I AFFRONT AN IRISH GENTLEMAN AND MAKE A HANDSOME APOLOGY, WHICH IS
ACCEPTED.
Before I had gained my own room, I informed Mr Cophagus, who had just
returned from a visit to his maiden aunt's house, of what had passed.
"Can't see anything in it, Japhet--wild-goose chase--who told you?--oh!
Pleggit's men--sad liars--De Benyon not name, depend upon it--all stuff,
and so on."
And when I reflected, I could but acknowledge that the worthy apothecary
might be right, and that I was running after shadows; but this was only
in my occasional fits of despondency: I soon rallied, and was as
sanguine as ever. Undecided how to proceed, and annoyed by what
Cophagus had said, I quitted the hotel, to walk out in no very good
humour. As I went out, I perceived the agent McDermott speaking to the
people in the bar, and the sight of him reminded me of what, for a
moment, I had forgotten, which was, to ascertain whether Melchior and
Sir Henry de Clare were one and the same person. As I passed a
crossing, a man in tattered habiliments, who was sweeping it, asked for
alms, but being in no very charitable humour, I walked on. He followed
me, pestering me so much, that I gave him a tap with the cane in my
hand, saying to him, "Be off, you scoundrel."
"Oh! very well. Be off, is it you mane? By the blood of the O'Rourkes
but you'll answer for that same, anyhow."
I passed on, and having perambulated the city of Dublin for some time,
returned to the hotel. A few minutes afterwards, I was told by the
waiter that a Mr O'Donaghan wished to speak to me. "I have not the
honour of his acquaintance," replied I, "but you may show him up."
Mr O'Donaghan entered, a tall, thick-whiskered personage, in a
shabby-genteel dress, evidently not made for him, a pair of white cotton
gloves, and a small stick. "I believe that I have the honour of spaking
to the gentleman who crossed over the street about two hours ago?"
"Upon my word, sir," replied I, "that is so uncertain a definition that
I can hardly pretend to say whether I am the person you mean; indeed,
from not having the pleasure of anyone's acquaintance in Dublin, I
rather think there must be some mistake."
"The devil a bit of a mistake, at all at all; for there's the little bit
of a cane with which you paid my friend, Mr O'Rourke, the compliment
over his shoulders."
"I really am quite mystified, sir, and do not understand you; will you
favour me with an explanation?"
"With all the pleasure in life, for then we shall come to a right
understanding. You were crossing the street, and a gentleman, a
particular friend of mine, with a broom which he carries for his own
amusement, did himself the honour to address you, whereupon, of that
same little stick of yours, you did him the honour to give him a slight
taste."
"What do you mean? do you refer to the sweeper, who was so importunate
when I crossed over the road?"
"Then, by the powers, you've just hit it, as you did him. That's my
particular friend, Thaddeus O'Rourke, gentleman."
"Gentleman!" exclaimed I.
"And with as good and as true Milesian blood as any in Ireland. If you
think, sir, that because my friend, just for his own amusement, thinks
proper to put on the worst of his clothes and carry a broom, just by way
of exercise, to prevent his becoming too lusty, he is therefore to be
struck like a hound, it's a slight mistake, that's all; and here sir, is
his card, and you will oblige me by mentioning any friend of yours with
whom I may settle all the little points necessary before the meeting of
two gentleman."
I could hardly refrain from laughing at this Irish gentleman and his
friend, but I thought it advisable to retain my countenance. "My dear
sir," replied I, "it grieves me to the heart that I should have
committed such an error, in not perceiving the gentility of your friend;
had I not been so careless, I certainly should have requested him to do
me the honour to accept a shilling, instead of having offered him the
insult. I hope it is not now too late?"
"By the powers, I'm not one of those harum-scarum sort, who would make
up a fight when there's no occasion for it, and as your 'haviour is that
of a gentleman, I think it will perhaps be better to shake hands upon
it, and forget it altogether. Suppose now, we'll consider that it was
all a mistake? You give the shilling as you intended to do, I'll swear
only you were in so great a hurry--and then, perhaps, you'll not object
to throw in another shilling for that same tap with the cane, just to
wipe off the insult as it were, as we do our sins, when we fork out the
money, and receive absolution from the padre; and then, perhaps, you
will not think it too much if I charge another shilling for my time and
trouble, for carrying a message between two gentlemen."
"On the contrary, Mr O'Donaghan, I think all your demands are
reasonable. Here is the money."
Mr O'Donaghan took the three shillings. "Then, sir, and many thanks to
you, I'll wish you a good evening, and Mr O'Rourke shall know from me
that you have absolution for the whole, and that you have offered every
satisfaction which one gentleman could expect from another." So saying
Mr O'Donaghan put his hat on with a firm cock, pulled on his gloves,
manoeuvred his stick, and, with a flourishing bow, took his departure.
I had hardly dismissed this gentleman, and was laughing to myself at the
ridiculous occurrence, when Mr Cophagus returned, first putting his
cane up to his nose with an arch look, and then laying it down on the
table and rubbing his hands. "Good--warm old lady. No--dead and cold--
but left some thousands--only one legacy--old Tom cat--physic him
to-morrow--soon die, and so on."
On a more full explanation, I found that the old lady had left about
nine thousand pounds in the funds and bank securities, all of which,
with the exception of twenty pounds per annum to a favourite cat, was
left to Mr Cophagus. I congratulated him upon this accession of
fortune. He stated that the lease of the house and the furniture were
still to be disposed of, and that afterwards he should have nothing more
to do; but he wished me very much to assist him in rummaging over the
various cabinets belonging to the old lady, and which were full of
secret drawers; that in one cabinet alone he had found upwards of fifty
pounds in various gold coins, and that if not well examined, they would
probably be sold with many articles of consequence remaining in them.
As my only object in Ireland was to find out Sir Henry de Clare, and
identify him, (but, really, why I could not have said, as it would have
proved nothing after all,) I willingly consented to devote a day to
assist Mr Cophagus in his examination. The next morning after
breakfast, we went together to the house of the old lady, whose name had
been Maitland, as Mr Cophagus informed me. Her furniture was of the
most ancient description, and in every room in the house there was an
ormolu, or Japan cabinet; some of them were very handsome, decorated
with pillars, and silver ornaments. I can hardly recount the variety of
articles, which in all probability had been amassed during the whole of
the old lady's life, commencing with her years of childhood, and ending
with the day of her death. There were antique ornaments, some of
considerable value, miniatures, fans, etuis, notes, of which the ink,
from time, had turned to a light red, packages of letters of her various
correspondents in her days of hope and anticipation, down to those of
solitude and age. We looked over some of them, but they appeared to
both of us to be sacred, and they were, after a slight examination,
committed to the flames.
After we had examined all the apparent receptacles in these cabinets, we
took them up between us, and shook them, and in most cases found out
that there were secret drawers containing other treasures. There was
one packet of letters which caught my eye; it was from a Miss De Benyon.
I seized it immediately, and showed the inscription to Mr Cophagus.
"Pooh--nothing at all--her mother was a De Benyon."
"Have you any objection to my looking at these letters?"
"No--read--nothing in them."
I laid them on one side, and we proceeded in our search when Mr
Cophagus took up a sealed packet. "Heh! what's this--De Benyon again?
Japhet, look here."
I took the packet; it was seated and tied with red tape. "Papers
belonging to Lieutenant William De Benyon, to be returned to him at my
decease."
"Alice Maitland, _with great care_," was written at the bottom of the
envelope.
"This is it, my dear sir," cried I, jumping up and embracing Mr
Cophagus; "these are the papers which I require. May I keep them?"
"Mad--quite mad--go to Bedlam--strait waistcoat--head shaved--and so
on."