CHAPTER I.

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TALES

FROM

"BLACKWOOD"

Contents of this Volume

_A Reading Party in the Long Vacation_

_Father Tom and the Pope_

_La Petite Madelaine. By Mrs Southey_

_Bob Burke's Duel with Ensign Brady. By the late

William Maginn, LL.D._

_The Headsman: A Tale of Doom_

_The Wearyful Woman. By John Galt_

WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS

EDINBURGH AND LONDON

TALES FROM "BLACKWOOD."

A READING PARTY IN THE LONG VACATION.

[_MAGA._ AUGUST 1843.]

CHAPTER I.

Every one who knows Oxford, and a good many besides, must have heard of

certain periodical migrations of the younger members of that learned

university into distant and retired parts of her Majesty's dominions,

which (on the "_lucus a non lucendo_" principle) are called and known by

the name of Reading Parties. Some half-dozen undergraduates, in peril of

the coming examination, form themselves into a joint-stock cramming

company; take L30 or L40 shares in a private tutor; pitch their camp

in some Dan or Beersheba which has a reputation for dulness; and,

like other joint-stock companies, humbug the public, and sometimes

themselves, into the belief that they are "doing business." For these

classical bubbles, the long vacation is the usual season, and Wales one

of the favourite localities; and certainly, putting "Reading" out of

the question, three fine summer months might be worse spent, than in

climbing the mountains, and whipping the trout-streams, of that romantic

land. Many a quiet sea-side town, or picturesque fishing-village, might

be mentioned, which owes no little of its summer gaiety, and perhaps

something of its prosperity, to the annual visit of "the Oxonians:"

many a fair girl has been indebted for the most piquant flirtation

of the season to the "gens togata," who were reading at the little

watering-place to which fate and papa had carried her for the race-week

or the hunt-ball: and whatever the effect of these voluntary

rustications upon the class lists in Oxford, they certainly have

procured for the parties occasionally a very high "provincial

celebrity." I know that when we beat our retreat from summer quarters

at Glyndewi in 18--, the sighs of our late partners were positively

heart-rending, and the blank faces of the deserted billiard-marker and

solitary livery-stable groom haunt me to this day.

I had been endeavouring, by hard reading for the last three months, to

work up the arrears of three years of college idleness, when my evil

genius himself, in the likeness of George Gordon of Trinity, persuaded

me to put the finishing-touch to my education, by joining a party who

were going down to Glyndewi, in ----shire, "really to read." In an

unguarded moment I consented; packed up books enough to last me for

five years, reading at the rate of twenty-four hours per day, wrote

to the governor announcing my virtuous intention, and was formally

introduced to the Rev. Mr Hanmer, Gordon's tutor, as one of his "cubs"

for the long vacation.

Six of us there were to be; a very mixed party, and not well mixed--a

social chaos. We had an exquisite from St Mary Hall, a pea-coated

Brazen-nose boatman, a philosophical water-drinker and union-debater

from Baliol, and a two-bottle man from Christ Church. When we first met,

it was like oil and water; it seemed as if we might be churned together

for a century, and never coalesce: but in time, like punch-making, it

turned out that the very heterogeneousness of the ingredients was the

zest of the compound.

I had never heard of such a place as Glyndewi, nor had I an idea how to

get there. Gordon and Hanmer were gone already; so I packed myself on

the top of the Shrewsbury mail, as the direct communication between

Oxford and North Wales, and there became acquainted with No. 2 of my

fellows in transportation (for, except Gordon and myself, we were all

utter strangers to each other). "I say, Hawkins, let's feel those

ribbons a bit, will you?" quoth the occupant of the box-seat to our

respectable Jehu. "Can't indeed, sir, with these hosses: it's as much as

ever I can do to hold this here near leader." This was satisfactory.

Risking one's neck in a tandem was all very well--a part of the regular

course of an Oxford education; but amateur drivers of stage coaches

I had always a prejudice against: let gentlemen keep their own

four-in-hands, and upset themselves and families, as they have an

undeniable right to do--but not the public. I looked at the first

speaker; at his pea-jacket, that is, which was all I could see of him:

Oxford decidedly. His cigar was Oxford too, by the villanous smell

of it. He took the coachman's implied distrust of his professional

experience good-humouredly enough, proffered him his cigar-case, and

entered into a discussion on the near leader's moral and physical

qualities. "I'll trouble you for a light, if you please," said I. He

turned round, we stuck the ends of our cigars together, and puffed into

each other's faces for about a minute (my cigars were dampish), as grave

as North American Indians. "Thank you," said I, as the interesting

ceremony was concluded, and our acquaintance begun. We got into

conversation, when it appeared that he too was bound for the

undiscovered shores of Glyndewi, and that we were therefore likely to be

companions for the next three months. He was an off-hand, good-humoured

fellow; drank brandy-and-water, treated the coachman, and professed an

acquaintance with bar-maids in general, and pretty ones in particular,

on our line of road. He was going up for a class, he supposed, he said;

the governor had taken a "second below the line" himself, and insisted

upon his emulating the paternal distinction; d----d nonsense, he said,

in his opinion: except that the governor had a couple of harriers with

Greek names, he did not see that his classics were of any use to him;

and no doubt but that Hylax and Phryne would run just as well if they

had been called Stormer and Merry Lass. However, he must rub up all his

old Eton books this "long," and get old Hanmer to lay it on thick. Such

was Mr Branling of Brazen-nose.

At Shrewsbury, we were saluted with the intelligence, "Coach dines here,

gentlemen." We found a couple of fowls that the coach might probably

have dined upon, and digested with other articles--in the hind boot; to

human stomachs they seemed impracticable. We employed the allotted ten

minutes upon a leg of mutton, and ascended again to our stations on the

roof; and here was an addition to our party. Externally, it consisted

of a mackintosh and a fur cap: in the very short interval between the

turned-down flap of the one and the turned-up collar of the other, were

a pair of grey glass spectacles, and part of a nose. So far we had no

very sufficient premises from which to draw conclusions, whether or not

he were "one of us." But there were internal evidences; an odour of

Bouquet de Roi, or some such villanous compound, nearly overpowering

the fragrance of some genuine weed which I had supplied my pea-coated

friend with in the place of his Oxford "Havannahs;" a short cough

occasionally, as though the smoke of the said weed were not altogether

"the perfume of the lips he loved;" and a resolute taciturnity. What was

he? It is a lamentable fact, that an Oxford undergraduate does not

invariably look the gentleman. He vibrates between the fashionable

assurance of a London swindler and the modest diffidence of an overgrown

schoolboy. There is usually a degree of unfinishedness about him. He

seems to be assuming a character: unlike the glorious Burschenschaft

of Germany, he has no character of his own. However, for want of more

profitable occupation, we set to work in earnest to discover who our

fellow-traveller really was; and by a series of somewhat American

conversational inquiries, we at last fished out that he was going into

----shire, like ourselves--nay, in answer to a direct question on the

subject, that he hoped to meet Hanmer of Trinity at Glyndewi. But no

further information could we get: our new friend was reserved. Mr

Branling and I had commenced intimacy already. "My name is Branling

of Brazen-nose;" "and mine Hawthorne of ----;" was our concise

introduction. But our companion was the pink of Oxford correctness on

this point. He thanked the porter for putting his luggage up; called me

"Sir," till he found I was an Oxford man; and had we travelled for a

month together, would rather have requested the coachman to introduce

us, than be guilty of any such barbarism as to introduce himself. So by

degrees our intimacy, instead of warming, waxed cold. As night drew on,

and the fire of cigars from Branling, self, and coachman became more

deadly, the fur cap was drawn still closer over the ears, the mackintosh

crept up higher, and we lost sight of all but the outline of the

spectacles.

The abominable twitter of the sparrows in the hedgerows gave notice of

the break of day--to travellers the most dismal of all hours, in my

opinion--when I awoke from the comfortable nap into which I had fallen

since the last change of horses. For some time we alternately dozed,

tumbled against each other, begged pardon, and awoke; till at last the

sun broke out gloriously as we drove into the cheerful little town of

B----.

A good breakfast set us all to rights, and made even our friend in the

mackintosh talkative. He came out most in the character of tea-maker (an

office, by the way, which he filled to the general satisfaction of his

constituents during our stay in North Wales). We found out that he was a

St Mary Hall man, with a duplicate name: Mr Sydney Dawson, as the cards

on his multifarious luggage set forth: that he was an aspirant for

"anything he could get" in the way of honours (humble aspiration as it

seemed, it was not destined to be gratified, for he got nothing). He

thought he might find some shooting and fishing in Wales, so had

brought with him a gun-case and a setter; though his pretensions to

sportsmanship proved to be rather of the cockney order. For three months

he was the happily unconscious butt of our party, and yet never but once

was his good-humour seriously interrupted.

From B---- to Glyndewi we had been told we must make our way as we

could: and a council of war, which included boots and the waiter, ended

in the arrival of the owner of one of the herring-boats, of which there

were several under "the terrace." "Was you wish to go to Glyndewi,

gentlemen? I shall take you so quick as any way; she is capital wind,

and you shall have fine sail." A man who could speak such undeniable

English was in himself a treasure; for an ineffectual attempt at a

bargain for some lobsters (even with a "Welsh interpreter" in our hands)

had warned us that there were in this Christian country unknown tongues

which would have puzzled even the Rev. Edward Irving. So the bargain was

struck: in half an hour ourselves and traps were alongside the boat:

and after waiting ten minutes for the embarkation of Mr Sydney Dawson

and his dog Sholto, who seemed to have an abhorrence of sea-voyages,

Branling at last hauled in the latter in the last agonies of

strangulation, and his master having tumbled in over him, to the

detriment of a pair of clean whites and a cerulean waistcoat, we--_i.

e._ the rest of us--set sail for Glyndewi in high spirits.

Our boatmen were intelligent fellows, and very anxious to display their

little stock of English. They knew Mr Hanmer well, they said--he had

been at Glyndewi the summer before; he was "nice free gentleman;" and

they guessed immediately the object of our pilgrimage: Glyndewi was

"very much for learning;" did not gentlemen from Oxford College, and

gentlemen from Cambridge College, all come there? We warned him not on

any account to couple us in his mind with "Cambridge gentlemen:" we were

quite a distinct species, we assured him. (They had beaten us that year

in the eight-oar match on the Thames.) But there seemed no sufficient

reason for disabusing their minds of the notion that this influx of

students was owing to something classical in the air of Glyndewi;

indeed, supposing this theory to be wrong, it was no easy matter to

substitute a sounder one. In what did the superiority of Mrs Jenkins's

smoky parlour at Glyndewi consist, for the purposes of reading for a

degree, compared with my pleasant rooms looking into ---- gardens at

Oxford, or the governor's snug library at home? It is an abstruse

question. Parents and guardians, indeed, whose part upon the stage of

life, as upon the theatrical stage, consists principally in submitting

to be more or less humbugged, attribute surprising effects to a fancied

absence of all amusements, with a mill-horse round of Greek, Latin, and

logic, early rising, and walks in the country with a pocket Horace. From

my own experience of reading parties, I should select as their peculiar

characteristics a tendency to hats and caps of such remarkable shapes

as, if once sported in the college quadrangle, would be the subject of

a common-room _instanter_; and, among some individuals (whom we may

call the peripatetic philosophers of the party) a predilection for

seedy shooting-coats and short pipes, with which they perambulate the

neighbourhood to the marvel of the aboriginal inhabitants; while

those whom we may class with the stoics, display a preference for

dressing-gowns and meerschaums, and confine themselves principally to

the doorways and open windows of their respective lodgings. How far

these "helps to knowledge"--for which Oxford certainly does not afford

equal facilities--conduce to the required first or second class, is a

question I do not feel competent to decide; but _if_ reading-parties

_do_ succeed, the secret of their success may at least as probably lie

in these hitherto unregarded phenomena.

Five hours of a fair wind brought us to Glyndewi. Here we found Hanmer

and Gordon, who had taken a house for the party, and seemed already

domesticated. I cannot say that we were royally lodged: the rooms were

low, and the terms high; but as no one thought of taking lodgings at

Glyndewi in the winter, and the rats consequently lived in them

rent-free for six months, it was but fair somebody should pay: and

we did. "Attendance" we had into the bargain. Now, attendance at a

lodging-house has been defined to be, the privilege of ringing your bell

as often as you please, provided you do not expect any one to answer it.

But the bell-ropes in Mrs Jenkins's parlours being only ornamental

appendages, our privilege was confined to calling upon the landing-place

for a red-headed female, who, when she did come, which was seldom, was

terrible to look upon, and could only be conversed with by pantomime.

To do Mrs Jenkins and "Gwenny" justice, they were scrupulously clean

in everything but their own persons, which, the latter's especially,

seemed to have monopolised the dirt of the whole establishment.

College bedrooms are not luxurious affairs, so we were not inclined

to be captious on that head; and we slept soundly, and awoke with a

determination to make our first voyage of discovery in a charitable

spirit.

The result of our morning's stroll was the unanimous conclusion that

Glyndewi was a rising place. It did not seem inclined to rise all at

once though; but in patches here and there, with a quarter of a mile or

so between, like what we read of the great sea-serpent. (I fear this

individual is no more; this matter-of-fact age has been the death of

him.) There were two long streets--one parallel to the quay (or, as the

more refined call it, "the terrace"), and the other at right angles to

it. The first was Herring Street--the second Goose Street. At least such

were the ancient names, which I give for the benefit of antiquarian

readers. Since the then Princess Victoria visited B----, the loyalty of

the Glyndewi people had changed "Herring" into "Victoria;" and her royal

consort has since had the equivocal compliment paid him of transmuting

"Goose Street" into "Albert Buildings." I trust it will not be

considered disloyal to say, that the original sponsors--the geese and

the herrings--seem to me to have been somewhat hardly used; having done

more for their namesakes than, as far as I can learn, their royal

successors even promised.

Glyndewi was rising, however, in more respects than in the matter of

taste in nomenclature. Tall houses, all front and windows, were stuck up

here and there; sometimes with a low fisherman's cottage between them,

whose sinking roof and bulging walls looked as if, like the frog in the

fable, it had burst in the vain attempt to rival its majestic neighbour.

At one end stood a large hotel with a small business, and an empty

billiard-room; at the other, a wall six inches high marked the spot

where subscription-rooms were to be built for the accommodation of

visitors and the public generally, as set forth in the prospectus, as

soon as the visitors and the public chose to find the money. Nearly the

whole of the village was the property of a gentleman who had built

the hotel and billiard-room, and run up a few lodging-houses on a

speculation, which seemed at best a doubtful one, of making it in time

a fashionable watering-place.

Glyndewi had been recommended to us as a quiet place. It was

quiet--horribly quiet. Not the quiet of green fields and deep woods,

the charm of country life; but the quiet of a teetotal supper-party,

or a college in vacation. "Just the place for reading: no gaiety--no

temptations." So I had written to tell the governor, in the ardour of my

setting forth as one of a "reading-party:" alas! it was a fatal mistake.

Had it been an ordinarily cheerful place, I think one or two of us could

and would have read there; as it was, our whole wits were set to work to

enliven its dulness. It took us as long to invent an amusement, as would

have sufficed elsewhere for getting tired of half-a-dozen different

dissipations. The very reason which made us fix upon it as a place to

read in, proved in our case the source of unmitigated idleness. "No

temptations," indeed! there were no temptations--the only temptation I

felt there was to hang or drown myself, and there was not a tree six

feet high within as many miles, and the Dewi was a river "darkly,

deeply, beautifully"--muddy; it would have been smothering rather. We

should not have staid to the end of the first month, had it not been for

very shame; but to run away from a reading-party would have been a joke

against us for ever. So from the time we got up in the morning, until

we climbed Mrs Jenkins's domestic tread-mill again at night, the one

question was, what should we do with ourselves? Walk? there were the

A---- and B---- roads--three miles of sand and dust either way. Before

us was the bay--behind the ----shire mountains, up which one might walk

some sixteen miles (in the month of July), and get the same view from

each successive point you reached: viz., a hill before you, which you

thought must be the top at last, and Glyndewi--of which we knew the

number of houses, and the number of windows in each--behind. Ride

then?--the two hacks kept by mine host of the Mynysnewydd Arms deserve

a history to themselves. Rosinante would have been ashamed to be seen

grazing in the same field with such caricatures of his race. There was a

board upon a house a few doors off, announcing that "pleasure and other

boats" were to be let on hire. All the boats that we were acquainted

with must have been the "other" ones--for they smelled of herrings,

sailed at about the pace of a couple of freshmen in a "two-oar," and

gave very pretty exercise--to those who were fond of it--in baling. As

for reading, we were like the performers at a travelling theatre--always

"going to begin."

Branling, indeed, did once shut himself up in his bedroom, as we

afterwards ascertained, with a box of cigars and a black and tan

terrier, and read for three weeks on end in the peculiar atmosphere thus

created. Willingham of Christ Church, and myself, had what was called

the dining-room in common, and proceeded so far on the third day after

our arrival, as to lay out a very imposing spread of books upon all the

tables; and there it remained in evidence of our good intentions, until

the first time we were called upon to do the honours of an extempore

luncheon. Unfortunately, from the very first, Willingham and myself

were set down by Hanmer as the idle men of the party; this sort of

prophetical discrimination, which tutors at Oxford are very much in the

habit of priding themselves upon, tends, like other prophecies, to work

its own fulfilment. Did a civil Welshman favour us with a call? "Show

him in to Mr Hawthorne and Mr Willingham; I dare say they are not very

busy"--quoth our _Jupiter tonans_ from on high in the dining-room, where

he held his court; and accordingly in he came. We had Stilton and

bottled porter in charge for these occasions from the common stock; but

the honours of all these visits were exclusively our own, as far as

house-room went. In dropped the rest of the party, one by one. Hanmer

himself pitched the Ethics into a corner to make room, as he said, for

substantials, the froth of bottled Guinness damped the eloquence of

Cicero, and Branling having twisted up my analysis of the last-read

chapter into a light for his cigar, there was an end of our morning's

work. How could we read? That was what we always said, and there was

some truth in it.

Mr Branling's reading fit was soon over too; and having cursed the

natives for barbarians, because there was not a pack of harriers within

ten miles, which confirmed him in the opinion he had always expressed of

their utter want of civilisation (for, as he justly remarked, not one in

a dozen could even speak decent English), he waited impatiently for

September, when he had got leave from some Mr Williams or Jones--I never

remembered which--to shoot over a considerable range about Glyndewi.

But with the 20th of August a change came o'er the spirit of our dream.

Hitherto we had seen little of any of the neighbouring families,

excepting that of a Captain George Phillips, who, living only three

miles off, on the bank of the river, and having three sons and two

daughters, and keeping a pretty yacht, had given us a dinner-party

or two, and a pleasant day's sail. Capital fellows were the young

Phillipses: Nature's gentlemen; unsophisticated, hearty Welshmen; lads

from sixteen to twenty. Down they used to come in a most dangerous

little craft of their own, which went by the name of the "Coroner's

Inquest," to smoke cigars, (against which the Captain had published an

interdict at home), and question us about Oxford larks, and tell us in

return stories of wild-fowl shooting, otter-hunting, and salmon-fishing,

in all which they were proficient.

Our establishment was not an imposing one, but of them we made no

strangers. Once they came, I remember, self-invited to dinner, in a most

unfortunate state of our larder. The weekly half sheep had not arrived

from B----; to get anything in Glyndewi, beyond the native luxuries of

bacon and herrings, was hopeless; and our dinner happened to be a leash

of fowls, of which we had just purchased a live supply. Mrs Glasse would

have been in despair; we took it coolly; to the three boiled fowls at

top, we added three roast ditto at bottom, and by unanimous consent of

both guests and entertainers, a more excellent dinner was never put on

table.

But the 20th of August the day of the Glyndewi regatta!--_that_ must

have a chapter to itself.

CHAPTER II.

When a dull place like Glyndewi does undertake to be gay, it seldom does

things by halves. Ordinary doses of excitement fail to meet the urgency

of the case. It was the fashion, it appeared, for all the country

families of any pretensions to _ton_, and not a few of the idlers from

the neighbouring watering-places, to be at Glyndewi for the race-week.

And as far as the programme of amusements went, certainly the committee

(consisting of the resident surgeon, the non-resident proprietor of the

"hotel," &c., and a retired major in the H.E.I.C.'s service, called

by his familiars by the endearing name of "Tiger Jones") had made a

spirited attempt to meet the demand. A public breakfast, and a regatta,

and a ball--a "Full Dress and Fancy Ball," the advertisement said, on

the 20th; a Horse-Race and an Ordinary on the 21st; a Cricket Match, if

possible, and any extra fun which the Visitors' own genius might strike

out on the following days.

The little bay of Glyndewi was not a bad place for a boat-race on a

small scale. The "terrace" commanded the whole of it; there were plenty

of herring-boats, about equally matched in sailing deficiencies, ready

and willing to "run"--_i. e._ creep--for the prizes; and an honourable

member of the Yacht Club, who for some years past, for reasons which it

was said his creditors could explain, had found it more convenient to

keep his season at B---- than at Cowes, always paid the stewards the

compliment of carrying off the "Ladies' Challenge Cup."

The two or three years' experience which the Glyndewi people had lately

gained of the nature and habits of "the Oxonians," made them an article

in great demand on these occasions. Mammas and daughters agreed in

looking upon us as undeniable partners in the ball-room, while the

sporting men booked us as safe for getting up a creditable four-oar,

with a strong probability of finding a light-weight willing to risk his

neck and reputation at a hurdle-race. Certain it is, that from the time

the races began to be seriously talked about, we began to feel ourselves

invested with additional importance. "Tiger Jones" (who occupied a snug

little box about a mile out of Glyndewi, where he lived upon cheroots

and brandy-and-water) called, was exceedingly polite, apologised for

not inviting us to dinner--a thing he declared impossible in his

quarters--hoped we would call some day and take a lunch with him, spoke

with rapture of the capital crew which "the gentlemen who were studying

here last summer" had made up, and which ran away from all competitors,

and expressed a fervent hope that we should do likewise.

The sporting surgeon (of course he had called upon us long ago)

redoubled his attentions, begged that if any of us were cricketers we

would endeavour to aid him in getting up a "Glyndewi eleven" against the

"Strangers," and fixed himself upon me as an invaluable acquisition,

when he found I had actually once played in a match against Marylebone.

(I did not tell him that the total score of my innings was "_one_.")

Would I, then, at once take the drilling of as many recruits as he could

get together? And would Mr Willingham and Mr Gordon, who "used to play

at school," get up their practice again? (It wanted about a fortnight to

the races.) The result of this, and sundry other interviews, was, that

Branling at length found a vent for the _vis inertiae_ in putting us all,

with the exception of Mr Sydney Dawson, whom he declared to be so stiff

in the back that he had no hope of him, into training for a four-oar;

and the surgeon and myself set off in his gig for B----, to purchase

materials for cricket.

It is true that our respected tutor did look more than usually grave,

and shook his head with a meaning almost as voluminous as Lord

Burleigh's, when informed of our new line of study. Rowing he declared

to be a most absurd expenditure of time and strength; he never could see

the fun of men breaking blood-vessels, and getting plucked for their

degree, for the honour of "the Trinity Boat." But the cricket touched

him on the raw. He was an old Etonian, and had in his time been

a good player; and was now as active as any stout gentleman of

seven-and-thirty, who had been twelve years a steady admirer of bursary

dinners and common-room port. So, after some decent scruples on his

part, and some well-timed compliments touching his physical abilities on

ours (he was much vainer of the muscle of his arm than of his high

reputation as a scholar), we succeeded in drawing from him a sort of

promise, that if we were so foolish as to get up a match, he would try

whether he had forgot all about bowling.

For the next fortnight, therefore, we had occupation enough cut out

for us. Branling was unmerciful in his practice on the river; and

considering that two of us had never pulled an oar but in the slowest

of "Torpids," we improved surprisingly under his tuition. The cricket,

too, was quite a new era in our existence. Dawson (we told him that the

"Sydney" must be kept for Sundays) was a perfect fund of amusement in

his zealous practice. He knew as much about the matter as a cow might,

and was rather less active. But if perseverance could have made a

cricketer, he would have turned out a first-rate one. Not content with

two or three hours of it every fine evening, when we all sallied down

to the marsh, followed by every idler in Glyndewi, he used to disappear

occasionally in the mornings, and for some days puzzled us as to where

and how he disposed of himself. We had engaged, in our corporate

capacity, the services of a most original retainer, who cleaned boots,

fetched the beer, ate the cold mutton, and made himself otherwise

useful when required. He was amphibious in his habits, having been a

herring-fisher the best part of his life; but being a martyr to the

rheumatism, which occasionally screwed him up into indescribable forms,

had betaken himself to earning a precarious subsistence as he could on

shore. It was not often that we required his services between breakfast

and luncheon, but one morning, after having despatched Gwenny in all

directions to hunt for Bill Thomas in vain, we at at last elicited from

her that "maybe she was gone with Mr Dawson." Then it came out, to our

infinite amusement, that Dawson was in the habit, occasionally, of

impressing our factotum Bill to carry bat, stumps, and ball down to the

marsh, and there commencing private practice on his own account.

Mr Sydney Dawson and Bill Thomas--the sublime and the

ridiculous--amalgamating at cricket, was far too good a joke to lose; so

we got Hanmer to cut his lecture short, and come down with us to the

scene of action. From the cover of a sand-bank, we had a view of all

that was going on in the plain below. There was our friend at the

wicket, with his coat off, and the grey spectacles on, in an attitude

which it must have taken him some study to accomplish, and Bill, with

the ball in his hand, vociferating "Plaiy." A ragged urchin behind the

wicket, attempting to bag the balls as Dawson missed them in what had

once been a hat, and Sholto looking on with an air of mystification,

completed the picture.

"That's too slow," said Sydney, as Bill, after some awful contortions,

at length delivered himself of what he called a cast. "_Diawl!_" said

Bill, _sotto voce_, as he again got possession of the ball. "That's too

high," was the complaint, as, with an extraordinary kind of jerk, it

flew some yards over the batsman's head, and took what remained of the

crown out of the little lazzaroni's hat behind. "_Diawl!_" quoth Bill

again, apologetically. "She got too much way on her that time." Bill

was generally pretty wide of his mark, and great appeared to be the

satisfaction of all parties when Dawson contrived to make a hit, and

Sholto and the boy set off after the ball, while the striker leaned with

elegant _nonchalance_ upon his bat, and Bill mopped his face, and gave

vent to a complimentary variety of "Diawl." It was really a pity to

interrupt the performance; but we did at last. Bill looked rather

ashamed of his share in the business when he saw "Mishtar," as he called

Hanmer; but Dawson's self-complacency and good-humour carried him

through everything. "By Jove," said Willingham to him, "no wonder you

improve in your style of play; Bill has no bad notion of bowling, has

he?" "Why, no; he does very well for practice; and he is to have

half-a-crown if he gets me out." "Bowl at his legs, Bill," said

Willingham aside, "he's out, you know, if you hit them." "Nay," said

Bill, with a desponding shake of the head, "she squat 'n hard on the

knee now just, and made 'n proper savage, but I wasn't get nothing for

that."

Positively we did more in the way of reading after the boating and the

cricket began, than while we continued in a state of vagrant idleness,

without a fixed amusement of any kind. In the first place, it was

necessary to conciliate Hanmer by some show of industry in the morning,

in order to keep him in good humour for the cricket in the evening; for

he was decidedly the main hope of our having anything like a decent

eleven. Secondly, the Phillipses took to dining early at home, and

coming to practice with us in the evening, instead of dropping down the

river every breezy morning, and either idling in our rooms, or beguiling

us out mackerel-fishing or flapper-shooting in their boat. And thirdly,

it became absolutely necessary that we should do something, if class

lists and examiners had any real existence, and were not mere bugbears

invented by "alma mater" to instil a wholesome terror into her unruly

progeny. Really, when one compared our actual progress with the Augean

labour which was to be gone through, it required a large amount of faith

to believe that we were all "going up for honours in October."

We spent a very pleasant morning at Llyn-eiros, the den of "Tiger

Jones." He obtained this somewhat appalling sobriquet from a habit of

spinning yarns, more marvellous than his unwarlike neighbours were

accustomed to, of the dangers encountered in his Indian sports; and one

in particular, of an extraordinary combat between his "chokedar" and a

tiger--whether the gist of the story lay in the tiger's eating the

chokedar, or the chokedar eating the tiger, I am not sure--I rather

think the latter. However, in Wales one is always glad to have some

distinguishing appellation to prefix to the name of Jones. If a man's

godfathers and godmothers have the forethought to christen him

"Mountstewart Jones," or "Fitzhardinge Jones" (I knew such instances of

cognominal anticlimax), then it was all very well--no mistake about the

individuality of such fortunate people. But "Tom Joneses" and "Bob

Joneses" were no individuals at all. They were classes, and large

classes; and had to be again distinguished into "Little Bob Joneses" and

"Long Bob Joneses." Or if there happened to be nothing sufficiently

characteristic in the personal appearance of the rival Joneses, then

was he fortunate who had no less complimentary additions to his style

and title than what might be derived from the name of his location, or

the nature of his engagements. These honours were often hereditary--nay,

sometimes descended in the female line. We hear occasionally, in

England, of "Mrs Doctor Smith," and "Mrs Major Brown;" and absurd as it

is, one does comprehend by intuition that it was the gentleman and not

the lady who was the ten-year man at Cambridge, or the commandant of

the Boggleton yeomanry; but few besides a Welshman would have learned,

without a smile, that "Mrs Jones the officer" was the relict of the late

tide-waiter at Glyndewi, or that the quiet, modest little daughter of

the town-clerk of B---- was known to her intimates as "Miss Jones the

lawyer." Luckily our friend the Tiger was a bachelor; it would have been

alarming to a nervous stranger at the Glyndewi ball, upon inquiring the

name of the young lady with red hair and cat's eyes, to have been

introduced incontinently to "Miss Jones the tiger."

The Tiger himself was a well-disposed animal; somewhat given to solitary

prowling, like his namesakes in a state of nature, but of most

untigerlike and facetious humour. He generally marched into Glyndewi

after an early breakfast, and from that time until he returned to

his "mutton" at five, might be seen majestically stalking up and down

the extreme edge of the terrace, looking at the fishing-boats, and

shaking--_not_ his tail, for, as all stout gentlemen seemed to think it

their duty to do by the sea-side, he wore a round jacket. From the time

that we began our new pursuits, he took to us amazingly--called us

his "dear lads"--offered bets to any amount that we should beat the

B---- Cutter Club, and protested that he never saw finer bowling at

Lord's than Hanmer's.

Branling was in delight. He had found a man who would smoke with him all

day (report said, indeed, that the Tiger regularly went to sleep with

a cheroot in his mouth), and he had the superintending of "the boat,"

which was his thought from morning to night. A light gig, that had once

belonged to the custom-house, was polished and painted under his special

directions (often did we sigh for one of King's worst "fours!") and the

fishermen marvelled at such precocious nautical talent.

None of these, however--great events as they were in our hitherto

monotonous sojourn--were the "crowning mercy" of the Glyndewi regatta.

Hitherto the sunshine of bright eyes, and the breath of balmy lips, had

been almost as much unknown to us as if we had been still within the

monastic walls of Oxford. We had dined in a body at our friend the

surgeon's: he was a bachelor. We had been invited by twos and threes at

a time to a Welsh squire's in the neighbourhood, who had two maiden

sisters, and a fat, good-humoured wife. Captain Phillips had given us a

spread more than once at Craig-y-gerron, and, of course, some of us (I

was not so fortunate) had handed in the Misses Phillips to dinner; but

the greater part of the time from six till eleven (at which hour Hanmer

always ordered out our "_trap_") was too pleasantly occupied in

discussing the captain's port and claret, and laughing at his jokes,

to induce us to give much time or attention to the ladies in the

drawing-room. If some of my fair readers exclaim against this stoic (or

rather epicurean) indifference, it may gratify their injured vanity to

know, that in the sequel some of us paid for it.

The Phillipses came down in full force the day before the regatta; they

were engaged to lunch with us, and, as it was the first time that the

ladies of the party had honoured us with a visit, we spared no pains to

make our entertainment somewhat more _recherche_ than was our wont. It

was then that I first discovered that Clara Phillips was beautiful. I am

not going to describe her now; I never could have described her. All I

knew, and all I remember, was, that for a long time afterwards I formed

my standard of what a woman ought to be, by unconscious comparison with

what she was. What colour her eyes were, was a question among us at the

time. Willingham swore they were grey; Dawson insisted that they were

hazel; Branling, to whom they referred the point, was inclined to think

there was "something green" in them. But that they were eyes of no

common expression, all of us were agreed. I think at least half the

party were more than half in love with her when that race-week was over.

In one sense it was not her fault if we were; for a girl more thoroughly

free from every species of coquetry, and with less of that pitiful

ambition of making conquests, which is the curse of half the sex, it was

impossible to meet with. But she was to blame for it too, in another

way; for to know her, and not love her, would have been a reproach to

any man. Lively and good-humoured, with an unaffected buoyancy of

spirits, interesting herself in all that passed around her, and

unconscious of the interest she herself excited, no wonder that she

seemed to us like an angel sent to cheer us in our house of bondage. Of

her own family she was deservedly the darling; even Dick Phillips, whom

three successive tutors had given up in despair, became the most docile

of pupils under his sister Clara. Accustomed early to join her brothers

in all out-door sports, she was an excellent horsewoman, a fearless

sailor, and an untiring explorer of mountains and waterfalls, without

losing her naturally feminine character, or becoming in any degree a

hoiden or a romp. She sang the sweet national airs of Wales with a voice

whose richness of tone was only second to its power of expression. She

did everything with the air of one who, while delighting others, is

conscious only of delighting herself; and never seeking admiration,

received it as gracefully as it was ungrudgingly bestowed.

If there is one form of taking exercise which I really hate, it is what

people call dancing. I am passionately fond of music; but why people

should conceive it necessary to shuffle about in all varieties of

awkwardness, in order to enjoy it to their satisfaction, has been, is,

and probably will ever be, beyond my comprehension. It is all very well

for young ladies on the look-out for husbands to affect a fondness for

dancing: in the first place, some women dance gracefully, and even

elegantly, and show themselves off undoubtedly to advantage (if any

exhibition on a woman's part be an advantage); then it gives an excuse

for whispering, and squeezing of hands, and stealing flowers, and a

thousand nameless skirmishings preparatory to what they are endeavouring

to bring about--an engagement; but for a man to be fond of shuffling

and twirling himself out of the dignity of step which nature gave

him--picking his way through a quadrille, like a goose upon hot bricks,

or gyrating like a bad tee-totum in what English fashionables are

pleased to term a "valse," I never see a man thus occupied, without a

fervent desire to kick him. "What a Goth!" I hear a fair reader of

eighteen, prettily ejaculate--"thank Heaven, that all men have not such

barbarous ideas! Why, I would go fifty miles to a good ball!" Be not

alarmed, my dear young lady; give me but a moment to thank Providence,

in my turn, that you are neither my sister nor my daughter, and I will

promise you that you shall never be my wife.

On the Saturday night, then, I made Gordon and Willingham both very

cross, and caught Sydney Dawson's eye looking over his spectacles with

supreme contempt, when I declared my decided intention of staying at

home the night of the ball. Even the Reverend Robert Hanmer, who was

going himself, was annoyed when Gordon told him of what he called my

wilfulness, having a notion that it was decidedly disrespectful in any

of us, either to go when he did _not_, or to decline going when he

_did_.

On the Tuesday morning, I sent to B---- for white kids. Gordon looked

astonished, Hanmer was glad that I had "taken his advice," and

Willingham laughed outright; he had overheard Clara Phillips ask me to

dance with her. Men _are_ like green gooseberries--very green ones;

women _do_ make fools of them, and a comparatively small proportion of

sugar, in the shape of flattery, is sufficient.

Two days before the regatta, there marched into Mrs Jenkins's open

doorway, a bewildered-looking gentleman, shaking off the dust from his

feet in testimony of having had a long walk, and inquiring for Hanmer.

Gwenny, with her natural grace, trotted up-stairs before him, put her

head in at the "drawing-room" door (she seemed always conscious that the

less one saw of her person the better), and having announced briefly,

but emphatically, "a gentlemans," retreated. Hanmer had puzzled himself

and me by an attempt to explain a passage which Aristotle, of course,

would have put in plainer language if he had known what he meant

himself--but modern philosophers are kind enough to help him out

occasionally--when the entrance of the gentleman in dust cut the Gordian

knot, and saved the Stagyrite from the disgrace of having a pretty bit

of esoteric abstruseness translated into common sense.

(What a blessing would it be for Dr ----, and Professor ----, if they

might be allowed to mystify their readers in Greek! though, to do them

justice, they have turned the Queen's English to good account for that

purpose, and have produced passages which first-class men, at an

Athenian university, might possibly construe, but which the whole board

of sophists might be defied to explain.)

The _deus ex machina_--the gentleman on, or rather off the tramp--who

arrived thus opportunely, was no less a person than the Reverend George

Plympton, Fellow of Oriel, &c. &c. &c. He was an intimate friend of our

worthy tutor's; if the friendship between Oxford dons can be called

intimacy. They compared the merits of their respective college cooks

three or four times a term, and contended for the superior vintage of

the common-room port. They played whist together; walked arm-in-arm

round Christ Church meadow; and knew the names of all the old incumbents

in each other's college-list, and the value of the respective livings.

Mr Plympton and a friend had been making a walking tour of North Wales;

that is, they walked about five miles, stared at a mountain, or a fall,

or an old castle, as per guide-book, and then coached it to the next

point, when the said book set down that "the Black Dog was an excellent

inn," or that "travellers would find every accommodation at Mrs

Price's of the Wynnstay Arms." Knowing that Hanmer was to be found at

Glyndewi, Mr Plympton left his friend at B----, where the salmon was

unexceptionable, and had completed the most arduous day's walk in his

journal, nearly thirteen miles, in a state of dust and heat far from

agreeable to a stoutish gentleman of forty, who usually looked as spruce

as if he came out of a band-box. Hanmer and he seemed really glad to see

each other. On those "oxless" shores, where, as Byron says, "beef was

rare," though

"Goat's flesh there was, no doubt, and kid, and mutton,"

the tender reminiscences of far-off Gaude days and Bursary dinners,

that must have arisen in the hearts of each, were enough to make their

meeting almost an affecting one. Hanmer must have blushed, I think,

though far from his wont, when he asked Mr Plympton if he could feed

with us at four upon--hashed mutton! (We consumed nearly a sheep per

week, and exhausted our stock of culinary ideas, as well as our

landlady's patience, in trying to vary the forms in which it was to

appear; not having taken the precaution, as some Cambridge men did at

B---- one vacation, to bespeak a French cook at a rather higher salary

than the mathematical tutor's.)[A] Probably, however, Mr Plympton's

unusual walk made him more anxious about the quantity than the quality

of his diet, for he not only attacked the mutton like an Etonian, but

announced his intention of staying with us over the ball, if a bed was

to be had, and sending to B---- for his decorations. He was introduced

in due form to the Phillipses the next day, and in the number and

elegance of his bows, almost eclipsed Mr Sydney Dawson, whom Clara never

ceased to recommend to her brothers as an example of politeness.

[Footnote A: Fact.]

Bright dawned the morning of the 20th of August, the first of the "three

glorious days" of Glyndewi. As people came to these races really for

amusement, the breakfast was fixed for the very unfashionable hour of

ten, in order not to interfere with the main business of the day--the

regatta. Before half-past, the tables at the Mynysnewydd Arms were

filled with what the _----shire Herald_ termed "a galaxy of beauty and

fashion." But every one seemed well aware that there were far more

substantial attractions present, meant to fill not the tables only, but

the guests. The breakfast was by no means a matter of form. People had

evidently come with more serious intentions than merely to display new

bonnets, and trifle with grapes and peaches. Sea-air gives a whet to

even a lady's appetite, and if the performances that morning were any

criterion of the effects of that of Glyndewi, the new Poor Law

Commissioners, in forming their scale of allowances, must really have

reported it a "special case." The fair Cambrians, in short, played

very respectable knives and forks--made no bones--or rather nothing

but bones--of the chickens, and ate kippered salmon like Catholics.

You caught a bright eye gazing in your direction with evident

interest--"Would you have the kindness to cut that pasty before you

for a lady?" You almost overheard a tender whisper from the gentleman

opposite to the pretty girl beside him. She blushes and gently

remonstrates. Again his lip almost touches her cheek in earnest

persuasion--yes! she is consenting--to another _little_ slice of

ham! As for the jolly Welsh squires themselves, and their strapping

heirs-apparent (you remember that six-foot-four man surely, number

six of the Jesus boat)--now that the ladies have really done, and

the waiters have brought in the relays of brandered chickens and

fresh-caught salmon, which mine host, who has had some experience of his

customers, has most liberally provided--they set to work in earnest.

They have been only politely trifling hitherto with the wing of a fowl

or so, to keep the ladies company. But now, as old Captain Phillips, at

the head of the table, cuts a slice and a joke alternately, and the

Tiger at the bottom begins to let out his carnivorous propensities, one

gets to have an idea what breakfast means. "Let me advise you, my dear

Mr Dawson--as a friend--you'll excuse an old stager--if you have no

particular wish to starve yourself--you've had nothing yet but two cups

of tea--to help yourself, and let your neighbours do the same. You may

keep on cutting Vauxhall shavings for those three young Lloyds till

Michaelmas; pass the ham down to them, and hand me those devilled

kidneys."

"Tea? no; thank you; I took a cup yesterday, and haven't been myself

since. Waiter! don't you see this tankard's empty?"

"Consume you, Dick Phillips! I left two birds in that pie five minutes

back, and you've cleared it out!"

"Diawl, John Jones, I was a fool to look into a tankard after you!"

Everything has an end, and so the breakfast had at last; and we followed

the ladies to the terrace to watch the sailing for the ladies' challenge

cup. By the help of a glass we could see three yachts, with about half a

mile between each, endeavouring to get round a small boat with a man and

a flag in it, which, as the wind was about the worst they could have had

for the purpose, seemed no easy matter. There was no great interest in

straining one's eyes after them, so I found out the Phillipses, and

having told Dawson, who was escorting Clara, that Hanmer was looking for

him to make out the list of "the eleven," I was very sorry indeed when

the sound of a gun announced that the Hon. H. Chouser's Firefly had won

the cup, and that the other two yachts might be expected in the course

of half an hour. Nobody waited for them, of course. The herring-boats,

after a considerable deal of what I concluded from the emphasis to be

swearing in Welsh, in which, however, Captain Phillips, who was umpire,

seemed to have decidedly the advantage in variety of terms and power of

voice, were pronounced "ready," and started by gun-fire accordingly. A

rare start they made of it. The great ambition of every man among them

seemed to be to prevent the boats next in the line from starting at all.

It was a general fouling-match, and the jabbering was terrific. At last,

the two outside boats, having the advantage of a clear berth on one

side, got away, and made a pretty race of it, followed by such of the

rest as could by degrees extricate themselves from the melee.

But now was to come our turn. Laden with all manner of good wishes, we

hoisted a bit of dark-blue silk for the honour of Oxford, and spurted

under the terrace to our starting-place. The only boat entered against

us was the Dolphin, containing three stout gentlemen and a thin one,

members of the B---- Cutter Club, who evidently looked upon pulling as

no joke. Branling gave us a steady stroke, and Cotton of Baliol steered

us admirably; the rest did as well as they could. The old boys had a

very pretty boat--ours was a tub--but we beat them. They gave us a

stern-chase for the first hundred yards, for I cut a crab at starting;

but we had plenty of pluck, and came in winners by a length. Of course

we were the favourites--the "Dolphins" were all but one married--and

hearty were the congratulations with which we were greeted on landing.

Clara Phillips's eyes had a most dangerous light in them, as she shook

hands with our noble captain, who was in a terrible hurry, however, to

get away, and hunting everywhere for "that d----d Dawson," who had

promised to have Bill Thomas in readiness with "the lush." So I was

compelled to stay with her and give an account of the race, which she

perfectly understood, and be soundly scolded by the prettiest lips in

the world for my awkwardness, which she declared she never could have

forgiven if it had lost the race.

"You will come to the ball, then, Mr Hawthorne?"

"Am I not to dance with you?"

"Yes, if you behave well, and don't tease Mr Sydney Dawson: he is a

great favourite of mine, and took great care of me this morning at

breakfast."

"Well, then, for your sake, Miss Phillips, I will be particularly civil

to him; but I assure you, Dawson is like the fox that took a pride in

being hunted; he considers our persecution of him as the strongest

evidence of his own superiority; and if you seriously undertake to

patronise him, he will become positively unbearable."

The regatta over, we retired to make a hurried dinner, and to dress

for the ball. This, with some of our party, was a serious business.

Willingham and Dawson were going in fancy dresses. The former was an

admirable personification of Dick Turpin, standing upwards of six feet,

and broadly built; and becoming his picturesque costume as if it were

his everyday suit, he strutted before Mrs Jenkins's best glass, which

Hanmer charitably gave up for his accommodation, with a pardonable

vanity. Dawson had got a lancer's uniform from his London tailor; but

how to get into it was a puzzle; it was delightful to see his attempts

to unravel the gorgeous mysteries which were occupying every available

spot in his dingy bedroom. The shako was the main stumbling-block.

Being unfortunately rather small, it was no easy matter to keep it on

his head at all; and how to dispose of the cap-lines was beyond our

united wisdom. "Go without it, man," said Branling: "people don't want

hats in a ball-room. You can never dance with that thing on your head."

"Oh, but the head-dress is always worn at a fancy-ball, you know, and I

can take it off if I like to dance."

At last the idea struck us of employing the five or six yards of

gold cord that had so puzzled us, in securing shako and plume in a

perpendicular position. This at length accomplished, by dint of keeping

himself scrupulously upright, Mr Sydney Dawson majestically walked down

stairs.

CHAPTER III.

Now, there happened to be at that time residing in Glyndewi an old lady,

"of the name and cousinage" of Phillips, who, though an old maid, was

one of those unhappily rare individuals who do not think it necessary to

rail against those amusements which they are no longer in a situation to

enjoy. She was neither as young, nor as rich, nor as light-hearted, as

she had been; but it was difficult to imagine that she could ever have

been more truly cheerful and happy than she seemed now. So, instead

of cutting short every sally of youthful spirits, and every dream of

youthful happiness, by sagacious hints of cares and troubles to come,

she rather lent her aid to further every innocent enjoyment among her

younger friends; feeling, as she said, that the only pity was that young

hearts grew old so soon. The consequence was, that, instead of exacting

a forced deference from her many nephews and nieces (so are first

cousins' children called in Wales), she was really loved and esteemed

by them all; and while she never wished to deprive them of an hour's

enjoyment, they would willingly give up a pleasant party at any time to

spend an evening with the old lady, and enliven her solitude with the

sounds she best loved--the music of youthful voices.

All among her acquaintance, therefore, who were going to the ball in

fancy costume, had promised to call upon her, whether in or out of their

way, to "show themselves," willing to make her a partaker, as far as

they could, of the amusement of the evening. Captain Phillips had asked

us if we would oblige him, and gratify a kind old woman, by allowing him

to introduce us in our fancy dresses. I had none, and therefore did not

form part of the exhibition; but Dick Turpin and the cornet of lancers,

with Branling in a full hunting-costume (which always formed part of

his travelling baggage), walked some fifty yards to the old lady's

lodgings. Mr Plympton, always polite, accepted Captain Phillips's

invitation to be introduced at the same time. Now Mr Plympton, as was

before recorded, was a remarkably dapper personage; wore hair-powder, a

formidably tall and stiff white "choker," and upon all occasions of

ceremony, black shorts and silks, with gold buckles. Remarkably upright

and somewhat pompous in his gait, and abominating the free-and-easy

manners of the modern school, his bow would have graced the court of

Versailles, and his step was a subdued minuet. Equipped with somewhat

more than his wonted care, the rev. junior bursar of Oriel was

introduced into Mrs Phillips's little drawing-room, accompanying, and

strongly contrasting with, three gentlemen in scarlet and gold.

Hurriedly did the good old lady seize her spectacles, and rising to

receive her guests with a delighted curtsy, scan curiously for a

few moments Turpin's athletic proportions, and the fox-hunter's

close-fitting leathers and tops. As for Dawson, he stood like the

clear-complexioned and magnificently-whiskered officer, who silently

invites the stranger to enter the doors of Madame Tussaud's wax

exhibition; not daring to bow for fear of losing his beloved shako, but

turning his head from side to side as slowly, and far less naturally,

than the waxen gentleman aforementioned. All, in their several ways,

were worthy of admiration, and all did she seem to admire; but it

was when her eye rested at last on the less showy, but equally

characteristic figure in black, who stood bowing his acknowledgments of

the honour of the interview, with an _empressement_ which fully made up

for Dawson's forced _hauteur_--that her whole countenance glistened with

intense appreciation of the joke, and the very spectacles danced with

glee. Again did she make the stranger her most gracious curtsy; again

did Mr Plympton, as strongly as a bow could do it, declare how entirely

he was at her service: he essayed to speak, but before a word escaped

his lips, the old lady fairly burst out into a hearty laugh, clapped her

hands, and shouted to his astonished ears, "Capital, capital! do it

again! oh, do it again!" For a moment the consternation depicted upon Mr

Plympton's countenance at this remarkable reception, extended to the

whole of his companions; but the extraordinary sounds which proceeded

from Captain Phillips, in the vain attempt to stifle the laugh that

was nearly choking him, were too much for the gravity of even the

polite Mr Dawson; and it was amidst the violent application of

pocket-handkerchiefs in all possible ways, that the captain stepped

forward with the somewhat tardy announcement, "My dear aunt, allow me to

present the Rev. Mr Plympton, Fellow and Tutor of Oriel College." This

was accompanied by a wink and an attempt at a frown, intended to convey

the strongest reprobation of the old lady's proceedings; but which, upon

the features of the good captain, whose risible muscles were still

rebellious, had anything but a serious effect. "Indeed!" said she,

curtsying yet more profoundly in return for another bow. "How do you do,

sir? Oh, he is beautiful, isn't he?" half-aside to Willingham, who was

swallowing as much as he could of the butt of his whip. Poor Mr Plympton

looked aghast at the compliment. Branling fairly turned his back, and

burst from the room, nearly upsetting Hanmer and myself; who, having

waited below some time for our party to join us, had made our way

up-stairs to ascertain the cause of the unusual noises which reached us

from the open door of the drawing-room. Dawson was shaking with reckless

disregard of the safety of his head-dress, and the captain in an agony

between his natural relish for a joke and his real good-breeding. "Aunt

Martha, this is a clergyman, a friend of Mr Hanmer's, who is on a visit

here, and whom I introduce to you, because I know you will like him." Mr

Plympton commenced a fresh series of bows, in which there was, perhaps,

less gallantry and more dignity than usual, looking all the time as

comfortable as a gentleman might do who was debating with himself

whether the probabilities, as regarded the old lady's next movements,

lay on the side of kissing or scratching. Mrs Martha Phillips herself

commenced an incoherent apology about "expecting to see four young

gentlemen in fancy dresses;" and Hanmer and the captain tried all they

could to laugh off a _contretemps_, which to explain was impossible.

What the old lady took Mr Plympton for, and what Mr Plympton thought of

her, were questions which, so far as I know, no one ventured to ask. He

left Glyndewi the next morning; but the joke, after furnishing us with a

never-failing fund of ludicrous reminiscence for the rest of our stay,

followed him to the Oriel common-room, and was an era in the dulness of

that respectable symposium.

Dancing had begun in good earnest when we arrived at the ball-room.

There was the usual motley assemblage of costumes of all nations under

the sun, and some which the sun, when he put down the impudence of the

wax-lights upon his return the next morning, must have marvelled to

behold. Childish as it may be called, a fancy-ball is certainly, for the

first half-hour at all events, an amusing scene. Willingham and myself

stood a little inside the doorway for some moments, he enjoying the

admiring glances which his fine figure and picturesque costume were well

calculated to call forth, and I vainly endeavouring to make out Clara's

figure amidst the gay dresses and well-grown proportions of the pretty

Cambrians who flitted past. Sounds of expostulation and entreaty,

mingled with a laugh which we knew to be Branling's, in the passage

outside, disturbed both our meditations, and at last induced me to turn

my eyes unwillingly to the open door. Branling was leaning against it

in a fit of uncontrollable mirth, and beckoned us earnestly to join him.

Outside stood Dawson, stamping with vexation, and endeavouring to undo

the complex machinery which had hitherto secured his shako in an

erect position. He was in the unfortunate predicament of Dr S----'s

candelabrum, which, presented to him as a testimony of respect from his

grateful pupils, was found by many feet too large to be introduced into

any room in the Dr's comparatively humble habitation, and stood for some

time in the manufacturer's show-room in testimony of the fact, that

public acknowledgments of merit are _sometimes_ made on too large a

scale. Architects who give measurements for ordinary doorways, do not

contemplate such emergencies as testimonial candelabrums or irremovable

caps and plumes; and the door of the Glyndewi ball-room had no notion of

accommodating a lancer in full dress, who could not even be civil enough

to take off his hat. So there stood our friend, impatient to display his

uniform, and unwilling to lessen the effect of his first appearance by

doffing so important a part of his costume: to get through the door,

in the rigid inflexibility of head and neck which he had hitherto

maintained, was a manifest impossibility. Branling had suggested his

staying outside, and he would undertake to bring people to look at him;

but Dawson, for some unaccountable reason, was usually suspicious of

advice from that quarter; so he "stooped to conquer," and lost all. The

shako tumbled from its precarious perch, and hung ignobly suspended by

the cap-lines. A lancer with a pair of grey spectacles, and a shako

hanging round his neck, would have been a very fancy dress indeed: so he

was endeavouring, at the risk of choking himself, to disentangle, by

main force, the complication of knots which we had woven with some dim

hope of the result. In vain did we exhort him to take it patiently, and

remind him how preposterous it was to expect, that what had taken our

united ingenuity half an hour to arrange "to please him," could be

undone in a minute. "Cut the cursed things, can't you?" implored he.

No one had a knife. "I do believe, Branling, you are tying that knot

tighter: I had much rather not have your assistance." Branling protested

his innocence. At last we did release him, and he entered the room with

a look most appropriately crest-fallen, shako in hand, solacing himself

by displaying its glories as well as could be effected by judicious

changes of its position.

I soon found Clara, looking more radiantly beautiful than ever I had

seen her, in a sweet dress of Stuart tartan. I had to make my apologies,

which were most sincerely penitent ones, for not being in time to claim

my privilege of dancing the first quadrille with her. She smiled at my

evident earnestness, and good-humouredly added, that the next would be

a much more pleasant dance, as the room was now beginning to fill. It

was a pleasant dance, as she said; and the waltz that followed still

more delightful; and then Clara, with a blush and a laugh, declined my

pressing entreaties until after supper at all events. I refused her

good-natured offer of an introduction to "that pretty girl in blue," or

any other among the stars of the night; and sat down, or leant against

the wall, almost unconsciously watching her light step, and sternly

resisting all attempts on the part of my acquaintances to persuade me to

dance again. Of course, all the dancing characters among our party were

Clara's partners in succession; and both Gordon and Dawson, who came to

ask what had put me into the sulks, were loud in their encomiums on her

beauty and fascination; even Branling, no very devoted admirer of the

sex (he saw too much of them, he said, having four presentable sisters),

allowed that she was "the right sort of girl;" but it was not until I

saw her stand up with Willingham, and marked his evident admiration of

her, and heard the remarks freely made around me, that they were the

handsomest couple in the room, that I felt a twinge of what I would

hardly allow to myself was jealousy: when, however, after the dance,

they passed me in laughing conversation, evidently in high good-humour

with each other, and too much occupied to notice any one else, I

began to wonder I had never before found out what a conceited puppy

Willingham was, and set down poor Clara as an arrant flirt. But I was in

a variable mood, it seemed, and a feather--or, what some may say is even

lighter, a woman's word--was enough to turn me. So when I found myself,

by some irresistible attraction, drawn next to her again at supper, and

heard her sweet voice, and saw what I interpreted into a smile of

welcome, as she made room for me beside her, I forgave her all past

offences, and was perfectly happy for the next hour; nay, even

condescended to challenge Willingham to a glass of _soi-disant_

champagne. The Tiger, who was, according to annual custom, displaying

the tarnished uniform of the 3d Madras N.I., and illustrating his

tremendous stories of the siege of Overabad, or some such place, by

attacks on all the edibles in his neighbourhood, gave me a look of

intelligence as he requested I would "do him the honour," and shook his

whiskers with some meaning which I did not think it necessary to inquire

into. What was it to him if I chose to confine my attentions to my

undoubtedly pretty neighbour? No one could dispute my taste, at all

events; for Clara Phillips was a universal favourite, though I had

remarked that none of the numerous "eligible young men" in the room

appeared about her in the character of a dangler. She was engaged to

Willingham for the waltz next after supper, and I felt queerish again,

till she willingly agreed to dance the next set with me, on condition

that I would oblige her so far as to ask a friend of hers to be my

partner in the mean time. "She is a very nice girl, Mr Hawthorne,

though, perhaps, not one of the _belles_ of the room, and has danced but

twice this evening, and it will be so kind in you to ask her--only don't

do it upon my introduction, but let Major Jones introduce you as if at

your own request." Let no one say that vanity, jealousy, and all those

petty arts by which woman wrongs her better nature, are the rank growth

necessarily engendered by the vitiated air of a ball-room; rooted on the

same soil, warmed by the same sunshine, fed by the same shower, one

plant shall bear the antidote and one the poison: one kind and gentle

nature shall find exercise for all its sweetest qualities in those very

scenes which, in another, shall foster nothing but heartless coquetry or

unfeminine display. Never did Clara seem so lovely in mind and person as

when she drew upon her own attractions to give pleasure to her less

gifted friend; and, I suppose, I must have thrown into the tone of my

reply something of what I felt; for she blushed, uttered a hasty "I

thank you," and told Willingham it was time to take their places. I

sought and obtained the introduction, and endeavoured, for Clara's sake,

to be an agreeable partner to the quiet little girl beside me. One

subject of conversation, at all events, we hit upon, where we seemed

both at home; and if I felt some hesitation in saying all I thought of

Clara, my companion had none, but told me how much everybody loved her,

and how much she deserved to be loved. It was really so much easier to

draw my fair partner out on this point than any other, that I excused

myself for being so eager a listener; and, when we parted, to show

my gratitude in what I conceived the most agreeable way, I begged

permission to introduce Mr Sydney Dawson, and thus provided her with

what, I dare say, she considered a most enviable partner. I had told

Dawson she was a very clever girl (he was fond of what he called

"talented women," and had a delusive notion that he was himself a

genius): he had the impertinence to tell me afterwards he found her

rather stupid; I ought, perhaps, to have given him the key-note. During

the dance which followed, I remember I was silent and _distrait_; and

when it was over, and Clara told me she was positively engaged for more

sets than she should dance again, I left the ball-room, and wandered

feverishly along the quay to our lodgings. I remember persuading myself,

by a syllogistic process, that I was not in love, and dreaming that I

was anxiously reading the class-list, in which it seemed unaccountable

that my name should be omitted, till I discovered, on a second perusal,

that just about the centre of the first class, where "Hawthorne,

Franciscus, e. Coll----" ought to have come in, stood in large type the

name of "CLARA PHILLIPS."

The races, which occupied the morning of the next day, were as stupid

as country races usually are, except that the Welshmen had rather more

noise about it. The guttural shouts and yells from the throats of

tenants and other dependants, as the "mishtua's" horse won or lost, and

the extraordinary terms in which they endeavoured to encourage the

riders, were amusing even to a stranger, though one lost the point of

the various sallies which kept the course in one continued roar. As to

the running, everybody--that is, all the sporting world--knew perfectly

well, long before the horses started, which was to win; that appearing

to be the result of some private arrangement between the parties

interested, while the "racing" was for the benefit of the strangers and

the ladies. Those of the latter who had fathers, or brothers, or, above

all, lovers, among the knowing ones, won divers pairs of gloves on the

occasion, while those who were not so fortunate, lost them.

I fancied that Clara was not in her usual spirits on the race-course,

and she pleaded a headache as an excuse to her sister for ordering the

carriage to drive home long before the "sport" was over. If I had

thought the said sport stupid before, it did not improve in attraction

after her departure; and, when the jumping in sacks, and climbing up

poles, and other calisthenic exercises began, feeling a growing disgust

for "things in general," I resisted the invitation of a mamma and three

daughters, to join themselves and Mr Dawson in masticating some

sandwiches which looked very much like "relics of joy" from last night's

supper, and sauntered home, and sat an hour over a cigar and a chapter

of ethics. As the clock struck five, remembering that the Ordinary hour

was six, I called at the Phillips' lodgings to inquire for Clara. She

was out walking with her sister; so I returned to dress in a placid

frame of mind, confident that I should meet her at dinner.

For it was an Ordinary for ladies as well as gentlemen. A jovial Welsh

baronet sat at the head of the table, with the two ladies of highest

"consideration"--the county member's wife and the would-have-been

member's daughter--on his right and left; nobody thought of politics at

the Glyndewi regatta. Clara was there; but she was escorted into the

room by some odious man, who, in virtue of having been made high-sheriff

by mistake, sat next Miss Anti-reform on the chairman's left. The

natives were civil enough to marshal us pretty high up by right of

strangership, but still I was barely near enough to drink wine with her.

If a man wants a good dinner, a hearty laugh, an opportunity of singing

songs and speech-making, and can put up with indifferent wine, let him

go to the race Ordinary at Glyndewi next year, if it still be among the

things which time has spared. There was nothing like stiffness or

formality: people came there for amusement, and they knew that the only

way to get it was to make it for themselves. There seemed to be fun

enough for half-a-dozen of the common run of such dinners, even while

the ladies remained. It was, as Hanmer called it, an _extra_-ordinary.

But it was when the ladies had retired, and Hanmer and a few of the

"steady ones" had followed them, and those who remained closed up around

the chairman, and cigars and genuine whisky began to supersede the

questionable port and sherry, and the "Vice" requested permission to

call on a gentleman for a song, that we began to fancy ourselves within

the walls of some hitherto unknown college, where the "levelling system"

had mixed up fellows and undergraduates in one common supper-party, and

the portly principal himself rejoiced in the office of "_arbiter

bibendi_." Shall I confess it? I forgot even Clara in the uproarious

mirth that followed. Two of the young Phillipses were admirable singers,

and drew forth the hearty applause of the whole company. We got Dawson

to make a speech, in which he waxed poetical touching the "flowers of

Cambria," and drew down thunders of applause by a Latin quotation, which

every one took that means of showing that they understood. I obtained

almost unconsciously an immortal reputation by a species of flattery

to which the Welsh are most open. I had learnt, after no little

application, a Welsh toast--a happy specimen of the language; it was but

three words, but they were truly cabalistic. No sooner had I, after a

"neat and appropriate" preface, uttered my triple Shibboleth (it ended

in _rag_, and signified "Wales, Welshmen, and Welshwomen"), than the

whole party rose, and cheered at me till I felt positively modest. My

pronunciation, I believe, was perfect, (a woman's lips and an angel's

voice had taught it to me): and it was indeed the Open Sesame to their

hearts and feelings. I became at once the intimate friend of all who

could get near enough to offer me their houses, their horses, their

dogs--I have no doubt, had I given a hint at the moment, I might have

had any one of their daughters. "Would I come and pay a visit at

Abergwrnant before I left the neighbourhood? Only twenty-five miles,

and a coach from B----!" "Would I, before the shooting began, come to

Craig-y-bwldrwn, and stay over the first fortnight in September?" I

could have quartered myself, and two or three friends, in a dozen places

for a month at a time. And, let me do justice to the warm hospitality of

North Wales--these invitations were renewed in the morning: and were I

ever to visit those shores again, I should have no fear of their having

been yet forgotten.

Captain Phillips had told us that, when we left the table, "the girls"

would have some coffee for us, if not too late; and Willingham and

myself, having taken a turn or two in the moonlight to get rid of the

excitement of the evening, bent our steps in that direction. There were

about as many persons assembled as the little drawing-room would hold,

and Clara, having forgotten her headache, and looking as lovely as ever,

was seated at a wretched piano, endeavouring to accompany herself in

her favourite songs. Willingham and myself stood by, and our repeated

requests for some of those melodies which, unknown to us before, we had

learnt from her singing to admire beyond all the fashionable trash of

the day, were gratified with untiring good-nature. Somehow I thought

that she avoided my eye, and answered my remarks with less than her

usual archness and vivacity. I could bear it on this evening less than

ever; a hair will turn the scale; and I had just been, half ludicrously,

half seriously, affected by Welsh nationality. One cannot help warming

towards a community which are so warm-hearted among themselves. Visions

of I know not what--love and a living, Clara and a cottage--were

floating dreamlike before my eyes; and I felt as if borne along by a

current whose direction might be dangerous, but which it was misery to

resist. Willingham had turned away a minute to hunt for some missing

book, which contained one of his favourites; and, leaning over her with

my finger pointing to the words which she had just been singing, I said

something about there being always a fear in happiness such as I had

lately been enjoying, lest it might not last. For a moment she met my

earnest look, and coloured violently; and then fixing her eyes on the

music before her, she said quickly, "Mr Hawthorne, I thought you had a

higher opinion of me than to make me pretty speeches; I have a great

dislike to them." I began to protest warmly against any intention of

mere compliment, when the return of Willingham with his song prevented

any renewal of the subject. I was annoyed and silent, and detected a

tremor in her voice while she sang the words, and saw her cheek paler

than usual. The instant the song was over, she complained with a smile

of being tired, and, without a look at either of us, joined a party who

were noisily recounting the events of the race-course. Nor could I again

that evening obtain a moment's conversation with her. She spoke to me,

indeed, and very kindly; but once only did I catch her eye, when I was

speaking to some one else--the glance was rapidly withdrawn, but it

seemed rather sorrowful than cold.

I was busy with Hanmer the next morning before breakfast, when Dick

Phillips made his appearance, and informed us that the "strangers" had

made up an eleven for the cricket match, and that we were to play at

ten. He was a sort of live circular, despatched to get all parties in

readiness.

"Oh! I have something for you from Clara," said he to me, as he was

leaving; "the words of a song she promised you, I believe."

I opened the sealed envelope, saw that it was _not_ a song, and left

Hanmer somewhat abruptly. When I was alone, I read the following:--

"DEAR MR HAWTHORNE,--Possibly you may have been told that I

have, before now, done things which people call strange--that

is, contrary to some arbitrary notions which are to supersede

our natural sense of right and wrong. But never, until now, did

I follow the dictates of my own feelings in opposition to

conventional rules, with the painful uncertainty as to the

propriety of such a course, which I now feel. And if I had less

confidence than I have in your honour and your kindness, or

less esteem for your character, or less anxiety for your

happiness, I would not write to you now. But I feel that, if

you are what I wish to believe you, it is right that you should

be at once undeceived as to my position. Others should have

done it, perhaps--it would have spared me much. Whether your

attentions to me are in sport or earnest, they must cease. I

have no right to listen to such words as yours last night--my

heart and hand are engaged to one who deserves better from

me than the levity which alone could have placed me in the

position from which I thus painfully extricate myself. For any

fault on my part, I thus make bitter atonement. I wish you

health and happiness, and now let this save us both from

further misunderstanding.

"C."

Again and again did I read these words. Not one woman in a hundred

would have ventured on such a step. And for what? to save me from the

mortification of a rejection? It could be nothing else. How easy for

a man of heartless gallantry to have written a cool note in reply,

disclaiming "any aspiration after the honour implied," and placing the

warm-hearted writer in the predicament of having declined attentions

never meant to be serious! But I felt how kindly, how gently, I had been

treated--the worst of it was, I loved her better than ever. I wrote

some incoherent words in reply, sufficiently expressive of my bitter

disappointment, and my admiration of her conduct; and then I felt

"that my occupation was gone." She whom I had so loved to look upon, I

trembled now to see. I had no mind to break my heart; but I felt that

time and change were necessary to prevent it. Above all, Glyndewi was no

place for me to forget _her_ in.

In the midst of my painful reflections on all the happy hours of the

past week, Gordon and Willingham broke in upon me with high matter for

consultation relative to the match. In vain did I plead sudden illness,

and inability to play: they declared it would knock the whole thing on

the head, for Hanmer would be sure to turn sulky, and there was an end

of the eleven; and they looked so really chagrined at my continued

refusals, that at length I conquered my selfishness (I had had a lesson

in that), and, though really feeling indisposed for any exertion, went

down with them to the ground. I was in momentary dread of seeing Clara

arrive (for all the world was to be there), and felt nervous and

low-spirited. The strangers' eleven was a better one than we expected,

and they put our men out pretty fast. Hanmer got most unfortunately run

out after a splendid hit, and begged me to go in and "do something," I

took my place mechanically, and lost my wicket to the first ball. We

made a wretched score, and the strangers went in exultingly. In spite of

Hanmer's steady bowling, they got runs pretty fast; and an easy catch

came into my hands just as Clara appeared on the ground, and I lost all

consciousness of what I was about. Again the same opportunity offered,

and again my eyes were wandering among the tents. Hanmer got annoyed,

and said something not over civil: I was vexed myself that my

carelessness should be the cause of disappointment twice, and yet more

than half-inclined to quarrel with Branling, whom I overheard muttering

about my "cursed awkwardness." We were left in a fearful minority at

the close of the first innings, when we retired to dinner. The Glyndewi

party and their friends were evidently disappointed. I tried to avoid

Clara; but could not keep far from her. At last she came up with one of

her brothers, spoke and shook hands with me, said that her brother had

told her I was not well, and that she feared I ought not to have played

at all. "I wish you could have beat them, Mr Hawthorne--I had bet that

you would; perhaps you will feel better after dinner; those kind of

headaches soon wear off," she added with a smile and a kind look, which

I understood as she meant it. I walked into the tent where we were to

dine: I sat next a little man on the opposite side, an Englishman, one

of their best players, as active as a monkey, who had caught out three

of our men in succession. He talked big about his play, criticised

Willingham's batting, which was really pretty, and ended by discussing

Clara Phillips, who was, he said, "a demned fine girl, but too much of

her." I disliked his flippancy before, but now my disgust to him was

supreme. I asked the odds against us, and took them freely. There was

champagne before me, and I drank it in tumblers. I did what even in my

undergraduate days was rarely my habit--I drank till I was considerably

excited. Hanmer saw it, and got the match resumed at once to save me, as

he afterwards said, "from making a fool of myself." I insisted, in

spite of his advice, "to cool myself," upon going in first. My flippant

acquaintance of the dinner-table stood _point_, and I knew, if I could

but see the ball, and not see more than one, that I could occasionally

"hit square" to some purpose. I had the luck to catch the first ball

just on the rise, and it cut my friend _point_ off his legs as if he had

been shot. He limped off the ground, and we were troubled with him no

more. I hit as I never did before, or shall again. At first I played

wild, but as I got cool, and my sight became steady, I felt quite at

home. The bowlers got tired, and Dick Phillips, who had no science, but

the strength of a unicorn, was in with me half-an-hour, slashing in all

directions. In short, the tide turned, and the match ended in our

favour.

I was quite sober, and free from all excitement, when I joined Clara,

for the last time, after the game was over. "I am so glad you played so

well," said she; "if you are but as successful at Oxford as you have

been at the boat-race and the cricket, you will have no reason to be

disappointed: your career here has been one course of victory." "Not

altogether, Miss Phillips: the prize I shall leave behind me when I

quit Glyndewi to-morrow, is worth more than all that I can gain." "Mr

Hawthorne," said she kindly, "one victory is in your own power, and you

will soon gain it, and be happy--the victory over yourself."

I made some excuse to Hanmer about letters from home, to account for my

sudden departure. How the party got on after I left them, and what was

the final result of our "reading," is no part of my tale; but I fear the

reader will search the class-lists of 18-- in vain for the names of Mr

Hanmer's pupils.

FATHER TOM AND THE POPE;

OR, A NIGHT AT THE VATICAN.

_As related by Mr Michael Heffernan, Master of the National

School at Tallymactaggart, in the County of Leitrim, to a

friend, during his official visit to Dublin, for the purpose of

studying Political Economy, in the Spring of 1838._

[_MAGA._ MAY 1838.]

CHAPTER I.

HOW FATHER TOM WENT TO TAKE POT-LUCK AT THE VATICAN.

When his Riv'rence was in Room, ov coorse the Pope axed him to take

pot-look wid him. More be token, it was on a Friday; but, for all that,

there was plenty of mate; for the Pope gev himself an absolution from

the fast on account ov the great company that was in it--at laste so I'm

tould. Howandiver, there's no fast on the dhrink, anyhow--glory be to

God!--and so, as they wor sitting, afther dinner, taking their sup

together, says the Pope, says he, "Thomaus"--for the Pope, you know,

spakes that away, all as one as one ov uz--"Thomaus _a lanna_," says he,

"I'm tould you welt them English heretics out ov the face."

"You may say that," says his Riv'rence to him again. "Be my sowl," says

he, "if I put your Holiness undher the table, you won't be the first

Pope I floored."

Well, his Holiness laughed like to split; for, you know, Pope was

the great Prodesan that Father Tom put down upon Purgathory; and ov

coorse they knewn all the ins and outs of the conthravarsy at Room.

"Faix, Thomaus," says he, smiling across the table at him mighty

agreeable--"it's no lie what they tell me, that yourself is the pleasant

man over the dhrop ov good liquor."

"Would you like to thry?" says his Riv'rence.

"Sure, and amn't I thrying all I can?" says the Pope. "Sorra betther

bottle ov wine's betuxt this and Salamancha, nor's there fornenst you on

the table; it's raal Lachrymalchrystal, every spudh ov it."

"It's mortial could," says Father Tom.

"Well, man alive," says the Pope, "sure and here's the best ov good

claret in the cut decanther."

"Not maning to make little ov the claret, your Holiness," says his

Riv'rence, "I would prefir some hot wather and sugar, wid a glass ov

spirits through it, if convanient."

"Hand me over the bottle of brandy," says the Pope to his head butler,

"and fetch up the materi'ls," says he.

"Ah, then, your Holiness," says his Riv'rence, mighty eager, "maybe

you'd have a dhrop ov the native in your cellar? Sure it's all one

throuble," says he, "and, troth, I dunna how it is, but brandy always

plays the puck wid my inthrails."

"'Pon my conscience, then," says the Pope, "it's very sorry I am,

Misther Maguire," says he, "that it isn't in my power to plase you; for

I'm sure and certaint that there's not as much whisky in Room this

blessed minit as 'ud blind the eye ov a midge."

"Well, in troth, your Holiness," says Father Tom, "I knewn there was no

use in axing; only," says he, "I didn't know how else to exqueeze the

liberty I tuck," says he, "of bringing a small taste," says he, "of the

real stuff," says he, hauling out an imperi'l quart bottle out ov his

coat-pocket; "that never seen the face of a gauger," says he, setting it

down on the table fornenst the Pope: "and if you'll jist thry the full

ov a thimble ov it, and it doesn't rise the cockles of your Holiness's

heart, why then, my name," says he, "isn't Tom Maguire!" and wid that he

outs wid the cork.

Well, the Pope at first was going to get vexed at Father Tom for

fetching dhrink that a way in his pocket, as if there wasn't lashins in

the house: so says he, "Misther Maguire," says he, "I'd have you to

comprehind the differ betuxt an inwitation to dinner from the succissor

of Saint Pether, and from a common nagur ov a Prodesan squireen that

maybe hasn't liquor enough in his cupboard to wet more nor his own

heretical whistle. That may be the way wid them that you wisit in

Leithrim," says he, "and in Roscommon; and I'd let you know the differ

in the prisint case," says he, "only that you're a champion ov the

Church and entitled to laniency. So," says he, "as the liquor's come,

let it stay. And in throth I'm curis myself," says he, getting mighty

soft when he found the delightful smell ov the _putteen_, "in

inwestigating the composition ov distilled liquors; it's a branch ov

natural philosophy," says he, taking up the bottle and putting it to his

blessed nose. Ah! my dear, the very first snuff he got ov it, he cried

out, the dear man, "Blessed Vargin, but it has the divine smell!" and

crossed himself and the bottle half-a-dozen times running.

"Well, sure enough, it's the blessed liquor now," says his Riv'rence,

"and so there can be no harm any way in mixing a dandy of punch; and,"

says he, stirring up the materi'ls wid his goolden muddler--for

everything at the Pope's table, to the very shcrew for drawing the

corks, was ov vargin goold--"if I might make bould," says he, "to spake

on so deep a subjec afore your Holiness, I think it 'ud considherably

whacilitate the inwestigation ov its chemisthry and phwarmaceutics, if

you'd jist thry the laste sup in life ov it in wardly."

"Well, then, suppose I do make the same expiriment," says the Pope, in a

much more condescinding way nor you'd have expected--and wid that he

mixes himself a real stiff facer.

"Now, your Holiness," says Father Tom, "this bein' the first time you

ever dispinsed them chymicals," says he, "I'll just make bould to lay

down one rule ov orthography," says he, "for conwhounding them,

_secundum mortem_."

"What's that?" says the Pope.

"Put in the sperits first," says his Riv'rence; "and then put in the

sugar; and remember, every dhrop ov wather you put in after that spoils

the punch."

"Glory be to God!" says the Pope, not minding a word Father Tom was

saying. "Glory be to God!" says he, smacking his lips. "I never knewn

what dhrink was afore," says he. "It bates the Lachrymalchrystal out ov

the face!" says he--"it's Necthar itself, it is, so it is!" says he,

wiping his epistolical mouth wid the cuff ov his coat.

"'Pon my secret honour," says his Riv'rence, "I'm raally glad to see

your Holiness set so much to your satiswhaction; especially," says he,

"as, for fear ov accidents, I tuck the liberty of fetching the fellow ov

that small vesshel," says he, "in my other coat-pocket. So devil a fear

ov our running dhry till the but-end of the evening, anyhow," says he.

"Dhraw your stool in to the fire, Misther Maguire," says the Pope, "for

faix," says he, "I'm bent on analizing the metaphwysics ov this

phinomenon. Come, man alive, clear off," says he, "you're not dhrinking

at all."

"Is it dhrink?" says his Riv'rence; "by Gorra, your Holiness," says he,

"I'd dhrink wid you till the cows 'ud be coming home in the morning."

So wid that they tackled to, to the second fugee a-piece, and fell into

larned discourse. But it's time for me now to be off to the lecthir at

the Boord. Oh my sorra light upon you, Docther Whateley, wid your

pilitical econimy and your hydherastatics! What the _dioul_ use has a

poor hedge-master like me wid sich deep larning as is only fit for the

likes ov them two that I left over their second tumbler? Howandiver,

wishing I was like them, in regard ov the sup ov dhrink, anyhow, I must

brake off my norration for the prisint; but when I see you again, I'll

tell you how Father Tom made a hare ov the Pope that evening, both in

theology and the cube root.