did the thought possess me that I felt, if I were nota soldier, I cared not what became of me. Life had no other object ofambition for me than military renown, no other success for which I caredto struggle, or would value when obtained. “Aut Caesar aut nullus,” thought I; and when my uncle determined I should be a lawyer, I neithermurmured nor objected, but hugged myself in the prophecy of Considine thathinted 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 shouldbe immediately despatched to Dublin to the care of Dr. Mooney, then ajunior fellow in the University, who would take me into his especialcharge; 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 highprice. Provided with such documents I was informed that the gates ofknowledge were more than half ajar for me, without an effort upon my part.One only portion of all the arrangements I heard with anything likepleasure; 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—, thatI took my place upon the box-seat of the old Galway mail and set out on myjourney. My heart was depressed, and my spirits were miserably low. I hadall that feeling of sadness which leave-taking inspires, and no sustainingprospect to cheer me in the distance. For the first time in my life, I hadseen a tear glisten in my poor uncle’s eye, and heard his voice falter ashe said, “Farewell!” Notwithstanding the difference of age, we had beenperfectly companions together; and as I thought now over all the thousandkindnesses and affectionate instances of his love I had received, my heartgave way, and the tears coursed slowly down my cheeks. I turned to giveone 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 leaveof Galway.

My friend Mickey, who sat behind with the guard, participated but littlein my feelings of regret. The potatoes in the metropolis could scarcely beas wet as the lumpers in Scariff; he had heard that whiskey was notdearer, and looked forward to the other delights of the capital with alonging heart. Meanwhile, resolved that no portion of his career should belost, he was lightening the road by anecdote and song, and held anaudience of four people, a very crusty-looking old guard included, inroars of laughter. Mike had contrived, with his usual savoir faire,to make himself very agreeable to an extremely pretty-looking countrygirl, around whose waist he had most lovingly passed his arm underpretence of keeping her from falling, and to whom, in the midst of all hisattentions 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 hisspade 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 constantintercourse with the Athlone attorney. The poor countryman accordinglyhastened through the fence and pursued the coach with all speed for abovea mile, Mike pretending all the time to be in the greatest anxiety for hisovertaking them, until at last, as he stopped in despair, a hearty roar oflaughter 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 kingsixpence.”

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 myreaders feel disposed to sing it, I may observe, bore a resemblance to thewell-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 Iheard sundry sounds resembling drinking, with frequent good wishes to theprovider of the feast,—“Long life to ye, Mr. Free,” “Your health andinclinations, Mr. Free,” etc.; to which Mr. Free responded by drinkingthose of the company, “av they were vartuous.” The amicable relations thushappily established promised a very lasting reign, and would doubtlesshave enjoyed such, had not a slight incident occurred which for a briefseason interrupted them. At the village where we stopped to breakfast,three very venerable figures presented themselves for places in the insideof the coach; they were habited in black coats, breeches, and gaiters,wore hats of a very ecclesiastic breadth in their brim, and had altogetherthe peculiar air and bearing which distinguishes their calling, being noless than three Roman Catholic prelates on their way to Dublin to attend aconvocation. While Mickey and his friends, with the ready tact which everylow Irishman possesses, immediately perceived who and what theseworshipful individuals were, another traveller who had just assumed hisplace on the outside participated but little in the feelings of reverenceso manifestly displayed, but gave a sneer of a very ominous kind as theskirt of the last black coat disappeared within the coach. This latterindividual was a short, thick-set, bandy-legged man of about fifty, withan enormous nose, which, whatever its habitual coloring, on the morning inquestion was of a brilliant purple. He wore a blue coat with brightbuttons, upon which some letters were inscribed; and around his neck wasfastened a ribbon of the same color, to which a medal was attached. Thishe displayed with something of ostentation whenever an opportunityoccurred, and seemed altogether a person who possessed a most satisfactoryimpression of his own importance. In fact, had not this feeling beenparticipated in by others, Mr. Billy Crow would never have been deputed byNo. 13,476 to carry their warrant down to the west country, and establishthe nucleus of an Orange Lodge in the town of Foxleigh; such being, inbrief, the reason why he, a very well known manufacturer of “leathercontinuations” in Dublin, had ventured upon the perilous journey fromwhich 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 fêtedhim; he had made several splendid orations, with the usual number ofprophecies about the speedy downfall of Romanism, the inevitable return ofProtestant ascendancy, the pleasing prospect that with increased effortand improved organization they should soon be able to have everythingtheir own way, and clear the Green Isle of the horrible vermin SaintPatrick forgot when banishing the others; and that if Daniel O’Connell(whom might the Lord confound!) could only be hanged, and Sir HarcourtLees made Primate of all Ireland, there were still some hopes of peace andprosperity to the country.

Mr. Crow had no sooner assumed his place upon the coach than he saw thathe was in the camp of the enemy. Happily for all parties, indeed, inIreland, political differences have so completely stamped the externals ofeach party that he must be a man of small penetration who cannot, in thefirst five minutes he is thrown among strangers, calculate withconsiderable certainty whether it will be more conducive to his happinessto 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 truefollower of King William. He could have given you more genericdistinctions to guide you in the decision than ever did Cuvier todesignate an antediluvian mammoth; so that no sooner had he seated himselfupon the coach than he buttoned up his great-coat, stuck his hands firmlyin his side-pockets, pursed up his lips, and looked altogether like a manthat, feeling himself out of his element, resolves to “bide his time” inpatience until chance may throw him among more congenial associates.Mickey Free, who was himself no mean proficient in reading a character, atone glance saw his man, and began hammering his brains to see if he couldnot overreach him. The small portmanteau which contained Billy’s wardrobebore 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 theother’s wearing apparel, which is always in the west considered a piece ofvery courteous attention. By degrees the dialogue prospered, and Mickeybegan to make some very important revelations about himself and hismaster, intimating that the “state of the country” was such that a man ofhis way of thinking had no peace or quiet in it.

“That’s him there, forenent ye,” said Mickey, “and a better Protestantnever hated Mass. Ye understand.”

“What!” said Billy, unbuttoning the collar of his coat to get a fairerview 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 intimatetheir “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’tknow 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 notthe men to have that same said to them.”

“Of course I wouldn’t offend them,” said Mr. Crow; “faith, it’s not mewould cast reflections upon such real out-and-outers as they are. Andwhere 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 notdiscovering the three Mr. Trenches of Tallybash, though he only caughtsight of their backs.

Mickey Free interrupted not the frame of mind in which he saw convictionwas slowly working its way, but by gently humming in an undertone theloyal melody of “Croppies Lie Down,” fanned the flame he had sodexterously kindled. At length they reached the small town of Kinnegad.While the coach changed horses, Mr. Crow lost not a moment in descendingfrom the top, and rushing into the little inn, disappeared for a fewmoments. When he again issued forth, he carried a smoking tumbler ofwhiskey punch, which he continued to stir with a spoon. As he approachedthe coach-door he tapped gently with his knuckles; upon which the reverendprelate of Maronia, or Mesopotamia, I forget which, inquired what hewanted.

“I ask your pardon, gentlemen,” said Billy, “but I thought I’d make boldto ask you to take something warm this cold day.”

“Many thanks, my good friend; but we never do,” said a bland voice fromwithin.

“I understand,” said Billy, with a sly wink; “but there are circ*mstancesnow 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 nothingstronger than water—”

“Botheration,” thought Billy, as he regarded the speaker’s nose. “But Ithought,” said he, aloud, “that you would not refuse this.”

Here he made a peculiar manifestation in the air, which, whatever respectand reverence it might carry to the honest brethren of 13,476, seemed onlyto 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 ofhis 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 sureI am; here’s ‘No surrender,’ your souls! whoop—” a loud yellaccompanying 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, ‘Theglorious, 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 oftheir principles, resolved to assert the pre-eminence of the great causesingle-handed and alone.

“‘Here’s the Pope in the pillory, and the Devil pelting him withpriests.’”

At these words a kick from behind apprised the loyal champion that a veryragged auditory, who for some time past had not well understood the gistof his eloquence, had at length comprehended enough to be angry. Cen’est que le premier pas qui coûte, certainly, in an Irish row. “Themerest urchin may light the train; one handful of mud often ignites ashindy that ends in a most bloody battle.”

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

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

As for Mickey and his friends behind, their mirth knew no bounds; andexcept the respectable insides, there was not an individual about thecoach who ceased to think of and laugh at the incident till we arrived inDublin 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 myselfto 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 tobe a character necessarily severe and unbending; and as the only two verygreat people I had ever seen in my life were the Archbishop of Tuam andthe chief-baron when on circuit, I pictured to myself that a universityfellow was, in all probability, a cross between the two, and feared himaccordingly.

The doctor read over my uncle’s letter attentively, invited me to partakeof his breakfast, and then entered upon something like an account of thelife before me; for which Sir Harry Boyle had, however, in some degreeprepared me.

“Your uncle, I find, wishes you to live in college,—perhaps it isbetter, too,—so that I must look out for chambers for you. Let mesee: it will be rather difficult, just now, to find them.” Here he fellfor some moments into a musing fit, and merely muttered a few brokensentences, as: “To be sure, if other chambers could be had—but then—andafter all, perhaps, as he is young—besides, Frank will certainly beexpelled 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 wildcompanion; but as your uncle says you’re a prudent fellow,”—here hesmiled 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 somebetter arrangement. My pupil, Frank Webber, is at this moment in want of a‘chum,’ as the phrase is,—his last three having only beendomesticated with him for as many weeks; so that until we find you a morequiet resting-place, you may take up your abode with him.”

During breakfast, the doctor proceeded to inform me that my destinedcompanion was a young man of excellent family and good fortune who, withvery considerable talents and acquirements, preferred a life of racketyand careless dissipation to prospects of great success in public life,which his connection and family might have secured for him. That he hadbeen originally entered at Oxford, which he was obliged to leave; thentried Cambridge, from which he escaped expulsion by being rusticated,—thatis, having incurred a sentence of temporary banishment; and lastly, wasendeavoring, with what he himself believed to be a total reformation, tostumble 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 theuniversity 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 squarewhere, up the first floor left, to use the college direction, stood thename of Mr. Webber, a large No. 2 being conspicuously painted in themiddle of the door and not over it, as is usually the custom. As wereached the spot, the observations of my companion were lost to me in thetremendous noise and uproar that resounded from within. It seemed as if anumber of people were fighting pretty much as a banditti in a melodramado, with considerable more of confusion than requisite; a fiddle and aFrench horn also lent their assistance to shouts and cries which, to saythe 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, suddenlyall became hushed and still; a momentary pause succeeded, and the door wasopened 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 carpetingand softly cushioned sofas contrasted strangely with the meagre andcomfortless chambers of the doctor, sat a young man at a smallbreakfast-table beside the fire. He was attired in a silk dressing-gownand black velvet slippers, and supported his forehead upon a hand of mostlady-like whiteness, whose fingers were absolutely covered with rings ofgreat beauty and price. His long silky brown hair fell in rich profusionupon the back of his neck and over his arm, and the whole air and attitudewas one which a painter might have copied. So intent was he upon thevolume before him that he never raised his head at our approach, butcontinued to read aloud, totally unaware of our presence.

“Dr. Mooney, sir,” said the servant.

“Ton dapamey bominos, prosephe, crione Agamemnon” repeated thestudent, in an ecstasy, and not paying the slightest attention to theannouncement.

“Dr. Mooney, sir,” repeated the servant, in a louder tone, while thedoctor 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 softand insinuating voice, while the speaker passed his taper fingers acrosshis brow, as if to dissipate the traces of deep thought and study.

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

“May I offer you a cup of coffee, Mr. O’Malley?” said the youth, with anair of almost timid bashfulness. “The doctor, I know, breakfasts at a veryearly hour.”

“I say, Webber,” said the doctor, who could no longer restrain hiscuriosity, “what an awful row I heard here as I came up to the door. Ithought 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 ourselvestalking with the uproar.”

“Yes, indeed, it is very provoking; but then, what’s to be done? One can’tcomplain, under the circ*mstances.”

“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 tolearn 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 thedean?”

“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 readingman, I must go elsewhere.”

Now, it so chanced that the worthy dean, who albeit a man of mostabstemious habits, possessed a nose which, in color and development, was amost unfortunate witness to call to character, and as Mooney heard Webbernarrate circ*mstantially 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 intimatefriends,” said Webber.

“Of course not,” said the doctor, as he shook his hand warmly, andprepared to leave the room. “O’Malley, I leave you here,” said he; “Webberand you can talk over your arrangements.”

Webber followed the doctor to the door, whispered something in his ear, towhich the other replied, “Very well, I will write; but if your fathersends the money, I must insist—” The rest was lost in protestationsand 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, itwas still ample enough to effect a very thorough and remarkable change inthe whole external appearance of Mr. Frank Webber; for scarcely had theoaken panel shut out the doctor, when he appeared no longer the shy,timid, and silvery-toned gentleman of five minutes before, but dashingboldly forward, he seized a key-bugle that lay hid beneath a sofa-cushionand blew a tremendous blast.

“Come forth, ye demons of the lower world,” said he, drawing a cloth froma large table, and discovering the figures of three young men coiled upbeneath. “Come forth, and fear not, most timorous freshmen that ye are,” said he, unlocking a pantry, and liberating two others. “Gentlemen, let meintroduce to your acquaintance Mr. O’Malley. My chum, gentlemen. Mr.O’Malley, that is Harry Nesbitt, who has been in college since the days ofold Perpendicular, and numbers more cautions than any man who ever had hisname on the books. Here is my particular friend, Cecil Cavendish, the onlyman who could ever devil kidneys. Captain Power, Mr. O’Malley, a dashingdragoon, as you see; aide-de-camp to his Excellency the Lord Lieutenant,and love-maker-general to Merrion Square West. These,” said he, pointingto the late denizens of the pantry, “are jibs whose names are neitherknown to the proctor nor the police-office; but with due regard to theireducation and morals, we don’t despair.”

“By no means,” said Power; “but come, let us resume our game.” At thesewords he took a folio atlas of maps from a small table, and displayedbeneath a pack of cards, dealt as if for whist. The two gentlemen to whomI was introduced by name returned to their places; the unknown two put ontheir boxing gloves, and all resumed the hilarity which Dr. Mooney’sadvent had so suddenly interrupted.

“Where’s Moore?” said Webber, as he once more seated himself at hisbreakfast.

“Making a spatch-co*ck, sir,” said the servant.

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

“Mr. O’Malley, Mr. Moore, the gentleman who, by repeated remonstrances tothe board, has succeeded in getting eatable food for the inhabitants ofthis penitentiary, and has the honored reputation of reforming the commonsof 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 thedecanter, 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 washe pinked Bodkin.”

“Ah, indeed,” said Power, not turning his head from his game, “a prettyshot, I heard,—two by honors,—and hit him fairly,—theodd 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 showO’Malley,—confound the Mister!—something of the place.”

“Agreed.”

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

“I say, Power, you’d better bring the drag over here for us; we can all godown together.”

“I must inform you,” said Cavendish, “that, thanks to your philanthropicefforts of last night, the passage from Grafton Street to Stephen’s Greenis impracticable.” A tremendous roar of laughter followed thisannouncement; and though at the time the cause was unknown to me, I may aswell mention it here, as I subsequently learned it from my companions.

Among the many peculiar tastes which distinguished Mr. Francis Webber wasan extraordinary fancy for street-begging. He had, over and over, wonlarge sums upon his success in that difficult walk; and so perfect werehis disguises,—both of dress, voice, and manner,—that heactually at one time succeeded in obtaining charity from his very opponentin the wager. He wrote ballads with the greatest facility, and sang themwith infinite pathos and humor; and the old woman at the corner of CollegeGreen was certain of an audience when the severity of the night wouldleave all other minstrelsy deserted. As these feats of jonglerieusually terminated in a row, it was a most amusing part of the transactionto see the singer’s part taken by the mob against the college men, who,growing impatient to carry him off to supper somewhere, would invariablybe obliged to have a fight for the booty.

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

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

To stop in the street of any crowded city is, under any circ*mstances, aninvitation to others to do likewise which is rarely unaccepted; but whenin addition to this you stand fixedly in one spot and regard with sternintensity any object near you, the chances are ten to one that you haveseveral companions in your curiosity before a minute expires.

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

“What is it, agra?” inquired an old woman, very much in his own style ofdress, 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 intenselyat 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 thecrushing and squeezing to get near the important spot was awful.

“Where did he come from?” “Who is he?” “How did he get there?” werequestions on every side; and various surmises were afloat till Webber,rising from his knees, said, in a mysterious whisper, to those nearesthim, “He’s made his escape to-night out o’ Newgate by the big drain, andlost 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 hashis claim upon their sympathy; but let him be caught in the very act ofcheating the authorities and evading the law, and his popularity knows nobounds. Webber knew this well, and as the mob thickened around himsustained an imaginary conversation that Savage Landor might have envied,imparting now and then such hints concerning the runaway as raised theirinterest to the highest pitch, and fifty different versions were relatedon all sides,—of the crime he was guilty of, the sentence that waspassed on him, and the day he was to suffer.

“Do you see the light, dear?” said Webber, as some ingeniously benevolentindividual had lowered down a candle with a string,—“do ye see thelight? Oh, he’s fainted, the creature!” A cry of horror burst forth fromthe crowd at these words, followed by a universal shout of, “Break openthe street.”

Pickaxes, shovels, spades, and crowbars seemed absolutely the walkingaccompaniments of the crowd, so suddenly did they appear upon the field ofaction; and the work of exhumation was begun with a vigor that speedilycovered nearly half of the street with mud and paving-stones. Partiesrelieved each other at the task, and ere half an hour a hole capable ofcontaining a mail-coach was yawning in one of the most frequentedthoroughfares of Dublin. Meanwhile, as no appearance of the culprit couldbe had, dreadful conjectures as to his fate began to gain ground. By thistime the authorities had received intimation of what was going forward,and attempted to disperse the crowd; but Webber, who still continued toconduct the prosecution, called on them to resist the police and save thepoor creature. And now began a most terrific fray: the stones, forming aready weapon, were hurled at the unprepared constables, who on their sidefought manfully, but against superior numbers; so that at last it was onlyby the aid of a military force the mob could be dispersed, and a riotwhich had assumed a very serious character got under. Meanwhile Webber hadreached his chambers, changed his costume, and was relating over asupper-table the narrative of his philanthropy to a very admiring circleof his friends.

Such was my chum, Frank Webber; and as this was the first anecdote I hadheard of him, I relate it here that my readers may be in possession of thegrounds 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 matriculatedstudent of the university, and the possessor of chambers within its wallsin conjunction with the sage and prudent gentleman I have introduced to myreaders in the last chapter. Had my intentions on entering college been ofthe most studious and regular kind, the companion into whose society I wasthen immediately thrown would have quickly dissipated them. He votedmorning chapels a bore, Greek lectures a humbug, examinations a farce, andpronounced the statute-book, with its attendant train of fines andpunishment, an “unclean thing.” With all my country habits andpredilections fresh upon me, that I was an easily-won disciple to his codeneed not be wondered at; and indeed ere many days had passed over, mythorough indifference to all college rules and regulations had given me ahigh place in the esteem of Webber and his friends. As for myself, I wasmost agreeably surprised to find that what I had looked forward to as avery melancholy banishment, was likely to prove a most agreeable sojourn.Under Webber’s directions there was no hour of the day that hung heavilyupon our hands. We rose about eleven and breakfasted, after whichsucceeded fencing, sparring, billiards, or tennis in the park; aboutthree, got on horseback, and either cantered in the Phoenix or about thesquares till visiting time; after which, made our calls, and then dressedfor dinner, which we never thought of taking at commons, but had it fromMorrison’s,—we both being reported sick in the dean’s list, andthereby exempt from the routine fare of the fellows’ table. In the eveningour occupations became still more pressing; there were balls, suppers,whist parties, rows at the theatre, shindies in the street, devilleddrumsticks at Hayes’s, select oyster parties at the Carlingford,—infact, every known method of remaining up all night, and appearing bothpale and penitent the following morning.

Webber had a large acquaintance in Dublin, and soon made me known to themall. Among others, the officers of the —th Light Dragoons, in whichregiment Power was captain, were his particular friends; and we hadfrequent invitations to dine at their mess. There it was first thatmilitary life presented itself to me in its most attractive possible form,and heightened the passion I had already so strongly conceived for thearmy. Power, above all others, took my fancy. He was a gay,dashing-looking, handsome fellow of about eight-and-twenty, who hadalready seen some service, having joined while his regiment was inPortugal; was in heart and soul a soldier; and had that species of prideand enthusiasm in all that regarded a military career that forms no smallpart 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 pleasedat many slight attentions in his manner towards me.

“I called on you to-day, Mr. O’Malley,” said he, “in company with a friendwho 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 onanother day; my companion has most urgent reasons for seeing you. I seeyou are puzzled,” said he; “and although I promised to keep his secret, Imust blab. It was Sir George Dashwood was with me; he told us of your mostromantic adventure in the west,—and faith there is no doubt yousaved the lady’s life.”

“Was she worth the trouble of it?” said the old major, whose conjugalexperiences 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 trueman will follow my example.”

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

“Sir George is cudgelling his brain to show his gratitude to you,” saidPower.

“What a pity, for the sake of his peace of mind, that you’re not in thearmy,” said another; “it’s so easy to show a man a delicate regard by aquick promotion.”

“A devil of a pity for his own sake, too,” said Power, again; “they’regoing to make a lawyer of as strapping a fellow as ever carried asabretasche.”

“A lawyer!” cried out half a dozen together, pretty much with the sametone and emphasis as though he had said a twopenny postman; “the devilthey are.”

“Cut the service at once; you’ll get no promotion in it,” said thecolonel; “a fellow with a black eye like you would look much better at thehead of a squadron than of a string of witnesses. Trust me, you’d shinemore 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, ifit was only for O’Malley’s use and benefit, as we say in the parchments, Imust tell you the story.”

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

“As I am not over long-winded, don’t be scared at my beginning my historysomewhat far back. I began life that most unlucky of all earthlycontrivances for supplying casualties in case anything may befall the heirof the house,—a species of domestic jury-mast, only lugged out in agale of wind,—a younger son. My brother Tom, a thick-skulled,pudding-headed dog, that had no taste for anything save his dinner, tookit into his wise head one morning that he would go into the army, andalthough I had been originally destined for a soldier, no sooner was hischoice 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 Ishould be put in what is called a ‘learned profession,’ and let push myfortune. ‘Take your choice, Dick,’ said my father, with a most benignsmile,—‘take your choice, boy: will you be a lawyer, a parson, or adoctor?’

“Had he said, ‘Will you be put in the stocks, the pillory, or publiclywhipped?’ I could not have looked more blank than at the question.

“As a decent Protestant, he should have grudged me to the Church; as aphilanthropist, he might have scrupled at making me a physician; but as hehad lost deeply by law-suits, there looked something very like a lurkingmalice in sending me to the bar. Now, so far, I concurred with him; forhaving no gift for enduring either sermons or senna, I thought I’d make abad administrator of either, and as I was ever regarded in the family asrather 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 thecircuit.

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

“My days were spent haranguing special juries of housemaids andlaundresses, cross-examining the cook, charging the under-butler, andpassing sentence of death upon the pantry boy, who, I may add, wasinvariably hanged when the court rose.

“If the mutton were overdone, or the turkey burned, I drew up anindictment against old Margaret, and against the kitchen-maid asaccomplice, and the family hungered while I harangued; and, in fact, intosuch disrepute did I bring the legal profession, by the score of annoyanceof which I made it the vehicle, that my father got a kind of holy horrorof law courts, judges, and crown solicitors, and absented himself from theassizes the same year, for which, being a high sheriff, he paid a penaltyof five hundred pounds.

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

“Years rolled over, in which, after an ineffectual effort to get throughcollege, the only examination I ever got being a jubilee for the king’sbirthday, I was at length called to the Irish bar, and saluted by myfriends as Counsellor Power. The whole thing was so like a joke to me thatit kept me in laughter for three terms; and in fact it was the best thingcould happen me, for I had nothing else to do. The hall of the Four Courtswas a very pleasant lounge; plenty of agreeable fellows that never earnedsixpence or were likely to do so. Then the circuits were so many countryexcursions, that supplied fun of one kind or other, but no profit. As forme, I was what was called a good junior. I knew how to look after thewaiters, to inspect the decanting of the wine and the airing of theclaret, and was always attentive to the father of the circuit,—thecrossest old villain that ever was a king’s counsel. These eminentqualities, and my being able to sing a song in honor of our own bar, wererecommendations enough to make me a favorite, and I was one.

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

“Two years passed over, and then I walked the hall with a bag filled withnewspapers to look like briefs, and was regularly called by two or threecriers from one court to the other. It never took. Even when I used toseduce a country friend to visit the courts, and get him into an animatedconversation in a corner between two pillars, devil a one would believehim to be a client, and I was fairly nonplussed.

“‘How is a man ever to distinguish himself in such a walk as this?’ was myeternal question to myself every morning, as I put on my wig. ‘My face isas 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 ashe passed me, ‘Eh, always busy?’ no one alludes to the possibility of myhaving anything to do.

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

“Perhaps a recruitMight chance to shooGreat General Buonaparté.” 

So,’ said I to myself, ‘I’ll make these halls ring for it some day orother, if the occasion ever present itself.’ But, faith, it seemed as ifsome cunning solicitor overheard me and told his associates, for theyavoided me like a leprosy. The home circuit I had adopted for some timepast, for the very palpable reason that being near town it was leastcostly, and it had all the advantages of any other for me in getting menothing to do. Well, one morning we were in Philipstown; I was lying awakein bed, thinking how long it would be before I’d sum up resolution to cutthe bar, where certainly my prospects were not the most cheering, whensome one tapped gently at my door.

“‘Come in,’ said I.

“The waiter opened gently, and held out his hand with a large roll ofpaper 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, youvillain?’

“‘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 fulllength 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 veryevery-day matter with me.

“‘But Counsellor, darlin’, give us a thrifle to dhrink your health withyour first cause, and the Lord send you plenty of them!’

“‘My first,’ said I, with a smile of most ineffable compassion at hissimplicity; ‘I’m worn out with them. Do you know, Peter, I was thinkingseriously of leaving the bar, when you came into the room? Upon myconscience, it’s in earnest I am.’

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

“The door was scarcely closed when I gave way to the free transport of myecstasy; there it lay at last, the long looked-for, long wished-for objectof all my happiness, and though I well knew that a junior counsel hasabout as much to do in the conducting of a case as a rusty handspike hasin a naval engagement, yet I suffered not such thoughts to mar the currentof my happiness. There was my name in conjunction with the two mightyleaders on the circuit; and though they each pocketed a hundred, I doubtvery much if they received their briefs with one half the satisfaction. Myjoy at length a little subdued, I opened the roll of paper and begancarefully to peruse about fifty pages of narrative regarding a watercoursethat once had turned a mill; but, from some reasons doubtless known toitself or its friends, would do so no longer, and thus set two respectableneighbors at loggerheads, and involved them in a record that had been nowheard three several times.

“Quite forgetting the subordinate part I was destined to fill, I openedthe case in a most flowery oration, in which I descanted upon the benefitsaccruing to mankind from water-communication since the days of Noah;remarking upon the antiquity of mills, and especially of millers, andconsumed half an hour in a preamble of generalities that I hoped wouldmake a very considerable impression upon the court. Just at the criticalmoment when I was about to enter more particularly into the case, three orfour of the great unbriefed came rattling into my room, and broke in uponthe 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 thequestion; see, I am chained to a devilish knotty case with Kinshella andMills.’

“‘Confound your humbugging,’ said another, ‘that may do very well inDublin for the attorneys, but not with us.’

“‘I don’t well understand you,’ I replied; ‘there is the brief. Hennesyexpects me to report upon it this evening, and I am so hurried.’

“Here a very chorus of laughing broke forth, in which, after several vainefforts 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 certainlyaugured little for their familiarity with such objects of natural history.

“When they had left the room, I leisurely examined the all-importantdocument, spreading it out before me upon the table, and surveying it as anewly-anointed sovereign might be supposed to contemplate a map of hisdominions.

“‘At last,’ said I to myself,—‘at last, and here is the footstep tothe woolsack.’ For more than an hour I sat motionless, my eyes fixed uponthe outspread paper, lost in a very maze of revery. The ambition whichdisappointments had crushed, and delay had chilled, came suddenly back,and all my day-dreams of legal success, my cherished aspirations aftersilk gowns and patents of precedence, rushed once more upon me, and I wasresolved to do or die. Alas, a very little reflection showed me that thelatter was perfectly practicable; but that, as a junior counsel, fiveminutes of very common-place recitation was all my province, and with themain business of the day I had about as much to do as the call-boy of aplayhouse has with the success of a tragedy.

“‘My Lord, this is an action brought by Timothy Higgin,’ etc., and down Igo, 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 worrythe witnesses, browbeat the evidence, cajole the jury, and soften thejudges! If the Lord were, in His mercy, to remove old Mills and Kinshellabefore Tuesday, who knows but my fortune might be made? This suppositiononce started, set me speculating upon all the possible chances that mightcut off two king’s counsel in three days, and left me fairly convincedthat 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 ofthe 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 mycompanion.

“‘Dick,’ said Tim, ‘take off your wine, man. When does this confoundedtrial come on?’

“‘To-morrow,’ said I, with a deep groan.

“‘Well, well, and if it does, what matter?’ he said; ‘you’ll do wellenough, never be afraid.’

“‘Alas!’ said I, ‘you don’t understand the cause of my depression.’ I hereentered upon an account of my sorrows, which lasted for above an hour, andonly concluded just as a tremendous noise in the street without announcedan arrival. For several minutes such was the excitement in the house, suchrunning hither and thither, such confusion, and such hubbub, that we couldnot make out who had arrived.

“At last a door opened quite near us, and we saw the waiter assisting avery portly-looking gentleman off with his great-coat, assuring him thewhile that if he would only walk into the coffee-room for ten minutes, thefire in his apartment should be got ready. The stranger accordinglyentered and seated himself at the fireplace, having never noticed thatCasey 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 hispretty 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 hesuddenly 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 neighborhoodof Merrion Square, yesterday, by the sudden disappearance from her houseof the handsome Mrs. ———.” Confound it!—what’s thename? What a hand he writes! Hill, or Miles, or something like that,—“thelady of an eminent barrister, now on circuit. The gay Lothario is, theysay, the Hon. George ———.”’ I was so thunderstruck atthe rashness of the stroke, I could say nothing; while the old gentlemanstarted 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 ityou’re saying?’

“‘You appear warm, old gentleman,’ said Casey, putting up the letter andrising from the table.

“‘Show me that letter!—show me that infernal letter, sir, thisinstant!’

“‘Show you my letter,’ said Casey; ‘cool, that, anyhow. You are certainlya good one.’

“‘Do you know me, sir? Answer me that,’ said the lawyer, bursting withpassion.

“‘Not at present,’ said Tim, quietly; ‘but I hope to do so in the morningin explanation of your language and conduct.’ A tremendous ringing of thebell here summoned the waiter to the room.

“‘Who is that—’ inquired the lawyer. The epithet he judged it safeto 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 afterfive in the morning.’

“‘Then you refuse, sir, to explain the paragraph I have just heard youread?’

“‘Well done, old gentleman; so you have been listening to a privateconversation I held with my friend here. In that case we had better retireto our room.’ So saying, he ordered the waiter to send a fresh bottle andglasses to No. 14, and taking my arm, very politely wished Mr. Millsgood-night, and left the coffee-room.

“Before we had reached the top of the stairs the house was once more incommotion. The new arrival had ordered out fresh horses, and was hurryingevery one in his impatience to get away. In ten minutes the chaise rolledoff from the door; and Casey, putting his head out of the window, wishedhim 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 tofight the other.’

“The port was soon despatched, and with it went all the scruples ofconscience I had at first felt for the cruel ruse we had justpractised. Scarcely was the other bottle called for when we heard thelandlord 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 fiveminutes,—d’ye hear? Power, my boy, I don’t want you; stay here andstudy your brief. It’s little trouble Counsellor Kinshella will give youin the morning.’

“All he would tell me of his plans was that he didn’t mean any seriousbodily harm to the counsellor, but that certainly he was not likely to beheard of for twenty-four hours.

“‘Meanwhile, Power, go in and win, my boy,’ said he; ‘such another walkover may never occur.’

“I must not make my story longer. The next morning the great record ofMonaghan v. M’Shean was called on; and as the senior counsel werenot present, the attorney wished a postponement. I, however, was firm;told the court I was quite prepared, and with such an air of assurancethat I actually puzzled the attorney. The case was accordingly opened byme in a very brilliant speech, and the witnesses called; but such was myunlucky ignorance of the whole matter that I actually broke down thetestimony of our own, and fought like a Trojan, for the credit andcharacter of the perjurers against us! The judge rubbed his eyes; the jurylooked amazed; and the whole bar laughed outright. However, on I went,blundering, floundering, and foundering at every step; and at half-pastfour, amidst the greatest and most uproarious mirth of the whole court,heard the jury deliver a verdict against us, just as old Kinshella rushedinto the court covered with mud and spattered with clay. He had been sentfor twenty miles to make a will for Mr. Daly, of Daly’s Mount, who wassupposed to be at the point of death, but who, on his arrival, threatenedto 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 theprofession. I cut the bar, for it cut me. I joined the gallant 14th as avolunteer; and here I am without a single regret, I must confess, that Ididn’t succeed in the great record of Monaghan v. M’Shean.”

Once more the claret went briskly round, and while we canvassed Power’sstory, many an anecdote of military life was told, as every instantincreased 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 bellbehind him; “and now let’s have a song.”

“Yes, Power,” said three or four together; “let us have ‘The IrishDragoon,’ if it’s only to convert your friend O’Malley there.”

“Here goes, then,” said Dick, taking off a bumper as he began thefollowing chant to the air of “Love is the Soul of a gay Irishman”:—

THE IRISH DRAGOON.Oh, love is the soul of an Irish dragoonIn 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 fearsTo charge forth in column and beat the Mounseers,With his jingling spur and his bright sabretasche.When the battle is over, he gayly rides backTo 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 thatpleasant evening none clung to me so forcibly, none sank so deeply in myheart, as the gay and careless tone of Power’s manly voice; and as I fellasleep towards morning, the words of “The Irish Dragoon” were floatingthrough 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 theuniversity, and yet had never presented my letter of introduction to Dr.Barret. Somehow, my thoughts and occupations had left me little leisure toreflect upon my college course, and I had not felt the necessity suggestedby my friend Sir Harry, of having a supporter in the very learned andgifted individual to whom I was accredited. How long I might havecontinued in this state of indifference it is hard to say, when chancebrought about my acquaintance with the doctor.

Were I not inditing a true history in this narrative of my life, to theevents and characters of which so many are living witnesses, I shouldcertainly fear to attempt anything like a description of this veryremarkable man; so liable would any sketch, however faint and imperfect,be to the accusation of caricature, when all was so singular and soeccentric.

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 bya stoop. His face was thin, pointed, and russet-colored; his nose soaquiline 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 mingledfear and suspicion. His dress was a suit of the rustiest black,threadbare, and patched in several places, while a pair of large brownleather slippers, far too big for his feet, imparted a sliding motion tohis walk that added an air of indescribable meanness to his appearance; agown that had been worn for twenty years, browned and coated with thelearned dust of the fa*gel, covered his rusty habiliments, andcompleted the equipments of a figure that it was somewhat difficult forthe young student to recognize as the vice-provost of the university. Suchwas he in externals. Within, a greater or more profound scholar nevergraced the walls of the college; a distinguished Grecian, learned in allthe refinements of a hundred dialects; a deep Orientalist, cunning in allthe varieties of Eastern languages, and able to reason with a Moonshee, orchat 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 hewas referred to by his contemporaries for information in doubtful anddisputed cases, as men consult a lexicon or dictionary. With an intellectthus stored with deep and far-sought knowledge, in the affairs of theworld he was a child. Without the walls of the college, for above fortyyears, he had not ventured half as many times, and knew absolutely nothingof the busy, active world that fussed and fumed so near him; his farthestexcursion was to the Bank of Ireland, to which he made occasional visitsto fund the ample income of his office, and add to the wealth whichalready had acquired for him a well-merited repute of being the richestman in college.

His little intercourse with the world had left him, in all his habits andmanners, in every respect exactly as when he entered college nearly half acentury before; and as he had literally risen from the ranks in theuniversity, all the peculiarities of voice, accent, and pronunciationwhich distinguished him as a youth, adhered to him in old age. This wassingular enough, and formed a very ludicrous contrast with the learned anddeep-read tone of his conversation; but another peculiarity, still morestriking, belonged to him. When he became a fellow, he was obliged, by therules of the college, to take holy orders as a sine qua non to hisholding his fellowship. This he did, as he would have assumed a red hoodor blue one, as bachelor of laws or doctor of medicine, and thought nomore of it; but frequently, in his moments of passionate excitement, thevenerable character with which he was invested was quite forgotten, and hewould utter some sudden and terrific oath, more productive of mirth to hisauditors than was seemly, and for which, once spoken, the poor doctor feltthe greatest shame and contrition. These oaths were no less singular thanforcible; and many a trick was practised, and many a plan devised, thatthe learned vice-provost might be entrapped into his favorite exclamationof, “May the devil admire me!” which no place or presence could restrain.

My servant, Mike, who had not been long in making himself acquainted withall 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 oftreating with disrespect the heads of the college.

The circ*mstances were shortly these: Mike had, among the other gossip ofthe place, heard frequent tales of the immense wealth and great parsimonyof the doctor, and of his anxiety to amass money on all occasions, and theavidity with which even the smallest trifle was added to his gains. Heaccordingly resolved to amuse himself at the expense of this trait, andproceeded thus. Boring a hole in a halfpenny, he attached a long string toit, and having dropped it on the doctor’s step stationed himself on theopposite side of the court, concealed from view by the angle of theCommons’ wall. He waited patiently for the chapel bell, at the first tollof which the door opened, and the doctor issued forth. Scarcely was hisfoot upon the step, when he saw the piece of money, and as quickly stoopedto seize it; but just as his finger had nearly touched it, it evaded hisgrasp and slowly retreated. He tried again, but with the like success. Atlast, thinking he had miscalculated the distance, he knelt leisurely down,and put forth his hand, but lo! it again escaped him; on which, slowlyrising from his posture, he shambled on towards the chapel, where, meetingthe senior lecturer at the door, he cried out, “H——— tomy soul, Wall, but I saw the halfpenny walk away!”

For the sake of the grave character whom he addressed, I need not recounthow such a speech was received; suffice it to say, that Mike had been seenby a college porter, who reported him as my servant.

I was in the very act of relating the anecdote to a large party atbreakfast in my rooms, when a summons arrived, requiring my immediateattendance at the board, then sitting in solemn conclave at theexamination hall.

I accordingly assumed my academic costume as speedily as possible, andescorted by that most august functionary, Mr. M’Alister, presented myselfbefore the seniors.

The members of the board, with the provost at their head, were seated at along oak table covered with books, papers, etc., and from the silence theymaintained as I walked up the hall, I augured that a very solemn scene wasbefore me.

“Mr. O’Malley,” said the dean, reading my name from a paper he held in hishand, “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 learneddoctor, hitching up his nether garments with both hands, put his old andbleary eyes close to my face, while he croaked out, with an accent that nohackney-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 thebooks.”

“That’s thrue; but there were three O’Malleys before you. GodfreyO’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. Isee your name every day on the punishment roll. Late hours, never atchapel, seldom at morning lecture. Here ye are, sixteen shillings, wearinga red coat.”

“Never knew any harm in that, Doctor.”

“Ay, but d’ye see me, now? ‘Grave raiment,’ says the statute. And then, yekeep numerous beasts of prey, dangerous in their habits, and unseemly tobehold.”

“A bull terrier, sir, and two game-co*cks, are, I assure you, the onlyanimals in my household.”

“Well. I’ll fine you for it.”

“I believe, Doctor,” said the dean, interrupting in an undertone, “thatyou cannot impose a penalty in this matter.”

“Ay, but I can. ‘Singing-birds,’ says the statute, ‘are forbidden withinthe wall.’”

“And then, ye dazzled my eyes at Commons with a bit of looking-glass, onFriday. I saw you. May the devil!—ahem! As I was saying, that’scasting reflections on the heads of the college; and your servantit was, Michaelis Liber, Mickey Free,—may the flames of!—ahem!—aninsolent 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!—Imean—God forgive me for swearing! but I’ll fine you a pound forthis.”

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 ofSir Harry’s letter of introduction, which I had taken in my pocket in theevent of its being wanted.

“I beg your pardon, sir, if the time be an unsuitable one; but may I takethe 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, ofcourse. Eh, tell me, young man, did Boyle say nothing to you about thecopy 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 thatsum; but he had just sealed the letter when he recollected it.”

“Better late than never,” said the doctor, smiling graciously. “Where’sthe 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; mindthe terms; and dismiss Michaelis Liber. Ha, ha, ha! May the devil!—hem!—thatis 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 beensuffering, 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 animpression upon me that all the intervening years have neither dimmed norerased.

CHAPTER XVII.

TRINITY COLLEGE.—A LECTURE.

I had not been many weeks a resident of Old Trinity ere the flatteringreputation my chum, Mr. Francis Webber, had acquired, extended also tomyself; and by universal consent, we were acknowledged the most riotous,ill-conducted, disorderly men on the books of the university. Were thelamps of the squares extinguished, and the college left in total darkness,we were summoned before the dean; was the vice-provost serenaded with achorus of trombones and French horns, to our taste in music was theattention ascribed; did a sudden alarm of fire disturb the congregation atmorning chapel, Messrs. Webber and O’Malley were brought before the board,—andI must do them the justice to say that the most trifling circ*mstantialevidence was ever sufficient to bring a conviction. Reading men avoidedthe building where we resided as they would have done the plague. Ourdoors, like those of a certain classic precinct commemorated by a Latinwriter, lay open night and day, while mustached dragoons, knowinglydressed four-in-hand men, fox-hunters in pink, issuing forth to the Dubberor returning splashed from a run with the Kildare hounds, wereeverlastingly seen passing and repassing. Within, the noise and confusionresembled rather the mess-room of a regiment towards eleven at night thanthe chambers of a college student; while, with the double object ofaffecting to be in ill-health, and to avoid the reflections that daylightoccasionally inspires, the shutters were never opened, but lamps andcandles kept always burning. Such was No. 2, Old Square, in the goodlydays I write of. All the terrors of fines and punishments fell scathlesson the head of my worthy chum. In fact, like a well-known politicalcharacter, whose pleasure and amusem*nt it has been for some years past todrive through acts of Parliament and deride the powers of the law, so didMr. Webber tread his way, serpenting through the statute-book, evergrazing, but rarely trespassing upon some forbidden ground which mightinvolve the great punishment of expulsion. So expert, too, had he becomein his special pleadings, so dexterous in the law of the university, thatit was no easy matter to bring crime home to him; and even when this wasdone, his pleas of mitigation rarely failed of success.

There was a sweetness of demeanor, a mild, subdued tone about him, thatconstantly puzzled the worthy heads of the college how the accusationsever brought against him could be founded on truth; that the pale,delicate-looking student, whose harsh, hacking cough terrified thehearers, could be the boisterous performer upon a key-bugle, or theterrific assailant of watchmen, was something too absurd for belief. Andwhen Mr. Webber, with his hand upon his heart, and in his most dulcetaccents, assured them that the hours he was not engaged in reading for themedal were passed in the soothing society of a few select and intimatefriends of literary tastes and refined minds, who, knowing the delicacy ofhis health,—here he would cough,—were kind enough to sit upwith him for an hour or so in the evening, the delusion was perfect; andthe story of the dean’s riotous habits having got abroad, the charge wasusually suppressed.

Like most idle men, Webber never had a moment to spare. Except read, therewas 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-featheracquaintances, were his almost daily avocations. Besides that, he was atthe head of many organized societies, instituted for various benevolentpurposes. One was called “The Association for Discountenancing Watchmen;” another, “The Board of Works,” whose object was principally devoted to theembellishment of the university, in which, to do them justice, theirlabors were unceasing, and what with the assistance of some black paint, aladder, and a few pounds of gunpowder, they certainly contrived to effectmany important changes. Upon an examination morning, some hundred luckless“jibs” might be seen perambulating the courts, in the vain effort todiscover their tutors’ chambers, the names having undergone an alterationthat left all trace of their original proprietors unattainable: DoctorFrancis Mooney having become Doctor Full Moon; Doctor Hare being, by thechange of two letters, Doctor Ape; Romney Robinson, Romulus and Remus,etc. While, upon occasions like these, there could be but little doubt ofMaster Frank’s intentions, upon many others, so subtle were hisinventions, so well-contrived his plots, it became a matter ofconsiderable difficulty to say whether the mishap which befell someluckless acquaintance were the result of design or mere accident; and notunfrequently well-disposed individuals were found condoling with “PoorFrank” upon his ignorance of some college rule or etiquette, his breach ofwhich had been long and deliberately planned. Of this latter descriptionwas a circ*mstance which occurred about this time, and which some who maythrow an eye over these pages will perhaps remember.

The dean, having heard (and, indeed, the preparations were not intended tosecure secrecy) that Webber destined to entertain a party of his friendsat dinner on a certain day, sent a peremptory order for his appearance atCommons, his name being erased from the sick list, and a pretty stronghint conveyed to him that any evasion upon his part would be certainlyfollowed by an inquiry into the real reasons for his absence. What was tobe 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 thedifficulty at once; but still there were some others, officers of the14th, with whom he was constantly dining, and whom he could not so easilyput off. The affair was difficult, but still Webber was the man for adifficulty; in fact, he rather liked one. A very brief considerationaccordingly sufficed, and he sat down and wrote to his friends at theRoyal Barracks thus:—

Saturday.DEAR POWER,—I have a better plan for Tuesday than that Ihad proposed. Lunch here at three (we’ll call it dinner), in the hallwith the great guns. I can’t say much for the grub; but thecompany—glorious!After that we’ll start for Lucan in the drag; takeour 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 dragoonswere seen slowly sauntering up the middle of the dining-hall, escorted byWebber, who, in full academic costume, was leisurely ciceroning hisfriends, and expatiating upon the excellences of the very remarkableportraits which graced the walls.

The porters looked on with some surprise at the singular hour selected forsight-seeing; but what was their astonishment to find that the party,having arrived at the end of the hall, instead of turning back again, verycomposedly unbuckled their belts, and having disposed of their sabres in acorner, took their places at the Fellows’ table, and sat down amidst thecollective wisdom of Greek lecturers and Regius professors, as though theyhad 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 todine no time was to be lost.

“We have but little ceremony here, gentlemen, and all we ask is a fairstart,” 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 campaignusually teaches, made himself master of some neighboring dish, a veryquick interchange of good things speedily following the appropriation. Itwas in vain that the senior lecturer looked aghast, that the professor ofastronomy frowned. The whole table, indeed, were thunderstruck, even tothe poor vice-provost himself, who, albeit given to the comforts of thetable, could not lift a morsel to his mouth, but muttered between histeeth, “May the devil admire me, but they’re dragoons!” The first shock ofsurprise over, the porters proceeded to inform them that except Fellows ofthe University or Fellow-commoners, none were admitted to the table.Webber however assured them that it was a mistake, there being nothing inthe statute to exclude the 14th Light Dragoons, as he was prepared toprove. Meanwhile dinner proceeded, Power and his party performing withgreat self-satisfaction upon the sirloins and saddles about them,regretting only, from time to time, that there was a most unaccountableabsence of wine, and suggesting the propriety of napkins whenever theyshould dine there again. Whatever chagrin these unexpected guests causedamong their entertainers of the upper table, in the lower part of the hallthe laughter was loud and unceasing; and long before the hour concluded,the Fellows took their departure, leaving to Master Frank Webber the taskof doing the honors alone and unassisted. When summoned before the boardfor the offence on the following morning, Webber excused himself bythrowing the blame upon his friends, with whom, he said, nothing short ofa personal quarrel—a thing for a reading man not to be thought of—couldhave prevented intruding in the manner related. Nothing less than histact could have saved him on this occasion, and at last he carried theday; while by an act of the board the 14th Light Dragoons were pronouncedthe most insolent corps in the service.

An adventure of his, however, got wind about this time, and served toenlighten many persons as to his real character, who had hitherto beenmost lenient in their expressions about him. Our worthy tutor, with a zealfor our welfare far more praiseworthy than successful, was in the habit ofsummoning to his chambers, on certain mornings of the week, his variouspupils, whom he lectured in the books for the approaching examinations.Now, as these séances were held at six o’clock in winter as well assummer, in a cold fireless chamber,—the lecturer lying snug amidsthis blankets, while we stood shivering around the walls,—the ardorof learning must indeed have proved strong that prompted a regularattendance. As to Frank, he would have as soon thought of attending chapelas of presenting himself on such an occasion. Not so with me. I had notyet grown hackneyed enough to fly in the face of authority, and Ifrequently left the whist-table, or broke off in a song, to hurry over tothe doctor’s chambers and spout Homer and Hesiod. I suffered on inpatience, till at last the bore became so insupportable that I told mysorrows 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 thehabit of visiting some friends who resided a short distance from town, andspending the night at their house. He, of course, did not lecture thefollowing morning,—a paper placard, announcing no lecture, beingaffixed to the door on such occasions. Frank waited patiently till heperceived the doctor affixing this announcement upon his door one evening;and no sooner had he left the college than he withdrew the paper anddeparted.

On the next morning he rose early, and concealing himself on thestaircase, waited the arrival of the venerable damsel who acted as servantto the doctor. No sooner had she opened the door and groped her way intothe sitting-room than Frank crept forward, and stealing gently into thebedroom, sprang into the bed and wrapped himself up in the blankets. Thegreat bell boomed forth at six o’clock, and soon after the sounds of thefeet were heard upon the stairs. One by one they came along, and graduallythe room was filled with cold and shivering wretches, more than halfasleep, and trying to arouse themselves into an approach to attention.

“Who’s there?” said Frank, mimicking the doctor’s voice, as he yawnedthree or four times in succession and turned in the bed.

“Collisson, O’Malley, Nesbitt,” etc., said a number of voices, anxious tohave 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-ratecapacity; and were he only to apply, I am not certain to what eminence hisabilities might raise him. Come, Collisson, any three angles of a triangleare equal to—are equal to—what are they equal to?” Here heyawned as though he would dislocate his jaw.

“Any three angles of a triangle are equal to two right angles,” saidCollisson, in the usual sing-song tone of a freshman.

As he proceeded to prove the proposition, his monotonous tone seemed tohave lulled the doctor into a doze, for in a few minutes a deep,long-drawn snore announced from the closed curtains that he listened nolonger. After a little time, however, a short snort from the sleeper awokehim suddenly, and he called out, “Go on, I’m waiting. Do you think I canarouse at this hour of the morning for nothing but to listen to yourbungling? 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 theline in question might be.

“Try it, Nesbitt,—you, O’Malley. Silent all? Really this is toobad!” An indistinct muttering here from the crowd was followed by anannouncement from the doctor that the speaker was an ass, and his head aturnip! “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-informedsavages—yes, savages, I repeat the word—to behave in thismanner? Webber is the only man I have with common intellect,—theonly man among you capable of distinguishing himself. But as for you, I’llbring you before the board; I’ll write to your friends; I’ll stop yourcollege indulgences; I’ll confine you to the walls; I’ll be damned, eh—”

This lapse confused him. He stammered, stuttered, endeavored to recoverhimself; but by this time we had approached the bed, just at the momentwhen Master Frank, well knowing what he might expect if detected, hadbolted from the blankets and rushed from the room. In an instant we werein pursuit; but he regained his chambers, and double-locked the doorbefore we could overtake him, leaving us to ponder over the insolenttirade we had so patiently submitted to.

That morning the affair got wind all over college. As for us, we werescarcely so much laughed at as the doctor; the world wisely remembering,if such were the nature of our morning’s orisons, we might nearly asprofitably have remained snug in our quarters.

Such was our life in Old Trinity; and strange enough it is that one shouldfeel tempted to the confession, but I really must acknowledge these were,after all, happy times, and I look back upon them with mingled pleasureand sadness. The noble lord who so pathetically lamented that the devilwas not so strong in him as he used to be forty years before, has an echoin my regrets that the student is not as young in me as when these sceneswere enacting of which I write.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE INVITATION.—THE WAGER.

I was sitting at breakfast with Webber, a few mornings after the messdinner I have spoken of, when Power came in hastily.

“Ha, the very man!” said he. “I say, O’Malley, here’s an invitation foryou from Sir George, to dine on Friday. He desired me to say a thousandcivil things about his not having made you out, regrets that he was not athome when you called yesterday, and all that. By Jove, I know nothing likethe favor you stand in; and as for Miss Dashwood, faith! the fair Lucyblushed, and tore her glove in most approved style, when the old generalbegan 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 excessivelyconscious. 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 tothe 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 asyourself, I would not relinquish my claims to the Secretary at Warhimself.”

“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 aplace where the law is occasionally heard of?”

“I’m sure I can give you no information on that head; nor have I everheard how Sir George came to learn that such a place as Galway existed.”

“I believe I can enlighten you,” said Power. “Lady Dashwood—rest hersoul!—came west of the Shannon; she had a large property somewherein Mayo, and owned some hundred acres of swamp, with some thousandstarving tenantry thereupon, that people dignified as an estate inConnaught. This first suggested to him the notion of setting up for thecounty, probably supposing that the people who never paid in rent mightlike to do so in gratitude. How he was undeceived, O’Malley there caninform us. Indeed, I believe the worthy general, who was confoundedly hardup when he married, expected to have got a great fortune, and littleanticipated the three chancery suits he succeeded to, nor the fourteenrent-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 tookher one day, and Major Dashwood was himself again. The Duke of York, thestory goes, saw him at Hounslow during a review, was much struck with hisair and appearance, made some inquiries, found him to be of excellentfamily 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 bypossibility have done a more popular thing. Every man in the army rejoicedat 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 matrimonialconnection being a correspondence kept up by a maiden sister of his latewife’s with him. She insists upon claiming the ties of kindred upon abouttwenty family eras during the year, when she regularly writes a mostloving and ill-spelled epistle, containing the latest information fromMayo, with all particulars of the Macan family, of which she is a worthymember. To her constant hints of the acceptable nature of certain smallremittances, the poor general is never inattentive; but to the pleasingprospect of a visit in the flesh from Miss Judy Macan, the good man isdead. In fact, nothing short of being broke by general court-martial couldcomplete his sensations of horror at such a stroke of fortune; and I amnot certain, if choice were allowed him, that he would not prefer thelatter.”

“Then he has never yet seen her?” said Webber.

“Never,” replied Power; “and he hopes to leave Ireland without thatblessing, the prospect of which, however remote and unlikely, has, I knowwell, 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’Malleythere from my chambers, and never notices the other man, thesuperior 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 werenot. I am, as I have ever been, the most easy fellow in the world on thatscore, 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 adaughter, a most attractive, lovely daughter, just at that budding,unsuspecting age when the heart is most susceptible of impressions; andwhere, let me ask, could she run such a risk as in the chance of a casualmeeting with the redoubted lady-killer, Master Frank Webber? If he has notsought you out, then here be his apology.”

“A very strong case, certainly,” said Frank; “but, still, had he confidedhis critical position to my honor and secrecy, he might have depended onme; 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 mostdeplorable 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, butI intend to have most particular notice and attention paid me. I shall beprime 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 yourpains; are those the terms of the wager?” inquired Power.

“With all my heart. That I kiss Miss Dashwood, and am not kickeddown-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 returnfor Sir George Dashwood’s hospitality as to make an insult to his familythe subject of a bet.”

“Why, man, what are you dreaming of? Miss Dashwood will not refuse mychaste salute. Come, Power, I’ll give you the other pony.”

“Agreed,” said he. “At the same time, understand me distinctly, that Ihold myself perfectly eligible to winning the wager by my owninterference; for if you do kiss her, by Jove! I’ll perform the remainderof the compact.”

“So I understand the agreement,” said Webber, arranging his curls beforethe looking-glass. “Well, now, who’s for Howth? The drag will be here inhalf 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 atSir George Dashwood’s.”

“I have won my fifty, however,” said Power, as we walked out in thecourts.

“I am not quite certain—”

“Why, the devil, he would not risk a broken neck for that sum; besides, ifhe 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 droppedmy pasteboard, I returned to the college.

CHAPTER XIX

THE BALL.

I have often dressed for a storming party with less of trepidation than Ifelt on the evening of Sir George Dashwood’s ball. Since the eventful dayof the election I had never seen Miss Dashwood; therefore, as to whatprecise position I might occupy in her favor was a matter of great doubtin my mind, and great import to my happiness. That I myself loved her, wasa matter of which all the badinage of my friends regarding her made mepainfully conscious; but that, in our relative positions, such anattachment was all but hopeless, I could not disguise from myself. Youngas I was, I well knew to what a heritage of debt, lawsuit, and difficultyI was born to succeed. In my own resources and means of advancement I hadno confidence whatever, had even the profession to which I was destinedbeen 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 alllikely; 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 whereshould I? Where the ardent affection I now felt and gloried in,—perhapsall the more for its desperate hopelessness,—when the sanguine andbuoyant spirit to combat with difficulties which youth suggests, andwhich, later, manhood refuses, should have passed away? And even if allthese survived the toil and labor of anxious days and painful nights, whatof her? Alas, I now reflected that, although only of my own age, hermanner to me had taken all that tone of superiority and patronage which anelder assumes towards one younger, and which, in the spirit of protectionit proceeds upon, essentially bars up every inlet to a dearer or warmerfeeling,—at least, when the lady plays the former part. “What, then,is to be done?” thought I. “Forget her?—but how? How shall Irenounce all my plans, and unweave the web of life I have been spreadingaround me for many a day, without that one golden thread that lent it morethan half its brilliancy and all its attraction? But then the alternativeis even worse, if I encourage expectations and nurture hopes never to berealized. Well, we meet to-night, after a long and eventful absence; letmy future fate be ruled by the results of this meeting. If Lucy Dashwooddoes care for me, if I can detect in her manner enough to show me that myaffection may meet a return, the whole effort of my life shall be to makeher mine; if not, if my own feelings be all that I have to depend upon toextort a reciprocal affection, then shall I take my last look of her, andwith it the first and brightest dream of happiness my life has hithertopresented.”

It need not be wondered at if the brilliant coup d’oeil of theball-room, as I entered, struck me with astonishment, accustomed as I hadhitherto been to nothing more magnificent than an evening party of squiresand their squiresses or the annual garrison ball at the barracks. Theglare of wax-lights, the well-furnished saloons, the glitter of uniforms,and the blaze of plumed and jewelled dames, with the clang of militarymusic, was a species of enchanted atmosphere which, breathing for thefirst time, rarely fails to intoxicate. Never before had I seen so muchbeauty. 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 muchmore fatal to a man’s peace and heart’s ease the whispered words andsilent glances of those fair damsels, than all the loud gayety andboisterous freedom of our country belles, who sought to take the heart bystorm and escalade.

As yet I had seen neither Sir George nor his daughter, and while I lookedon every side for Lucy Dashwood, it was with a beating and anxious heart Ilonged to see how she would bear comparison with the blaze of beautyaround.

Just at this moment a very gorgeously dressed hussar stepped from adoorway beside me, as if to make a passage for some one, and the nextmoment she appeared leaning upon the arm of another lady. One look was allthat I had time for, when she recognized me.

“Ah, Mr. O’Malley, how happy—has Sir George—has my father seenyou?”

“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, ina 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 sorapidly that I could not detect what it was, but merely heard the reply,“Pas mal!”—which, as the lady continued to canvass me mostdeliberately through her eye-glass, I supposed referred to me. “And now,Captain Fortescue—” And with a look of most courteous kindness to meshe disappeared in the crowd.

The gentleman to whose guidance I was entrusted was one of theaides-de-camp, and was not long in finding Sir George. No sooner had thegood old general heard my name, than he held out both his hands and shookmine most heartily.

“At last, O’Malley; at last I am able to thank you for the greatestservice ever man rendered me. He saved Lucy, my Lord; rescued her undercirc*mstances where anything short of his courage and determination musthave cost her her life.”

“Ah, very pretty indeed,” said a stiff old gentleman addressed, as hebowed a most superbly powdered scalp before me; “most happy to make youracquaintance.”

“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 thanhearing all my protestations of gratitude, sincere and heartfelt as theyreally 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 tome. “I say, Charley,” cried he, “I have been tormented to death by halfthe ladies in the room to present you to them, and have been in quest ofyou this half-hour. Your brilliant exploit in savage land has made you aregular preux chevalier; and if you don’t trade on that adventureto your most lasting profit, you deserve to be—a lawyer. Come alonghere! Lady Muckleman, the adjutant-general’s lady and chief, has fourScotch daughters you are to dance with; then I am to introduce you in allform 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 amatter of form,—you understand?”

“And if Miss Dashwood should say, ‘With pleasure, sir,’ only as a matterof 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 donot now remember; but certainly, it was her turn now to blush, and her armtrembled within mine as I led her to the top of the room. In the littleopportunity which our quadrille presented for conversation, I could nothelp remarking that, after the surprise of her first meeting with me, MissDashwood’s manner became gradually more and more reserved, and that therewas an evident struggle between her wish to appear grateful for what hadoccurred, with a sense of the necessity of not incurring a greater degreeof intimacy. Such was my impression, at least, and such the conclusion Idrew from a certain quiet tone in her manner that went further to wound myfeelings and mar my happiness than any other line of conduct towards mecould possibly have effected.

Our quadrille over, I was about to conduct her to a seat, when Sir Georgecame hurriedly up, his face greatly flushed, and betraying every semblanceof high excitement.

“Dear Papa, has anything occurred? Pray what is it?” inquired she.

He smiled faintly, and replied, “Nothing very serious, my dear, that Ishould alarm you in this way; but certainly, a more disagreeable contretempscould scarcely occur.”

“Do tell me: what can it be?”

“Read this,” said he, presenting a very dirty-looking note which bore themark of a red wafer most infernally plain upon its outside.

Miss Dashwood unfolded the billet, and after a moment’s silence, insteadof 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 whythis should put you out much, after all. Aunt may be somewhat of acharacter, as her note evinces, but after a few days—”

“Nonsense, child; there’s nothing in this world I have such a dread of asthat 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’scoming here to-night,—is on her way this instant, perhaps. What isto 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 Iappear 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 faroff. I’m on my way up to town, to be under Dr. Dease for the ouldcomplaint. Cowley mistakes my case entirely; he says it’s nothingbut religion and wind. Father Magrath, who understands a gooddeal 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 veryfree-and-easy epistle; when at last I burst forth in a hearty fit, inwhich I was joined by Miss Dashwood.

From the account Power had given me in the morning, I had no difficulty inguessing that the writer was the maiden sister of the late Lady Dashwood;and for whose relationship Sir George had ever testified the greatestdread, even at the distance of two hundred miles; and for whom, in anynearer intimacy, he was in no wise prepared.

“I say, Lucy,” said he, “there’s only one thing to be done: if this horridwoman does arrive, let her be shown to her room; and for the few days ofher 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 thenecessary instructions, when the door of the drawing-room was flung open,and the servant announced, in his loudest voice, “Miss Macan.” Never shallI forget the poor general’s look of horror as the words reached him; foras yet, he was too far to catch even a glimpse of its fair owner. As forme, I was already so much interested in seeing what she was like, that Imade my way through the crowd towards the door. It is no common occurrencethat 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 firstacquaintance; every clique, every coterie, every little group of three orfour has its own separate and private interests, forming a little world ofits own, and caring for and heeding nothing that goes on around; and evenwhen some striking character or illustrious personage makes his entrée,the attention he attracts is so momentary, that the buzz of conversationis scarcely, if at all, interrupted, and the business of pleasurecontinues to flow on. Not so now, however. No sooner had the servantpronounced the magical name of Miss Macan, than all seemed to stand still.The spell thus exercised over the luckless general seemed to have extendedto his company; for it was with difficulty that any one could continue histrain 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, withenormous flowers gaudily embroidered upon it. Her hair was powdered andturned back in the fashion of fifty years before; while her high-pointedand heeled shoes completed a costume that had not been seen for nearly acentury. Her short, skinny arms were bare and partly covered by a fallingflower 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 piercingpair of eyes, to whose effect a very palpable touch of rouge on the cheekscertainly added brilliancy. There stood this most singular apparition,holding before her a fan about the size of a modern tea-tray; while ateach repetition of her name by the servant, she curtesied deeply,bestowing the while upon the gay crowd before her a very curious look ofmaidenly modesty at her solitary and unprotected position.

As no one had ever heard of the fair Judith, save one or two of SirGeorge’s most intimate friends, the greater part of the company weredisposed to regard Miss Macan as some one who had mistaken the characterof the invitation, and had come in a fancy dress. But this delusion wasbut momentary, as Sir George, armed with the courage of despair, forcedhis way through the crowd, and taking her hand affectionately, bid herwelcome 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 biographycould have done. “There she is, I’m sure; kiss me, my honey.”

This office Miss Dashwood performed with an effort at courtesy reallyadmirable; 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 thismost malapropos addition to his party; but by degrees the variousgroups renewed their occupations, although many a smile, and more than onesarcastic glance at the sofa, betrayed that the maiden aunt had notescaped criticism.

Power, whose propensity for fun very considerably out-stripped his senseof decorum to his commanding officer, had already made his way towardsMiss Dashwood, and succeeded in obtaining a formal introduction to MissMacan.

“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 wasnever 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 FatherMagrath 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 anythinglight 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 crowdabout her before, this last question totally routed them, and a mosthearty fit of laughter broke forth from more than one of the bystanders.

At length, however, she was comforted, and her pacification completelyeffected by Sir George setting her down to a whist-table. From this momentI lost sight of her for above two hours. Meanwhile I had littleopportunity of following up my intimacy with Miss Dashwood, and as Irather suspected that, on more than one occasion, she seemed to avoid ourmeeting, I took especial care on my part, to spare her the annoyance.

For one instant only had I any opportunity of addressing her, and thenthere was such an evident embarrassment in her manner that I readilyperceived how she felt circ*mstanced, and that the sense of gratitude toone whose further advances she might have feared, rendered her constrainedand awkward. “Too true,” said I, “she avoids me. My being here is only asource of discomfort and pain to her; therefore, I’ll take my leave, andwhatever it may cost me, never to return.” With this intention, resolvingto 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 whomhe had presented me early in the evening.

“True, upon my honor, Sir George,” said he; “I saw it myself, and she didit 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 saidto me, ‘Very extraordinary it is,—four by honors again.’ So Ilooked, and then I perceived it,—a very old trick it is; but she didit beautifully. What’s her name?”

“Some western name; I forget it,” said the poor general, ready to die withshame.

“Clever old woman, very!” said the old lord, taking a pinch of snuff; “butrevokes too often.”

Supper was announced at this critical moment, and before I had furtherthought of my determination to escape, I felt myself hurried along in thecrowd towards the staircase. The party immediately in front of me werePower and Miss Macan, who now appeared reconciled, and certainly testifiedmost openly their mutual feelings of good-will.

“I say, Charley,” whispered Power, as I came along, “it is capital fun,—nevermet anything equal to her; but the poor general will never live throughit, 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 onepresenting himself, and being refused the entrée, so that MasterFrank has lost his money. Sit near us, I pray you, at supper. We must takecare 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 asthis is the same scene of solid white muslin, faded flowers, flushedfaces, torn gloves, blushes, blanc-mange, cold chicken, jelly, spongecakes, spooney young gentlemen doing the attentive, and watchful mammascalculating what precise degree of propinquity in the crush is safe orseasonable for their daughters to the mustached and unmarrying loversbeside them. There are always the same set of gratified elders, like thebenchers 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 speechesof the younger part of the creation. Then there are the hoi polloiof outcasts, younger sons of younger brothers, tutors, governesses,portionless cousins, and curates, all formed in phalanx round theside-tables, whose primitive habits and simple tastes are evinced by theirall eating off the same plate and drinking from nearly the samewine-glass,—too happy if some better-off acquaintance at the longtable invites them to “wine,” though the ceremony on their part is limitedto the pantomime of drinking. To this miserable tiers etat Ibelonged, and bore my fate with unconcern; for, alas, my spirits weredepressed and my heart heavy. Lucy’s treatment of me was every momentbefore me, contrasted with her gay and courteous demeanor to all savemyself, and I longed for the moment to get away.

Never had I seen her looking so beautiful; her brilliant eyes were litwith pleasure, and her smile was enchantment itself. What would I not havegiven for one moment’s explanation, as I took my leave forever!—onebrief avowal of my unalterable, devoted love; for which I sought not norexpected return, but merely that I might not be forgotten.

Such were my thoughts, when a dialogue quite near me aroused me from myrevery. I was not long in detecting the speakers, who, with their backsturned to us, were seated at the great table discussing a very liberalallowance 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’tthink to make up to me, squeezing my foot.”

“Upon my soul, you’re an angel, a regular angel. I never saw a woman suitmy 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 knowsrather more of these matters than a priest.”

“Well, then, I’m not so sure of that. But anyhow, I’d have you to rememberit 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 abouther 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 ringon 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 itis.”

“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 lucklessgeneral 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 echofollowed 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 heartsOf 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 downTo 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 knownNo 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 careDown 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 herdesires as to the chorus were followed to the letter, for “The WidowMalone, ohone!” resounded from one end of the table to the other, amidstone universal shout of laughter. None could resist the ludicrous effect ofher melody; and even poor Sir George, sinking under the disgrace of hisrelationship, which she had contrived to make public by frequent allusionsto her “dear brother the general,” yielded at last, and joined in themirth 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 theaddress 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 mightyindelicate in me to make an appointment.”

Power pocketed the card, and the next minute Miss Macan’s carriage wasannounced.

Sir George Dashwood, who little flattered himself that his fair guest hadany intention of departure, became now most considerately attentive,reminded her of the necessity of muffling against the night air, hoped shewould escape cold, and wished her a most cordial good-night, with apromise of seeing her early the following day.

Notwithstanding Power’s ambition to engross the attention of the lady, SirGeorge himself saw her to her carriage, and only returned to the room as agroup was collecting around the gallant captain, to whom he was relatingsome capital traits of his late conquest,—for such he dreamed shewas.

“Doubt it who will,” said he, “she has invited me to call on herto-morrow, written her address on my card, told me the hour she is certainof being alone. See here!” At these words he pulled forth the card, andhanded 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, butthat’s the quarter.”

“Why, confound it, man!” said the other; “there’s not a word of thathere.”

“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 ponieslost this evening. I have done myself the pleasure of enjoying yourball, kissed the lady, quizzed the papa, and walked into the cunningFred Power. Yours,FRANK WEBBER.“The Widow Malone, ohone!” is at your service.

Had a thunderbolt fallen at his feet, his astonishment could not haveequalled the result of this revelation. He stamped, swore, raved, laughed,and almost went deranged. The joke was soon spread through the room, andfrom Sir George to poor Lucy, now covered with blushes at her part in thetransaction, all was laughter and astonishment.

“Who is he? That is the question,” said Sir George, who, with all theridicule of the affair hanging over him, felt no common relief at thediscovery of the imposition.

“A friend of O’Malley’s,” said Power, delighted, in his defeat, to involveanother with himself.

“Indeed!” said the general, regarding me with a look of a very mingledcast.

“Quite true, sir,” said I, replying to the accusation that his mannerimplied; “but equally so, that I neither knew of his plot nor recognizedhim when here.”

“I am perfectly sure of it, my boy,” said the general; “and, after all, itwas 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 littlefurther assurance that he felt not the least annoyed, the general turnedto converse with some other friends; while I, burning with indignationagainst 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 hereturned. In the meanwhile I became a daily visitor at the general’s,dined there usually three or four times a week, rode out with Lucyconstantly, and accompanied her every evening either to the theatre orinto society. Sir George, possibly from my youth, seemed to pay littleattention to an intimacy which he perceived every hour growing closer, andfrequently gave his daughter into my charge in our morning excursions onhorseback. As for me, my happiness was all but perfect. I loved, andalready began to hope that I was not regarded with indifference; foralthough Lucy’s manner never absolutely evinced any decided preferencetowards me, yet many slight and casual circ*mstances served to show methat my attentions to her were neither unnoticed nor uncared for. Amongthe many gay and dashing companions of our rides, I remarked that, howeveranxious for such a distinction, none ever seemed to make any way in hergood graces; and I had already gone far in my self-deception that I wasdestined for good fortune, when a circ*mstance which occurred one morningat length served to open my eyes to the truth, and blast by one fatalbreath the whole harvest of my hopes.

We were about to set out one morning on a long ride, when Sir George’spresence was required by the arrival of an officer who had been sent fromthe Horse Guards on official business. After half an hour’s delay, ColonelCameron, the officer in question, was introduced, and entered intoconversation with our party. He had only landed in England from thePeninsula a few days before, and had abundant information of the stirringevents enacting there. At the conclusion of an anecdote,—I forgetwhat,—he turned suddenly round to Miss Dashwood, who was standingbeside me, and said in a low voice:—

“And now, Miss Dashwood, I am reminded of a commission I promised a veryold brother officer to perform. Can I have one moment’s conversation withyou in the window?”

As he spoke, I perceived that he crumpled beneath his glove something likea letter.

“To me?” said Lucy, with a look of surprise that sadly puzzled me whetherto ascribe it to coquetry or innocence,—“to me?”

“To you,” said the colonel, bowing; “and I am sadly deceived by my friendHammersley—”

“Captain Hammersley?” said she, blushing deeply as she spoke.

I heard no more. She turned towards the window with the colonel, and all Isaw was that he handed her a letter, which, having hastily broken open andthrown her eyes over, she grew at first deadly pale, then red, and whileher eyes filled with tears, I heard her say, “How like him! How trulygenerous this is!” I listened for no more; my brain was wheeling round andmy senses reeling. I turned and left the room; in another moment I was onmy horse, galloping from the spot, despair, in all its blackness, in myheart, and in my broken-hearted misery, wishing for death.

I was miles away from Dublin ere I remembered well what had occurred, andeven then not over clearly. The fact that Lucy Dashwood, whom I imaginedto be my own in heart, loved another, was all that I really knew. That onethought was all my mind was capable of, and in it my misery, mywretchedness were centred.

Of all the grief my life has known, I have had no moments like the longhours of that dreary night. My sorrow, in turn, took every shape andassumed every guise. Now I remembered how the Dashwoods had courted myintimacy and encouraged my visits,—how Lucy herself had evinced in athousand ways that she felt a preference for me. I called to mind the manyunequivocal proofs I had given her that my feeling at least was no commonone; and yet, how had she sported with my affections, and jested with myhappiness! That she loved Hammersley I had now a palpable proof. That thisaffection must have been mutual, and prosecuted at the very moment I wasnot only professing my own love for her, but actually receiving all but anavowal of its return,—oh, it was too, too base! and in my deepestheart 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 heartsad and heavy, careless what became of me for the future, and ponderingwhether I should not at once give up my college career and return to myuncle. When I reached my chambers, all was silent and comfortless; Webberhad not returned; my servant was from home; and I felt myself more thanever wretched in the solitude of what had been so oft the scene of noisyand festive gayety. I sat some hours in a half-musing state, every saddepressing thought that blighted hopes can conjure up rising in turnbefore me. A loud knocking at the door at length aroused me. I got up andopened it. No one was there. I looked around as well as the coming gloomof evening would permit, but saw nothing. I listened, and heard, at somedistance 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 requiredsome deliberation whether you opened your door or not. Why, man, you canhave no great gift of prophecy, or you wouldn’t have kept me so longthere.”

“And have you been so?”

“Only twenty minutes; for as I saw the key in the lock, I had determinedto 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 appearaltogether awake yet.”

“I have not been quite well these few days.”

“Oh, indeed! The Dashwoods thought there must have been something of thatkind 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; sothat your great news has been keeping these twenty-four hours longer thanneed be.”

“I am not aware what you allude to.”

“Well, you are not over likely to be the wiser when you hear it, if youcan assume no more intelligent look than that. Why, man, there’s greatluck in store for you.”

“As how, pray? Come, Power, out with it; though I can’t pledge myself tofeel 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 othernews, your gazette.”

“My gazette! What do you mean?”

“Confound your uncommon stupidity this evening! I mean, man, that you areone of us,—gazetted to the 14th Light,—the best fellows forlove, 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 ofthe 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 ofgallant fellows,—all food for powder,—and, with the aid of arotten transport and the stormy winds that blow, will be bronzing ourbeautiful faces in Portugal before the month’s out. But come, now, let’ssee about supper. Some of ours are coming over here at eleven, and Ipromised them a devilled bone; and as it’s your last night among theseclassic precincts, let us have a shindy of it.”

While I despatched Mike to Morrison’s to provide supper, I heard fromPower that Sir George Dashwood had interested himself so strongly for methat I had obtained my cornetcy in the 14th; that, fearful lest anydisappointment might arise, he had never mentioned the matter to me, butthat he had previously obtained my uncle’s promise to concur in thearrangement if his negotiation succeeded. It had so done, and now thelong-sought-for object of many days was within my grasp. But, alas, thecirc*mstance which lent it all its fascinations was a vanished dream; andwhat but two days before had rendered my happiness perfect, I listened tolistlessly and almost without interest. Indeed, my first impulse atfinding that I owed my promotion to Sir George was to return a positiverefusal of the cornetcy; but then I remembered how deeply such conductwould hurt my poor uncle, to whom I never could give an adequateexplanation. So I heard Power in silence to the end, thanked him sincerelyfor his own good-natured kindness in the matter, which already, by theinterest he had taken in me, went far to heal the wounds that my ownsolitary musings were deepening in my heart. At eighteen, fortunately,consolations are attainable that become more difficult ateight-and-twenty, and impossible at eight-and-thirty.

While Power continued to dilate upon the delights of a soldier’s life—atheme which many a boyish dream had long since made hallowed to mythoughts—I gradually felt my enthusiasm rising, and a certainthrobbing at my heart betrayed to me that, sad and dispirited as I felt,there was still within that buoyant spirit which youth possesses as itsprivilege, and which answers to the call of enterprise as the war-horse tothe trumpet. That a career worthy of manhood, great, glorious, andinspiriting, opened before me, coming so soon after the late downfall ofmy hopes, was in itself a source of such true pleasure that ere long Ilistened to my friend, and heard his narrative with breathless interest. Alingering sense of pique, too, had its share in all this. I longed to comeforward in some manly and dashing part, where my youth might not be everremembered against me, and when, having brought myself to the test, Imight no longer be looked upon and treated as a boy.

We were joined at length by the other officers of the 14th, and, to thenumber of twelve, sat down to supper.

It was to be my last night in Old Trinity, and we resolved that thefarewell should be a solemn one. Mansfield, one of the wildest youngfellows in the regiment, had vowed that the leave-taking should becommemorated by some very decisive and open expressions of our feelings,and had already made some progress in arrangements for blowing up thegreat bell, which had more than once obtruded upon our morningconvivialities; but he was overruled by his more discreet associates, andwe at length assumed our places at table, in the midst of which stood a hecatombof all my college equipments, cap, gown, bands, etc. A funeral pile ofclassics was arrayed upon the hearth, surmounted by my “Book on theCellar,” and a punishment-roll waved its length, like a banner, over thedoomed heroes of Greece and Rome.

It is seldom that any very determined attempt to be gay par excellencehas 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 inthe morning, such was the uproar we caused, and so terrific the noise ofour proceedings, that the accumulated force of porters, sent one by one todemand admission, was now a formidable body at the door, and Mike at lastcame in to assure us that the bursar,—the most dread official of allcollegians,—was without, and insisted, with a threat of his heaviestdispleasure in case of refusal, that the door should be opened.

A committee of the whole house immediately sat upon the question; and itwas at length resolved, nemine contradicente, that the requestshould be complied with. A fresh bowl of punch, in honor of our expectedguest, was immediately concocted, a new broil put on the gridiron, andhaving seated ourselves with as great a semblance of decorum as fourbottles a man admits of, Curtis the junior captain, being most drunk, wasdeputed to receive the bursar at the door, and introduce him to our augustpresence.

Mike’s instructions were, that immediately on Dr. Stone the bursarentering, the door was to be slammed to, and none of his followersadmitted. This done, the doctor was to be ushered in and left to ourpolite attentions.

A fresh thundering from without scarcely left time for furtherdeliberation; and at last Curtis moved towards the door in execution ofhis mission.

“Is there any one there?” said Mike, in a tone of most unsophisticatedinnocence, 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,—thisinstant.”

“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 heavybars were withdrawn, and the door opened, but so sparingly as withdifficulty to permit the passage of the burly figure of the bursar.

Forcing his way through, and regardless of what became of the rest, hepushed on vigorously through the antechamber, and before Curtis couldperform his functions of usher, stood in the midst of us. What were hisfeelings at the scene before him, Heaven knows. The number of figures inuniform at once betrayed how little his jurisdiction extended to the greatmass of the company, and he immediately turned towards me.

“Mr. Webber—”

“O’Malley, if you please, Mr. Bursar,” said I, bowing with, mostceremonious politeness.

“No matter, sir; arcades ambo, I believe.”

“Both archdeacons,” said Melville, translating, with a look of witheringcontempt upon the speaker.

The doctor continued, addressing me,—

“May I ask, sir, if you believe yourself possessed of any privilege forconverting this university into a common tavern?”

“I wish to Heaven he did,” said Curtis; “capital tap your old commonswould make.”

“Really, Mr. Bursar,” replied I, modestly, “I had begun to flatter myselfthat our little innocent gayety had inspired you with the idea of joiningour party.”

“I humbly move that the old cove in the gown do take the chair,” sang outone. “All who are of this opinion say, ‘Ay.’” A perfect yell of ayesfollowed 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 liftedfrom under him, and he was jerked, rather than placed, upon a chair, andput sitting upon the table.

“Mr. O’Malley, your expulsion within twenty-four hours—”

“Hip, hip, hurra, hurra, hurra!” drowned the rest, while Power, taking offthe doctor’s cap, replaced it by a foraging cap, very much to theamusem*nt 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 hisunconscious hand.

“Now for a ‘Viva la Compagnie!’” said Telford, seating himself at thepiano, and playing the first bars of that well-known air, to which, in ourmeetings, 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 oldwalls, 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 newsquare rather remotely situated from the remainder of the college.]

Words cannot give even the faintest idea of the poor bursar’s feelingswhile these demoniacal orgies were enacting around him. Held fast in hischair by Lechmere and another, he glowered on the riotous mob around likea maniac, and astonishment that such liberties could be taken with one inhis situation seemed to have surpassed even his rage and resentment; andevery now and then a stray thought would flash across his mind that wewere mad,—a sentiment which, unfortunately, our conduct was but toowell calculated to inspire.

“So you’re the morning lecturer, old gentleman, and have just dropped inhere in the way of business; pleasant life you must have of it,” saidCasey, now by far the most tipsy man present.

“If you think, Mr. O’Malley, that the events of this evening are to endhere—”

“Very far from it, Doctor,” said Power; “I’ll draw up a little account ofthe affair for ‘Saunders.’ They shall hear of it in every corner and nookof the kingdom.”

“The bursar of Trinity shall be a proverb for a good fellow that lovethhis 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 devilishconvivial,—eh, Doctor?”

“Is that like him?” said Moreton, producing a caricature which he had justsketched.

“Capital,—very good,—perfect. M’Cleary shall have it in hiswindow by noon to-day,” said Power.

At this instant some of the combustibles disposed among the rejectedhabiliments of my late vocation caught fire, and squibs, crackers, anddetonating shots went off on all sides. The bursar, who had not been deafto 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 beseized, 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, haddone their work, and more than one among the pursuers measured his lengthupon the pavement; while the terrified bursar, with the speed of terror,held on his way, and gained his chambers by about twenty yards in advanceof Power and Melville, whose pursuit only ended when the oaken panel ofthe door shut them out from their victim. One loud cheer beneath hiswindow served for our farewell to our friend, and we returned to my rooms.By this time a regiment of those classic functionaries ycleped porters hadassembled around the door, and seemed bent upon giving battle in honor oftheir maltreated ruler; but Power explained to them, in a neat speechreplete with Latin quotations, that their cause was a weak one, that wewere more than their match, and finally proposed to them to finish thepunch-bowl, to which we were really incompetent,—a motion that metimmediate acceptance; and old Duncan, with his helmet in one hand and agoblet in the other, wished me many happy days and every luck in this lifeas I stepped from the massive archway, and took my last farewell of OldTrinity.

Should any kind reader feel interested as to the ulterior course assumedby the bursar, I have only to say that the terrors of the “Board” werenever fulminated against me, harmless and innocent as I should haveesteemed them. The threat of giving publicity to the entire proceedings bythe papers, and the dread of figuring in a sixpenny caricature inM’Cleary’s window, were too much for the worthy doctor, and he took thewiser course under the circ*mstances, and held his peace about the matter.I, too, have done so for many a year, and only now recall the scene amongthe 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 dispelsome dark, depressing dream, but arouse us to the consciousness of a newand bright career suddenly opening before us, buoyant in hope, rich inpromise for the future! Life has nothing better than this. The bold springby which the mind clears the depth that separates misery from happiness isecstasy itself; and then what a world of bright visions come teemingbefore us,—what plans we form; what promises we make to ourselves inour own hearts; how prolific is the dullest imagination; how excursive thetamest fancy, at such a moment! In a few short and fleeting seconds, theevents of a whole life are planned and pictured before us. Dreams ofhappiness and visions of bliss, of which all our after-years areinsufficient to eradicate the prestige, come in myriads about us;and from that narrow aperture through which this new hope pierces into ourheart, a flood of light is poured that illumines our path to the veryverge of the grave. How many a success in after-days is reckoned but asone step in that ladder of ambition some boyish review has framed,perhaps, after all, destined to be the first and only one! With whattriumph we hail some goal attained, some object of our wishes gained, lessfor its present benefit, than as the accomplishment of some youthfulprophecy, when picturing to our hearts all that we would have in life, wewhispered 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 comessurrounded, for the greatest actual happiness he has partaken of? Alas,alas, it is only in the boundless expanse of such imaginations, unreal andfictitious as they are, that we are truly blessed! Our choicest blessingsin life come even so associated with some sources of care that the cup ofenjoyment is not pure but dregged in bitterness.

To such a world of bright anticipation did I awake on the morning afterthe events I have detailed in the last chapter. The first thing my eyesfell upon was an official letter from the Horse Guards:—

“The commander of the forces desires that Mr. O’Malley will reporthimself, immediately on the receipt of this letter, at the headquartersof the regiment to which he is gazetted.” 

Few and simple as the lines were, how brimful of pleasure they sounded tomy ears. The regiment to which I was gazetted! And so I was a soldier atlast! The first wish of my boyhood was then really accomplished. And myuncle, 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’shandwriting. 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 nowtore it open and read:—

My Dear Charley,—Godfrey, being laid up with the gout, hasdesired me to write to you by this day’s post. Your appointment tothe 14th, notwithstanding all his prejudices about the army, hasgiven him sincere pleasure. I believe, between ourselves, that yourcollege career, of which he has heard something, convinced him thatyour forte did not lie in the classics; you know I said so always, butnobody minded me. Your new prospects are all that your best friendscould wish for you: you begin early; your corps is a crack one; youare ordered for service. What could you have more?Your uncle hopes, if you can get a few days’ leave, that you willcome down here before you join, and I hope so too; for he is unusuallylow-spirited, and talks about his never seeing you again, andall that sort of thing.I have written to Merivale, your colonel, on this subject, as wellas generally on your behalf. We were cornets together forty yearsago. A strict fellow you’ll find him, but a trump on service. Ifyou 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 newcareer; and, indeed, half accomplished one. After all, however, Ican tell you little that your own good sense will not teach you as yougo on; and experience is ever better than precept. I know of butone rule in life which admits of scarcely any exception, and havingfollowed it upwards of sixty years, approve of it only the more:Never quarrel when you can help it; but meet any man,—yourtailor, your hairdresser,—if he wishes to have you out.W. C.

I had scarcely come to the end of this very characteristic epistle, whentwo more letters were placed upon my table. One was from Sir GeorgeDashwood, inviting me to dinner to meet some of my “brother officers.” Howmy heart beat at the expression. The other was a short note, marked“Private,” from my late tutor, Dr. Mooney, saying, “that if I made asuitable apology to the bursar for the late affair at my room, he mightprobably be induced to abandon any further step; otherwise—” thenfollowed innumerable threats about fine, penalties, expulsion, etc., thatfell most harmlessly upon my ears. I accepted the invitation; declined theapology; and having ordered my horse, cantered off to the barracks toconsult my friend Power as to all the minor details of my career.

As the dinner hour grew near, my thoughts became again fixed upon MissDashwood; and a thousand misgivings crossed my mind as to whether I shouldhave nerve enough to meet her, without disclosing in my manner the alteredstate of my feelings; a possibility which I now dreaded fully as much as Ihad longed some days before to avow my affection for her, however slightit* prospect of return. All my valiant resolves and well-contrived plansfor appearing unmoved and indifferent in her presence, with which I storedmy 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 wasserved in the dining-room, no move was made to the drawing-room by any ofthe company. “Quite as well as it is!” was my muttered opinion, as I gotinto 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 foranother.” Very reasonable, very proper resolutions these; but, alas! Iwent home to bed, only to think half the night long of the fair Lucy, anddream of her the remainder of it.

When morning dawned my first thought was, Shall I see her once more? ShallI leave her forever thus abruptly? Or, rather, shall I not unburden mybosom of its secret, confess my love, and say farewell? I felt such acourse much more in unison with my wishes than the day before; and asPower had told me that before a week we should present ourselves atFermoy, I knew that no time was to be lost.

My determination was taken. I ordered my horse, and early as it was, rodeout to the Royal Hospital. My heart beat so strongly as I rode up to thedoor that I half resolved to return. I rang the bell. Sir George was intown. Miss Dashwood had just gone, five minutes before, to spend some daysat Carton. “It is fate!” thought I as I turned from the spot and walkedslowly beside my horse towards Dublin.

In the few days that intervened before my leaving town, my time wasoccupied 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 totransact, contrived at least three times a day to ride out to the RoyalHospital, always to make some trifling inquiry for Sir George, and alwaysto hear repeated that Miss Dashwood had not returned.

Thus passed five of my last six days in Dublin; and as the morning of thelast opened, it was with a sorrowing spirit that I felt my hour ofdeparture approach without one only opportunity of seeing Lucy, even tosay good-by. While Mike was packing in one corner, and I in another wasconcluding a long letter to my poor uncle, my door opened and Webberentered.

“Eh, O’Malley, I’m only in time to say adieu, it seems. To my surprisethis morning I found you had cut the ‘Silent Sister.’ I feared I should betoo 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 seenyou. Your last brilliant achievement at Sir George’s very nearly involvedme in a serious scrape.”

“A mere trifle. How confoundedly silly Power must have looked, eh? Shouldlike so much to have seen his face. He booked up next day,—veryproper fellow. By-the-bye, O’Malley, I rather like the little girl; she isdecidedly 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 hiscravat and adjusting his hair at the glass. “She’s spoiled by all thetinsel vaporing of her hussar and aide-de-camp acquaintances; butsomething 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. Youserved out Stone gloriously: perhaps it’s as well, though,—you knowthey’d have expelled you; but still something might turn up. Soldiering isa bad style of thing, eh? How the old general did take his sister-in-law’spresence to heart! But he must forgive and forget, for I am going to bevery 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 enoughwith the cry of the fox-pack in his ears; but I don’t know how he’ll standa peal of artillery.”

“Well, come along,” said Webber; “I’ll ride with you.” So saying, wemounted and set off to the Park, where two regiments of cavalry and somehorse artillery were ordered for inspection.

The review was over when we reached the exercising ground, and we slowlywalked our horses towards the end of the Park, intending to return toDublin by the road. We had not proceeded far, when, some hundred yards inadvance, we perceived an officer riding with a lady, followed by anorderly dragoon.

“There he goes,” said Webber; “I wonder if he’d ask me to dinner, if Iwere to throw myself in his way?”

“Who do you mean?” said I.

“Sir George Dashwood, to be sure, and, la voilà, Miss Lucy. Thelittle 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 mineparticipating 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 cansee, with some reason to hope for success.”

“Oh, as to that, we flatter ourselves the thing does not present any veryconsiderable difficulties.”

“As how, pray?”

“Why, of course, like all such matters, a very decisive determination tobe, to do, and to suffer, as Lindley Murray says, carries the day. Tellher she’s an angel every day for three weeks. She may laugh a little atfirst, but she’ll believe it in the end. Tell her that you have not theslightest prospect of obtaining her affections, but still persist inloving 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 nofortune; that you haven’t a sixpence; and who should marry, if peoplewhose position in the world was similar did not?”

“But halt; pray, how are you to get time and place for all suchinteresting conversations?”

“Time and place! Good Heavens, what a question! Is not every hour of thetwenty-four the fittest? Is not every place the most suitable? A suddenpause in the organ of St. Patrick’s did, it is true, catch me once in adeclaration of love, but the choir came in to my aid and drowned thelady’s answer. My dear O’Malley, what could prevent you this instant, ifyou 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 tosay good-by to the little girl without a witness, I’ll take off thehe-dragon.”

“You don’t mean—”

“I do, man; I do mean it.” So saying, he drew a crimson silk handkerchieffrom 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, heturned 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’svoice calling for the orderly. I looked and saw Webber at a considerabledistance in front, curvetting and playing all species of antics. Thedistance between the general and myself was now so short that I overheardthe 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 hishorse, he sprang forward at a gallop, incensed beyond endurance that hismost strict orders should be so openly and insultingly transgressed.

Webber led on to a deep hollow, where the road passed between two smoothslopes, covered with furze-trees, and from which it emerged afterwards inthe thickest and most intricate part of the Park. Sir George dashed boldlyafter, and in less than half a minute both were lost to my view, leavingme in breathless amazement at Master Frank’s ingenuity, and some puzzle asto my own future movements.

“Now then, or never!” said I, as I pushed boldly forward, and in aninstant was alongside of Miss Dashwood. Her astonishment at seeing me sosuddenly increased the confusion from which I felt myself suffering, andfor some minutes I could scarcely speak. At last I plucked up courage alittle, and said:—

“Miss Dashwood, I have looked most anxiously, for the last four days, forthe moment which chance has now given me. I wished, before I partedforever with those to whom I owe already so much, that I should at leastspeak 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 ordersto embark immediately for Portugal.”

I thought—perhaps it was but a thought—that her cheek grewsomewhat paler as I spoke; but she remained silent; and I, scarcelyknowing 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 yourintention of leaving so soon, for only last night he spoke of some lettershe meant to give you to some friends in the Peninsula; besides, I know,” here she smiled faintly,—“that he destined some excellent advice foryour ears, as to your new path in life, for he has an immense opinion ofthe value of such to a young officer.”

“I am, indeed, most grateful to Sir George, and truly never did any onestand more in need of counsel than I do.” This was said half musingly, andnot intended to be heard.

“Then, pray, consult papa,” said she, eagerly; “he is much attached toyou, 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 falsepretences. Should I tell you all the truth, you would not pardon, perhapsnot 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 Ispoke. “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, thatawaits 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 fornothing, I hope for nothing; I merely entreat that, for my truth, I maymeet 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 haveone favor more to ask,—it is my last, my only one. Do not, when timeand distance may have separated us, perhaps forever, think that theexpressions I now use are prompted by a mere sudden ebullition of boyishfeeling; do not attribute to the circ*mstance of my youth alone the warmthof the attachment I profess,—for I swear to you, by every hope thatI have, that in my heart of hearts my love to you is the source and springof every action in my life, of every aspiration in my heart; and when Icease to love you, I shall cease to feel.”

“And now, farewell,—farewell forever!” I pressed her hand to mylips, gave one long, last look, turned my horse rapidly away, and ere aminute 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, sothat I started for Cork the next morning with no other companion than myservant Mike. For the first few stages upon the road, my own thoughtssufficiently occupied me to render me insensible or indifferent to allelse. 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 andfears, passed in review before me, and I took no note of time till farpast noon. I now looked to the back part of the coach, where Mike’s voicehad been, as usual, in the ascendant for some time, and perceived that hewas surrounded by an eager auditory of four raw recruits, who, under thecare of a sergeant, were proceeding to Cork to be enrolled in theirregiment. The sergeant, whose minutes of wakefulness were only those whenthe coach stopped to change horses, and when he got down to mix a “summathot,” paid little attention to his followers, leaving them perfectly freein all their movements, to listen to Mike’s eloquence and profit by hissuggestions, should they deem fit. Master Michael’s services to his newacquaintances, I began to perceive, were not exactly of the same nature asDibdin is reported to have rendered to our navy in the late war. Far fromit. His theme was no contemptuous disdain for danger; no patrioticenthusiasm to fight for home and country; no proud consciousness ofBritish valor, mingled with the appropriate hatred of our mutual enemies,—onthe contrary, Mike’s eloquence was enlisted for the defendant. Hedetailed, and in no unimpressive way either, the hardships of a soldier’slife,—its dangers, its vicissitudes, its chances, its possiblepenalties, its inevitably small rewards; and, in fact, so completely didhe work on the feelings of his hearers that I perceived more than oneglance exchanged between the victims that certainly betokened anythingsave the resolve to fight for King George. It was at the close of a longand most powerful appeal upon the superiority of any other line in life,petty larceny and small felony inclusive, that he concluded with thefollowing 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 norgingerbread is going on among them, av ye knew but all, and heerd themisfortune 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 dayfor 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’tknow their own minds, he thought, anyhow, he knew his, so he ran away,—anddevil a bit of him they ever cotch afther. May be ye might like to hearthe story; and there’s instruction in it for yez, too.”

A general request to this end being preferred by the company, Mike took ashrewd 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, justto 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 clothesand go errands, and the like o’ that; and the king, long life to him! willhelp to pay ye for your trouble. Ye understand me?’ Well, my fatheragreed, and Mr. Barry was as good as his word. Never a guard did my fathermount, nor as much as a drill had he, nor a roll-call, nor anything atall, save and except wait on the captain, his master, just as pleasant asneed be, and no inconvenience in life.

“Well, for three years this went on as I am telling, and the regiment wasordered down to Bantry, because of a report that the ‘boys’ was risingdown there; and the second evening there was a night party patrolling withCaptain Barry for six hours in the rain, and the captain, God be marcifulto him! tuk could and died. More by token, they said it was drink, but myfather says it wasn’t: ‘for’ says he, ‘after he tuk eight tumblerscomfortable,’ my father mixed the ninth, and the captain waived his handthis way, as much as to say he’d have no more. ‘Is it that ye mean?’ saysmy father; and the captain nodded. ‘Musha, but it’s sorry I am,’ says myfather, ‘to see you this way; for ye must be bad entirely to leave off inthe beginning of the evening.’ And thrue for him, the captain was dead inthe morning.

“A sorrowful day it was for my father when he died. It was the finestplace in the world; little to do, plenty of divarsion, and a kind man hewas,—when he was drunk. Well, then, when the captain was buried andall 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 hisways 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 theranks 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 thatought to be discharged on a pension with two-and-sixpence a day, obligedto go capering about the barrack-yard, practising the goose-step, or someother 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, hecould learn at all; and so far from caring for being in confinement, itwas 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 whilethat they were loath to punish him, the ould rogue!

“This was going on for some time, when, one day, news came in that a bodyof the rebels, as they called them, was coming down from the Gap ofMulnavick to storm the town and burn all before them. The whole regimentwas of coorse under arms, and great preparations was made for a battle.Meanwhile patrols were ordered to scour the roads, and sentries posted atevery turn of the way and every rising ground to give warning when theboys came in sight; and my father was placed at the Bridge of Drumsnag, inthe wildest and bleakest part of the whole country, with nothing but furzemountains 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 aloneby himself, with no human creature to speak to, nor a whiskey-shop withinten 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 satdown 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 badluck 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 hecould get on his legs, down comes’ the general, ould Cohoon, with anorderly after him.

“‘Who goes there?’ says my father.

“‘The round,’ says the general, looking about all the time to see wherewas 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, puttinghis pipe in his mouth again, for he thought all was over.

“‘D—n your soul, where are you?’ says the general, for sorrow bit ofmy father could he see yet.

“‘It’s here I am,’ says he, ‘and a cowld place I have of it; and if itwasn’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—moreby token, they say it wasn’t right for him—laughed as loud ashimself.

“‘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, ‘withthis 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 keepme the longer.’

“‘Well, my good fellow,’ says the general, ‘I haven’t more time to wastehere; but let me teach you something before I go. Whenever your officerpasses, 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 Ibrought you to a court-martial.’

“‘Well, there’s no knowing,’ says my father, ‘what they’d be up to; butsure, if that’s all, I’ll do it, with all “the veins,” whenever yer comingthis 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 yourrespect to your officer.’

“‘Never fear, sir,’ says my father; ‘and many thanks to you for yourkindness for telling me.’

“Away went the general, and the orderly after him, and in ten minutes theywere out of sight.

“The night was falling fast, and one half of the mountain was quite darkalready, 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’sguard was coming to relieve him. There he was, fresh and fasting, anddaren’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 hesee at the same moment but a shadow of something coming down the roadopposite the bridge. He looked again; and then he made out the generalhimself, that was walking his horse down the steep part of the mountain,followed by the orderly. My father immediately took up his musket off thewall, settled his belts, shook the ashes out of his pipe and put it intohis 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, atleast for the night. Well, by this time the general was turning a sharppart of the cliff that looks down upon the bridge, from where you mightlook five miles round on every side. ‘He sees me,’ says my father; ‘butI’ll be just as quick as himself.’ No sooner said than done; for comingforward to the parapet of the bridge, he up with his musket to hisshoulder, 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 ableto speak with fright, for every turn he gave on his horse, my fatherfollowed with the gun,—what do you mean?’

“‘Sure, ain’t I presenting?’ says my father. ‘Blood an ages! do you wantme to fire next?’

“With that the general drew a pistol from his holster, and took deliberateaim at my father; and there they both stood for five minutes, looking ateach other, the orderly all the while breaking his heart laughing behind arock; for, ye see, the general knew av he retreated that my father mightfire on purpose, and av he came on, that he might fire by chance,—andsorra 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 handstrembling 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’tout of his mouth before off went the musket, bang!—and down fell thegeneral, 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, onlythe wadding of the gun. For my father—God be kind to him!—yesee, could do nothing right; and so he bit off the wrong end of thecartridge when he put it in the gun, and, by reason, there was no bulletin it. Well, from that day after they never got a sight of him; for theinstant that the general dropped, he sprang over the bridge-wall and gotaway; and what, between living in a lime-kiln for two months, eatingnothing but blackberries and sloes, and other disguises, he never returnedto the army, but ever after took to a civil situation, and drive a hearsefor many years.”

How far Mike’s narrative might have contributed to the support of histheory, I am unable to pronounce; for his auditory were, at some distancefrom Cork, made to descend from their lofty position and join a largerbody of recruits, all proceeding to the same destination, under a strongescort of infantry. For ourselves, we reached the “beautiful city” in duetime, 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, itscloaked and hooded actresses en papillote, bears about the samerelation to the gala, wax-lit, and bespangled ballet, as the raw younggentleman of yesterday to the epauletted, belted, and sabretascheddragoon, whose transformation is due to a few hours of head-quarters, anda few interviews with the adjutant.

So, at least, I felt it; and it was with a very perfect concurrence in hisMajesty’s taste in a uniform, and a most entire approval of the regimentaltailor, that I strutted down George’s Street a few days after my arrivalin Cork. The transports had not as yet come round; there was a great doubtof their doing so for a week or so longer; and I found myself as thedashing cornet, the centre of a thousand polite attentions and most kindcivilities.

The officer under whose orders I was placed for the time was a greatfriend of Sir George Dashwood’s, and paid me, in consequence, muchattention. Major Dalrymple had been on the staff from the commencement ofhis military career, had served in the commissariat for some time, wasmuch on foreign stations; but never, by any of the many casualties of hislife, had he seen what could be called service. His ideas of the soldier’sprofession were, therefore, what might almost be as readily picked up by acommission in the battle-axe guards, as one in his Majesty’s Fiftieth. Hewas now a species of district paymaster, employed in a thousand ways,either inspecting recruits, examining accounts, revising sickcertificates, or receiving contracts for mess beef. Whether the nature ofhis manifold occupations had enlarged the sphere of his talents andambition, or whether the abilities had suggested the variety of hisduties, I know not, but truly the major was a man of all work. No soonerdid a young ensign join his regiment at Cork, than Major Dalrymple’s cardwas left at his quarters; the next day came the major himself; the thirdbrought an invitation to dinner; on the fourth he was told to drop in, inthe evening; and from thenceforward, he was the ami de la maison,in company with numerous others as newly-fledged and inexperienced ashimself.

One singular feature of the society at the house was that although themajor was as well known as the flag on Spike Island, yet somehow, noofficer above the rank of an ensign was ever to be met with there. It wasnot that he had not a large acquaintance; in fact, the “How are you,Major?” “How goes it, Dalrymple?” that kept everlastingly going on as hewalked the streets, proved the reverse; but strange enough, hispredilections leaned towards the newly gazetted, far before the bronzedand seared campaigners who had seen the world, and knew more about it. Thereasons for this line of conduct were twofold. In the first place, therewas not an article of outfit, from a stock to a sword-belt, that he couldnot and did not supply to the young officer,—from the gorget of theinfantry to the shako of the grenadier, all came within his province; notthat he actually kept a magasin of these articles, but he had socompletely interwoven his interests with those of numerous shopkeepers inCork that he rarely entered a shop over whose door Dalrymple & Co.might not have figured on the sign-board. His stables were filled with aperfect infirmary of superannuated chargers, fattened and conditioned upto a miracle, and groomed to perfection. He could get you—onlyyou—about three dozen of sherry to take out with you assea-store; he knew of such a servant; he chanced upon such acamp-furniture yesterday in his walks; in fact, why want for anything? Hisresources 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 anddiscounted by a friend of the major’s, would always do. While such werethe unlimited advantages his acquaintance conferred, the sphere of hisbenefits took another range. The major had two daughters; Matilda andFanny 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, fromBelfast to the Bermudas. Where was the subaltern who had not knelt at theshrine of one or the other, if not of both, and vowed eternal love until achange of quarters? In plain words, the major’s solicitude for the servicewas such, that, not content with providing the young officer with all thenecessary outfit of his profession, he longed also to supply him with acomforter for his woes, a charmer for his solitary hours, in the person ofone of his amiable daughters. Unluckily, however, the necessity for a wifeis not enforced by “general orders,” as is the cut of your coat, or thelength of your sabre; consequently, the major’s success in the homedepartment of his diplomacy was not destined for the same happy resultsthat awaited it when engaged about drill trousers and camp kettles, andthe Misses Dalrymple remained misses through every clime and everycampaign. 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 tallfigure and a slender waist, with more poetry in her head than would haveturned any ordinary brain; always unhappy, in need of consolation, nevermeeting with the kindred spirit that understood her, destined to walk theworld alone, her fair thoughts smothered in the recesses of her own heart.Devilish hard to stand this, when you began in a kind of platonicfriendship on both sides. More than one poor fellow nearly succumbed,particularly when she came to quote Cowley, and told him, with tears inher eyes,—

“There are hearts that live and love alone,” etc.

I’m assured that this coup-de-grace rarely failed in being followedby a downright avowal of open love, which, somehow, what between the routecoming, what with waiting for leave from home, etc., never got furtherthan a most tender scene, and exchange of love tokens; and, in fact, suchbecame so often the termination, that Power swears Matty had to make afirm resolve about cutting off any more hair, fearing a premature baldnessduring the recruiting season.

Now, Fanny had selected another arm of the service. Her hair was fair; hereyes blue, laughing, languishing,—mischief-loving blue, with longlashes, and a look in them that was wont to leave its impression ratherlonger than you exactly knew of; then, her figure was petite, butperfect; her feet Canova might have copied; and her hand was a study forTitian; her voice, too, was soft and musical, but full of that gaiétéde coeur that never fails to charm. While her sister’s style was ilpenserono, hers was l’allegro; every imaginable thing, place,or person supplied food for her mirth, and her sister’s lovers all came infor their share. She hunted with Smith Barry’s hounds; she yachted withthe Cove Club; she coursed, practised at a mark with a pistol, and playedchicken hazard with all the cavalry,—for, let it be remarked as aphysiological fact, Matilda’s admirers were almost invariably taken fromthe infantry, while Fanny’s adorers were as regularly dragoons. Whetherthe former be the romantic arm of the service, and the latter be moreadapted to dull realities, or whether the phenomenon had any otherexplanation, I leave to the curious. Now, this arrangement, proceedingupon that principle which has wrought such wonders in Manchester andSheffield,—the division of labor,—was a most wise andequitable one, each having her one separate and distinct field of action,interference was impossible; not but that when, as in the presentinstance, cavalry was in the ascendant, Fanny would willingly spare adragoon or two to her sister, who likewise would repay the debt whenoccasion offered.

The mamma—for it is time I should say something of the head of thefamily—was an excessively fat, coarse-looking, dark-skinnedpersonage, of some fifty years, with a voice like a boatswain in a quinsy.Heaven can tell, perhaps, why the worthy major allied his fortunes withhers, for she was evidently of a very inferior rank in society, couldnever have been aught than downright ugly, and I never heard that shebrought him any money. “Spoiled five,” the national amusem*nt of her ageand sex in Cork, scandal, the changes in the army list, the failures inspeculation of her luckless husband, the forlorn fortunes of the girls,her daughters, kept her in occupation, and her days were passed in oneperpetual, unceasing current of dissatisfaction and ill-temper with allaround, that formed a heavy counterpoise to the fascinations of the youngladies. The repeated jiltings to which they had been subject had bluntedany delicacy upon the score of their marriage; and if the newly-introducedcornet or ensign was not coming forward, as became him, at the end of therequisite number of days, he was sure of receiving a very palpableadmonition from Mrs. Dalrymple. Hints, at first dimly shadowed, thatMatilda was not in spirits this morning; that Fanny, poor child, had aheadache,—directed especially at the culprit in question,—grewgradually into those little motherly fondnesses in mamma, that, like thefascination of the rattlesnake, only lure on to ruin. The doomed man waspressed to dinner when all others were permitted to take their leave; hewas treated like one of the family, God help him! After dinner, the majorwould keep him an hour over his wine, discussing the misery of anill-assorted marriage; detailing his own happiness in marrying a womanlike the Tonga Islander I have mentioned; hinting that girls should bebrought up, not only to become companions to their husbands, but withideas fitting their station; if his auditor were a military man, that nonebut 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 lifewas to guard and keep them,—a difficult task, when proposals of themost flattering kind were coming constantly before him. Then followed afresh bottle, during which the major would consult his young friend upon avery delicate affair,—no less than a proposition for the hand ofMiss Matilda, or Fanny, whichever he was supposed to be soft upon. Thiswas generally a coup-de-maître; should he still resist, he washanded over to Mrs. Dalrymple, with a strong indictment against him, andrarely did he escape a heavy sentence. Now, is it not strange that tworeally pretty girls, with fully enough of amiable and pleasing qualitiesto have excited the attention and won the affections of many a man, shouldhave gone on for years,—for, alas! they did so in every climate,under every sun,—to waste their sweetness in this miserable careerof intrigue and man-trap, and yet nothing come of it? But so it was. Thefirst question a newly-landed regiment was asked, if coming from wherethey resided, was, “Well, how are the girls?” “Oh, gloriously. Matty isthere.” “Ah, indeed! poor thing.” “Has Fan sported a new habit?” “Is itthe old gray with the hussar braiding? Confound it, that was seedy when Isaw them in Corfu. And Mother Dal as fat and vulgar as ever?” “Dawson ofours was the last, and was called up for sentence when we were orderedaway; of course, he bolted,” etc. Such was the invariable style ofquestion and answer concerning them; and although some few, either fromgood feeling or fastidiousness, relished but little the mode in which ithad become habitual to treat them, I grieve to say that, generally, theywere pronounced fair game for every species of flirtation and love-makingwithout any “intentions” for the future. I should not have trespassed sofar upon my readers’ patience, were I not, in recounting these traits ofmy friends above, narrating matters of history. How many are there who maycast their eyes upon these pages, that will say, “Poor Matilda! I knew herat 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 afternoonof my arrival in Cork to a short, punchy, little red-faced gentleman, in ashort jacket and ducks, “you are, I perceive, appointed to the 14th; youwill have the goodness to appear on parade to-morrow morning. Theriding-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-morrowyou shall be entered at the mess.”

“Yours are at Santarem, I believe?” said an old, weather-beaten lookingofficer with one arm.

“I’m ashamed to say, I know nothing whatever of them; I received mygazette 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 healluded to were objects of the picturesque or a private family.

“Introduce him, then, at once,” said the adjutant; “we’ll all go in theevening. What will the old squaw think?”

“Not I,” said Minchin. “She wrote to the Duke of York about my helpingMatilda 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 myleave 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 circuitor a learned society could not have been more exclusively devoted to theirown separate and immediate topics than were we. Pipeclay in all itsvarieties came on the tapis; the last regulation cap, the newbutton, the promotions, the general orders, the colonel and the colonel’swife, stoppages, and the mess fund were all well and ably discussed; andstrange enough, while the conversation took this wide range, not a chanceallusion, not one stray hint ever wandered to the brave fellows who werecovering the army with glory in the Peninsula, nor one souvenir of himthat, 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 learnedhow little interest the real services of an army possess for the ears ofcertain officials, who, stationed at home quarters, pass their ingloriouslives in the details of drill, parade, mess-room gossip, and barrackscandal. Such, in fact, were the dons of the present dinner. We had acommissary-general, an inspecting brigade-major of something, a physicianto the forces, the adjutant himself, and Major Dalrymple; the hoipolloi 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 verystupidly tipsy; and Major Dalrymple succeeded in engaging the threejuniors of the party to tea, having previously pledged us to purchasenothing whatever of outfit without his advice, he well knowing (which hedid) how young fellows like us were cheated, and resolving to be a fatherto us (which he certainly tried to be).

As we rose from the table, about ten o’clock, I felt how soon a few suchdinners would succeed in disenchanting me of all my military illusions;for, young as I was, I saw that the commissary was a vulgar bore, thedoctor a humbug, the adjutant a sot, and the major himself I greatlysuspected to be an old rogue.

“You are coming with us, Sparks?” said Major Dalrymple, as he took me byone arm and the ensign by the other. “We are going to have a little teawith the ladies; not five minutes’ walk.”

“Most happy, sir,” said Mr. Sparks, with a very flattered expression ofcountenance.

“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 areso uncommonly prosy! That commissary, with his mess beef, and oldPritchard, with black doses and rigors,—nothing so insufferable!Besides, in reality, a young officer never needs all that nonsense. Alittle medicine chest—I’ll get you one each to-morrow for fivepounds—no, five pounds ten—the same thing—that will seeyou all through the Peninsula. Remind me of it in the morning.” This weall promised to do, and the major resumed: “I say, Sparks, you’ve got areal 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 onlythree horses, but I think they are tolerably good ones.”

The major now turned to Burton and said something in a low tone, to whichthe other replied, “Well, if you say so, I’ll get it; but it’s devilishdear.”

“Dear, my young friend! Cheap, dog cheap.”

“Only think, O’Malley, a whole brass bed, camp-stool, basin-stand, allcomplete, for sixty pounds! If it was not that a widow was disposing of itin great distress, one hundred could not buy it. Here we are; come along,—noceremony. 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 ringthe bell, displaying in so doing the least possible portion of a verywell-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 withmuch politeness, and having by a few adroit and well-put queriesascertained everything concerning our rank and position, seemed perfectlysatisfied that our intrusion was justifiable.

While my confrère, Mr. Sparks, was undergoing his examination I hadtime to look at the ladies, whom I was much surprised at finding so verywell looking; and as the ensign had opened a conversation with Fanny, Iapproached my chair towards the other, and having carelessly turned overthe leaves of the book she had been reading, drew her on to talk of it. Asmy acquaintance with young ladies hitherto had been limited to those whohad “no soul,” I felt some difficulty at first in keeping up with theexalted tone of my fair companion, but by letting her take the lead forsome time, I got to know more of the ground. We went on tolerablytogether, every moment increasing my stock of technicals, which were allthat was needed to sustain the conversation. How often have I found thesame plan succeed, whether discussing a question of law or medicine, witha learned professor of either! or, what is still more difficult,canvassing the merits of a preacher or a doctrine with a serious younglady, whose “blessed privileges” were at first a little puzzling tocomprehend.

I so contrived it, too, that Miss Matilda should seem as much to be makinga convert to her views as to have found a person capable of sympathizingwith her; and thus, long before the little supper, with which it was themajor’s practice to regale his friends every evening, made its appearance,we had established a perfect understanding together,—a circ*mstancethat, a bystander might have remarked, was productive of a more widelydiffused 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 makethe campaign of the whole globe; and we were thus all evidently fulfillingour various vocations, and affording perfect satisfaction to ourentertainers.

Then came the spatch-co*ck, and the sandwiches, and the negus, which Fannyfirst 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 hedeclined, we only pressed the more. How, invariably, by-the-bye, is it thecustom to show one’s appreciation of anything like a butt by pressing himfor a song! The major was in great spirits; told us anecdotes of his earlylife 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 turnedout to be bullocks. Matilda recited some lines from Pope in my ear. Fannychallenged Burton to a rowing match. Sparks listened to all around him,and Mrs. Dalrymple mixed a very little weak punch, which Dr. Lucas hadrecommended to her to take the last thing at night,—Noctescoenoeque etc. Say what you will, these were very jovial little réunions.The girls were decidedly very pretty. We were in high favor; and when wetook leave at the door, with a very cordial shake hands, it was with no arrièrepensée 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 thefevered excitement of a grande passion, it is not a little singularthat 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 isthe 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 androuge-et-noir, can possibly lounge through the long hours of hisday without at least fancying himself in love? The thousand littleoccupations it suggests become a necessity of existence; its very worriesare like the wholesome opposition that purifies and strengthens the frameof a free state. Then, what is there half so sweet as the reflectiveflattery which results from our appreciation of an object who in returndeems us the ne plus ultra of perfection? There it is, in fact;that confounded bump of self-esteem does it all, and has more imprudentmatches to answer for than all the occipital protuberances that everscared 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 militarycharacter that shall be nameless, as detaining me from some appointmentmade the evening before; for as I supped there each night, a party of onekind or another was always planned for the day following. Sometimes we hada boating excursion to Cove, sometimes a picnic at Foaty; now a rowingparty to Glanmire, or a ride, at which I furnished the cavalry. Thesedoings were all under my especial direction, and I thus became speedilythe 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 leroi 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 projectsof amusem*nt. As an experienced engineer might feel when watching thecourse of some storming projectile—some brilliant congreve—flyingover a besieged fortress, yet never touching the walls nor harming theinhabitants, so she looked on at all these demonstrations of attack withno small impatience, and wondered when would the breach be reportedpracticable. Another puzzle also contributed its share of anxiety,—whichof the girls was it? To be sure, he spent three hours every morning withFanny; but then, he never left Matilda the whole evening. He had given hisminiature to one; a locket with his hair was a present to the sister. Themajor thinks he saw his arm round Matilda’s waist in the garden; thehousemaid swears she saw him kiss Fanny in the pantry. Matilda smiles whenwe talk of his name with her sister’s; Fanny laughs outright, and says,“Poor Matilda! the man never dreamed of her.” This is becominguncomfortable. The major must ask his intentions. It is certainly one orthe other; but then, we have a right to know which. Such was a verycondensed view of Mrs. Dalrymple’s reflections on this important topic,—aview taken with her usual tact and clear-sightedness.

Matters were in this state when Power at length arrived in Cork, to takecommand of our detachment and make the final preparations for ourdeparture. I had been, as usual, spending the evening at the major’s, andhad 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 deucehave you been till this hour,—past two o’clock? There is no ball, noassembly going on, eh?”

“No,” said I, half blushing at the eagerness of the inquiry; “I’ve beenspending 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,—adevilish good fellow, with two such daughters!”

“Ahem!” said Power, shutting one eye knowingly, and giving a look like aYorkshire 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, aregular greenhorn. Fanny, also, nearly did for Harry Nesbitt, by riding ahurdle race. Then they left for Gibraltar, in the year,—what yearwas it?”

“Come, come,” said I, “this is a humbug; the girls are quite young; youjust have heard their names.”

“Well, perhaps so; only tell me which is your peculiar weakness, as theysay in the west, and may be I’ll convince you.”

“Oh, as to that,” said I, laughing, “I’m not very far gone on eitherside.”

“Then, Matilda, probably, has not tried you with Cowley, eh?—youlook 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, inten days! She ought not to have got to that for a month, at least; and howlike a young one it was, to be caught by the poetry. Oh, Master Charley, Ithought that the steeple-chaser might have done most with your Galwayheart,—the girl in the gray habit, that sings ‘Moddirederoo,’ oughtto 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 spotoccupied by the ‘black lady’ herself.”

It was no use concealing, or attempting to conceal, anything from myinquisitive friend; so I mixed my grog, and opened my whole heart; toldhow I had been conducting myself for the entire preceding fortnight; andwhen I concluded, sat silently awaiting Power’s verdict, as though a jurywere about to pronounce upon my life.

“Have you ever written?”

“Never; except, perhaps, a few lines with tickets for the theatre, orsomething 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 assistedat 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 yourattentions were not decided, and as the law does not, as yet, permitpolygamy—”

“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 yourintentions, as he calls it, the moment he hears the transport hasarrived?”

“By Jove! now you remind me, he asked this evening, when he could have afew minutes’ private conversation with me to-morrow, and I thought it wasabout some confounded military chest or sea-store, or one of his infernalcontrivances that he every day assures me are indispensable; though, ifevery officer had only as much baggage as I have got, under hisdirections, it would take two armies, at least, to carry the effects ofthe fighting one.”

“Poor fellow!” said he, starting upon his legs; “what a burst you’ve madeof it!” So saying, he began in a nasal twang,—

“I publish the banns of marriage between Charles O’Malley, late of hisMajesty’s 14th Dragoons, and ——— Dalrymple, spinster, ofthis city—”

“I’ll be hanged if you do, though,” said I, seeing pretty clearly, by thistime, something of the estimation my friends were held in. “Come, Power,pull me through, like a good fellow,—pull me through, without doinganything to hurt the girls’ feelings.”

“Well, we’ll see about it,” said he,—“we’ll see about it in themorning; but, at the same time, let me assure you, the affair is not soeasy as you may at first blush suppose. These worthy people have been sooften ‘done’—to use the cant phrase—before, that scarcely a ruseremains untried. It is of no use pleading that your family won’t consent;that your prospects are null; that you are ordered for India; that you areengaged elsewhere; that you have nothing but your pay; that you are tooyoung or too old,—all such reasons, good and valid with any otherfamily, will avail you little here. Neither will it serve your cause thatyou may be warranted by a doctor as subject to periodical fits ofinsanity; monomaniacal tendencies to cut somebody’s throat, etc. Blessyour heart, man, they have a soul above such littlenesses! They carenothing for consent of friends, means, age, health, climate, prospects, ortemper. Firmly believing matrimony to be a lottery, they are notsuperstitious about the number they pitch upon; provided only that theyget a ticket, they are content.”

“Then it strikes me, if what you say is correct, that I have no earthlychance 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 wasthe hero of that affair. It was right well planned, too. One of theletters was suffered, by mere accident, to fall into Mrs. Dal’s hands, andshe was quite prepared for the event when he was reported shot the nextmorning. Then the young lady, of course, whether she cared or not, wasobliged to be perfectly unconcerned, lest the story of engaged affectionsmight get wind and spoil another market. The thing went on admirably, tillone day, some few months later, they saw, in a confounded army-list, thatthe late George Vickers was promoted to the 18th Dragoons, so that thetrick was discovered, and is, of course, stale at present.”

“Then could I not have a wife already, and a large family of interestingbabies?”

“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 thesegood people have been treated to every trick and subterfuge that everingenuity 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 atbreakfast; and, if I mistake not, we may get you through this without anyill-consequences. Good-night, then, old boy; and now dream away of yourlady-love till our next meeting.”

CHAPTER XXVI.

THE PREPARATION.

To prevent needless repetitions in my story, I shall not record here theconversation which passed between my friend Power and myself on themorning following at breakfast. Suffice it to say, that the plan proposedby him for my rescue was one I agreed to adopt, reserving to myself, incase of failure, a pis aller of which I knew not the meaning, butof whose efficacy Power assured me I need not doubt.

“If all fail,” said he,—“if every bridge break down beneath you, andno road of escape be left, why, then, I believe you must have recourse toanother alternative. Still I should wish to avoid it, if possible, and Iput it to you, in honor, not to employ it unless as a last expedient. Youpromise me this?”

“Of course,” said I, with great anxiety for the dread final measure. “Whatis it?”

He paused, smiled dubiously, and resumed,—

“And, after all,—but, to be sure, there will not be need for it,—theother plan will do,—must do. Come, come, O’Malley, the admiralty saythat nothing encourages drowning in the navy like a life-buoy. The menhave such a prospect of being picked up that they don’t mind fallingoverboard; so, if I give you this life-preserver of mine, you’ll not swiman inch. Is it not so, eh?”

“Far from it,” said I. “I shall feel in honor bound to exert myself themore, because I now see how much it costs you to part with it.”

“Well, then, hear it. When everything fails; when all your resources areexhausted; when you have totally lost your memory, in fact, and youringenuity in excuses say,—but mind, Charley, not till then,—saythat you must consult your friend, Captain Power, of the 14th; that’sall.”

“And is this it?” said I, quite disappointed at the lame and impotentconclusion to all the high-sounding exordium; “is this all?”

“Yes,” said he, “that is all. But stop, Charley; is not that the majorcrossing the street there? Yes, to be sure it is; and, by Jove! he has goton the old braided frock this morning. Had you not told me one word ofyour critical position, I should have guessed there was something in thewind from that. That same vestment has caused many a stout heart totremble 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 atGibraltar. He was never known to wear it except when asking some poorfellow’s ‘intentions.’ He would no more think of sporting it as anevery-day affair, than the chief-justice would go cook-shooting in hisblack cap and ermine. Come, he is bound for your quarters, and as it willnot answer our plans to let him see you now, you had better hastendown-stairs, and get round by the back way into George’s Street, andyou’ll be at his house before he can return.”

Following Power’s directions, I seized my foraging-cap and got clear outof the premises before the major had reached them. It was exactly noon asI sounded my loud and now well-known summons at the major’s knocker. Thedoor was quickly opened; but instead of dashing up-stairs, four steps at atime, as was my wont, to the drawing-room, I turned short into thedingy-looking little parlor on the right, and desired Matthew, thevenerable servitor of the house, to say that I wished particularly to seeMrs. Dalrymple for a few minutes, if the hour were not inconvenient.

There was something perhaps of excitement in my manner, some flurry in mylook, or some trepidation in my voice, or perhaps it was the unusual hour,or the still more remarkable circ*mstance of my not going at once to thedrawing-room, that raised some doubts in Matthew’s mind as to the objectof my visit; and instead of at once complying with my request to informMrs. Dalrymple that I was there, he cautiously closed the door, and takinga quick but satisfactory glance round the apartment to assure himself thatwe 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 mancould possibly mean; he, following up the train of his own thoughts,comprehended little or nothing of my surprise, and evidently was soengrossed by his reflections that he had neither ears nor eyes for aughtaround him. There was a most singular semi-comic expression in the oldwithered face that nearly made me laugh at first; but as I continued tolook steadily at it, I perceived that, despite the long-worn wrinkles thatlow 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 theunconscious traveller in some remote land has been warned of a plan tomurder him, by some mere passing wink, a look, a sign, which some one,less steeped in crime, less hardened in iniquity than his fellows, hasventured for his rescue. Sometimes, according to the taste of thenarrator, the interesting individual is an old woman, sometimes a youngone, sometimes a black-bearded bandit, sometimes a child; and notunfrequently, a dog is humane enough to do this service. One thing,however, never varies,—be the agent biped or quadruped, dumb orspeechful, young or old, the stranger invariably takes the hint, and getsoff scott free for his sharpness. This never-varying trick on the doomedman, I had often been sceptical enough to suspect; however, I had not beenmany minutes a spectator of the old man’s countenance, when I mostthoroughly recanted my errors, and acknowledged myself wrong. If ever thelook of a man conveyed a warning, his did; but there was more in it thaneven that,—there was a tone of sad and pitiful compassion, such asan old gray-bearded rat might be supposed to put on at seeing a young andinexperienced one opening the hinge of an iron trap, to try its efficacyupon his neck. Many a little occasion had presented itself, during myintimacy with the family, of doing Matthew some small services, of makinghim some trifling presents; so that, when he assumed before me the gestureand look I have mentioned, I was not long in deciphering his intentions.

“Matthew!” screamed a sharp voice which I recognized at once for that ofMrs. 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, heturned upon me one look of such import that only the circ*mstances of mystory can explain its force, or my reader’s own ingenious imagination cansupply.

“Never fear, my good old friend,” said I, grasping his hand warmly, andleaving a guinea in the palm,—“never fear.”

“God grant it, sir!” said he, setting on his wig in preparation for hisappearance in the drawing-room.

“Matthew! The old wretch!”

“Mr. O’Malley,” said the often-called Matthew, as opening the door, heannounced me unexpectedly among the ladies there assembled, who, nothearing of my approach, were evidently not a little surprised andastonished. Had I been really the enamored swain that the Dalrymple familywere willing to believe, I half suspect that the prospect before me mighthave cured me of my passion. A round bullet-head, papilloté, withthe “Cork Observer,” where still-born babes and maids-of-all-work weredescanted upon in very legible type, was now the substitute for theclassic front and Italian ringlets of la belle Matilda; while thechaste Fanny herself, whose feet had been a fortune for a statuary, was,in the most slatternly and slipshod attire, pacing the room in a toweringrage, at some thing, place, or person, unknown (to me). If theballet-master at the Académie could only learn to get his imps,demons, angels, and goblins “off” half as rapidly as the two young ladiesretreated on my being announced, I answer for the piece so brought outhaving a run for half the season. Before my eyes had regained theirposition parallel to the plane of the horizon, they were gone, and I foundmyself alone with Mrs. Dalrymple. Now, she stood her ground, partly tocover the retreat of the main body, partly, too, because—representingthe baggage wagons, ammunition stores, hospital, staff, etc.—herretirement from the field demanded more time and circ*mspection than thelight brigade.

Let not my readers suppose that the mère Dalrymple was so perfectlyfaultless in costume that her remaining was a matter of actualindifference; far from it. She evidently had a struggle for it; but asense of duty decided her, and as Ney doggedly held back to cover theretreating forces on the march from Moscow, so did she resolutely lurkbehind till the last flutter of the last petticoat assured her that thefugitives were safe. Then did she hesitate for a moment what course totake; but as I assumed my chair beside her, she composedly sat down, andcrossing her hands before her, waited for an explanation of this ill-timedvisit.

Had the Horse Guards, in the plenitude of their power and the perfectionof their taste, ordained that the 79th and 42d Regiments should in future,in lieu of their respective tartans, wear flannel kilts and black worstedhose, I could readily have fallen into the error of mistaking Mrs.Dalrymple for a field officer in the new regulation dress; the philabegfinding no mean representation in a capacious pincushion that hung downfrom her girdle, while a pair of shears, not scissors, corresponded to thedirk. After several ineffectual efforts on her part to make her vestment(I know not its fitting designation) cover more of her legs than itslength could possibly effect, and after some most bland smiles and halfblushes at dishabille, etc., were over, and that I had apologizedmost humbly for the unusually early hour of my call, I proceeded to openmy negotiations, and unfurl my banner for the fray.

“The old ‘Racehorse’ has arrived at last,” said I, with a half-sigh, “andI 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 uponan early call.”

“The ‘Racehorse,’ surely can’t sail to-morrow,” said Mrs. Dalrymple, whoseexperience of such matters made her a very competent judge; “her stores—”

“Are taken in already,” said I; “and an order from the Horse Guardscommands us to embark in twenty-four hours; so that, in fact, we scarcelyhave 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 morningwe are sure to meet. I have many thanks yet to give him for all his mostkind attentions.”

“I know he is most anxious to see you,” said Mrs. Dalrymple, with a verypeculiar emphasis, and evidently desiring that I should inquire thereasons of this anxiety. I, however, most heroically forbore indulging mycuriosity, and added that I should endeavor to find him on my way to thebarracks; and then, hastily looking at my watch, I pronounced it a fullhour later than it really was, and promising to spend the evening—mylast evening—with them, I took my leave and hurried away, in nosmall flurry to be once more out of reach of Mrs. Dalrymple’s fire, whichI every moment expected to open upon me.

CHAPTER XXVII.

THE SUPPER.

Power and I dined together tête-à-tête at the hotel, and satchatting over my adventures with the Dalrymples till nearly nine o’clock.

“Come, Charley,” said he, at length, “I see your eye wandering very oftentowards the timepiece; another bumper, and I’ll let you off. What shall itbe?”

“What you like,” said I, upon whom a share of three bottles of strongclaret had already made a very satisfactory impression.

“Then champagne for the coup-de-grace. Nothing like your vinmousseux for a critical moment,—every bubble that risessparkling to the surface prompts some bright thought, or elicits somebrilliant idea, that would only have been drowned in your more soberfluids. Here’s to the girl you love, whoever she be.”

“To her bright eyes, then, be it,” said I, clearing off a brimming gobletof nearly half the bottle, while my friend Power seemed multiplied intoany given number of gentlemen standing amidst something like a glassmanufactory 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, andwe’ll go on board together; for old Bloater the skipper says he’llcertainly weigh by daybreak.”

“Till then,” said I, as opening the door, I proceeded very cautiously todescend 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 theirrestoration; and I scarcely felt myself in the street when my brain becameabsolutely one whirl of maddened and confused excitement. Time and spaceare nothing to a man thus enlightened, and so they appeared to me;scarcely a second had elapsed when I found myself standing in theDalrymples’ drawing-room.

If a few hours had done much to metamorphose me, certes, they haddone something for my fair friends also; anything more unlike what theyappeared in the morning can scarcely be imagined. Matilda in black, withher hair in heavy madonna bands upon her fair cheek, now paler even thanusual, never seemed so handsome; while Fanny, in a light-blue dress, withblue flowers in her hair, and a blue sash, looked the most lovely piece ofcoquetry 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 ofGibraltar; and lastly, Mrs. Dalrymple herself was attired in a veryimposing costume that made her, to my not over-accurate judgment, lookvery like an elderly bishop in a flame-colored cassock. Sparks was theonly stranger, and wore upon his countenance, as I entered, a look of veryconsiderable embarrassment that even my thick-sightedness could not failof detecting.

Parlez-moi de l’amitié, my friends. Talk to me of the warm embraceof your earliest friend, after years of absence; the cordial and heartfeltshake hands of your old school companion, when in after years, a chancemeeting has brought you together, and you have had time and opportunityfor becoming distinguished and in repute, and are rather a good hit to beknown to than otherwise; of the close grip you give your second when hecomes up to say, that the gentleman with the loaded detonator oppositewon’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 whencompared with the two-handed compression you receive from the gentlemanthat expects you to marry one of his daughters.

“My dear O’Malley, how goes it? Thought you’d never come,” said he, stillholding me fast and looking me full in the face, to calculate the extentto 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 leastknow his tastes.”

“I believed you were going without seeing us,” whispered Matilda, with avery glassy look about the corner of her eyes.

Eloquence was not just then my forte, so that I contented myself with avery 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 andFanny opposite me, each vying with the other in their delicate and kindattentions, when I totally forgot all my poor friend Power’s injunctionsand directions for my management. It is true, I remembered that there wasa scrape of some kind or other to be got out of, and one requiring somedexterity, too; but what or with whom I could not for the life of medetermine. What the wine had begun, the bright eyes completed; and amidstthe 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 Icontrived it, I know not, but I immediately saddled him with the whole ofmy annoyances, and attributed to him and to his fault any embarrassment Ilabored under.

The physiological reason of the fact I’m very ignorant of, but for thetruth and frequency I can well vouch, that there are certain people,certain faces, certain voices, certain whiskers, legs, waistcoats, andguard-chains, that inevitably produce the most striking effects upon thebrain of a gentleman already excited by wine, and not exactly cognizant ofhis own peculiar fallacies.

These effects are not produced merely among those who are quarrelsome intheir cups, for I call the whole 14th to witness that I am not such; butto any person so disguised, the inoffensiveness of the object is nosecurity on the other hand,—for I once knew an eight-day clockkicked down a barrack stairs by an old Scotch major, because he thought itwas laughing at him. To this source alone, whatever it be, can I attributethe feeling of rising indignation with which I contemplated the lucklesscornet, who, seated at the fire, unnoticed and uncared for, seemed a veryunworthy object to vent anger or ill-temper upon.

“Mr. Sparks, I fear,” said I, endeavoring at the time to call up a look ofvery sovereign contempt,—“Mr. Sparks, I fear, regards my visit herein the light of an intrusion.”

Had poor Mr. Sparks been told to proceed incontinently up the chimneybefore him, he could not have looked more aghast. Reply was quite out ofhis power. So sudden and unexpectedly was this charge of mine made that hecould only stare vacantly from one to the other; while I, warming with mysubject, and perhaps—but I’ll not swear it—stimulated by agentle pressure from a soft hand near me, continued:—

“If he thinks for one moment that my attentions in this family are in anyway to be questioned by him, I can only say—”

“My dear O’Malley, my dear boy!” said the major, with the look of afather-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 attackmight arouse my dormant friend into a counter-declaration; nothing,however, was further from poor Sparks, who began to think he had beenunconsciously drinking tea with five lunatics.

“If he supposes,” said I, rising from my chair, “that his silence willpass with me as any palliation—”

“Oh, dear! oh, dear! there will be a duel. Papa, dear, why don’t you speakto 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 ownhouse 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, atlength 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 ifI have said anything to offend you, O’Malley, I am sincerely sorry forit.”

“That will do, sir,” said I, with a look of royal condescension at the amendeI considered as somewhat late in coming, and resumed my seat.

This little intermezzo, it might be supposed, was rather calculatedto interrupt the harmony of our evening. Not so, however. I had apparentlyacquitted myself like a hero, and was evidently in a white heat, in whichI could be fashioned into any shape. Sparks was humbled so far that hewould probably feel it a relief to make any proposition; so that by ouropposite courses we had both arrived at a point at which all the dexterityand address of the family had been long since aiming without success.Conversation then resumed its flow, and in a few minutes every trace ofour late fracas had disappeared.

By degrees I felt myself more and more disposed to turn my attentiontowards Matilda, and dropping my voice into a lower tone, opened aflirtation of a most determined kind. Fanny had, meanwhile, assumed aplace beside Sparks, and by the muttered tones that passed between them, Icould plainly perceive they were similarly occupied. The major took up the“Southern Reporter,” of which he appeared deep in the contemplation, whileMrs. Dal herself buried her head in her embroidery and neither heard norsaw anything around her.

I know, unfortunately, but very little what passed between myself and myfair 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 roundher waist, my cheek so close that already her lovely tresses brushed myforehead, and her breath fanned my burning brow.

“Supper, at last,” said the major, with a loud voice, to arouse us fromour trance of happiness without taking any mean opportunity of lookingunobserved. “Supper, Sparks, O’Malley; come now, it will be some timebefore 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. Dalrympleamused herself by wondering what the secret could be, why Mr. Sparkscouldn’t tell her, and Fanny meanwhile pretended to look for something ata side table, and never turned her head round.

“Then give me your hand,” said the major, as he shook Sparks’s with awarmth of whose sincerity there could be no question. “Bess, my love,” said he, addressing his wife. The remainder was lost in a whisper; butwhatever it was, it evidently redounded to Sparks’s credit, for the nextmoment a repetition of the hand-shaking took place, and Sparks looked thehappiest of men.

“A mon tour,” thought I, “now,” as I touched the major’s arm, andled him towards the window. What I said may be one day matter for MajorDalrymple’s memoirs, if he ever writes them; but for my part I have notthe least idea. I only know that while I was yet speaking he called overMrs. 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’shand, and laughed prodigiously, as though I had done somethingconfoundedly droll,—a sentiment evidently participated in by Sparks,who laughed too, as did the others; and a merrier, happier party never satdown to supper.

“Make your company pleased with themselves,” says Mr. Walker, in his Originalwork upon dinner-giving, “and everything goes on well.” Now, MajorDalrymple, without having read the authority in question, probably becauseit was not written at the time, understood the principle fully as well asthe police-magistrate, and certainly was a proficient in the practice ofit.

To be sure, he possessed one grand requisite for success,—he seemedmost perfectly happy himself. There was that air dégagé about himwhich, when an old man puts it on among his juniors, is so veryattractive. Then the ladies, too, were evidently well pleased; and theusually austere mamma had relaxed her “rigid front” into a smile in whichany 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’smahogany. 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 aconsiderably larger part of my native county than I had ever even rodeover. Sparks, on the other side, had opened his fire more cautiously, butwhether taking courage from my boldness, or perceiving with envy thegreater estimation I was held in, was now going the pace fully as fast asmyself, and had commenced explanations of his intentions with regard toFanny that evidently satisfied her friends. Meanwhile the wine was passingvery freely, and the hints half uttered an hour before began now to bemore openly spoken and canvassed.

Sparks and I hob-nobbed across the table and looked unspeakable things ateach other; the girls held down their heads; Mrs. Dal wiped her eyes; andthe major pronounced himself the happiest father in Europe.

It was now wearing late, or rather early; some gray streaks of dubiouslight were faintly forcing their way through the half-closed curtains, andthe dread thought of parting first presented itself. A cavalry trumpet,too, at this moment sounded a call that aroused us from our trance ofpleasure, and warned us that our moments were few. A dead silence creptover all; the solemn feeling which leave-taking ever inspires wasuppermost, 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 toleave the room,—“here, now; we are all so deeply interested, noplace is so fit.”

“Well, then,” said the major, “as you desire it, now that I’m to regardyou both in the light of my sons-in-law,—at least, as pledged tobecome so,—it is only fair as respects—”

“I see,—I understand perfectly,” interrupted I, whose passion forconducting the whole affair myself was gradually gaining on me. “What youmean is, that we should make known our intentions before some mutualfriends 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 servantover to my quarters for our captain,—he’s the fittest person, youknow, 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 unalterabledetermination as regards your fair daughters; and as the time is short—”

Here I turned towards Matilda, who placed her arm within mine; Sparkspossessed himself of Fanny’s hand, while the major and his wife consultedfor a few seconds.

“Well, O’Malley, all you propose is perfect. Now, then, for the captain.Who shall he inquire for?”

“Oh, an old friend of yours,” said I, jocularly; “you’ll be glad to seehim.”

“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 thesewords, 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, scatteringdeath and destruction on every side, the effect could scarcely have beenmore frightful than that my last words produced. Mrs. Dalrymple fell witha sough upon the floor, motionless as a corpse; Fanny threw herself,screaming, upon a sofa; Matilda went off into strong hysterics upon thehearth-rug; while the major, after giving me a look a maniac might haveenvied, rushed from the room in search of his pistols with a most terrificoath to shoot somebody, whether Sparks or myself, or both of us, on hisreturn, I cannot say. Fanny’s sobs and Matilda’s cries, assisted by adrumming process by Mrs. Dal’s heels upon the floor, made a most infernalconcert and effectually prevented anything like thought or reflection; andin all probability so overwhelmed was I at the sudden catastrophe I had soinnocently caused, I should have waited in due patience for the major’sreturn, 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 outupon the stone sill, and leaped into the street. I followed mechanically,and jumped after him, just as the major had reached the window. A ballwhizzed by me, that soon determined my further movements; so, putting onall speed, I flew down the street, turned the corner, and regained thehotel 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 pantingfor 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, andwithout any curiosity as to the cause; “and now, let us on board; theregoes the trumpet again. The skipper is a surly old fellow, and we must notlose 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 lengthsome misty and confused sense of my situation crept slowly over me. Iopened the little shutter beside me and looked out. The bold headlands ofthe southern coast were frowning in sullen and dark masses about a coupleof miles distant, and I perceived that we were going fast through thewater, which was beautifully calm and still. I now looked at my watch; itwas past eight o’clock; and as it must evidently be evening, from theappearance of the sky, I felt that I had slept soundly for above twelvehours.

In the hurry of departure the cabin had not been set to rights, and therelay 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,—whilethe débris of a dinner, not over-remarkable for its propriety intable equipage, added to the ludicrous effect. The heavy tramp of a footoverhead 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 thatevery effort I made to remember anything about it only increased mydifficulty, and I felt myself in a web so tangled and inextricable thatall endeavor to escape free was impossible. Sometimes I thought that I hadreally married Matilda Dalrymple; then, I supposed that the father hadcalled me out, and wounded me in a duel; and finally, I had some confusednotion 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 onlyconclusion 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 comeon 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 wouldask no questions, if others were equally disposed to let it pass insilence.

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 awell-known voice, from the foot of the companion-ladder, at onceproclaimed my faithful follower, and evidenced his feelings at hisdeparture from his home and country.

Mr. Free was, at the time I mention, gathered up like a ball opposite asmall, low window that looked upon the bluff headlands now fast becomingdim and misty as the night approached. He was apparently in low spirits,and hummed in a species of low, droning voice, the following ballad, atthe end of each verse of which came an Irish chorus which, to the eruditein 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 groundOf 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 grewTo 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 ofglory—bad luck to it!—by this time. He’d make your heart breakto 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 somethinglike that.”

“Monsoon, you son of a lumper potato,” cried out a surly, gruff voice froma 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 goingto 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 thisway, till I get used to the confounded rocking and pitching, and with alittle 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 briefcolloquy, and in a few minutes more, a very decisive snore pronounced myfriend to be fulfilling his precept for killing the hours.

I now made the effort to emancipate myself from my crib, and at lastsucceeded in getting on the floor, where, after one chassez at asmall looking-glass opposite, followed by a very impetuous rush at alittle brass stove, in which I was interrupted by a trunk and laidprostrate, 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 likescenery, it was impossible to be unmoved by the magnificent prospectbefore me. It was a beautiful evening in summer; the sun had set above anhour before, leaving behind him in the west one vast arch of rich andburnished gold, stretching along the whole horizon, and tipping all thesummits of the heavy rolling sea, as it rolled on, unbroken by foam orripple, in vast moving mountains, from the far coast of Labrador. We werealready in blue water, though the bold cliffs that were to form ourdeparting point were but a few miles to leeward. There lay the lofty bluffof Old Kinsale, whose crest, overhanging, peered from a summit of somehundred feet into the deep water that swept its rocky base, many a tangledlichen and straggling bough trailing in the flood beneath. Here and thereupon the coast a twinkling gleam proclaimed the hut of the fisherman,whose swift hookers had more than once shot by us and disappeared in amoment. The wind, which began to fall at sunset, freshened as the moonrose; and the good ship, bending to the breeze, lay gently over, andrushed through the waters with a sound of gladness. I was alone upon thedeck. Power and the captain, whom I expected to have found, haddisappeared somehow, and I was, after all, not sorry to be left to my ownreflections 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 myheart sank within me as I remembered it. How deeply I reproached myselffor the selfish impetuosity with which I had ever followed any risingfancy, any new and sudden desire, and never thought of him whose everyhope was in, whose every wish was for me. Alas! alas, my poor uncle! howgladly would I resign every prospect my soldier’s life may hold out, withall its glittering promise, and all the flattery of success, to be oncemore beside you; to feel your warm and manly grasp; to see your smile; tohear your voice; to be again where all our best feelings are born andnurtured, our cares assuaged, our joys more joyed in, and our griefs morewept,—at home! These very words have more music to my ears than allthe softest strains that ever siren sung. They bring us back to all wehave loved, by ties that are never felt but through such simpleassociations. And in the earlier memories called up, our childish feelingscome back once more to visit us like better spirits, as we walk amidst thedreary 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 hewho, feeling it, knows that still there lives for him that same earlyhome, with all its loved inmates, its every dear and devoted objectwaiting his coming and longing for his approach.

Such were my thoughts as I stood gazing at the bold line of coast nowgradually growing more and more dim while evening fell, and we continuedto stand farther out to sea. So absorbed was I all this time in myreflections, that I never heard the voices which now suddenly burst uponmy ears quite close beside me. I turned, and saw for the first time thatat the end of the quarter-deck stood what is called a roundhouse, a smallcabin, from which the sounds in question proceeded. I walked gentlyforward and peeped in, and certainly anything more in contrast with mylate 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-lookingScotchman, whom I once met in Cork, and heard that he was the doctor ofsome infantry regiment. Two or three black bottles, a paper of cigars, anda tallow candle were all the table equipage; but certainly the partyseemed not to want for spirits and fun, to judge from the hearty bursts oflaughing that every moment pealed forth, and shook the little buildingthat held them. Power, as usual with him, seemed to be taking the lead,and was evidently amusing himself with the peculiarities of hiscompanions.

“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; nocharming babes to fret and be fretted for, eh?”

“Vara true,” said the doctor, who was mated with a tartar, “ye maunhave less regrets at leaving hame; but a married man is no’ entirelydenied his ain consolations.”

“Good sense in that,” said the skipper; “a wide berth and plenty of searoom 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’timagine how it is a man ever comes to thirty without having at least onewife,—without counting his colonial possessions of course.”

“Yes,” said the adjutant, with a sigh, as he drained his glass to thebottom. “It is devilish strange,—woman, lovely woman!” Here hefilled and drank again, as though he had been proposing a toast for hisown peculiar drinking.

“I say, now,” resumed Power, catching at once that there was somethingworking in his mind,—“I say, now, how happened it that you, a rightgood-looking, soldier-like fellow, that always made his way among the fairones, with that confounded roguish eye and slippery tongue,—how thedeuce did it come to pass that you never married?”

“I’ve been more than once on the verge of it,” said the adjutant, smilingblandly at the flattery.

“And nae bad notion yours just to stay there,” said the doctor, with avery peculiar contortion of countenance.

“No pleasing you, no contenting a fellow like you,” said Power, returningto the charge; “that’s the thing; you get a certain ascendancy; you have akind 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, hookand all,—“quite wrong there; for some how, all my life, I wasdecidedly susceptible. Not that I cared much for your blushing sixteen, orbudding beauties in white muslin, fresh from a back-board and a governess;no, my taste inclined rather to the more sober charms of two orthree-and-thirty, the embonpoint, a good foot and ankle, a sensiblebreadth about the shoulders—”

“Somewhat Dutch-like, I take it,” said the skipper, puffing out a volumeof 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 Iever liked in the notion of a woman who had got over all the awkwardgirlishness of early years, and had that self-possession which habit andknowledge of the world confer, and knew enough of herself to understandwhat 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 thespinster class. I defy any man breathing,—let him be halfpolice-magistrate, half chancellor,—to find out the figure of ayoung lady’s dower. On your first introduction to the house, some kindfriend whispers, ‘Go it, old boy; forty thousand, not a penny less.’ A fewweeks later, as the siege progresses, a maiden aunt, disposed to puffing,comes down to twenty; this diminishes again one half, but then ‘the moneyis in bank stock, hard Three-and-a-Half.’ You go a little farther, and asyou sit one day over your wine with papa, he certainly promulgates thefact that his daughter has five thousand pounds, two of which turn out tobe in Mexican bonds, and three in an Irish mortgage.”

“Happy for you,” interrupted Power, “that it be not in Galway, where aproposal to foreclose, would be a signal for your being called out andshot without benefit of clergy.”

“Bad luck to it, for Galway,” said the adjutant. “I was nearly taken inthere once to marry a girl that her brother-in-law swore had eight hundreda year; and it came out afterwards that so she had, but it was for oneyear 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 theassumed sum, and divide it by three; the quotient will be a flatteringrepresentative 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 nigg*rs,—your pardon, Doctor, they are all Irish,—linen-weaving,Presbyterian, yarn-factoring, long-nosed, hard-drinking fellows, that layby rather a snug thing now and then. Do you know, I was very near it oncein 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 todeviate so widely from the line of propriety; and the skipper having mixeda 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 marchfrom Belfast and take up our quarters in Londonderry. We had not been morethan a few weeks altogether in Ulster when the order came; and as we hadbeen, for the preceding two years, doing duty in the south and west, weconcluded that the island was tolerably the same in all parts. We openedour campaign in the maiden city exactly as we had been doing with‘unparalleled success’ in Cashel, Fermoy, Tuam, etc.,—that is tosay, we announced garrison balls and private theatricals; offered a cup tobe run for in steeple-chase; turned out a four-in-hand drag, with mottledgrays; 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, andresolved that, as a mine of rich ore lay unworked, it was reserved for usto produce the shining metal that others, less discerning, had failed todiscover. Little we knew of the matter; never was there a blunder likeours. Were you ever in Derry?”

“Never,” said the three listeners.

“Well, then, let me inform you that the place has its own peculiarfeatures. In the first place, all the large towns in the south and westhave, besides the country neighborhood that surrounds them, a certainsprinkling of gentlefolk, who, though with small fortunes and not muchusage of the world, are still a great accession to society, and make upthe blank which, even in the most thickly peopled country, would be sadlyfelt without them. Now, in Derry, there is none of this. After the greatguns—and, per Baccho! what great guns they are!—youhave 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, andthe 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, Dutchdolls, or some such commodity, you are absolutely nothing, and might aswell 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 ourtriumphal entry into the city produced. Instead of the admiring crowdsthat awaited us elsewhere, as we marched gayly into quarters, here we sawnothing but grave, sober-looking, and, I confess it, intelligent-lookingfaces, that scrutinized our appearance closely enough, but evidently withno great approval and less enthusiasm. The men passed on hurriedly to thecounting-houses and wharves; the women, with almost as little interest,peeped at us from the windows, and walked away again. Oh, how we wishedfor Galway, glorious Galway, that paradise of the infantry that lies westof the Shannon! Little we knew, as we ordered the band, in livelyanticipation 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 ofa sugar hogshead or the crank of a weighing crane were more delightfulmusic.”

“By Jove!” interrupted Power, “you are quite right. Women are stronglyimitative in their tastes. The lovely Italian, whose very costume is anatural following of a Raphael, is no more like the pretty Liverpooldamsel than Genoa is to Glasnevin; and yet what the deuce have they, dearsouls, with their feet upon a soft carpet and their eyes upon the pages ofScott or Byron, to do with all the cotton or dimity that ever was printed?But let us not repine; that very plastic character is our greatestblessing.”

“I’m not so sure that it always exists,” said the doctor, dubiously, asthough his own experience pointed otherwise.

“Well, go ahead!” said the skipper, who evidently disliked the digressionthus interrupting the adjutant’s story.

“Well, we marched along, looking right and left at the pretty faces—andthere were plenty of them, too—that a momentary curiosity drew tothe windows; but although we smiled and ogled and leered as only a newlyarrived regiment can smile, ogle, or leer, by all that’s provoking wemight as well have wasted our blandishments upon the Presbyterianmeeting-house, that frowned upon us with its high-pitched roof and roundwindows.

“‘Droll people, these,’ said one; ‘Rayther rum ones,’ cried another; ‘Theblack north, by Jove!’ said a third: and so we went along to the barracks,somewhat displeased to think that, though the 18th were slow, they mighthave met their match.

“Disappointed, as we undoubtedly felt, at the little enthusiasm thatmarked our entrée, we still resolved to persist in our originalplan, and accordingly, early the following morning, announced ourintention of giving amateur theatricals. The mayor, who called upon ourcolonel, was the first to learn this, and received the information withpretty much the same kind of look the Archbishop of Canterbury might besupposed to assume if requested by a a friend to ride ‘a Derby.’ Theincredulous expression of the poor man’s face, as he turned from one of usto the other, evidently canvassing in his mind whether we might not, bysome special dispensation of Providence, be all insane, I shall neverforget.

“His visit was a very short one; whether concluding that we were not quitesafe company, or whether our notification was too much for his nerves, Iknow not.

“We were not to be balked, however. Our plans for gayety, long planned andconned over, were soon announced in all form; and though we made effortsalmost super-human in the cause, our plays were performed to emptybenches, our balls were unattended, our picnic invitations politelydeclined, and, in a word, all our advances treated with a cold andchilling politeness that plainly said, ‘We’ll none of you.’

“Each day brought some new discomfiture, and as we met at mess, instead ofhaving, as heretofore, some prospect of pleasure and amusem*nt to chatover, it was only to talk gloomily over our miserable failures, and lamentthe dreary quarters that our fates had doomed us to.

“Some months wore on in this fashion, and at length—what will nottime do?—we began, by degrees, to forget our woes. Some of us tookto late hours and brandy-and-water; others got sentimental, and wrotejournals and novels and poetry; some made acquaintances among thetownspeople, and out in to a quiet rubber to pass the evening; whileanother detachment, among which I was, got up a little love affair towhile away the tedious hours, and cheat the lazy sun.

“I have already said something of my taste in beauty; now, Mrs. Boggs wasexactly the style of woman I fancied. She was a widow; she had black eyes,—notyour jet-black, sparkling, Dutch-doll eyes, that roll about and twinkle,but mean nothing; no, hers had a soft, subdued, downcast, pensive lookabout them, and were fully as melting a pair of orbs as any blue eyes youever looked at.

“Then, she had a short upper lip, and sweet teeth; by Jove, they werepearls! and she showed them too, pretty often. Her figure waswell-rounded, plump, and what the French call nette. To completeall, her instep and ankle were unexceptional; and lastly, her jointure wasseven hundred pounds per annum, with a trifle of eight thousand more thatthe late lamented Boggs bequeathed, when, after four months ofuninterrupted bliss, he left Derry for another world.

“When chance first threw me in the way of the fair widow, some casualcoincidence of opinion happened to raise me in her estimation, and I soonafterwards received an invitation to a small evening party at her house,to which I alone of the regiment was asked.

“I shall not weary you with the details of my intimacy; it is enough thatI tell you I fell desperately in love. I began by visiting twice or thricea week, and in less than two months, spent every morning at her house, andrarely left it till the ‘Roast beef’ announced mess.

“I soon discovered the widow’s cue; she was serious. Now, I had conductedall manner of flirtatious in my previous life; timid young ladies, manlyyoung ladies, musical, artistical, poetical, and hysterical,—blessyou, I knew them all by heart; but never before had I to deal with aserious one, and a widow to boot. The case was a trying one. For someweeks it was all very up-hill work; all the red shot of warm affection Iused to pour in on other occasions was of no use here. The language oflove, in which I was no mean proficient, availed me not. Compliments andflattery, those rare skirmishers before the engagement, were denied me;and I verily think that a tender squeeze of the hand would have cost me mydismissal.

“‘How very slow, all this!’ thought I, as, at the end of two months siege,I still found myself seated in the trenches, and not a single breach inthe fortress; ‘but, to be sure, it’s the way they have in the north, andone must be patient.’

“While thus I was in no very sanguine frame of mind as to my prospects, inreality my progress was very considerable. Having become a member of Mr.M’Phun’s congregation, I was gradually rising in the estimation of thewidow and her friends, whom my constant attendance at meeting, and my veryserious demeanor had so far impressed that very grave deliberation washeld whether I should not be made an elder at the next brevet.

“If the widow Boggs had not been a very lovely and wealthy widow; had shenot possessed the eyes, lips, hips, ankles, and jointure aforesaid,—Ihonestly avow that neither the charms of that sweet man Mr. M’Phun’seloquence, nor even the flattering distinction in store for me, would haveinduced me to prolong my suit. However, I was not going to despair when insight of land. The widow was evidently softened. A little time longer, andthe most scrupulous moralist, the most rigid advocate for employing timewisely, could not have objected to my daily system of courtship. I wasnone of your sighing, dying, ogling, hand-squeezing, waist-pressing,oath-swearing, everlasting-adoring affairs, with an interchange of ringsand lockets; not a bit of it. It was confoundedly like a controversialmeeting at the Rotundo, and I myself had a far greater resemblance toFather Tom Maguire than a gay Lothario.

“After all, when mess-time came, when the ‘Roast beef’ played, and weassembled at dinner, and the soup and fish had gone round, with twoglasses of sherry in, my spirits rallied, and a very jolly eveningconsoled me for all my fatigues and exertions, and supplied me with energyfor the morrow; for, let me observe here, that I only made love beforedinner. The evenings I reserved for myself, assuring Mrs. Boggs that myregimental duties required all my time after mess hour, in which I wasperfectly correct: for at six we dined; at seven I opened the claret No.1; at eight I had uncorked my second bottle; by half-past eight I wasreturning to the sherry; and at ten, punctual to the moment, I wasrepairing to my quarters on the back of my servant, Tim Daly, who hadcarried me safely for eight years, without a single mistake, as thefox-hunters say. This was a way we had in the —th. Every man wascarried away from mess, some sooner, some later. I was always an earlyriser, and went betimes.

“Now, although I had very abundant proof, from circ*mstantial evidence,that I was nightly removed from the mess-room to my bed in the mode Imention, it would have puzzled me sorely to prove the fact in any directway; inasmuch as by half-past nine, as the clock chimed, and Tim enteredto take me, I was very innocent of all that was going on, and except acertain vague sense of regret at leaving the decanter, felt nothingwhatever.

“It so chanced—what mere trifles are we ruled by in our destiny!—thatjust as my suit with the widow had assumed its most favorable footing, oldGeneral Hinks, that commanded the district, announced his coming over toinspect our regiment. Over he came accordingly, and to be sure, we had aday of it. We were paraded for six mortal hours; then we were marching andcountermarching, moving into line, back again into column, now formingopen column, then into square; till at last, we began to think that theold general was like the Flying Dutchman, and was probably condemned tokeep on drilling us to the day of judgment. To be sure, he enlivened theproceeding to me by pronouncing the regiment the worst-drilled andappointed corps in the service, and the adjutant (me!) the stupidestdunderhead—these were his words—he had ever met with.

“‘Never mind,’ thought I; ‘a few days more, and it’s little I’ll care forthe eighteen manoeuvres. It’s small trouble your eyes right or your left,shoulders forward, will give me. I’ll sell out, and with the Widow Boggsand seven hundred a year,—but no matter.’

“This confounded inspection lasted till half-past five in the afternoon;so that our mess was delayed a full hour in consequence, and it was pastseven as we sat down to dinner. Our faces were grim enough as we mettogether at first; but what will not a good dinner and good wine do forthe surliest party? By eight o’clock we began to feel somewhat moreconvivially disposed; and before nine, the decanters were performing aquick-step round the table, in a fashion very exhilarating and very jovialto look at.

“‘No flinching to-night,’ said the senior major. ‘We’ve had a severe day;let us also have a merry evening.’

“‘By Jove! Ormond,’ cried another, ‘we must not leave this to-night.Confound the old humbugs and their musty whist party; throw them over.’

“‘I say, Adjutant,’ said Forbes; addressing me, ‘you’ve nothing particularto say to the fair widow this evening? You’ll not bolt, I hope?’

“‘That he sha’n’t,’ said one near me; ‘he must make up for his absenceto-morrow, for to-night we all stand fast.’

“‘Besides,’ said another, ‘she’s at meeting by this. Old—what-d’ye-call-him?—isat fourteenthly before now.’

“‘A note for you, sir,’ said the mess waiter, presenting me with arose-colored three-cornered billet. It was from la chère Boggsherself, and ran thus:—

DEAR SIR,—Mr. M’Phun and a few friends are coming to tea atmy house after meeting; perhaps you will also favor us with yourcompany.Yours truly,ELIZA BOGGS.

“What was to be done? Quit the mess; leave a jolly party just at thejolliest moment; exchange Lafitte and red hermitage for a soirée ofelders, presided over by that sweet man, Mr. M’Phun! It was too bad!—butthen, how much was in the scale! What would the widow say if I declined?What would she think? I well knew that the invitation meant nothing lessthan a full-dress parade of me before her friends, and that to decline wasperhaps to forfeit all my hopes in that quarter forever.

“‘Any answer, sir?’ said the waiter.

“‘Yes,’ said I, in a half-whisper, ‘I’ll go,—tell the servant, I’llgo.’

“At this moment my tender epistle was subtracted from before me, and ere Ihad turned round, had made the tour of half the table. I never perceivedthe circ*mstance, however, and filling my glass, professed my resolve tosit to the last, with a mental reserve to take my departure at the veryfirst opportunity. Ormond and the paymaster quitted the room for a moment,as if to give orders for a broil at twelve, and now all seemed to promisea very convivial and well-sustained party for the night.

“‘Is that all arranged?’ inquired the major, as Ormond entered.

“‘All right,’ said he; ‘and now let us have a bumper and a song. Adjutant,old boy, give us a chant.’

“‘What shall it be, then?’ inquired I, anxious to cover my intendedretreat by any appearance of joviality.

“‘Give us—

“When I was in the FusiliersSome fourteen years ago.”’

“‘No, no; confound it! I’ve heard nothing else since I joined theregiment. Let us have the “Paymaster’s Daughter.”’

“‘Ah! that’s pathetic; I like that,’ lisped a young ensign.

“‘If I’m to have a vote,’ grunted out the senior major, ‘I pronounce for“West India Quarters.”’

“‘Yes, yes,’ said half-a-dozen voices together; ‘let’s have “West IndiaQuarters.” Come, give him a glass of sherry, and let him begin.’

“I had scarcely finished off my glass, and cleared my throat for my song,when the clock on the chimney-piece chimed half-past nine, and the sameinstant I felt a heavy hand fall upon my shoulder. I turned and beheld myservant Tim. This, as I have already mentioned, was the hour at which Timwas in the habit of taking me home to my quarters; and though we had dinedan hour later, he took no notice of the circ*mstance, but true to hiscustom, he was behind my chair. A very cursory glance at my ‘familiar’ wasquite sufficient to show me that we had somehow changed sides; for Tim,who was habitually the most sober of mankind, was, on the presentoccasion, exceedingly drunk, while I, a full hour before thatconsummation, was perfectly sober.

“‘What d’ye want, sir?’ inquired I, with something of severity in mymanner.

“‘Come home,’ said Tim, with a hiccough that set the whole table in aroar.

“‘Leave the room this instant,’ said I, feeling wrath at being thus made abutt of for his offences. ‘Leave the room, or I’ll kick you out of it.’Now, this, let me add in a parenthesis, was somewhat of a boast, for Timwas six feet three, and strong in proportion, and when in liquor, fearlessas a tiger.

“‘You’ll kick me out of the room, eh, will you? Try, only try it, that’sall.’ Here a new roar of laughter burst forth, while Tim, again placing anenormous paw upon my shoulder, continued, ‘Don’t be sitting there, makinga baste of yourself, when you’ve got enough. Don’t you see you’re drunk?’

“I sprang to my legs on this, and made a rush to the fireplace to securethe poker; but Tim was beforehand with me, and seizing me by the waistwith both hands, flung me across his shoulders as though I were a baby,saying, at the same time, ‘I’ll take you away at half-past eightto-morrow, as you’re as rampageous again.’ I kicked, I plunged, I swore, Ithreatened, I even begged and implored to be set down; but whether myvoice was lost in the uproar around me, or that Tim only regarded mydenunciations in the light of cursing, I know not, but he carried mebodily down the stairs, steadying himself by one hand on the banisters,while with the other he held me as in a vice. I had but one consolationall this while; it was this, that as my quarters lay immediately behindthe mess-room, Tim’s excursion would soon come to an end, and I should befree once more; but guess my terror to find that the drunken scoundrel,instead of going as usual to the left, turned short to the right hand, andmarched boldly into Ship Quay Street. Every window in the mess-room wasfilled with our fellows, absolutely shouting with laughter. ‘Go it Tim!That’s the fellow! Hold him tight! Never let go!’ cried a dozen voices;while the wretch, with the tenacity of drunkenness, gripped me stillharder, and took his way down the middle of the street.

“It was a beautiful evening in July, a soft summer night, as I made thispleasing excursion down the most frequented thoroughfare in the maidencity, my struggles every moment exciting roars of laughter from anincreasing crowd of spectators, who seemed scarcely less amused thanpuzzled at the exhibition. In the midst of a torrent of imprecationsagainst my torturer, a loud noise attracted me. I turned my head, and saw,—horrorof horrors!—the door of the meeting-house just flung open, and thecongregation issuing forth en masse. Is it any wonder if I rememberno more? There I was, the chosen one of the widow Boggs, the elder elect,the favored friend and admired associate of Mr. M’Phun, taking an airingon a summer’s evening on the back of a drunken Irishman. Oh, the thoughtwas horrible! and certainly the short and pithy epithets by which I wascharacterized in the crowd, neither improved my temper nor assuaged mywrath, and I feel bound to confess that my own language was neitherserious nor becoming. Tim, however, cared little for all this, and pursuedthe even tenor of his way through the whole crowd, nor stopped till,having made half the circuit of the wall, he deposited me safe at my owndoor; adding, as he set me down, ‘Oh, av you’re as throublesome everyevening, it’s a wheelbarrow I’ll be obleeged to bring for you!’

“The next day I obtained a short leave of absence, and ere a fortnightexpired, exchanged into the —th, preferring Halifax itself to theridicule that awaited me in Londonderry.”

CHAPTER XXX.

FRED POWER’S ADVENTURE IN PHILIPSTOWN.

The lazy hours of the long summer day crept slowly over. The sea, unbrokenby foam or ripple, shone like a broad blue mirror, reflecting here andthere some fleecy patches of snow-white cloud as they stood unmoved in thesky. The good ship rocked to and fro with a heavy and lumbering motion,the cordage rattled, the bulkheads creaked, the sails flapped lazilyagainst the masts, the very sea-gulls seemed to sleep as they rested onthe long swell that bore them along, and everything in sea and sky bespokethe calm. No sailor trod the deck; no watch was stirring; the very tillerropes were deserted; and as they traversed backwards and forwards withevery roll of the vessel, told that we had no steerage-way, and lay a merelog upon the water.

I sat alone in the bow, and fell into a musing fit upon the past and thefuture. How happily for us is it ordained that in the most stirringexistences there are every here and there such little resting-spots ofreflection, from which, as from some eminence, we look back upon the roadwe have been treading in life, and cast a wistful glance at the dark vistabefore us! When first we set out upon our worldly pilgrimage, these areindeed precious moments, when with buoyant heart and spirit high,believing all things, trusting all things, our very youth comes back tous, reflected from every object we meet; and like Narcissus, we are butworshipping our own image in the water. As we go on in life, the cares,the anxieties, and the business of the world engross us more and more, andsuch moments become fewer and shorter. Many a bright dream has beendissolved, many a fairy vision replaced, by some dark reality; blightedhopes, false friendships have gradually worn callous the heart once aliveto every gentle feeling, and time begins to tell upon us,—yet still,as the well-remembered melody to which we listened with delight in infancybrings to our mature age a touch of early years, so will the veryassociation of these happy moments recur to us in our revery, and make usyoung again in thought. Then it is that, as we look back upon our worldlycareer, we become convinced how truly is the child the father of the man,how frequently are the projects of our manhood the fruit of some boyishpredilection; and that in the emulative ardor that stirs the schoolboy’sheart, we may read the prestige of that high daring that makes ahero of its possessor.

These moments, too, are scarcely more pleasurable than they are salutaryto us. Disengaged for the time from every worldly anxiety, we pass inreview before our own selves, and in the solitude of our own hearts are wejudged. That still small voice of conscience, unheard and unlistened toamidst the din and bustle of life, speaks audibly to us now; and whilechastened on one side by regrets, we are sustained on the other by someapproving thought; and with many a sorrow for the past, and many a promisefor the future, we begin to feel “how good it is for us to be here.”

The evening wore later; the red sun sank down upon the sea, growing largerand larger; the long line of mellow gold that sheeted along the distanthorizon grew first of a dark ruddy tinge, then paler and paler, till itbecame almost gray; a single star shone faintly in the east, and darknesssoon set in. With night came the wind, for almost imperceptibly the sailsswelled slowly out, a slight rustle at the bow followed, the ship laygently over, and we were once more in motion. It struck four bells; somecasual resemblance in the sound of the old pendulum that marked the hourat my uncle’s house startled me so that I actually knew not where I was.With lightning speed my once home rose up before me with its happy hearts;the old familiar faces were there; the gay laugh was in my ears; there satmy dear old uncle, as with bright eye and mellow voice he looked a verywelcome to his guests; there Boyle; there Considine; there thegrim-visaged portraits that graced the old walls whose black oak wainscotstood in broad light and shadow, as the blazing turf fire shone upon it;there was my own place, now vacant; methought my uncle’s eye was turnedtowards it and that I heard him say, “My poor boy! I wonder where is henow!” My heart swelled, my chest heaved, the tears coursed slowly down mycheeks, as I asked myself, “Shall I ever see them more?” Oh, how little,how very little to us are the accustomed blessings of our life till somechange has robbed us of them, and how dear are they when lost to us! Myuncle’s dark foreboding that we should never meet again on earth, came forthe first time forcibly to my mind, and my heart was full to bursting.What could repay me for the agony of that moment as I thought of him, myfirst, my best, my only friend, whom I had deserted? And how gladly wouldI have resigned my bright day-dawn of ambition to be once more beside hischair, to hear his voice, to see his smile, to feel his love for me! Aloud laugh from the cabin roused me from my sad, depressing revery, and atthe same instant Mike’s well-known voice informed me that the captain waslooking for me everywhere, as supper was on the table. Little as I feltdisposed to join the party at such a moment, as I knew there was noescaping Power, I resolved to make the best of matters; so after a fewminutes I followed Mickey down the companion and entered the cabin.

The scene before me was certainly not calculated to perpetuate depressingthoughts. At the head of a rude old-fashioned table, upon which figuredseveral black bottles and various ill-looking drinking vessels of everyshape and material, sat Fred Power; on his right was placed the skipper,on his left the doctor,—the bronzed, merry-looking, weather-beatenfeatures of the one contrasting ludicrously with the pale, ascetic,acute-looking expression of the other. Sparks, more than half-drunk, withthe mark of a red-hot cigar upon his nether lip, was lower down; whileMajor Monsoon, to preserve the symmetry of the party, had protruded hishead, surmounted by a huge red nightcap, from the berth opposite, and heldout his goblet to be replenished from the punch-bowl.

“Welcome, thrice welcome, thou man of Galway!” cried out Power, as hepointed to a seat, and pushed a wine-glass towards me. “Just in time, too,to pronounce upon a new brewery. Taste that; a little more of the lemonyou would say, perhaps? Well, I agree with you. Rum and brandy, glenlivetand guava jelly, limes, green tea, and a slight suspicion of preservedginger,—nothing else, upon honor,—and the most simple mixturefor the cure, the radical cure, of blue devils and debt I know of; eh,Doctor? You advise it yourself, to be taken before bed-time; nothinginflammatory in it, nothing pugnacious; a mere circulation of the betterjuices and more genial spirits of the marly clay, without arousing any ofthe baser passions; whiskey is the devil for that.”

“I canna say that I dinna like whiskey toddy,” said the doctor; “in thecauld winter nights it’s no sae bad.”

“Ah, that’s it,” said Power; “there’s the pull you Scotch have upon uspoor Patlanders,—cool, calculating, long-headed fellows, you onlycome up to the mark after fifteen tumblers; whereas we hot-brained devils,with a blood at 212 degrees of Fahrenheit and a high-pressure engine ofgood spirits always ready for an explosion, we go clean mad when tipsy;not but I am fully convinced that a mad Irishman is worth two sane peopleof any other country under heaven.”

“If you mean by that insin—insin—sinuation to imply anydisrespect to the English,” stuttered out Sparks, “I am bound to say thatI for one, and the doctor, I am sure, for another—”

“Na, na,” interrupted the doctor, “ye mauna coont upon me; I’m no disposedto fetch ower our liquor.”

“Then, Major Monsoon, I’m certain—”

“Are ye, faith?” said the major, with a grin; “blessed are they who expectnothing,—of which number you are not,—for most decidedly youshall be disappointed.”

“Never mind, Sparks, take the whole fight to your own proper self, and dobattle like a man; and here I stand, ready at all arms to prove myposition,—that we drink better, sing better, court better, fightbetter, and make better punch than every John Bull, from Berwick to theLand’s End.”

Sparks, however, who seemed not exactly sure how far his antagonist wasdisposed to quiz, relapsed into a half-tipsy expression of contemptuoussilence, and sipped his liquor without reply.

“Yes,” said Power, after a pause, “bad luck to it for whiskey; it nearlygot me broke once, and poor Tom O’Reilly of the 5th, too, thebest-tempered fellow in the service. We were as near it as touch and go;and all for some confounded Loughrea spirits that we believed to beperfectly innocent, and used to swill away freely without suspicion of anykind.”

“Let’s hear the story,” said I, “by all means.”

“It’s not a long one,” said Power, “so I don’t care if I tell it; andbesides, if I make a clean breast of my own sins, I’ll insist uponMonsoon’s telling you afterwards how he stocked his cellar in Cadiz. Eh,Major; there’s worse tipple than the King of Spain’s sherry?”

“You shall judge for yourself, old boy,” said Monsoon, good-humoredly;“and as for the narrative, it is equally at your service. Of course itgoes no further. The commander-in-chief, long life to him! is a gloriousfellow; but he has no more idea of a joke than the Archbishop ofCanterbury, and it might chance to reach him.”

“Recount, and fear not!” cried Power; “we are discreet as the worshipfulcompany of apothecaries.”

“But you forget you are to lead the way.”

“Here goes, then,” said the jolly captain; “not that the story has anymerit in it, but the moral is beautiful.

“Ireland, to be sure, is a beautiful country; but somehow it would prove avery dull one to be quartered in, if it were not that the people seem tohave a natural taste for the army. From the belle of Merrion Square downto the inn-keeper’s daughter in Tralee, the loveliest part of the creationseem to have a perfect appreciation of our high acquirements andadvantages; and in no other part of the globe, the Tonga Islands included,is a red-coat more in favor. To be sure, they would be very ungrateful ifit were not the case; for we, upon our side, leave no stone unturned tomake ourselves agreeable. We ride, drink, play, and make love to theladies from Fairhead to Killarney, in a way greatly calculated to renderus popular; and as far as making the time pass pleasantly, we are the boysfor the ‘greatest happiness’ principle. I repeat it; we deserve ourpopularity. Which of us does not get head and ears in debt with garrisonballs and steeple-chases, picnics, regattas, and the thousand-and-oneinventions to get rid of one’s spare cash,—so called for being sosparingly dealt out by our governors? Now and then, too, when all elsefails, we take a newly-joined ensign and make him marry some pretty butpenniless lass in a country town, just to show the rest that we are notjoking, but have serious ideas of matrimony in the midst of all ourflirtations. If it were all like this, the Green Isle would be a paradise;but unluckily every now and then one is condemned to some infernal placewhere there is neither a pretty face nor tight ankle, where the priesthimself is not a good fellow, and long, ill-paved, straggling streets,filled on market days with booths of striped calico and soapy cheese, isthe only promenade, and a ruinous barrack, with mouldy walls and atumbling chimney, the only quarters.

“In vain, on your return from your morning stroll or afternoon canter, youlook on the chimney-piece for a shower of visiting-cards and pink notes ofinvitation; in vain you ask your servant, ‘Has any one called.’ Alas, youronly visitor has been the ganger, to demand a party to assist instill-hunting amidst that interesting class of the population who, havingnothing to eat, are engaged in devising drink, and care as much for thelife of a red-coat as you do for that of a crow or a curlew. This may seemoverdrawn; but I would ask you, Were you ever for your sins quartered inthat capital city of the Bog of Allen they call Philipstown? Oh, but it isa romantic spot! They tell us somewhere that much of the expression of thehuman face divine depends upon the objects which constantly surround us.Thus the inhabitants of mountain districts imbibe, as it were, a certainbold and daring character of expression from the scenery, very differentfrom the placid and monotonous look of those who dwell in plains andvalleys; and I can certainly credit the theory in this instance, for everyman, woman, and child you meet has a brown, baked, scruffy, turf-likeface, that fully satisfies you that if Adam were formed of clay thePhilipstown people were worse treated and only made of bog mould.

“Well, one fine morning poor Tom and myself were marched off from Birr,where one might ‘live and love forever,’ to take up our quarters at thissweet spot. Little we knew of Philipstown; and like my friend the adjutantthere, when he laid siege to Derry, we made our entrée with all thepomp we could muster, and though we had no band, our drums and fifes didduty for it; and we brushed along through turf-creels and wicker-basketsof new brogues that obstructed the street till we reached the barrack,—theonly testimony of admiration we met with being, I feel bound to admit,from a ragged urchin of ten years, who, with a wattle in his hand,imitated me as I marched along, and when I cried halt, took his leave ofus by dexterously fixing his thumb to the side of his nose andoutstretching his fingers, as if thus to convey a very strong hint that wewere not half so fine fellows as we thought ourselves. Well, four mortalsummer months of hot sun and cloudless sky went over, and still welingered in that vile village, the everlasting monotony of our days beingmarked by the same brief morning drill, the same blue-legged chickendinner, the same smoky Loughrea whiskey, and the same evening stroll alongthe canal bank to watch for the Dublin packet-boat, with its never-varyingcargo of cattle-dealers, priests, and peelers on their way to the westcountry, as though the demand for such colonial productions in these partswas insatiable. This was pleasant, you will say; but what was to be done?We had nothing else. Now, nothing saps a man’s temper like ennui.The cranky, peevish people one meets with would be excellent folk, if theyonly had something to do. As for us, I’ll venture to say two men moredisposed to go pleasantly down the current of life it were hard to meetwith; and yet, such was the consequence of these confounded four months’sequestration from all other society, we became sour and cross-grained,everlastingly disputing about trifles, and continually arguing aboutmatters which neither were interested in, nor, indeed, knew anythingabout. There were, it is true, few topics to discuss; newspapers we neversaw; sporting there was none,—but then, the drill, the return ofduty, the probable chances of our being ordered for service, were alldaily subjects to be talked over, and usually with considerable asperityand bitterness. One point, however, always served us when hard pushed fora bone of contention; and which, begun by a mere accident at first,gradually increased to a sore and peevish subject, and finally led to theconsequences which I have hinted at in the beginning. This was no lessthan the respective merits of our mutual servants; each everlastinglyindulging in a tirade against the other for awkwardness, incivility,unhandiness,—charges, I am bound to confess, most amply proved oneither side.

“‘Well, I am sure, O’Reilly, if you can stand that fellow, it’s no affairof mine; but such an ungainly savage I never met,’ I would say.

“To which he would reply, ‘Bad enough he is, certainly; but, by Jove! whenI only think of your Hottentot, I feel grateful for what I’ve got.’

“Then ensued a discussion, with attack, rejoinder, charge, andrecrimination till we retired for the night, wearied with our exertions,and not a little ashamed of ourselves at bottom for our absurd warmth andexcitement. In the morning the matter would be rigidly avoided by eachparty until some chance occasion had brought it on the tapis, whenhostilities would be immediately renewed, and carried on with the samevigor, to end as before.

“In this agreeable state of matters we sat one warm summer evening beforethe mess-room, under the shade of a canvas awning, discussing, by way ofrefrigerant, our eighth tumbler of whiskey punch. We had, as usual, beenjarring away about everything under heaven. A lately arrived post-chaise,with an old, stiff-looking gentleman in a queue, had formed a kind of‘godsend’ for debate, as to who he was, whither he was going, whether hereally had intended to spend the night there, or that he only put upbecause the chaise was broken; each, as was customary, maintaining his ownopinion with an obstinacy we have often since laughed at, though, at thetime, we had few mirthful thoughts about the matter.

“As the debate waxed warm, O’Reilly asserted that he positively knew theindividual in question to be a United Irishman, travelling withinstructions from the French government; while I laughed him to scorn byswearing that he was the rector of Tyrrell’s Pass, that I knew him well,and, moreover, that he was the worst preacher in Ireland. Singular enoughit was that all this while the disputed identity was himself standingcoolly at the inn window, with his snuff-box in his hand, leisurelysurveying us as we sat, appearing, at least, to take a very livelyinterest in our debate.

“‘Come, now,’ said O’Reilly, ‘there’s only one way to conclude this, andmake you pay for your obstinacy. What will you bet that he’s the rector ofTyrrell’s Pass?’

“‘What odds will you take that he’s Wolfe Tone?’ inquired I, sneeringly.

“‘Five to one against the rector,’ said he, exultingly.

“‘An elephant’s molar to a toothpick against Wolfe Tone,’ cried I.

“‘Ten pounds even that I’m nearer the mark than you,’ said Tom, with asmash of his fist upon the table.

“‘Done,’ said I,—‘done. But how are we to decide the wager?’

“‘That’s soon done,’ said he. At the same instant he sprang to his legsand called out: ‘Pat, I say, Pat, I want you to present my respects to—’

“‘No, no, I bar that; no ex parte statements. Here, Jem, do yousimply tell that—’

“‘That fellow can’t deliver a message. Do come here, Pat. Just beg of—’

“‘He’ll blunder it, the confounded fool; so, Jem, do you go.’

“The two individuals thus addressed were just in the act of conveying atray of glasses and a spiced round of beef for supper into the mess-room;and as I may remark that they fully entered into the feelings of jealousytheir respective masters professed, each eyed the other with a look ofvery unequivocal dislike.

“‘Arrah! you needn’t be pushing me that way,’ said Pat, ‘an’ the round o’beef in my hands.’

“‘Devil’s luck to ye, it’s the glasses you’ll be breaking with yourawkward elbow!’

“‘Then, why don’t ye leave the way? Ain’t I your suparior?’

“‘Ain’t I the captain’s own man?’

“‘Ay, and if you war. Don’t I belong to his betters? Isn’t my master thetwo liftenants?’

“This, strange as it may sound, was so far true, as I held a commission inan African corps, with my lieutenancy in the 5th.

“‘Be-gorra, av he was six—There now, you done it!’

“At the same moment, a tremendous crash took place and the large dish fellin a thousand pieces on the pavement, while the spiced round rolledpensively down the yard.

“Scarcely was the noise heard when, with one vigorous kick, the tray ofglasses was sent spinning into the air, and the next moment the disputantswere engaged in bloody battle. It was at this moment that our attentionwas first drawn towards them, and I need not say with what feelings ofinterest we looked on.

“‘Hit him, Pat—there, Jem, under the guard! That’s it—go in!Well done, left hand! By Jove! that was a facer! His eye’s closed—he’sdown! Not a bit of it—how do you like that? Unfair, unfair! No such thing!I say it was! Not at all—I deny it!’

“By this time we had approached the combatants, each man patting his ownfellow on the back, and encouraging him by the most lavish promises. Nowit was, but in what way I never could exactly tell, that I threw out myright hand to stop a blow that I saw coming rather too near me, when, bysome unhappy mischance, my doubled fist lighted upon Tom O’Reilly’s nose.Before I could express my sincere regret for the accident, the blow wasreturned with double force, and the next moment we were at it harder thanthe others. After five minutes’ sharp work, we both stopped for breath,and incontinently burst out a-laughing. There was Tom, with a nose aslarge as three, a huge cheek on one side, and the whole head swinginground like a harlequin’s; while I, with one eye closed, and the other likea half-shut co*ckle-shell, looked scarcely less rueful. We had not muchtime for mirth, for at the same instant a sharp, full voice called outclose beside us—

“To your quarters, sirs. I put you both under arrest, from which you arenot to be released until the sentence of a court-martial decide if conductsuch as this becomes officers and gentlemen.’

“I looked round, and saw the old fellow in the queue.

“‘Wolfe Tone, by all that’s unlucky!’ said I, with an attempt at a smile.

“‘The rector of Tyrrell’s Pass,’ cried out Tom, with a snuffle; ‘the worstpreacher in Ireland—eh, Fred?’

“We had not much time for further commentaries upon our friend, for he atonce opened his frock coat, and displayed to our horrified gaze theuniform of a general officer.

“‘Yes, sir, General Johnson, if you will allow me to present him to youracquaintance; and now, guard, turn out.’

“In a few minutes more the orders were issued, and poor Tom and myselffound ourselves fast confined to our quarters, with a sentinel at thedoor, and the pleasant prospect that, in the space of about ten days, weshould be broke, and dismissed the service; which verdict, as the generalorder would say, the commander of the forces has been graciously pleasedto approve.

“However, when morning came the old general, who was really a trump,inquired a little further into the matter, saw it was partly accidental,and after a severe reprimand, and a caution about Loughrea whiskey afterthe sixth tumbler, released us from arrest, and forgave the whole affair.”

CHAPTER XXXI.

THE VOYAGE CONTINUED.

Ugh, what a miserable thing is a voyage! Here we are now eight days atsea, the eternal sameness of all around growing every hour lesssupportable. Sea and sky are beautiful things when seen from the darkwoods and waving meadows on shore; but their picturesque effect is sadlymarred from want of contrast. Besides that, the “toujours pork,” with crystals of salt as long as your wife’s fingers; the potatoes thatseemed varnished in French polish; the tea seasoned with geologicalspecimens from the basin of London, ycleped maple sugar; and the butter—yegods, the butter! But why enumerate these smaller features of discomfortand omit the more glaring ones?—the utter selfishness which bluewater suggests, as inevitably as the cold fit follows the ague. The goodfellow that shares his knapsack or his last guinea on land, here foragesout the best corner to hang his hammock; jockeys you into a comfortlesscrib, where the uncalked deck-butt filters every rain from heaven on yourhead; votes you the corner at dinner, not only that he may place you withyour back to the thorough-draught of the gangway ladder, but that he mayeat, drink, and lie down before you have even begun to feel thequalmishness that the dinner of a troop-ship is well calculated tosuggest; cuts his pencil with your best razor; wears your shirts, aswashing is scarce; and winds up all by having a good story of you everyevening for the edification of the other “sharp gentlemen,” who, being toowide awake to be humbugged themselves, enjoy his success prodigiously.This, gentle reader, is neither confession nor avowal of mine. The passageI have here presented to you I have taken from the journal of my brotherofficer, Mr. Sparks, who, when not otherwise occupied, usually employedhis time in committing to paper his thoughts upon men, manners, and thingsat sea in general; though, sooth to say, his was not an idle life. Beingvoted by unanimous consent “a junior,” he was condemned to offices thatthe veriest fa*g in Eton or Harrow had rebelled against. In the morning,under the pseudonym of Mrs. Sparks, he presided at breakfast,having previously made tea, coffee, and chocolate for the whole cabin,besides boiling about twenty eggs at various degrees of hardness; he wasunder heavy recognizances to provide a plate of buttered toast of veryalarming magnitude, fried ham, kidneys, etc., to no end. Later on, whenothers sauntered about the deck, vainly endeavoring to fix their attentionupon a novel or a review, the poor cornet might be seen with a white aprontucked gracefully round his spare proportions, whipping eggs for pancakes,or, with upturned shirt-sleeves, fashioning dough for a pudding. As theday waned, the cook’s galley became his haunt, where, exposed to aroasting fire, he inspected the details of a cuisine; for which,whatever his demerits, he was sure of an ample remuneration in abuse atdinner. Then came the dinner itself, that dread ordeal, where nothing waspraised and everything censured. This was followed by the punch-making,where the tastes of six different and differing individuals were to beexclusively consulted in the self-same beverage; and lastly, the supper atnight, when Sparkie, as he was familiarly called, towards evening grownquite exhausted, became the subject of unmitigated wrath and mostunmeasured reprobation.

“I say, Sparks, it’s getting late. The spatch-co*ck, old boy. Don’t beslumbering.”

“By-the-bye, Sparkie, what a mess you made of that pea-soup to-day! ByJove, I never felt so ill in my life!”

“Na, na; it was na the soup. It was something he pit in the punch, that’sburning me ever since I tuk it. Ou, man, but ye’re an awfu’ creture wi’vittals!”

“He’ll improve, Doctor; he’ll improve. Don’t discourage him; the boy’syoung. Be alive now, there. Where’s the toast?—confound you, where’sthe toast?”

“There, Sparks, you like a drumstick, I know. Mustn’t muzzle the ox, eh?Scripture for you, old boy. Eat away; hang the expense. Hand him over thejug. Empty—eh, Charley? Come, Sparkie, bear a hand; the liquor’sout.”

“But won’t you let me eat?”

“Eat! Heavens, what a fellow for eating! By George, such an appetite isclean against the articles of war! Come, man, it’s drink we’re thinkingof. There’s the rum, sugar, limes; see to the hot water. Well, Skipper,how are we getting on?”

“Lying our course; eight knots off the log. Pass the rum. Why, MisterSparks!”

“Eh, Sparks, what’s this?”

“Sparks, my man, confound it!”

And then, omnes chorussing “Sparks!” in every key of the gamut, theluckless fellow would be obliged to jump up from his meagre fare and setto work at a fresh brewage of punch for the others. The bowl and theglasses filled, by some little management on Power’s part our friend thecornet would be drawn out, as the phrase is, into some confessionof his early years, which seemed to have been exclusively spent inlove-making,—devotion to the fair being as integral a portion of hischaracter as tippling was of the worthy major’s.

Like most men who pass their lives in over-studious efforts to please,—howeverungallant the confession be,—the amiable Sparks had had littlesuccess. His love, if not, as it generally happened, totally unrequited,was invariably the source of some awkward catastrophe, there being noimaginable error he had not at some time or other fallen into, nor anyconceivable mischance to which he had not been exposed. Inconsolablewidows, attached wives, fond mothers, newly-married brides, engaged youngladies were by some contretemps continually the subject of hisattachments; and the least mishap which followed the avowal of his passionwas to be heartily laughed at and obliged to leave the neighborhood.Duels, apologies, actions at law, compensations, etc., were of every-dayoccurrence, and to such an extent, too, that any man blessed with asmaller bump upon the occiput would eventually have long since abandonedthe pursuit, and taken to some less expensive pleasure. But poor Sparks,in the true spirit of a martyr, only gloried the more, the more hesuffered; and like the worthy man who continued to purchase tickets in thelottery for thirty years, with nothing but a succession of blanks, he everimagined that Fortune was only trying his patience, and had some coolforty thousand pounds of happiness waiting his perseverance in the end.Whether this prize ever did turn up in the course of years, I am unable tosay; but certainly, up to the period of his history I now speak of, allhad been as gloomy and unrequiting as need be. Power, who knew somethingof every man’s adventures, was aware of so much of poor Sparks’s career,and usually contrived to lay a trap for a confession that generally servedto amuse us during an evening,—as much, I acknowledge, from themanner of the recital as anything contained in the story. There was aspecies of serious matter-of-fact simplicity in his detail of the mostridiculous scenes that left you convinced that his bearing upon the affairin question must have greatly heightened the absurdity,—nothing,however comic or droll in itself, ever exciting in him the least approachto a smile. He sat with his large light-blue eyes, light hair, long upperlip, and retreating chin, lisping out an account of an adventure, with alook of Listen about him that was inconceivably amusing.

“Come, Sparks,” said Power, “I claim a promise you made me the othernight, on condition we let you off making the oyster-patties at teno’clock; you can’t forget what I mean.” Here the captain knowingly touchedthe tip of his ear, at which signal the cornet colored slightly, and drankoff his wine in a hurried, confused way. “He promised to tell us, Major,how he lost the tip of his left ear. I have myself heard hints of thecirc*mstance, but would much rather hear Sparks’s own version of it.”

“Another love story,” said the doctor, with a grin, “I’ll be bound.”

“Shot off in a duel?” said I, inquiringly. “Close work, too.”

“No such thing,” replied Power; “but Sparks will enlighten you. It is,without exception, the most touching and beautiful thing I ever heard. Asa simple story, it beats the ‘Vicar of Wakefield’ to sticks.”

“You don’t say so?” said poor Sparks, blushing.

“Ay, that I do; and maintain it, too. I’d rather be the hero of thatlittle adventure, and be able to recount it as you do,—for, mark me,that’s no small part of the effect,—than I’d be full colonel of theregiment. Well, I am sure I always thought it affecting. But, somehow, mydear friend, you don’t know your powers; you have that within you wouldmake the fortune of half the periodicals going. Ask Monsoon or O’Malleythere if I did not say so at breakfast, when you were grilling the oldhen,—which, by-the-bye, let me remark, was not one of your chefs-d’oeuvre.”

“A tougher beastie I never put a tooth in.”

“But the story, the story,” said I.

“Yes,” said Power, with a tone of command, “the story, Sparks.”

“Well, if you really think it worth telling, as I have always felt it avery remarkable incident, here goes.”

CHAPTER XXXII

MR. SPARKS’S STORY.

“I sat at breakfast one beautiful morning at the Goat Inn at Barmouth,looking out of a window upon the lovely vale of Barmouth, with its talltrees and brown trout-stream struggling through the woods, then turning totake a view of the calm sea, that, speckled over with white-sailedfishing-boats, stretched away in the distance. The eggs were fresh; thetrout newly caught; the cream delicious. Before me lay the ‘PlwdwddlwnAdvertiser,’ which, among the fashionable arrivals at the seaside, setforth Mr. Sparks, nephew of Sir Toby Sparks, of Manchester,—aparagraph, by the way, I always inserted. The English are naturally anaristocratic people, and set a due value upon a title.”

“A very just observation,” remarked Power, seriously, while Sparkscontinued.

“However, as far as any result from the announcement, I might as well havespared myself the trouble, for not a single person called. Not onesolitary invitation to dinner, not a picnic, not a breakfast, no, nor evena tea-party, was heard of. Barmouth, at the time I speak of, was just inthat transition state at which the caterpillar may be imagined, when,having abandoned his reptile habits, he still has not succeeded inbecoming a butterfly. In fact, it had ceased to be a fishing village, buthad not arrived at the dignity of a watering-place. Now, I know nothing asbad as this. You have not, on one hand, the quiet retirement of a littlepeaceful hamlet, with its humble dwellings and cheap pleasures, nor haveyou the gay and animated tableau of fashion in miniature, on the other;but you have noise, din, bustle, confusion, beautiful scenery and lovelypoints of view marred and ruined by vulgar associations. Every bold rockand jutting promontory has its citizen occupants; every sandy cove ortide-washed bay has its myriads of squalling babes and red baize-cladbathing women,—those veritable descendants of the nymphs of old.Pink parasols, donkey-carts, baskets of bread-and-butter, reticules,guides to Barmouth, specimens of ore, fragments of gypsum meet you atevery step, and destroy every illusion of the picturesque.”

“‘I shall leave this,’ thought I. ‘My dreams, my long-cherished dreams ofromantic walks upon the sea-shore, of evening strolls by moonlight,through dell and dingle, are reduced to a short promenade through an alleyof bathing-boxes, amidst a screaming population of nursery-maids and sickchildren, with a thorough-bass of “Fresh shrimps!” discordant enough tofrighten the very fish from the shores. There is no peace, no quiet, noromance, no poetry, no love.’ Alas, that most of all was wanting! For,after all, what is it which lights up the heart, save the flame of amutual attachment? What gilds the fair stream of life, save the bright rayof warm affection? What—”

“In a word,” said Power, “it is the sugar in the punch-bowl of ourexistence. Perge, Sparks; push on.”

“I was not long in making up my mind. I called for my bill; I packed myclothes; I ordered post-horses; I was ready to start; one item in the billalone detained me. The frequent occurrence of the enigmatical word ‘crw,’following my servant’s name, demanded an explanation, which I was in theact of receiving, when a chaise-and-four drove rapidly up to the house. Ina moment the blinds were drawn up, and such a head appeared at the window!Let me pause for one moment to drink in the remembrance of that lovelybeing,—eyes where heaven’s own blue seemed concentrated were shadedby long, deep lashes of the darkest brown; a brow fair, noble, andexpansive, at each side of which masses of dark-brown hair waved half inringlets, half in loose falling bands, shadowing her pale and downy cheek,where one faint rosebud tinge seemed lingering; lips slightly parted, asthough to speak, gave to the features all the play of animation whichcompleted this intellectual character, and made up—”

“What I should say was a devilish pretty girl,” interrupted Power.

“Back the widow against her at long odds, any day,” murmured the adjutant.

“She was an angel! an angel!” cried Sparks with enthusiasm.

“So was the widow, if you go to that,” said the adjutant, hastily.

“And so is Matilda Dalrymple,” said Power, with a sly look at me. “We areall honorable men; eh, Charley?”

“Go ahead with the story,” said the skipper; “I’m beginning to feel aninterest in it.”

“‘Isabella,’ said a man’s voice, as a large, well-dressed personageassisted her to alight,—‘Isabella, love, you must take a little resthere before we proceed farther.’

“‘I think she had better, sir,’ said a matronly-looking woman, with aplaid cloak and a black bonnet.

“They disappeared within the house, and I was left alone. The bright dreamwas past: she was there no longer; but in my heart her image lived, and Ialmost felt she was before me. I thought I heard her voice, I saw hermove; my limbs trembled; my hands tingled; I rang the bell, ordered mytrunks back again to No. 5, and as I sank upon the sofa, murmured tomyself, ‘This is indeed love at first sight.’”

“How devilish sudden it was,” said the skipper.

“Exactly like camp fever,” responded the doctor. “One moment ye are varawell; the next ye are seized wi’ a kind of shivering; then comes a kind ofmandering, dandering, travelling a’overness.”

“D—— the camp fever,” interrupted Power.

“Well, as I observed, I fell in love; and here let me take the opportunityof observing that all that we are in the habit of hearing about single oronly attachments is mere nonsense. No man is so capable of feeling deeplyas he who is in the daily practice of it. Love, like everything else inthis world, demands a species of cultivation. The mere tyro in an affairof the heart thinks he has exhausted all its pleasures and pains; but onlyhe who has made it his daily study for years, familiarizing his mind withevery phase of the passion, can properly or adequately appreciate it.Thus, the more you love, the better you love; the more frequently has yourheart yielded—”

“It’s vara like the mucous membrane,” said the doctor.

“I’ll break your neck with the decanter if you interrupt him again!” exclaimed Power.

“For days I scarcely ever left the house,” resumed Sparks, “watching tocatch one glance of the lovely Isabella. My farthest excursion was to thelittle garden of the inn, where I used to set every imaginable species ofsnare, in the event of her venturing to walk there. One day I would leavea volume of poetry; another, a copy of Paul and Virginia with a markedpage; sometimes my guitar, with a broad, blue ribbon, would hang pensivelyfrom a tree,—but, alas! all in vain; she never appeared. At length Itook courage to ask the waiter about her. For some minutes he could notcomprehend what I meant; but, at last, discovering my object, he criedout, ‘Oh, No. 8, sir; it is No. 8 you mean?’

“‘It may be,’ said I. ‘What of her, then?’

“‘Oh, sir, she’s gone these three days.’

“‘Gone!’ said I, with a groan.

“‘Yes, sir; she left this early on Tuesday with the same old gentleman andthe old woman in a chaise-and-four. They ordered horses at Dolgelly tomeet them; but I don’t know which road they took afterwards.’

“I fell back on my chair unable to speak. Here was I enacting Romeo forthree mortal days to a mere company of Welsh waiters and chamber-maids,sighing, serenading, reciting, attitudinizing, rose-plucking,soliloquizing, half-suiciding, and all for the edification of a set ofsavages, with about as much civilization as their own goats.

“‘The bill,’ cried I, in a voice of thunder; ‘my bill this instant.’

“I had been imposed upon shamefully, grossly imposed upon, and would notremain another hour in the house. Such were my feelings at least, and sothinking, I sent for my servant, abused him for not having my clothesready packed. He replied; I reiterated, and as my temper mounted, ventedevery imaginable epithet upon his head, and concluded by paying him hiswages and sending him about his business. In one hour more I was upon theroad.

“‘What road, sir,’ said the postilion, as he mounted into the saddle.

“‘To the devil, if you please,’ said I, throwing myself back in thecarriage.

“‘Very well, sir,’ replied the boy, putting spurs to his horse.

“That evening I arrived in Bedgellert.

“The little humble inn of Bedgellert, with its thatched roof and earthenfloor, was a most welcome sight to me, after eleven hours’ travelling on abroiling July day. Behind the very house itself rose the mighty Snowdon,towering high above the other mountains, whose lofty peaks were lostamidst the clouds; before me was the narrow valley—”

“Wake me up when he’s under way again,” said the skipper, yawningfearfully.

“Go on, Sparks,” said Power, encouragingly; “I was never more interestedin my life; eh, O’Malley?”

“Quite thrilling,” responded I, and Sparks resumed.

“Three weeks did I loiter about that sweet spot, my mind filled withimages of the past and dreams of the future, my fishing-rod my onlycompanion. Not, indeed, that I ever caught anything; for, somehow, mytackle was always getting foul of some willow-tree or water-lily, and atlast, I gave up even the pretence of whipping the streams. Well, one day—Iremember it as well as though it were but yesterday, it was the 4th ofAugust—I had set off upon an excursion to Llanberris. I had crossedSnowdon early, and reached the little lake on the opposite side bybreakfast time. There I sat down near the ruined tower of Dolbadern, andopening my knapsack, made a hearty meal. I have ever been a day-dreamer;and there are few things I like better than to lie, upon some hot andsunny day, in the tall grass beneath the shade of some deep boughs, withrunning water murmuring near, hearing the summer bee buzzing monotonously,and in the distance, the clear, sharp tinkle of the sheep-bell. In such aplace, at such a time, one’s fancy strays playfully, like some happychild, and none but pleasant thoughts present themselves. Fatigued by mylong walk, and overcome by heat, I fell asleep. How long I lay there Icannot tell, but the deep shadows were half way down the tall mountainwhen I awoke. A sound had startled me; I thought I heard a voice speakingclose to me. I looked up, and for some seconds I could not believe that Iwas not dreaming. Beside me, within a few paces, stood Isabella, thebeautiful vision that I had seen at Barmouth, but far, a thousand times,more beautiful. She was dressed in something like a peasant’s dress, andwore the round hat which, in Wales at least, seems to suit the characterof the female face so well; her long and waving ringlets fell carelesslyupon her shoulders, and her cheek flushed from walking. Before I had amoment’s notice to recover my roving thought, she spoke; her voice wasfull and round, but soft and thrilling, as she said,—

“‘I beg pardon, sir, for having disturbed you unconsciously; but, havingdone so, may I request you will assist me to fill this pitcher withwater?’

“She pointed at the same time to a small stream which trickled down afissure in the rock, and formed a little well of clear water beneath. Ibowed deeply, and murmuring something, I know not what, took the pitcherfrom her hand, and scaling the rocky cliff, mounted to the clear sourceabove, where having filled the vessel, I descended. When I reached theground beneath, I discovered that she was joined by another person whom,in an instant, I recognized to be the old gentleman I had seen with her atBarmouth, and who in the most courteous manner apologized for the troubleI had been caused, and informed me that a party of his friends wereenjoying a little picnic quite near, and invited me to make one of them.

“I need not say that I accepted the invitation, nor that with delight Iseized the opportunity of forming an acquaintance with Isabella, who, Imust confess, upon her part showed no disinclination to the prospect of myjoining the party.

“After a few minutes’ walking, we came to a small rocky point whichprojected for some distance into the lake, and offered a view for severalmiles of the vale of Llanberris. Upon this lovely spot we found the partyassembled; they consisted of about fourteen or fifteen persons, all busilyengaged in the arrangement of a very excellent cold dinner, eachindividual having some peculiar province allotted to him or her, to beperformed by their own hands. Thus, one elderly gentlemen was whippingcream under a chestnut-tree, while a very fashionably-dressed young manwas washing radishes in the lake; an old lady with spectacles was fryingsalmon over a wood-fire, opposite to a short, pursy man with a bald headand drab shorts, deep in the mystery of a chicken salad, from which henever lifted his eyes when I came up. It was thus I found how the fairIsabella’s lot had been cast, as a drawer of water; she, with the others,contributing her share of exertion for the common good. The old gentlemanwho accompanied her seemed the only unoccupied person, and appeared to beregarded as the ruler of the feast; at least, they all called him general,and implicitly followed every suggestion he threw out. He was a man of acertain grave and quiet manner, blended with a degree of mild good-natureand courtesy, that struck me much at first, and gained greatly on me, evenin the few minutes I conversed with him as we came along. Just before hepresented me to his friends, he gently touched my arm, and drawing measide, whispered in my ear:—

“‘Don’t be surprised at anything you may hear to-day here; for I mustinform you this is a kind of club, as I may call it, where every oneassumes a certain character, and is bound to sustain it under a penalty.We have these little meetings every now and then; and as strangers arenever present, I feel some explanation necessary, that you may be able toenjoy the thing,—you understand?’

“‘Oh, perfectly,’ said I, overjoyed at the novelty of the scene, andanticipating much pleasure from my chance meeting with such very originalcharacters.

“‘Mr. Sparks, Mrs. Winterbottom. Allow me to present Mr. Sparks.’

“‘Any news from Batavia, young gentleman?’ said the sallow old ladyaddressed. ‘How is coffee!’

“The general passed on, introducing me rapidly as he went.

“‘Mr. Doolittle, Mr. Sparks.’

“‘Ah, how do you do, old boy?’ said Mr. Doolittle; ‘sit down beside me. Wehave forty thousand acres of pickled cabbage spoiling for want of a littlevinegar.’

“‘Fie, fie, Mr. Doolittle,’ said the general, and passed on to another.

“‘Mr. Sparks, Captain Crosstree.’

“‘Ah, Sparks, Sparks! son of old Blazes! ha, ha, ha!’ and the captain fellback into an immoderate fit of laughter.

“‘Le Rio est serci,’ said the thin meagre figure in nankeens,bowing, cap in hand, before the general; and accordingly, we all assumedour places upon the grass.

“‘Say it again! Say it again, and I’ll plunge this dagger in your heart!’said a hollow voice, tremulous with agitation and rage, close beside me. Iturned my head, and saw an old gentleman with a wart on his nose, sittingopposite a meat-pie, which he was contemplating with a look of fieryindignation. Before I could witness the sequel of the scene, I felt a softhand pressed upon mine. I turned. It was Isabella herself, who, looking atme with an expression I shall never forget, said:—

“‘Don’t mind poor Faddy; he never hurts any one.’

“Meanwhile the business of dinner went on rapidly. The servants, of whomenormous numbers were now present, ran hither and thither; and duck, ham,pigeon-pie, cold veal, apple tarts, cheese, pickled salmon, melon, andrice pudding, flourished on every side. As for me, whatever I might havegleaned from the conversation around under other circ*mstances, I was toomuch occupied with Isabella to think of any one else. My suit—forsuch it was—progressed rapidly. There was evidently somethingfavorable in the circ*mstances we last met under; for her manner had allthe warmth and cordiality of old friendship. It is true that, more thanonce, I caught the general’s eye fixed upon us with anything but anexpression of pleasure, and I thought that Isabella blushed and seemedconfused also. ‘What care I?’ however, was my reflection; ‘my views arehonorable; and the nephew and heir of Sir Toby Sparks—’ Just in thevery act of making this reflection, the old man in the shorts hit me inthe eye with a roasted apple, calling out at the moment:—

“‘When did you join, thou child of the pale-faces?’

“‘Mr. Murdocks!’ cried the general, in a voice of thunder; and the littleman hung down his head, and spoke not.

“‘A word with you, young gentleman,’ said a fat old lady, pinching my armabove the elbow.

“‘Never mind her,’ said Isabella, smiling; ‘poor dear old Dorking, shethinks she’s an hour-glass. How droll, isn’t it?’

“‘Young man, have you any feelings of humanity?’ inquired the old lady,with tears in her eyes as she spoke; ‘will you, dare you assist afellow-creature under my sad circ*mstances?’

“‘What can I do for you, Madam?’ said I, really feeling for her distress.

“‘Just like a good dear soul, just turn me up, for I’m nearly run out.’

“Isabella burst out a laughing at the strange request,—an excesswhich, I confess, I was unable myself to repress; upon which the old lady,putting on a frown of the most ominous blackness, said:—

“‘You may laugh, Madam; but first before you ridicule the misfortunes ofothers, ask yourself are you, too, free from infirmity? When did you seethe ace of spades, Madam? Answer me that.’

“Isabella became suddenly pale as death; her very lips blanched, and hervoice, almost inaudible, muttered:—

“‘Am I, then, deceived? Is not this he?’ So saying, she placed her handupon my shoulder.

“‘That the ace of spades?’ exclaimed the old lady, with a sneer,—‘thatthe ace of spades!’

“‘Are you, or are you not, sir?’ said Isabella, fixing her deep andlanguid eyes upon me. ‘Answer me, as you are honest; are you the ace ofspades?’

“‘He is the King of Tuscarora. Look at his war paint!’ cried an elderlygentleman, putting a streak of mustard across my nose and cheek.

“‘Then am I deceived,’ said Isabella. And flying at me, she plucked ahandful of hair out of my whiskers.

“‘Cuckoo, cuckoo!’ shouted one; ‘Bow-wow-wow!’ roared another; ‘Phiz!’went a third; and in an instant, such a scene of commotion and riotensued. Plates, dishes, knives, forks, and decanters flew right and left;every one pitched into his neighbor with the most fearful cries, and hellitself seemed broke loose. The hour-glass and the Moulah of Oude had gotme down and were pummelling me to death, when a short, thickset man cameon all fours slap down upon them shouting out, ‘Way, make way for theroyal Bengal tiger!’ at which they both fled like lightning, leaving me tothe encounter single-handed. Fortunately, however, this was not of verylong duration, for some well-disposed Christians pulled him from off me;not, however, before he had seized me in his grasp, and bitten off aportion of my left ear, leaving me, as you see, thus mutilated for therest of my days.”

“What an extraordinary club,” broke in the doctor.

“Club, sir, club! it was a lunatic asylum. The general was no other thanthe famous Dr. Andrew Moorville, that had the great madhouse at Bangor,and who was in the habit of giving his patients every now and then a kindof country party; it being one remarkable feature of their malady thatwhen one takes to his peculiar flight, whatever it be, the othersimmediately take the hint and go off at score. Hence my agreeableadventure: the Bengal tiger being a Liverpool merchant, and the mostvivacious madman in England; while the hour-glass and the Moulah were bothon an experimental tour to see whether they should not be pronouncedtotally incurable for life.”

“And Isabella?” inquired Power.

“Ah, poor Isabella had been driven mad by a card-playing aunt at Bath, andwas in fact the most hopeless case there. The last words I heard her speakconfirmed my mournful impression of her case,—

“‘Yes,’ said she, as they removed her to her carriage, ‘I must, indeed,have but a weak intellect, when I could have taken the nephew of aManchester cotton-spinner, with a face like a printed calico, for a trumpcard, and the best in the pack!’”

Poor Sparks uttered these last words with a faltering accent, andfinishing his glass at one draught withdrew without wishing us good-night.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

THE SKIPPER.

In such like gossipings passed our days away, for our voyage itself hadnothing of adventure or incident to break its dull monotony; save some fewhours of calm, we had been steadily following our seaward track with afair breeze, and the long pennant pointed ever to the land where ourardent expectations were hurrying before it.

The latest accounts which had reached us from the Peninsula told that ourregiment was almost daily engaged; and we burned with impatience to sharewith the others the glory they were reaping. Power, who had seen service,felt less on this score than we who had not “fleshed our maiden swords;” but even he sometimes gave way, and when the wind fell toward sunset, hewould break out into some exclamation of discontent, half fearing weshould be too late. “For,” said he, “if we go on in this way the regimentwill be relieved and ordered home before we reach it.”

“Never fear, my boys, you’ll have enough of it. Both sides like the worktoo well to give in; they’ve got a capital ground and plenty of sparetime,” said the major.

“Only to think,” cried Power, “that we should be lounging away our idlehours when these gallant fellows are in the saddle late and early. It istoo bad; eh, O’Malley? You’ll not be pleased to go back with the polish onyour sabre? What will Lucy Dashwood say?”

This was the first allusion Power had ever made to her, and I became redto the very forehead.

“By-the-bye,” added he, “I have a letter for Hammersley, which shouldrather have been entrusted to your keeping.”

At these words I felt cold as death, while he continued:—

“Poor fellow! certainly he is most desperately smitten; for, mark me, whena man at his age takes the malady, it is forty times as severe as with ayounger fellow, like you. But then, to be sure, he began at the wrong endin the matter; why commence with papa? When a man has his own consent forliking a girl, he must be a contemptible fellow if he can’t get her; andas to anything else being wanting, I don’t understand it. But the momentyou begin by influencing the heads of the house, good-by to your chanceswith the dear thing herself, if she have any spirit whatever. It is, infact, calling on her to surrender without the honors of war; and what girlwould stand that?”

“It’s vara true,” said the doctor; “there’s a strong speerit of oppositionin the sex, from physiological causes.”

“Curse your physiology, old Galen; what you call opposition, is thatpiquant resistance to oppression that makes half the charm of the sex. Itis with them—with reverence be it spoken—as with horses: thedull, heavy-shouldered ones, that bore away with the bit in their teeth,never caring whether you are pulling to the right or to the left, areworth nothing; the real luxury is in the management of your arching-neckedcurvetter, springing from side to side with every motion of your wrist,madly bounding at restraint, yet, to the practised hand, held in checkwith a silk tread. Eh, Skipper, am I not right?”

“Well, I can’t say I’ve had much to do with horse-beasts, but I believeyou’re not far wrong. The lively craft that answers the helm quick, goesround well in stays, luffs up close within a point or two, when you wanther, is always a good sea-boat, even though she pitches and rolls a bit;but the heavy lugger that never knows whether your helm is up or down,whether she’s off the wind or on it, is only fit for firewood,—youcan do nothing with a ship or a woman if she hasn’t got steerage way onher.”

“Come, Skipper, we’ve all been telling our stories; let us hear one ofyours?”

“My yarn won’t come so well after your sky-scrapers of love and courtingand all that. But if you like to hear what happened to me once, I have noobjection to tell you.

“I often think how little we know what’s going to happen to us any minuteof our lives. To-day we have the breeze fair in our favor, we are goingseven knots, studding-sails set, smooth water, and plenty of sea-room;to-morrow the wind freshens to half a gale, the sea gets up, a rocky coastis seen from the lee bow, and may be—to add to all—we spring aleak forward; but then, after all, bad as it looks, mayhap, we rub througheven this, and with the next day, the prospect is as bright and cheeringas ever. You’ll perhaps ask me what has all this moralizing to do withwomen and ships at sea? Nothing at all with them, except that I was agoing to say, that when matters look worst, very often the best is instore for us, and we should never say strike when there is a timbertogether. Now for my story:—

“It’s about four years ago, I was strolling one evening down the side ofthe harbor at Cove, with my hands in my pocket, having nothing to do, norno prospect of it, for my last ship had been wrecked off the Bermudas, andnearly all the crew lost; and somehow, when a man is in misfortune, theunderwriters won’t have him at no price. Well, there I was, looking aboutme at the craft that lay on every side waiting for a fair wind to run downchannel. All was active and busy; every one getting his vessel ship-shapeand tidy,—tarring, painting, mending sails, stretching new bunting,and getting in sea-store; boats were plying on every side, signals flying,guns firing from the men-of-war, and everything was lively as might be,—allbut me. There I was, like an old water-logged timber ship, never moving aspar, but looking for all the world as though I were a settling fast to godown stern foremost: may be as how I had no objection to that same; butthat’s neither here nor there. Well, I sat down on the fluke of an anchor,and began a thinking if it wasn’t better to go before the mast than liveon that way. Just before me, where I sat down, there was an old schoonerthat lay moored in the same place for as long as I could remember. She wasthere when I was a boy, and never looked a bit the fresher nor newer aslong as I recollected; her old bluff bows, her high poop, her round stern,her flush deck, all Dutch-like, I knew them well, and many a time Idelighted to think what queer kind of a chap he was that first set her onthe stocks, and pondered in what trade she ever could have been. All thesailors about the port used to call her Noah’s Ark, and swear she was theidentical craft that he stowed away all the wild beasts in during therainy season. Be that as it might, since I fell into misfortune, I got tofeel a liking for the old schooner; she was like an old friend; she neverchanged to me, fair weather or foul; there she was, just the same asthirty years before, when all the world were forgetting and steering wideaway from me. Every morning I used to go down to the harbor and have alook at her, just to see that all was right and nothing stirred; and if itblew very hard at night, I’d get up and go down to look how she weatheredit, just as if I was at sea in her. Now and then I’d get some of thewatermen to row me aboard of her, and leave me there for a few hours; whenI used to be quite happy walking the deck, holding the old worm-eatenwheel, looking out ahead, and going down below, just as though I was incommand of her. Day after day this habit grew on me, and at last my wholelife was spent in watching her and looking after her,—-there wassomething so much alike in our fortunes, that I always thought of her.Like myself, she had had her day of life and activity; we had both bravedthe storm and the breeze; her shattered bulwarks and worn cutwaterattested that she had, like myself, not escaped her calamities. We bothhad survived our dangers, to be neglected and forgotten, and to lierotting on the stream of life till the crumbling hand of Time should breakus up, timber by timber. Is it any wonder if I loved the old craft; nor ifby any chance the idle boys would venture aboard of her to play and amusethemselves that I hallooed them away; or when a newly-arrived ship, notcaring for the old boat, would run foul of her, and carry away some sparor piece of running rigging, I would suddenly call out to them to sheeroff and not damage us? By degrees, they came all to notice this; and Ifound that they thought me out of my senses, and many a trick was playedoff upon old Noah, for that was the name the sailors gave me.

“Well, this evening, as I was saying, I sat upon the fluke of the anchor,waiting for a chance boat to put me aboard. It was past sunset, the tidewas ebbing, and the old craft was surging to the fast current that ran bywith a short, impatient jerk, as though she were well weary, and wished tobe at rest; her loose stays creaked mournfully, and as she yawed over, thesea ran from many a breach in her worn sides, like blood trickling from awound. ‘Ay, ay,’ thought I, ‘the hour is not far off; another stiff gale,and all that remains of you will be found high and dry upon the shore.’ Myheart was very heavy as I thought of this; for in my loneliness, the oldArk—though that was not her name, as I’ll tell you presently—wasall the companion I had. I’ve heard of a poor prisoner who, for many andmany years, watched a spider that wove his web within his window, andnever lost sight of him from morning till night; and somehow, I canbelieve it well. The heart will cling to something, and if it has noliving object to press to, it will find a lifeless one,—it can nomore stand alone than the shrouds can without the mast. The evening woreon, as I was thinking thus; the moon shone out, but no boat came, and Iwas just determining to go home again for the night, when I saw two menstanding on the steps of the wharf below me, and looking straight at theArk. Now, I must tell you I always felt uneasy when any one came to lookat her; for I began to fear that some shipowner or other would buy her tobreak up, though, except the copper fastenings, there was little of anyvalue about her. Now, the moment I saw the two figures stop short, andpoint to her, I said to myself, ‘Ah, my old girl, so they won’t even letthe blue water finish you, but they must set their carpenters and dockyardpeople to work upon you.’ This thought grieved me more and more. Had astiff sou’-wester laid her over, I should have felt it more natural, forher sand was run out; but just as this passed through my mind, I heard avoice from one of the persons, that I at once knew to be the portadmiral’s:—

“‘Well, Dawkins,’ said he to the other, ‘if you think she’ll holdtogether, I’m sure I’ve no objection. I don’t like the job, I confess; butstill the Admiralty must be obeyed.’

“‘Oh, my lord,’ said the other, ‘she’s the very thing; she’s arakish-looking craft, and will do admirably. Any repair we want, a fewdays will effect; secrecy is the great thing.’

“‘Yes,’ said the admiral, after a pause, ‘as you observed, secrecy is thegreat thing.’

“‘Ho! ho!’ thought I, ‘there’s something in the wind, here;’ so I laidmyself out upon the anchor-stock, to listen better, unobserved.

“‘We must find a crew for her, give her a few carronades, make her asship-shape as we can, and if the skipper—’

“‘Ay, but there is the real difficulty,’ said the admiral, hastily; ‘whereare we to find a fellow that will suit us? We can’t every day find a manwilling to jeopardize himself in such a cause as this, even though thereward be a great one.’

“‘Very true, my lord; but I don’t think there is any necessity for ourexplaining to him the exact nature of the service.’

“‘Come, come, Dawkins, you can’t mean that you’ll lead a poor fellow intosuch a scrape blindfolded?’

“‘Why, my lord, you never think it requisite to give a plan of your cruiseto your ship’s crew before clearing out of harbor.’

“‘This may be perfectly just, but I don’t like it,’ said the admiral.

“‘In that case, my lord, you are imparting the secrets of the Admiralty toa party who may betray the whole plot.’

“‘I wish, with all my soul, they’d given the order to any one else,’ saidthe admiral, with a sigh; and for a few moments neither spoke a word.

“‘Well, then, Dawkins, I believe there is nothing for it but what you say;meanwhile, let the repairs be got in hand, and see after a crew.’

“‘Oh, as to that,’ said the other, ‘there are plenty of scoundrels in thefleet here fit for nothing else. Any fellow who has been thrice up forpunishment in six months, we’ll draft on board of her; the fellows whohave only been once to the gangway, we’ll make the officers.’

“‘A pleasant ship’s company,’ thought I, ‘if the Devil would only take thecommand.

“‘And with a skipper proportionate to their merit,’ said Dawkins.

“‘Begad, I’ll wish the French joy of them,’ said the admiral.

“‘Ho, ho!’ thought I, ‘I’ve found you out at last; so this is a secretexpedition. I see it all; they’re fitting her out as a fire-ship, andgoing to send her slap in among the French fleet at Brest. Well,’ thoughtI, ‘even that’s better; that, at least, is a glorious end, though the poorfellows have no chance of escape.’

“‘Now, then,’ said the admiral, ‘to-morrow you’ll look out for the fellowto take the command. He must be a smart seaman, a bold fellow, too,otherwise the ruffianly crew will be too much for him; he may bid high,we’ll come to his price.’

“‘So you may,’ thought I, ‘when you’re buying his life.’

“‘I hope sincerely,’ continued the admiral, ‘that we may light upon someone without wife or child; I never could forgive myself—’

“‘Never fear, my lord,’ said the other; ‘my care shall be to pitch uponone whose loss no one would feel; some one without friend or home, who,setting his life for nought, cares less for the gain than the veryrecklessness of the adventure.’

“‘That’s me,’ said I, springing up from the anchor-stock, and springingbetween them; ‘I’m that man.’

“Had the very Devil himself appeared at the moment, I doubt if they wouldhave been more scared. The admiral started a pace or two backwards, whileDawkins, the first surprise over, seized me by the collar, and hold mefast.

“‘Who are you, scoundrel, and what brings you here?’ said he, in a voicehoarse with passion.

“‘I’m old Noah,’ said I; for somehow, I had been called by no other namefor so long, I never thought of my real one.

“‘Noah!’ said the admiral,—‘Noah! Well, but Noah, what were youdoing here at this time of night?’

“‘I was a watching the Ark, my lord,’ said I, bowing, as I took off myhat.

“‘I’ve heard of this fellow before, my lord,’ said Dawkins; ‘he’s a poorlunatic that is always wandering about the harbor, and, I believe, has noharm in him.’

“‘Yes, but he has been listening, doubtless, to our conversation,’ saidthe admiral. ‘Eh, have you heard all we have been saying?’

“‘Every word of it, my lord.’

“At this the admiral and Dawkins looked steadfastly at each other for someminutes, but neither spoke; at last Dawkins said, ‘Well, Noah, I’ve beentold you are a man to be depended on; may we rely upon your not repeatinganything you overheard this evening,—at least, for a year to come?’

“‘You may,’ said I.

“‘But, Dawkins,’ said the admiral, in a half-whisper, ‘if the poor fellowbe mad?’

“‘My lord,’ said I, boldly, ‘I am not mad. Misfortune and calamity I havehad enough of to make me so; but, thank God, my brain has been tougherthan my poor heart. I was once the part-owner and commander of a goodlycraft, that swept the sea, if not with a broad pennon at her mast-head,with as light a spirit as ever lived beneath one. I was rich, I had a homeand a child; I am now poor, houseless, childless, friendless, and anoutcast. If in my solitary wretchedness I have loved to look upon that oldbark, it is because its fortune seemed like my own. It had outlived allthat needed or cared for it. For this reason have they thought me mad,though there are those, and not few either, who can well bear testimony ifstain or reproach lie at my door, and if I can be reproached with aughtsave bad luck. I have heard by chance what you have said this night. Iknow that you are fitting out a secret expedition; I know its dangers, itsinevitable dangers, and I here offer myself to lead it. I ask no reward; Ilook for no price. Alas, who is left to me for whom I could labor now?Give me but the opportunity to end my days with honor on board the oldcraft, where my heart still clings; give me but that. Well, if you willnot do so much, let me serve among the crew; put me before the mast. Mylord, you’ll not refuse this. It is an old man asks; one whose gray hairshave floated many a year ago before the breeze.’

“‘My poor fellow, you know not what you ask; this is no common case ofdanger.’

“‘I know it all, my lord; I have heard it all.’

“‘Dawkins, what is to be done here?’ inquired the admiral.

“‘I say, friend,’ inquired Dawkins, laying his hand upon my arm, ‘what isyour real name? Are you he who commanded the “Dwarf” privateer in the Isleof France?’

“‘The same.’

“‘Then you are known to Lord Collingwood?’

“‘He knows me well, and can speak to my character.’

“‘What he says of himself is all true, my lord.’

“‘True,’ said I, ‘true! You did not doubt it, did you?’

“‘We,’ said the admiral, ‘must speak together again. Be here to-morrownight at this hour; keep your own counsel of what has passed, and nowgood-night.’ So saying, the admiral took Dawkins by the arm and returnedslowly towards the town, leaving me where I stood, meditating on thissingular meeting and its possible consequences.

“The whole of the following day was passed by me in a state of feverishexcitement which I cannot describe; this strange adventure breaking in sosuddenly upon the dull monotony of my daily existence had so aroused andstimulated me that I could neither rest nor eat. How I longed for night tocome; for sometimes, as the day wore later, I began to fear that the wholescene of my meeting with the admiral had been merely some excited dream ofa tortured and fretted mind; and as I stood examining the ground where Ibelieved the interview to have occurred, I endeavored to recall theposition of different objects as they stood around, to corroborate my ownfailing remembrance.

“At last the evening closed in; but unlike the preceding one, the sky wascovered with masses of dark and watery cloud that drifted hurriedlyacross; the air felt heavy and thick, and unnaturally still and calm; thewater of the harbor looked of a dull, leaden hue, and all the vesselsseemed larger than they were, and stood out from the landscape moreclearly than usual; now and then a low rumbling noise was heard, somewhatalike in sound, but far too faint for distant thunder, while occasionallythe boats and smaller craft rocked to and fro, as though some ground swellstirred them without breaking the languid surface of the sea above.

“A few drops of thick, heavy rain fell just as the darkness came on, andthen all felt still and calm as before. I sat upon the anchor-stock, myeyes fixed upon the old Ark, until gradually her outline grew fainter andfainter against the dark sky, and her black hull could scarcely bedistinguished from the water beneath. I felt that I was looking towardsher; for long after I had lost sight of the tall mast and high-pitchedbowsprit, I feared to turn away my head lest I should lose the place whereshe lay.

“The time went slowly on, and although in reality I had not been longthere, I felt as if years themselves had passed over my head. Since I hadcome there my mind brooded over all the misfortunes of my life; as Icontrasted its outset, bright with hope and rich in promise, with the sadreality, my heart grew heavy and my chest heaved painfully. So sunk was Iin my reflections, so lost in thought, that I never knew that the stormhad broken loose, and that the heavy rain was falling in torrents. Thevery ground, parched with long drought, smoked as it pattered upon it;while the low, wailing cry of the sea-gull, mingled with the deep growl offar-off thunder, told that the night was a fearful one for those at sea.Wet through and shivering, I sat still, now listening amidst the noise ofthe hurricane and the creaking of the cordage for any footstep toapproach, and now relapsing back into half-despairing dread that my heatedbrain alone had conjured up the scene of the day before. Such were mydreary reflections when a loud crash aboard the schooner told me that someold spar had given way. I strained my eyes through the dark to see whathad happened, but in vain; the black vapor, thick with falling rain,obscured everything, and all was hid from view. I could hear that sheworked violently as the waves beat against her worn sides, and that heriron cable creaked as she pitched to the breaking sea. The wind wasmomentarily increasing, and I began to fear lest I should have taken mylast look at the old craft, when my attention was called off by hearing aloud voice cry out, ‘Halloo there! Where are you?’

“‘Ay, ay, sir, I’m here.’ In a moment the admiral and his friend werebeside me.

“‘What a night!’ exclaimed the admiral, as he shook the rain from theheavy boat-cloak and cowered in beneath some tall blocks of granite near.‘I began half to hope that you might not have been here, my poor fellow,’said the admiral; ‘it’s a dreadful time for one so poorly clad for astorm. I say, Dawkins, let him have a pull at your flask.’ The brandyrallied me a little, and I felt that it cheered my drooping courage.

“‘This is not a time nor is it a place for much parley,’ said the admiral,‘so that we must even make short work of it. Since we met here last nightI have satisfied myself that you are to be trusted, that your characterand reputation have nothing heavier against them than misfortune, whichcertainly, if I have been rightly informed, has been largely dealt out toyou. Now, then, I am willing to accept of your offer of service if you arestill of the same mind as when you made it, and if you are willing toundertake what we have to do without any question and inquiry as to pointson which we must not and dare not inform you. Whatever you may haveoverheard last night may or may not have put you in possession of oursecret. If the former, your determination can be made at once; if thelatter, you have only to decide whether you are ready to go blindfolded inthe business.’

“‘I am ready, my lord,’ said I.

“‘You perhaps are then aware what is the nature of the service?’

“‘I know it not,’ said I. ‘All that I heard, sir, leads me to suppose itone of danger, but that’s all.’

“‘I think, my lord,’ said Dawkins, ‘that no more need now be said. Cupplesis ready to engage, we are equally so to accept; the thing is pressing.When can you sail?’

“‘To-night,’ said I, ‘if you will.’

“‘Really, Dawkins,’ said the admiral, ‘I don’t see why—’

‘"My lord, I beg of you,’ said the other, interrupting, ‘let me nowcomplete the arrangement. This is the plan,’ said he, turning towards meas he spoke: ‘As soon as that old craft can be got ready for sea, or someother if she be not worth, it, you will sail from this port with a strongcrew, well armed and supplied with ammunition. Your destination is Malta,your object to deliver to the admiral stationed there the despatches withwhich you will be entrusted; they contain information of immenseimportance, which for certain reasons cannot be sent through a ship ofwar, but must be forwarded by a vessel that may not attract peculiarnotice. If you be attacked, your orders are to resist; if you be taken, onno account destroy the papers, for the French vessel can scarcely escapecapture from our frigates, and it is of great consequence these papersshould remain. Such is a brief sketch of our plan; the details can be madeknown to you hereafter.’

“‘I am quite ready, my lord. I ask for no terms; I make no stipulations.If the result be favorable it will be time enough to speak of that. Whenam I to sail?’

“As I spoke, the admiral turned suddenly round and said something in awhisper to Dawkins, who appeared to overrule it, whatever it might be, andfinally brought him over to his own opinion.

“‘Come, Cupples,’ said Dawkins, ‘the affair is now settled; to-morrow aboat will be in waiting for you opposite Spike Island to convey you onboard the “Semiramis,” where every step in the whole business shall beexplained to you; meanwhile you have only to keep your own counsel andtrust the secret to no one.’

“‘Yes, Cupples,’ said the admiral, ‘we rely upon you for that, sogood-night.’ As he spoke he placed within my hands a crumpled note for tenpounds, and squeezing my fingers, departed.

“My yarn is spinning out to a far greater length than I intended, so I’lltry and shorten it a bit. The next day I went aboard the ‘Semiramis,’where, when I appeared upon the quarter-deck, I found myself an object ofsome interest. The report that I was the man about to command the ‘Brian,’—thatwas the real name of the old craft,—had caused some curiosity amongthe officers, and they all spoke to me with great courtesy. After waitinga short time I was ordered to go below, where the admiral, hisflag-captain, Dawkins, and the others were seated. They repeated atgreater length the conversation of the night before, and finally decidedthat I was to sail in three weeks; for although the old schooner was sadlydamaged, they had lost no time, but had her already high in dock, with twohundred ship-carpenters at work upon her.

“I do not shorten sail here to tell you what reports were circulated aboutCove as to my extraordinary change in circ*mstances, nor how I bore myaltered fortunes. It is enough if I say that in less than three weeks Iweighed anchor and stood out to sea one beautiful morning in autumn, andset out upon my expedition.

“I have already told you something of the craft. Let me complete thepicture by informing you that before twenty-four hours passed over Idiscovered that so ungainly, so awkward, so unmanageable a vessel neverput to sea. In light winds she scarcely stirred or moved, as if she werewaterlogged; if it came to blow upon the quarter, she fell off from herhelm at a fearful rate; in wearing, she endangered every spar she had; andwhen you put her in stays, when half round she would fall back and nearlycarry away every stitch of canvas with the shock. If the ship was bad, thecrew was ten times worse. What Dawkins said turned out to be literallytrue. Every ill-conducted, disorderly fellow who had been up the gangwayonce a week or so, every unreclaimed landsman of bad character and noseamanship, was sent on board of us: and in fact, except that there wasscarcely any discipline and no restraint, we appeared like a floatingpenitentiary of convicted felons.

So long as we ran down channel with a slack sea and fair wind, so long allwent on tolerably well; to be sure they only kept watch when they weretired below, when they came up, reeled about the deck, did all just asthey pleased, and treated me with no manner of respect. After some vainefforts to repress their excesses,—vain, for I had but one to secondme,—I appeared to take no notice of their misconduct, and contentedmyself with waiting for the time when, my dreary voyage over, I shouldquit the command and part company with such associates forever. At last,however, it came on to blow, and the night we passed the Lizard was indeeda fearful one. As morning broke, a sea running mountains high, a windstrong from the northwest, was hurrying the old craft along at a rate Ibelieved impossible. I shall not stop to recount the frightful scenes ofanarchy, confusion, drunkenness, and insubordination which our crewexhibited,—the recollection is too bad already, and I would spareyou and myself the recital; but on the fourth day from the setting in ofthe gale, as we entered the Bay of Biscay, some one aloft descried astrange sail to windward bearing down as if in pursuit of us. Scarcely didthe news reach the deck when, bad as it was before, matters became now tentimes worse, some resolving to give themselves up if the chase happened tobe French, and vowing that before surrendering the spirit-room should beforced, and every man let drink as he pleased. Others proposed if therewere anything like equality in the force, to attack, and convert thecaptured vessel, if they succeeded, into a slaver, and sail at once forAfrica. Some were for blowing up the old ‘Brian’ with all on board; and infact every counsel that drunkenness, insanity, and crime combined couldsuggest was offered and descanted on. Meanwhile the chase gained rapidlyupon us, and before noon we discovered her to be a French letter-of-marquewith four guns and a long brass swivel upon the poop deck. As for us,every sheet of canvas we could crowd was crammed on, but in vain. And aswe labored through the heavy sea, our riotous crew grew every momentworse, and sitting down sulkily in groups upon the deck, declared that,come what might, they would neither work the ship nor fight her; that theyhad been sent to sea in a rotten craft merely to effect their destruction;and that they cared little for the disgrace of a flag they detested. Halffurious with the taunting sarcasm I heard on every side, and nearly madfrom passion, and bewildered, my first impulse was to run among them withmy drawn cutlass, and ere I fell their victim, take heavy vengeance uponthe ringleaders, when suddenly a sharp booming noise came thunderingalong, and a round shot went flying over our heads.

“‘Down with the ensign; strike at once!’ cried eight or ten voicestogether, as the ball whizzed through the rigging. Anticipating this, andresolving, whatever might happen, to fight her to the last, I had made themate, a staunch-hearted, resolute fellow, to make fast the signal sailyardaloft, so that it was impossible for any one on deck to lower the bunting.Bang! went another gun; and before the smoke cleared away, a third, which,truer in its aim than the rest, went clean through the lower part of ourmainsail.

“‘Steady, then, boys, and clear for action,’ said the mate.

‘She’s a French smuggling craft that will sheer off when we show fight, sothat we must not fire a shot till she comes alongside.’

“‘And harkee, lads,’ said I, taking up the tone of encouragement he spokewith, ‘if we take her, I promise to claim nothing of the prize. Whateverwe capture you shall divide among yourselves.’

“‘It’s very easy to divide what we never had,’ said one; ‘Nearly as easyas to give it,’ cried another; ‘I’ll never light match or draw cutlass inthe cause,’ said a third.

“‘Surrender!’ ‘Strike the flag!’ ‘Down with the colors!’ roared severalvoices together.

“By this time the Frenchman was close up, and ranging his long gun tosweep our decks; his crew were quite perceptible,—about twentybronzed, stout-looking follows, stripped to the waist, and carryingpistols in broad flat belts slung over the shoulder.

“‘Come, my lads,’ said I, raising my voice, as I drew a pistol from myside and co*cked it, ‘our time is short now; I may as well tell you thatthe first shot that strikes us amidship blows up the whole craft and everyman on board. We are nothing less than a fireship, destined for Brestharbor to blow up the French fleet. If you are willing to make an effortfor your lives, follow me!’

“The men looked aghast. Whatever recklessness crime and drunkenness hadgiven them, the awful feeling of inevitable death at once repelled. Shortas was the time for reflection, they felt that there were manycirc*mstances to encourage the assertion,—the nature of the vessel,her riotous, disorderly crew, the secret nature of the service, allconfirmed it,—and they answered with a shout of despairingvengeance, ‘We’ll board her; lead us on!’ As the cry rose up, the longswivel from the chase rang sharply in our ears, and a tremendous dischargeof grape flew through our rigging. None of our men, however, fell; andanimated now with the desire for battle, they sprang to the binnacle, andseized their arms.

“In an instant the whole deck became a scene of excited bustle; andscarcely was the ammunition dealt out, and the boarding party drawn up,when the Frenchman broached to and lashed his bowsprit to our own.

“One terrific yell burst from our fellows as they sprang from the riggingand the poop upon the astonished Frenchmen, who thought that the victorywas already their own; with death and ruin behind, their only hope before,they dashed forward like madmen to the fray.

“The conflict was bloody and terrific, though not a long one. Nearly equalin number, but far superior in personal strength, and stimulated by theirsense of danger, our fellows rushed onward, carrying all before them tothe quarter-deck. Here the Frenchmen rallied, and for some minutes hadrather the advantage, until the mate, turning one of their guns againstthem, prepared to sweep them down in a mass. Then it was that they ceasedtheir fire and cried out for quarter,—all save their captain, ashort, thick-set fellow, with a grizzly beard and mustache, who, seeinghis men fall back, turned on them one glance of scowling indignation, andrushing forward, clove our boatswain to the deck with one blow. Before theexample could have been followed, he lay a bloody corpse upon the deck;while our people, roused to madness by the loss of a favorite among themen, dashed impetuously forward, and dealing death on every side, left notone man living among their unresisting enemies. My story is soon told now.We brought our prize safe into Malta, which we reached in five days. Inless than a week our men were drafted into different men-of-war on thestation. I was appointed a warrant officer in the ‘Sheerwater,’ forty-fourguns; and as the admiral opened the despatch, the only words he spokepuzzled me for many a day after.

“‘You have accomplished your orders too well,’ said he; ‘that privateer isbut a poor compensation for the whole French navy.’”

“Well,” inquired Power, “and did you never hear the meaning of the words?”

“Yes,” said he; “many years after I found out that our despatches werefalse ones, intended to have fallen into the hands of the French andmislead them as to Lord Nelson’s fleet, which at that time was cruising tothe southward to catch them. This, of course, explained what fate wasdestined for us,—a French prison, if not death; and after all,either was fully good enough for the crew that sailed in the old ‘Brian.’”

CHAPTER XXXIV.

THE LAND.

It was late when we separated for the night, and the morning was alreadyfar advanced ere I awoke; the monotonous tramp overhead showed me that theothers were stirring, and I gently moved the shutter of the narrow windowbeside me to look out.

The sea, slightly rippled upon its surface, shone like a plate of frettedgold,—not a wave, not a breaker appeared; but the rushing soundclose by showed that we were moving fast through the water.

“Always calm hereabouts,” said a gruff voice on deck, which I soonrecognized as the skipper’s; “no sea whatever.”

“I can make nothing of it,” cried out Power, from the forepart of thevessel. “It appears to me all cloud.”

“No, no, sir, believe me; it’s no fog-bank, that large dark mass toleeward there,—that’s Cintra.”

“Land!” cried I, springing up, and rushing upon deck; “where, Skipper,—whereis the land?”

“I say, Charley,” said Power, “I hope you mean to adopt a little moreclothing on reaching Lisbon; for though the climate is a warm one—”

“Never mind, O’Malley,” said the major, “the Portuguese will only beflattered by the attention, if you land as you are.”

“Why, how so?”

“Surely, you remember what the nigg*rs said when they saw the 79thHighlanders landing at St. Lucie. They had never seen a Scotch regimentbefore, and were consequently somewhat puzzled at the costume; till atlast, one more cunning than the rest explained it by saying: ‘They are insuch a hurry to kill the poor black men that they came away without theirbreeches.’”

“Now, what say you?” cried the skipper, as he pointed with his telescopeto a dark-blue mass in the distance; “see there!”

“Ah, true enough; that’s Cintra!”

“Then we shall probably be in the Tagus River before morning?”

“Before midnight, if the wind holds,” said the skipper. We breakfasted ondeck beneath an awning. The vessel scarcely seemed to move as she cut herway through the calm water.

The misty outline of the coast grew gradually more defined, and at lengththe blue mountains could be seen; at first but dimly, but as the day woreon, their many-colored hues shone forth, and patches of green verdure,dotted with sheep or sheltered by dark foliage, met the eye. The bulwarkswere crowded with anxious faces; each looked pointedly towards the shore,and many a stout heart beat high, as the land drew near, fated to coverwith its earth more than one among us.

“And that’s Portingale, Mister Charles,” said a voice behind me. I turnedand saw my man Mike, as with anxious joy, he fixed his eyes upon theshore.

“They tell me it’s a beautiful place, with wine for nothing and spiritsfor less. Isn’t it a pity they won’t be raisonable and make peace withus?”

“Why, my good fellow, we are excellent friends; it’s the French who wantto beat us all.”

“Upon my conscience, that’s not right. There’s an ould saying inConnaught, ‘It’s not fair for one to fall upon twenty.’ Sergeant Haggartysays that I’ll see none of the divarsion at all.”

“I don’t well understand—”

“He does be telling me that, as I’m only your footboy, he’ll send me awayto the rear, where there’s nothing but wounded and wagons and women.”

“I believe the sergeant is right there; but after all, Mike, it’s a safeplace.”

“Ah, then, musha for the safety! I don’t think much of it. Sure, theymight circumvint us. And av it wasn’t displazing to you, I’d rather list.”

“Well, I’ve no objection, Mickey. Would you like to join my regiment?”

“By coorse, your honor. I’d like to be near yourself; bekase, too, ifanything happens to you,—the Lord be betune us and harm,” here hecrossed himself piously,—“sure, I’d like to be able to tell themaster how you died; and sure, there’s Mr. Considine—God pardon him!He’ll be beating my brains out av I couldn’t explain it all.”

“Well, Mike, I’ll speak to some of my friends here about you, and we’llsettle it all properly. Here’s the doctor.”

“Arrah, Mr. Charles, don’t mind him. He’s a poor crayture entirely. Devila thing he knows.”

“Why, what do you mean, man? He’s physician to the forces.”

“Oh, be-gorra, and so he may be!” said Mike, with a toss of his head.“Those army docthers isn’t worth their salt. It’s thruth I’m telling you.Sure, didn’t he come to see me when I was sick below in the hould?

“‘How do you feel?’ says he.

“‘Terribly dhry in the mouth,’ says I.

“‘But your bones,’ says he; ‘how’s them?’

“‘As if cripples was kicking me,’ says I.

“Well, with that he wint away, and brought back two powders.

“‘Take them,’ says he, ‘and you’ll be cured in no time.’

“‘What’s them?’ says I.

“‘They’re ematics,’ says he.

“‘Blood and ages!’ says I, ‘are they?’

“‘Devil a lie,’ says he; ‘take them immediately.’

“And I tuk them; and would you believe me, Mister Charles?—it’sthruth I’m telling you,—devil a one o’ them would stay on mystomach. So you see what a docther he is!”

I could not help smiling at Mike’s ideas of medicine, as I turned away totalk to the major, who was busily engaged beside me. His occupationconsisted in furbishing up a very tarnished and faded uniform, whose whiteseams and threadbare lace betokened many years of service.

“Getting up our traps, you see, O’Malley,” said he, as he looked with nosmall pride at the faded glories of his old vestment. “Astonish them atLisbon, we flatter ourselves. I say, Power, what a bad style of dressthey’ve got into latterly, with their tight waist and strapped trousers;nothing free, nothing easy, nothing dégagé about it. When in acampaign, a man ought to be able to stow prog for twenty-four hours abouthis person, and no one the wiser. A very good rule, I assure you, thoughit sometimes leads to awkward results. At Vimeira, I got into a sad scrapethat way. Old Sir Harry, that commanded there, sent for the sick return. Iwas at dinner when the orderly came, so I packed up the eatables about me,and rode off. Just, however, as I came up to the quarters, my horsestumbled and threw me slap on my head.

“‘Is he killed?’ said Sir Harry.

“‘Only stunned, your Excellency,’ said some one.

“‘Then he’ll come to, I suppose. Look for the papers in his pocket.’

“So they turned me on my back, and plunged a hand into my side-pocket;but, the devil take it! they pulled out a roast hen. Well, the laugh wasscarcely over at this, when another fellow dived into my coat behind, andlugged out three sausages; and so they went on, till the ground wascovered with ham, pigeon-pie, veal, kidney, and potatoes; and the onlything like a paper was a mess-roll of the 4th, with a droll song about SirHarry written in pencil on the back of it. Devil of a bad affair for me! Iwas nearly broke for it; but they only reprimanded me a little, and I wasafterwards attached to the victualling department.”

What an anxious thing is the last day of a voyage! How slowly creep thehours, teeming with memories of the past and expectations of the future!

Every plan, every well-devised expedient to cheat the long and weary daysis at once abandoned; the chess-board and the new novel are alikeforgotten, and the very quarter-deck walk, with its merry gossip andcareless chit-chat, becomes distasteful. One blue and misty mountain, onefaint outline of the far-off shore, has dispelled all thought of these;and with straining eye and anxious heart, we watch for land.

As the day wears on apace, the excitement increases; the faint and shadowyforms of distant objects grow gradually clearer. Where before some talland misty mountain peak was seen, we now descry patches of deepest blueand sombre olive; the mellow corn and the waving woods, the village spireand the lowly cot, come out of the landscape; and like somewell-remembered voice, they speak of home. The objects we have seen, thesounds we have heard a hundred times before without interest, become to usnow things that stir the heart.

For a time the bright glare of the noonday sun dazzles the view andrenders indistinct the prospect; but as evening falls, once more is allfair and bright and rich before us. Rocked by the long and rolling swell,I lay beside the bowsprit, watching the shore-birds that came to rest uponthe rigging, or following some long and tangled seaweed as it floated by;my thoughts now wandering back to the brown hills and the broad river ofmy early home, now straying off in dreary fancies of the future.

How flat and unprofitable does all ambition seem at such moments as these;how valueless, how poor, in our estimation, those worldly distinctions wehave so often longed and thirsted for, as with lowly heart and simplespirit we watch each humble cottage, weaving to ourselves some story ofits inmates as we pass!

The night at length closed in, but it was a bright and starry one, lendingto the landscape a hue of sombre shadow, while the outlines of the objectswere still sharp and distinct as before. One solitary star twinkled nearthe horizon. I watched it as, at intervals disappearing, it would againshine out, marking the calm sea with a tall pillar of light.

“Come down, Mr. O’Malley,” cried the skipper’s well-known voice,—“comedown below and join us in a parting glass; that’s the Lisbon light toleeward, and before two hours we drop our anchor in the Tagus.”

CHAPTER XXXV.

MAJOR MONSOON.

Of my travelling companions I have already told my readers something.Power is now an old acquaintance; to Sparks I have already presented them;of the adjutant they are not entirely ignorant; and it therefore onlyremains for me to introduce to their notice Major Monsoon. I should havesome scruple for the digression which this occasions in my narrative, wereit not that with the worthy major I was destined to meet subsequently; andindeed served under his orders for some months in the Peninsula. WhenMajor Monsoon had entered the army or in what precise capacity, I neveryet met the man who could tell. There were traditionary accounts of hishaving served in the East Indies and in Canada in times long past. His ownpeculiar reminiscences extended to nearly every regiment in the service,“horse, foot, and dragoons.” There was not a clime he had not basked in;not an engagement he had not witnessed. His memory, or, if you will, hisinvention, was never at fault; and from the siege of Seringapatam to thebattle of Corunna he was perfect. Besides this, he possessed a mindretentive of even the most trifling details of his profession,—fromthe formation of a regiment to the introduction of a new button, from thelaying down of a parallel to the price of a camp-kettle, he knew it all.To be sure, he had served in the commissary-general’s department for anumber of years, and nothing instils such habits as this.

“The commissaries are to the army what the special pleaders are to thebar,” observed my friend Power,—“dry dogs, not over creditable onthe whole, but devilish useful.”

The major had begun life a two-bottle man; but by a studious cultivationof his natural gifts, and a steady determination to succeed, he had, atthe time I knew him, attained to his fifth. It need not be wondered at,then, that his countenance bore some traces of his habits. It was of adeep sunset-purple, which, becoming tropical, at the tip of the noseverged almost upon a plum-color; his mouth was large, thick-lipped, andgood-humored; his voice rich, mellow, and racy, and contributed, with theaid of a certain dry, chuckling laugh, greatly to increase the effect ofthe stories which he was ever ready to recount; and as they mostfrequently bore in some degree against some of what he called his littlefailings, they were ever well received, no man being so popular with theworld as he who flatters its vanity at his own expense. To do this themajor was ever ready, but at no time more so than when the evening worelate, and the last bottle of his series seemed to imply that any cautionregarding the nature of his communication was perfectly unnecessary.Indeed, from the commencement of his evening to the close, he seemed topass through a number of mental changes, all in a manner preparing him forthis final consummation, when he confessed anything and everything; and sowell regulated had those stages become, that a friend dropping in upon himsuddenly could at once pronounce from the tone of his conversation on whatprecise bottle the major was then engaged.

Thus, in the outset he was gastronomic,—discussed the dinner fromthe soup to the Stilton; criticised the cutlets; pronounced upon themerits of the mutton; and threw out certain vague hints that he would oneday astonish the world by a little volume upon cookery.

With bottle No. 2 he took leave of the cuisine, and opened hisbattery upon the wine. Bordeaux, Burgundy, hock, and hermitage, all passedin review before him,—their flavor discussed, their treatmentdescanted upon, their virtues extolled; from humble port to imperialtokay, he was thoroughly conversant with all, and not a vintage escaped asto when the sun had suffered eclipse, or when a comet had wagged his tailover it.

With No. 3 he became pipeclay,—talked army list and eighteenmanoeuvres, lamented the various changes in equipments which moderninnovation had introduced, and feared the loss of pigtails might sap themilitary spirit of the nation.

With No. 4 his anecdotic powers came into play,—he recounted variousincidents of the war with his own individual adventures and experience,told with an honest naïveté, that proved personal vanity; indeed,self-respect never marred the interest of the narrative, besides, as hehad ever regarded a campaign something in the light of a foray, andesteemed war as little else than a pillage excursion, his sentiments weresingularly amusing.

With his last bottle, those feelings that seemed inevitably connected withwhatever is last appeared to steal over him,—a tinge of sadness forpleasures fast passing and nearly passed, a kind of retrospective glanceat the fallacy of all our earthly enjoyments, insensibly suggesting moraland edifying reflections, led him by degrees to confess that he was notquite satisfied with himself, though “not very bad for a commissary;” andfinally, as the decanter waxed low, he would interlard his meditations bypassages of Scripture, singularly perverted by his misconception fromtheir true meaning, and alternately throwing out prospects of censure orapproval. Such was Major Monsoon; and to conclude in his own words thisbrief sketch, he “would have been an excellent officer if Providence hadnot made him such a confounded, drunken, old scoundrel.”

“Now, then, for the King of Spain’s story. Out with it, old boy; we areall good men and true here,” cried Power, as we slowly came along upon thetide up the Tagus, “so you’ve nothing to fear.”

“Upon my life,” replied the major, “I don’t half like the tone of ourconversation. There is a certain freedom young men affect now a-daysregarding morals that is not at all to my taste. When I was five or sixand twenty—”

“You were the greatest scamp in the service,” cried Power.

“Fie, fie, Fred. If I was a little wild or so,”—here the major’seyes twinkled maliciously,—“it was the ladies that spoiled me; I wasalways something of a favorite, just like our friend Sparks there. Notthat we fared very much alike in our little adventures; for somehow, Ibelieve I was generally in fault in most of mine, as many a good man andmany an excellent man has been before.” Here his voice dropped into amoralizing key, as he added, “David, you know, didn’t behave well to oldUriah. Upon my life he did not, and he was a very respectable man.”

“The King of Spain’s sherry! the sherry!” cried I, fearing that themajor’s digression might lose us a good story.

“You shall not have a drop of it,” replied the major.

“But the story, Major, the story!”

“Nor the story, either.”

“What,” said Power, “will you break faith with us?”

“There’s none to be kept with reprobates like you. Fill my glass.”

“Hold there! stop!” cried Power. “Not a spoonful till he redeems hispledge.”

“Well, then, if you must have a story,—for most assuredly I mustdrink,—I have no objection to give you a leaf from my earlyreminiscences; and in compliment to Sparks there, my tale shall be oflove.”

“I dinna like to lose the king’s story. I hae my thoughts it was na a badane.”

“Nor I neither, Doctor; but—”

“Come, come, you shall have that too, the first night we meet in abivouac, and as I fear the time may not be very far distant, don’t beimpatient; besides a love-story—”

“Quite true,” said Power, “a love-story claims precedence; place auxdames. There’s a bumper for you, old wickedness; so go along.”

The major cleared off his glass, refilled it, sipped twice, and ogled itas though he would have no peculiar objection to sip once more, took along pinch of snuff from a box nearly as long as, and something the shapeof a child’s coffin, looked around to see that we were all attention, andthus began:—

“When I have been in a moralizing mood, as I very frequently am about thishour in the morning, I have often felt surprised by what little, trivial,and insignificant circ*mstances our lot in life seems to be cast; I meanespecially as regards the fair sex. You are prospering, as it were,to-day; to-morrow a new cut of your whiskers, a novel tie of your cravat,mars your destiny and spoils your future, varium et mutabile, asHorace has it. On the other hand, some equally slight circ*mstance will dowhat all your ingenuity may have failed to effect. I knew a fellow whomarried the greatest fortune in Bath, from the mere habit he had ofsqueezing one’s hand. The lady in question thought it particular, lookedconscious, and all that; he followed up the blow; and, in a word, theywere married in a week. So a friend of mine, who could not help winkinghis left eye, once opened a flirtation with a lively widow which cost hima special license and a settlement. In fact you are never safe. They arelike the guerillas, and they pick you off when you least expect it, andwhen you think there is nothing to fear. Therefore, as young fellowsbeginning life, I would caution you. On this head you can never be toocirc*mspect. Do you know, I was once nearly caught by so slight a habit assitting thus, with my legs across.”

Here the major rested his right foot on his left knee, in illustration,and continued:—

“We were quartered in Jamaica. I had not long joined, and was about as rawa young gentleman as you could see; the only very clear ideas in my headbeing that we were monstrous fine fellows in the 50th, and that theplanters’ daughters were deplorably in love with us. Not that I was muchwrong on either side. For brandy-and-water, sangaree, Manilla cigars, andthe ladies of color, I’d have backed the corps against the service. Proofwas, of eighteen only two ever left the island; for what with theseductions of the coffee plantations, the sugar canes, the new rum, thebrown skins, the rainy season, and the yellow fever, most of us settledthere.”

“It’s very hard to leave the West Indies if once you’ve been quarteredthere.”

“So I have heard,” said Power.

“In time, if you don’t knock under to the climate, you become soon totallyunfit for living anywhere else. Preserved ginger, yams, flannel jackets,and grog won’t bear exportation; and the free-and-easy chuck under thechin, cherishing, waist-pressing kind of way we get with the ladies wouldbe quite misunderstood in less favored regions, and lead to veryunpleasant consequences.”

“It is a curious fact how much climate has to do with love-making. In ourcold country the progress is lamentably slow. Fogs, east winds, sleet,storms, and cutting March weather nip many a budding flirtation; whereaswarm, sunny days and bright moonlight nights, with genial air and balmyzephyrs, open the heart like the cup of a camelia, and let us drink in thesoft dew of—”

“Devilish poetical, that,” said Power, evolving a long blue line of smokefrom the corner of his mouth.

“Isn’t it, though?” said the major, smiling graciously. “‘Pon my life, Ithought so myself. Where was I?”

“Out of my latitude altogether,” said the poor skipper, who often found ithard to follow the thread of a story.

“Yes, I remember. I was remarking that sangaree and calipash, mangoes andguava jelly, dispose the heart to love, and so they do. I was not morethan six weeks in Jamaica when I felt it myself. Now, it was a verydangerous symptom, if you had it strong in you, for this reason. Ourcolonel, the most cross-grained old crabstick that ever breathed, happenedhimself to be taken in when young, and resolving, like the fox who losthis tail and said it was not the fashion to wear one, to pretend he didthe thing for fun, determined to make every fellow marry upon theslightest provocation. Begad, you might as well enter a powder magazinewith a branch of candles in your hand, as go into society in the islandwith a leaning towards the fair sex. Very hard this was for meparticularly; for like poor Sparks there, my weakness was ever for thepetticoats. I had, besides, no petty, contemptible prejudices as tonation, habits, language, color, or complexion; black, brown, or fair,from the Muscovite to the Malabar, from the voluptuous embonpointof the adjutant’s widow,—don’t be angry old boy,—to the fairyform of Isabella herself, I loved them all round. But were I to give apreference anywhere I should certainly do so to the West Indians, if itwere only for the sake of the planters’ daughters. I say it fearlessly,these colonies are the brightest jewels in the crown. Let’s drink theirhealth, for I’m as husky as a lime-kiln.”

This ceremony being performed with suitable enthusiasm, the major criedout, “Another cheer for Polly Hackett, the sweetest girl in Jamaica. ByJove, Power, if you only saw her as I did five and forty years ago, witheyes black as jet, twinkling, ogling, leering, teasing, and imploring, allat once, do you mind, and a mouthful of downright pearls pouting andsmiling at you, why, man, you’d have proposed for her in the firsthalf-hour, and shot yourself the next, when she refused you. She was,indeed, a perfect little beauty, rayther dark, to be sure,—alittle upon the rosewood tinge, but beautifully polished, and a very nicepiece of furniture for a cottage orné, as the French call it. Alas,alas, how these vanities do catch hold of us! My recollections have mademe quite feverish and thirsty. Is there any cold punch in the bowl? Thankyou, O’Malley, that will do,—merely to touch my lips. Well, well,it’s all past and gone now; but I was very fond of Polly Hackett, and shewas of me. We used to take our little evening walks together through thecoffee plantation: very romantic little strolls they were, she in whitemuslin with a blue sash and blue shoes; I in a flannel jacket andtrousers, straw hat and cravat, a Virginia cigar as long as awalking-stick in my mouth, puffing and courting between times; then we’dtake a turn to the refining-house, look in at the big boilers, quiz thenigg*rs, and come back to Twangberry Moss to supper, where old Hackett,the father, sported a glorious table at eleven o’clock. Great feeding itwas; you were always sure of a preserved monkey, a baked land-crab, orsome such delicacy. And such Madeira; it makes me dry to think of it.

“Talk of West India slavery, indeed. It’s the only land of liberty. Thereis nothing to compare with the perfect free-and-easy,devil-may-care-kind-of-a-take-yourself way that every one has there. If itwould be any peculiar comfort for you to sit in the saddle of mutton, andput your legs in a soup tureen at dinner, there would be found very few toobject to it. There is no nonsense of any kind about etiquette. You eat,drink, and are merry, or, if you prefer, are sad; just as you please. Youmay wear uniform, or you may not, it’s your own affair; and consequently,it may be imagined how insensibly such privileges gain upon one, and howvery reluctant we become ever to resign or abandon them.

“I was the man to appreciate it all. The whole course of proceeding seemedto have been invented for my peculiar convenience, and not a man in theisland enjoyed a more luxurious existence than myself, not knowing all thewhile how dearly I was destined to pay for my little comforts. Among myplenary after-dinner indulgences I had contracted an inveterate habit ofsitting cross-legged, as I showed you. Now, this was become a perfectnecessity of existence to me. I could have dispensed with cheese, with myglass of port, my pickled mango, my olive, my anchovy toast, my nutshellof curaçoa, but not my favorite lounge. You may smile; but I’ve read of aman who could never dance except in a room with an old hair-brush. Now,I’m certain my stomach would not digest if my legs were perpendicular. Idon’t mean to defend the thing. The attitude was not graceful, it was notimposing; but it suited me somehow, and I liked it.

“From what I have already mentioned, you may suppose that West Indiahabits exercised but little control over my favorite practice, which Iindulged in every evening of my life. Well, one day old Hackett gave us agreat blow-out,—a dinner of two-and-twenty souls; six days’ notice;turtle from St. Lucie, guinea-fowl, claret of the year forty, Madeira àdiscrétion, and all that. Very well done the whole thing; nothingwrong, nothing wanting. As for me, I was in great feather. I took Polly into dinner, greatly to the discomfiture of old Belson, our major, who wasmaking up in that quarter; for you must know, she was an only daughter,and had a very nice thing of it in molasses and nigg*rs. The papapreferred the major, but Polly looked sweetly upon me. Well, down we went,and really a most excellent feed we had. Now, I must mention here thatPolly had a favorite Blenheim spaniel the old fellow detested; it wasalways tripping him up and snarling at him,—for it was, except toherself, a beast of rather vicious inclinations. With a true Jamaicataste, it was her pleasure to bring the animal always into thedinner-room, where, if papa discovered him, there was sure to be a row.Servants sent in one direction to hunt him out, others endeavoring to hidehim, and so on; in fact, a tremendous hubbub always followed hisintroduction and accompanied his exit, upon which occasions I invariablyexercised my gallantry by protecting the beast, although I hated him likethe devil all the time.

“To return to our dinner. After two mortal hours of hard eating, the pacebegan to slacken, and as evening closed in, a sense of peaceful reposeseemed to descend upon our labors. Pastels shed an aromatic vapor throughthe room. The well-iced decanters went with measured pace along;conversation, subdued to the meridian of after-dinner comfort, justmurmured; the open jalousies displayed upon the broad veranda theorange-tree in full blossom, slightly stirring with the cool sea-breeze.”

“And the piece of white muslin beside you, what of her?”

“Looked twenty times more bewitching than ever. Well, it was just the hourwhen, opening the last two buttons of your white waistcoat (remember wewere in Jamaica), you stretch your legs to the full extent, throw your armcarelessly over the back of your chair, look contemplatively towards theceiling, and wonder, within yourself, why it is not all ‘after dinner’ inthis same world of ours. Such, at least, were my reflections as I assumedmy attitude of supreme comfort, and inwardly ejacul*ted a health to Sneydand Barton. Just at this moment I heard Polly’s voice gently whisper,—

“‘Isn’t he a love? Isn’t he a darling?’

“‘Zounds!’ thought I, as a pang of jealousy shot through my heart, ‘is itthe major she means?’ For old Belson, with his bag wig and rouged cheeks,was seated on the other side of her.

“‘What a dear thing it is!’ said Polly.

“‘Worse and worse,’ said I; ‘it must be him.’

“‘I do so love his muzzy face.’

“‘It is him!’ said I, throwing off a bumper, and almost boiling over withpassion at the moment.

“‘I wish I could take one look at him,’ said she, laying down her head asshe spoke.

“The major whispered something in her ear, to which she replied,—

“‘Oh, I dare not; papa will see me at once.’

“‘Don’t be afraid, Madam,’ said I, fiercely; ‘your father perfectlyapproves of your taste.’

“‘Are you sure of it?’ said she, giving me such a look.

“‘I know it,’ said I, struggling violently with my agitation.

“The major leaned over as if to touch her hand beneath the cloth. I almostsprang from my chair, when Polly, in her sweetest accents, said,—

“‘You must be patient, dear thing, or you may be found out, and then therewill be such a piece of work. Though I’m sure, Major, you would not betrayme.’ The major smiled till he cracked the paint upon his cheeks. ‘And I amsure that Mr. Monsoon—’

“‘You may rely upon me,’ said I, half sneeringly.

“The major and I exchanged glances of defiance, while Polly continued,—

“‘Now, come, don’t be restless. You are very comfortable there. Isn’t he,Major?’ The major smiled again more graciously than before, as he added,—

“‘May I take a look?’

“‘Just one peep, then, no more!’ said she, coquettishly; ‘poor dear Wowskiis so timid.’

“Scarcely had these words borne balm and comfort to my heart,—for Inow knew that to the dog, and not to my rival, were all the flatteringexpressions applied,—when a slight scream from Polly, and atremendous oath from the major, raised me from my dream of happiness.

“‘Take your foot down, sir. Mr. Monsoon, how could you do so?’ criedPolly.

“‘What the devil, sir, do you mean?’ shouted the major.

“‘Oh, I shall die of shame,’ sobbed she.

“‘I’ll shoot him like a riddle,’ muttered old Belson.

“By this time the whole table had got at the story, and such peals oflaughter, mingled with suggestions for my personal maltreatment, I neverheard. All my attempts at explanation were in vain. I was not listened to,much less believed; and the old colonel finished the scene by ordering meto my quarters, in a voice I shall never forget, the whole room being, atthe time I made my exit, one scene of tumultuous laughter from one end tothe other. Jamaica after this became too hot for me. The story wasrepeated on every side; for, it seems, I had been sitting with my foot onPolly’s lap; but so occupied was I with my jealous vigilance of the majorI was not aware of the fact until she herself discovered it.

“I need not say how the following morning brought with it every possibleoffer of amende upon my part; anything from a written apology to aproposition to marry the lady I was ready for, and how the matter mighthave ended I know not; for in the middle of the negotiations, we wereordered off to Halifax where, be assured, I abandoned my Oriental attitudefor many a long day after.”

CHAPTER XXXVI.

THE LANDING.

What a contrast to the dull monotony of our life at sea did the scenepresent which awaited us on landing in Lisbon. The whole quay was crowdedwith hundreds of people eagerly watching the vessel which bore from hermast the broad ensign of Britain. Dark-featured, swarthy, mustached faces,with red caps rakishly set on one side, mingled with the Saxon faces andfair-haired natives of our own country. Men-of-war boats plied unceasinglyto and fro across the tranquil river, some slender reefer in thestern-sheets, while behind him trailed the red pennon of some “talladmiral.”

The din and clamor of a mighty city mingled with the far-off sounds ofmilitary music; and in the vistas of the opening street, masses of troopsmight be seen in marching order; and all betokened the near approach ofwar.

Our anchor had scarcely been dropped, when an eight-oar gig, with amidshipman steering, came alongside.

“Ship ahoy, there! You’ve troops on board?”

“Ay, ay, sir.”

Before the answer could be spoken, he was on the deck.

“May I ask,” said he, touching his cap slightly, “who is the officer incommand of the detachment?”

“Captain Power; very much at your service,” said Fred, returning thesalute.

“Rear-Admiral Sir Edward Douglas requests that you will do him the favorto come on board immediately, and bring your despatches with you.”

“I’m quite ready,” said Power, as he placed his papers in his sabretasche;“but first tell us what’s doing here. Anything new lately?”

“I have heard nothing, except of some affair with the Portuguese,—they’vebeen drubbed again; but our people have not been engaged. I say, we hadbetter get under way; there’s our first lieutenant with his telescope up;he’s looking straight at us. So, come along. Good-evening, gentlemen.” Andin another moment the sharp craft was cutting the clear water, while Powergayly waved us a good-by.

“Who’s for shore?” said the skipper, as half-a-dozen boats swarmed aroundthe side, or held on by their boat-hooks to the rigging.

“Who is not?” said Monsoon, who now appeared in his old blue frock coveredwith tarnished braiding, and a co*cked hat that might have roofed a pagoda.“Who is not, my old boy? Is not every man among us delighted with theprospect of fresh prog, cool wine, and a bed somewhat longer than fourfeet six? I say, O’Malley! Sparks! Where’s the adjutant? Ah, there he is!We’ll not mind the doctor,—he’s a very jovial little fellow, but adamned bore, entre nous; and we’ll have a cosy little supper at theRue di Toledo. I know the place well. Whew, now! Get away, boy. Sitsteady, Sparks; she’s only a co*ckleshell. There; that’s the Plaza de laRegna,—there, to the left. There’s the great cathedral,—youcan’t see it now. Another seventy-four! Why there’s a whole fleet here! Iwish old Power joy of his afternoon with old Douglas.”

“Do you know him then, Major?”

“Do I?—I should rather think I do. He was going to put me in ironshere in this river once. A great shame it was; but I’ll tell you the storyanother time. There, gently now; that’s it. Thank God! once more uponland. How I do hate a ship; upon my life, a sauce-boat is the only boatendurable in this world.”

We edged our way with difficulty through the dense crowd, and at lastreached the Plaza. Here the numbers were still greater, but of a differentclass: several pretty and well-dressed women, with their dark eyestwinkling above their black mantillas as they held them across theirfaces, watched with an intense curiosity one of the streets that openedupon the square.

In a few moments the band of a regiment was heard, and very shortly afterthe regular tramp of troops followed, as the Eighty-seventh marched intothe Plaza, and formed a line.

The music ceased; the drums rolled along the line; and the next moment allwas still. It was really an inspiriting sight to one whose heart wasinterested in the career, to see those gallant fellows, as, with theirbronzed faces and stalwart frames, they stood motionless as a rock. As Icontinued to look, the band marched into the middle of the square, andstruck up, “Garryowen.” Scarcely was the first part played, when atremendous cheer burst from the troop-ship in the river. The welcome noteshad reached the poor fellows there; the well-known sounds that told ofhome and country met their ears; and the loud cry of recognition bespoketheir hearts’ fullness.

“There they go. Your wild countrymen have heard their Ranz des vaches,it seems. Lord! how they frightened the poor Portuguese; look how they’rerunning!”

Such was actually the case. The loud cheer uttered from the river wastaken up by others straggling on shore, and one universal shout betokenedthat fully one-third of the red-coats around came from the dear island,and in their enthusiasm had terrified the natives to no small extent.

“Is not that Ferguson there!” cried the major, as an officer passed uswith his arm in a sling. “I say, Joe—Ferguson! oh, knew it was!”

“Monsoon, my hearty, how goes it?—only just arrived, I see.Delighted to meet you out here once more. Why, we’ve been as dull as aveteran battalion without you. These your friends? Pray present me.” Theceremony of introduction over, the major invited Ferguson to join ourparty at supper. “No, not to-night, Major,” said he, “you must be myguests this evening. My quarters are not five minutes’ walk from this; Ishall not promise you very luxurious fare.”

“A carbonade with olives, a roast duck, a bowl of bishop, and, if youwill, a few bottles of Burgundy,” said the major; “don’t put yourself outfor us,—soldier’s fare, eh?”

I could not help smiling at the naïve notion of simplicity socunningly suggested by old Monsoon. As I followed the party through thestreets, my step was light, my heart not less so; for what sensations aremore delightful than those of landing after a voyage? The escape from thedurance vile of shipboard, with its monotonous days and dreary nights, itsill-regulated appointments, its cramped accommodation, its uncertainduration, its eternal round of unchanging amusem*nts, for the freedom ofthe shore, with a land breeze, and a firm footing to tread upon; andcertainly, not least of all, the sight of that brightest part of creation,whose soft eyes and tight ankles are, perhaps, the greatest of allimaginable pleasures to him who has been the dweller on blue water forseveral weeks long.

“Here we are,” cried out Ferguson, as we stopped at the door of a largeand handsome house. We follow up a spacious stair into an ample room,sparingly, but not uncomfortably furnished: plans of sieges, maps of theseat of war, pistols, sabres, and belts decorated the white walls, and afew books and a stray army list betokened the habits of the occupant.

While Ferguson disappeared to make some preparations for supper, Monsooncommenced a congratulation to the party upon the good fortune that hadbefallen them. “Capital fellow is Joe; never without something good, and arare one to pass the bottle. Oh, here he comes. Be alive there, Sparks,take a corner of the cloth; how deliciously juicy that ham looks. Pass theMadeira down there; what’s under that cover,—stewed kidneys?” WhileMonsoon went on thus we took our places at the table, and set to with anappetite which only a newly-landed traveller ever knows.

“Another spoonful of the gravy? Thank you. And so they say we’ve not beenfaring over well latterly?” said the major.

“Not a word of truth in the report. Our people have not been engaged. Theonly thing lately was a smart brush we had at the Tamega. Poor Patrick, acountryman of ours, and myself were serving with the Portuguese brigade,when Laborde drove us back upon the town and actually routed us. ThePortuguese general, caring little for anything save his own safety, wasmaking at once for the mountains when Patrick called upon his battalion toface about and charge; and nobly they did it, too. Down they came upon theadvancing masses of the French, and literally hurled them back upon themain body. The other regiments, seeing this gallant stand, wheeled aboutand poured in a volley, and then, fixing bayonets, stormed a little mountbeside the hedge, which commanded the whole suburb of Villa Real. TheFrench, who soon recovered their order, now prepared for a second attack,and came on in two dense columns, when Patrick, who had little confidencein the steadiness of his people for any lengthened resistance, resolvedupon once more charging with the bayonet. The order was scarcely givenwhen the French were upon us, their flank defended by some of LaHoussaye’s heavy dragoons. For an instant the conflict was doubtful, untilpoor Patrick fell mortally wounded upon the parapet; when the men, nolonger hearing his bold cheer, nor seeing his noble figure in the advance,turned and fled, pell-mell, back upon the town. As for me, blocked upamidst the mass, I was cut down from the shoulder to the elbow by a youngfellow of about sixteen, who galloped about like a schoolboy on a holiday.The wound was only dangerous from the loss of blood, and so I contrived toreach Amacante without much difficulty; from whence, with three or fourothers, I was ordered here until fit for service.”

“But what news from our own head-quarters?” inquired I.

“All imaginable kind of rumors are afloat. Some say that Craddock isretiring; others, that a part of the army is in motion upon Caldas.”

“Then we are not going to have a very long sojourn here, after all, eh,Major? Donna Maria de Tormes will be inconsolable. By-the-bye, their houseis just opposite us. Have you never heard Monsoon mention his friendsthere?”

“Come, come, Joe, how can you be so foolish?”

“But, Major, my dear friend, what signifies your modesty? There is not aman in the service does not know it, save those in the last gazette.”

“Indeed, Joe, I am very angry with you.”

“Well, then, by Jove! I must tell it, myself; though, faith, lads, youlose not a little for want of Monsoon’s tact in the narrative.”

“Anything is better that trusting to such a biographer,” cried the major;“so here goes:—

“When I was acting commissary-general to the Portuguese forces some fewyears ago, I obtained great experience of the habits of the people; forthough naturally of an unsuspecting temperament myself, I generallycontrive to pick out the little foibles of my associates, even upon ashort acquaintance. Now, my appointment pleased me very much on thisscore,—it gave me little opportunities of examining the world. ‘Thegreatest study of mankind is man,’—Sparks would say woman, but nomatter.

“Now, I soon discovered that our ancient and very excellent allies, thePortuguese, with a beautiful climate, delicious wines, and very delightfulwives and daughters, were the most infernal rogues and scoundrels ever metwith. ‘Make yourself thoroughly acquainted with the leading features ofthe natives,’ said old Sir Harry to me in a despatch from head-quarters;and, faith, it was not difficult,—such open, palpable, undisguisedrascals never were heard of. I thought I knew a thing or two myself, whenI landed; but, Lord love you! I was a babe, I was an infant in swaddlingclothes, compared with them; and they humbugged me,—ay, me!—tillI began to suspect that I was only walking in my sleep.

“‘Why, Monsoon,’ said the general, ‘they told me you were a sharp fellow,and yet the people here seem to work round you every day. This will neverdo. You must brighten up a little or I shall be obliged to send you back.’

“‘General,’ said I, ‘they used to call me no fool in England; but,somehow, here—’

“‘I understand,’ said he; ‘you don’t know the Portuguese; there’s but oneway with them,—strike quickly, and strike home. Never give them timefor roguery,—for if they have a moment’s reflection, they’ll cheatthe devil himself; but when you see the plot working, come slap down anddecide the thing your own way.’

“Well, now, there never was anything so true as this advice, and for theeighteen months I acted upon it, I never knew it to fail.

“‘I want a thousand measures of wheat.’

“‘Senhor Excellenza, the crops have been miserably deficient, and——’

“‘Sergeant-major,’ I would say, ‘these poor people have no corn; it’s awine country,—let them make up the rations that way.’

“The wheat came in that evening.

“‘One hundred and twenty bullocks wanted for the reserve.’

“‘The cattle are all up the mountains.’

“‘Let the alcalde catch them before night or I’ll catch him.’

“Lord bless you! I had beef enough to feed the Peninsula. And in this way,while the forces were eating short allowance and half rations elsewhere,our brigade were plump as aldermen.

“When we lay in Andalusia this was easy enough. What a country, to besure! Such vineyards, such gardens, such delicious valleys, waving withcorn and fat with olives; actually, it seemed a kind of dispensation ofProvidence to make war in. There was everything you could desire; andthen, the people, like all your wealthy ones, were so timid, and so easilyfrightened, you could get what you pleased out of them by a little terror.My scouts managed this very well.

“‘He is coming,’ they would say, ‘after to-morrow.’

“‘Madre de Dios!’

“‘I hope he won’t burn the village.’

“‘Questos infernales Ingleses! how wicked they are.’

“‘You’d better try what a sack of moidores or doubloons might do with him;he may refuse them, but make the effort.’

“Ha!” said the major, with a long-drawn sigh, “those were pleasant times;alas, that they should ever come to an end! Well, among the old hidalgos Imet there was one Don Emanuel Selvio de Tormes, an awful old miser, richas Croesus, and suspicious as the arch-fiend himself. Lord, how I meltedhim down! I quartered two squadrons of horse and a troop of flyingartillery upon him. How the fellows did eat! Such a consumption of wineswas never heard of; and as they began to slacken a little, I took care toreplace them by fresh arrivals,—fellows from the mountains, caçadoresthey call them. At last, my friend Don Emanuel could stand it no longer,and he sent me a diplomatic envoy to negotiate terms, which, upon thewhole, I must say, were fair enough; and in a few days after, the caçadoreswere withdrawn, and I took up my quarters at the château. I have hadvarious chances and changes in this wicked world, but I am free to confessthat I never passed a more agreeable time than the seven weeks I spentthere. Don Emanuel, when properly managed, became a very pleasant littlefellow; Donna Maria, his wife, was a sweet creature. You need not bewinking that way. Upon my life she was: rather fat, to be sure, and herage something verging upon the fifties; but she had such eyes, black assloes, and luscious as ripe grapes; and she was always smiling and ogling,and looking so sweet. Confound me, if I think she wasn’t the mostenchanting being in this world, with about ten thousand pounds’ worth ofjewels upon her fingers and in her ears. I have her before me at thisinstant, as she used to sit in the little arbor in the garden, with aManilla cigar in her mouth, and a little brandy-and-water—quiteweak, you know—beside her.

“‘Ah, General,’ she used to say—she always called me general—‘whata glorious career yours is! A soldier is indeed a man.’

“Then she would look at poor Emanuel, who used to sit in a corner, holdinghis hand to his face, for hours, calculating interest and cent per cent,till he fell asleep.

“Now, he labored under a very singular malady,—not that I ever knewit at the time,—a kind of luxation of the lower jaw, which, when itcame on, happened somehow to press upon some vital nerve or other, andleft him perfectly paralyzed till it was restored to its proper place. Infact, during the time the agony lasted, he was like one in a trance; forthough he could see and hear, he could neither speak nor move, and lookedas if he had done with both for many a day to come.

“Well, as I was saying, I knew nothing of all this till a slightcirc*mstance made it known to me. I was seated one evening in the littlearbor I mentioned, with Donna Maria. There was a little table before uscovered with wines and fruits, a dish of olives, some Castile oranges, anda fresh pine. I remember it well: my eye roved over the little dessert setout in old-fashioned, rich silver dishes, then turned towards the ladyherself, with rings and brooches, earrings and chains enough to reward onefor sacking a town; and I said to myself, ‘Monsoon, Monsoon, this isbetter than long marches in the Pyrenees, with a cork-tree for abed-curtain, and wet grass for a mattress. How pleasantly one might jog onin this world with this little country-house for his abode, and DonnaMaria for a companion!’

“I tasted the port; it was delicious. Now, I knew very little Portuguese,but I made some effort to ask if there was much of it in the cellar.

“She smiled, and said, ‘Oh, yes.’

“‘What a luxurious life one might lead here!’ thought I; ‘and after all,perhaps Providence might remove Don Emanuel.’

“I finished the bottle as I thus meditated. The next was, if possible,more crusty.

“‘This is a delicious retreat,’ said I, soliloquizing.

“Donna Maria seemed to know what was passing in my mind, for she smiled,too.

“‘Yes,’ said I, in broken Portuguese, ‘one ought to be very happy here,Donna Maria.’

“She blushed, and I continued:—

“‘What can one want for more in this life? All the charms that renderedParadise what it was’—I took her hand here—‘and made Adamblessed.’

“‘Ah, General!’ said she, with a sigh, ‘you are such a flatterer.’

“‘Who could flatter,’ said I, with enthusiasm, ‘when there are not wordsenough to express what he feels?’ This was true, for my Portuguese wasfast failing me, ‘But if I ever was happy, it is now.’

“I took another pull at the port.

“‘If I only thought,’ said I, ‘that my presence here was not thoughtunwelcome—’

“‘Fie, General,’ said she, ‘how could you say such a thing?’

“‘If I only thought I was not hated,’ said I, tremblingly.

“‘Oh!’ said she, again.

“‘Despised.’

“‘Oh!’

“‘Loathed.’

“She pressed my hand, I kissed hers; she hurriedly snatched it from me,and pointed towards a lime-tree near, beneath which, in the cool enjoymentof his cigar, sat the spare and detested figure of Don Emanuel.

“‘Yes,’ thought I, ‘there he is,—the only bar to my good fortune;were it not for him, I should not be long before I became possessor ofthis excellent old château, with a most indiscretionary power over thecellar. Don Mauricius Monsoon would speedily assume his place among thegrandees of Portugal.’

“I know not how long my revery lasted, nor, indeed, how the eveningpassed; but I remember well the moon was up, and a sky, bright with athousand stars was shining, as I sat beside the fair Donna Maria,endeavoring, with such Portuguese as it had pleased fate to bestow on me,to instruct her touching my warlike services and deeds of arms. The fourthbottle of port was ebbing beneath my eloquence, as responsively her heartbeat, when I heard a slight rustle in the branches near. I looked, and,Heavens, what a sight did I behold! There was little Don Emanuel stretchedupon the grass with his mouth wide open, his face pale as death, his armsstretched out at either side, and his legs stiffened straight out. I ranover and asked if he were ill, but no answer came. I lifted up an arm, butit fell heavily upon the ground as I let it go; the leg did likewise. Itouched his nose; it was cold.

“‘Hollo,’ thought I, ‘is it so? This comes of mixing water with yoursherry. I saw where it would end.’

“Now, upon my life! I felt sorry for the little fellow; but somehow, onegets so familiarized with this sort of thing in a campaign that one onlyhalf feels in a case like this.

“‘Yes,’ said I, ‘man is but grass; but I for one must make hay when thesun shines. Now for the Donna Maria,’—for the poor thing was asleepin the arbor all this while.

“‘Donna,’ said I, shaking her by the elbow,—‘Donna, don’t be shockedat what I’m going to say.’

“‘Ah, General,’ said she, with a sigh, ‘say no more; I must not listen toyou.’

“‘You don’t know that,’ said I, with a knowing look,—‘you don’t knowthat.’

“‘Why, what can you mean?’

“‘The little fellow is done for.’ For the port was working strong now, anddestroyed all my fine sensibility. ‘Yes, Donna,’ said I, ‘you are free,’—hereI threw myself upon my knees,—‘free to make me the happiest ofcommissaries and the jolliest grandee of Portugal that ever—’

“‘But Don Emanuel?’

“‘Run out, dry, empty,’ inverting a finished decanter to typify my wordsas I spoke.

“‘He is not dead?’ said she, with a scream.

“‘Even so,’ said I, with a hiccough! ‘ordered for service in a betterworld, where there are neither inspections nor arrears.’

“Before the words were well out, she sprang from the bench and rushed overto the spot where the little don lay. What she said or did I know not, butthe next moment he sat bolt upright on the grass, and as he held his jawwith one hand and supported himself on the other, vented such a torrent ofabuse and insult at me, that, for want of Portuguese enough to reply, Irejoined in English, in which I swore pretty roundly for five minutes.Meanwhile the donna had summoned the servants, who removed Don Emanuel tothe house, where on my return I found my luggage displayed before thedoor, with a civil hint to deploy in orderly time and take groundelsewhere.

“In a few days, however, his anger cooled down, and I received a politenote from Donna Maria, that the don at length began to understand thejoke, and begged that I would return to the château, and that he wouldexpect me at dinner the same day.”

“With which, of course, you complied?”

“Which of course I did. Forgive your enemies, my dear boy,—it isonly Christian-like; and really, we lived very happily ever after. Thedonna was a mighty clever woman, and a dear good soul besides.”

It was late when the major concluded his story; so after wishing Fergusona good-night, we took our leave, and retired for the night to ourquarters.

CHAPTER XXXVII

LISBON.

The tramp of horses’ feet and the sound of voices beneath my window rousedme from a deep sleep. I sprang up and drew aside the curtain. What astrange confusion beset me as I looked forth! Before me lay a broad andtranquil river whose opposite shore, deeply wooded and studded with villasand cottages, rose abruptly from the water’s edge; vessels of war laytranquilly in the stream, their pennants trailing in the tide. The loudboom of a morning gun rolled along the surface, awaking a hundred echoesas it passed, and the lazy smoke rested for some minutes on the glassywater as it blended with the thin air of the morning.

“Where am I?” was my first question to myself, as I continued to look fromside to side, unable to collect my scattered senses.

One word sufficed to recall me to myself, as I heard Power’s voice, fromwithout, call out, “Charley! O’Malley, I say! Come down here!”

I hurriedly threw on my clothes and went to the door.

“Well, Charley, I’ve been put in harness rather sooner than I expected.Here’s old Douglas has been sitting up all night writing despatches; and Imust hasten on to headquarters without a moment’s delay. There’s workbefore us, that’s certain; but when, where, and how, of that I knownothing. You may expect the route every moment; the French are stilladvancing. Meanwhile I have a couple of commissions for you to execute.First, here’s a packet for Hammersley; you are sure to meet him with theregiment in a day or two. I have some scruples about asking you this; but,confound it! you’re too sensible a fellow to care—” Here hehesitated; and as I colored to the eyes, for some minutes he seemeduncertain how to proceed. At length, recovering himself, he went on: “Nowfor the other. This is a most loving epistle from a poor devil of amidshipman, written last night by a tallow candle, in the co*ck-pit,containing vows of eternal adoration and a lock of hair. I promisedfaithfully to deliver it myself; for the ‘Thunderer’ sails for Gibraltarnext tide, and he cannot go ashore for an instant. However, as SirArthur’s billet may be of more importance than the reefer’s, I mustintrust its safe keeping to your hands. Now, then, don’t look so devilishsleepy, but seem to understand what I am saying. This is the address: ‘LaSenhora Inez da Silviero, Rua Nuova, opposite the barber’s.’ You’ll notneglect it. So now, my dear boy, till our next meeting, adios!”

“Stop! For Heaven’s sake, not so fast, I pray! Where’s the street?”

“The Rua Nuova. Remember Figaro, my boy. Cinque perruche.”

“But what am I to do?”

“To do! What a question! Anything; everything. Be a good diplomate. Speakof the torturing agony of the lover, for which I can vouch. The boy isonly fifteen. Swear that he is to return in a month, first lieutenant ofthe ‘Thunder Bomb,’ with intentions that even Madame Dalrymple wouldapprove.”

“What nonsense,” said I, blushing to the eyes.

“And if that suffice not, I know of but one resource.”

“Which is?”

“Make love to her yourself. Ay, even so. Don’t look so confoundedlyvinegar; the girl, I hear, is a devilish pretty one, the house pleasant,and I sincerely wish I could exchange duties with you, leaving you to makeyour bows to his Excellency the C. O. F., and myself free to make mine toLa Senhora. And now, push along, old red cap.”

So saying, he made a significant cut of his whip at the Portuguese guide,and in another moment was out of sight.

My first thought was one of regret at Power’s departure. For some timepast we had been inseparable companions; and notwithstanding the recklessand wild gayety of his conduct, I had ever found him ready to assist me inevery difficulty, and that with an address and dexterity a morecalculating adviser might not have possessed. I was now utterly alone; forthough Monsoon and the adjutant were still in Lisbon, as was also Sparks,I never could make intimates of them.

I ate my breakfast with a heavy heart, my solitary position againsuggesting thoughts of home and kindred. Just at this moment my eyes fellupon the packet destined for Hammersley; I took it up and weighed it in myhand. “Alas!” thought I, “how much of my destiny may lie within thatenvelope! How fatally may my after-life be influenced by it!” It feltheavy as though there was something besides letters. True, too true; therewas a picture, Lucy’s portrait! The cold drops of perspiration stood uponmy forehead as my fingers traced the outline of a miniature-case in theparcel. I became deadly weak, and sank, half-fainting, upon a chair. Andsuch is the end of my first dream of happiness! How have I duped, how haveI deceived myself! For, alas, though Lucy had never responded to myproffered vows of affection, yet had I ever nurtured in my heart a secrethope that I was not altogether uncared for. Every look she had given me,every word she had spoken, the tone of her voice, her step, her everygesture, were before me, all confirming my delusion, and yet,—Icould bear no more, and burst into tears.

The loud call of a cavalry trumpet aroused me.

How long I had passed in this state of despondency I knew not; but it waslong past noon when I rallied myself. My charger was already awaiting me;and a second blast of the trumpet told that the inspection in the Plazawas about to commence.

As I continued to dress, I gradually rallied from my depressing thoughts;and ere I belted my sabretasche, the current of my ideas had turned fromtheir train of sadness to one of hardihood and daring. Lucy Dashwood hadtreated me like a wilful schoolboy. Mayhap, I may prove myself as gallanta soldier as even him she has preferred before me.

A third sound of the trumpet cut short my reflections, and I sprang intothe saddle, and hastened towards the Plaza. As I dashed along the streets,my horse, maddened with the impulse that stirred my own heart, curvettedand plunged unceasingly. As I reached the Plaza, the crowd became dense,and I was obliged to pull up. The sound of the music, the parade, thetramp of the infantry, and the neighing of the horses, were, however, toomuch for my mettlesome steed, and he became nearly unmanageable; heplunged fearfully, and twice reared as though he would have fallen back.As I scattered the foot passengers right and left with terror, my eye fellupon one lovely girl, who, tearing herself from her companion, rushedwildly towards an open doorway for shelter; suddenly, however, changingher intention, she came forward a few paces, and then, as if overcome byfear, stood stock-still, her hands clasped upon her bosom, her eyesupturned, her features deadly pale, while her knees seemed bending beneathher. Never did I behold a more beautiful object. Her dark hair had fallenloose upon her shoulder, and she stood the very idéal of the“Madonna Supplicating.” My glance was short as a lightning flash; for thesame instant my horse swerved, and dashed forward right at the place whereshe was standing. One terrific cry rose from the crowd, who saw herdanger. Beside her stood a muleteer who had drawn up his mule and cartclose beside the footway for safety; she made one effort to reach it, buther outstretched arms alone moved, and paralyzed by terror, she sankmotionless upon the pavement. There was but one course open to me now; socollecting myself for the effort, I threw my horse upon his haunches, andthen, dashing the spurs into his flanks, breasted him at the mule cart.With one spring he rose, and cleared it at a bound, while the very airrang with the acclamations of the multitude, and a thousand bravos salutedme as I alighted upon the opposite side.

“Well done, O’Malley!” sang out the little adjutant, as I flew past andpulled up in the middle of the Plaza.

“Something devilish like Galway in that leap,” said a very musical voicebeside me; and at the same instant a tall, soldier-like man, in an undressdragoon frock, touched his cap, and said, “A 14th man, I perceive, sir.May I introduce myself? Major O’Shaughnessy.”

I bowed, and shook the major’s proffered hand, while he continued,—

“Old Monsoon mentioned your name to us this morning. You came outtogether, if I mistake not?”

“Yes; but somehow, I’ve missed the major since my landing.”

“Oh, you’ll see him presently; he’ll be on parade. By-the-bye, he wishesparticularly to meet you. We dine to-day at the ‘Quai de Soderi,’ and ifyou’re not engaged—Yes, this is the person,” said he, turning at themoment towards a servant, who, with a card in his hand, seemed to searchfor some one in the crowd.

The man approached, and handed it to me.

“What can this mean?” said I. “Don Emanuel de Blacas y Silviero, RuaNuova.”

“Why, that’s the great Portuguese contractor, the intendant of half thearmy, the richest fellow in Lisbon. Have you known him long?”

“Never heard of him till now.”

“By Jove, you’re in luck! No man gives such dinners; he has such a cellar!I’ll wager a fifty it was his daughter you took in the flying leap a whileago. I hear she is a beautiful creature.”

“Yes,” thought I, “that must be it; and yet, strange enough, I think thename and address are familiar to me.”

“Ten to one, you’ve heard Monsoon speak of him; he’s most intimate there.But here comes the major.”

And as he spoke, the illustrious commissary came forward holding a vastbundle of papers in one hand, and his snuff-box in the other, followed bya long string of clerks, contractors, assistant-surgeons, paymasters,etc., all eagerly pressing forward to be heard.

“It’s quite impossible; I can’t do it to-day. Victualling and physickingare very good things, but must be done in season. I have been up all nightat the accounts,—haven’t I, O’Malley?” here he winked at me mostsignificantly; “and then I have the forage and stoppage fund to lookthrough [‘we dine at six, sharp,’ said he, sotto voce], which willleave me without one minute unoccupied for the next twenty-four hours.Look to your toggery this evening; I’ve something in my eye for you,O’Malley.”

“Officers unattached to their several corps will fall into the middle ofthe Plaza,” said a deep voice among the crowd; and in obedience to theorder I rode forward and placed myself with a number of others, apparentlynewly joined, in the open square. A short, gray-haired old colonel, with adark, eagle look, proceeded to inspect us, reading from a paper as he camealong,—

“Mr. Hepton, 6th Foot; commission bearing date 11th January; drilled,proceed to Ovar, and join his regiment.

“Mr. Gronow, Fusilier Guards, remains with the depot.

“Captain Mortimer, 1st Dragoons, appointed aide-de-camp to the generalcommanding the cavalry brigade.

“Mr. Sparks,—where is Mr. Sparks? Mr. Sparks absent from parade;make a note of it.

“Mr. O’Malley, 14th Light Dragoons. Mr. O’Malley,—oh, I remember! Ihave received a letter from Sir George Dashwood concerning you. You willhold yourself in readiness to march. Your friends desire that before youmay obtain any staff appointment, you should have the opportunity ofseeing some service. Am I to understand such is your wish?”

“Most certainly.”

“May I have the pleasure of your company at dinner to-day?”

“I regret that I have already accepted an invitation to dine with MajorMonsoon.”

“With Major Monsoon? Ah, indeed! Perhaps it might be as well I shouldmention,—but no matter. I wish you good-morning.”

So saying, the little colonel rode off, leaving me to suppose that mydinner engagement had not raised me in his estimation, though why, I couldnot exactly determine.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

THE RUA NUOVA.

Our dinner was a long and uninteresting one, and as I found that the majorwas likely to prefer his seat as chairman of the party to the seductionsof ladies’ society, I took the first opportunity of escaping and left theroom.

It was a rich moonlight night as I found myself in the street. My way,which led along the banks of the Tagus, was almost as light as in daytime,and crowded with walking parties, who sauntered carelessly along in theenjoyment of the cool, refreshing night-air. On inquiring, I discoveredthat the Rua Nuova was at the extremity of the city; but as the road ledalong by the river I did not regret the distance, but walked on withincreasing pleasure at the charms of so heavenly a climate and country.

After three quarters of an hour’s walk, the streets became by degrees lessand less crowded. A solitary party passed me now and then; the buzz ofdistant voices succeeded to the gay laughter and merry tones of thepassing groups, and at length my own footsteps alone awoke the echoesalong the deserted pathway. I stopped every now and then to gaze upon thetranquil river, whose eddies were circling in the pale silver of themoonlight. I listened with attentive ear as the night breeze wafted to methe far-off sounds of a guitar, and the deep tones of some lover’sserenade; while again the tender warbling of the nightingale came borneacross the stream on a wind rich with the odor of the orange-tree.

As thus I lingered on my way the time stole on, and it was near midnightere I had roused myself from the revery surrounding objects had thrownabout me. I stopped suddenly, and for some minutes I struggled with myselfto discover if I was really awake. As I walked along, lost in myreflections, I had entered a little garden beside the river. Fragrantplants and lovely flowers bloomed on every side; the orange, the camelia,the cactus, and the rich laurel of Portugal were blending their green andgolden hues around me, while the very air was filled with delicious music.“Was it a dream? Could such ecstasy be real?” I asked myself, as the richnotes swelled upwards in their strength, and sank in soft cadence to tonesof melting harmony; now bursting forth in the full force of gladness, thevoices blended together in one stream of mellow music, and suddenlyceasing, the soft but thrilling shake of a female voice rose upon the air,and in its plaintive beauty stirred the very heart. The proud tramp ofmartial music succeeded to the low wailing cry of agony; then came thecrash of battle, the clang of steel; the thunder of the fight rolled on inall its majesty, increasing in its maddening excitement till it ended inone loud shout of victory.

All was still; not a breath moved, not a leaf stirred, and again was Irelapsing into my dreamy scepticism, when again the notes swelled upwardsin concert. But now their accents were changed, and in low, subdued tones,faintly and slowly uttered, the prayer of thanksgiving rose to Heaven andspoke their gratefulness. I almost fell upon my knees, and already thetears filled my eyes as I drank in the sounds. My heart was full tobursting, and even now as I write it my pulse throbs as I remember thehymn of the Abencerrages.

When I rallied from my trance of excited pleasure, my first thought was,where was I, and how came I there? Before I could resolve my doubts uponthe question, my attention was turned in another direction, for closebeside me the branches moved forward, and a pair of arms were thrownaround my neck, while a delicious voice cried out in an accent ofchildish, delight, “Trovado!” At the same instant a lovely headsank upon my shoulder, covering it with tresses of long brown hair. Thearms pressed me still more closely, till I felt her very heart beatingagainst my side.

“Mio fradre,” said a soft, trembling voice, as her fingers playedin my hair and patted my temples.

What a situation mine! I well knew that some mistaken identity had beenthe cause, but still I could not repress my inclination to return theembrace, as I pressed my lips upon the fair forehead that leaned upon mybosom; at the same moment she threw back her head, as if to look me morefully in the face. One glance sufficed; blushing deeply over her cheeksand neck, she sprang from my arms, and uttering a faint cry, staggeredagainst a tree. In an instant I saw it was the lovely girl I had met inthe morning; and without losing a second I poured out apologies for myintrusion with all the eloquence I was master of, till she suddenlyinterrupted me by asking if I spoke French. Scarcely had I recommenced myexcuses in that language, when a third party appeared upon the stage. Thiswas a short, elderly man, in a green uniform, with several decorationsupon his breast, and a co*cked hat with a most flowing plume in his righthand.

“May I beg to know whom I have the honor of receiving?” inquired he, invery excellent English, as he advanced with a look of very ceremonious anddistant politeness.

I immediately explained that, presuming upon the card which his servanthad presented me, I had resolved on paying my respects when a mistake hadled me accidentally into his garden.

My apologies had not come to an end when he folded me in his arms andoverwhelmed me with thanks, at the same time saying a few words inPortuguese to his daughter. She stooped down, and taking my hand gentlywithin her own, touched it with her lips.

This piece of touching courtesy,—which I afterwards found meantlittle or nothing,—affected me deeply at the time, and I felt theblood rush to my face and forehead, half in pride, half in a sense ofshame. My confusion was, however, of short duration; for taking my arm,the old gentleman led me along a few paces, and turning round a smallclump of olives, entered a little summer-house. Here a considerable partywere assembled, which for their picturesque effect could scarcely havebeen better managed on the stage.

Beneath the mild lustre of a large lamp of stained glass, half hid in theoverhanging boughs, was spread a table covered with vessels of gold andsilver plate of gorgeous richness; drinking cups and goblets of antiquepattern shone among cups of Sèvres china or Venetian glass; deliciousfruit, looking a thousand times more tempting for being contained inbaskets of silver foliage, peeped from amidst a profusion of freshflowers, whose odor was continually shed around by a slight jet d’eauthat played among the leaves. Around upon the grass, seated upon cushionsor reclining on Genoa carpets, were several beautiful girls in mostbecoming costumes, their dark locks and darker eyes speaking of “the softSouth,” while their expressive gestures and animated looks betokened arace whose temperament is glowing as their clime. There were several menalso, the greater number of whom appeared in uniform,—bronzed,soldier-like fellows, who had the jaunty air and easy carriage of theircalling,—among whom was one Englishman, or at least so I guessedfrom his wearing the uniform of a heavy dragoon regiment.

“This is my daughter’s fête,” said Don Emanuel, as he ushered meinto the assembly,—“her birthday; a sad day it might have been forus had it not been for your courage and forethought.” So saying, hecommenced a recital of my adventure to the bystanders, who overwhelmed mewith civil speeches and a shower of soft looks that completed thefascination of the fairy scene. Meanwhile the fair Inez had made room forme beside her, and I found myself at once the lion of the party, eachvying with her neighbor who should show me most attention, La Senhoraherself directing her conversation exclusively to me,—a circ*mstancewhich, considering the awkwardness of our first meeting, I felt no smallsurprise at, and which led me, somewhat maliciously I confess, to make ahalf allusion to it, feeling some interest in ascertaining for whom theflattering reception was really intended.

“I thought you were Charles,” said she, blushing, in answer to myquestion.

“And you are right,” said I; “I am Charles.”

“Nay, but I meant my Charles.”

There was something of touching softness in the tone of these few wordsthat made me half wish I were her Charles. Whether my look evincedas much or not, I cannot tell, but she speedily added,—

“He is my brother; he is a captain in the caçadores, and I expected himhere this evening. Some one saw a figure pass the gate and conceal himselfin the trees, and I was sure it was he.”

“What a disappointment!” said I.

“Yes; was it not?” said she, hurriedly; and then, as if remembering howungracious was the speech, she blushed more deeply and hung down her head.

Just at this moment, as I looked up, I caught the eye of the Englishofficer fixed steadfastly upon me. He was a tall, fine-looking fellow, ofabout two or three and thirty, with marked and handsome features, which,however, conveyed an expression of something sneering and sinister thatstruck me the moment I saw him. His glass was fixed in his eye, and Iperceived that he regarded us both with a look of no common interest. Myattention did not, however, dwell long upon the circ*mstance, for DonEmanuel, coming behind my shoulder, asked me if I would not take out hisdaughter in the bolero they were just forming.

To my shame I was obliged to confess that I had not even seen the dance;and while I continued to express my resolve to correct the errors of myeducation, the Englishman came up and asked the senhora to be his partner.This put the very keystone upon my annoyance, and I half turned angrilyaway from the spot, when I heard her decline his invitation, and avow herdetermination not to dance.

There was something which pleased me so much at this refusal, that I couldnot help turning upon her a look of most grateful acknowledgment; but as Idid so, I once more encountered the gaze of the Englishman, whose knittedbrows and compressed lips were bent upon me in a manner there was nomistaking. This was neither the fitting time nor place to seek anyexplanation of the circ*mstance, so, wisely resolving to wait a betteroccasion, I turned away and resumed my attentions towards my faircompanion.

“Then you don’t care for the bolero?” said I, as she reseated herself uponthe grass.

“Oh, I delight in it!” said she, enthusiastically.

“But you refused to dance?”

She hesitated, blushed, tried to mutter something, and was silent.

“I had determined to learn it,” said I, half jestingly; “but if you willnot dance with me—”

“Yes; that I will,—indeed I will.”

“But you declined my countryman. Is it because he is inexpert?”

The senhora hesitated, looked confused for some minutes; at length,coloring slightly, she said: “I have already made one rude speech to youthis evening; I fear lest I should make a second. Tell me, is CaptainTrevyllian your friend?”

“If you mean that gentleman yonder, I never saw him before.”

“Nor heard of him?”

“Nor that either. We are total strangers to each other.”

“Well, then, I may confess it. I do not like him. My father prefers him toany one else, invites him here daily, and, in fact, instals him as hisfirst favorite. But still, I cannot like him; and yet I have done my bestto do so.”

“Indeed!” said I, pointedly. “What are his chief demerits? Is he notagreeable? Is he not clever?”

“Oh, on the contrary, most agreeable, fascinating, I should say, inconversation; has travelled, seen a great deal of the world, is veryaccomplished, and has distinguished himself on several occasions. Hewears, as you see, a Portuguese order.”

“And with all that—”

“And with all that, I cannot bear him. He is a duellist, a notoriousduellist. My brother, too, knows more of him, and avoids him. But let usnot speak further. I see his eyes are again fixed on us; and somehow, Ifear him, without well knowing wherefore.”

A movement among the party, shawls and mantillas were sought for on allsides; and the preparations for leave-taking appeared general. Before,however, I had time to express my thanks for my hospitable reception, theguests had assembled in a circle around the senhora, and toasting her witha parting bumper, they commenced in concert a little Portuguese song offarewell, each verse concluding with a good-night, which, as theyseparated and held their way homewards, might now and then be heard risingupon the breeze and wafting their last thoughts back to her. Theconcluding verse, which struck me much, I have essayed to translate. Itran somehow thus:—

“The morning breezes chillNow close our joyous scene,And yet we linger still,Where we’ve so happy been.How blest were it to liveWith hearts like ours so light,And only part to giveOne long and last good-night!Good-night!” 

With many an invitation to renew my visit, most kindly preferred by DonEmanuel and warmly seconded by his daughter, I, too, wished my good-nightand turned my steps homeward.

CHAPTER XXXIX

THE VILLA.

The first object which presented itself to my eye the next morning was themidshipman’s packet intrusted to my care by Power. I turned it over toread the address more carefully, and what was my surprise to find that thename was that of my fair friend Donna Inez.

“This certainly thickens the plot,” thought I. “And so I have now fallenupon the real Simon Pure, and the reefer has had the good fortune todistance the dragoon. Well, thus far, I cannot say that I regret it. Now,however, for the parade, and then for the villa.”

“I say, O’Malley,” cried out Monsoon, as I appeared on the Plaza, “I haveaccepted an invitation for you to-day. We dine across the river. Be at myquarters a little before six, and we’ll go together.”

I should rather have declined the invitation; but not well knowing why,and having no ready excuse, acceded, and promised to be punctual.

“You were at Don Emanuel’s last night. I heard of you!”

“Yes; I spent a most delightful evening.”

“That’s your ground, my boy. A million of moidores, and such a campagna inValencia. A better thing than the Dalrymple affair. Don’t blush. I know itall. But stay; here they come.”

As he spoke, the general commanding, with a numerous staff, rode forward.As they passed, I recognized a face which I had certainly seen before, andin a moment remembered it was that of the dragoon of the evening before.He passed quite close, and fixing his eyes steadfastly on me, evinced nosign of recognition.

The parade lasted above two hours; and it was with a feeling of impatienceI mounted a fresh horse to canter out to the villa. When I arrived, theservant informed me that Don Emanuel was in the city, but that the senhorawas in the garden, offering, at the same time, to escort me. Decliningthis honor, I intrusted my horse to his keeping and took my way towardsthe arbor where last I had seen her.

I had not walked many paces, when the sound of a guitar struck on my ear.I listened. It was the senhora’s voice. She was singing a Venetiancanzonetta in a low, soft, warbling tone, as one lost in a revery; asthough the music was a mere accompaniment to some pleasant thought. Ipeeped through the dense leaves, and there she sat upon a low garden seat,an open book on the rustic table before her, beside her, embroidery, whichseemed only lately abandoned. As I looked, she placed her guitar upon theground and began to play with a small spaniel that seemed to have waitedwith impatience for some testimony of favor. A moment more, and she grewweary of this; then, heaving a long but gentle sigh, leaned back upon herchair and seemed lost in thought. I now had ample time to regard her, andcertainly never beheld anything more lovely. There was a character ofclassic beauty, and her brow, though fair and ample, was still stronglymarked upon the temples; the eyes, being deep and squarely set, imparted alook of intensity to her features which their own softness subdued; whilethe short upper lip, which trembled with every passing thought, spoke of anature tender and impressionable, and yet impassioned. Her foot and anklepeeped from beneath her dark robe, and certainly nothing could be morefaultless; while her hand, fair as marble, blue-veined and dimpled, playedamidst the long tresses of her hair, that, as if in the wantonness ofbeauty, fell carelessly upon her shoulders.

It was some time before I could tear myself away from the fascination ofso much beauty, and it needed no common effort to leave the spot. As Imade a short détour in the garden before approaching the arbor, shesaw me as I came forward, and kissing her hand gayly, made room for mebeside her.

“I have been fortunate in finding you alone, Senhora,” said I, as I seatedmyself by her side, “for I am the bearer of a letter to you. How far itmay interest you, I know not, but to the writer’s feelings I am bound totestify.”

“A letter to me? You jest, surely?”

“That I am in earnest, this will show,” said I, producing the packet.

She took it from my hands, turned it about and about, examined the seal;while, half doubtingly, she said:—

“The name is mine; but still—”

“You fear to open it; is it not so? But after all, you need not besurprised if it’s from Howard; that’s his name, I think.”

“Howard! from little Howard!” exclaimed she, enthusiastically; and tearingopen the letter, she pressed it to her lips, her eyes sparkling withpleasure and her cheek glowing as she read. I watched her as she ranrapidly over the lines; and I confess that, more than once, a pang ofdiscontent shot through my heart that the midshipman’s letter could callup such interest,—not that I was in love with her myself, but yet, Iknow not how it was, I had fancied her affections unengaged; and withoutasking myself wherefore, I wished as much.

“Poor dear boy!” said she, as she came to the end. How these few andsimple words sank into my heart, as I remembered how they had once beenuttered to myself, and in perhaps no very dissimilar circ*mstances.

“But where is the souvenir he speaks of?” said she.

“The souvenir. I’m not aware—”

“Oh, I hope you’ve not lost the lock of hair he sent me!” I was quitedumfounded at this, and could not remember whether I had received it fromPower or not, so answered, at random,—

“Yes; I must have left it on my table.”

“Promise me, then, to bring it to-morrow with you?”

“Certainly,” said I, with something of pique in my manner. “If I find sucha means of making my visit an agreeable one, I shall certainly not omitit.”

“You are quite right,” said she, either not noticing or not caring for thetone of my reply. “You will, indeed, be a welcome messenger. Do you know,he was one of my lovers?”

“One of them, indeed! Then pray how many do you number at this moment?”

“What a question; as if I could possibly count them! Besides, there are somany absent,—some on leave, some deserters, perhaps,—that Imight be reckoning among my troops, but who, possibly, form part of theforces of the enemy. Do you know little Howard?”

“I cannot say that we are personally acquainted, but I am enabled throughthe medium of a friend to say that his sentiments are not strange to me.Besides, I have really pledged myself to support the prayer of hispetition.”

“How very good of you! For which reason you’ve forgotten, if not lost, thelock of hair.”

“That you shall have to-morrow,” said I, pressing my hand solemnly to myheart.

“Well, then, don’t forget it. But hush; here comes Captain Trevyllian. Soyou say Lisbon really pleases you?” said she, in a tone of voice totallychanged, as the dragoon of the preceding evening approached.

“Mr. O’Malley, Captain Trevyllian.”

We bowed stiffly and haughtily to each other, as two men salute who areunavoidably obliged to bow, with every wish on either side to avoidacquaintance. So, at least, I construed his bow; so I certainly intendedmy own.

It requires no common tact to give conversation the appearance ofunconstraint and ease when it is evident that each person opposite islaboring under excited feelings; so that, notwithstanding the senhora’sefforts to engage our attention by the commonplaces of the day, weremained almost silent, and after a few observations of no interest, tookour several leaves. Here again a new source of awkwardness arose; for aswe walked together towards the house, where our horses stood, neitherparty seemed disposed to speak.

“You are probably returning to Lisbon?” said he, coldly.

I assented by a bow; upon which, drawing his bridle within his arm, hebowed once more, and turned away in an opposite direction; while I, gladto be relieved of an unsought-for companionship, returned alone to thetown.

CHAPTER XL

THE DINNER.

It was with no peculiar pleasure that I dressed for our dinner party.Major O’Shaughnessy, our host, was one of that class of my countrymen Icared least for,—a riotous, good-natured, noisy, loud-swearing,punch-drinking western; full of stories of impossible fox hunts, andunimaginable duels, which all were acted either by himself or some memberof his family. The company consisted of the adjutant, Monsoon, Ferguson,Trevyllian, and some eight or ten officers with whom I was acquainted. Asis usual on such occasions, the wine circulated freely, and amidst the dinand clamor of excited conversation, the fumes of Burgundy, and the vaporof cigar smoke, we most of us became speedily mystified. As for me, myevil destiny would have it that I was placed exactly opposite Trevyllian,with whom upon more than one occasion I happened to differ in opinion, andthe question was in itself some trivial and unimportant one; yet the tonewhich he assumed, and of which, I too could not divest myself in reply,boded anything rather than an amicable feeling between us. The noise andturmoil about prevented the others remarking the circ*mstance; but I couldperceive in his manner what I deemed a studied determination to promote aquarrel, while I felt within myself a most unchristian-like desire toindulge his fancy.

“Worse fellows at passing the bottle than Trevyllian and O’Malley there Ihave rarely sojourned with,” cried the major; “look if they haven’t goteight decanters between them, and here we are in a state of Africanthirst.”

“How can you expect him to think of thirst when such perfumed billets asthat come showering upon him?” said the adjutant, alluding to arose-colored epistle a servant had placed within my hands.

“Eight miles of a stone-wall country in fifteen minutes,—devil a liein it!” said O’Shaughnessy, striking the table with, his clinched fist;“show me the man would deny it.”

“Why, my dear fellow—”

“Don’t be dearing me. Is it ‘no’ you’ll be saying me?”

“Listen, now; there’s O’Reilly, there—”

“Where is he?”

“He’s under the table.”

“Well, it’s the same thing. His mother had a fox—bad luck to you,don’t scald me with the jug—his mother had a fox-cover inShinrohan.”

When O’Shaughnessy had got thus far in his narrative, I had theopportunity of opening my note, which merely contained the followingwords: “Come to the ball at the Casino, and bring the Cadeau youpromised.”

I had scarcely read this over once, when a roar of laughter at somethingsaid attracted my attention. I looked up, and perceived Trevyllian’s eyesbent upon me with the fierceness of a tiger; the veins in his foreheadwere swollen and distorted, and the whole expression of his face betokenedrage and passion. Resolved no longer to submit to such evidentdetermination to insult, I was rising from my place at table, when, as ifanticipating my intention, he pushed back his chair and left the room.Fearful of attracting attention by immediately following him, I affectedto join in the conversation around me, while my temples throbbed, and myhands tingled with impatience to get away.

“Poor McManus,” said O’Shaughnessy, “rest his soul! he’d have puzzled thebench of bishops for hard words. Upon my conscience, I believe he spenthis mornings looking for them in the Old Testament. Sure ye might haveheard what happened to him at Banagher, when he commanded the Kilkennys,—yenever heard the story? Well, then, ye shall. Push the sherry along first,though,—old Monsoon there always keeps it lingering beside his leftarm.

“Well, when Peter was lieutenant-colonel of the Kilkennys,—who, Imay remark, en passant, as the French say, were theneediest-looking devils in the whole service,—he never let themalone from morning till night, drilling and pipe-claying and polishingthem up. ‘Nothing will make soldiers of you,’ said Peter, ‘but, by therock of Cashel! I’ll keep you as clean as a new musket!’ Now, poor Peterhimself was not a very warlike figure,—he measured five feet one inhis tallest boots; but certainly if Nature denied him length of stature,she compensated for it in another way, by giving him a taste of thelongest words in the language. An extra syllable or so in a word wasalways a strong recommendation; and whenever he could not find one to hismind, he’d take some quaint, outlandish one that more than once led tovery awkward results. Well, the regiment was one day drawn up for paradein the town of Banagher, and as M’Manus came down the lines he stoppedopposite one of the men whose face, hands, and accoutrements exhibited amost woeful contempt of his orders. The fellow looked more like aturf-stack than a light-company man.

“‘Stand out, sir!’ cried M’Manus, in a boiling passion. ‘Sergeant O’Toole,inspect this individual.’ Now, the sergeant was rather a favorite withMac; for he always pretended to understand his phraseology, and inconsequence was pronounced by the colonel a very superior man for hisstation in life. ‘Sergeant,’ said he, ‘we shall make an exemplaryillustration of our system here.’

“‘Yes, sir,’ said the sergeant, sorely puzzled at the meaning of what hespoke.

“‘Bear him to the Shannon, and lave him there.’ This he said in a kind ofCoriolanus tone, with a toss of his head and a wave of his right arm,—signs,whenever he made them, incontestibly showing that further parley was outof the question, and that he had summed up and charged the jury for goodand all.

“‘Lave him in the river?’ said O’Toole, his eyes starting from thesockets, and his whole face working in strong anxiety; ‘is it lavehim in the river yer honor means?’

“‘I have spoken,’ said the little man, bending an ominous frown upon thesergeant, which, whatever construction he may have put upon his words,there was no mistaking.

“‘Well, well, av it’s God’s will he’s drowned, it will not be on my head,’says O’Toole, as he marched the fellow away between two rank and file.

“The parade was nearly over, when Mac happened to see the sergeant comingup all splashed with water and looking quite tired.

“‘Have you obeyed my orders?’ said he.

“‘Yes, yer honor; and tough work we had of it, for he struggled hard.’

“‘And where is he now?’

“‘Oh, troth, he’s there safe. Divil a fear he’ll get out.’

“‘Where?’ said Mac.

“‘In the river, yer honor.’

“‘What have you done, you scoundrel?’

“‘Didn’t I do as you bid me?’ says he; ‘didn’t I throw him in and lave[leave] him there?’

“And faith so they did; and if he wasn’t a good swimmer and got over toMoystown, there’s little doubt but he’d have been drowned, and all becausePeter McManus could not express himself like a Christian.”

In the laughter which followed O’Shaughnessy’s story I took theopportunity of making my escape from the party, and succeeded in gainingthe street unobserved. Though the note I had just read was not signed, Ihad no doubt from whom it came; so I hastened at once to my quarters, tomake search for the lock of Ned Howard’s hair to which the senhoraalluded. What was my mortification, however, to discover that no suchthing could be found anywhere. I searched all my drawers; I tossed aboutmy papers and letters; I hunted every likely, every unlikely spot I couldthink of, but in vain,—now cursing my carelessness for having lostit, now swearing most solemnly to myself that I never could have receivedit. What was to be done? It was already late; my only thought was how toreplace it. If I only knew the color, any other lock of hair would,doubtless, do just as well. The chances were, as Howard was young and anEnglishman, that his hair was light; light-brown, probably, something likemy own. Of course it was; why didn’t that thought occur to me before? Howstupid I was. So saying, I seized a pair of scissors, and cut a long lockbeside my temple; this in a calm moment I might have hesitated about.“Yes,” thought I, “she’ll never discover the cheat; and besides, I dofeel,—I know not exactly why,—rather gratified to think that Ishall have left this souvenir behind me, even though it call upother recollections than of me.” So thinking, I wrapped my cloak about meand hastened towards the Casino.

CHAPTER XLI.

THE ROUTE.

I had scarcely gone a hundred yards from my quarters when a great tramp ofhorses’ feet attracted my attention. I stopped to listen, and soon heardthe jingle of dragoon accoutrements, as the noise came near. The night wasdark but perfectly still; and before I stood many minutes I heard thetones of a voice which I well knew could belong to but one, and that FredPower.

“Fred Power!” said I, shouting at the same time at the top of my voice,—“Power!”

“Ah, Charley, is that you? Come along to the adjutant-general’s quarters.I’m charged with some important despatches, and can’t stop till I’vedelivered them. Come along, I’ve glorious news for you!” So saying, hedashed spurs to his horse, and followed by two mounted dragoons, gallopedpast. Power’s few and hurried words had so excited my curiosity that Iturned at once to follow him, questioning myself, as I walked along, towhat he could possibly allude. He knew of my attachment to Lucy Dashwood,—couldhe mean anything of her? But what could I expect there; by what flatterycould I picture to myself any chance of success in that quarter; and yet,what other news could I care for or value than what bore upon her fateupon whom my own depended? Thus ruminating, I reached the door of thespacious building in which the adjutant-general had taken up his abode,and soon found myself among a crowd of persons whom the rumor of someimportant event had assembled there, though no one could tell what hadoccurred. Before many minutes the door opened, and Power came out; bowinghurriedly to a few, and whispering a word or two as he passed down thesteps, he seized me by the arm and led me across the street. “Charley,” said he, “the curtain’s rising; the piece is about to begin; a newcommander-in-chief is sent out,—Sir Arthur Wellesley, my boy, thefinest fellow in England is to lead us on, and we march to-morrow. There’snews for you!” A raw boy, unread, uninformed as I was, I knew but littleof his career whose name had even then shed such lustre upon our army; butthe buoyant tone of Power as he spoke, the kindling energy of his voiceroused me, and I felt every inch a soldier. As I grasped his hand indelightful enthusiasm I lost all memory of my disappointment, and in thebeating throb that shook my head; I felt how deeply slept the ardor ofmilitary glory that first led me from my home to see a battle-field.

“There goes the news!” said Frederick, pointing as he spoke to a rocketthat shot up into the sky, and as it broke into ten thousand stars,illuminated the broad stream where the ships of war lay darkly resting. Inanother moment the whole air shone with similar fires, while the deep rollof the drum sounded along the silent streets, and the city so lately sunkin sleep became, as if by magic, thronged with crowds of people; the sharpclang of the cavalry trumpet blended with the gay carol of thelight-infantry bugle, and the heavy tramp of the march was heard in thedistance. All was excitement, all bustle; but in the joyous tone of everyvoice was spoken the longing anxiety to meet the enemy. The gay, recklesstone of an Irish song would occasionally reach us, as some ConnaughtRanger or some 78th man passed, his knapsack on his back; or the lowmonotonous pibroch of the Highlander, swelling into a war-cry, as somekilted corps drew up their ranks together. We turned to regain ourquarters, when at the corner of a street we came suddenly upon a merryparty seated around a table before a little inn; a large street lamp,unhung for the occasion, had been placed in the midst of them, and showedus the figures of several soldiers in undress; at the end, and raised alittle above his compeers, sat one whom, by the unfair proportion heassumed of the conversation, not less than by the musical intonation ofhis voice, I soon recognized as my man, Mickey Free.

“I’ll be hanged if that’s not your fellow there, Charley,” said Power, ashe came to a dead stop a few yards off. “What an impertinent varlet he is;only to think of him there, presiding among a set of fellows that havefought all the battles in the Peninsular war. At this moment I’ll behanged if he is not going to sing.”

Here a tremendous thumping upon the table announced the fact, and after afew preliminary observations from Mike, illustrative of his respect to theservice in which he had so often distinguished himself, he began, to theair of the “Young May Moon,” a ditty of which I only recollect thefollowing verses:—

“The pickets are fast retreating, boys,The last tattoo is beating, boys,So let every manFinish his can,And drink to our next merry meeting, boys.The colonel so gayly prancing, boys,Has a wonderful trick of advancing, boys,When he sings out so large,‘Fix bayonets and charge!’He sets all the Frenchmen a-dancing, boys.Let Mounseer look ever so big, my boys,Who cares for fighting a fig, my boys?When we play ‘Garryowen,’He’d rather go home;For somehow, he’s no taste for a jig, my boys.” 

This admirable lyric seemed to have perfect success, if one were only tojudge from the thundering of voices, hands, and drinking vessels whichfollowed; while a venerable, gray-haired sergeant rose to propose Mr.Free’s health, and speedy promotion to him.

We stood for several minutes in admiration of the party, when the loudroll of the drums beating to arms awakened us to the thought that ourmoments were numbered.

“Good-night, Charley!” said Power, as he shook my hand warmly,“good-night! It will be your last night under a curtain for some months tocome; make the most of it. Adieu!”

So saying, we parted; he to his quarters, and I to all the confusion of mybaggage, which lay in most admired disorder about my room.

CHAPTER XLII.

THE FAREWELL.

The preparations for the march occupied me till near morning; and, indeed,had I been disposed to sleep, the din and clamor of the world withoutwould have totally prevented it. Before daybreak the advanced guard wasalready in motion, and some squadrons of heavy cavalry had begun theirmarch.

I looked around my now dismantled room as one does usually for the lasttime ere leaving, and bethought me if I had not forgotten anything.Apparently all was remembered; but stay,—what is this? To be sure,how forgetful I had become! It was the packet I destined for Donna Inez,and which, in the confusion of the night before, I had omitted to bring tothe Casino.

I immediately despatched Mike to the commissary with my luggage and ordersto ascertain when we were expected to march. He soon returned with theintelligence that our corps was not to move before noon, so that I had yetsome hours to spare and make my adieux to the senhora.

I cannot exactly explain the reason, but I certainly did bestow a morethan common attention upon my toilet that morning. The senhora was nothingto me. It is true she had, as she lately most candidly informed me, ascore of admirers, among whom I was not even reckoned; she was evidently acoquette whose greatest pleasure was to sport and amuse herself with thepassions she excited in others. And even if she were not,—if herheart were to be won to-morrow,—what claim, what right, had I toseek it? My affections were already pledged; promised, it is true, to onewho gave nothing in return, and who, perhaps, even loved another. Ah,there was the rub; that one confounded suspicion, lurking in the rear,chilled my courage and wounded my spirit.

If there be anything more disheartening to an Irishman, in his little affairesde coeur, than another, it is the sense of rivalry. The obstinacy offathers, the ill-will of mothers, the coldness, the indifference of thelovely object herself,—obstacles though they be,—he has tact,spirit, and perseverance to overcome them. But when a more successfulcandidate for the fair presents himself; when the eye that remainsdowncast at his suit, lights up with animation at another’scoming; when the features whose cold and chilling apathy to him haveblended in one smile of welcome to another,—it is all up with him;he sees the game lost, and throws his cards upon the table. And yet, whyis this? Why is it that he whose birthright it would seem to be sanguinewhen others despond, to be confident when all else are hopeless,—shouldfind his courage fail him here? The reason is simply—But, in goodsooth, I am ashamed to confess it!

Having jogged on so far with my reader, in all the sober seriousness whichthe matter-of-fact material of these memoirs demands, I fear lest aseeming paradox may cause me to lose my good name for veracity; and thatwhile merely maintaining a national trait of my country, I may appear tobe asserting some unheard-of and absurd proposition,—so far havemere vulgar prejudices gone to sap our character as a people.

The reason, then, is this,—for I have gone too far to retreat,—theIrishman is essentially bashful. Well, laugh if you wish, for I concludethat, by this time, you have given way to a most immoderate excess ofrisibility; but still, when you have perfectly recovered your composure, Ibeg to repeat,—the Irishman is essentially a bashful man!

Do not for a moment fancy that I would by this imply that in any new orunexpected situation, that from any unforeseen conjuncture of events, theIrishman would feel confused or abashed, more than any other,—farfrom it. The cold and habitual reserve of the Englishman, the studiedcaution of the North Tweeder himself, would exhibit far stronger evidencesof awkwardness in such circ*mstances as these. But on the other hand, whenmeasuring his capacity, his means of success, his probabilities of beingpreferred, with those of the natives of any other country, I back theIrishman against the world for distrust of his own powers, for anunder-estimate of his real merits,—in one word, for his bashfulness.But let us return to Donna Inez.

As I rode up to the villa, I found the family assembled at breakfast.Several officers were also present, among whom I was not sorry torecognize my friend Monsoon.

“Ah, Charley!” cried he, as I seated myself beside him, “what a pity allour fun is so soon to have an end! Here’s this confounded Soult won’t bequiet and peaceable; but he must march upon Oporto, and Heaven knows wherebesides, just as we were really beginning to enjoy life! I had got such acontract for blankets! And now they’ve ordered me to join Beresford’scorps in the mountains; and you,” here he dropped his voice,—“andyou were getting on so devilish well in this quarter; upon my life, Ithink you’d have carried the day. Old Don Emanuel—you know he’s afriend of mine—likes you very much. And then, there’s Sparks—”

“Ay, Major, what of him? I have not seen him for some days.”

“Why, they’ve been frightening the poor devil out of his life,O’Shaughnessy and a set of them. They tried him by court-martialyesterday, and sentenced him to mount guard with a wooden sword and ashooting jacket, which he did. Old Colbourne, it seems, saw him; andfaith, there would be the devil to pay if the route had not come! Some ofthem would certainly have got a long leave to see their friends.”

“Why is not the senhora here, Major? I don’t see her at table.”

“A cold, a sore throat, a wet-feet affair of last night, I believe. Passthat cold pie down here. Sherry, if you please. You didn’t see Powerto-day?”

“No: we parted late last night; I have not been to bed.”

“Very bad preparation for a march; take some burned brandy in yourcoffee.”

“Then you don’t think the senhora will appear?”

“Very unlikely. But stay, you know her room,—the small drawing-roomthat looks out upon the flower-garden; she usually passes the morningthere. Leap the little wooden paling round the corner, and the chances areten to one you find her.”

I saw from the occupied air of Don Antonio that there was little fear ofinterruption on his part; so taking an early moment to escape unobserved,I rose and left the room. When I sprang over the oak fence, I found myselfin a delicious little garden, where roses, grown to a height never seen inour colder climate, formed a deep bower of rich blossom.

The major was right. The senhora was in the room, and in one moment I wasbeside her.

“Nothing but my fears of not bidding you farewell could palliate my thusintruding, Donna Inez; but as we are ordered away—”

“When? Not so soon, surely?”

“Even so; to-day, this very hour. But you see that even in the hurry ofdeparture, I have not forgotten my trust; this is the packet I promisedyou.”

So saying, I placed the paper with the lock of hair within her hand, andbending downwards, pressed my lips upon her taper fingers. She hurriedlysnatched her hand away, and tearing open the enclosure, took out the lock.She looked steadily for a moment at it, then at me, and again at it, andat length, bursting into a fit of laughing, threw herself upon a chair ina very ecstasy of mirth.

“Why, you don’t mean to impose this auburn ringlet upon me for one of poorHoward’s jetty curls? What downright folly to think of it! And then, withhow little taste the deception was practised,—upon your verytemples, too! One comfort is, you are utterly spoiled by it.”

Here she again relapsed into a fit of laughter, leaving me perfectlypuzzled what to think of her, as she resumed:—

“Well, tell me now, am I to reckon this as a pledge of your ownallegiance, or am I still to believe it to be Edward Howard’s? Speak, andtruly.”

“Of my own, most certainly,” said I, “if it will be accepted.”

“Why, after such treachery, perhaps it ought not; but still, as you havealready done yourself such injury, and look so very silly, withal—”

“That you are even resolved to give me cause to look more so,” added I.

“Exactly,” said she, “for here, now, I reinstate you among my true andfaithful admirers. Kneel down, Sir Knight—in token of which you willwear this scarf—”

A sudden start which the donna gave at these words brought me to my feet.She was pale as death and trembling.

“What means this?” said I. “What has happened?”

She pointed with her finger towards the garden; but though her lips moved,no voice came forth. I sprang through the open window; I rushed into thecopse, the only one which might afford concealment for a figure, but noone was there. After a few minutes’ vain endeavor to discover any trace ofan intruder, I returned to the chamber. The donna was there still, but howchanged; her gayety and animation were gone, her pale cheek and tremblinglip bespoke fear and suffering, and her cold hand lay heavily beside her.

“I thought—perhaps it was merely fancy—but I thought I sawTrevyllian beside the window.”

“Impossible!” said I. “I have searched every walk and alley. It wasnothing but imagination,—believe me, no more. There, be assured;think no more of it.”

While I endeavored thus to reassure her, I was very far from feelingperfectly at ease myself; the whole bearing and conduct of this man hadinspired me with a growing dislike of him, and I felt alreadyhalf-convinced that he had established himself as a spy upon my actions.

“Then you really believe I was mistaken?” said the donna, as she placedher hand within mine.

“Of course I do; but speak no more of it. You must not forget how few mymoments are here. Already I have heard the tramp of horses without. Ah!there they are. In a moment more I shall be missed; so, once more, fairestInez—Nay, I beg pardon if I have dared to call you thus; but think,if it be the first it may also be the last time I shall ever speak it.”

Her head gently drooped, as I said these words, till it sank upon myshoulder, her long and heavy hair falling upon my neck and across mybosom. I felt her heart almost beat against my side; I muttered somewords, I know not what; I felt them like a prayer; I pressed her coldforehead to my lips, rushed from the room, cleared the fence at a spring,and was far upon the road to Lisbon ere I could sufficiently collect mysenses to know whither I was going. Of little else was I conscious; mymind was full to bursting; and in the confusion of my excited brain,fiction and reality were so inextricably mingled as to defy every endeavorat discrimination. But little time had I for reflection. As I reached thecity, the brigade to which I was attached was already under arms, and Mikeimpatiently waiting my arrival with the horses.

CHAPTER XXLIII.

THE MARCH.

What a strange spectacle did the road to Oliveira present upon the morningof the 7th of May! A hurried or incautious observer might, at first sight,have pronounced the long line of troops which wended their way through thevalley as the remains of a broken and routed army, had not the ardentexpression and bright eye that beamed on every side assured him that menwho looked thus could not be beaten ones. Horse, foot, baggage, artillery,dismounted dragoons, even the pale and scarcely recovered inhabitants ofthe hospital, might have been seen hurrying on; for the order, “Forward!” had been given at Lisbon, and those whose wounds did not permit theirjoining, were more pitied for their loss than its cause. More than oneofficer was seen at the head of his troop with an arm in a sling, or abandaged forehead; while among the men similar evidences of devotion werenot unfrequent. As for me, long years and many reverses have notobliterated, scarcely blunted, the impression that sight made on me. Thesplendid spectacle of a review had often excited and delighted me, buthere there was the glorious reality of war,—the bronzed faces, theworn uniforms, the well-tattered flags, the roll of the heavy gunsmingling with the wild pibroch of the Highlander, or scarcely less wildrecklessness of the Irish quick-step; while the long line of cavalry,their helmets and accoutrements shining in the morning sun, brought backone’s boyish dreams of joust and tournament, and made the heart beat highwith chivalrous enthusiasm.

“Yes,” said I, half aloud, “this is indeed a realization of what I longedand thirsted for,” the clang of the music and the tramp of the cavalryresponding to my throbbing pulses as we moved along.

“Close up, there; trot!” cried out a deep and manly voice; and immediatelya general officer rode by, followed by an aide-de-camp.

“There goes Cotton,” said Power. “You may feel easy in your mind now,Charley; there’s some work before us.”

“You have not heard our destination?” said I.

“Nothing is known for certain yet. The report goes, that Soult isadvancing upon Oporto; and the chances are, Sir Arthur intends to hastenon to its relief. Our fellows are at Ovar, with General Murray.”

“I say, Charley, old Monsoon is in a devil of a flurry. He expected tohave been peaceably settled down in Lisbon for the next six months, and hehas received orders to set out for Beresford’s headquarters immediately;and from what I hear, they have no idle time.”

“Well, Sparks, how goes it, man? Better fun this than the cook’s galley,eh?”

“Why, do you know, these hurried movements put me out confoundedly. Ifound Lisbon very interesting,—the little I could see of it lastnight.”

“Ah, my dear fellow, think of the lovely Andalusian lasses with theirbrown transparent skins and liquid eyes. Why, you’d have been over headand ears in love in twenty-four hours more, had we stayed.”

“Are they really so pretty?”

“Pretty! downright lovely, man. Why, they have a way of looking at you,over their fans,—just one glance, short and fleeting, but somelting, by Jove—Then their walk,—if it be not profane to callthat springing, elastic gesture by such a name,—why, it’s regularwitchcraft. Sparks, my man, I tremble for you. Do you know, by-the-bye,that same pace of theirs is a devilish hard thing to learn. I never couldcome it; and yet, somehow, I was formerly rather a crack fellow at aballet. Old Alberto used to select me for a pas de zéphyr among ahost; but there’s a kind of a hop and a slide and a spring,—in factyou must have been wearing petticoats for eighteen years, and have anAndalusian instep and an india-rubber sole to your foot, or it’s no usetrying it. How I used to make them laugh at the old San Josef convent,formerly, by my efforts in the cause!”

“Why, how did it ever occur to you to practise it?”

“Many a man’s legs have saved his head, Charley, and I put it to mine todo a similar office for me.”

“True; but I never heard of a man that performed a pas seul beforethe enemy.”

“Not exactly; but still you’re not very wide of the mark. If you’ll onlywait till we reach Pontalegue, I’ll tell you the story; not that it’sworth the delay, but talking at this brisk pace I don’t admire.”

“You leave a detachment here, Captain Power,” said an aide-de-camp, ridinghastily up; “and General Cotton requests you will send a subaltern and twosergeants forward towards Berar to reconnoitre the pass. Franchesca’scavalry are reported in that quarter.” So speaking, he dashed spurs to hishorse, and was out of sight in an instant.

Power, at the same moment, wheeled to the rear, from which he returned inan instant, accompanied by three well-mounted light dragoons. “Sparks,” said he, “now for an occasion of distinguishing yourself. You heard theorder, lose no time; and as your horse is an able one, and fresh, lose nota second, but forward.”

No sooner was Sparks despatched on what it was evident he felt to beanything but a pleasant duty, than I turned towards Power, and said, withsome tinge of disappointment in the tone, “Well, if you really felt therewas anything worth doing there, I flattered myself that—”

“Speak out man. That I should have sent you, eh? Is it not so?”

“Yes, you’ve hit it.”

“Well, Charley, my peace is easily made on this head. Why, I selectedSparks simply to spare you one of the most unpleasant duties that can beimposed upon a man; a duty which, let him discharge it to the uttermost,will never be acknowledged, and the slightest failure in which will beremembered for many a day against him, besides the pleasant and veryprobable prospect of being selected as a bull’s eye for a French rifle, orcarried off a prisoner; eh, Charley? There’s no glory in that, devil a rayof it! Come, come, old fellow, Fred Power’s not the man to keep his friendout of the mêlée, if only anything can be made by being in it. PoorSparks, I’d swear, is as little satisfied with the arrangement asyourself, if one knew but all.”

“I say, Power,” said a tall, dashing-looking man of about five-and-forty,with a Portuguese order on his breast,—“I say, Power, dine with usat the halt.”

“With pleasure, if I may bring my young friend here.”

“Of course; pray introduce us.”

“Major Hixley, Mr. O’Malley,—a 14th man, Hixley.”

“Delighted to make your acquaintance, Mr. O’Malley. Knew a famous fellowin Ireland of your name, a certain Godfrey O’Malley, member for somecounty or other.”

“My uncle,” said I, blushing deeply, with a pleasurable feeling at eventhis slight praise of my oldest friend.

“Your uncle! give me your hand. By Jove, his nephew has a right to goodtreatment at my hands; he saved my life in the year ‘98. And how is oldGodfrey?”

“Quite well, when I left him some months ago; a little gout, now andthen.”

“To be sure he has, no man deserves it better; but it’s a gentlemanlikegout that merely jogs his memory in the morning of the good wine he hasdrank over night. By-the-bye, what became of a friend of his, a devilisheccentric fellow who held a command in the Austrian service?”

“Oh, Considine, the count?”

“The same.”

“As eccentric as ever; I left him on a visit with my uncle. And Boyle,—didyou know Sir Harry Boyle?”

“To be sure I did; shall I ever forget him, and his capital blunders, thatkept me laughing the whole time I spent in Ireland? I was in the housewhen he concluded a panegyric upon a friend, by calling him, ‘the fatherto the poor, and uncle to Lord Donoughmore.’”

“He was the only man who could render by a bull what it was impossible toconvey more correctly,” said Power.

“You’ve heard of his duel with Dick Toler?”

“Never; let’s hear it.”

“It was a bull from beginning to end. Boyle took it into his head thatDick was a person with whom he had a serious row in Cork. Dick, on theother hand, mistook Boyle for old Caples, whom he had been pursuing withhorse-whipping intentions for some months. They met in Kildare StreetClub, and very little colloquy satisfied them that they were right intheir conjectures, each party being so eagerly ready to meet the views ofthe other. It never was a difficult matter to find a friend in Dublin; andto do them justice, Irish seconds, generally speaking, are perfectly freefrom any imputation upon the score of mere delay. No men have lessimpertinent curiosity as to the cause of the quarrel; wisely supposingthat the principals know their own affairs best, they cautiously abstainfrom indulging any prying spirit, but proceed to discharge their functionsas best they may. Accordingly, Sir Harry and Dick were ‘set up,’ as thephrase is, at twelve paces, and to use Boyle’s own words, for I have heardhim relate the story,—

“We blazed away, sir, for three rounds. I put two in his hat and one inhis neckcloth; his shots went all through the skirt of my coat.

“‘We’ll spend the day here,’ says Considine, ‘at this rate. Couldn’t youput them closer?’

“‘And give us a little more time in the word,’ says I.

“‘Exactly,’ said Dick.

“Well, they moved us forward two paces, and set to loading the pistolsagain.

“By this time we were so near that we had full opportunity to scan eachother’s faces. Well, sir, I stared at him, and he at me.

“‘What!’ said I.

“‘Eh!’ said he.

“‘How’s this?’ said I.

“‘You’re not Billy Caples?’ said he.

“‘Devil a bit!’ said I, ‘nor I don’t think you are Archy Devine;’ andfaith, sir, so it appeared, we were fighting away all the morning fornothing; for, somehow, it turned out it was neither of us!”

What amused me most in this anecdote was the hearing it at such a time andplace. That poor Sir Harry’s eccentricities should turn up for discussionon a march in Portugal was singular enough; but after all, life is full ofsuch incongruous accidents. I remember once supping with King Calzoo onthe Blue Mountains, in Jamaica. By way of entertaining his guests, someEnglish officers, he ordered one of his suite to sing. We were of coursepleased at the opportunity of hearing an Indian war-chant, with a skulland thigh-bone accompaniment; but what was our astonishment to hear theIndian,—a ferocious-looking dog, with an awful scalp-lock, and twostreaks of red paint across his chest,—clear his voice well for afew seconds, and then begin, without discomposing a muscle of his gravity,“The Laird of co*ckpen!” I need not say that the “Great Raccoon” was aDumfries man who had quitted Scotland forty years before, and withcharacteristic prosperity had attained his present rank in a foreignservice.

“Halt! halt!” cried a deep-toned, manly voice in the leading column, andthe word was repeated from mouth to mouth to the rear.

We dismounted, and picketing our horses beneath the broad-leaved foliageof the cork-trees, stretched ourselves out at full length upon the grass,while our messmen prepared the dinner. Our party at first consisted ofHixley, Power, the adjutant, and myself; but our number was soon increasedby three officers of the 6th Foot, about to join their regiment.

“Barring the ladies, God bless them!” said Power, “there are no suchpicnics as campaigning presents. The charms of scenery are greatlyenhanced by their coming unexpectedly on you. Your chance good fortune inthe prog has an interest that no ham-and-cold-chicken affair, prepared byyour servants beforehand, and got ready with a degree of fuss and worrythat converts the whole party into an assembly of cooks, can ever afford;and lastly, the excitement that this same life of ours is never without,gives a zest—”

“There you’ve hit it,” cried Hixley; “it’s that same feeling ofuncertainty that those who meet now may ever do so again, full as it is ofsorrowful reflection, that still teaches us, as we become inured to war,to economize our pleasures, and be happy when we may. Your health,O’Malley, and your uncle Godfrey’s too.”

“A little more of the pastry.”

“What a capital guinea fowl this is!”

“That’s some of old Monsoon’s particular port.”

“Pass it round here. Really this is pleasant.”

“My blessing on the man who left that vista yonder! See what a gloriousvalley stretches out there, undulating in its richness; and look at thosedark trees, where just one streak of soft sunlight is kissing their tops,giving them one chaste good-night—”

“Well done, Power!”

“Confound you, you’ve pulled me short, and I was about becoming downrightpastoral. Apropos of kissing, I understand Sir Arthur won’t allow theconvents to be occupied by troops.”

“And apropos of convents,” said I, “let’s hear your story; you promised ita while ago.”

“My dear Charley, it’s far too early in the evening for a story. I shouldrather indulge my poetic fancies here, under the shade of melancholyboughs; and besides, I am not half screwed up yet.”

“Come, Adjutant, let’s have a song.”

“I’ll sing you a Portuguese serenade when the next bottle comes in. Whatcapital port! Have you much of it?”

“Only three dozen. We got it late last night; forged an order from thecommanding officer and sent it up to old Monsoon,—‘for hospitaluse.’ He gave it with a tear in his eye, saying, as the sergeant marchedaway, ‘Only think of such wine for fellows that may be in the next worldbefore morning! It’s a downright sin!’”

“I say, Power, there’s something going on there.”

At this instant the trumpet sounded “boot and saddle,” and like one manthe whole mass rose up, when the scene, late so tranquil, became one ofexcited bustle and confusion. An aide-de-camp galloped past towards theriver, followed by two orderly sergeants; and the next moment Sparks rodeup, his whole equipment giving evidence of a hurried ride, while his cheekwas deadly pale and haggard.

Power presented to him a goblet of sherry, which, having emptied at adraught, he drew a long breath, and said, “They are coming,—comingin force!”

“Who are coming?” said Power. “Take time, man, and collect yourself.”

“The French! I saw them a devilish deal closer than I liked. They woundedone of the orderlies and took the other prisoner.”

“Forward!” said a hoarse voice in the front. “March! trot!” And before wecould obtain any further information from Sparks, whose faculties seemedto have received a terrific shock, we were once more in the saddle, andmoving at a brisk pace onward.

Sparks had barely time to tell us that a large body of French cavalryoccupied the pass of Berar, when he was sent for by General Cotton tofinish his report.

“How frightened the fellow is!” said Hixley.

“I don’t think the worse of poor Sparks for all that,” said Power. “He sawthose fellows for the first time, and no bird’s-eye view of them either.”

“Then we are in for a skirmish, at least,” said I.

“It would appear not, from that,” said Hixley, pointing to the head of thecolumn, which, leaving the high road upon the left, entered the forest bya deep cleft that opened upon a valley traversed by a broad river.

“That looks very like taking up a position, though,” said Power.

“Look,—look down yonder!” cried Hixley, pointing to a dip in theplain beside the river. “Is there not a cavalry picket there?”

“Right, by Jove! I say, Fitzroy,” said Power to an aide-de-camp as hepassed, “what’s going on?”

“Soult has carried Oporto,” cried he, “and Franchesca’s cavalry haveescaped.”

“And who are these fellows in the valley?”

“Our own people coming up.”

In less than half an hour’s brisk trotting we reached the stream, thebanks of which were occupied by two cavalry regiments advancing to themain army; and what was my delight to find that one of them was our owncorps, the 14th Light Dragoons!

“Hurra!” cried Power, waving his cap as he came up. “How are you,Sedgewick? Baker, my hearty, how goes it? How is Hampton and the colonel?”

In an instant we were surrounded by our brother officers, who all shook mecordially by the hand, and welcomed me to the regiment with mostgratifying warmth.

“One of us,” said Power, with a knowing look, as he introduced me; and thefreemasonry of these few words secured me a hearty greeting.

“Halt! halt! Dismount!” sounded again from front to rear; and in a fewminutes we were once more stretched upon the grass, beneath the deep andmellow moonlight, while the bright stream ran placidly beside us,reflecting on its calm surface the varied groups as they lounged or sataround the blazing fires of the bivouac.

CHAPTER XLIV.

THE BIVOUAC.

When I contrasted the gay and lively tone of the conversation which ran onaround our bivouac fire, with the dry monotony and prosaic tediousness ofmy first military dinner at Cork, I felt how much the spirit and adventureof a soldier’s life can impart of chivalrous enthusiasm to even thedullest and least susceptible. I saw even many who under commoncirc*mstances, would have possessed no interest nor excited any curiosity,but now, connected as they were with the great events occurring aroundthem, absolutely became heroes; and it was with a strange, wild throbbingof excitement I listened to the details of movements and marches, whoseobjects I knew not, but in which the magical words, Corunna, Vimeira, weremixed up, and gave to the circ*mstances an interest of the highestcharacter. How proud, too, I felt to be the companion-in-arms of suchfellows! Here they sat, the tried and proved soldiers of a hundred fights,treating me as their brother and their equal. Who need wonder if I felt asense of excited pleasure? Had I needed such a stimulant, that nightbeneath the cork-trees had been enough to arouse a passion for the army inmy heart, and an irrepressible determination to seek for a soldier’sglory.

“Fourteenth!” called out a voice from the wood behind; and in a momentafter, the aide-de-camp appeared with a mounted orderly.

“Colonel Merivale?” said he, touching his cap to the stalwart,soldier-like figure before him.

The colonel bowed.

“Sir Stapleton Cotton desires me to request that at an early hourto-morrow you will occupy the pass, and cover the march of the troops. Itis his wish that all the reinforcements should arrive at Oporto by noon. Ineed scarcely add that we expect to be engaged with the enemy.”

These few words were spoken hurriedly, and again saluting our party, heturned his horse’s head and continued his way towards the rear.

“There’s news for you, Charley,” said Power, slapping me on the shoulder.“Lucy Dashwood or Westminster Abbey!”

“The regiment was never in finer condition, that’s certain,” said thecolonel, “and most eager for a brush with the enemy.”

“How your old friend, the count, would have liked this work!” said Hixley.“Gallant fellow he was.”

“Come,” cried Power, “here’s a fresh bowl coming. Let’s drink the ladies,wherever they be; we most of us have some soft spot on that score.”

“Yes,” said the adjutant, singing,—

“Here’s to the maiden of blushing fifteen;Here’s to the damsel that’s merry;Here’s to the flaunting extravagant quean—” 

“And,” sang Power, interrupting,—

“Here’s to the ‘Widow of Derry.’” 

“Come, come, Fred, no more quizzing on that score. It’s the only thingever gives me a distaste to the service,—the souvenir of thatadventure. When I reflect what I might have been, and think what I am;when I contrast a Brussels carpet with wet grass, silk hangings with acanvas tent, Sneyd’s claret with ration brandy, and Sir Arthur for aCommander-in-Chief vice Boggs, a widow—”

“Stop there!” cried Hixley. “Without disparaging the fair widow, there’snothing beats campaigning, after all. Eh, Fred?”

“And to prove it,” said the colonel, “Power will sing us a song.”

Power took his pencil from his pocket, and placing the back of a letteracross his shako, commenced inditing his lyric, saying, as he did so, “I’myour man in five minutes. Just fill my glass in the mean time.”

“That fellow beats Dibdin hollow,” whispered the adjutant. “I’ll be hangedif he’ll not knock you off a song like lightning.”

“I understand,” said Hixley, “they have some intention at the Horse Guardsof having all the general orders set to popular tunes, and sung at everymess in the service. You’ve heard that, I suppose, Sparks?”

“I confess I had not before.”

“It will certainly come very hard upon the subalterns,” continued Hixley,with much gravity. “They’ll have to brush up their sol mi fas. Allthe solos are to be their part.”

“What rhymes with slaughter?” said Power.

“Brandy-and-water,” said the adjutant.

“Now, then,” said Power, “are you all ready?”

“Ready.”

“You must chorus, mind; and mark me, take care you give the hip-hip-hurrawell, as that’s the whole force of the chant. Take the time from me. Nowfor it. Air, ‘Garryowen,’ with spirit, but not too quick.

“Now that we’ve pledged each eye of blue,And every maiden fair and true,And our green island home,—to youThe ocean’s wave adorning,Let’s give one Hip-hip-hip-hurra!And, drink e’en to the coming day,When, squadron square,We’ll all be there,To meet the French in the morning.“May his bright laurels never fade,Who leads our fighting fifth brigade,Those lads so true in heart and blade,And famed for danger scorning.So join me in one Hip-hurra!And drink e’en to the coming day,When, squadron square,We’ll all be there,To meet the French in the morning.“And when with years and honors crowned,You sit some homeward hearth around,And hear no more the stirring soundThat spoke the trumpet’s warning,You’ll fill and drink, one Hip-hurra!And pledge the memory of the day,When, squadron square,They all were there,To meet the French in the morning.” 

“Gloriously done, Fred!” cried Hixley. “If I ever get my deserts in thisworld, I’ll make you Laureate to the Forces, with a hogshead of your ownnative whiskey for every victory of the army.”

“A devilish good chant,” said Merivale, “but the air surpasses anything Iever heard,—thoroughly Irish, I take it.”

“Irish! upon my conscience, I believe you!” shouted O’Shaughnessy, with anenergy of voice and manner that created a hearty laugh on all sides. “It’sfew people ever mistook it for a Venetian melody. Hand over the punch,—thesherry, I mean. When I was in the Clare militia, we always went in todinner to ‘Tatter Jack Walsh,’ a sweet air, and had ‘Garryowen’ for aquick-step. Ould M’Manus, when he got the regiment, wanted to change: hesaid, they were damned vulgar tunes, and wanted to have ‘Rule Britannia,’or the ‘Hundredth Psalm;’ but we would not stand it; there would have beena mutiny in the corps.”

“The same fellow, wasn’t he, that you told the story of, the otherevening, in Lisbon?” said I.

“The same. Well, what a character he was! As pompous and conceited alittle fellow as ever you met with; and then, he was so bullied by hiswife, he always came down to revenge it on the regiment. She was a fine,showy, vulgar woman, with a most cherishing affection for all the goodthings in this life, except her husband, whom she certainly held in duecontempt. ‘Ye little crayture,’ she’d say to him with a sneer, ‘it illbecomes you to drink and sing, and be making a man of yourself. If youwere like O’Shaughnessy there, six foot three in his stockings—‘Well,well, it looks like boasting; but no matter. Here’s her health, anyway.”

“I knew you were tender in that quarter,” said Power, “I heard it whenquartered in Limerick.”

“May be you heard, too, how I paid off Mac, when he came down on a visitto that county?”

“Never: let’s hear it now.”

“Ay, O’Shaughnessy, now’s your time; the fire’s a good one, the nightfine, and liquor plenty.”

“I’m convanient,” said O’Shaughnessy, as depositing his enormouslegs on each side of the burning fa*gots, and placing a bottle between hisknees he began his story:—

“It was a cold rainy night in January, in the year ‘98, I took my place inthe Limerick mail, to go down for a few days to the west country. As thewaiter of the Hibernian came to the door with a lantern, I just caught aglimpse of the other insides; none of whom were known to me, exceptColonel M’Manus, that I met once in a boarding-house in Molcsworth Street.I did not, at the time, think him a very agreeable companion; but whenmorning broke, and we began to pay our respects to each other in thecoach, I leaned over, and said, ‘I hope you’re well, Colonel M’Manus,’just by way of civility like. He didn’t hear me at first; so that I saidit again, a little louder.

“I wish you saw the look he gave me; he drew himself up to the height ofhis cotton umbrella, put his chin inside his cravat, pursed up his dry,shrivelled lips, and with a voice he meant to be awful, replied:—

“‘You appear to have the advantage of me.’

“‘Upon my conscience, you’re right,’ said I, looking down at myself, andthen over at him, at which the other travellers burst out a laughing,—‘Ithink there’s few will dispute that point.’ When the laugh was over, Iresumed,—for I was determined not to let him off so easily. ‘Sure Imet you at Mrs. Cayle’s,’ said I; ‘and, by the same token, it was aFriday, I remember it well,—may be you didn’t pitch into the saltcod? I hope it didn’t disagree with you?’

“‘I beg to repeat, sir, that you are under a mistake,’ said he.

“‘May be so, indeed,’ said I. ‘May be you’re not Colonel M’Manus at all;may be you wasn’t in a passion for losing seven-and-sixpence at loo withMrs. Moriarty; may be you didn’t break the lamp in the hall with yourumbrella, pretending you touched it with your head, and wasn’t withinthree foot of it; may be Counsellor Brady wasn’t going to put you in thebox of the Foundling Hospital, if you wouldn’t behave quietly in thestreets—’

“Well, with this the others laughed so heartily, that I could not go on;and the next stage the bold colonel got outside with the guard and nevercame in till we reached Limerick. I’ll never forget his face, as he gotdown at Swinburne’s Hotel. ‘Good-by, Colonel,’ said I; but he wouldn’ttake the least notice of my politeness, but with a frown of utterdefiance, he turned on his heel and walked away.

“‘I haven’t done with you yet,’ says I; and, faith, I kept my word.

“I hadn’t gone ten yards down the street, when I met my old friend DarbyO’Grady.

“‘Shaugh, my boy,’ says he,—he called me that way for shortness,—‘dinewith me to-day at Mosey’s; a green goose and gooseberries; six to aminute.’

“‘Who have you?’ says I.

“‘Tom Keane and the Wallers, a counsellor or two, and one M’Manus, fromDublin.’

“‘The colonel?’

“‘The same,’ said he.

“‘I’m there, Darby!’ said I; ‘but mind, you never saw me before.’

“‘What?’ said he.

“‘You never set eyes on me before; mind that.’

“‘I understand,’ said Darby, with a wink; and we parted.

“I certainly was never very particular about dressing for dinner, but onthis day I spent a considerable time at my toilet; and when I looked in myglass at its completion, was well satisfied that I had done myselfjustice. A waistcoat of brown rabbit-skin with flaps, a red worstedcomforter round my neck, an old gray shooting-jacket with a brown patch onthe arm, corduroys, and leather gaiters, with a tremendous oak cudgel inmy hand, made me a most presentable figure for a dinner party.

“‘Will I do, Darby?’ says I, as he came into my room before dinner.

“‘If it’s for robbing the mail you are,’ says he, ‘nothing could bebetter. Your father wouldn’t know you!’

“‘Would I be the better of a wig?’

“‘Leave your hair alone,’ said he. ‘It’s painting the lily to alter it.’

“‘Well, God’s will be done,’ says I, ‘so come now.’

“Well, just as the clock struck six I saw the colonel coming out of hisroom, in a suit of most accurate sable, stockings, and pumps. Down-stairshe went, and I heard the waiter announce him.

“‘Now’s my time,’ thought I, as I followed slowly after.

“When I reached the door I heard several voices within, among which Irecognized some ladies. Darby had not told me about them. ‘But no matter,’said I; ‘it’s all as well;’ so I gave a gentle tap at the door with myknuckles.

“‘Come in,’ said Darby.

“I opened the door slowly, and putting in only my head and shoulders tooka cautious look round the room.

“‘I beg pardon, gentlemen,’ said I, ‘but I was only looking for oneColonel M’Manus, and as he is not here—’

“‘Pray walk in, sir,’ said O’Grady, with a polite bow. ‘Colonel M’Manus ishere. There’s no intrusion whatever. I say, Colonel,’ said he turninground, ‘a gentleman here desires to—’

“‘Never mind it now,’ said I, as I stepped cautiously into the room, ‘he’sgoing to dinner; another time will do just as well.’

“‘Pray come in!’

“‘I could not think of intruding—’

“‘I must protest,’ said M’Manus, coloring up, ‘that I cannot understandthis gentleman’s visit.’

“‘It is a little affair I have to settle with him,’ said I, with a fiercelook that I saw produced its effect.

“‘Then perhaps you would do me the very great favor to join him atdinner,’ said O’Grady. ‘Any friend of Colonel M’Manus—’

“‘You are really too good,’ said I; ‘but as an utter stranger—’

“‘Never think of that for a moment. My friend’s friend, as the adagesays.’

“‘Upon my conscience, a good saying,’ said I, ‘but you see there’s anotherdifficulty. I’ve ordered a chop and potatoes up in No. 5.’

“‘Let that be no obstacle,’ said O’Grady. ‘The waiter shall put it in mybill; if you will only do me the pleasure.’

“‘You’re a trump,’ said I. ‘What’s your name?’

“‘O’Grady, at your service.’

“‘Any relation of the counsellor?’ said I. ‘They’re all one family, theO’Gradys. I’m Mr. O’Shaughnessy, from Ennis; won’t you introduce me to theladies?’

“While the ceremony of presentation was going on I caught one glance atM’Manus, and had hard work not to roar out laughing. Such an expression ofsurprise, amazement, indignation, rage, and misery never was mixed up inone face before. Speak he could not; and I saw that, except for myself, hehad neither eyes, ears, nor senses for anything around him. Just at thismoment dinner was announced, and in we went. I never was in such spiritsin my life; the trick upon M’Manus had succeeded perfectly; he believed inhis heart that I had never met O’Grady in my life before, and that uponthe faith of our friendship, I had received my invitation. As for me, Ispared him but little. I kept up a running fire of droll stories, had theladies in fits of laughing, made everlasting allusions to the colonel;and, in a word, ere the soup had disappeared, except himself, the companywas entirely with me.

“‘O’Grady,’ said I, ‘forgive the freedom, but I feel as if we were oldacquaintances.’

“‘As Colonel M’Manus’s friend,’ said he, ‘you can take no liberty here towhich you are not perfectly welcome.’

“‘Just what I expected,’ said I. ‘Mac and I,’—I wish you saw hisface when I called him Mac,—‘Mac and I were schoolfellowsfive-and-thirty years ago; though he forgets me, I don’t forget him,—tobe sure it would be hard for me. I’m just thinking of the day BishopOulahan came over to visit the college. Mac was coming in at the door ofthe refectory as the bishop was going out. “Take off your caubeen, youyoung scoundrel, and kneel down for his reverence to bless you,” said oneof the masters, giving his hat a blow at the same moment that sent itflying to the other end of the room, and with it, about twenty ripe pearsthat Mac had just stolen in the orchard, and had in his hat. I wish youonly saw the bishop; and Mac himself, he was a picture. Well, well, youforget it all now, but I remember it as if it was only yesterday. Anychampagne, Mr. O’Grady? I’m mighty dry.’

“‘Of course,’ said Darby. ‘Waiter, some champagne here.’

“‘Ah, it’s himself was the boy for every kind of fun and devilment, quietand demure as he looks over there. Mac, your health. It’s not every day ofthe week we get champagne.’

“He laid down his knife and fork as I said this; his face and temples grewdeep purple; his eyes started as if they would spring from his head; andhe put both his hands to his forehead, as if trying to assure himself thatit was not some horrid dream.

“‘A little slice more of the turkey,’ said I, ‘and then, O’Grady, I’ll tryyour hock. It’s a wine I’m mighty fond of, and so is Mac there. Oh, it’sseldom, to tell you the truth, it troubles us. There, fill up the glass;that’s it. Here now, Darby,—that’s your name, I think,—you’llnot think I’m taking a liberty in giving a toast? Here then, I’ll giveM’Manus’s health, with all the honors; though it’s early yet, to be sure,but we’ll do it again, by-and-by, when the whiskey comes. Here’s M’Manus’sgood health; and though his wife, they say, does not treat him well, andkeeps him down—’

“The roar of laughing that interrupted me here was produced by theexpression of poor Mac’s face. He had started up from the table, andleaning with both his hands upon it, stared round upon the company like amaniac,—his mouth and eyes wide open, and his hair actuallybristling with amazement. Thus he remained for a full minute, gasping likea fish in a landing-net. It seemed a hard struggle for him to believe hewas not deranged. At last his eyes fell upon me; he uttered a deep groan,and with a voice tremulous with rage, thundered out,—

“‘The scoundrel! I never saw him before.’

“He rushed from the room, and gained the street. Before our roar oflaughter was over he had secured post-horses, and was galloping towardsEnnis at the top speed of his cattle.

“He exchanged at once into the line; but they say that he caught a glimpseof my name in the army list, and sold out the next morning; be that as itmay, we never met since.”

I have related O’Shaughnessy’s story here, rather from the memory I haveof how we all laughed at it at the time, than from any feeling as to itsreal desert; but when I think of the voice, look, accent, and gesture ofthe narrator, I can scarcely keep myself from again giving way tolaughter.

CHAPTER XLV.

THE DOURO.

Never did the morning break more beautifully than on the 12th of May,1809. Huge masses of fog-like vapor had succeeded to the starry, cloudlessnight, but one by one, they moved onwards towards the sea, disclosing asthey passed long tracts of lovely country, bathed in a rich golden glow.The broad Douro, with its transparent current, shone out like abright-colored ribbon, meandering through the deep garment of fairestgreen; the darkly shadowed mountains which closed the background loomedeven larger than they were; while their summits were tipped with theyellow glory of the morning. The air was calm and still, and the verysmoke that arose from the peasant’s cot labored as it ascended through theperfumed air, and save the ripple of the stream, all was silent as thegrave.

The squadron of the 14th, with which I was, had diverged from the roadbeside the river, and to obtain a shorter path, had entered the skirts ofa dark pine wood; our pace was a sharp one; an orderly had been alreadydespatched to hasten our arrival, and we pressed on at a brisk trot. Inless than an hour we reached the verge of the wood, and as we rode outupon the plain, what a spectacle met our eyes! Before us, in a narrowvalley separated from the river by a low ridge, were picketed threecavalry regiments; their noiseless gestures and perfect stillnessbe-speaking at once that they were intended for a surprise party. Fartherdown the stream, and upon the opposite side, rose the massive towers andtall spires of Oporto, displaying from their summits the broad ensign ofFrance; while far as the eye could reach, the broad dark masses of troopsmight be seen; the intervals between their columns glittering with thebright equipments of their cavalry, whose steel caps and lances weresparkling in the sun-beams. The bivouac fires were still smouldering, andmarking where some part of the army had passed the night; for early as itwas, it was evident that their position had been changed; and even now,the heavy masses of dark infantry might be seen moving from place toplace, while the long line of the road to Vallonga was marked with a vastcloud of dust. The French drum and the light infantry bugle told, fromtime to time, that orders were passing among the troops; while theglittering uniform of a staff officer, as he galloped from the town,bespoke the note of preparation.

“Dismount! Steady; quietly, my lads,” said the colonel, as he alightedupon the grass. “Let the men have their breakfast.”

The little amphitheatre we occupied hid us entirely from all observationon the part of the enemy, but equally so excluded us from perceiving theirmovements. It may readily be supposed then, with what impatience we waitedhere, while the din and clangor of the French force, as they marched andcountermarched so near us, were clearly audible. The orders were, however,strict that none should approach the bank of the river, and we layanxiously awaiting the moment when this inactivity should cease. More thanone orderly had arrived among us, bearing despatches from headquarters;but where our main body was, or what the nature of the orders, no onecould guess. As for me, my excitement was at its height, and I could notspeak for the very tension of my nerves. The officers stood in littlegroups of two and three, whispering anxiously together; but all I couldcollect was, that Soult had already begun his retreat upon Amarante, andthat, with the broad stream of the Douro between us, he defied ourpursuit.

“Well, Charley,” said Power, laying his arm upon my shoulder, “the Frenchhave given us the slip this time; they are already in march, and even ifwe dared force a passage in the face of such an enemy, it seems there isnot a boat to be found. I have just seen Hammersley.”

“Indeed! Where is he?” said I.

“He’s gone back to Villa de Conde; he asked after you most particularly.Don’t blush, man; I’d rather back your chance than his, notwithstandingthe long letter that Lucy sends him. Poor fellow, he has been badlywounded, but, it seems, declines going back to England.”

“Captain Power,” said an orderly, touching his cap, “General Murraydesires to see you.”

Power hastened away, but returned in a few moments.

“I say, Charley, there’s something in the wind here. I have just beenordered to try where the stream is fordable. I’ve mentioned your name tothe general, and I think you’ll be sent for soon. Good-by.”

I buckled on my sword, and looking to my girths, stood watching the groupsaround me; when suddenly a dragoon pulled his horse short up, and asked aman near me if Mr. O’Malley was there.

“Yes; I am he.”

“Orders from General Murray, sir,” said the man, and rode off at a canter.

I opened and saw that the despatch was addressed to Sir Arthur Wellesley,with the mere words, “With haste!” on the envelope.

Now, which way to turn I knew not; so springing into the saddle, Igalloped to where Colonel Merivale was standing talking to the colonel ofa heavy dragoon regiment.

“May I ask, sir, by which road I am to proceed with this despatch?”

“Along the river, sir,” said the heavy ———, a largedark-browed man, with a most forbidding look. “You’ll soon see the troops;you’d better stir yourself, sir, or Sir Arthur is not very likely to bepleased with you.”

Without venturing a reply to what I felt a somewhat unnecessary taunt, Idashed spurs into my horse, and turned towards the river. I had not gainedthe bank above a minute, when the loud ringing of a rifle struck upon myear; bang went another, and another. I hurried on, however, at the top ofmy speed, thinking only of my mission and its pressing haste. As I turnedan angle of the stream, the vast column of the British came in sight, andscarcely had my eye rested upon them when my horse staggered forwards,plunged twice with his head nearly to the earth, and then, rearing madlyup, fell backwards to the ground. Crushed and bruised as I felt by myfall, I was soon aroused to the necessity of exertion; for as I disengagedmyself from the poor beast, I discovered he had been killed by a bullet inthe counter; and scarcely had I recovered my legs when a shot struck myshako and grazed my temples. I quickly threw myself to the ground, andcreeping on for some yards, reached at last some rising ground, from whichI rolled gently downwards into a little declivity, sheltered by the bankfrom the French fire.

When I arrived at headquarters, I was dreadfully fatigued and heated; butresolving not to rest till I had delivered my despatches, I hastenedtowards the convent of La Sierra, where I was told the commander-in-chiefwas.

As I came into the court of the convent, filled with general officers andpeople of the staff, I was turning to ask how I should proceed, whenHixley caught my eye.

“Well, O’Malley, what brings you here?”

“Despatches from General Murray.”

“Indeed; oh, follow me.”

He hurried me rapidly through the buzzing crowd, and ascending a largegloomy stair, introduced me into a room, where about a dozen persons inuniform were writing at a long deal table.

“Captain Gordon,” said he, addressing one of them, “despatches requiringimmediate attention have just been brought by this officer.”

Before the sentence was finished the door opened, and a short, slight man,in a gray undress coat, with a white cravat and a co*cked hat, entered. Thedead silence that ensued was not necessary to assure me that he was one inauthority,—the look of command his bold, stern features presented;the sharp, piercing eye, the compressed lip, the impressive expression ofthe whole face, told plainly that he was one who held equally himself andothers in mastery.

“Send General Sherbroke here,” said he to an aide-de-camp. “Let the lightbrigade march into position;” and then turning suddenly to me, “Whosedespatches are these?”

“General Murray’s, sir.”

I needed no more than that look to assure me that this was he of whom Ihad heard so much, and of whom the world was still to hear so much more.

He opened them quickly, and glancing his eye across the contents, crushedthe paper in his hand. Just as he did so, a spot of blood upon theenvelope attracted his attention.

“How’s this,—are you wounded?”

“No, sir; my horse was killed—”

“Very well, sir; join your brigade. But stay, I shall have orders for you.Well, Waters, what news?”

This question was addressed to an officer in a staff uniform, who enteredat the moment, followed by the short and bulky figure of a monk, hisshaven crown and large cassock strongly contrasting with the gorgeousglitter of the costumes around him.

“I say, who have we here?”

“The Prior of Amarante, sir,” replied Waters, “who has just come over. Wehave already, by his aid, secured three large barges—”

“Let the artillery take up position in the convent at once,” said SirArthur, interrupting. “The boats will be brought round to the small creekbeneath the orchard. You, sir,” turning to me, “will convey to GeneralMurray—but you appear weak. You, Gordon, will desire Murray toeffect a crossing at Avintas with the Germans and the 14th. Sherbroke’sdivision will occupy the Villa Nuova. What number of men can that seminarytake?”

“From three to four hundred, sir. The padre mentions that all thevigilance of the enemy is limited to the river below the town.”

“I perceive it,” was the short reply of Sir Arthur, as placing his handscarelessly behind his back, he walked towards the window, and looked outupon the river.

All was still as death in the chamber; not a lip murmured. The feeling ofrespect for him in whose presence we were standing checked every thoughtof utterance; while the stupendous gravity of the events before usengrossed every mind and occupied every heart. I was standing near thewindow; the effect of my fall had stunned me for a time, but I wasgradually recovering, and watched with a thrilling heart the scene beforeme. Great and absorbing as was my interest in what was passing without, itwas nothing compared with what I felt as I looked at him upon whom ourdestiny was then hanging. I had ample time to scan his features andcanvass their every lineament. Never before did I look upon such perfectimpassibility; the cold, determined expression was crossed by no show ofpassion or impatience. All was rigid and motionless, and whatever mighthave been the workings of the spirit within, certainly no external signbetrayed them; and yet what a moment for him must that have been! Beforehim, separated by a deep and rapid river, lay the conquering legions ofFrance, led on by one second alone to him whose very name had been the prestigeof victory. Unprovided with every regular means of transport, in the broadglare of day, in open defiance of their serried ranks and thunderingartillery, he dared the deed. What must have been his confidence in thesoldiers he commanded! What must have been his reliance upon his owngenius! As such thoughts rushed through my mind, the door opened and anofficer entered hastily, and whispering a few words to Colonel Waters,left the room.

“One boat is already brought up to the crossing-place, and entirelyconcealed by the wall of the orchard.”

“Let the men cross,” was the brief reply.

No other word was spoken as, turning from the window, he closed histelescope, and followed by all the others, descended to the courtyard.

This simple order was enough; an officer with a company of the Buffsembarked, and thus began the passage of the Douro.

So engrossed was I in my vigilant observation of our leader, that I wouldgladly have remained at the convent, when I received an order to join mybrigade, to which a detachment of artillery was already proceeding.

As I reached Avintas all was in motion. The cavalry was in readinessbeside the river; but as yet no boats had been discovered, and such wasthe impatience of the men to cross, it was with difficulty they wereprevented trying the passage by swimming, when suddenly Power appearedfollowed by several fishermen. Three or four small skiffs had been found,half sunk in mud, among the rushes, and with such frail assistance wecommenced to cross.

“There will be something to write home to Galway soon, Charley, or I’mterribly mistaken,” said Fred, as he sprang into the boat beside me. “WasI not a true prophet when I told you ‘We’d meet the French in themorning?’”

“They’re at it already,” said Hixley, as a wreath of blue smoke floatedacross the stream below us, and the loud boom of a large gun resoundedthrough the air.

Then came a deafening shout, followed by a rattling volley of small arms,gradually swelling into a hot sustained fire, through which the cannonpealed at intervals. Several large meadows lay along the river-side, whereour brigade was drawn up as the detachments landed from the boats; andhere, although nearly a league distant from the town, we now heard the dinand crash of battle, which increased every moment. The cannonade from theSierra convent, which at first was merely the fire of single guns, nowthundered away in one long roll, amidst which the sounds of falling wallsand crashing roofs were mingled. It was evident to us, from the continualfire kept up, that the landing had been effected; while the swelling tideof musketry told that fresh troops were momentarily coming up.

In less than twenty minutes our brigade was formed, and we now only waitedfor two light four-pounders to be landed, when an officer galloped up inhaste, and called out,—

“The French are in retreat!” and pointing at the same moment to theVallonga road, we saw a long line of smoke and dust leading from the town,through which, as we gazed, the colors of the enemy might be seen as theydefiled, while the unbroken lines of the wagons and heavy baggage provedthat it was no partial movement, but the army itself retreating.

“Fourteenth, threes about! close up! trot!” called out the loud and manlyvoice of our leader, and the heavy tramp of our squadrons shook the veryground as we advanced towards the road to Vallonga.

As we came on, the scene became one of overwhelming excitement; the massesof the enemy that poured unceasingly from the town could now bedistinguished more clearly; and amidst all the crash of gun-carriages andcaissons, the voices of the staff officers rose high as they hurried alongthe retreating battalions. A troop of flying artillery galloped forth attop speed, and wheeling their guns into position with the speed oflightning, prepared, by a flanking fire, to cover the retiring column. Thegunners sprang from their seats, the guns were already unlimbered, whenSir George Murray, riding up at our left, called out,—

“Forward! close up! Charge!”

The word was scarcely spoken when the loud cheer answered the welcomesound, and the same instant the long line of shining helmets passed withthe speed of a whirlwind; the pace increased at every stride, the ranksgrew closer, and like the dread force of some mighty engine we fell uponthe foe. I have felt all the glorious enthusiasm of a fox-hunt, when theloud cry of the hounds, answered by the cheer of the joyous huntsman,stirred the very heart within, but never till now did I know how farhigher the excitement reaches, when man to man, sabre to sabre, arm toarm, we ride forward to the battle-field. On we went, the loud shout of“Forward!” still ringing in our ears. One broken, irregular discharge fromthe French guns shook the head of our advancing column, but stayed us notas we galloped madly on.

I remember no more. The din, the smoke, the crash, the cry for quarter,mingled with the shout of victory, the flying enemy, the agonizing shrieksof the wounded,—all are commingled in my mind, but leave no trace ofclearness or connection between them; and it was only when the columnwheeled to reform behind the advancing squadrons, that I awoke from mytrance of maddening excitement, and perceived that we had carried theposition and cut off the guns of the enemy.

“Well done, 14th!” said an old gray-headed colonel, as he rode along ourline,—“gallantly done, lads!” The blood trickled from a sabre cut onhis temple, along his cheek, as he spoke; but he either knew it not orheeded it not.

“There go the Germans!” said Power, pointing to the remainder of ourbrigade, as they charged furiously upon the French infantry, and rodethem down in masses.

Our guns came up at this time, and a plunging fire was opened upon thethick and retreating ranks of the enemy. The carnage must have beenterrific, for the long breaches in their lines showed where the squadronsof the cavalry had passed, or the most destructive tide of the artilleryhad swept through them. The speed of the flying columns grew momentarilymore; the road became blocked up, too, by broken carriages and wounded;and to add to their discomfiture, a damaging fire now opened from the townupon the retreating column, while the brigade of Guards and the 29thpressed hotly on their rear.

The scene was now beyond anything maddening in its interest. From thewalls of Oporto the English infantry poured forth in pursuit, while thewhole river was covered with boats as they still continued to cross over.The artillery thundered from the Sierra to protect the landing, for it waseven still contested in places; and the cavalry, charging in flank, sweptthe broken ranks and bore down upon the squares.

It was now, when the full tide of victory ran highest in our favor, thatwe were ordered to retire from the road. Column after column passed beforeus, unmolested and unassailed, and not even a cannon-shot arrested theirsteps.

Some unaccountable timidity of our leader directed this movement; andwhile before our very eyes the gallant infantry were charging the retiringcolumns, we remained still and inactive.

How little did the sense of praise we had already won repay us for theshame and indignation we experienced at this moment, as with burning checkand compressed lip we watched the retreating files. “What can he mean?” “Is there not some mistake?” “Are we never to charge?” were the mutteredquestions around, as a staff officer galloped up with the order to takeground still farther back, and nearer to the river.

The word was scarcely spoken when a young officer, in the uniform of ageneral, dashed impetuously up; he held his plumed cap high above hishead, as he called out, “14th, follow me! Left face! wheel! charge!”

So, with the word, we were upon them. The French rear-guard was at thismoment at the narrowest part of the road, which opened by a bridge upon alarge open space; so that, forming with a narrow front and favored by adeclivity in the ground, we actually rode them down. Twice the Frenchformed, and twice were they broken. Meanwhile the carnage was dreadful onboth sides, our fellows dashing madly forward where the ranks werethickest, the enemy resisting with the stubborn courage of men fightingfor their last spot of ground. So impetuous was the charge of oursquadrons, that we stopped not till, piercing the dense column of theretreating mass, we reached the open ground beyond. Here we wheeled andprepared once more to meet them, when suddenly some squadrons ofcuirassiers debouched from the road, and supported by a field-piece,showed front against us. This was the moment that the remainder of ourbrigade should have come to our aid, but not a man appeared. However,there was not an instant to be lost; already the plunging fire of thefour-pounder had swept through our files, and every moment increased ourdanger.

“Once more, my lads, forward!” cried out our gallant leader, Sir CharlesStewart, as waving his sabre, he dashed into the thickest of the fray.

So sudden was our charge that we were upon them before they were prepared.And here ensued a terrific struggle; for as the cavalry of the enemy gaveway before us, we came upon the close ranks of the infantry at half-pistoldistance, who poured a withering volley into us as we approached. But whatcould arrest the sweeping torrent of our brave fellows, though everymoment falling in numbers?

Harvey, our major, lost his arm near the shoulder. Scarcely an officer wasnot wounded. Power received a deep sabre-cut in the cheek from anaide-de-camp of General Foy, in return for a wound he gave the general;while I, in my endeavor to save General Laborde when unhorsed, was cutdown through the helmet, and so stunned that I remembered no more aroundme. I kept my saddle, it is true, but I lost every sense of consciousness,my first glimmering of reason coming to my aid as I lay upon the riverbank and felt my faithful follower Mike bathing my temples with water, ashe kept up a running fire of lamentations for my being murthered soyoung.

“Are you better, Mister Charles? Spake to me, alanah! Say that you’re notkilt, darling; do now. Oh, wirra! what’ll I ever say to the master? andyou doing so beautiful! Wouldn’t he give the best baste in his stable tobe looking at you to-day? There, take a sup; it’s only water. Bad luck tothem, but it’s hard work beatin’ them. They ‘re only gone now. That’sright; now you’re coming to.”

“Where am I, Mike?”

“It’s here you are, darling, resting yourself.”

“Well, Charley, my poor fellow, you’ve got sore bones, too,” cried Power,as, his face swathed in bandages and covered with blood, he lay down onthe grass beside me. “It was a gallant thing while it lasted, but has costus dearly. Poor Hixley—”

“What of him?” said I, anxiously.

“Poor fellow, he has seen his last battle-field! He fell across me as wecame out upon the road. I lifted him up in my arms and bore him alongabove fifty yards; but he was stone dead. Not a sigh, not a word escapedhim; shot through the forehead.” As he spoke, his lips trembled, and hisvoice sank to a mere whisper at the last words: “You remember what he saidlast night. Poor fellow, he was every inch a soldier.”

Such was his epitaph.

I turned my head towards the scene of our late encounter. Some dismountedguns and broken wagons alone marked the spot; while far in the distance,the dust of the retreating columns showed the beaten enemy as they hurriedtowards the frontiers of Spain.

CHAPTER XLVI.

THE MORNING.

There are few sadder things in life than the day after a battle. Thehigh-beating hope, the bounding spirits, have passed away, and in theirstead comes the depressing reaction by which every overwrought excitementis followed. With far different eyes do we look upon the compact ranks andglistening files,—

With helm arrayed,And lance and blade,And plume in the gay wind dancing!

and upon the cold and barren heath, whose only memory of the past is theblood-stained turf, a mangled corpse, the broken gun, the shattered wall,the well-trodden earth where columns stood, the cut-up ground wherecavalry had charged,—these are the sad relics of all the chivalry ofyesterday.

The morning which followed the battle of the Douro was one of the mostbeautiful I ever remember. There was that kind of freshness and elasticityin the air which certain days possess, and communicate by some magic theirproperties to ourselves. The thrush was singing gayly out from every groveand wooded dell; the very river had a sound of gladness as it rippled onagainst its sedgy banks; the foliage, too, sparkled in the fresh dew, asin its robes of holiday, and all looked bright and happy.

We were picketed near the river, upon a gently rising ground, from whichthe view extended for miles in every direction. Above us, the stream camewinding down amidst broad and fertile fields of tall grass and wavingcorn, backed by deep and mellow woods, which were lost to the view uponthe distant hills; below, the river, widening as it went, pursued astraighter course, or turned with bolder curves, till, passing beneath thetown, it spread into a large sheet of glassy water as it opened to thesea. The sun was just rising as I looked upon this glorious scene, andalready the tall spires of Oporto were tipped with a bright rosy hue,while the massive towers and dark walls threw their lengthened shadows faracross the plain.

The fires of the bivouac still burned, but all slept around them. Not asound was heard save the tramp of a patrol or the short, quick cry of thesentry. I sat lost in meditation, or rather in that state of dreamythoughtfulness in which the past and present are combined, and the absentare alike before us as are the things we look upon.

One moment I felt as though I were describing to my uncle the battle ofthe day before, pointing out where we stood, and how we charged; thenagain I was at home, beside the broad, bleak Shannon, and the brown hillsof Scariff. I watched with beating heart the tall Sierra, where our pathlay for the future, and then turned my thoughts to him whose name was sosoon to be received in England with a nation’s pride and gratitude, andpanted for a soldier’s glory.

As thus I followed every rising fancy, I heard a step approach; it was afigure muffled in a cavalry cloak, which I soon perceived to be Power.

“Charley!” said he, in a half-whisper, “get up and come with me. You areaware of the general order, that while in pursuit of an enemy, allmilitary honors to the dead are forbidden; but we wish to place our poorcomrade in the earth before we leave.”

I followed down a little path, through a grave of tall beech-trees, thatopened upon a little grassy terrace beside the river. A stunted olive-treestood by itself in the midst, and there I found five of our brotherofficers standing, wrapped in their wide cloaks. As we pressed eachother’s hands, not a word was spoken. Each heart was full; and hardfeatures that never quailed before the foe were now shaken with theconvulsive spasm of agony or compressed with stern determination to seemcalm.

A cavalry helmet and a large blue cloak lay upon the grass. The narrowgrave was already dug beside it; and in the deathlike stillness around,the service for the dead was read. The last words were over. We stoopedand placed the corpse, wrapped up in the broad mantle, in the earth; wereplaced the mould, and stood silently around the spot. The trumpet of ourregiment at this moment sounded the call; its clear notes rang sharplythrough the thin air,—it was the soldier’s requiem! and we turnedaway without speaking, and returned to our quarters.

I had never known poor Hixley till a day or two before; but, somehow, mygrief for him was deep and heartfelt. It was not that his frank and manlybearing, his bold and military air, had gained upon me. No; these wereindeed qualities to attract and delight me, but he had obtained a strongerand faster hold upon my affections,—he spoke to me of home.

Of all the ties that bind us to the chance acquaintances we meet with inlife, what can equal this one? What a claim upon your love has he who can,by some passing word, some fast-flitting thought, bring back the days ofyour youth! What interest can he not excite by some anecdote of yourboyish days, some well-remembered trait of youthful daring, or earlyenterprise! Many a year of sunshine and of storm have passed above myhead; I have not been without my moments of gratified pride and rewardedambition; but my heart has never responded so fully, so thankfully, soproudly to these, such as they were, as to the simple, touching words ofone who knew my early home, and loved its inmates.

“Well, Fitzroy, what news?” inquired I, roused from my musing, as anaide-de-camp galloped up at full speed.

“Tell Merivale to get the regiment under arms at once. Sir ArthurWellesley will be here in less than half an hour. You may look for theroute immediately. Where are the Germans quartered?”

“Lower down; beside that grove of beech-trees, next the river.”

Scarcely was my reply spoken, when he dashed spurs into his horse, and wassoon out of sight. Meanwhile the plain beneath me presented an animatedand splendid spectacle. The different corps were falling into position tothe enlivening sounds of their quick-step, the trumpets of the cavalryrang loudly through the valley, and the clatter of sabres and sabretaschesjoined with the hollow tramp of the horses, as the squadron came up.

I had not a moment to lose; so hastening back to my quarters, I found Mikewaiting with my horse.

“Captain Power’s before you, sir,” said he, “and you’ll have to makehaste. The regiments are under arms already.”

From the little mound where I stood, I could see the long line of cavalryas they deployed into the plain, followed by the horse artillery, whichbrought up the rear.

“This looks like a march,” thought I, as I pressed forward to join mycompanions.

I had not advanced above a hundred yards through a narrow ravine when themeasured tread of infantry fell upon my ears. I pulled up to slacken mypace, just as the head of a column turned round the angle of the road, andcame in view. The tall caps of a grenadier company was the first thing Ibeheld, as they came on without roll of drum and sound of fife. I watchedwith a soldier’s pride the manly bearing and gallant step of the densemass as they defiled before me. I was struck no less by them than by acertain look of a steady but sombre cast which each man wore.

“What can this mean?” thought I.

My first impression was, that a military execution was about to takeplace, the next moment solved my doubt; for as the last files of thegrenadiers wheeled round, a dense mass behind came in sight, whose unarmedhands, and downcast air, at once bespoke them prisoners-of-war.

What a sad sight it was! There was the old and weather-beaten grenadier,erect in frame and firm in step, his gray mustache scarcely concealing thescowl that curled his lip, side by side with the young and daringconscript, even yet a mere boy; their march was regular, their gazesteadfast,—no look of flinching courage there. On they came, a longunbroken line. They looked not less proudly than their captors aroundthem. As I looked with heavy heart upon them, my attention was attractedto one who marched alone behind the rest. He was a middle-sized buthandsome youth of some eighteen years at most; his light helmet and wavingplume bespoke him a chasseur à cheval, and I could plainlyperceive, in his careless half-saucy air, how indignantly he felt theposition to which the fate of war had reduced him. He caught my eyes fixedupon him, and for an instant turned upon me a gaze of open and palpabledefiance, drawing himself up to his full height, and crossing his armsupon his breast; but probably perceiving in my look more of interest thanof triumph, his countenance suddenly changed, a deep blush suffused hischeek, his eye beamed with a softened and kindly expression, and carryinghis hand to his helmet, he saluted me, saying, in a voice of singularsweetness,—

“Je vous souhaite un meilleur sort, camarade.”

I bowed, and muttering something in return, was about to make some inquiryconcerning him, when the loud call of the trumpet rang through the valley,and apprised me that, in my interest for the prisoners, I had forgottenall else, and was probably incurring censure for my absence.

CHAPTER XLVII.

THE REVIEW.

When I joined the group of my brother officers, who stood gayly chattingand laughing together before our lines, I was much surprised—nayalmost shocked—to find how little seeming impression had been madeupon them, by the sad duty we had performed that morning.

When last we met, each eye was downcast, each heart was full,—sorrowfor him we had lost from among us forever, mingling with the awful senseof our own uncertain tenure here, had laid its impress on each brow; butnow, scarcely an hour elapsed, and all were cheerful and elated. The lastshovelful of earth upon the grave seemed to have buried both the dead andthe mourning. And such is war, and such the temperament it forms! Eventsso strikingly opposite in their character and influences succeed sorapidly one upon another that the mind is kept in one whirl of excitement,and at length accustoms itself to change with every phase ofcirc*mstances; and between joy and grief, hope and despondency, enthusiasmand depression, there is neither breadth nor interval,—they followeach other as naturally as morning succeeds to night.

I had not much time for such reflections; scarcely had I saluted theofficers about me, when the loud prolonged roll of the drums along theline of infantry in the valley, followed by the sharp clatter of musketsas they were raised to the shoulder, announced the troops were under arms,and the review begun.

“Have you seen the general order this morning, Power?” inquired an oldofficer beside me.

“No; they say, however, that ours are mentioned.”

“Harvey is going on favorably,” cried a young cornet, as he galloped up toour party.

“Take ground to the left!” sung out the clear voice of the colonel, as herode along in front. “Fourteenth, I am happy to inform you that yourconduct has met approval in the highest quarter. I have just received thegeneral orders, in which this occurs:—

“‘THE TIMELY PASSAGE OF THE DOURO, AND SUBSEQUENT MOVEMENTS UPON THEENEMY’S FLANK, BY LIEUTENANT-GENERAL SHERBROKE, WITH THE GUARDS AND 29THREGIMENT, AND THE BRAVERY OF THE TWO SQUADRONS OF THE 14TH LIGHT DRAGOONS,UNDER THE COMMAND OF MAJOR HARVEY, AND LED BY THE HONORABLEBRIGADIER-GENERAL CHARLES STEWART, OBTAINED THE VICTORY’—Mark that,my lads! obtained the victory—‘WHICH HAS CONTRIBUTED SO MUCH TO THEHONOR OF THE TROOPS ON THIS DAY.’”

The words were hardly spoken, when a tremendous cheer burst from the wholeline at once.

“Steady, Fourteenth! steady, lads!” said the gallant old colonel, as heraised his hand gently; “the staff is approaching.”

At the same moment, the white plumes appeared, rising above the brow ofthe hill. On they came, glittering in all the splendor of aignillettes andorders; all save one. He rode foremost, upon a small, compact, blackhorse; his dress, a plain gray frock fastened at the waist by a red sash;his co*cked hat alone bespoke, in its plume, the general officer. Hegalloped rapidly on till he came to the centre of the line; then turningshort round, he scanned the ranks from end to end with an eagle glance.

“Colonel Merivale, you have made known to your regiment my opinion ofthem, as expressed in general orders?”

The colonel bowed low in acquiescence.

“Fitzroy, you have got the memorandum, I hope?”

The aide-de-camp here presented to Sir Arthur a slip of paper, which hecontinued to regard attentively for some minutes.

“Captain Powel,—Power, I mean. Captain Power!”

Power rode out from the line.

“Your very distinguished conduct yesterday has been reported to me. Ishall have sincere pleasure in forwarding your name for the vacantmajority.

“You have forgotten, Colonel Merivale, to send in the name of the officerwho saved General Laborde’s life.”

“I believe I have mentioned it, Sir Arthur,” said the colonel: “Mr.O’Malley.”

“True, I beg pardon; so you have—Mr. O’Malley; a very young officerindeed,—ha, an Irishman! The south of Ireland, eh?”

“No, sir, the west.”

“Oh, yes! Well, Mr. O’Malley, you are promoted. You have the lieutenancyin your own regiment. By-the-bye, Merivale,” here his voice changed into ahalf-laughing tone, “ere I forget it, pray let me beg of you to look intothis honest fellow’s claim; he has given me no peace the entire morning.”

As he spoke, I turned my eyes in the direction he pointed, and to my utterconsternation, beheld my man Mickey Free standing among the staff, theposition he occupied, and the presence he stood in, having no moreperceptible effect upon his nerves than if he were assisting at an Irishwake; but so completely was I overwhelmed with shame at the moment, thatthe staff were already far down the lines ere I recovered myself-possession, to which, certainly, I was in some degree recalled byMaster Mike’s addressing me in a somewhat imploring voice:—

“Arrah, spake for me, Master Charles, alanah; sure they might do somethingfor me now, av it was only to make me a ganger.”

Mickey’s ideas of promotion, thus insinuatingly put forward, threw thewhole party around us into one burst of laughter.

“I have him down there,” said he, pointing, as he spoke, to a thick groveof cork-trees at a little distance.

“Who have you got there, Mike?” inquired Power.

“Devil a one o’ me knows his name,” replied he; “may be it’s Bonyhimself.”

“And how do you know he’s there still?”

“How do I know, is it? Didn’t I tie him last night?”

Curiosity to find out what Mickey could possibly allude to, induced Powerand myself to follow him down the slope to the clump of trees I havementioned. As we came near, the very distinct denunciations that issuedfrom the thicket proved pretty clearly the nature of the affair. It wasnothing less than a French officer of cavalry that Mike had unhorsed inthe mêlée, and wishing, probably, to preserve some testimony of hisprowess, had made prisoner, and tied fast to a cork-tree, the precedingevening.

“Sacrebleu!” said the poor Frenchman, as we approached, “ce sontdes sauvages!”

“Av it’s making your sowl ye are,” said Mike, “you’re right; for may bethey won’t let me keep you alive.”

Mike’s idea of a tame prisoner threw me into a fit of laughing, whilePower asked,—

“And what do you want to do with him, Mickey?”

“The sorra one o’ me knows, for he spakes no dacent tongue. Thighum thu,” said he, addressing the prisoner, with a poke in the ribs at the samemoment. “But sure, Master Charles, he might tache me French.”

There was something so irresistibly ludicrous in his tone and look as hesaid these words, that both Power and myself absolutely roared withlaughter. We began, however, to feel not a little ashamed of our positionin the business, and explained to the Frenchman that our worthy countrymanhad but little experience in the usages of war, while we proceeded tounbind him and liberate him from his miserable bondage.

“It’s letting him loose, you are, Captain? Master Charles, take care.Be-gorra, av you had as much trouble in catching him as I had, you’d thinktwice about letting him out. Listen to me, now,” here he placed his closedfist within an inch of the poor prisoner’s nose,—“listen to me! Avyou say peas, by the morreal, I’ll not lave a whole bone in your skin.”

With some difficulty we persuaded Mike that his conduct, so far fromleading to his promotion, might, if known in another quarter, procure himan acquaintance with the provost-marshal; a fact which, it was plain toperceive, gave him but a very poor impression of military gratitude.

“Oh, then, if they were in swarms fornent me, devil receave the prisonerI’ll take again!”

So saying, he slowly returned to the regiment; while Power and I, havingconducted the Frenchman to the rear, cantered towards the town to learnthe news of the day.

The city on that day presented a most singular aspect. The streets, filledwith the town’s-people and the soldiery, were decorated with flags andgarlands; the cafés were crowded with merry groups, and the sounds ofmusic and laughter resounded on all sides. The houses seemed to be quiteinadequate to afford accommodation to the numerous guests; and inconsequence, bullock cars and forage; wagons were converted into temporaryhotels, and many a jovial party were collected in both. Military music,church bells, drinking choruses, were all commingled in the din andturmoil; processions in honor of “Our Lady of Succor” were jammed up amongbacchanalian orgies, and their very chant half drowned in the cries of thewounded as they passed on to the hospitals. With difficulty we pushed ourway through the dense mob, as we turned our steps towards the seminary. Weboth felt naturally curious to see the place where our first detachmentlanded, and to examine the opportunities of defence it presented. Thebuilding itself was a large and irregular one of an oblong form,surrounded by a high wall of solid masonry, the only entrance being by aheavy iron gate.

At this spot the battle appeared to have raged with violence; one side ofthe massive gate was torn from its hinges and lay flat upon the ground;the walls were breached in many places; and pieces of torn uniforms,broken bayonets, and bruised shakos attested that the conflict was a closeone. The seminary itself was in a falling state; the roof, from whichPaget had given his orders, and where he was wounded, had fallen in. TheFrench cannon had fissured the building from top to bottom, and it seemedonly awaiting the slightest impulse to crumble into ruin. When we regardedthe spot, and examined the narrow doorway which opening upon a flight of afew steps to the river, admitted our first party, we could not helpfeeling struck anew with the gallantry of that mere handful of bravefellows who thus threw themselves amidst the overwhelming legions of theenemy, and at once, without waiting for a single reinforcement, opened afire upon their ranks. Bold as the enterprise unquestionably was, we stillfelt with what consummate judgment it had been planned; a bend of theriver concealed entirely the passage of the troops, the guns of theSierras covered their landing and completely swept one approach to theseminary. The French, being thus obliged to attack by the gate, werecompelled to make a considerable détour before they reached it, allof which gave time for our divisions to cross; while the brigade ofGuards, under General Sherbroke, profiting by the confusion, passed theriver below the town, and took the enemy unexpectedly in the rear.

Brief as was the struggle within the town, it must have been a terrificone. The artillery were firing at musket range; cavalry and infantry werefighting hand to hand in narrow streets, a destructive musketry pouringall the while from windows and house-tops.

At the Amarante gate, where the French defiled, the carnage was alsogreat. Their light artillery unlimbered some guns here to cover thecolumns as they deployed, but Murray’s cavalry having carried these, theflank of the infantry became entirely exposed to the galling fire ofsmall-arms from the seminary, and the far more destructive shower of grapethat poured unceasingly from the Sierra.

Our brigade did the rest; and in less than one hour from the landing ofthe first man, the French were in full retreat upon Vallonga.

“A glorious thing, Charley,” said Power, after a pause, “and a proudsouvenir for hereafter.”

A truth I felt deeply at the time, and one my heart responds to not lessfully as I am writing.

CHAPTER XLVIII.

THE QUARREL.

On the evening of the 12th, orders were received for the German brigadeand three squadrons of our regiment to pursue the French upon theTerracinthe road by daybreak on the following morning.

I was busily occupied in my preparations for a hurried march when Mikecame up to say that an officer desired to speak with me; and the momentafter Captain Hammersley appeared. A sudden flush colored his pale andsickly features, as he held out his hand and said,—

“I’ve come to wish you joy, O’Malley. I just this instant heard of yourpromotion. I am sincerely glad of it; pray tell me the whole affair.”

“That is the very thing I am unable to do. I have some very vague,indistinct remembrance of warding off a sabre-cut from the head of awounded and unhorsed officer in the mêlée of yesterday, but more Iknow not. In fact, it was my first duty under fire. I’ve a tolerably clearrecollection of all the events of the morning, but the word ‘Charge!’ oncegiven, I remember very little more. But you, where have you been? How havewe not met before?”

“I’ve exchanged into a heavy dragoon regiment, and am now employed uponthe staff.”

“You are aware that I have letters for you?”

“Power hinted, I think, something of the kind. I saw him very hurriedly.”

These words were spoken with an effort at nonchalance thatevidently cost him much.

As for me, my agitation was scarcely less, as fumbling for some seconds inmy portmanteau, I drew forth the long destined packet. As I placed it inhis hands, he grew deadly pale, and a slight spasmodic twitch in his upperlip bespoke some unnatural struggle. He broke the seal suddenly, and as hedid so, the morocco case of a miniature fell upon the ground; his eyes ranrapidly across the letter; the livid color of his lips as the blood forceditself to them added to the corpse-like hue of his countenance.

“You, probably, are aware of the contents of this letter, Mr. O’Malley,” said he, in an altered voice, whose tones, half in anger, half insuppressed irony, cut to my very heart.

“I am in complete ignorance of them,” said I, calmly.

“Indeed, sir!” replied he, with a sarcastic curl of his mouth as he spoke.“Then, perhaps, you will tell me, too, that your very success is a secretto you—”

“I’m really not aware—”

“You think, probably, sir, that the pastime is an amusing one, tointerfere where the affections of others are concerned. I’ve heard of you,sir. Your conduct at Lisbon is known to me; and though Captain Trevyllianmay bear—”

“Stop, Captain Hammersley!” said I, with a tremendous effort to be calm,—“stop!You have said enough, quite enough, to convince me of what your object wasin seeking me here to-day. You shall not be disappointed. I trust thatassurance will save you from any further display of temper.”

“I thank you, most humbly I thank you for the quickness of yourapprehension; and I shall now take my leave. Good-evening, Mr. O’Malley. Iwish you much joy; you have my very fullest congratulations upon allyour good fortune.”

The sneering emphasis the last words were spoken with remained fixed in mymind long after he took his departure; and, indeed, so completely did thewhole seem like a dream to me that were it not for the fragments of theminiature that lay upon the ground where he had crushed them with hisheel, I could scarcely credit myself that I was awake.

My first impulse was to seek Power, upon whose judgment and discretion Icould with confidence rely.

I had not long to wait; for scarcely had I thrown my cloak around me, whenhe rode up. He had just seen, Hammersley, and learned something of ourinterview.

“Why, Charley, my dear fellow, what is this? How have you treated poorHammersley?”

“Treated him! Say, rather, how has he treated me!”

I here entered into a short but accurate account of our meeting, duringwhich Power listened with great composure; while I could perceive, fromthe questions he asked, that some very different impression had beenpreviously made upon his mind.

“And this was all that passed?”

“All.”

“But what of the business at Lisbon?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Why, he speaks,—he has heard some foolish account of your havingmade some ridiculous speech there about your successful rivalry of him inIreland. Lucy Dashwood, I suppose, is referred to. Some one has beengood-natured enough to repeat the thing to him.”

“But it never occurred. I never did.”

“Are you sure, Charley?”

“I am sure. I know I never did.”

“The poor fellow! He has been duped. Come, Charley, you must not take itill. Poor Hammersley has never recovered a sabre-wound he received somemonths since upon the head; his intellect is really affected by it. Leaveit all to me. Promise not to leave your quarters till I return, and I’llput everything right again.”

I gave the required pledge; while Power, springing into the saddle, leftme to my own reflections.

My frame of mind as Power left me was by no means an enviable one. Aquarrel is rarely a happy incident in a man’s life, still less is it sowhen the difference arises with one we are disposed to like and respect.Such was Hammersley. His manly, straightforward character had won myesteem and regard, and it was with no common scrutiny I taxed my memory tothink what could have given rise to the impression he labored under of myhaving injured him. His chance mention of Trevyllian suggested to me somesuspicion that his dislike of me, wherefore arising I knew not, might haveits share in the matter; and in this state of doubt and uncertainty Ipaced impatiently up and down, anxiously watching for Power’s return inthe hope of at length getting some real insight into the difficulty.

My patience was fast ebbing, Power had been absent above an hour, and noappearance of him could I detect, when suddenly the tramp of a horse camerapidly up the hill. I looked out and saw a rider coming forward at a veryfast pace. Before I had time for even a guess as to who it was, he drewup, and I recognized Captain Trevyllian. There was a certain look of easyimpertinence and half-smiling satisfaction about his features I had neverseen before, as he touched his cap in salute, and said,—

“May I have the honor of a few words’ conversation with you?”

I bowed silently, while he dismounted, and passing his bridle beneath hisarm, walked on beside me.

“My friend Captain Hammersley has commissioned me to wait upon you aboutthis unpleasant affair—”

“I beg pardon for the interruption, Captain Trevyllian, but as I have yetto learn to what you or your friend alludes, perhaps it may facilitatematters if you will explicitly state your meaning.”

He grew crimson on the cheek as I said this, while, with a voice perfectlyunmoved, he continued,—

“I am not sufficiently in my friend’s confidence to know the whole of theaffair in question, nor have I his permission to enter into any of it, heprobably presuming, as I certainly did myself, that your sense of honorwould have deemed further parley and discussion both unnecessary andunseasonable.”

“In fact, then, if I understand, it is expected that I should meet CaptainHammersley for some reason unknown—”

“He certainly desires a meeting with you,” was the dry reply.

“And as certainly I shall not give it, before understanding upon whatgrounds.”

“And such I am to report as your answer?” said he, looking at me at themoment with an expression of ill-repressed triumph as he spoke.

There was something in these few words, as well as in the tone in whichthey were spoken, that sunk deeply in my heart. Was it that by some trickof diplomacy he was endeavoring to compromise my honor and character? Wasit possible that my refusal might be construed into any other than thereal cause? I was too young, too inexperienced in the world to decide thequestion for myself, and no time was allowed me to seek another’s counsel.What a trying moment was that for me; my temples throbbed, my heart beatalmost audibly, and I stood afraid to speak; dreading on the one hand lestmy compliance might involve me in an act to embitter my life forever, andfearful on the other, that my refusal might be reported as a trait ofcowardice.

He saw, he read my difficulty at a glance, and with a smile of mostsupercilious expression, repeated coolly his former question. In aninstant all thought of Hammersley was forgotten. I remembered no more. Isaw him before me, he who had, since my first meeting, continuallycontrived to pass some inappreciable slight upon me. My eyes flashed, myhands tingled with ill-repressed rage, as I said,—

“With Captain Hammersley I am conscious of no quarrel, nor have I evershown by any act or look an intention to provoke one. Indeed, suchdemonstrations are not always successful; there are persons most rigidlyscrupulous for a friend’s honor, little disposed to guard their own.”

“You mistake,” said he, interrupting me, as I spoke these words with alook as insulting as I could make it,—“you mistake. I have sworn asolemn oath never to send a challenge.”

The emphasis upon the word “send,” explained fully his meaning, when Isaid,—

“But you will not decline—”

“Most certainly not,” said he, again interrupting, while with sparklingeye and elated look he drew himself up to his full height. “Your friend is—”

“Captain Power; and yours—”

“Sir Harry Beaufort. I may observe that, as the troops are in marchingorder, the matter had better not be delayed.”

“There shall be none on my part.”

“Nor mine!” said he, as with a low bow and a look of most ineffabletriumph, he sprang into his saddle; then, “Au revoir, Mr.O’Malley,” said he, gathering up his reins. “Beaufort is on the staff, andquartered at Oporto.” So saying, he cantered easily down the slope, andonce more I was alone.

CHAPTER XLIX.

THE ROUTE CONTINUED.

I was leisurely examining my pistols,—poor Considine’s last presentto me on leaving home,—when an orderly sergeant rode up, anddelivered into my hands the following order:—

Lieutenant O’Malley will hold himself in immediate readiness toproceed on a particular service. By order of his Excellency theCommander of the Forces.[Signed] S. GORDON, Military Secretary.

“What can this mean?” thought I. “It is not possible that any rumor of myintended meeting could have got abroad, and that my present destinationcould be intended as a punishment?”

I walked hurriedly to the door of the little hut which formed my quarters;below me in the plain, all was activity and preparation, the infantry weredrawn up in marching order, baggage wagons, ordnance stores, and artilleryseemed all in active preparation, and some cavalry squadrons might bealready seen with forage allowances behind the saddle, as if only waitingthe order to set out. I strained my eyes to see if Power was coming, butno horseman approached in the direction. I stood, and I hesitated whetherI should not rather seek him at once, than continue to wait on in mypresent uncertainty; but then, what if I should miss him? And I hadpledged myself to remain till he returned.

While I deliberated thus with myself, weighing the various chances for andagainst each plan, I saw two mounted officers coming towards me at a brisktrot. As they came nearer, I recognized one as my colonel, the other wasan officer of the staff.

Supposing that their mission had some relation to the order I had solately received, and which until now I had forgotten, I hastily returnedand ordered Mike to my presence.

“How are the horses, Mike?” said I.

“Never better, sir. Badger was wounded slightly by a spent shot in thecounter, but he’s never the worse this morning, and the black horse iscapering like a filly.”

“Get ready my pack, feed the cattle, and be prepared to set out at amoment’s warning.”

“Good advice, O’Malley,” said the colonel, as he overheard the lastdirection to my servant. “I hope the nags are in condition?”

“Why yes, sir, I believe they are.”

“All the better; you’ve a sharp ride before you. Meanwhile let meintroduce my friend; Captain Beaumont, Mr. O’Malley. I think we had betterbe seated.”

“These are your instructions, Mr. O’Malley,” said Captain Beaumont,unfolding a map as he spoke. “You will proceed from this with half a troopof our regiment by forced marches towards the frontier, passing throughthe town of Calenco and Guarda and the Estrella pass. On arriving at theheadquarters of the Lusitanian Legion, which you will find there, you areto put yourself under the orders of Major Monsoon, commanding that force.Any Portuguese cavalry he may have with him will be attached to yours andunder your command; your rank for the time being that of captain. Youwill, as far as possible, acquaint yourself with the habits andcapabilities of the native cavalry, and make such report as you judgenecessary thereupon to his Excellency the commander of the forces. I thinkit only fair to add that you are indebted to my friend Colonel Merivalefor the very flattering position thus opened to your skill andenterprise.”

“My dear Colonel, let me assure you—”

“Not a word, my boy. I knew the thing would suit you, and I am sure I cancount upon your not disappointing my expectations of you. Sir Arthurperfectly remembers your name. He only asked two questions,—

“‘Is he well mounted?’

“‘Admirably,’ was my answer.

“‘Can you depend upon his promptitude?’

“‘He’ll leave in half an hour.’ “So you see, O’Malley, I have alreadypledged myself for you. And now I must say adieu; the regiments are aboutto take up a more advanced position, so good-by. I hope you’ll have apleasant time of it till we meet again.”

“It is now twelve o’clock, Mr. O’Malley,” said Beaumont; “we may rely uponyour immediate departure. Your written instructions and despatches will behere within a quarter of an hour.”

I muttered something,—what, I cannot remember; I bowed my thanks tomy worthy colonel, shook his hand warmly, and saw him ride down the hilland disappear in the crowd of soldiery beneath, before I could recall myfaculties and think over my situation.

Then all at once did the full difficulty of my position break upon me. IfI accepted my present employment I must certainly fail in my engagement toTrevyllian. But I had already pledged myself to its acceptance. What wasto be done? No time was left for deliberation. The very minutes I shouldhave spent in preparation were fast passing. Would that Power mightappear! Alas, he came not! My state of doubt and uncertainty increasedevery moment; I saw nothing but ruin before me, even at a moment whenfortune promised most fairly for the future, and opened a field ofenterprise my heart had so often and so ardently desired. Nothing was leftme but to hasten to Colonel Merivale and decline my appointment; to do sowas to prejudice my character in his estimation forever, for I dared notallege my reasons, and in all probability my conduct might require myleaving the army.

“Be it so, then,” said I, in an accent of despair; “the die is cast.”

I ordered my horse round; I wrote a few words to Power to explain myabsence should he come while I was away, and leaped into the saddle. As Ireached the plain my pace became a gallop, and I pressed my horse with allthe impatience my heart was burning with. I dashed along the lines towardsOporto, neither hearing nor seeing aught around me, when suddenly theclank of cavalry accoutrements behind induced me to turn my head, and Iperceived an orderly dragoon at full gallop in pursuit. I pulled up tillhe came alongside.

“Lieutenant O’Malley, sir,” said the man, saluting, “these despatches arefor you.”

I took them hurriedly, and was about to continue my route, when theattitude of the dragoon arrested my attention. He had reined in his horseto the side of the narrow causeway, and holding him still and steadily,sat motionless as a statue. I looked behind and saw the whole staffapproaching at a brisk trot. Before I had a moment for thought they werebeside me.

“Ah, O’Malley,” cried Merivale, “you have your orders; don’t wait; hisExcellency is coming up.”

“Get along, I advise you,” said another, “or you’ll catch it, as some ofus have done this morning.”

“All is right, Charley; you can go in safety,” said a whispering voice, asPower passed in a sharp canter.

That one sentence was enough; my heart bounded like a deer, my cheekbeamed with the glow of delighted pleasure, I closed my spurs upon mygallant gray and dashed across the plain.

When I arrived at my quarters the men were drawn up in waiting, andprovided with rations for three days’ march; Mike was also prepared forthe road, and nothing more remained to delay me.

“Captain Power has been here, sir, and left a note.”

I took it and thrust it hastily into my sabretasche. I knew from the fewwords he had spoken that my present step involved me in no illconsequences; so giving the word to wheel into column, I rode to the frontand set out upon my march to Alcantara.

CHAPTER L.

THE WATCH-FIRE.

There are few things so inspiriting to a young soldier as the beingemployed with a separate command; the picket and outpost duty have a charmfor him no other portion of his career possesses. The field seems open forindividual boldness and heroism; success, if obtained, must redound to hisown credit; and what can equal, in its spirit-stirring enthusiasm, thatfirst moment when we become in any way the arbiter of our own fortunes?

Such were my happy thoughts, as with a proud and elated heart I set forthupon my march. The notice the commander-in-chief had bestowed upon me hadalready done much; it had raised me in my own estimation, and implantedwithin me a longing desire for further distinction. I thought, too, ofthose far, far away, who were yet to hear of my successes.

I fancied to myself how they would severally receive the news. My pooruncle, with tearful eye and quivering lip, was before me, as I saw himread the despatch, then wipe his glasses, and read on, till at last, withone long-drawn breath, his manly voice, tremulous with emotion, wouldbreak forth: “My boy! my own Charley!” Then I pictured Considine, withport erect and stern features, listening silently; not a syllable, not amotion betraying that he felt interested in my fate, till as if impatient,at length he would break in: “I knew it,—I said so; and yet youthought to make him a lawyer!” And then old Sir Harry, his warm heartglowing with pleasure, and his good-humored face beaming with happiness,how many a blunder he would make in retailing the news, and how many ahearty laugh his version of it would give rise to!

I passed in review before me the old servants, as they lingered in theroom to hear the story. Poor old Matthew, the butler, fumbling with hiscorkscrew to gain a little time; then looking in my uncle’s face, halfentreatingly, as he asked: “Any news of Master Charles, sir, from thewars?”

While thus my mind wandered back to the scenes and faces of my early home,I feared to ask myself how she would feel to whom my heart was nowturning. Too deeply did I know how poor my chances were in that quarter tonourish hope, and yet I could not bring myself to abandon it altogether.Hammersley’s strange conduct suggested to me that he, at least, could notbe my rival; while I plainly perceived that he regarded me as his.There was a mystery in all this I could not fathom, and I ardently longedfor my next meeting with Power, to learn the nature of his interview, andalso in what manner the affair had been arranged.

Such were my passing thoughts as I pressed forward. My men, picked no lessfor themselves than their horses, came rapidly along; and ere evening, wehad accomplished twelve leagues of our journey.

The country through which we journeyed, though wild and romantic in itscharacter, was singularly rich and fertile,—cultivation reaching tothe very summits of the rugged mountains, and patches of wheat and Indiancorn peeping amidst masses of granite rock and tangled brushwood. The vineand the olive grew wild on every side; while the orange and the arbutus,loading the air with perfume, were mingled with prickly pear-trees andvariegated hollies. We followed no regular track, but cantered along overhill and valley, through forest and prairie, now in long file through sometall field of waving corn, now in open order upon some level plain,—ourPortuguese guide riding a little in advance of us, upon a jet-black mule,carolling merrily some wild Gallician melody as he went.

As the sun was setting, we arrived beside a little stream that flowingalong a rocky bed, skirted a vast forest of tall cork-trees. Here wecalled a halt, and picketing our horses, proceeded to make ourarrangements for a bivouac.

Never do I remember a more lovely night. The watch-fires sent up adelicious odor from the perfumed shrubs; while the glassy water reflectedon its still surface the starry sky that, unshadowed and unclouded,stretched above us. I wrapped myself in my trooper’s mantle, and lay downbeneath a tree,—but not to sleep. There was a something so exciting,and withal so tranquillizing, that I had no thought of slumber, but fellinto a musing revery. There was a character of adventure in my positionthat charmed me much. My men were gathered in little groups beside thefires; some sunk in slumber, others sat smoking silently, or chatting, ina low undertone, of some bygone scene of battle or bivouac; here and therewere picketed the horses; the heavy panoply and piled carbines flickeringin the red glare of the watch-fires, which ever and anon threw a flittingglow upon the stern and swarthy faces of my bold troopers. Upon the treesaround, sabres and helmets, holsters and cross-belts, were hung likearmorial bearings in some antique hall, the dark foliage spreading itsheavy shadow around us. Farther off, upon a little rocky ledge, the erectfigure of the sentry, with his short carbine resting in the hollow of hisarm, was seen slowly pacing in measured tread, or standing for a momentsilently, as he looked upon the fair and tranquil sky,—his thoughtsdoubtless far, far away, beyond the sea, to some humble home, where,—

“The hum of the spreading sycamore,That grew beside his cottage door,” 

was again in his ears, while the merry laugh of his children stirred hisbold heart. It was a Salvator-Rosa scene, and brought me back in fancy tothe bandit legends I had read in boyhood. By the uncertain light of thewood embers I endeavored to sketch the group that lay before me.

The night wore on. One by one the soldiers stretched themselves to sleep,and all was still. As the hours rolled by a drowsy feeling crept graduallyover me. I placed my pistols by my side, and having replenished the fireby some fresh logs, disposed myself comfortably before it.

It was during that half-dreamy state that intervenes between waking andsleep that a rustling sound of the branches behind attracted my attention.The air was too calm to attribute this to the wind, so I listened for someminutes; but sleep, too long deferred, was over-powerful, and my head sankupon my grassy pillow, and I was soon sound asleep. How long I remainedthus, I know not; but I awoke suddenly. I fancied some one had shaken merudely by the shoulder; but yet all was tranquil. My men were sleepingsoundly as I saw them last. The fires were becoming low, and a gray streakin the sky, as well as a sharp cold feeling of the air, betokened theapproach of day. Once more I heaped some dry branches together, and wasagain about to stretch myself to rest, when I felt a hand upon myshoulder. I turned quickly round, and by the imperfect light of the fire,saw the figure of a man standing motionless beside me; his head was bare,and his hair fell in long curls upon his shoulders; one hand was pressedupon his bosom, and with the other he motioned me to silence. My firstimpression was that our party were surprised by some French patrol; but asI looked again, I recognized, to my amazement, that the individual beforeme was the young French officer I had seen that morning a prisoner besidethe Douro.

“How came you here?” said I, in a low voice, to him in French.

“Escaped; one of my own men threw himself between me and the sentry; Iswam the Douro, received a musket-ball through my arm, lost my shako, andhere I am!”

“You are aware you are again a prisoner?”

“If you desire it, of course I am,” said he, in a voice full of feelingthat made my very heart creep. “I thought you were a party of Lorge’sDragoons, scouring the country for forage; tracked you the entire day, andhave only now come up with you.”

The poor fellow, who had neither eaten nor drunk since daybreak, woundedand footsore, had accomplished twelve leagues of a march only once more tofall into the hands of his enemies. His years could scarcely have numberednineteen; his countenance was singularly prepossessing; and thoughbleeding and torn, with tattered uniform, and without a covering to hishead, there was no mistaking for a moment that he was of gentle blood.Noiselessly and cautiously I made him sit down beside the fire, while Ispread before him the sparing remnant of my last night’s supper, andshared my solitary bottle of sherry with him.

From the moment he spoke, I never entertained a thought of making him aprisoner; but as I knew not how far I was culpable in permitting, if notactually facilitating, his escape, I resolved to keep the circ*mstance asecret from my party, and if possible, get him away before daybreak.

No sooner did he learn my intentions regarding him, than in an instant allmemory of his past misfortune, all thoughts of his present destitutecondition, seemed to have fled; and while I dressed his wound and bound uphis shattered arm, he chattered away as unconcernedly about the past andthe future as though seated beside the fire of his own bivouac, andsurrounded by his own brother officers.

“You took us by surprise the other day,” said he. “Our marshal looked forthe attack from the mouth of the river; we received information that yourships were expected there. In any case, our retreat was an orderly one,and must have been effected with slight loss.”

I smiled at the self-complacency of this reasoning, but did not contradicthim.

“Your loss must indeed have been great; your men crossed under the fire ofa whole battery.”

“Not exactly,” said I; “our first party were quietly stationed in Oportobefore you knew anything about it.”

“Ah, sacré Dieu! Treachery!” cried he, striking his forehead withhis clinched fist.

“Not so; mere daring,—nothing more. But come, tell me something ofyour own adventures. How were you taken?”

“Simply thus,—I was sent to the rear with orders to the artillery tocut their traces, and leave the guns; and when coming back, my horse grewtired in the heavy ground, and I was spurring him to the utmost, when oneof your heavy dragoons—an officer, too—dashed at me, andactually rode me down, horse and all. I lay for some time bruised by thefall, when an infantry soldier passing by seized me by the collar, andbrought me to the rear. No matter, however, here I am now. You will notgive me up; and perhaps I may one day live to repay the kindness.”

“You have not long joined?”

“It was my first battle; my epaulettes were very smart things yesterday,though they do look a little passés to-day. You are advancing, Isuppose?”

I smiled without answering this question.

“Ah, I see you don’t wish to speak. Never mind, your discretion is thrownaway upon me; for if I rejoined my regiment to-morrow, I should haveforgotten all you told me,—all but your great kindness.” These lastwords he spoke, bowing slightly his head, and coloring as he said them.

“You are a dragoon, I think?” said I, endeavoring to change the topic.

“I was, two days ago, chasseur à cheval, a sous-lieutenant, in theregiment of my father, the General St. Croix.”

“The name is familiar to me,” I replied, “and I am sincerely happy to bein a position to serve the son of so distinguished an officer.”

“The son of so distinguished an officer is most deeply obliged, but wisheswith all his heart and soul he had never sought glory under such veryexcellent auspices. You look surprised, mon cher; but let me tellyou, my military ardor is considerably abated in the last three days.Hunger, thirst, imprisonment, and this”—lifting his wounded limb ashe spoke—“are sharp lessons in so short a campaign, and for one too,whose life hitherto had much more of ease than adventure to boast of.Shall I tell you how I became a soldier?”

“By all means; give me your glass first; and now, with a fresh log to thefire, I’m your man.”

“But stay; before I begin, look to this.”

The blood was flowing rapidly from his wound, which with some difficulty Isucceeded in stanching. He drank off his wine hastily, held out his glassto be refilled, and then began his story.

“You have never seen the Emperor?”

“Never.”

“Sacrebleu! What a man he is! I’d rather stand under the fire ofyour grenadiers, than meet his eye. When in a passion, he does not saymuch, it is true; but what he does, comes with a kind of hissing, rushingsound, while the very fire seems to kindle in his look. I have him beforeme this instant, and though you will confess that my present condition hasnothing very pleasing in it, I should be sorry indeed to change it for thelast time I stood in his presence.

“Two months ago I sported the gay light-blue and silver of a page to theEmperor, and certainly, what with balls, bonbons, flirtation,gossip, and champagne suppers, led a very gay, reckless, and indolent lifeof it. Somehow,—I may tell you more accurately at another period, ifwe ever meet,—I got myself into disgrace, and as a punishment, wasordered to absent myself from the Tuileries, and retire for some weeks toFontainebleau. Siberia to a Russian would scarcely be a heavier inflictionthan was this banishment to me. There was no court, no levee, no militaryparade, no ball, no opera. A small household of the Emperor’s chosenservants quietly kept house there. The gloomy walls re-echoed to no music;the dark alleys of the dreary garden seemed the very impersonation ofsolitude and decay. Nothing broke the dull monotony of the tiresome day,except when occasionally, near sunset, the clash of the guard would beheard turning out, and the clank of presenting arms, followed by the rollof a heavy carriage into the gloomy courtyard. One lamp, shining like astar, in a small chamber on the second floor, would remain till near four,sometimes five o’clock in the morning. The same sounds of the guard andthe same dull roll of the carriage would break the stillness of the earlymorning; and the Emperor—for it was he—would be on his roadback to Paris.

“We never saw him,—I say we, for like myself some half-dozen otherswere also there, expiating their follies by a life of cheerless ennui.

“It was upon a calm evening in April, we sat together chatting over thevarious misdeeds which had consigned us to exile, when some one proposed,by way of passing the time, that we should visit the small flower-gardenthat was parted off from the rest, and reserved for the Emperor alone. Itwas already beyond the hour he usually came; besides that, even should hearrive, there was abundant time to get back before he could possibly reachit. The garden we had often seen, but there was something in the fact thatour going there was a transgression that so pleased us all that we agreedat once and set forth. For above an hour we loitered about the lonely anddeserted walks, where already the Emperor’s foot-tracks had worn a markedpathway, when we grew weary and were about to return, just as one of theparty suggested, half in ridicule of the sanctity of the spot, that weshould have a game of leap-frog ere we left it. The idea pleased us andwas at once adopted. Our plan was this,—each person stationedhimself in some by-walk or alley, and waited till the other, whose turn itwas, came and leaped over him; so that, besides the activity displayed,there was a knowledge of the locale necessary; for to any onepassed over a forfeit was to be paid. Our game began at once, andcertainly I doubt if ever those green alleys and shady groves rang to suchhearty laughter. Here would be seen a couple rolling over together on thegrass; there some luckless wight counting out his pocket-money to pay hispenalty. The hours passed quietly over, and the moon rose, and at last itcame to my turn to make the tour of the garden. As I was supposed to knowall its intricacies better than the rest, a longer time was given for themto conceal themselves; at length the word was given, and I started.

“Anxious to acquit myself well, I hurried along at top speed, but guess mysurprise to discover that nowhere could I find one of my companions. Downone walk I scampered, up another, across a third, but all was still andsilent; not a sound, not a breath, could I detect. There was still onepart of the garden unexplored; it was a small open space before a littlepond which usually contained the gold fish the Emperor was so fond of.Thither I bent my steps, and had not gone far when in the pale moonlight Isaw, at length, one of my companions waiting patiently for my coming, hishead bent forward and his shoulders rounded. Anxious to repay him for myown disappointment, I crept silently forward on tiptoe till quite nearhim, when, rushing madly on, I sprang upon his back; just, however, as Irose to leap over, he raised his head, and, staggered by the impulse of myspring, he was thrown forward, and after an ineffectual effort to keep hislegs fell flat upon his face in the grass. Bursting with laughter, I fellover him on the ground, and was turning to assist him, when suddenly hesprang upon his feet, and—horror of horrors!—it was Napoleonhimself; his usually pale features were purple with rage, but not a word,not a syllable escaped him.

“‘Qui êtes vous?’ said he, at length.

“‘St. Croix, Sire,’ said I, still kneeling before him, while my very heartleaped into my mouth.

“‘St. Croix! toujours St. Croix! Come here; approach me,’ cried he,in a voice of stifled passion.

“I rose; but before I could take a step forward he sprang at me, andtearing off my epaulettes trampled them beneath his feet, and then heshouted out, rather than spoke, the word ‘Allez!’

“I did not wait for a second intimation, but clearing the paling at aspring, was many a mile from Fontainebleau before daybreak.”

CHAPTER LI.

THE MARCH.

Twice the réveil sounded; the horses champed impatiently theirheavy bits; my men stood waiting for the order to mount, ere I couldarouse myself from the deep sleep I had fallen into. The young Frenchmanand his story were in my dreams, and when I awoke, his figure, as he laysleeping beside the wood embers, was the first object I perceived. Therehe lay, to all seeming as forgetful of his fate as though he stillinhabited the gorgeous halls and gilded saloons of the Tuileries; his paleand handsome features wore even a placid smile as, doubtless, some dreamof other days flitted across him; his long hair waved in luxurious curlsupon his neck, and his light-brown mustache, slightly curled at the top,gave to his mild and youthful features an air of saucy fierté thatheightened their effect. A narrow blue ribbon which he wore round histhroat gently peeped from his open bosom. I could not resist the curiosityI felt to see what it meant, and drawing it softly forth, I perceived thata small miniature was attached to it. It was beautifully painted, andsurrounded with brilliants of some value. One glance showed me,—forI had seen more than one engraving before of her,—that it was theportrait of the Empress Josephine. Poor boy! he doubtless was a favoriteat court; indeed, everything in his air and manner bespoke him such. Igently replaced the precious locket and turned from the spot to think overwhat was best to be done for him. Knowing the vindictive feeling of thePortuguese towards their invaders, I feared to take Pietro, our guide,into my confidence. I accordingly summoned my man Mike to my aid, who,with all his country’s readiness, soon found out an expedient. It was topretend to Pietro that the prisoner was merely an English officer who hadmade his escape from the French army, in which, against his will, he hadbeen serving for some time.

This plan succeeded perfectly; and when St. Croix, mounted upon one of myled horses, set out upon his march beside me, none was more profuse of hisattentions than the dark-brown guide whose hatred of a Frenchman wasbeyond belief.

By thus giving him safe conduct through Portugal, I knew that when wereached the frontier he could easily manage to come up with some part ofMarshal Victor’s force, the advanced guard of which lay on the left bankof the Tagus.

To me the companionship was the greatest boon; the gay and buoyant spiritthat no reverse of fortune, no untoward event, could subdue, lightenedmany an hour of the journey; and though at times the gasconading tone ofthe Frenchman would peep through, there was still such a fund ofgood-tempered raillery in all he said that it was impossible to feel angrywith him. His implicit faith in the Emperor’s invincibility also amusedme. Of the unbounded confidence of the nation in general, and the armyparticularly, in Napoleon, I had till then no conception. It was not thatin the profound skill and immense resources of the general they trusted,but they actually regarded him as one placed above all the commonaccidents of fortune, and revered him as something more than human.

“Il viendra et puis—” was the continued exclamation of theyoung Frenchman. Any notion of our successfully resisting the overwhelmingmight of the Emperor, he would have laughed to scorn, and so I let him goon prophesying our future misfortunes till the time when, driven back uponLisbon, we should be compelled to evacuate the Peninsula, and under favorof a convention be permitted to return to England. All this wassufficiently ridiculous, coming from a youth of nineteen, wounded, inmisery, a prisoner; but further experience of his nation has shown me thatSt. Croix was not the exception, but the rule. The conviction in theultimate success of their army, whatever be the merely momentary mishap,is the one present thought of a Frenchman; a victory with them is aconquest; a defeat,—if they are by any chance driven to acknowledgeone,—a fatalité.

I was too young a man, and still more, too young a soldier, to bear withthis absurd affectation of superiority as I ought, and consequently wasglad to wander, whenever I could, from the contested point of our nationalsuperiority to other topics. St. Croix, although young, had seen much ofthe world as a page in the splendid court of the Tuileries; the scenespassing before his eyes were calculated to make a strong impression; andby many an anecdote of his former life, he lightened the road as we passedalong.

“You promised, by-the-bye, to tell me of your banishment. How did thatoccur, St. Croix?”

“Ah, par Dieu! that was an unfortunate affair for me; then beganall my mishaps. But for that, I should never have been sent toFontainebleau; never have played leap-frog with the Emperor; never havebeen sent a soldier into Spain. True,” said he, laughing, “I should neverhave had the happiness of your acquaintance. But still, I’d much ratherhave met you first in the Place des Victoires than in the EstrellaMountains.”

“Who knows?” said I; “perhaps your good genius prevailed in all this.”

“Perhaps,” said he, interrupting me; “that’s exactly what the Empresssaid,—she was my godmother,—‘Jules will be a Maréchal deFrance yet.’ But certainly, it must be confessed, I have made a badbeginning. However, you wish to hear of my disgrace at court. Allansdonc. But had we not better wait for a halt?”

“Agreed,” said I; “and so let us now press forward.”

CHAPTER LII.

THE PAGE.

Under the deep shade of some tall trees, sheltered from the noonday sun,we lay down to rest ourselves and enjoy a most patriarchal dinner,—somedry biscuits, a few bunches of grapes, and a little weak wine, savoringmore of the borachio-skin than the vine-juice, were all we boasted; yetthey were not ungrateful at such a time and place.

“Whose health did you pledge then?” inquired St. Croix, with ahalf-malicious smile, as I raised the glass silently to my lips.

I blushed deeply, and looked confused.

“A ses beux yeux! whoever she be,” said he, gayly tossing off hiswine; “and now, if you feel disposed, I’ll tell you my story. In goodtruth, it is not worth relating, but it may serve to set you asleep, atall events.

“I have already told you I was a page. Alas, the impressions you may feelof that functionary, from having seen Cherubino, give but a faint notionof him when pertaining to the household of the Emperor Napoleon.

“The farfallone amoroso basked in the soft smiles and sunny looksof the Countess Almaviva; we met but the cold, impassive look ofTalleyrand, the piercing and penetrating stare of Savary, or the ambiguoussmile, half menace, half mockery, of Monsieur Fouché. While on service,our days were passed in the antechamber, beside the salle d’audienceof the Emperor, reclining against the closed door, watching attentivelyfor the gentle tinkle of the little bell which summoned us to open for theexit of some haughty diplomate, or the entrée of some redoubtedgeneral. Thus passed we the weary hours; the illustrious visitors by whomwe were surrounded had no novelty, consequently no attraction for us, andthe names already historical were but household words with us.

“We often remarked, too, the proud and distant bearing the Emperor assumedtowards those of his generals who had been his former companions-in-arms.Whatever familiarity or freedom may have existed in the campaign or in thebattle-field, the air of the Tuileries certainly chilled it. I have oftenheard that the ceremonious observances and rigid etiquette of the oldBourbon court were far preferable to the stern reserve and unbendingstiffness of the imperial one.

“The antechamber is but the reflection of the reception-room; and whateverbe the whims, the caprices, the littleness of the Great Man, they arespeedily assumed by his inferiors, and the dark temper of one casts alowering shadow on every menial by whom he is surrounded.

“As for us, we were certainly not long in catching somewhat of the spiritof the Emperor; and I doubt much if the impertinence of the waiting-roomwas not more dreaded and detested than the abrupt speech and searchinglook of Napoleon himself.

“What a malicious pleasure have I not felt in arresting the step of M. deTalleyrand, as he approached the Emperor’s closet! With what easyinsolence have I lisped out, ‘Pardon, Monsieur, but his Majesty cannotreceive you,’ or ‘Monsieur le Due, his Majesty has given no orders foryour admission.’ How amusing it was to watch the baffled look of each, ashe retired once more to his place among the crowd, the wily diplomatecovering his chagrin with a practised smile, while the stern marshal wouldblush to his very eyes with indignation! This was the great pleasure ourposition afforded us, and with a boyish spirit of mischief, we cultivatedit to perfection, and became at last the very horror and detestation ofall who frequented the levees; and the ambassador whose fearless voice washeard among the councils of kings became soft and conciliating in hisapproaches to us; and the hardy general who would have charged upon abrigade of artillery was timid as a girl in addressing us a mere question.

“Among the amiable class thus characterized I was most conspicuous,preserving cautiously a tone of civility that left nothing openly tocomplain of. I assumed an indifference and impartiality of manner that noexigency of affairs, no pressing haste, could discompose or disturb; andmy bow of recognition to Soult or Massena was as coolly measured as mymonosyllabic answer was accurately conned over.

“Upon ordinary occasions the Emperor at the close of each person’saudience rang his little bell for the admission of the next in order asthey arrived in the waiting-room; yet when anything important was underconsideration, a list was given us in the morning of the names to bepresented in rotation, which no casual circ*mstance was ever suffered tointerfere with.

“It is now about four months since, one fine morning, such a list wasplaced within my hands. His Majesty was just then occupied with an inquiryinto the naval force of the kingdom; and as I cast my eyes carelessly overthe names, I read little else than Vice-Admiral So-and-so, CommanderSuch-a-one, and Chef d’Escardron Such-another, and the levee presentedaccordingly, instead of its usual brilliant array of gorgeous uniform andaiguilletted marshals, the simple blue-and-gold of the naval service.

“The marine was not in high favor with the Emperor; and truly, myreception of these unfrequent visitors was anything but flattering. Theearly part of the morning was, as usual, occupied by the audience of theMinister of Police, and the Duc de Bassano, who evidently, from the lengthof time they remained, had matter of importance to communicate. Meanwhilethe antechamber filled rapidly, and before noon was actually crowded. Itwas just at this moment that the folding-door slowly opened, and a figureentered, such as I had never before seen in our brilliant saloon. He was aman of five or six and fifty, short, thickset, and strongly built, with abronzed and weather-beaten face, and a broad open forehead deeply scarredwith a sabre-cut; a shaggy gray mustache curled over and concealed hismouth, while eyebrows of the same color shaded his dark and piercing eyes.His dress was a coarse cut of blue cloth such as the fishermen wear inBretagne, fastened at the waist by a broad belt of black leather, fromwhich hung a short-bladed cutlass; his loose trousers, of the samematerial, were turned up at the ankles to show a pair of strong legscoarsely cased in blue stockings and thick-soled shoes. A broad-leavedoil-skin hat was held in one hand, and the other stuck carelessly in hispocket, as he entered. He came in with a careless air, and familiarlysaluting one or two officers in the room, he sat himself down near thedoor, appearing lost in his own reflections.

“‘Who can you be, my worthy friend?’ was my question to myself as Isurveyed this singular apparition. At the same time, casting my eyes downthe list, I perceived that several pilots of the coast of Havre, Calais,and Boulogne had been summoned to Paris to give some information upon thesoundings and depth of water along the shore.

“‘Ha,’ thought I, ‘I have it. The good man has mistaken his place, andinstead of remaining without, has walked boldly forward to theantechamber.’

“There was something so strange and so original in the grim look of theold fellow, as he sat there alone, that I suffered him to remain quietlyin his delusion, rather than order him back to the waiting-room without;besides, I perceived that a kind of sensation was created among the othersby his appearance there, which amused me greatly.

“As the day wore on, the officers formed into little groups of three orfour, chatting together in an undertone,—all save the old pilot. Hehad taken a huge tobacco-box from his capacious breast-pocket, andinserting an immense piece of the bitter weed in his mouth, began to chewit as leisurely as though he were walking the quarter-deck. The cool insoucianceof such a proceeding amused me much, and I resolved to draw him out alittle. His strong, broad Breton features, his deep voice, his dry, bluntmanner, were all in admirable keeping with his exterior.

“‘Par Dieu, my lad,’ said he, after chatting some time, ‘had younot better tell the Emperor that I am waiting? It’s now past noon, and Imust eat something.’

“‘Have a little patience,’ said I; ‘his Majesty is going to invite you todinner.’

“‘Be it so,’ said he, gravely; ‘provided the hour be an early one, I’m hisman.’

“With difficulty did I keep down my laughter as he said this, andcontinued.

“‘So you know the Emperor already, it seems?’

“‘Yes, that I do! I remember him when he was no higher than yourself.’

“‘How delighted he’ll be to find you here! I hope you have brought up someof your family with you, as the Emperor would be so flattered by it?’

“‘No, I’ve left them at home. This place don’t suit us over well. We haveplenty to do besides spending our time and money among all you fine folkshere.’

“‘And not a bad life of it, either,’ added I, ‘fishing for cod andherrings,—stripping a wreck now and then.’

“He stared at me, as I said this, like a tiger on the spring, but spokenot a word.

“‘And how many young sea-wolves may you have in your den at home?’

“‘Six; and all of them able to carry you with one hand, at arm’s length.’

“‘I have no doubt. I shall certainly not test their ability. But youyourself,—how do you like the capital?’

“‘Not over well; and I’ll tell you why—’

“As he said this the door of the audience-chamber opened, and the Emperorappeared. His eyes flashed fire as he looked hurriedly around the room.

“‘Who is in waiting here?’”

“‘I am, please your Majesty,’ said I, bowing deeply, as I started from myseat.

“‘And where is the Admiral Truguet? Why was he not admitted?’

“‘Not present, your Majesty,’ said I, trembling with fear.

“‘Hold there, young fellow; not so fast. Here he is.’

“‘Ah, Truguet, mon ami!’ cried the Emperor, placing both hands onthe old fellow’s shoulders, ‘how long have you been in waiting?’

“‘Two hours and a half,’ said he, producing in evidence a watch like asaucer.

“‘What, two hours and a half, and I not know it!’

“‘No matter; I am always happy to serve your Majesty. But if that finefellow had not told me that you were going to ask me to dinner—’

“‘He! He said so, did he?’ said Napoleon, turning on me a glance like awild beast. ‘Yes, Truguet, so I am; you shall dine with me to-day. Andyou, sir,’ said he, dropping his voice to a whisper, as he came closertowards me,—‘and you have dared to speak thus? Call in a guardthere. Capitaine, put this person under arrest; he is disgraced. He is nolonger page of the palace. Out of my presence! away, sir!’

“The room wheeled round; my legs tottered; my senses reeled; and I saw nomore.

“Three weeks’ bread and water in St. Pélagie, however, brought me to myrecollection; and at last my kind, my more than kind friend, the Empress,obtained my pardon, and sent me to Fontainebleau, till the Emperor shouldforget all about it. How I contrived again to refresh his memory I havealready told you; and certainly you will acknowledge that I have not beenfortunate in my interviews with Napoleon.”

I am conscious how much St. Croix’s story loses in my telling. The simpleexpressions, the grace of the narrative, were its charm: and these, alas!I can neither translate nor imitate, no more than I can convey the strangemixture of deep feeling and levity, shrewdness and simplicity, thatconstituted the manner of the narrator.

With many a story of his courtly career he amused me as we trotted along;when, towards nightfall of the third day, a peasant informed us that abody of French cavalry occupied the convent of San Cristoval, about threeleagues off. The opportunity of his return to his own army pleased him farless than I expected. He heard, without any show of satisfaction, that thetime of his liberation had arrived; and when the moment of leave-takingdrew near, he became deeply affected.

“Eh, bien, Charles,” said he, smiling sadly through his dimmed andtearful eyes. “You’ve been a kind friend to me. Is the time never to comewhen I can repay you?”

“Yes, yes; we’ll meet again, be assured of it. Meanwhile there is one wayyou can more than repay anything I have done for you.”

“Oh, name it at once!”

“Many a brave fellow of ours is now, and doubtless many more will be,prisoners with your army in this war. Whenever, therefore, your lot bringsyou in contact with such—”

“They shall be my brothers,” said he, springing towards me and throwinghis arms round my neck. “Adieu, adieu!” With that he rushed from the spot,and before I could speak again, was mounted upon the peasant’s horse andwaving his hand to me in farewell.

I looked after him as he rode at a fast gallop down the slope of the greenmountain, the noise of the horse’s feet echoing along the silent plain. Iturned at length to leave the spot, and then perceived for the first timethat when taking his farewell of me he had hung around my neck hisminiature of the Empress. Poor boy! How sorrowful I felt thus to rob himof what he had held so dear! How gladly would I have overtaken him torestore it! It was the only keepsake he possessed; and knowing that Iwould not accept it if offered, he took this way of compelling me to keepit.

Through the long hours of the summer’s night I thought of him; and when atlast I slept, towards morning, my first thought on waking was of thesolitary day before me. The miles no longer slipped imperceptibly along;no longer did the noon and night seem fast to follow. Alas, that oneshould grow old! The very sorrows of our early years have something softand touching in them. Arising less from deep wrong than slight mischances,the grief they cause comes ever with an alloy of pleasant thoughts,telling of the tender past, and amidst the tears called up, forming somebright rainbow of future hope.

Poor St. Croix had already won greatly upon me, and I felt lonely anddesolate when he departed.

CHAPTER LIII.

ALVAS.

Nothing of incident marked our farther progress towards the frontier ofSpain, and at length we reached the small town of Alvas. It was pastsunset as we arrived, and instead of the usual quiet and repose of alittle village, we found the streets crowded with people, on horseback andon foot; mules, bullocks, carts, and wagons blocked up the way, and theoaths of the drivers and the screaming of women and children resounded onall sides.

With what little Spanish I possessed I questioned some of those near me,and learned, in reply, that a dreadful engagement had taken place that daybetween the advanced guard of the French, under Victor, and the Lusitanianlegion; that the Portuguese troops had been beaten and completely routed,losing all their artillery and baggage; that the French were rapidlyadvancing, and expected hourly to arrive at Alvas, in consequence of whichthe terror-stricken inhabitants were packing up their possessions andhurrying away.

Here, then, was a point of considerable difficulty for me at once. Myinstructions had never provided for such a conjuncture, and I was totallyunable to determine what was best to be done; both my men and their horseswere completely tired by a march of fourteen leagues, and had a pressingneed of some rest; on every side of me the preparations for flight wereproceeding with all the speed that fear inspires; and to my urgent requestfor some information as to food and shelter, I could obtain no other replythan muttered menaces of the fate before me if I remained, and exaggeratedaccounts of French cruelty.

Amidst all this bustle and confusion a tremendous fall of heavy rain setin, which at once determined me, come what might, to house my party, andprovide forage for our horses.

As we pushed our way slowly through the encumbered streets, looking onevery side for some appearance of a village inn, a tremendous shout rosein our rear, and a rush of the people towards us induced us to supposethat the French were upon us. For some minutes the din and uproar wereterrific,—the clatter of horses’ feet, the braying of trumpets, theyelling of the mob, all mingling in one frightful concert.

I formed my men in close column, and waited steadily for the attack,resolving, if possible, to charge through the advancing files,—anyretreat through the crowded and blocked-up thoroughfares being totally outof the question. The rain was falling in such torrents that nothing couldbe seen a few yards off, when suddenly a pause of a few seconds occurred,and from the clash of accoutrements, and the hoarse tones of a loud voice,I judged that the body of men before us were forming for attack.

Resolving, therefore, to take them by surprise, I gave the word to charge,and spurring our jaded cattle, onward we dashed. The mob fled right andleft from us as we came on; and through the dense mist we could justperceive a body of cavalry before us.

In an instant we were among them; down they went on every side, men andhorses rolling pell-mell over each other; not a blow, not a shot strikingus as we pressed on. Never did I witness such total consternation; somethrew themselves from their horses, and fled towards the houses; othersturned and tried to fall back, but the increasing pressure from behindheld them, and finally succeeded in blocking us up among them.

It was just at this critical moment that a sudden gleam of light from awindow fell upon the disordered mass, and to my astonishment, I need notsay to my delight, I perceived that they were Portuguese troops. Before Ihad well time to halt my party, my convictions were pretty wellstrengthened by hearing a well-known voice in the rear of the mass callout,—

“Charge, ye devils! charge, will ye? Illustrious Hidalgos! cut them down;los infidelos, sacrificados los! Scatter them like chaff!”

One roar of laughter was my only answer to this energetic appeal for mydestruction, and the moment after the dry features and pleasant face ofold Monsoon beamed on me by the light of a pine-torch he carried in hisright hand.

“Are they prisoners? Have they surrendered?” inquired he, riding up. “Itis well for them; we’d have made mince-meat of them otherwise; now theyshall be well treated, and ransomed if they prefer.”

“Gracios excellenze!” said I, in a feigned voice.

“Give up your sword,” said the major, in an undertone.

“You behaved gallantly, but you fought against invincibles. Lord lovethem! but they are the most terrified invincibles.”

I nearly burst aloud at this.

“It was a close thing which of us ran first,” muttered the major, as heturned to give some directions to an aide-de-camp. “Ask them who theyare,” said he, in Spanish.

By this time I came close alongside of him, and placing my mouth close tohis ear, holloed out,—

“Monsoon, old fellow, how goes the King of Spain’s sherry?”

“Eh, what! Why, upon my life, and so it is,—Charley, my boy, so it’syou, is it? Egad, how good; and we were so near being the death of you! Mypoor fellow, how came you here?”

A few words of explanation sufficed to inform the major why we were there,and still more to comfort him with the assurance that he had not beencharging the general’s staff, and the conmander-in-chief himself.

“Upon my life, you gave me a great start; though as long as I thought youwere French, it was very well.”

“True, Major, but certainly the invincibles were merciful as they werestrong.”

“They were tired, Charley, nothing more; why, lad, we’ve been fightingsince daybreak,—beat Victor at six o’clock, drove him back behindthe Tagus; took a cold dinner, and had at him again in the afternoon. Lordlove you! we’ve immortalized ourselves. But you must never speak of thislittle business here; it tells devilish ill for the discipline of yourfellows, upon my life it does.”

This was rather an original turn to give the transaction, but I did notoppose; and thus chatting, we entered the little inn, where, confidenceonce restored, some semblance of comfort already appeared.

“And so you’re come to reinforce us?” said Monsoon; “there was neveranything more opportune,—though we surprised ourselves today withvalor, I don’t think we could persevere.”

“Yes, Major, the appointment gave me sincere pleasure; I greatly desiredto see a little service under your orders. Shall I present you with mydespatches?”

“Not now, Charley,—not now, my lad. Supper is the first thing atthis moment; besides, now that you remind me, I must send off a despatchmyself, Upon my life, it’s a great piece of fortune that you’re here; youshall be secretary at war, and write it for me. Here now—how luckythat I thought of it, to be sure! And it was just a mere chance; one hasso many things—” Muttering such broken, disjointed sentences, themajor opened a large portfolio with writing materials, which he displayedbefore me as he rubbed his hands with satisfaction, and said, “Write away,lad.”

“But, my dear Major, you forget; I was not in the action. You mustdescribe; I can only follow you.”

“Begin then thus:—

HEADQUARTERS, ALVAS, JUNE 26.YOUR EXCELLENCY,—Having learned from Don Alphonzo Xavieroda Minto, an officer upon my personal staff—

“Luckily sober at that moment—”

That the advanced guard of the eighth corps of the Frencharmy—

“Stay, though, was it the eighth? Upon my life, I’m not quite clear as tothat; blot the word a little and go on—”

That the—corps, under Marshal Victor, had commenced a forwardmovement towards Alcantara, I immediately ordered a flankmovement of the light infantry regiment to cover the bridge over theTagus. After breakfast—

“I’m afraid, Major, that is not precise enough.”

“Well—”

About eleven o’clock, the French skirmishers attacked, and drovein our pickets that were posted in front of our position, and followingrapidly up with cavalry, they took a few prisoners, and killed oldAlphonzo,—he ran like a man, they say, but they caught him inthe rear.

“You needn’t put that in, if you don’t like.”

I now directed a charge of the cavalry brigade, under DonAsturias Y’Hajos, that cut them up in fine style. Our artillery,posted on the heights, mowing away at their columns like fun.Victor didn’t like this, and got into a wood, when we all wentto dinner; it was about two o’clock then.After dinner, the Portuguese light corps, under Silva da Onorha,having made an attack upon the enemy’s left, without my orders,got devilish well trounced, and served them right; but coming upto their assistance, with the heavy brigade of guns, and the cavalry,we drove back the French, and took several prisoners, none of whomwe put to death.

“Dash that—Sir Arthur likes respect for the usages of war. Lord, howdry I’m getting!”

The French were soon seen to retire their heavy guns, andspeedily afterwards retreated. We pursued them for some time, butthey showed fight; and as it was getting dark, I drew off my forces,and came here to supper. Your Excellency will perceive, by theenclosed return, that our loss has been considerable.I send this despatch by Don Emanuel Forgales, whose services—

“I back him for mutton hash with onions against the whole regiment—”

—have been of the most distinguished nature, and beg to recommendhim to your Excellency’s favor.I have the honor, etc.

“Is it finished, Charley? Egad, I’m glad of it, for here comes supper.”

The door opened as he spoke, and displayed a tempting tray of smokingviands, flanked by several bottles,—an officer of the major’s staffaccompanied it, and showed, by his attentions to the etiquette of thetable and the proper arrangement of the meal, that his functions in hissuperior’s household were more than military.

We were speedily joined by two others in rich uniform, whose names I nowforget, but to whom the major presented me in all form,—introducingme, as well as I could interpret his Spanish, as his most illustrious allyand friend Don Carlos O’Malley.

CHAPTER LIV.

THE SUPPER.

I have often partaken of more luxurious cookery and rarer wines; but neverdo I remember enjoying a more welcome supper than on this occasion.

Our Portuguese guests left us soon, and the major and myself were oncemore tête-a-tête beside a cheerful fire; a well-chosen array of bottlesguaranteeing that for some time at least no necessity of leave-takingshould arise from any deficiency of wine.

“That sherry is very near the thing, Charley; a little, a very littlesharp, but the after-taste perfect. And now, my boy, how have you beendoing since we parted?”

“Not so badly, Major. I have already got a step in promotion. The affairat the Douro gave me a lieutenancy.”

“I wish you joy with all my heart. I’ll call you captain always whileyou’re with me. Upon my life I will. Why, man, they style me yourExcellency here. Bless your heart, we are great folk among the Portuguese,and no bad service, after all.”

“I should think not, Major. You seem to have always made a good thing ofit.”

“No, Charley; no, my boy. They overlook us greatly in general orders anddespatches. Had the brilliant action of to-day been fought by the British—Butno matter, they may behave well in England, after all; and when I’m calledto the Upper House as Baron Monsoon of the Tagus,—is that betterthan Lord Alcantara?”

“I prefer the latter.”

“Well, then, I’ll have it. Lord! what a treaty I’ll move for withPortugal, to let us have wine cheap. Wine, you know, as David says, givesus a pleasant countenance; and oil,—I forget what oil does. Passover the decanter. And how is Sir Arthur, Charley? A fine fellow, butsadly deficient in the knowledge of supplies. Never would have made anycharacter in the commissariat. Bless your heart, he pays for everythinghere as if he were in Cheapside.”

“How absurd, to be sure!”

“Isn’t it, though? That was not my way, when I was commissary-generalabout a year or two ago. To be sure, how I did puzzle them! They tried toaudit my accounts, and what do you think I did? I brought them in threethousand pounds in my debt. They never tried on that game any more. ‘No,no,’ said the Junta, ‘Beresford and Monsoon are great men, and must betreated with respect!’ Do you think we’d let them search our pockets? Butthe rogues doubled on us after all; they sent us to the northward,—apoor country—”

“So that, except a little commonplace pillage of the convents andnunneries, you had little or nothing?”

“Exactly so; and then I got a great shock about that time that affected myspirits for a considerable while.”

“Indeed, Major, some illness?”

“No, I was quite well; but—Lord, how thirsty it makes me to think ofit; my throat is absolutely parched—I was near being hanged!”

“Hanged!”

“Yes. Upon my life it’s true,—very horrible, ain’t it? It had agreat effect upon my nervous system; and they never thought of any littlepension to me as a recompense for my sufferings.”

“And who was barbarous enough to think of such a thing, Major?”

“Sir Arthur Wellesley himself,—none other, Charley?”

“Oh, it was a mistake, Major, or a joke.”

“It was devilish near being a practical one, though. I’ll tell you how itoccurred. After the battle of Vimeira, the brigade to which I was attachedhad their headquarters at San Pietro, a large convent where all the churchplate for miles around was stored up for safety. A sergeant’s guard wasaccordingly stationed over the refectory, and every precaution taken toprevent pillage, Sir Arthur himself having given particular orders on thesubject. Well, somehow,—I never could find out how,—but inleaving the place, all the wagons of our brigade had got some triflingarticles of small value scattered, as it might be, among their stores,—goldcups, silver candlesticks, Virgin Marys, ivory crucifixes, saints’ eyesset in topazes, and martyrs’ toes in silver filagree, and a hundred othersimilar things.

“One of these confounded bullock-cars broke down just at the angle of theroad where the commander-in-chief was standing with his staff to watch thetroops defile, and out rolled, among bread rations and salt beef, a wholeavalanche of precious relics and church ornaments. Every one stood aghast!Never was there such a misfortune. No one endeavored to repair the mishap,but all looked on in terrified amazement as to what was to follow.

“‘Who has the command of this detachment?’ shouted out Sir Arthur, in avoice that made more than one of us tremble.

“‘Monsoon, your Excellency,—Major Monsoon, of the Portuguesebrigade.’

“‘The d—d old rogue, I know him!’ Upon my life that’s what he said.‘Hang him up on the spot,’ pointing with his finger as he spoke; ‘we shallsee if this practice cannot be put a stop to.’ And with these words herode leisurely away, as if he had been merely ordering dinner for a smallparty.

“When I came up to the place the halberts were fixed, and Gronow, with acompany of the Fusiliers, under arms beside them.

“‘Devilish sorry for it, Major,’ said he; ‘It’s confoundedly unpleasant;but can’t be helped. We’ve got orders to see you hanged.’

“Faith, it was just so he said it, tapping his snuff-box as he spoke, andlooking carelessly about him. Now, had it not been for the fixed halbertsand the provost-marshal, I’d not have believed him; but one glance atthem, and another at the bullock-cart with all the holy images, told me atonce what had happened.

“‘He only means to frighten me a little? Isn’t that all, Gronow?’ cried I,in a supplicating voice.

“‘Very possibly, Major,’ said he; ‘but I must execute my orders.’

“‘You’ll surely not—’ Before I could finish, up came Dan Mackinnon,cantering smartly.

“‘Going to hang old Monsoon, eh, Gronow? What fun!’

“‘Ain’t it, though,’ said I, half blubbering.

“‘Well, if you’re a good Catholic, you may have your choice of a saint,for, by Jupiter, there’s a strong muster of them here.’ This cruelallusion was made in reference to the gold and silver effigies that layscattered about the highway.

“‘Dan,’ said I, in a whisper, ‘intercede for me. Do, like a good, kindfellow. You have influence with Sir Arthur.’

“‘You old sinner,’ said he, ‘it’s useless.’

“‘Dan, I’ll forgive you the fifteen pounds.’

“‘That you owe me,’ said Dan, laughing.

“‘Who’ll ever be the father to you I have been? Who’ll mix your punch withburned Madeira, when I’m gone?’ said I.

“‘Well, really, I am sorry for you, Monsoon. I say, Gronow, don’t tuck himup for a few minutes; I’ll speak for the old villain, and if I succeed,I’ll wave my handkerchief.’

“Well, away went Dan at a full gallop. Gronow sat down on a bank, and Ifidgeted about in no very enviable frame of mind, the confoundedprovost-marshal eying me all the while.

“‘I can only give you five minutes more, Major,’ said Gronow, placing hiswatch beside him on the grass. I tried to pray a little, and said three orfour of Solomon’s proverbs, when he again called out: ‘There, you see itwon’t do! Sir Arthur is shaking his head.’

“‘What’s that waving yonder?’

“‘The colors of the 6th Foot. Come, Major, off with your stock.’

“‘Where is Dan now; what is he doing?’—for I could see nothingmyself.

“‘He’s riding beside Sir Arthur. They all seem laughing.’

“‘God forgive them! what an awful retrospect this will prove to some ofthem.’

“‘Time’s up!’ said Gronow, jumping up, and replacing his watch in hispocket.

“‘Provost-Marshal, be quick now—’

“‘Eh! what’s that?—there, I see it waving! There’s a shout too!’

“‘Ay, by Jove! so it is; well, you’re saved this time, Major; that’s thesignal.’

“So saying, Gronow formed his fellows in line and resumed his march quitecoolly, leaving me alone on the roadside to meditate over martial law andmy pernicious taste for relics.

“Well, Charley, this gave me a great shock, and I think, too, it must havehad a great effect upon Sir Arthur himself; but, upon my life, he haswonderful nerves. I met him one day afterwards at dinner in Lisbon; helooked at me very hard for a few seconds: ‘Eh, Monsoon! Major Monsoon, Ithink?’

“‘Yes, your Excellency,’ said I, briefly; thinking how painful it must befor him to meet me.

“‘Thought I had hanged you,—know I intended it,—no matter. Aglass of wine with you?’

“Upon my life, that was all; how easily some people can forgivethemselves! But Charley, my hearty, we are getting on slowly with thetipple; are they all empty? So they are! Let us make a sortie on thecellar; bring a candle with you, and come along.”

We had scarcely proceeded a few steps from the door, when a mostvociferous sound of mirth, arising from a neighboring apartment, arrestedour progress.

“Are the dons so convivial, Major?” said I, as a hearty burst of laughterbroke forth at the moment.

“Upon my life, they surprise me; I begin to fear they have taken some ofour wine.”

We now perceived that the sounds of merriment came from the kitchen, whichopened upon a little courtyard. Into this we crept stealthily, andapproaching noiselessly to the window, obtained a peep at the scenewithin.

Around a blazing fire, over which hung by a chain a massive iron pot, sata goodly party of some half-dozen people. One group lay in dark shadow;but the others were brilliantly lighted up by the cheerful blaze, andshowed us a portly Dominican friar, with a beard down to his waist, abuxom, dark-eyed girl of some eighteen years, and between the two, mostcomfortably leaning back, with an arm round each, no less a person than mytrusty man Mickey Free.

It was evident, from the alternate motion of his head, that his attentionswere evenly divided between the church and the fair sex; although, toconfess the truth, they seemed much more favorably received by the latterthan the former,—a brown earthen flagon appearing to absorb all theworthy monk’s thoughts that he could spare from the contemplation ofheavenly objects.

“Mary, my darlin,’ don’t be looking at me that way, through the corner ofyour eye; I know you’re fond of me,—but the girls always was. Youthink I’m joking, but troth I wouldn’t say a lie before the holy manbeside me; sure I wouldn’t, Father?”

The friar grunted out something in reply, not very unlike, in sound atleast, a hearty anathema.

“Ah, then, isn’t it yourself has the illigant time of it, Father dear!” said he, tapping him familiarly upon his ample paunch, “and nothing totrouble you; the best of divarsion wherever you go, and whether it’sBadahos or Ballykilruddery, it’s all one; the women is fond of ye. FatherMurphy, the coadjutor in Scariff, was just such another as yourself, andhe’d coax the birds off the trees with the tongue of him. Give us a pullat the pipkin before it’s all gone, and I’ll give you a chant.”

With this he seized the jar, and drained it to the bottom; the smack ofhis lips as he concluded, and the disappointed look of the friar as hepeered into the vessel, throwing the others, once more, into a loud burstof laughter.

“And now, your rev’rance, a good chorus is all I’ll ask, and you’ll notrefuse it for the honor of the church.”

So saying, he turned a look of most droll expression upon the monk, andbegan the following ditty, to the air of “Saint Patrick was a Gentleman”:—

What an illegant life a friar leads,With a fat round paunch before him!He mutters a prayer and counts his beads,And all the women adore him.It’s little he’s troubled to work or think,Wherever devotion leads him;A “pater” pays for his dinner and drink,For the Church—good luck to her!—feeds him.From the cow in the field to the pig in the sty,From the maid to the lady in satin,They tremble wherever he turns an eye.He can talk to the Devil in Latin!He’s mighty severe to the ugly and ould,And curses like mad when he’s near ‘em;But one beautiful trait of him I’ve been tould,The innocent craytures don’t fear him.It’s little for spirits or ghosts he cares;For ‘tis true as the world supposes,With an Ave he’d make them march down-stairs,Av they dared to show their noses.The Devil himself’s afraid, ‘tis said,And dares not to deride him;For “angels make each night his bed,And then—lie down beside him.” 

A perfect burst of laughter from Monsoon prevented my hearing how Mike’sminstrelsy succeeded within doors; but when I looked again, I found thatthe friar had decamped, leaving the field open to his rival,—acirc*mstance, I could plainly perceive, not disliked by either party.

“Come back, Charley, that villain of yours has given me the cramp,standing here on the cold pavement. We’ll have a little warm posset,—verysmall and thin, as they say in Tom Jones,—and then to bed.”

Notwithstanding the abstemious intentions of the major, it was daybreakere we separated, and neither party in a condition for performing upon thetight-rope.

CHAPTER LV.

THE LEGION.

My services while with the Legion were of no very distinguished character,and require no lengthened chronicle. Their great feat of arms, the repulseof an advanced guard of Victor’s corps, had taken place the very morning Ihad joined them, and the ensuing month was passed in soft repose upontheir laurels.

For the first few days, indeed, a multiplicity of cares beset the worthymajor. There was a despatch to be written to Beresford, another to theSupreme Junta, a letter to Wilson, at that time with the corps ofobservation to the eastward. There were some wounded to be looked after, aspeech to be made to the conquering heroes themselves, and lastly, a fewprisoners were taken, whose fate seemed certainly to partake of the mostuncertain of war’s proverbial chances.

The despatches gave little trouble; with some very slight alterations, thegreat original, already sent forward to Sir Arthur, served as a basis forthe rest. The wounded were forwarded to Alcantara, with a medical staff;to whom Monsoon, at parting, pleasantly hinted that he expected to see allthe sick at their duty by an early day, or he would be compelled to reportthe doctors. The speech, which was intended as a kind of general order, hedeferred for some favorable afternoon when he could get up his Portuguese;and lastly, came the prisoners, by far the most difficult of all hiscares. As for the few common soldiers taken, they gave him littleuneasiness,—as Sir John has it, they were “mortal men, and food forpowder;” but there was a staff-officer among them, aiguilletted andepauletted. The very decorations he wore were no common temptation. Now,the major deliberated a long time with himself, whether the usages ofmodern war might not admit of the ancient, time-honored practice ofransom. The battle, save in glory, had been singularly unproductive:plunder there was none; the few ammunition-wagons and gun-carriages wereworth little or nothing; so that, save the prisoners, nothing remained. Itwas late in the evening—the mellow hour of the major’s meditations—whenhe ventured to open his heart to me upon the matter.

“I was just thinking, Charley, how very superior they were in olden timesto us moderns, in many matters, and nothing more than in their treatmentof prisoners. They never took them away from their friends and country;they always ransomed them,—if they had wherewithal to pay their way.So good-natured!—upon my life it was a most excellent custom! Theytook any little valuables they found about them, and then put them up atauction. Moses and Eleazar, a priest, we are told, took every piece ofgold, and their wrought jewels,—meaning their watches, andear-rings. You needn’t laugh, they all wore ear-rings, those fellows did.Now, why shouldn’t I profit by their good example? I have taken Agag, theKing of the Amalekites,—no, but upon my life, I have got a Frenchmajor, and I’d let him go for fifty doubloons.”

It was not without much laughing, and some eloquence, that I couldpersuade Monsoon that Sir Arthur’s military notions might not accept ofeven the authority of Moses; and as our headquarters were at no greatdistance, the danger of such a step as he meditated was too considerableat such a moment.

As for ourselves, no fatiguing drills, no harassing field-days, and noprovoking inspections interfered with the easy current of our lives.Foraging parties there were, it was true, and some occasional outpost dutywas performed. But the officers for both were selected with a tact thatproved the major’s appreciation of character; for while the gay, joyousfellow that sung a jovial song and loved his liquor was certain ofbeing entertained at headquarters, the less-gifted and less-congenialspirit had the happiness of scouring the country for forage, andpresenting himself as a target to a French rifle.

My own endeavors to fulfil my instructions met with but littleencouragement or support; and although I labored hard at my task, I mustconfess that the soil was a most ungrateful one. The cavalry were, it istrue, composed mostly of young fellows well-appointed, and in most caseswell-mounted; but a more disorderly, careless, undisciplined set ofgood-humored fellows never formed a corps in the world.

Monsoon’s opinions were felt in every branch of the service, from theadjutant to the drumboy,—the same reckless, indolent, plunder-lovingspirit prevailed everywhere. And although under fire they showed no lackof gallantry or courage, the moment of danger passed, discipline departedwith it, and their only conception of benefiting by a victory consisted inthe amount of pillage that resulted from it.

From time to time the rumors of great events reached us. We heard thatSoult, having succeeded in re-organizing his beaten army, was, inconjunction with Ney’s corps, returning from the north; that the marshalswere consolidating their forces in the neighborhood of Talavera; and thatKing Joseph himself, at the head of a large army, had marched for Madrid.

Menacing as such an aspect of affairs was, it had little disturbed themajor’s equanimity; and when our advanced posts reported daily theintelligence that the French were in retreat, he cared little with whatobject of concentrating they retired, provided the interval between usgrew gradually wider. His speculations upon the future were singularlyprophetic. “You’ll see, Charley, what will happen; old Cuesta will pursuethem, and get thrashed. The English will come up, and perhaps get thrashedtoo; but we, God bless us! are only a small force, partially organized andill to depend on,—we’ll go up the mountains till all is over!” Thusdid the major’s discretion not only extend to the avoidance of danger, buthe actually disqualified himself from even making its acquaintance.

Meanwhile our operations consisted in making easy marches to Almarez,halting wherever the commissariat reported a well-stocked cellar orwell-furnished hen-roost, taking the primrose path in life, and being, inwords of the major, “contented and grateful, even amidst great perils!”

CHAPTER LVI.

THE DEPARTURE.

On the morning of the 10th July a despatch reached us announcing that SirArthur Wellesley had taken up his headquarters at Placentia for thepurpose of communicating with Cuesta, then at Casa del Puerto; andordering me immediately to repair to the Spanish headquarters and awaitSir Arthur’s arrival, to make my report upon the effective state of ourcorps. As for me, I was heartily tired of the inaction of my present life,and much as I relished the eccentricities of my friend the major, longedardently for a different sphere of action.

Not so Monsoon; the prospect of active employment and the thoughts ofbeing left once more alone, for his Portuguese staff afforded him littlesociety, depressed him greatly; and as the hour of my departure drew near,he appeared lower in spirits than I had ever seen him.

“I shall be very lonely without you, Charley,” said he, with a sigh, as wesat the last evening together beside our cheerful wood fire. “I havelittle intercourse with the dons; for my Portuguese is none of the best,and only comes when the evening is far advanced; and besides, thevillains, I fear, may remember the sherry affair. Two of my present staffwere with me then.”

“Is that the story Power so often alluded to, Major; the King of Spain’s—”

“There, Charley, hush; be cautious, my boy. I’d rather not speak aboutthat till we get among our own fellows.”

“Just as you like, Major; but, do you know, I have a strong curiosity tohear the narrative.”

“If I’m not mistaken, there is some one listening at the door,—gently;that’s it, eh?”

“No, we are perfectly alone; the night’s early; who knows when we shallhave as quiet an hour again together? Let me hear it, by all means.”

“Well, I don’t care; the thing, Heaven knows! is tolerably well known; soif you’ll amuse yourself making a devil of the turkey’s legs there, I’lltell you the story. It’s very short, Charley, and there’s no moral; soyou’re not likely to repeat it.”

So saying, the major filled up his glass, drew a little closer to thefire, and began:—

“When the French troops, under Laborde, were marching, upon Alcobaca, inconcert with Loison’s corps, I was ordered to convey a very valuablepresent of sherry the Duo d’Albu-querque was making to the Supreme Junta,—noless than ten hogsheads of the best sherry the royal cellars of Madrid hadformerly contained.

“It was stored in the San Vincente convent; and the Junta, knowing alittle about monkish tastes and the wants of the Church, prudently thoughtit would be quite as well at Lisbon. I was accordingly ordered, with asufficient force, to provide for its safe conduct and secure arrival, andset out upon my march one lovely morning in April with my precious convoy.

“I don’t know, I never could understand, why temptations are thrown in ourway in this life, except for the pleasure of yielding to them. As for me,I’m a stoic when there’s nothing to be had; but let me get a scent of awell-kept haunch, the odor of a wine-bin once in my nose, I forgeteverything except appropriation. That bone smells deliciously, Charley; alittle garlic would improve it vastly.

“Our road lay through cross-paths and mountain tracts, for the French werescouring the country on every side, and my fellows, only twentyaltogether, trembled at the very name of them; so that our only chance wasto avoid falling in with any forage parties. We journeyed along forseveral days, rarely making more than a few leagues between sunrise andsunset, a scout always in advance to assure us that all was safe. The roadwas a lonesome one and the way weary, for I had no one to speak to orconverse with, so I fell into a kind of musing fit about the old wine inthe great brown casks. I thought on its luscious flavor, its rich strawtint, its oily look as it flowed into the glass, the mellow after-tastewarming the heart as it went down, and I absolutely thought I could smellit through the wood.

“How I longed to broach one of them, if it were only to see if my dreamsabout it were correct. ‘May be it’s brown sherry,’ thought I, ‘and I amall wrong.’ This was a very distressing reflection. I mentioned it to thePortuguese intendant, who travelled with us as a kind of supercargo; butthe villain only grinned and said something about the Junta and thegalleys for life, so I did not recur to it afterwards. Well, it was uponthe third evening of our march that the scout reported that at Merida,about a league distant, he had fallen in with an English cavalry regiment,who were on their march to the northern provinces, and remaining thatnight in the village. As soon, therefore, as I had made all myarrangements for the night, I took a fresh horse and cantered over to havea look at my countrymen, and hear the news. When I arrived, it was a darknight, but I was not long in finding out our fellows. They were the 11thLight Dragoons, commanded by my old friend Bowes, and with as jolly a messas any in the service.

“Before half an hour’s time I was in the midst of them, hearing all aboutthe campaign, and telling them in return about my convoy, dilating uponthe qualities of the wine as if I had been drinking it every day atdinner.

“We had a very mellow night of it; and before four o’clock the seniormajor and four captains were under the table, and all the subs, in a stateunprovided for by the articles of war. So I thought I’d be going, andwishing the sober ones a good-by, set out on my road to join my own party.

“I had not gone above a hundred yards when I heard some one running after,and calling out my name.

“‘I say, Monsoon; Major, confound you, pull up.’

“‘Well, what’s the matter? Has any more lush turned up?’ inquired I, forwe had drank the tap dry when I left.

“‘Not a drop, old fellow!’ said he; ‘but I was thinking of what you’vebeen saying about that sherry.’

“‘Well! What then?’

“‘Why, I want to know how we could get a taste of it?’

“‘You’d better get elected one of the Cortes,’ said I, laughing; ‘for itdoesn’t seem likely you’ll do so in any other way.’

“‘I’m not so sure of that,’ said he, smiling. ‘What road do you travelto-morrow?’

“‘By Cavalhos and Reina.’

“‘Whereabouts may you happen to be towards sunset?’

“‘I fear we shall be in the mountains,’ said I, with a knowing look,‘where ambuscades and surprise parties would be highly dangerous.’

“‘And your party consists of—’

“‘About twenty Portuguese, all ready to run at the first shot.’

“‘I’ll do it, Monsoon; I’ll be hanged if I don’t.’

“‘But, Tom,’ said I, ‘don’t make any blunder; only blank cartridge, myboy.’

“‘Honor bright!’ cried he. ‘Your fellows are armed of course?’

“‘Never think of that; they may shoot each other in the confusion. But ifyou only make plenty of noise coming on, they’ll never wait for you.’

“‘What capital fellows they must be!’

“‘Crack troops, Tom; so don’t hurt them. And now, good-night.’

“As I cantered off, I began to think over O’Flaherty’s idea; and upon mylife, I didn’t half like it. He was a reckless, devil-may-care fellow; andit was just as likely he would really put his scheme into practice.

“When morning broke, however, we got under way again, and I amused myselfall the forenoon in detailing stories of French cruelty; so that before wehad marched ten miles, there was not a man among us not ready to run atthe slightest sound of attack on any side. As evening was falling wereached Morento, a little mountain pass which follows the course of asmall river, and where, in many places, the mule carts had barely spaceenough to pass between the cliffs and the stream. ‘What a place for TomO’Flaherty and his foragers!’ thought I, as we entered the little mountaingorge; but all was silent as the grave,—except the tramp of ourparty, not a sound was heard. There was something solemn and still in thegreat brown mountain, rising like vast walls on either side, with a narrowstreak of gray sky at top and in the dark, sluggish stream, that seemed toawe us, and no one spoke. The muleteer ceased his merry song, and did notcrack or flourish his long whip as before, but chid his beasts in ahalf-muttered voice, and urged them faster, to reach the village beforenightfall.

“Egad, somehow I felt uncommonly uncomfortable; I could not divest my mindof the impression that some disaster was impending, and I wishedO’Flaherty and his project in a very warm climate. ‘He’ll attack us,’thought I, ‘where we can’t run; fair play forever. But if they are notable to get away, even the militia will fight.’ However, the evening crepton, and no sign of his coming appeared on any side; and to my sinceresatisfaction, I could see, about half a league distant, the twinklinglight of the little village where we were to halt for the night. It wasjust at this time that a scout I had sent out some few hundred yards inadvance came galloping up, almost breathless.

“‘The French, Captain; the French are upon us!’ said he, with a face likea ghost.

“‘Whew! Which way? How many?’ said I, not at all sure that he might not betelling the truth.

“‘Coming in force!’ said the fellow. ‘Dragoons! By this road!’

“‘Dragoons? By this road?’ repeated every man of the party, looking ateach other like men sentenced to be hanged.

“Scarcely had they spoken when we heard the distant noise of cavalryadvancing at a brisk trot. Lord, what a scene ensued! The soldiers ranhither and thither like frightened sheep; some pulled out crucifixes andbegan to say their prayers; others fired off their muskets in a panic; themule-drivers cut their traces, and endeavored to get away by riding; andthe intendant took to his heels, screaming out to us, as he went, to fightmanfully to the last, and that he’d report us favorably to the Junta.

“Just at this moment the dragoons came in sight; they came galloping up,shouting like madmen. One look was enough for my fellows; they sprang totheir legs from their devotions, fired a volley straight at the new moon,and ran like men.

“I was knocked down in the rush. As I regained my legs, Tom O’Flaherty wasstanding beside me, laughing like mad.

“‘Eh, Monsoon! I’ve kept my word, old fellow! What legs they have! Weshall make no prisoners, that’s certain. Now, lads, here it is! Put thehorses to, here. We shall take but one, Monsoon; so that your gallantdefence of the rest will please the Junta. Good-night, good-night! I willdrink your health every night these two months.’

“So saying, Tom sprang to his saddle; and in less time than I’ve beentelling it, the whole was over and I sitting by myself in the graymoonlight, meditating on all I saw, and now and then shouting for myPortuguese friends to come back again. They came in time, by twos andthrees; and at last the whole party re-assembled, and we set forth again,every man, from the intendant to the drummer, lauding my valor, and sayingthat Don Monsoon was a match for the Cid.”

“And how did the Junta behave?”

“Like trumps, Charley. Made me a Knight of Battalha, and kissed me on bothcheeks, having sent twelve dozen of the rescued wine to my quarters, as asmall testimony of their esteem. I have laughed very often at it since.But hush, Charley? What’s that I hear without there?”

“Oh, it’s my fellow Mike. He asked my leave to entertain his friendsbefore parting, and I perceive he is delighting them with a song.”

“But what a confounded air it is! Are the words Hebrew?”

“Irish, Major; most classical Irish, too, I’ll be bound!”

“Irish! I’ve heard most tongues, but that certainly surprises me. Call himin, Charley, and let us have the canticle.”

In a few minutes more, Mr. Free appeared in a state of very satisfactoryelevation, his eyebrows alternately rising and falling, his mouth a littledrawn to one side, and a side motion in his knee-joints that might puzzlea physiologist to account for.

“A sweet little song of yours, Mike,” said the major; “a very sweet thingindeed. Wet your lips, Mickey.”

“Long life to your honor and Master Charles there, too, and them thatbelongs to both of yez. May a gooseberry skin make a nightcap for the manwould harm either of ye.”

“Thank you, Mike. And now about that song.”

“It’s the ouldest tune ever was sung,” said Mike, with a hiccough,“barring Adam had a taste for music; but the words—the poethry—isnot so ould.”

“And how comes that?”

“The poethry, ye see, was put to it by one of my ancesthors,—he wasa great inventhor in times past, and made beautiful songs,—and ye’dnever guess what it’s all about.”

“Love, mayhap?” quoth Monsoon.

“Sorra taste of kissing from beginning to end.”

“A drinking song?” said I.

“Whiskey is never mentioned.”

“Fighting is the only other national pastime. It must be in praise ofsudden death?”

“You’re out again; but sure you’d never guess it,” said Mike. “Well, yesee, here’s what it is. It’s the praise and glory of ould Ireland in thegreat days that’s gone, when we were all Phenayceans and Armenians, andwhen we worked all manner of beautiful contrivances in gold and silver,—braceletsand collars and teapots, elegant to look at,—and read Roosian andLatin, and played the harp and the barrel-organ, and eat and drank of thebest, for nothing but asking.”

“Blessed times, upon my life!” quoth the major; “I wish we had them backagain.”

“There’s more of your mind,” said Mike, steadying himself. “My ancesthorswas great people in them days; and sure it isn’t in my present situationI’d be av we had them back again,—sorra bit, faith! It isn’t, ‘Comehere, Mickey, bad luck to you, Mike!’ or, ‘That blackguard, Mickey Free!’people’d be calling me. But no matter; here’s your health again, MajorMonsoon—”

“Never mind vain regrets, Mike. Let us hear your song; the major has takena great fancy to it.”

“Ah, then, it’s joking you are, Mister Charles,” said Mike, affecting anair of most bashful coyness.

“By no means; we want to hear you sing it.”

“To be sure we do. Sing it by all means; never be ashamed. King David wasvery fond of singing,—upon my life he was.”

“But you’d never understand a word of it, sir.”

“No matter; we know what it’s about. That’s the way with the Legion; theydon’t know much English, but they generally guess what I’m at.”

This argument seemed to satisfy all Mike’s remaining scruples; so placinghimself in an attitude of considerable pretension as to grace, he began,with a voice of no very measured compass, an air of which neither by namenor otherwise can I give any conception; my principal amusem*nt beingderived from a tol-de-rol chorus of the major, which concluded each verse,and indeed in a lower key accompanied the singer throughout.

Since that I have succeeded in obtaining a free-and-easy translation ofthe lyric; but in my anxiety to preserve the metre and something of thespirit of the original, I have made several blunders and manyanachronisms. Mr. Free, however, pronounces my version a good one, and theworld must take his word till some more worthy translator shall haveconsigned it to immortal verse.

With this apology, therefore, I present Mr. Free’s song:

AIR,—Na Guilloch y’ Goulen.Oh, once we were illigint people,Though we now live in cabins of mud;And the land that ye see from the steepleBelonged to us all from the Flood.My father was then King of Connaught,My grand-aunt Viceroy of Tralee;But the Sassenach came, and signs on it,The devil an acre have we.The least of us then were all earls,And jewels we wore without name;We drank punch out of rubies and pearls,—Mr. Petrie can tell you the same.But except some turf mould and potatoes,There’s nothing our own we can call;And the English,—bad luck to them!—hate us,Because we’ve more fun than them all!My grand-aunt was niece to Saint Kevin,That’s the reason my name’s Mickey Free!Priest’s nieces,—but sure he’s in heaven,And his failins is nothin’ to me.And we still might get on without doctors,If they’d let the ould Island alone;And if purple-men, priests, and tithe-proctorsWere crammed down the great gun of Athlone.

As Mike’s melody proceeded, the major’s thorough bass waxed beautifullyless,—now and then, it’s true, roused by some momentary strain, itswelled upwards in full chorus, but gradually these passing flights grewrarer, and finally all ceased, save a long, low, droning sound, like theexpiring sigh of a wearied bagpipe. His fingers still continuedmechanically to beat time upon the table, and still his head noddedsympathetically to the music; his eyelids closed in sleep; and as the lastverse concluded, a full-drawn snore announced that Monsoon, if not in theland of dreams, was at least in a happy oblivion of all terrestrialconcerns, and caring as little for the woes of green Erin and the alteredfortunes of the Free family as any Saxon that ever oppressed them.

There he sat, the finished decanter and empty goblet testifying that hislabors had only ceased from the pressure of necessity; but the broken,half-uttered words that fell from his lips evinced that he reposed on thelast bottle of the series.

“Oh, thin, he’s a fine ould gentleman!” said Mike, after a pause of someminutes, during which he had been contemplating the major with all thecritical acumen Chantrey or Canova would have bestowed upon an antiquestatue,—“a fine ould gentleman, every inch of him; and it’s themaster would like to have him up at the Castle.”

“Quite true, Mike; but let us not forget the road. Look to the cattle, andbe ready to start within an hour.”

When he left the room for this purpose I endeavored to shake the majorinto momentary consciousness ere we parted.

“Major, Major,” said I, “time is up. I must start.”

“Yes, it’s all true, your Excellency: they pillaged a little; and if theydid change their facings, there was a great temptation. All the red velvetthey found in the churches—”

“Good-by, old fellow, good-by!”

“Stand at ease!”

“Can’t, unfortunately, yet awhile; so farewell. I’ll make a capital reportof the Legion to Sir Arthur; shall I add anything particularly fromyourself?”

This, and the shake that accompanied it, aroused him. He started up, andlooked about him for a few seconds.

“Eh, Charley! You didn’t say Sir Arthur was here, did you?”

“No, Major; don’t be frightened; he’s many a league off. I asked if youhad anything to say when I met him?”

“Oh, yes, Charley! Tell him we’re capital troops in our own little way inthe mountains; would never do in pitched battles,—skirmishing’s ourforte; and for cutting off stragglers, or sacking a town, back them at anyodds.”

“Yes, yes, I know all that; you’ve nothing more?”

“Nothing,” said he, once more closing his eyes and crossing his handsbefore him, while his lips continued to mutter on,—“nothing more,except you may say from me,—he knows me, Sir Arthur does. Tell himto guard himself from intemperance; a fine fellow if he wouldn’t drink.”

“You horrid old humbug, what nonsense are you muttering there?”

“Yes, yes; Solomon says, ‘Who hath red eyes and carbuncles?’ they that mixtheir lush. Pure Sneyd never injured any one. Tell him so from me,—it’san old man’s advice, and I have drunk some hogsheads of it.”

With these words he ceased to speak, while his head, falling gentlyforward upon his chest, proclaimed him sound asleep.

“Adieu, then, for the last time,” said I, slapping him gently on theshoulder. “And now for the road.”

CHAPTER LVII.

CUESTA.

The second day of our journey was drawing to a close as we came in view ofthe Spanish army.

The position they occupied was an undulating plain beside the TeitarRiver; the country presented no striking feature of picturesque beauty,but the scene before us needed no such aid to make it one of the mostinteresting kind. From the little mountain path we travelled we beheldbeneath a force of thirty thousand men drawn up in battle array, densecolumns of infantry alternating with squadrons of horse or dark masses ofartillery dotted the wide plain, the bright steel glittering in the richsunset of a July evening when not a breath of air was stirring; the verybanners hung down listlessly, and not a sound broke the solemn stillnessof the hour. All was silent. So impressive and so strange was thespectacle of a vast army thus resting mutely under arms, that I reined inmy horse, and almost doubted the reality of the scene as I gazed upon it.The dark shadows of the tall mountain were falling across the valley, anda starry sky was already replacing the ruddy glow of sunset as we reachedthe plain; but still no change took place in the position of the Spanisharmy.

“Who goes there?” cried a hoarse voice, as we issued from the mountaingorge, and in a moment we found ourselves surrounded by an outpost party.Having explained, as well as I was able, who I was, and for what reason Iwas there, I proceeded to accompany the officer towards the camp.

On my way thither I learned the reason of the singular display of troopswhich had been so puzzling to me. From an early hour of that day SirArthur Wellesley’s arrival had been expected, and old Cuesta had drawn uphis men for inspection, and remained thus for several hours patientlyawaiting his coming; he himself, overwhelmed with years and infirmity,sitting upon his horse the entire time.

As it was not necessary that I should be presented to the general, myreport being for the ear of Sir Arthur himself, I willingly availed myselfof the hospitality proffered by a Spanish officer of cavalry; and havingprovided for the comforts of my tired cattle and taken a hasty supper,issued forth to look at the troops, which, although it was now growinglate, were still in the same attitude.

Scarcely had I been half an hour thus occupied, when the stillness of thescene was suddenly interrupted by the loud report of a large gun,immediately followed by a long roll of musketry, while at the same momentthe bands of the different regiments struck up, and as if by magic a blazeof red light streamed across the dark ranks. This was effected by pinetorches held aloft at intervals, throwing a lurid glare upon the grim andswarthy features of the Spaniards, whose brown uniforms and slouching hatspresented a most picturesque effect as the red light fell upon them.

The swell of the thundering cannon grew louder and nearer,—theshouldering of muskets, the clash of sabres, and the hoarse roll of thedrum, mingling in one common din. I at once guessed that Sir Arthur hadarrived, and as I turned the flank of a battalion I saw the staffapproaching. Nothing can be conceived more striking than their advance. Inthe front rode old Cuesta himself, clad in the costume of a past century,his slashed doublet and trunk hose reminding one of a more chivalrousperiod, his heavy, unwieldy figure looming from side to side, andthreatening at each moment to fall from his saddle. On each side of himwalked two figures gorgeously dressed, whose duty appeared to be tosustain the chief in his seat. At his side rode a far different figure.Mounted upon a slight-made, active thorough-bred, whose drawn flanksbespoke a long and weary journey, sat Sir Arthur Wellesley, a plain bluefrock and gray trousers being his unpretending costume; but the eagleglance which he threw around on every side, the quick motion of his handas he pointed hither and thither among the dense battalions, bespoke himevery inch a soldier. Behind them came a brilliant staff, glittering inaiguillettes and golden trappings, among whom I recognized somewell-remembered faces,—our gallant leader at the Douro, Sir CharlesStewart, among the number.

As they passed the spot where I was standing, the torch of a foot soldierbehind me flared suddenly up and threw a strong flash upon the party.Cuesta’s horse grew frightened, and plunged so fearfully for a minute thatthe poor old man could scarcely keep his seat. A smile shot across SirArthur’s features at the moment, but the next instant he was grave andsteadfast as before.

A wretched hovel, thatched and in ruins, formed the headquarters of theSpanish army, and thither the staff now bent their steps,—a supperbeing provided there for our commander-in-chief and the officers of hissuite. Although not of the privileged party, I lingered round the spot forsome time, anxiously expecting to find some friend or acquaintance whomight tell me the news of our people, and what events had occurred in myabsence.

CHAPTER LVIII.

THE LETTER.

The hours passed slowly over, and I at length grew weary of waiting. Forsome time I had amused myself with observing the slouching gait andunsoldier-like air of the Spaniards as they lounged carelessly about,looking in dress, gesture, and appointment, far move like a guerilla thana regular force. Then again, the strange contrast of the miserable hutwith falling chimney and ruined walls, to the glitter of the mounted guardof honor who sat motionless beside it, served to pass the time; but as thenight was already far advanced, I turned towards my quarters, hoping thatthe next morning might gratify my curiosity about my friends.

Beside the tent where I was billeted, I found Mike in waiting, who, themoment he saw me, came hastily forward with a letter in his hand. Anofficer of Sir Arthur’s staff had left it while I was absent, desiringMike on no account to omit its delivery the first instant he met me. Thehand—not a very legible one—was perfectly unknown to me, andthe appearance of the billet such as betrayed no over-scrupulous care inthe writer.

I trimmed my lamp leisurely, threw a fresh log upon the fire, disposedmyself completely at full length beside it, and then proceeded to formacquaintance with my unknown correspondent. I will not attempt anydescription of the feelings which gradually filled me as I read on; theletter itself will suggest them to those who know my story. It ran thus:—

PLACENTIA, July 8, 1809.DEAR O’MALLEY,—Although I’d rather march to Lisbon barefootthan write three lines, Fred Power insists upon my turning scribe,as he has a notion you’ll be up at Cuesta’s headquarters about thistime. You’re in a nice scrape, devil a lie in it! Here has Fredbeen fighting that fellow Trevyllian for you,—all because you wouldnot have patience and fight him yourself the morning you left theDouro,—so much for haste! Let it be a lesson to you for life.Poor Fred got the ball in his hip, and the devil a one of the doctorscan find it. But he’s getting better any way, and going to Lisbonfor change of air. Meanwhile, since Power’s been wounded, Trevyllian’sspeaking very hardly of you, and they all say here you mustcome back—no matter how—and put matters to rights. Fred hasplaced the thing in my hands, and I’m thinking we’d better call outthe “heavies” by turns,—for most of them stand by Trevyllian.Maurice Quill and myself sat up considering it last night; but,somehow, we don’t clearly remember to-day a beautiful plan we hitupon. However, we’ll have at it again this evening. Meanwhile,come over here, and let us be doing something. We hear that oldMonsoon has blown up a town, a bridge, and a big convent. Theymust have been hiding the plunder very closely, or he’d never havebeen reduced to such extremities. We’ll have a brush with theFrench soon.Yours most eagerly,D. O’SHAUGHNESSY.

My first thought, as I ran my eye over these lines, was to seek forPower’s note, written on the morning we parted. I opened it, and to myhorror found that it only related to my quarrel with Hammersley. Mymeeting with Trevyllian had been during Fred’s absence, and when heassured me that all was satisfactorily arranged, and a full explanationtendered, that nothing interfered with my departure,—I utterlyforgot that he was only aware of one half my troubles, and in the hasteand bustle of my departure, had not a moment left me to collect myself andthink calmly on the matter. The two letters lay before me, and as Ithought over the stain upon my character thus unwittingly incurred; theblast I had thrown upon my reputation; the wound of my poor friend, whoexposed himself for my sake,—I grew sick at heart, and the bittertears of agony burst from my eyes.

That weary night passed slowly over; the blight of all my prospects, whenthey seemed fairest and brightest, presented itself to me in a hundredshapes; and when, overcome by fatigue and exhaustion, I closed my eyes tosleep, it was only to follow up in my dreams my waking thoughts. Morningcame at length; but its bright sunshine and balmy air brought no comfortto me. I absolutely dreaded to meet my brother officers; I felt that insuch a position as I stood, no half or partial explanation could sufficeto set me right in their estimation; and yet, what opportunity had I foraught else? Irresolute how to act, I sat leaning my head upon my hands,when I heard a footstep approach; I looked up and saw before me no otherthan my poor friend Sparks, from whom I had been separated so long. Anyother adviser at such a moment would, I acknowledge, have been as welcome;for the poor fellow knew but little of the world, and still less of theservice. However, one glance convinced me that his heart at least wastrue; and I shook his outstretched hand with delight. In a few words heinformed me that Merivale had secretly commissioned him to come over inthe hope of meeting me; that although all the 14th men were persuaded thatI was not to blame in what had occurred,—yet that reports soinjurious had gone abroad, so many partial and imperfect statements werecirculated, that nothing but my return to headquarters would avail, andthat I must not lose a moment in having Trevyllian out, with whom all themisrepresentation had originated.

“This, of course,” said Sparks, “is to be a secret; Merivale, being ourcolonel—”

“Of course,” said I, “he cannot countenance, much less counsel, such aproceeding; Now, then, for the road.”

“Yes; but you cannot leave before making your report. Gordon expects tosee you at eleven; he told me so last night.”

“I cannot help it; I shall not wait; my mind is made up. My career herematters but little in comparison with this horrid charge. I shall bebroke, but I shall be avenged.”

“Come, come, O’Malley; you are in our hands now, and you must be guided.You shall wait; you shall see Gordon. Half an hour will make yourreport, and I have relays of horses along the road, and we shall reachPlacentia by nightfall.”

There was a tone of firmness in this, so unlike anything I ever looked forin the speaker, and withal so much of foresight and precaution, that Icould scarcely credit my senses as he spoke. Having at length agreed tohis proposal, Sparks left me to think over my return of the Legion,promising that immediately after my interview with the military secretary,we should start together for headquarters.

CHAPTER LXIX.

MAJOR O’SHAUGHNESSY.

“This is Major O’Shaughnessy’s quarters, sir,” said a sergeant, as hestopped short at the door of a small, low house in the midst of an oliveplantation; an Irish wolf-dog—the well-known companion of the major—laystretched across the entrance, watching with eager and bloodshot eyes theprocess of cutting up a bullock, which two soldiers in undress jacketswere performing within a few yards of the spot.

Stepping cautiously across the savage-looking sentinel, I entered thelittle hall, and finding no one near, passed into a small room, the doorof which lay half open.

A very palpable odor of cigars and brandy proclaimed, even without hispresence, that this was O’Shaughnessy’s sitting-room; so I sat myself downupon an old-fashioned sofa to wait patiently for his return, which I heardwould be immediately after the evening parade. Sparks had become knockedup during our ride, so that for the last three leagues I was alone, andlike most men in such circ*mstances, pressed on only the harder.Completely worn out for want of rest, I had scarcely placed myself on thesofa when I fell sound asleep. When I awoke, all was dark around me, savethe faint flickerings of the wood embers on the hearth, and for somemoments I could not remember where I was; but by degrees recollectioncame, and as I thought over my position and its possible consequences, Iwas again nearly dropping to sleep, when the door suddenly opened, and aheavy step sounded on the floor.

I lay still and spoke not, as a large figure in a cloak approached thefire-place, and stooping down endeavored to light a candle at the fastexpiring fire.

I had little difficulty in detecting the major even by the half-light; amuttered execration upon the candle, given with an energy that only anIrishman ever bestows upon slight matters, soon satisfied me on this head.

“May the Devil fly away with the commissary and the chandler to theforces! Ah, you’ve lit at last!”

With these words he stood up, and his eyes falling on me at the moment, hesprang a yard or two backwards, exclaiming as he did so, “The blessedVirgin be near us, what’s this?” a most energetic crossing of himselfaccompanying his words. My pale and haggard face, thus suddenly presented,having suggested to the worthy major the impression of a supernaturalvisitor, a hearty burst of laughter, which I could not resist, was my onlyanswer; and the next moment O’Shaughnessy was wrenching my hand in a grasplike a steel vice.

“Upon my conscience, I thought it was your ghost; and if you kept quiet alittle longer, I was going to promise you Christian burial, and as manyMasses for your soul as my uncle the bishop could say between this andEaster. How are you, my boy? A little thin, and something paler, I think,than when you left us.”

Having assured him that fatigue and hunger were in a great measure thecause of my sickly looks, the major proceeded to place before me the débrisof his day’s dinner, with a sufficiency of bottles to satisfy amess-table, keeping up as he went a running fire of conversation.

“I’m as glad as if the Lord took the senior major, to see you here thisnight. With the blessing of Providence we’ll shoot Trevyllian in themorning, and any more of the heavies that like it. You are an ill-treatedman, that’s what it is, and Dan O’Shaughnessy says it. Help yourself, myboy; crusty old port in that bottle as ever you touched your lips to.Power’s getting all right; it was contract powder, warranted not to kill.Bad luck to the commissaries once more! With such ammunition Sir Arthurdoes right to trust most to the bayonet. And how is Monsoon, the oldrogue?”

“Gloriously, living in the midst of wine and olives.”

“No fear of him, the old sinner; but he is a fine fellow, after all.Charley, you are eating nothing, boy.”

“To tell you the truth, I’m far more anxious to talk with you at thismoment than aught else.”

“So you shall: the night’s young. Meanwhile, I had better not delaymatters. You want to have Trevyllian out,—is not that so?”

“Of course; you are aware how it happened?”

“I know everything. Go on with your supper, and don’t mind me; I’ll beback in twenty minutes or less.”

Without waiting for any reply, he threw his cloak around him, and strodeout of the room. Once more I was alone; but already my frame of mind wasaltered,—the cheering tone of my reckless, gallant countryman hadraised my spirits, and I felt animated by his very manner.

An hour elapsed before the major returned; and when he did come, hisappearance and gestures bespoke anger and disappointment. He threw himselfhurriedly into a seat, and for some minutes never spoke.

“The world’s beautifully changed, anyhow, since I began it, O’Malley,—whenyou thanked a man civilly that asked you to fight him! The Devil take thecowards, say I.”

“What has happened? Tell me, I beseech you?”

“He won’t fight,” said the major, blurting out the words as if they wouldchoke him.

“He’ll not fight! And why?”

The major was silent. He seemed confused and embarrassed. He turned fromthe fire to the table, from the table to the fire, poured out a glass ofwine, drank it hastily off, and springing from his chair, paced the roomwith long, impatient strides.

“My dear O’Shaughnessy, explain, I beg of you. Does he refuse to meet mefor any reason—”

“He does,” said the major, turning on me a look of deep feeling as hespoke; “and he does it to ruin you, my boy. But as sure as my name is Dan,he’ll fail this time. He was sitting with his friend Beaufort when Ireached his quarters, and received me with all the ceremonious politenesshe well knows how to assume. I told him in a few words the object of myvisit; upon which Trevyllian, standing up, referred me to his friend for areply, and left the room. I thought that all was right, and sat down todiscuss, as I believed, preliminaries, when the cool puppy, with his backto the fire, carelessly lisped out, ‘It can’t be, Major; your friend istoo late.’

“‘Too late? too late?’ said I.

“‘Yes, precisely so; not up to time. The affair should have come off someweeks since. We won’t meet him now.’

“‘This is really your answer?’

“‘This is really my answer; and not only so, but the decision of ourmess.’

“What I said after this he may remember; devil take me if Ican. But I have a vague recollection of saying something that theaforesaid mess will never petition the Horse Guards to put on theirregimental colors; and here I am—”

With these words the major gulped down a full goblet of wine, and oncemore resumed his walk through the room. I shall not attempt to record thefeelings which agitated me during the major’s recital. In one rapid glanceI saw the aim of my vindictive enemy. My honor, not my life, was theobject he sought for; and ten thousand times more than ever did I pant forthe opportunity to confront him in a deadly combat.

“Charley,” said O’Shaughnessy, at length, placing his hand upon myshoulder, “you must get to bed now. Nothing more can be done to-night inany way. Be assured of one thing, my boy,—I’ll not desert you; andif that assurance can give you a sound sleep, you’ll not need a lullaby.”

CHAPTER LX.

PRELIMINARIES.

I awoke refreshed on the following morning, and came down to breakfastwith a lighter heart than I had even hoped for. A secret feeling that allwould go well had somehow taken possession of me, and I longed forO’Shaughnessy’s coming, trusting that he might be able to confirm myhopes. His servant informed me that the major had been absent sincedaybreak, and left orders that he was not to be waited for at breakfast.

I was not destined, however, to pass a solitary time in his absence, forevery moment brought some new arrival to visit me; and during the morningthe colonel and every officer of the regiment not on actual duty cameover. I soon learned that the feeling respecting Trevyllian’s conduct wasone of unmixed condemnation among my own corps, but that a kind of partyspirit which had subsisted for some months between the regiment hebelonged to and the 14th had given a graver character to the affair, andinduced many men to take up his views of the transaction; and although Iheard of none who attributed my absence to any dislike to a meeting, yetthere were several who conceived that, by my going at the time, I hadforfeited all claim to satisfaction at his hands.

“Now that Merivale is gone,” said an officer to me as the colonel left theroom, “I may confess to you that he sees nothing to blame in your conductthroughout; and even had you been aware of how matters were circ*mstanced,your duty was too imperative to have preferred your personal considerationto it.”

“Does any one know where Conyers is?” said Baker.

“The story goes that Conyers can assist us here. Conyers is at Zaza laMayor, with the 28th; but what can he do?”

“That I’m not able to tell you; but I know O’Shaughnessy heard somethingat parade this morning, and has set off in search of him on every side.”

“Was Conyers ever out with Trevyllian?”

“Not as a principal, I believe. The report is, however, that he knows moreabout him than other people, as Tom certainly does of everybody.”

“It is rather a new thing for Trevyllian to refuse a meeting. They say,O’Malley, he has heard of your shooting.”

“No, no,” said another; “he cares very little for any man’s pistol. If thestory be true, he fires a second or two before his adversary; at least, itwas in that way he killed Carysfort.”

“Here comes the great O’Shaughnessy!” cried some one at the window; andthe next moment the heavy gallop of a horse was heard along the causeway.In an instant we all rushed to the door to receive him.

“It’s all right, lads!” cried he, as he came up. “We have him this time!”

“How?” “When?” “Why?” “In what way have you managed?” fell from a dozenvoices, as the major elbowed his way through the crowd to thesitting-room.

“In the first place,” said O’Shanghnessy, drawing a long breath, “I havepromised secrecy as to the steps of this transaction; secondly, if Ihadn’t, it would puzzle me to break it, for I’ll be hanged if I know morethan yourselves. Tom Conyers wrote me a few lines for Trevyllian, andTrevyllian pledges himself to meet our friend; and that’s all we need knowor care for.”

“Then you have seen Trevyllian this morning?”

“No; Beaufort met me at the village. But even now it seems this affair isnever to come off. Trevyllian has been sent with a forage party towardsLesco. However, that can’t be a long absence. But, for Heaven’s sake, letme have some breakfast!”

While O’Shaughnessy proceeded to attack the viands before him, the otherschatted about in little groups; but all wore the pleased and happy looksof men who had rescued their friend from a menaced danger. As for myself,my heart swelled with gratitude to the kind fellows around me.

“How has Conyers assisted us at this juncture?” was my first question toO’Shaughnessy, when we were once more alone.

“I am not at liberty to speak on that subject, Charley. But be satisfiedthe reasons for which Trevyllian meets you are fair and honorable.”

“I am content.”

“The only thing now to be done is to have the meeting as soon aspossible.”

“We are all agreed upon that point,” said I; “and the more so as thematter had better be decided before Sir Arthur’s return.”

“Quite true. And now, O’Malley, you had better join your people as soon asmay be, and it will put a stop to all talking about the matter.”

The advice was good, and I lost no time in complying with it; and when Ijoined the regiment that day at mess, it was with a light heart and acheerful spirit, for come what might of the affair, of one thing I wascertain,—my character was now put above any reach of aspersion, andmy reputation beyond attack.

CHAPTER LXI.

ALL RIGHT.

Some days after coming back to headquarters, I was returning from a visitI had been making to a friend at one of the outposts, when an officer whomI knew slightly overtook me and informed me that Major O’Shaughnessy hadbeen to my quarters in search of me, and had sent persons in differentdirections to find me.

Suspecting the object of the major’s haste, I hurried on at once, and as Irode up to the spot, found him in the midst of a group of officers,engaged, to all appearance, in most eager conversation.

“Oh, here he comes!” cried he, as I cantered up. “Come, my boy, doff theblue frock as soon as you can, and turn out in your best-fitting black.Everything has been settled for this evening at seven o’clock, and we haveno time to lose.”

“I understand you,” said I, “and shall not keep you waiting.” So saying, Isprang from my saddle and hastened to my quarters. As I entered the room Iwas followed by O’Shaughnessy, who closed the door after him as he camein, and having turned the key in it, sat down beside the table, andfolding his arms, seemed buried in reflection. As I proceeded with mytoilet he returned no answers to the numerous questions I put to him,either as to the time of Trevyllian’s return, the place of the meeting, orany other part of the transaction. His attention seemed to wander far fromall around and about him; and as he muttered indistinctly to himself, thefew words I could catch bore not in the remotest degree upon the matterbefore us.

“I have written a letter or two here, Major,” said I, opening mywriting-desk. “In case anything happens, you will look to a few things Ihave mentioned here. Somehow, I could not write to poor Fred Power; butyou must tell him from me that his noble conduct towards me was the lastthing I spoke of.”

“What confounded nonsense you are talking!” said O’Shaughnessy, springingfrom his seat and crossing the room with tremendous strides, “croakingaway there as if the bullet was in your thorax. Hang it, man, bear up!”

“But, Major, my dear friend, what the deuce are you thinking of? The fewthings I mentioned—”

“The devil! you are not going over it all again, are you?” said he, in avoice of no measured tone.

I now began to feel irritated in turn, and really looked at him for someseconds in considerable amazement. That he should have mistaken thedirections I was giving him and attributed them to any cowardice was tooinsulting a thought to bear; and yet how otherwise was I to understand thevery coarse style of his interruption?

At length my temper got the victory, and with a voice of most measuredcalmness, I said, “Major O’Shaughnessy, I am grateful, most deeplygrateful, for the part you have acted towards me in this difficultbusiness; at the same time, as you now appear to disapprove of my conductand bearing, when I am most firmly determined to alter nothing, I shallbeg to relieve you of the unpleasant office of my friend.”

“Heaven grant that you could do so!” said he, interrupting me, while hisclasped hands and eager look attested the vehemence of the wish. He pausedfor a moment, then, springing from his chair, rushed towards me, and threwhis arms around me. “No, my boy, I can’t do it,—I can’t do it. Ihave tried to bully myself into insensibility for this evening’s work,—Ihave endeavored to be rude to you, that you might insult me, and steel myheart against what might happen; but it won’t do, Charley, it won’t do.”

With these words the big tears rolled down his stern cheeks, and his voicebecame thick with emotion.

“But for me, all this need not have happened. I know it; I feel it. Ihurried on this meeting; your character stood fair and unblemished withoutthat,—at least they tell me so now; and I still have to assure you—”

“Come, my dear, kind friend, don’t give way in this fashion. You havestood manfully by me through every step of the road; don’t desert me onthe threshold of—”

“The grave, O’Malley?”

“I don’t think so, Major; but see, half-past six! Look to these pistolsfor me. Are they likely to object to hair-triggers?”

A knocking at the door turned off our attention, and the next momentBaker’s voice was heard.

“O’Malley, you’ll be close run for time; the meeting-place is full threemiles from this.”

I seized the key and opened the door. At the same instant, O’Shaughnessyrose and turned towards the window, holding one of the pistols in hishand.

“Look at that, Baker,—what a sweet tool it is!” said he, in a voicethat actually made me start. Not a trace of his late excitement remained;his usually dry, half-humorous manner had returned, and his droll featureswere as full of their own easy, devil-may-care fun as ever.

“Here comes the drag,” said Baker. “We can drive nearly all the way,unless you prefer riding.”

“Of course not. Keep your hand steady, Charley, and if you don’t bring himdown with that saw-handle, you’re not your uncle’s nephew.”

With these words we mounted into the tax-cart, and set off for themeeting-place.

CHAPTER LXII.

THE DUEL.

A small and narrow ravine between the two furze-covered dells led to theopen space where the meeting had been arranged for. As we reached this,therefore, we were obliged to descend from the drag, and proceed theremainder of the way afoot. We had not gone many yards when a step washeard approaching, and the next moment Beaufort appeared. His usually easyand dégagé air was certainly tinged with somewhat of constraint;and though his soft voice and half smile were as perfect as ever, aslightly flurried expression about the lip, and a quick and nervous motionof his eyebrow, bespoke a heart not completely at ease. He lifted hisforaging cap most ceremoniously to salute us as we came up, and casting ananxious look to see if any others were following, stood quite still.

“I think it right to mention, Major O’Shaughnessy,” said he, in a voice ofmost dulcet sweetness, “that I am the only friend of Captain Trevyllian onthe ground; and though I have not the slightest objection to Captain Bakerbeing present, I hope you will see the propriety of limiting the witnessesto the three persons now here.”

“Upon my conscience, as far as I am concerned, or my friend either, we areperfectly indifferent if we fight before three or three thousand. InIreland we rather like a crowd.”

“Of course, then, as you see no objection to my proposition, I may countupon your co-operation in the event of any intrusion,—I mean, thatwhile we, upon our sides, will not permit any of our friends to comeforward, you will equally exert yourself with yours.”

“Here we are, Baker and myself, neither more nor less. We expect no one,and want no one; so that I humbly conceive all the preliminaries you aretalking of will never be required.”

Beaufort tried to smile, and bit his lips, while a small red spot upon hischeek spoke that some deeper feeling of irritation than the mere carelessmanner of the major could account for, still rankled in his bosom. We nowwalked on without speaking, except when occasionally some passingobservation of Beaufort upon the fineness of the evening, or the ruggednature of the road, broke the silence. As we emerged from the littlemountain pass into the open meadow land, the tall and soldier-like figureof Trevyllian was the first object that presented itself. He was standingbeside a little stone cross that stood above a holy well, and seemedoccupied in deciphering the inscription. He turned at the noise of ourapproach, and calmly waited our coming. His eye glanced quickly from thefeatures of O’Shaughnessy to those of Baker; but seeming rapidly reassuredas he walked forward, his face at once recovered its usual severity andits cold, impassive look of sternness.

“All right!” said Beaufort, in a whisper the tones of which I overheard,as he drew near to his friend. Trevyllian smiled in return, but did notspeak. During the few moments which passed in conversation between theseconds, I turned from the spot with Baker, and had scarcely time toaddress a question to him, when O’Shaughnessy called out, “Hollo, Baker!—comehere a moment!” The three seemed now in eager discussion for some minutes,when Baker walked towards Trevyllian, and saying something, appeared towait for his reply. This being obtained, he joined the others, and themoment afterwards came to where I was standing. “You are to toss for firstshot, O’Malley. O’Shaughnessy has made that proposition, and the othersagree that with two crack marksmen, it is perhaps the fairest way. Isuppose you have no objection?”

“Of course, I shall make none. Whatever O’Shaughnessy decides for me I amready to abide by.”

“Well, then, as to the distance?” said Beaufort, loud enough to be heardby me where I was standing. O’Shaughnessy’s reply I could not catch, butit was evident, from the tone of both parties, that some differenceexisted on the point.

“Captain Baker shall decide between us,” said Beaufort, at length, andthey all walked away to some distance. During all the while I couldperceive that Trevyllian’s uneasiness and impatience seemed extreme; helooked from the speakers to the little mountain pass, and strained hiseyes in every direction. It was clear that he dreaded some interruption.At last, unable any longer to control his feelings, he called out,“Beaufort, I say, what the devil are we waiting for now?”

“Nothing at present,” said Beaufort, as he came forward with a dollar inhis hand. “Come, Major O’Shaughnessy, you shall call for your friend.”

He pitched the piece of money as he spoke high into the air, and watchedit as it fell on the soft grass beneath.

“Head! for a thousand,” cried O’Shaughnessy, running over and stoopingdown; “and head it is!”

“You’ve won the first shot,” whispered Baker; “for Heaven’s sake be cool!”

Beaufort grew deadly pale as he bent over the crownpiece, and seemedscarcely to have courage to look his friend in his face. Not soTrevyllian; he pulled off his gloves without the slightest semblance ofemotion, buttoned up his well-fitting black frock to the throat, andthrowing a rapid glance around, seemed only eager to begin the combat.

“Fifteen paces, and the words, ‘One, two!’”

“Exactly. My cane shall mark the spot.”

“Devilish long paces you make them,” said O’Shaughnessy, who did not seemto approve of the distance. “They have some confounded advantage in this,depend upon it,” said the major, in a whisper to Baker.

“Are you ready?” inquired Beaufort.

“Ready,—quite ready!”

“Take your ground, then!”

As Trevyllian moved forward to his place, he muttered something to hisfriend. I did not hear the first part, but the latter words which met mewere ominous enough: “For as I intend to shoot him, ‘tis just as well asit is.”

Whether this was meant to be overheard and intimidate me I knew not; butit* effect proved directly opposite. My firm resolution to hit myantagonist was now confirmed, and no compunctious visitings unnerved myarm. As we took our places some little delay again took place, the flintof my pistol having fallen; and thus we remained full ten or twelveseconds steadily regarding each other. At length O’Shaughnessy cameforward, and putting my weapon in my hand, whispered low, “Remember, youhave but one chance.”

“You are both ready?” cried Beaufort.

“Ready!”

“Then: One, two—”

The last word was lost in the report of my pistol, which went off at theinstant. For a second the flash and smoke obstructed my view; but themoment after I saw Trevyllian stretched upon the ground, with his friendkneeling beside him. My first impulse was to rush over, for now allfeeling of enmity was buried in most heartfelt anxiety for his fate; butas I was stepping forward, O’Shaughnessy called out, “Stand fast, boy,he’s only wounded!” and the same moment he rose slowly from the ground,with the assistance of his friend, and looked with the same wild gazearound him. Such a look! I shall never forget it; there was that intenseexpression of searching anxiety, as if he sought to trace the outlines ofsome visionary spirit as it receded before him. Quickly reassured, as itseemed, by the glance he threw on all sides, his countenance lighted up,not with pleasure, but with a fiendish expression of revengeful triumph,which even his voice evinced as he called out: “It’s my turn now.”

I felt the words in their full force, as I stood silently awaiting mydeath wound. The pause was a long one. Twice did he interrupt his friend,as he was about to give the word, by an expression of suffering, pressinghis hand upon his side, and seeming to writhe with torture; and yet thiswas mere counterfeit.

O’Shaughnessy was now coming forward to interfere and prevent theseinterruptions, when Trevyllian called out in a firm tone, “I’m ready!” Atthe words, “One, two!” the pistol slowly rose; his dark eye measured mecoolly, steadily; his lip curled; and just as I felt that my last momentof life had arrived, a heavy sound of a horse galloping along the rockycauseway seemed to take off his attention. His frame trembled, his handshook, and jerking upwards his weapon, the ball passed high above my head.

“You bear me witness I fired in the air,” said Trevyllian, while the largedrops of perspiration rolled from his forehead, and his features worked asif in a fit.

“You saw it, sir; and you, Beaufort, my friend, you also. Speak! Why willyou not speak?”

“Be calm, Trevyllian; be calm, for Heaven’s sake! What’s the matter withyou?”

“The affair is then ended,” said Baker, “and most happily so. You are, Ihope, not dangerously wounded.”

As he spoke, Trevyllian’s features grew deadly livid; his half-open mouthquivered slightly, his eyes became fixed, and his arm dropped heavilybeside him, and with a low moan he fell fainting to the ground.

As we bent over him I now perceived that another person had joined ourparty; he was a short, determined-looking man of about forty, with blackeyes and aquiline features. Before I had time to guess who it might be, Iheard O’Shaughnessy address him as Colonel Conyers.

“He is dying!” said Beaufort, still stooping over his friend, whose coldhand he grasped within his own. “Poor, poor fellow!”

“He fired in the air,” said Baker, as he spoke in reply to a question fromConyers.

What he answered I heard not, but Baker rejoined,—

“Yes, I am certain of it. We all saw it.”

“Had you not better examine his wounds?” said Conyers, in a tone ofsarcastic irony I could almost have struck him for. “Is your friend nothit? Perhaps he is bleeding?”

“Yes,” said O’Shaughnessy, “let us look to the poor fellow now.” Sosaying, with Beaufort’s aid he unbuttoned his frock and succeeded inopening his waistcoat. There was no trace of blood anywhere, and the ideaof internal hemorrhage at once occurred to us, when Conyers, stoopingdown, pushed me aside, saying at the same time,—

“Your fears for his safety need not distress you much,—look here!” As he spoke he tore open his shirt, and disclosed to our almost doubtingsenses a vest of chain-mail armor fitting close next the skin andcompletely pistol-proof.

I cannot describe the effect this sight produced upon us. Beaufort sprangto his feet with a bound as he screamed out, rather than spoke, “No manbelieves me to have been aware—”

“No, no, Beaufort, your reputation is very far removed from such a stain,” said Conyers.

O’Shaughnessy was perfectly speechless. He looked from one to the other,as though some unexplained mystery still remained, and only seemedrestored to any sense of consciousness as Baker said, “I can feel no pulseat his wrist,—his heart, too, does not beat.”

Conyers placed his hand upon his bosom, then felt along his throat, liftedup an arm, and letting it fall heavily upon the ground, he muttered, “Heis dead!”

It was true. No wound had pierced him,—the pistol bullet was foundwithin his clothes. Some tremendous conflict of the spirit within hadsnapped the cords of life, and the strong man had perished in his agony.

CHAPTER LXIII.

NEWS FROM GALWAY.

I have but a vague and most imperfect recollection of the events whichfollowed this dreadful scene; for some days my faculties seemed stunnedand paralyzed, and my thoughts clung to the minute detail of the ground,—thepersons about, the mountain path, and most of all the half-stifled crythat spoke the broken heart,—with a tenacity that verged uponmadness.

A court-martial was appointed to inquire into the affair; and although Ihave been since told that my deportment was calm, and my answers were firmand collected, yet I remember nothing of the proceedings.

The inquiry, through a feeling of delicacy for the friends of him who wasno more, was made as brief and as private as possible. Beaufort proved thefacts which exonerated me from any imputation in the matter; and upon thesame day the court delivered the decision: “That Lieutenant O’Malley wasnot guilty of the charges preferred against him, and that he should bereleased from arrest, and join his regiment.”

Nothing could be more kind and considerate than the conduct of my brotherofficers,—a hundred little plans and devices for making me forgetthe late unhappy event were suggested and practised,—and I look backto that melancholy period, marked as it was by the saddest circ*mstance ofmy life, as one in which I received more of truly friendly companionshipthan even my palmiest days of prosperity boasted.

While, therefore, I deeply felt the good part my friends were performingtowards me, I was still totally unsuited to join in the happy current oftheir daily pleasures and amusem*nts. The gay and unreflecting characterof O’Shaughnessy, the careless merriment of my brother officers, jarredupon my nerves, and rendered me irritable and excited; and I sought inlonely rides and unfrequented walks, the peace of spirit that calmreflection and a firm purpose for the future rarely fail to lead to.

There is in deep sorrow a touch of the prophetic. It is at seasons whenthe heart is bowed down with grief, and the spirit wasted with suffering,that the veil which conceals the future seems to be removed, and a glance,short and fleeting as the lightning flash, is permitted us into the gloomyvalley before us.

Misfortunes, too, come not singly,—the seared heart is not sufferedto heal from one affliction ere another succeeds it; and this anticipationof the coming evil is, perhaps, one of the most poignant features ofgrief,—the ever-watchful apprehension, the ever-rising question,“What next?” is a torture that never sleeps.

This was the frame of my mind for several days after I returned to myduty,—a morbid sense of some threatened danger being my last thoughtat night and my first on awakening. I had not heard from home since myarrival in the Peninsula; a thousand vague fancies haunted me now thatsome brooding misfortune awaited me. My poor uncle never left my thoughts.Was he well; was he happy? Was he, as he ever used to be, surrounded bythe friends he loved,—the old familiar faces around the hospitablehearth his kindliness had hallowed in my memory as something sacred? Oh,could I but see his manly smile, or hear his voice! Could I but feel hishand upon my head, as he was wont to press it, while words of comfort fellfrom his lips, and sunk into my heart!

Such were my thoughts one morning as I sauntered, unaccompanied, from myquarters. I had not gone far, when my attention was aroused by the noiseof a mule-cart, whose jingling bells and clattering timbers announced itsapproach by the road I was walking. Another turn of the way brought itinto view; and I saw from the gay costume of the driver, as well as asmall orange flag which decorated the conveyance, that it was themail-cart with letters from Lisbon.

Full as my mind was with thoughts of home, I turned hastily back, andretraced my steps towards the camp. When I reached the adjutant-general’squarters, I found a considerable number of officers assembled; the reportthat the post had come was a rumor of interest to all, and accordingly,every moment brought fresh arrivals, pouring in from all sides, andeagerly inquiring, “If the bags had been opened?” The scene of riot,confusion, and excitement, when that event did take place, exceeded allbelief, each man reading his letter half aloud, as if his private affairsand domestic concerns must interest his neighbors, amidst a volley ofexclamations of surprise, pleasure, or occasional anger, as theintelligence severally suggested,—the disappointed expectantscursing their idle correspondents, bemoaning their fate about remittancesthat never arrived, or drafts never honored; while here and there somepublic benefactor, with an outspread “Times” or “Chronicle,” was retailingthe narrative of our own exploits in the Peninsula or the more novelchanges in the world of politics since we left England. A cross-fire ofnews and London gossip ringing on every side made up a perfect Babel mostdifficult to form an idea of. The jargon partook of every accent andintonation the empire boasts of; and from the sharp precision of the NorthTweeder to the broad doric of Kerry, every portion, almost every county,of Great Britain had its representative. Here was a Scotch paymaster, in alugubrious tone, detailing to his friend the apparently not over-welcomenews that Mistress M’Elwain had just been safely delivered of twins,which, with their mother, were doing as well as possible. Here an eagerIrishman, turning over the pages rather than reading his letter, while heexclaimed to his friend,—

“Oh, the devil a rap she’s sent me. The old story about runaway tenantsand distress notices,—sorrow else tenants seem to do in Ireland thanrun away every half-year.”

A little apart some sentimental-looking co*ckney was devouring a verycrossed epistle which he pressed to his lips whenever any one looked athim; while a host of others satisfied themselves by reading in a kind ofbuzzing undertone, every now and then interrupting themselves with somebroken exclamation as commentary,—such as, “Of course she will!” “Never knew him better!” “That’s the girl for my money!” “Fifty per cent,the devil!” and so on. At last I was beginning to weary of the scene, andfinding that there appeared to be nothing for me, was turning to leave theplace, when I saw a group of two or three endeavoring to spell out theaddress of a letter.

“That’s an Irish post-mark, I’ll swear,” said one; “but who can makeanything of the name? It’s devilish like Otaheite, isn’t it?”

“I wish my tailor wrote as illegibly,” said another; “I’d keep up a mostanimated correspondence with him.”

“Here, O’Shaughnessy, you know something of savage life,—spell usthis word here.”

“Show it here. What nonsense, it’s as plain as the nose on my face:‘Master Charles O’Malley, in foreign parts!’”

A roar of laughter followed this announcement, which, at any other time,perhaps, I should have joined in, but which now grated sadly on my ruffledfeelings.

“Here, Charley, this is for you,” said the major; and added in a whisper,—“andupon my conscience, between ourselves, your friend, whoever he is, has astrong action against his writing-master,—devil such a fist ever Ilooked at!”

One glance satisfied me as to my correspondent. It was from Father Rush,my old tutor. I hurried eagerly from the spot, and regaining my quarters,locked the door, and with a beating heart broke the seal and began, aswell as I was able, to decipher his letter. The hand was cramped andstiffened with age, and the bold, upright letters were gnarled and twistedlike a rustic fence, and demanded great patience and much time inunravelling. It ran thus:—

THE PRIORY, Lady-day, 1809.MY DEAR MASTER CHARLES,—Your uncle’s feet are so big andso uneasy that he can’t write, and I am obliged to take up the penmyself, to tell you how we are doing here since you left us. And,first of all, the master lost the lawsuit in Dublin, all for the wantof a Galway jury,—but they don’t go up to town for strong reasonsthey had; and the Curranolick property is gone to Ned M’Manus,and may the devil do him good with it! Peggy Maher left this onTuesday; she was complaining of a weakness; she’s gone to consultthe doctors. I’m sorry for poor Peggy.Owen M’Neil beat the Slatterys out of Portunma on Saturday,and Jem, they say, is fractured. I trust it’s true, for he never wasgood, root nor branch, and we’ve strong reasons to suspect him fordrawing the river with a net at night. Sir Harry Boyle sprained hiswrist, breaking open his bed-room, that he locked when he was inside.The count and the master were laughing all the evening athim. Matters are going very hard in the country,—the people payingtheir rents regularly, and not caring half as much as they usedabout the real gentry and the old families.We kept your birthday at the Castle in great style,—had themilitia band from the town, and all the tenants. Mr. James Dalydanced with your old friend Mary Green, and sang a beautiful song,and was going to raise the devil, but I interfered; he burned downhalf the blue drawing-room the last night with his tricks,—not thatyour uncle cares, God preserve him to us! it’s little anything likethat would fret him. The count quarrelled with a young gentlemanin the course of the evening, but found out he was only an attorneyfrom Dublin, so he didn’t shoot him; but he was ducked in the pondby the people, and your uncle says he hopes they have a true copy ofhim at home, as they’ll never know the original.Peter died soon after you went away, but Tim hunts the dogsjust as well. They had a beautiful run last Wednesday, and theLord [2] sent for him and gave him a five-pound note; but he sayshe’d rather see yourself back again than twice as much. Theykilled near the big turnip-field, and all went down to see where youleaped Badger over the sunk fence,—they call it “Hammersley’sNose” ever since. Bodkin was at Ballinasloe the last fair, limpingabout with a stick; he’s twice as quiet as he used to be, and neverbeat any one since that morning.Nellie Guire, at the cross-roads, wants to send you four pair ofstockings she knitted for you, and I have a keg of potteen of Barney’sown making this two months, not knowing how to send it. May beSir Arthur himself would like a taste,—he’s an Irishman himself,and one we’re proud of, too! The Maynooth chaps are flying allabout the country, and making us all uncomfortable,—God’s will bedone, but we used to think ourselves good enough! Your foster-sister,Kitty Doolan, had a fine boy; it’s to be called after you, andyour uncle’s to give a christening. He bids me tell you to drawon him when you want money, and that there’s £400 ready for younow somewhere in Dublin,—I forget the name, and as he’s asleep, Idon’t like asking him. There was a droll devil down here in thesummer that knew you well,—a Mr. Webber. The master treatedhim like the Lord Lieutenant, had dinner parties for him, andgave him Oliver Cromwell to ride over to Meelish. He is expectedagain for the co*ck-shooting, for the master likes him greatly. I’mdone at last, for my paper is finished and the candle just out; so withevery good wish and every good thought, remember your own oldfriend,—PETER RUSH.P.S. It’s Smart and Sykes, Fleet Street, has the money.Father O’Shaughnessey, of Ennis, bids me ask if you ever met hisnephew. If you do, make him sing “Larry M’Hale.” I hear it’s atreat.How is Mickey Free going on? There are three decent youngwomen in the parish he promised to marry, and I suppose he’s pursuingthe same game with the Portuguese. But he was neverremarkable for minding his duties. Tell him I am keeping my eyeon him.P. R.

[Footnote:2 To excuse Father Rush for any apparent impiety, I must addthat, by “the Lord,” he means “Lord Clanricarde.”]

Here concluded this long epistle; and though there were many parts I couldnot help smiling at, yet upon the whole I felt sad and dispirited. What Ihad long foreseen and anticipated was gradually accomplishing,—thewreck of an old and honored house, the fall of a name once the watch-wordfor all that was benevolent and hospitable in the land. The termination ofthe lawsuit I knew must have been a heavy blow to my poor uncle, who,every consideration of money apart, felt in a legal combat all theenthusiasm and excitement of a personal conflict. With him there was lessa question of to whom the broad acres reverted, so much as whether that“scoundrel Tom Basset, the attorney at Athlone, should triumph over us;” or “M’Manus live in the house as master where his father had officiated asbutler.” It was at this his Irish pride took offence; and straitenedcirc*mstances and narrowed fortunes bore little upon him in comparisonwith this feeling.

I could see, too, that with breaking fortunes, bad health was making heavyinroads upon him; and while, with the reckless desperation of ruin, hestill kept open house, I could picture to myself his cheerful eye andhandsome smile but ill concealing the slow but certain march of a brokenheart.

My position was doubly painful: for any advice, had I been calculated togive it, would have seemed an act of indelicate interference from one whowas to benefit by his own counsel; and although I had been reared andeducated as my uncle’s heir, I had no title nor pretension to succeed himother than his kind feelings respecting me. I could, therefore, only lookon in silence, and watch the painful progress of our downfall withoutpower to arrest it.

These were sad thoughts, and came when my heart was already bowed downwith its affliction. That my poor uncle might be spared the misery whichsooner or later seemed inevitable, was now my only wish; that he might godown to the grave without the embittering feelings which a ruined fortuneand a fallen house bring home to the heart, was all my prayer. Let him butclose his eyes in the old wainscoted bed-room, beneath the old roof wherehis fathers and grand-fathers have done so for centuries. Let the faithfulfollowers he has known since his childhood stand round his bed; while hisfast-failing sight recognizes each old and well-remembered object, and thesame bell which rang its farewell to the spirit of his ancestors toll forhim, the last of his race. And as for me, there was the wide world beforeme, and a narrow resting-place would suffice for a soldier’s sepulchre.

As the mail-cart was returning the next day to Lisbon, I immediately satdown and replied to the worthy Father’s letter, speaking as encouraginglyas I could of my own prospects. I dwelt much upon what was nearest myheart, and begged of the good priest to watch over my uncle’s health, tocheer his spirits and support his courage; and that I trusted the day wasnot far distant when I should be once more among them, with many a storyof fray and battle-field to enliven their firesides. Pressing him to writefrequently to me, I closed my hurried letter; and having despatched it,sat sorrowfully down to muse over my fortunes.

CHAPTER LXIV.

AN ADVENTURE WITH SIR ARTHUR.

The events of the last few days had impressed me with a weight of years.The awful circ*mstances of that evening lay heavily at my heart; andthough guiltless of Trevyllian’s blood, the reproach that conscience evercarries when one has been involved in a death-scene never left mythoughts.

For some time previously I had been depressed and disspirited, and theawful shock I had sustained broke my nerve and unmanned me greatly.

There are times when our sorrows tinge all the colorings of our thoughts,and one pervading hue of melancholy spreads like a pall upon what we haveof fairest and brightest on earth. So was it now: I had lost hope andambition; a sad feeling that my career was destined to misfortune andmishap gained hourly upon me; and all the bright aspirations of asoldier’s glory, all my enthusiasm for the pomp and circ*mstance ofglorious war, fell coldly upon my heart, and I looked upon the chivalry ofa soldier’s life as the empty pageant of a dream.

In this sad frame of mind, I avoided all intercourse with my brotherofficers; their gay and joyous spirits only jarred upon my broodingthoughts, and feigning illness, I kept almost entirely to my quarters.

The inactivity of our present life weighed also heavily upon me. Thestirring events of a campaign—the march, the bivouac, the picket—callforth a certain physical exertion that never fails to react upon thetorpid mind.

Forgetting all around me, I thought of home; I thought of those whosehearts I felt were now turning towards me, and considered within myselfhow I could have exchanged the home, the days of peaceful happiness there,for the life of misery and disappointment I now endured.

A brooding melancholy gained daily more and more upon me. A wish, toreturn to Ireland, a vague and indistinct feeling that my career was notdestined for aught of great and good crept upon me, and I longed to sinkinto oblivion, forgotten and forgot.

I record this painful feeling here, while it is still a painful memory, asone of the dark shadows that cross the bright sky of our happiest days.

Happy, indeed, are they, as we look back to them and remember the times wehave pronounced ourselves “the most miserable of mankind.” This, somehow,is a confession we never make later on in life, when real troubles andtrue afflictions assail us. Whether we call in more philosophy to our aid,or that our senses become less acute and discerning, I’m sure I know not.

As for me, I confess by far the greater portion of my sorrows seemed tocome in that budding period of existence when life is ever fairest andmost captivating. Not, perhaps, that the fact was really so, but thespoiled and humored child, whose caprices were a law, felt heavily thethreatening difficulties of his first voyage; while as he continued tosail over the ocean of life, he braved the storm and the squall, and feltonly gratitude for the favoring breeze that wafted him upon his course.

What an admirable remedy for misanthropy is the being placed in asubordinate condition in life! Had I, at the period that I write, been SirArthur Wellesley; had I even been Marshal Beresford,—to allcertainty I’d have played the very devil with his Majesty’s forces; I’dhave brought my rascals to where they’d have been well-peppered, that’scertain.

But as, luckily for the sake of humanity in general and the well-being ofthe service in particular, I was merely Lieutenant O’Malley, 14th LightDragoons, the case was very different. With what heavy censure did Icondemn the commander of the forces in my own mind for his want of daringand enterprise! Whole nights did I pass in endeavoring to account for hisinactivity and lethargy. Why he did not seriatim fall upon Soult,Ney, and Victor, annihilate the French forces, and sack Madrid, I lookedupon as little less than a riddle; and yet there he waited, drilling,exercising, and foraging, as if he were at Hounslow. Now most fortunatelyhere again I was not Sir Arthur.

Something in this frame of mind, I was taking one evening a solitary ridesome miles from the camp. Without noticing the circ*mstance, I had entereda little mountain tract, when, the ground being broken and uneven, Idismounted and proceeded a-foot, with the bridle within my arm. I had notgone far when the clatter of a horse’s hoofs came rapidly towards me, andthough there was something startling in the pace over such a piece ofroad, I never lifted my eyes as the horseman came up, but continued myslow progress onwards, my head sunk upon my bosom.

“Hallo, sir!” cried a sharp voice, whose tones seemed, somehow, not heardfor the first time. I looked up, saw a slight figure closely buttoned upin a blue horseman’s cloak, the collar of which almost entirely hid hisfeatures; he wore a plain, co*cked hat without a feather, and was mountedupon a sharp, wiry-looking hack.

“Hallo, sir! What regiment do you belong to?”

As I had nothing of the soldier about me, save a blue foraging cap, todenote my corps, the tone of the demand was little calculated to elicit avery polished reply; but preferring, as most impertinent, to make noanswer, I passed on without speaking.

“Did you hear, sir?” cried the same voice, in a still louder key. “What’syour regiment?”

I now turned round, resolved to question the other in turn; when, to myinexpressible shame and confusion, he had lowered the collar of his cloak,and I saw the features of Sir Arthur Wellesley.

“Fourteenth Light Dragoons, sir,” said I, blushing as I spoke.

“Have you not read the general order, sir? Why have you left the camp?”

Now, I had not read a general order nor even heard one for above afortnight. So I stammered out some bungling answer.

“To your quarters, sir, and report yourself under arrest. What’s yourname?”

“Lieutenant O’Malley, sir.”

“Well, sir, your passion for rambling shall be indulged. You shall be sentto the rear with despatches; and as the army is in advance, probably thelesson may be serviceable.” So saying, he pressed spurs to his horse, andwas out of sight in a moment.

CHAPTER LXV.

TALAVERA.

Having been despatched to the rear with orders for General Crawfurd, I didnot reach Talavera till the morning of the 28th. Two days’ hard fightinghad left the contending armies still face to face, and without any decidedadvantage on either side.

When I arrived upon the battle-field, the combat of the morning was over.It was then ten o’clock, and the troops were at breakfast, if the fewounces of wheat sparingly dealt out among them could be dignified by thatname. All was, however, life and animation on every side; the merry laugh,the passing jest, the careless look, bespoke the free and daring characterof the soldiery, as they sat in groups upon the grass; and except when afatigue party passed by, bearing some wounded comrade to the rear, notouch of seriousness rested upon their hardy features. The morning wasindeed a glorious one; a sky of unclouded blue stretched above a landscapeunsurpassed in loveliness. Far to the right rolled on in placid stream thebroad Tagus, bathing in its eddies the very walls of Talavera, the groundfrom which, to our position, gently undulated across a plain of mostfertile richness and terminated on our extreme left in a bold height,protected in front by a ravine, and flanked by a deep and rugged valley.

The Spaniards occupied the right of the line, connecting with our troopsat a rising ground, upon which a strong redoubt had been hastily thrownup. The fourth division and the Guards were stationed here, next to whomcame Cameron’s brigade and the Germans, Mackenzie and Hill holding theextreme left of all, which might be called the key of our position. In thevalley beneath the latter were picketed three cavalry regiments, amongwhich I was not long in detecting my gallant friends of the Twenty-third.

As I rode rapidly past, saluting some old familiar face at each moment, Icould not help feeling struck at the evidence of the desperate battle thatso lately had raged there. The whole surface of the hill was one mass ofdead and dying, the bearskin of the French grenadier lying side by sidewith the tartan of the Highlander. Deep furrows in the soil showed thetrack of the furious cannonade, and the terrible evidences of a bayonetcharge were written in the mangled corpses around.

The fight had been maintained without any intermission from daybreak tillnear nine o’clock that morning, and the slaughter on both sides wasdreadful. The mounds of fresh earth on every side told of the soldier’ssepulchre; and the unceasing tramp of the pioneers struck sadly upon theear, as the groans of the wounded blended with the funeral sounds aroundthem.

In front were drawn up the dark legions of France,—massive columnsof infantry, with dense bodies of artillery alternating along the line.They, too, occupied a gently rising ground, the valley between the twoarmies being crossed half way by a little rivulet; and here, during thesultry heat of the morning, the troops on both sides met and mingled toquench their thirst ere the trumpet again called them to the slaughter.

In a small ravine near the centre of our line were drawn up Cotton’sbrigade, of whom the Fusiliers formed a part. Directly in front of thiswere Campbell’s brigade, to the left of which, upon a gentle slope, thestaff were now assembled. Thither, accordingly, I bent my steps, and as Icame up the little scarp, found myself among the generals of division,hastily summoned by Sir Arthur to deliberate upon a forward movement. Thecouncil lasted scarcely a quarter of an hour, and when I presented myselfto deliver my report, all the dispositions for the battle had been decidedupon, and the commander of the forces, seated upon the grass at hisbreakfast, looked by far the most unconcerned and uninterested man I hadseen that morning.

He turned his head rapidly as I came up, and before the aide-de-camp couldannounce me, called out:—

“Well, sir, what news of the reinforcements?”

“They cannot reach Talavera before to-morrow, sir.”

“Then, before that, we shall not want them. That will do, sir.”

So saying, he resumed his breakfast, and I retired, more than ever struckwith the surprising coolness of the man upon whom no disappointment seemedto have the slightest influence.

I had scarcely rejoined my regiment, and was giving an account to mybrother officers of my journey, when an aide-de-camp came galloping atfull speed down the line, and communicating with the several commandingofficers as he passed.

What might be the nature of the orders we could not guess at; for no wordto fall in followed, and yet it was evident something of importance was athand. Upon the hill where the staff were assembled no unusual bustleappeared; and we could see the bay cob of Sir Arthur still being led upand down by the groom, with a dragoon’s mantle thrown over him. Thesoldiers, overcome by the heat and fatigue of the morning, lay stretchedaround upon the grass, and everything bespoke a period of rest andrefreshment.

“We are going to advance, depend upon it!” said a young officer beside me;“the repulse of this morning has been a smart lesson to the French, andSir Arthur won’t leave them without impressing it upon them.”

“Hark, what’s that?” cried Baker; “listen!”

As he spoke, a strain of most delicious music came wafted across theplain. It was from the band of a French regiment, and mellowed by thedistance, it seemed in the calm stillness of the morning air likesomething less of earth than heaven. As we listened, the notes swelledupwards yet fuller; and one by one the different bands seemed to join,till at last the whole air seemed full of the rich flood of melody.

We could now perceive the stragglers were rapidly falling back, while highabove all other sounds the clanging notes of the trumpet were heard alongthe line. The hoarse drum now beat to arms; and soon after a brilliantstaff rode slowly from between two dense bodies of infantry, and advancingsome distance into the plain, seemed to reconnoitre us. A cloud of Polishcavalry, distinguished by their long lances and floating banners, loiteredin their rear.

We had not time for further observation, when the drums on our side beatto arms, and the hoarse cry, “Fall in,—fall in there, lads!” resounded along the line.

It was now one o’clock, and before half an hour the troops had resumed theposition of the morning, and stood silent and anxious spectators of thescene before them.

Upon the table-land to the rear of the French position, we could descrythe gorgeous tent of King Joseph, around which a large andsplendidly-accoutred staff were seen standing. Here, too, the bustle andexcitement seemed considerable, for to this point the dark masses of theinfantry seemed converging from the extreme right; and here we couldperceive the royal guards and the reserve now forming in column of attack.

From the crest of the hill down to the very valley, the dark, dense ranksextended, the flanks protected by a powerful artillery and deep masses ofheavy cavalry. It was evident that the attack was not to commence on ourside, and the greatest and most intense anxiety pervaded us as to whatpart of our line was first to be assailed.

Meanwhile Sir Arthur Wellesley, who from the height had been patientlyobserving the field of battle, despatched an aide-de-camp at full galloptowards Campbell’s brigade, posted directly in advance of us. As he passedswiftly along, he called out, “You’re in for it, Fourteenth; you’ll haveto open the ball to-day.”

Scarcely were the words spoken, when a signal gun from the French boomedheavily through the still air. The last echo was growing fainter, and theheavy smoke breaking into mist, when the most deafening thunder ever myears heard came pealing around us; eighty pieces of artillery had openedupon us, sending a very tempest of balls upon our line, while midst thesmoke and dust we could see the light troops advancing at a run, followedby the broad and massive columns in all the terror and majesty of war.

“What a splendid attack! How gallantly they come on!” cried an old veteranofficer beside me, forgetting all rivalry in his noble admiration of ourenemy.

The intervening space was soon passed, and the tirailleurs falling back asthe columns came on, the towering masses bore down upon Campbell’sdivision with a loud cry of defiance. Silently and steadily the Englishinfantry awaited the attack, and returning the fire with one witheringvolley, were ordered to charge. Scarcely were the bayonets lowered, whenthe head of the advancing column broke and fled, while Mackenzie’sbrigade, overlapping the flank, pushed boldly forward, and a scene offrightful carnage followed; for a moment a hand-to-hand combat wassustained, but the unbroken files and impregnable bayonets of the Englishconquered, and the French fled, leaving six guns behind them.

The gallant enemy were troops of tried and proved courage, and scarcelyhad they retreated when they again formed; but just as they prepared tocome forward, a tremendous shower of grape opened upon them from ourbatteries, while a cloud of Spanish horse assailed them in flank andnearly cut them in pieces.

While this was passing on the right, a tremendous attack menaced the hillupon which our left was posted. Two powerful columns of French infantry,supported by some regiments of light cavalry, came steadily forward to theattack; Anson’s brigade were ordered to charge.

Away they went at top speed, but had not gone above a hundred yards whenthey were suddenly arrested by a deep chasm; here the German hussarspulled short up, but the Twenty-third dashing impetuously forward; a sceneof terrific carnage ensued, men and horses rolling indiscriminatelytogether under a withering fire from the French squares. Even here,however, British valor quailed not, for Major Francis Ponsonby, formingall who came up, rode boldly upon a brigade of French chasseurs in therear. Victor, who from the first had watched the movement, at oncedespatched a lancer regiment against them, and then these brave fellowswere absolutely cut to atoms, the few who escaped having passed throughthe French columns and reached Bassecour’s Spanish division on the farright.

During this time the hill was again assailed, and even more desperatelythan before; while Victor himself led on the fourth corps to an attackupon our right and centre.

The Guards waited without flinching the impetuous rush of the advancingcolumns, and when at length within a short distance, dashed forward withthe bayonet, driving everything before them. The French fell back upontheir sustaining masses, and rallying in an instant, again came forward,supported by a tremendous fire from their batteries. The Guards drew back,and the German Legion, suddenly thrown into confusion, began to retire indisorder. This was the most critical moment of the day, for althoughsuccessful upon the extreme right and left of our line, our centre wasabsolutely broken. Just at this moment Gordon rode up to our brigade; hisface was pale, and his look flurried and excited.

“The Forty-eighth are coming; here they are,—support them,Fourteenth.”

These few words were all he spoke; and the next moment the measured treadof a column was heard behind us. On they came like one man, their compactand dense formation looking like some massive wall; wheeling by companies,they suffered the Guards and Germans to retire behind them, and then,reforming into line, they rushed forward with the bayonet. Our artilleryopened with a deafening thunder behind them, and then we were ordered tocharge.

We came on at a trot; the Guards, who had now recovered their formation,cheered us as we proceeded. The smoke of the cannonade obscured everythinguntil we had advanced some distance, but just as we emerged beyond theline of the gallant Forty-eighth, the splendid panorama of thebattle-field broke suddenly upon us.

“Charge, forward!” cried the hoarse voice of our colonel; and we were uponthem. The French infantry, already broken by the withering musketry of ourpeople, gave way before us, and unable to form a square, retired fightingbut in confusion, and with tremendous loss, to their position. Oneglorious cheer, from left to right of our line, proclaimed the victory,while a deafening discharge of artillery from the French replied to thisdefiance, and the battle was over. Had the Spanish army been capable of aforward movement, our successes at this moment would have been much moreconsiderable; but they did not dare to change their position, and therepulse of our enemy was destined to be all our glory. The French,however, suffered much more severely than we did; and retiring during thenight, fell back behind the Alberche, leaving us the victory and thebattle-field.

CHAPTER LXVI.

NIGHT AFTER TALAVERA.

The night which followed the battle was a sad one. Through the darkness,and under a fast-falling rain, the hours were spent in searching for ourwounded comrades amidst the heap of slain upon the field; and thoglimmering of the lanterns, as they flickered far and near across the wideplain, bespoke the track of the fatigue parties in their mournful round;while the groans of the wounded rose amidst the silence with an accent ofheart-rending anguish; so true was it, as our great commander said, “Thereis nothing more sad than a victory, except a defeat.”

Around our bivouac fires, the feeling of sorrowful depression was alsoevident. We had gained a great victory, it was true: we had beaten thefar-famed legions of France upon a ground of their own choosing, led bythe most celebrated of their marshals and under the eyes of the Emperor’sown brother; but still we felt all the hazardous daring of our position,and had no confidence whatever in the courage or discipline of our allies;and we saw that in the very mêlée of the battle the efforts of theenemy were directed almost exclusively against our line, so confidentlydid they undervalue the efforts of the Spanish troops. Morning broke atlength, and scarcely was the heavy mist clearing away before the redsunlight, when the sounds of fife and drum were heard from a distant partof the field. The notes swelled or sank as the breeze rose or fell, andmany a conjecture was hazarded as to their meaning, for no object was wellvisible for more than a few hundred yards off; gradually, however, theygrew nearer and nearer, and at length, as the air cleared, and the hazyvapor evaporated, the bright scarlet uniform of a British regiment wasseen advancing at a quick-step.

As they came nearer, the well-known march of the gallant 43d wasrecognized by some of our people, and immediately the rumor fled likelightning: “It is Crawfurd’s brigade!” and so it was; the noble fellow hadmarched his division the unparalleled distance of sixty English miles intwenty-seven hours. Over a burning sandy soil, exposed to a raging sun,without rations, almost without water, these gallant troops pressed on inthe unwearied hope of sharing the glory of the battle-field. Onetremendous cheer welcomed the head of the column as they marched past, andcontinued till the last file had deployed before us.

As these splendid regiments moved by we could not help feeling what signalservice they might have rendered us but a few hours before. Theirsoldier-like bearing, their high and effective state of discipline, theirwell-known reputation, were in every mouth; and I scarcely think that anycorps who stood the brunt of the mighty battle were the subject of moreencomium than the brave fellows who had just joined us.

The mournful duties of the night were soon forgotten in the gay andbuoyant sounds on every side. Congratulations, shaking of hands, kindinquiries, went round; and as we looked to the hilly ground where solately were drawn up in battle array the dark columns of our enemy, andwhere not one sentinel now remained, the proud feeling of our victory camehome to our hearts with the ever-thrilling thought, “What will they say athome?”

I was standing amidst a group of my brother officers, when I received anorder from the colonel to ride down to Talavera for the return of ourwounded, as the arrival of the commander-in-chief was momentarily lookedfor. I threw myself upon my horse, and setting out at a brisk pace, soonreached the gates.

On entering the town, I was obliged to dismount and proceed on foot. Thestreets were completely filled with people, treading their way amongwagons, forage carts, and sick-litters. Here was a booth filled with allimaginable wares for sale; there was a temporary gin-shop establishedbeneath a broken baggage-wagon; here might be seen a merry party throwingdice for a turkey or a kid; there, a wounded man, with bloodless cheek andtottering step, inquiring the road to the hospital. The accents of agonymingled with the drunken chorus, and the sharp crack of theprovost-marshal’s whip was heard above the boisterous revelling of thedebauchee. All was confusion, bustle, and excitement. The staff officer,with his flowing plume and glittering epaulettes, wended his way on foot,amidst the din and bustle, unnoticed and uncared for; while the littledrummer amused an admiring audience of simple country-folk by somewondrous tale of the great victory.

My passage through this dense mass was necessarily a slow one. No one madeway for another; discipline for the time was at an end, and with it allrespect for rank or position. It was what nothing of mere vicissitude inthe fortune of war can equal,—the wild orgies of an army the dayafter a battle.

On turning the corner of a narrow street, my attention was attracted by acrowd which, gathered round a small fountain, seemed, as well as I couldperceive, to witness some proceeding with a more than ordinary interest.Exclamations in Portuguese, expressive of surprise and admiration, woremingled with English oaths and Irish ejacul*tions, while high above allrose other sounds,—the cries of some one in pain and suffering;forcing my way through the dense group, I at length reached the interiorof the crowd when, to my astonishment, I perceived a short, fat,punchy-looking man, stripped of his coat and waist-coat, and with hisshirt-sleeves rolled up to his shoulder, busily employed in operating upona wounded soldier. Amputation knives, tourniquets, bandages, and all otherimaginable instruments for giving or alleviating torture were strewedabout him, and from the arrangement and preparation, it was clear that hehad pitched upon this spot as an hospital for his patients. While hecontinued to perform his functions with a singular speed and dexterity, henever for a moment ceased a running fire of small talk, now addressed tothe patient in particular, now to the crowd at large, sometimes asoliloquy to himself, and not unfrequently, abstractedly, upon things ingeneral. These little specimens of oratory, delivered in such a place atsuch a time, and, not least of all, in the richest imaginable Cork accent,were sufficient to arrest my steps, and I stopped for some time to observehim.

The patient, who was a large, powerfully-built fellow, had been wounded inboth legs by the explosion of a shell, but yet not so severely as torequire amputation.

“Does that plaze you, then?” said the doctor, as he applied some powerfulcaustic to a wounded vessel; “there’s no satisfying the like of you. Quitewarm and comfortable ye’ll be this morning after that. I saw the sameshell coming, and I called out to Maurice Blake, ‘By your leave, Maurice,let that fellow pass, he’s in a hurry!’ and faith, I said to myself,‘there’s more where you came from,—you’re not an only child, and Inever liked the family.’ What are ye grinning for, ye brown thieves?” Thiswas addressed to the Portuguese. “There, now, keep the limb quiet andeasy. Upon my conscience, if that shell fell into ould Lundy Foot’s shopthis morning, there’d be plenty of sneezing in Sacksville Street. Who’snext?” said he, looking round with an expression that seemed to threatenthat if no wounded man was ready he was quite prepared to carve out apatient for himself. Not exactly relishing the invitation in the searchingthat accompanied it, I backed my way through the crowd, and continued mypath towards the hospital.

Here the scene which presented itself was shocking beyond belief,—frightfuland ghastly wounds from shells and cannon-shot were seen on all sides,every imaginable species of suffering that man is capable of was presentedto view; while amidst the dead and dying, operations the most painful wereproceeding with a haste and bustle that plainly showed how many morewaited their turn for similar offices. The stairs were blocked up withfresh arrivals of wounded men, and even upon the corridors andlanding-places the sick were strewn on all sides.

I hurried to that part of the building where my own people were, and soonlearned that our loss was confined to about fourteen wounded; five of themwere officers. But fortunately, we lost not a man of our gallant fellows,and Talavera brought us no mourning for a comrade to damp the exultationwe felt in our victory.

CHAPTER LXVII.

THE OUTPOST.

During the three days which succeeded the battle, all things remained asthey were before. The enemy had gradually withdrawn all his forces, andour most advanced pickets never came in sight of a French detachment.Still, although we had gained a great victory, our situation was anythingbut flattering. The most strenuous exertions of the commissariat werebarely sufficient to provision the troops; and we had even already but toomuch experience of how little trust or reliance could be reposed in themost lavish promises of our allies. It was true, our spirits failed usnot; but it was rather from an implicit and never-failing confidence inthe resources of our great leader, than that any among us could see hisway through the dense cloud of difficulty and danger that seemed toenvelop us on every side.

To add to the pressing emergency of our position, we learned on theevening of the 31st that Soult was advancing from the north, and at thehead of fourteen thousand chosen troops in full march upon Placentia; thusthreatening our rear, at the very moment too, when any further advance wasevidently impossible.

On the morning of the 1st of August, I was ordered, with a small party, topush forward in the direction of the Alberche, upon the left bank of whichit was reported that the French were again concentrating their forces, andif possible, to obtain information of their future movements. Meanwhilethe army was about to fall back upon Oropesa, there to await Soult’sadvance, and if necessary, to give him battle; Cuesta engaging with hisSpaniards to secure Talavera, with its stores and hospitals, against anypresent movement from Victor.

After a hearty breakfast, and a kind “Good-by!” from my brother officers,I set out. My road along the Tagus, for several miles of the way, was anarrow path scarped from the rocky ledge of the river, shaded by richolive plantations that throw a friendly shade over us during the noondayheat.

We travelled along silently, sparing our cattle from time to time, butendeavoring ere nightfall to reach Torrijos, in which village we had heardseveral French soldiers were in hospital. Our information leading us tobelieve them very inadequately guarded, we hoped to make some prisoners,from whom the information we sought could in all likelihood be obtained.More than once during the day our road was crossed by parties similar toour own, sent forward to reconnoitre; and towards evening a party of the23d Light Dragoons, returning towards Talavera, informed us that theFrench had retired from Torrijos, which was now occupied by an Englishdetachment under my old friend O’Shaughnessy.

I need not say with what pleasure I heard this piece of news, and eagerlypressed forward, preferring the warm shelter and hospitable board themajor was certain of possessing, to the cold blast and dripping grass of abivouac. Night, however, fell fast; darkness, without an interveningtwilight, set in, and we lost our way. A bleak table-land with here andthere a stunted, leafless tree was all that we could discern by the palelight of a new moon. An apparently interminable heath uncrossed by path orfoot-track was before us, and our jaded cattle seemed to feel the drearyuncertainty of the prospect as sensitively as ourselves,—stumblingand over-reaching at every step.

Cursing my ill-luck for such a misadventure, and once more picturing to mymind the bright blazing hearth and smoking supper I had hoped to partakeof, I called a halt, and prepared to pass the night. My decision washastened by finding myself suddenly in a little grove of pine-trees whoseshelter was not to be despised; besides that, our bivouac fires were nowsure of being supplied.

It was fortunate the night was fine, though dark. In a calm, stillatmosphere, when not a leaf moved nor a branch stirred, we picketed ourtired horses, and shaking out their forage, heaped up in the midst ablazing fire of the fir-tree. Our humble supper was produced, and evenwith the still lingering revery of the major and his happier destiny, Ibegan to feel comfortable.

My troopers, who probably had not been flattering their imaginations withsuch gourmand reflections and views, sat happily around theircheerful blaze, chatting over the great battle they had so latelywitnessed, and mingling their stories of some comrade’s prowess withsorrows for the dead and proud hopes for the future. In the midst, uponhis knees beside the flame, was Mike, disputing, detailing, guessing, andoccasionally inventing,—all his arguments only tending to one viewof the late victory: “That it was the Lord’s mercy the most of the 48thwas Irish, or we wouldn’t be sitting there now!”

Despite Mr. Free’s conversational gifts, however, his audience one by onedropped off in sleep, leaving him sole monarch of the watch-fire, and—whathe thought more of—a small brass kettle nearly full ofbrandy-and-water. This latter, I perceived, he produced when all wastranquil, and seemed, as he cast a furtive glance around, to assurehimself that he was the only company present.

Lying some yards off, I watched him for about an hour, as he sat rubbinghis hands before the blaze, or lifting the little vessel to his lips; hisdroll features ever and anon seeming acted upon by some passing dream offormer devilment, as he smiled and muttered some sentences in anunder-voice. Sleep at length overpowered me; but my last waking thoughtswere haunted with a singular ditty by which Mike accompanied himself as hekept burnishing the buttons of my jacket before the fire, now and theninterrupting the melody by a recourse to the copper.

“Well, well; you’re clean enough now, and sure it’s little goodbrightening you up, when you’ll be as bad to-morrow. Like his father’sson, devil a lie in it! Nothing would serve him but his best blue jacketto fight in, as if the French was particular what they killed us in.Pleasant trade, upon my conscience! Well, never mind. That’s beautiful sperets,anyhow. Your health, Mickey Free; it’s yourself that stands to me.

“It’s little for glory I care;Sure ambition is only a fable;I’d as soon be myself as Lord Mayor,With lashings of drink on the table.I like to lie down in the sunAnd drame, when my faytures is scorchin’That when I’m too ould for more fun,Why, I’ll marry a wife with a fortune.“And in winter, with bacon and eggs,And a place, at the turf-fire basking,Sip my punch as I roasted my legs,Oh, the devil a more I’d be asking!For I haven’t a janius for work,—It was never the gift of the Bradies,—But I’d make a most illigant Turk,For I’m fond of tobacco and ladies.” 

This confounded refrain kept ringing through my dream, and “tobaccoand ladies” mingled with my thoughts of storm and battle-field long aftertheir very gifted author had composed himself to slumber.

Sleep, and sound sleep, came at length, and many hours elapsed ere Iawoke. When I did so, my fire was reduced to its last embers. Mike, likethe others, had sunk in slumber, and midst the gray dawn that precedes themorning, I could just perceive the dark shadows of my troopers as they layin groups around.

The fatigues of the previous day had so completely overcome me, that itwas with difficulty I could arouse myself so far as to heap fresh logsupon the fire. This I did with my eyes half closed, and in that listless,dreamy state which seems the twilight of sleep.

I managed so much, however, and was returning to my couch beneath a tree,when suddenly an object presented itself to my eyes that absolutely rootedme to the spot. At about twenty or thirty yards distant, where but themoment before the long line of horizon terminated the view, there nowstood a huge figure of some ten or twelve feet in height,—two heads,which surmounted this colossal personage, moved alternately from side toside, while several arms waved loosely to and fro in the most strange anduncouth manner. My first impression was that a dream had conjured up thisdistorted image; but when I had assured myself by repeated pinchings andshakings that I was really awake, still it remained there. I was nevermuch given to believe in ghosts; but even had I been so, this strangeapparition must have puzzled me as much as ever, for it could not havebeen the representative of anything I ever heard of before.

A vague suspicion that some French trickery was concerned, induced me tochallenge it in French; so, without advancing a step, I halloed out, “Quiva là?”

My voice aroused a sleeping soldier, who, springing up beside me, had hiscarbine at the co*ck; while, equally thunderstruck with myself, he gazed atthe monster.

“Qui va là?” shouted I again, and no answer was returned, whensuddenly the huge object wheeled rapidly around, and without waiting forany further parley, made for the thicket.

The tramp of a horse’s feet now assured me as to the nature of at leastpart of the spectacle, when click went the trigger behind me, and thetrooper’s ball rushed whistling through the brushwood. In a moment thewhole party were up and stirring.

“This way, lads!” cried I, as drawing my sabre, I dashed into the pinewood.

For a few moments all was dark as midnight; but as we proceeded farther,we came out upon a little open space which commanded the plain beneath fora great extent.

“There it goes!” said one of the men, pointing to a narrow, beaten path,in which the tall figure moved at a slow and stately pace, while still thesame wild gestures of heads and limbs continued.

“Don’t fire, men! don’t fire!” I cried, “but follow me,” as I set forwardas hard as I could.

As we neared it, the frantic gesticulations grew more and more remarkable,while some stray words, which we half caught, sounded like English in ourears. We were now within pistol-shot distance, when suddenly the horse—forthat much at least we were assured of—stumbled and fell forward,precipitating the remainder of the object headlong into the road.

In a second we were upon the spot, when the first sounds which greeted mewere the following, uttered in an accent by no means new to me:—

“Oh, blessed Virgin! Wasn’t it yourself that threw me in the mud, or mynose was done for? Shaugh, Shaugh, my boy, since we are taken, tip themthe blarney, and say we’re generals of division!”

I need not say with what a burst of laughter I received this very originaldeclaration.

“I ought to know that laugh,” cried a voice I at once knew to be my friendO’Shaughnessy’s. “Are you Charles O’Malley, by any chance in life?”

“The same, Major, and delighted to meet you; though, faith, we were neargiving you a rather warm reception. What, in the Devil’s name, did yourepresent, just now?”

“Ask Maurice, there, bad luck to him. I wish the Devil had him when hepersuaded me into it.”

“Introduce me to your friend,” replied the other, rubbing his shins as hespoke. “Mr. O’Mealey,”—so he called me,—“I think. Happy tomeet you; my mother was a Ryan of Killdooley, married to a first cousin ofyour father’s before she took Mr. Quill, my respected progenitor. I’m Dr.Quill of the 48th, more commonly called Maurice Quill. Tear and ages! howsore my back is! It was all the fault of the baste, Mr. O’Mealey. We setout in search of you this morning, to bring you back with us to Torrijos,but we fell in with a very pleasant funeral at Barcaventer, and joinedthem. They invited us, I may say, to spend the day; and a very jovial dayit was. I was the chief mourner, and carried a very big candle through thevillage, in consideration of as fine a meat-pie, and as much lush as mygrief permitted me to indulge in afterwards. But, my dear sir, when it wasall finished, we found ourselves nine miles from our quarters; and asneither of us were in a very befitting condition for pedestrian exercise,we stole one of the leaders out of the hearse,—velvet, plumes, andall,—and set off home.

“When we came upon your party we were not over clear whether you wereEnglish, Portuguese, or French, and that was the reason I called out toyou, ‘God save all here!’ in Irish. Your polite answer was a shot, whichstruck the old horse in the knee, and although we wheeled about indouble-quick, we never could get him out of his professional habits on theroad. He had a strong notion he was engaged in another funeral,—ashe was very likely to be,—and the devil a bit faster than a deadmarch could we get him to, with all our thrashing. Orderly time for men ina hurry, with a whole platoon blazing away behind them! But long life tothe cavalry, they never hit anything!”

While he continued to run on in this manner, we reached our watch-fire,when what was my surprise to discover, in my newly-made acquaintance, theworthy doctor I had seen a day or two before operating at the fountain atTalavera.

“Well, Mr. O’Mealey,” said he, as he seated himself before the blaze,“What is the state of the larder? Anything savory,—anythingdrink-inspiring to be had?”

“I fear, Doctor, my fare is of the very humblest; still—”

“What are the fluids, Charley?” cried the major; “the cruel performance Ihave been enacting on that cursed beast has left me in a fever.”

“This was a pigeon-pie, formerly,” said Dr. Quill, investigating theruined walls of a pasty; “and,—but come, here’s a duck; and if mynose deceive me not, a very tolerable ham. Peter—Larry—Patsy—What’sthe name of your familiar there?”

“Mickey—Mickey Free.”

“Mickey Free, then; come here, avick! Devise a little drink, my son,—noneof the weakest—no lemon—-hot! You understand, hot! That chaphas an eye for punch; there’s no mistaking an Irish fellow, Nature hasendowed them richly,—fine features and a beautiful absorbent system!That’s the gift! Just look at him, blowing up the fire,—isn’t he apicture? Well, O’Mealey, I was fretting that we hadn’t you up at Torrijos;we were enjoying life very respectably,—we established a littlesystem of small tithes upon fowl, sheep, pigs’ heads, and wine skins thatthrove remarkably for the time. Here’s the lush! Put it down there,Mickey, in the middle; that’s right. Your health, Shaugh. O’Mealey, here’sa troop to you; and in the mean time I’ll give you a chant:—

‘Come, ye jovial souls, don’t over the bowl be sleeping,Nor let the grog go round like a cripple creeping;If your care comes, up, in the liquor sink it,Pass along the lush, I’m the boy can drink it.Isn’t that so, Mrs. Mary Callaghan?Isn’t that so, Mrs. Mary Callaghan?’

“Shaugh, my hearty, this begins to feel comfortable.”

“Your man, O’Mealey, has a most judicious notion of punch for a smallparty; and though one has prejudices about a table, chairs, and that sortof thing, take my word for it, it’s better than fighting the French, anyday.”

“Well, Charley, it certainly did look quite awkward enough the other daytowards three o’clock, when the Legion fell back before that Frenchcolumn, and broke the Guards behind them.”

“Yes, you’re quite right; but I think every one felt that the confusionwas but momentary,—the gallant Forty-eighth was up in an instant.”

“Faith, I can answer for their alacrity!” said the doctor “I was making myway to the rear with all convenient despatch, when an aide-de-camp calledout,—

“‘Cavalry coming! Take care, Forty-eighth!’

“‘Left face, wheel! Fall in there, fall in there!’ I heard on every side,and soon found myself standing in a square, with Sir Arthur himself andHill and the rest of them all around me.

“‘Steady, men! Steady, now!’ said Hill, as he rode around the ranks, whilewe saw an awful column of cuirassiers forming on the rising ground to ourleft.

“‘Here they come!’ said Sir Arthur, as the French came powdering along,making the very earth tremble beneath them.

“My first thought was, ‘The devils are mad, and they’ll ride down into us,before they know they’re kilt!’ And sure enough, smash into our first rankthey pitched, sabring and cutting all before them; when at last the word‘Fire!’ was given, and the whole head of the column broke like a shell,and rolled horse over man on the earth.

“‘Very well done! very well, indeed!’ said Sir Arthur, turning as coollyround to me as if he was asking for more gravy.

“‘Mighty well done!’ said I, in reply; and resolving not to be outdone incoolness, I pulled out my snuff-box and offered him a pinch, saying, ‘Thereal thing, Sir Arthur; our own countryman,—blackguard.’

“He gave a little grim kind of a smile, took a pinch, and then called out,—

“‘Let Sherbroke advance!’ while turning again towards me, he said, ‘Whereare your people, Colonel?’

“‘Colonel!’ thought I; ‘is it possible he’s going to promote me?’ Butbefore I could answer, he was talking to another. Meanwhile Hill came up,and looking at me steadily, burst out with,—

“‘Why the devil are you here, sir? Why ain’t you at the rear?’

“‘Upon my conscience,’ said I, ‘that’s the very thing I’m puzzling myselfabout this minute! But if you think it’s pride in me, you’re greatlymistaken, for I’d rather the greatest scoundrel in Dublin was kicking medown Sackville Street, than be here now!’

“You’d think it was fun I was making, if you heard how they all laughed,Hill and Cameron and the others louder than any.

“‘Who is he?’ said Sir Arthur, quickly.

“‘Dr. Quill, surgeon of the Thirty-third, where I exchanged, to be near mybrother, sir, in the Thirty-fourth.’

“‘A doctor,—a surgeon! That fellow a surgeon! Damn him, I took himfor Colonel Grosvenor! I say, Gordon, these medical officers must bedocked of their fine feathers, there’s no knowing them from the staff,—lookto that in the next general order.’

“And sure enough they left us bare and naked the next morning; and if theFrench sharpshooters pick us down now, devil mend them for wasting powder,for if they look in the orderly books, they’ll find their mistake.”

“Ah, Maurice, Maurice!” said Shaugh, with a sigh, “you’ll never improve,—you’llnever improve!”

“Why the devil would I?” said he. “Ain’t I at the top of my profession—fullsurgeon—with nothing to expect, nothing to hope for? Oh, if I hadonly remained in the light company, what wouldn’t I be now?”

“Then you were not always a doctor?” said I.

“Upon my conscience, I wasn’t,” said he. “When Shaugh knew me first, I wasthe Adonis of the Roscommon militia, with more heiresses in my list thanany man in the regiment; but Shaugh and myself were always unlucky.”

“Poor Mrs. Rogers!” said the major, pathetically, drinking off his glassand heaving a profound sigh.

“Ah, the darling!” said the doctor. “If it wasn’t for a jug of punch thatlay on the hall table, our fortune in life would be very different.”

“True for you, Maurice!” quoth O’Shaughnessy.

“I should like much to hear that story,” said I, pushing the jug brisklyround.

“He’ll tell it you,” said O’Shaughnessy, lighting his cigar, and leaningpensively back against a tree,—“he’ll tell it you.”

“I will, with pleasure,” said Maurice. “Let Mr. Free, meantime, amusehimself with the punch-bowl, and I’ll relate it.”

END OF VOLUME I.