The truth was told--the full, the simple truth--and no sooner told than

Walter's better nature rejoiced at the disclosure, rejoiced at its

release from the debasing shackles imposed by worldly considerations,

and grateful to the young ingenuous creature whose impulsive honesty had

saved them both from perseverance in the dangerous paths of deception,

even at the cost of those important advantages which might have resulted

from a temporary concealment of their union. Tenderly raising and

supporting her he was now free to call his own in the sight of men and

angels, he drew her gently towards the incensed parent, the expected

storm of whose just wrath he prepared himself to meet respectfully, and

to deprecate with all due humility. But the preparation proved perfectly

unnecessary. Madame du Resnel, whose rigidity of feature had relaxed

into no change of line or muscle indicative of surprise or emotion

at her daughter's abrupt confession, now listened with equally

imperturbable composure to Walter's rather hurried and confused attempts

at excusing what was, in the strict sense, inexcusable; and to his frank

and manly professions of attachment to her daughter, and of his desire,

if he might be received as a son by that daughter's mother, to prove, by

every act of his future life, his sense of such generous forgiveness.

Having heard him to the end, with the most exemplary patience and

faultless good-breeding, Madame du Resnel begged to assure Monsieur

Barnard, that, "so far from assuming to herself any right of censure

over him or his actions, past, present, or to come, she begged leave to

assure him she was incapable of such impertinent interference; and that,

with regard to the lady who had ceased to be her daughter on becoming

the wife of Monsieur Barnard, she resigned from that moment all claims

on the duty she had violated, and all control over her future actions.

Les effets appartenant a Mademoiselle Madelaine du Resnel--[poor little

Madelaine, few and little worth were thy worldly goods!]--should be

ready for delivery to any authorised claimant." "Au reste"--Madame du

Resnel had the honour to felicitate Monsieur and Madame Barnard on their

auspicious union, and to wish them a very good morning--an adieu sans

au revoir--with which tender conclusion she dropped a profound and

dignified curtsy, and with her attendant daughters (who dutifully

followed the maternal example) passed through the gate of the Manoir,

and closed it after her, with no violence, but a deliberate firmness,

that spoke to those without more convincingly than words could have

expressed it--"Henceforward, and for ever, this barrier is closed

against you."

That moment was one of bitterness to the new-made wife--to the discarded

daughter; and, for a time, all the feelings that had led to her

violation of filial duty--all the excuses she had framed to herself

for breaking its sacred obligations--all the "shortcomings" of love she

had been subjected to in her own home--and all--ay, even all the love,

passing speech, which had bound up her life with Walter Barnard's--all

was forgotten--merged in one absorbing agony of distress, at the sudden

and violent wrench-asunder of Nature's first and holiest ties. She clung

to the side-post of the old gate that opened to her paternal domain--to

the house of her fathers. She kissed the bars that excluded her for

ever. Was it for ever? A gleam of hope brightened in her streaming

eyes--"Her dear Armand! Le petit frere would return to the Manoir, and

_he_ would never shut its gates against poor Madelaine."

Her husband availed himself of the auspicious moment; he encouraged her

hopes, and she listened with the eager simplicity of a child; he spoke

words of comfort, and she was comforted; of love, and she forgot her

fault and her remorse--her home--her friends--the world--and everything

in it but himself.

Three days from that ever-memorable morning, la petite Madelaine stood

with her husband upon English ground, but for him, a stranger in a

strange land--the portionless bride of a poor subaltern. For though she

had brought with her all the "effets" which, through Madame's special

indulgence, she had been permitted to remove from her own little

turret-chamber, they helped but poorly towards the future menage,

consisting only of her scanty wardrobe, a few books (her most precious

property), a little embroidered purse, containing a louis-d'or, sundry

old silver coins, and pieces de dix sous, a bonbonniere full of dragees,

a birthday present from le petit frere, a gold etui, the gift of her

grandmother, and a pair of silver sugar-tongs, the bequest of old

Jeannette. To this splendid inventory she was, however, graciously

allowed to annex the transfer of honest Roland, her father's ancient

servitor, who, as if endowed with rational comprehension, made shift to

leap into the cart which conveyed to Caen the poor possessions of his

master's daughter, and came crouching to her feet, with looks and

actions needing no interpretation to speak intelligibly--"Mistress!

lead on, and I will follow thee."

The married pair were indeed embarked together on a rough sea, with

little provision for the voyage, to which they had been in a manner

prematurely driven; but, by the blessing of Providence, they weathered

out its storms, now sheltering for a season in some calm and friendly

haven, and anon compelled (but with recruited courage) to renew their

conflict with the winds and waves. But throughout, their hearts were

strong, for they were faithfully united; and that devoted affection for

her husband, which had saved the heart of Madelaine from breaking in its

first and sharpest agony (the sharpest, because mingled with remorse),

was the continued support and sweetener of her after-life, through a lot

of infinite vicissitude.

If haply I have evinced some partiality to poor little Madelaine, even

in the detail of her unsanctioned nuptials, accuse me not, reader, of

making light of the sin of filial disobedience. I have told you that

_she judged herself_;--let you and I do likewise, and abstain from

passing sentence on others. But if your Christian charity, righteous

reader! is so rigidly exacting as to require punishment as well as

penitence, be comforted even on that score, and lay the assurance to

your feeling heart, that la petite Madelaine _had_ her full share of

worldly troubles; the last and crowning one of all, that she was doomed

to be, by some years, the survivor of the husband of her youth--the

friend and companion of her life--the prop and staff of her declining

days.

But she was not long an outcast from her own people and her early home.

"Le petit frere" found means, soon after the attainment of his majority,

and the full rights and titles it conferred on him, as lord of himself

and the Manoir du Resnel, to prevail on his lady-mother (who still

remained mistress of the establishment) to receive, on the footing of

occasional guests, her long-banished child, with her English husband.

From that time, Monsieur du Resnel proved himself, on all occasions, the

affectionate brother and unfailing friend of Walter and Madelaine; and

the good understanding then established between themselves and Madame du

Resnel was never interrupted, though jealousies among the elder sisters

were always at work to undermine it by innumerable petty artifices.

Madame was not their dupe, however. Nature had formed her with a cold

heart, but a strong understanding. She felt and knew that the respect

and attention invariably shown towards her by Madelaine and her husband,

were the fruits of right principle and kindly disposition, unswayed by

any interested consideration, and that her other daughters were actuated

by the sordid view of appropriating to themselves exclusively, at her

decease, the small hoard she might have accumulated in the long course

of her rigid and undeviating economy. As the burden of years pressed

more heavily upon her, she became more and more sensible of the worth

and tenderness of her once-slighted Madelaine; and when circumstances

made it expedient that she should remove from her son's roof, she took

up her last lodging among the living under that of the dutiful child,

whose widowed sorrows were soothed by her tender performance of the

sacred duty which had thus unexpectedly devolved upon her.

When the mother and daughter were reunited under circumstances so

affecting, the latter had almost numbered the threescore years, so near

the age of man; and the former, with all her mental faculties in their

full vigour, and retaining her bodily strength and all her senses to an

extraordinary degree, was on the verge of fourscore years and five. But

the tender and unremitting cares of her filial guardian were blessed for

three years longer in their pious aim,--

"T' explore the wish--explain the asking eye,

And keep awhile one parent from the sky."

Then the full of days was summoned to depart, and _I_--yes--_I_ remember

well the last scene of her long pilgrimage, though a little child when

present at it, and carried in my nurse's arms to the chamber of death.

_My_ mother was there also, for she was the granddaughter of that aged

dying woman--the daughter of Walter Barnard and Madelaine du Resnel. And

so it came to pass that la petite Madelaine was my own dear grandmother,

and that the fact was (I suppose) written on my forehead, for the future

investigation of that "grim white woman," the daughter of Adrienne de St

Hilaire, who, impelled by curiosity, and armed with hereditary hate,

dismayed me by that mysterious visit, which, opening up the forgotten

sources of old traditional memories, gave rise to my after daydream and

to this long story.

BOB BURKE'S DUEL WITH ENSIGN BRADY.

BY THE LATE WILLIAM MAGINN, LL.D.

[_MAGA_. MAY 1834.]

CHAPTER I.

HOW BOB WAS IN LOVE WITH MISS THEODOSIA MACNAMARA.

"When the 48th were quartered in Mallow, I was there on a visit to one

of the Purcells, who abound in that part of the world, and, being some

sixteen or seventeen years younger than I am now, thought I might as

well fall in love with Miss Theodosia Macnamara. She was a fine grown

girl, full of flesh and blood, rose five foot nine at least when shod,

had many excellent points, and stepped out slappingly upon her pasterns.

She was somewhat of a roarer, it must be admitted, for you could hear

her from one end of the Walk to the other; and I am told, that as she

has grown somewhat aged, she shows symptoms of vice, but I knew nothing

of the latter, and did not mind the former, because I never had a fancy

for your mimini-pimini young ladies, with their mouths squeezed into

the shape and dimensions of a needle's eye. I always suspect such

damsels as having a very portentous design against mankind in general.

"She was at Mallow for the sake of the Spa, it being understood that she

was consumptive--though I'll answer for it, her lungs were not touched;

and I never saw any signs of consumption about her, except at meal

times, when her consumption was undoubtedly great. However, her mother,

a very nice middle-aged woman--she was of the O'Regans of the West, and

a perfect lady in her manners, with a very remarkable red nose, which

she attributed to a cold which had settled in that part, and which cold

she was always endeavouring to cure with various balsamic preparations

taken inwardly,--maintained that her poor chicken, as she called her,

was very delicate, and required the air and water of Mallow to cure her.

Theodosia (she was so named after some of the Limerick family), or, as

we generally called her, Dosy, was rather of a sanguine complexion, with

hair that might be styled auburn, but which usually received another

name. Her nose was turned up, as they say was that of Cleopatra; and her

mouth, which was never idle, being always employed in eating, drinking,

shouting, or laughing, was of considerable dimensions. Her eyes were

piercers, with a slight tendency to a cast; and her complexion was equal

to a footman's plush breeches, or the first tinge of the bloom of

morning bursting through a summer-cloud, or what else verse-making men

are fond of saying. I remember a young man who was in love with her

writing a song about her, in which there was one or other of the similes

above mentioned, I forget which. The verses were said to be very clever,

as no doubt they were; but I do not recollect them, never being able

to remember poetry. Dosy's mother used to say that it was a hectic

flush--if so, it was a very permanent flush, for it never left her

cheeks for a moment, and had it not belonged to a young lady in a

galloping consumption, would have done honour to a dairymaid.

"Pardon these details, gentlemen," said Bob Burke, sighing, "but one

always thinks of the first loves. Tom Moore says that 'there's nothing

half so sweet in life as young love's dram;' and talking of that, if

there's anything left in the brandy-bottle, hand it over to me. Here's

to the days gone by; they will never come again. Dear Dosy, you and I

had some fun together. I see her now with her red hair escaping from

under her hat, in a pea-green habit, a stiff-cutting whip in her hand,

licking it into Tom the Devil, a black horse, that would have carried a

sixteen stoner over a six-foot wall, following Will Wrixon's hounds at

the rate of fifteen miles an hour, and singing out, 'Go it, my trumps.'

These are the recollections that bring tears in a man's eyes."

There were none visible in Bob's, but as he here finished his dram, it

is perhaps a convenient opportunity for concluding a chapter.

CHAPTER II.

HOW ENSIGN BRADY WENT TO DRINK TEA WITH MISS

THEODOSIA MACNAMARA.

"The day of that hunt was the very day that led to my duel with Brady.

He was a long, straddling, waddle-mouthed chap, who had no more

notion of riding a hunt than a rhinoceros. He was mounted on a

showy-enough-looking mare, which had been nerved by Bodolphus Bootiman,

the horse-doctor, and though 'a good 'un to look at, was a rum 'un to

go;' and before she was nerved, all the work had been taken out of her

by long Lanty Philpot, who sold her to Brady after dinner for fifty

pounds, she being not worth twenty in her best day, and Brady giving his

bill at three months for the fifty. My friend the ensign was no judge of

a horse, and the event showed that my cousin Lanty was no judge of a

bill--not a cross of the fifty having been paid from that day to this;

and it is out of the question now, it being long past the statute of

limitations, to say nothing of Brady having since twice taken the

benefit of the Act. So both parties jockeyed one another, having that

pleasure which must do them instead of profit.

"She was a bay chestnut, and nothing would do Brady but he must run her

at a little gap which Miss Dosy was going to clear, in order to show his

gallantry and agility; and certainly I must do him the credit to say

that he did get his mare _on_ the gap, which was no small feat, but

there she broke down, and off went Brady, neck and crop, into as fine a

pool of stagnant green mud as you would ever wish to see. He was ducked

regularly in it, and he came out, if not in the jacket, yet in the

colours, of the Rifle Brigade, looking rueful enough at his misfortune,

as you may suppose. But he had not much time to think of the figure he

cut, for before he could well get up, who should come right slap over

him but Miss Dosy herself upon Tom the Devil, having cleared the gap

and a yard beyond the pool in fine style. Brady ducked, and escaped

the horse, a little fresh daubing being of less consequence than the

knocking out of his brains, if he had any; but he did not escape a smart

rap from a stone which one of Tom's heels flung back with such unlucky

accuracy as to hit Brady right in the mouth, knocking out one of his

eye-teeth (which, I do not recollect). Brady clapped his hand to his

mouth, and bawled, as any man might do in such a case, so loud, that

Miss Dosy checked Tom for a minute to turn round, and there she saw him

making the most horrid faces in the world, his mouth streaming blood,

and himself painted green from head to foot with as pretty a coat of

shining slime as was to be found in the province of Munster. 'That's the

gentleman you just leapt over, Miss Dosy,' said I, for I had joined her,

'and he seems to be in some confusion.' 'I am sorry,' said she, 'Bob,

that I should have in any way offended him or any other gentleman, by

leaping over him, but I can't wait now. Take him my compliments, and

tell him I should be happy to see him at tea at six o'clock this

evening, in a different suit.' Off she went, and I rode back with her

message (by which means I was thrown out); and would you believe it,

he had the ill manners to say 'the h----;' but I shall not repeat what

he said. It was impolite to the last degree, not to say profane, but

perhaps he may be somewhat excused under his peculiar circumstances.

There is no knowing what even Job himself might have said, immediately

after having been thrown off his horse into a green pool, with his

eye-tooth knocked out, his mouth full of mud and blood, on being asked

to a tea-party.

"He--Brady, not Job--went, nevertheless--for, on our return to Miss

Dosy's lodgings, we found a triangular note, beautifully perfumed,

expressing his gratitude for her kind invitation, and telling her not

to think of the slight accident which had occurred. How it happened, he

added, he could not conceive, his mare never having broken down with him

before--which was true enough, as that was the first day he ever mounted

her--and she having been bought by himself at a sale of the Earl of

Darlington's horses last year, for two hundred guineas. She was a great

favourite, he went on to say, with the Earl, who often rode her, and ran

at Doncaster by the name of Miss Russell. All this latter part of the

note was not quite so true, but then, it must be admitted, that when we

talk about horses we are not tied down to be exact to a letter. If we

were, God help Tattersall's!

"To tea, accordingly, the ensign came at six, wiped clean, and in a

different set-out altogether from what he appeared in on emerging from

the ditch. He was, to make use of a phrase introduced from the ancient

Latin into the modern Greek, togged up in the most approved style of his

Majesty's 48th foot. Bright was the scarlet of his coat--deep the blue

of his facings."

"I beg your pardon," said Antony Harrison, here interrupting the

speaker; "the 48th are not royals, and you ought to know that no

regiment but those which are royal sport blue facings. I remember,

once upon a time, in a coffee-shop, detecting a very smart fellow,

who wrote some clever things in a Magazine published in Edinburgh by one

Blackwood, under the character of a military man, not to be anything of

the kind, by his talking about ensigns in the fusiliers--all the world

knowing that in the fusiliers there are no ensigns, but in their place

second lieutenants. Let me set you right there, Bob; the facings your

friend Brady exhibited to the wondering gaze of the Mallow tea-table

must have been buff--pale buff."

"Buff, black, blue, brown, yellow, Pompadour, brick-dust, no matter what

they were," continued Burke, in nowise pleased by the interruption,

"they were as bright as they could be made, and so was all the lace, and

other traps which I shall not specify more minutely, as I am in presence

of so sharp a critic. He was, in fact, in full dress--as you know is

done in country quarters--and being not a bad plan and elevation of a

man, looked well enough. Miss Dosy, I perceived, had not been perfectly

ignorant of the rank and condition of the gentleman over whom she had

leaped, for she was dressed in her purple satin body and white skirt,

which she always put on when she wished to be irresistible, and her

hair was suffered to flow in long ringlets down her fair neck--and, by

Jupiter, it was fair as a swan's, and as majestic too--and no mistake.

Yes! Dosy Macnamara looked divine that evening.

"Never mind! Tea was brought in by Mary Keefe, and it was just as all

other _teas_ have been and will be. Do not, however, confound it with

the wafer-sliced and hot-watered abominations which are inflicted,

perhaps justly, on the wretched individuals who are guilty of haunting

_soirees_ and _conversaziones_ in this good and bad city of London. The

tea was congou or souchong, or some other of these Chinese affairs, for

anything I know to the contrary; for, having dined at the house, I was

mixing my fifth tumbler when tea was brought in, and Mrs Macnamara

begged me not to disturb myself; and she being a lady for whom I had a

great respect, I complied with her desire; but there was a potato-cake,

an inch thick and two feet in diameter, which Mrs Macnamara informed me

in a whisper was made by Dosy after the hunt.

"'Poor chicken,' she said, 'if she had the strength, she has the

willingness; but she is so delicate. If you saw her handling the

potatoes to-day.'

"'Madam,' said I, looking tender, and putting my hand on my heart, 'I

wish I was a potato!'

CHAPTER III.

HOW ENSIGN BRADY ASTONISHED THE NATIVES AT MISS

THEODOSIA MACNAMARA'S.

"I thought this was an uncommonly pathetic wish, after the manner of the

Persian poet Hafiz, but it was scarcely out of my mouth, when Ensign

Brady, taking a cup of tea from Miss Dosy's hand, looking upon me with

an air of infinite condescension, declared that I must be the happiest

of men, as my wish was granted before it was made. I was preparing to

answer, but Miss Dosy laughed so loud that I had not time, and my only

resource was to swallow what I had just made. The ensign followed up his

victory without mercy.

"'Talking of potatoes, Miss Theodosia,' said he, looking at me, 'puts me

in mind of truffles. Do you know this most exquisite cake of yours much

resembles a _gateau aux truffes_? By Gad! how Colonel Thornton, Sir

Harry Millicent, Lord Mortgageshire, and that desperate fellow, the

Honourable and Reverend Dick Sellenger, and I, used to tuck in truffles

when we were quartered in Paris. Mortgageshire--an uncommon droll

fellow; I used to call his Lordship Morty--he called me Brad--we were on

such terms; and we used to live together in the Rue de la Paix, that

beautiful street close by the Place Vendome, where there's the pillar.

You have been at Paris, Miss Macnamara?' asked the ensign, filling his

mouth with a half-pound bite of the potato-cake at the same moment.

"Dosy confessed that she had never travelled into any foreign parts

except the kingdom of Kerry; and on the same question being repeated to

me, I was obliged to admit that I was in a similar predicament. Brady

was triumphant.

"'It is a loss to any man,' said he, 'not to have been in Paris. I know

that city well, and so I ought; but I did many naughty things there.'

"'O fie!' said Mrs Macnamara.

"'O, madam,' continued Brady, 'the fact is, that the Paris ladies were

rather too fond of us English. When I say English, I mean Scotch and

Irish as well; but, nevertheless, I think Irishmen had more good-luck

than the natives of the other two islands.'

"'In my geography book,' said Miss Dosy, 'it is put down only as one

island, consisting of England, capital London, on the Thames, in the

south; and Scotland, capital Edinburgh, on the Forth, in the north;

population'----

"'Gad! you are right,' said Brady--'perfectly right, Miss Macnamara. I

see you are quite a blue. But, as I was saying, it is scarce possible

for a good-looking young English officer to escape the French ladies.

And then I played rather deep--on the whole, however, I think, I may say

I won. Mortgageshire and I broke Frascati's one night--we won a hundred

thousand francs at rouge, and fifty-four thousand at roulette. You would

have thought the croupiers would have fainted; they tore their hair with

vexation. The money, however, soon went again--we could not keep it. As

for wine, you have it cheap there, and of a quality which you cannot get

in England. At Very's, for example, I drank chambertin--it is a kind

of claret--for three francs two sous a-bottle, which was, beyond all

comparison, far superior to what I drank, a couple of months ago, at the

Duke of Devonshire's, though his Grace prides himself on that very wine,

and sent to a particular binn for a favourite specimen, when I observed

to him I had tasted better in Paris. Out of politeness, I pretended to

approve of his Grace's choice; but I give you my honour--only I would

not wish it to reach his Grace's ears--it was not to be compared to what

I had at Very's for a moment.'

"So flowed on Brady for a couple of hours. The Tooleries, as he thought

proper to call them; the Louvre, with its pictures, the removal of which

he deplored as a matter of taste, assuring us that he had used all his

influence with the Emperor of Russia and the Duke of Wellington to

prevent it, but in vain; the Boulevards, the opera, the theatres, the

Champs Elysees, the Montagnes Russes--everything, in short, about

Paris, was depicted to the astonished mind of Miss Dosy. Then came

London--where he belonged to I do not know how many clubs--and cut a

most distinguished figure in the fashionable world. He was of the Prince

Regent's set, and assured us, on his honour, that there was never

anything so ill-founded as the stories afloat to the discredit of that

illustrious person. But on what happened at Carlton House, he felt

obliged to keep silence, the Prince being remarkably strict in exacting

a premise from every gentleman whom he admitted to his table, not to

divulge anything that occurred there--a violation of which promise was

the cause of the exclusion of Brummell. As for the Princess of Wales,

he would rather not say anything.

"And so forth. Now, in those days of my innocence, I believed these

stories as gospel, hating the fellow all the while from the bottom of

my heart, as I saw that he made a deep impression on Dosy, who sat

in open-mouthed wonder, swallowing them down as a common-councilman

swallows turtle. But times are changed. I have seen Paris and London

since, and I believe I know both villages as well as most men, and the

deuce a word of truth did Brady tell in his whole narrative. In Paris,

when not in quarters (he had joined some six or eight months after

Waterloo), he lived _au cinquantieme_ in a dog-hole in the Rue

Git-le-Coeur (a street at what I may call the Surrey side of Paris),

among carters and other such folk; and in London I discovered that his

principal domicile was in one of the courts now demolished to make room

for the fine new gimcrackery at Charing Cross; it was in Round Court,

at a pieman's of the name of Dudfield."

"Dick Dudfield?" said Jack Ginger; "I knew the man well--a most

particular friend of mine. He was a duffer besides being a pieman, and

was transported some years ago. He is now a flourishing merchant in

Australasia, and will, I suppose, in due time be grandfather to a

member of Congress."

"There it was that Brady lived then," continued Bob Burke, "when he

was hobnobbing with Georgius Quartus, and dancing at Almack's with

Lady Elizabeth Conynghame. Faith, the nearest approach he ever made

to royalty was when he was put into the King's own Bench, where he

sojourned many a long day. What an ass I was to believe a word of such

stuff! but, nevertheless, it goes down with the rustics to the present

minute. I sometimes sport a duke or so myself, when I find myself among

yokels, and I rise vastly in estimation by so doing. What do we come to

London or Paris for, but to get some touch of knowing how to do things

properly? It would be devilish hard, I think, for Ensign Brady, or

Ensign Brady's master, to do me nowadays by flamming off titles of high

life."

The company did no more than justice to Mr Burke's experience, by

unanimously admitting that such a feat was all but impossible.

"I was," he went on, "a good deal annoyed at my inferiority, and I

could not help seeing that Miss Dosy was making comparisons that were

rather odious, as she glanced from the gay uniform of the Ensign on my

habiliments, which having been perpetrated by a Mallow tailor with a

hatchet, or pitchfork, or pickaxe, or some such tool, did not stand the

scrutiny to advantage. I was, I think, a better-looking fellow than

Brady. Well, well--laugh if you like. I am no beauty, I know; but then,

consider that what I am talking of was sixteen years ago, and more; and

a man does not stand the battering I have gone through for these sixteen

years with impunity. Do you call the thirty or forty thousand tumblers

of punch, in all its varieties, that I have since imbibed, nothing?"

"Yes," said Jack Ginger, with a sigh, "there was a song we used to sing

on board the Brimstone, when cruising about the Spanish main--

"'If Mars leaves his scars, jolly Bacchus as well

Sets his trace on the face, which a toper will tell;

But which a more merry campaign has pursued,

The shedder of wine, or the shedder of blood?'

"I forget the rest of it. Poor Ned Nixon! It was he who made that

song--he was afterwards bit in two by a shark, having tumbled overboard

in the cool of the evening, one fine summer day, off Port Royal."

"Well, at all events," said Burke, continuing his narrative, "I thought

I was a better-looking fellow than my rival, and was fretted at being

sung down. I resolved to outstay him--and though he sate long enough, I,

who was more at home, contrived to remain after him, but it was only to

hear him extolled.

"'A very nice young man,' said Mrs Macnamara.

"'An extreme nice young man,' responded Miss Theodosia.

"'A perfect gentleman in his manners; he puts me quite in mind of my

uncle, the late Jerry O'Regan,' observed Mrs Macnamara.

"'Quite the gentleman in every particular,' ejaculated Miss Theodosia.

"'He has seen a great deal of the world for so young a man,' remarked

Mrs Macnamara.

"'He has mixed in the best society, too,' cried Miss Theodosia.

"'It is a great advantage to a young man to travel,' quoth Mrs

Macnamara.

"'And a very great disadvantage to a young man to be always sticking at

home,' chimed in Miss Theodosia, looking at me; 'it shuts them out from

all chances of the elegance which we have just seen displayed by Ensign

Brady of the 48th Foot.'

"'For my part,' said I, 'I do not think him such an elegant fellow at

all. Do you remember, Dosy Macnamara, how he looked when he got up out

of the green puddle to-day?'

"'Mr Burke,' said she, 'that was an accident that might happen any man.

You were thrown yourself this day week, on clearing Jack Falvey's

wall--so you need not reflect on Mr Brady.'

"'If I was,' said I, 'it was as fine a leap as ever was made; and I was

on my mare in half a shake afterwards. Bob Buller of Ballythomas, or

Jack Prendergast, or Fergus O'Connor, could not have it rode it better.

And you too'----

"'Well,' said she, 'I am not going to dispute with you. I am sleepy, and

must get to bed.'

"'Do, poor chicken,' said Mrs Macnamara, soothingly, 'and, Bob, my dear,

I wish it was in your power to go travel, and see the Booleries and the

Tooleyvards, and the rest, and then you might be, in course of time, as

genteel as Ensign Brady.'

"'Heigho!' said Miss Dosy, ejecting a sigh. 'Travel, Bob, travel.'

"'I will,' said I, at once, and left the house in the most abrupt

manner, after consigning Ensign Brady to the particular attention of

Tisiphone, Alecto, and Megaera, all compressed into one emphatic

monosyllable.

CHAPTER IV.

HOW BOB BURKE, AFTER AN INTERVIEW WITH BARNEY PULVERTAFT,

ASCERTAINED THAT HE WAS DESPERATELY IN LOVE

WITH MISS THEODOSIA MACNAMARA.

"On leaving Dosy's lodgings, I began to consult the state of my heart.

Am I really, said I, so much in love, as to lose my temper if this

prating ensign should carry off the lady? I was much puzzled to resolve

the question. I walked up and down the Spa-Walk, whiffing a cigar, for

a quarter of an hour, without being able to come to a decision. At last,

just as the cigar was out, my eye caught a light in the window of Barney

Pulvertaft, the attorney--old Six-and-Eightpence, as we used to call

him. I knew he was the confidential agent of the Macnamaras; and as he

had carried on sixteen lawsuits for my father, I thought I had a claim

to learn something about the affairs of Miss Dosy. I understood she was

an heiress, but had never, until now, thought of inquiring into the

precise amount of her expectancies. Seeing that the old fellow was up,

I determined to step over, and found him in the middle of law-papers,

although it was then rather late, with a pot-bellied jug, of the

bee-hive pattern, by his side, full of punch--or rather, I should say,

half-full; for Six-and-Eightpence had not been idle. His snuff-coloured

wig was cocked on one side of his head--his old velveteen breeches open

at the knee--his cravat off--his shirt unbuttoned--his stockings half

down his lean legs--his feet in a pair of worsted slippers. The old

fellow was, in short, relaxed for the night, but he had his pen in his

hand.

"'I am only filling copies of _capiases_, Bob,' said he; 'light and

pleasant work, which does not distress one in an evening. There are a

few of your friends booked here. What has brought you to me so late

to-night?--but your father's son is always welcome. Ay, there were few

men like your father--never stagged in a lawsuit in his life--saw it

always out to the end--drove it from court to court;--if he was beat,

why, so much the worse, but he never fretted--if he won, faith! he

squeezed the opposite party well. Ay, he was a good-hearted, honest,

straightforward man. I wish I had a hundred such clients. So here's his

memory anyhow.'

"Six-and-Eightpence had a good right to give the toast, as what

constituted the excellence of my father in his eyes had moved most

of the good acres of Ballyburke out of the family into the hands of

the lawyers; but from filial duty I complied with the attorney's

request--the more readily, because I well knew, from long experience,

that his skill in punch-making was unimpeachable. So we talked about my

father's old lawsuits, and I got Barney into excellent humour, by

letting him tell me of the great skill and infinite adroitness which he

had displayed upon a multiplicity of occasions. It was not, however,

until we were deep in the second jug, and Six-and-Eightpence was

beginning to show symptoms of being _cut_, that I ventured to introduce

the subject of my visit. I did it as cautiously as I could, but the old

fellow soon found out my drift.

"'No,' hiccuped he--'Bob--'twont--'twont--do. Close as green--green wax.

Never te-tell profess-profess-professional secrets. Know her

expec--hiccup--tances to a ten-ten-penny. So you are after--after--her?

Ah, Bo-bob! She'll be a ca-catch--but not a wo-word from me. No--never.

Bar-ney Pe-pulverfta-taft is game to the last. Never be-betrayed ye-your

father. God rest his soul--he was a wo-worthy man.'

"On this recollection of the merits of my sainted sire, the attorney

wept; and in spite of all his professional determinations, whether the

potency of the fluid or the memory of the deceased acted upon him, I got

at the facts. Dosy had not more than a couple of hundred pounds in the

world--her mother's property was an annuity which expired with herself;

but her uncle, by the father's side, Mick Macnamara of Kawleash, had an

estate of at least five hundred a-year, which, in case of his dying

without issue, was to come to her--besides a power of money saved; Mick

being one who, to use the elegant phraseology of my friend the attorney,

would skin a flea for the sake of selling the hide. All this money, ten

thousand pounds, or something equally musical, would in all probability

go to Miss Dosy--the L500 a-year was hers by entail. Now, as her uncle

was eighty-four years old, unmarried, and in the last stage of the

palsy, it was a thing as sure as the bank, that Miss Dosy was a very

rich heiress indeed.

"'So--so,' said Six-and-Eightpence--'this--this--is strictly

confiddle-confid-confiddledential. Do--do not say a word about

it. I ought not to have to-told it--but, you do-dog, you wheedled

it out of me. Da-dang it, I co-could not ref-refuse your father's

son. You are ve-very like him--as I sa-saw him sitting many a

ti-time in that cha-chair. But you nev-never will have his XXXX

spu-spunk in a sho-shoot (suit). There, the lands of XXXXXXXXXXX

Arry-arry-arry-bally-bally-be-beg-clock-clough-macde-de-duagh--confound

the wo-word--of Arryballybegcloughmacduagh, the finest be-bog in the

co-country--are ye-yours--but you haven't spu-spunk to go into

Cha-chancery for it, like your worthy fa-father, Go-god rest his soul.

Blow out that se-second ca-candle, Bo-bob, for I hate waste.'

"'There's but one in the room, Barney,' said I.

"'You mean to say,' hiccuped he, 'that I am te-te-tipsy? Well, well,

ye-young fe-fellows, well, I am their je-joke. However, as the je-jug is

out, you must be je-jogging. Early to bed, and early to rise, is the way

to be----. However, le-lend me your arm up the sta-stairs, for they are

very slip-slippery to-night.'

"I conducted the attorney to his bedchamber, and safely stowed him into

bed, while he kept stammering forth praises on my worthy father, and

up-braiding me with want of spunk in not carrying on a Chancery suit

begun by him some twelve years before, for a couple of hundred acres of

bog, the value of which would scarcely have amounted to the price of the

parchment expended on it. Having performed this duty, I proceeded

homewards, labouring under a variety of sensations.

"How delicious is the feeling of love, when it first takes full

possession of a youthful bosom! Before its balmy influence vanish all

selfish thoughts--all grovelling notions. Pure and sublimated, the soul

looks forward to objects beyond self, and merges all ideas of personal

identity in aspirations of the felicity to be derived from the being

adored. A thrill of rapture pervades the breast--an intense but bland

flame permeates every vein--throbs in every pulse. Oh, blissful period,

brief in duration, but crowded with thoughts of happiness never to recur

again! As I gained the Walk, the moon was high and bright in heaven,

pouring a flood of mild light over the trees. The stars shone with

sapphire lustre in the cloudless sky--not a breeze disturbed the deep

serene. I was alone. I thought of my love--of what else could I think?

What I had just heard had kindled my passion for the divine Theodosia

into a quenchless blaze. Yes, I exclaimed aloud, I _do_ love her. Such

an angel does not exist on the earth. What charms! What innocence! What

horsewomanship! Five hundred a-year certain! Ten thousand pounds in

perspective! I'll repurchase the lands of Ballyburke--I'll rebuild the

hunting-lodge in the Galtees--I'll keep a pack of hounds, and live a

sporting life. Oh, dear, divine Theodosia, how I _do_ adore you! I'll

shoot that Brady, and no mistake. How dare he interfere where my

affections are so irrevocably fixed?

"Such were my musings. Alas! how we are changed as we progress through

the world! That breast becomes arid, which once was open to every

impression of the tender passion. The rattle of the dice-box beats out

of the head the rattle of the quiver of Cupid--and the shuffling of the

cards renders the rustling of his wings inaudible. The necessity of

looking after a tablecloth supersedes that of looking after a petticoat,

and we more willingly make an assignation with a mutton-chop, than with

an angel in female form. The bonds of love are exchanged for those of

the conveyancer--bills take the place of billets, and we do not protest,

but are protested against, by a three-and-six-penny notary. Such are the

melancholy effects of age. I knew them not then. I continued to muse

full of sweet thoughts, until gradually the moon faded from the sky--the

stars went out--and all was darkness. Morning succeeded to night, and,

on awaking, I found that, owing to the forgetfulness in which the

thoughts of the fair Theodosia had plunged me, I had selected the bottom

step of old Barney Pulvertaft's door as my couch, and was awakened from

repose in consequence of his servant-maid (one Norry Mulcaky) having

emptied the contents of her--washing-tub, over my slumbering person.

CHAPTER V.

HOW BOB BURKE, AFTER CONSULTATION WITH WOODEN-LEG

WADDY, FOUGHT THE DUEL WITH ENSIGN BRADY FOR THE

SAKE OF MISS THEODOSIA MACNAMARA.

"At night I had fallen asleep fierce in the determination of

exterminating Brady; but with the morrow, cool reflection came--made

probably cooler by the aspersion I had suffered. How could I fight him,

when he had never given me the slightest affront? To be sure, picking a

quarrel is not hard, thank God, in any part of Ireland; but unless I was

quick about it, he might get so deep into the good graces of Dosy, who

was as flammable as tinder, that even my shooting him might not be of

any practical advantage to myself. Then, besides, he might shoot me;

and, in fact, I was not by any means so determined in the affair at

seven o'clock in the morning as I was at twelve o'clock at night. I got

home, however, dressed, shaved, &c., and turned out. 'I think,' said I

to myself, 'the best thing I can do, is to go and consult Wooden-leg

Waddy; and, as he is an early man, I shall catch him now.' The thought

was no sooner formed than executed; and in less than five minutes I was

walking with Wooden-leg Waddy in his garden, at the back of his house,

by the banks of the Blackwater.

"Waddy had been in the Hundred-and-First, and had seen much service in

that distinguished corps."

"I remember it well during the war," said Antony Harrison; "we used to

call it the Hungry-and-Worst;--but it did its duty on a pinch

nevertheless."

"No matter," continued Burke; "Waddy had served a good deal, and lost

his leg somehow, for which he had a pension besides his half-pay, and he

lived in ease and affluence among the Bucks of Mallow. He was a great

hand at settling and arranging duels, being what we generally call in

Ireland a _judgmatical_ sort of man--a word which, I think, might be

introduced with advantage into the English vocabulary. When I called on

him, he was smoking his meerschaum, as he walked up and down his garden

in an old undress-coat, and a fur cap on his head. I bade him good

morning; to which salutation he answered by a nod, and a more prolonged

whiff.

"'I want to speak to you, Wooden-leg,' said I, 'on a matter which nearly

concerns me.' On which, I received another nod, and another whiff in

reply.

"'The fact is,' said I, 'that there is an Ensign Brady of the 48th

quartered here, with whom I have some reason to be angry, and I am

thinking of calling him out. I have come to ask your advice whether I

should do so or not. He has deeply injured me, by interfering between me

and the girl of my affections. What ought I to do in such a case?'

"'Fight him, by all means,' said Wooden-leg Waddy.

"'But the difficulty is this--he has offered me no affront, direct or

indirect--we have no quarrel whatever--and he has not paid any addresses

to the lady. He and I have scarcely been in contact at all. I do not see

how I can manage it immediately with any propriety. What then can I do

now?'

"'Do not fight him, by any means,' said Wooden-leg Waddy.

"'Still these are the facts of the case. He, whether intentionally or

not, is coming between me and my mistress, which is doing me an injury

perfectly equal to the grossest insult. How should I act?'

"'Fight him, by all means,' said Wooden-leg Waddy.

"'But then I fear if I were to call him out on a groundless quarrel, or

one which would appear to be such, that I should lose the good graces of

the lady, and be laughed at by my friends, or set down as a quarrelsome

and dangerous companion.'

"'Do not fight him then, by any means,' said Wooden-leg Waddy.

"'Yet as he is a military man, he must know enough of the etiquette of

these affairs to feel perfectly confident that he has affronted me; and

the opinion of a military man, standing, as of course he does, in the

rank and position of a gentleman, could not, I think, be overlooked

without disgrace.'

"'Fight him, by all means,' said Wooden-leg Waddy.

"'But then, talking of gentlemen, I own he is an officer of the 48th,

but his father is a fish-tackle seller in John Street, Kilkenny, who

keeps a three-halfpenny shop, where you may buy everything, from a

cheese to a cheese-toaster, from a felt hat to a pair of brogues, from a

pound of brown soap to a yard of huckaback towels. He got his commission

by his father's retiring from the Ormonde interest, and acting as

whipper-in to the sham freeholders from Castlecomer; and I am, as you

know, of the best blood of the Burkes--straight from the De Burgos

themselves--and when I think of that, I really do not like to meet this

Mr Brady.'

"'Do not fight him, by any means,' said Wooden-leg Waddy."

"This advice of your friend Waddy to you," said Tom Meggot, interrupting

Burke, "much resembles that which Pantagruel gave Panurge on the subject

of his marriage, as I heard a friend of mine, Percy, of Gray's Inn,

reading to me the other day."

"I do not know the people you speak of," continued Bob, "but such was

the advice which Waddy gave me.

"'Why,' said I, 'Wooden-leg, my friend, this is like playing battledore

and shuttlecock; what is knocked forward with one hand is knocked back

with the other. Come, tell me what I ought to do.'

"'Well,' said Wooden-leg, taking the meerschaum out of his mouth, '_in

dubiis suspice_, &c. Let us decide it by tossing a halfpenny. If it

comes down _head_, you fight--if _harp_, you do not. Nothing can be

fairer.'

"I assented.

"'Which,' said he, 'is it to be--two out of three, as at Newmarket, or

the first toss to decide?'

"'Sudden death,' said I, 'and there will soon be an end of it.'

"Up went the halfpenny, and we looked with anxious eyes for its descent,

when, unluckily, it stuck in a gooseberry-bush.

"'I don't like that,' said Wooden-leg Waddy; 'for it's a token of bad

luck. But here goes again.'

"Again the copper soared to the sky, and down it came--_head_.

"'I wish you joy, my friend,' said Waddy; 'you are to fight. That was my

opinion all along; though I did not like to commit myself. I can lend

you a pair of the most beautiful duelling-pistols ever put into a man's

hand--Wogden's, I swear. The last time they were out, they shot Joe

Brown of Mount Badger as dead as Harry the Eighth.'

"'Will you be my second?' said I.

"'Why, no,' replied Wooden-leg, 'I cannot; for I am bound over by a

rascally magistrate to keep the peace, because I barely broke the head

of a blackguard bailiff, who came here to serve a writ on a friend of

mine, with one of my spare legs. But I can get you a second at once. My

nephew, Major Mug, has just come to me on a few days' visit, and, as he

is quite idle, it will give him some amusement to be your second. Look

up at his bedroom--you see he is shaving himself.'

"In a short time the Major made his appearance, dressed with a most

military accuracy of costume. There was not a speck of dust on his

well-brushed blue surtout--not a vestige of hair, except the regulation

whiskers, on his closely-shaven countenance. His hat was brushed to the

most glossy perfection--his boots shone in the jetty glow of Day and

Martin. There was scarcely an ounce of flesh on his hard and

weather-beaten face, and, as he stood rigidly upright, you would have

sworn that every sinew and muscle of his body was as stiff as whipcord.

He saluted us in military style, and was soon put in possession of the

case. Wooden-leg Waddy insinuated that there were hardly as yet grounds

for a duel.

"'I differ,' said Major Mug, 'decidedly--the grounds are ample. I never

saw a clearer case in my life, and I have been principal or second in

seven-and-twenty. If I collect your story rightly, Mr Burke, he gave you

an abrupt answer in the field, which was highly derogatory to the lady

in question, and impertinently rude to yourself?'

"'He certainly,' said I, 'gave me what we call a short answer; but I did

not notice it at the time, and he has since made friends with the young

lady.'

"'It matters nothing,' observed Major Mug, 'what you may think, or she

may think. The business is now in _my_ hands, and I must see you through

it. The first thing to be done is to write him a letter. Send out for

paper--let it be gilt-edged, Waddy--that we may do the thing genteelly.

I'll dictate, Mr Burke, if you please.'

"And so he did. As well as I can recollect, the note was as follows:--

"'SPA-WALK, MALLOW, _June 3, 18--_.

"'Eight o'clock in the morning.

"'SIR,--A desire for harmony and peace, which has at all times

actuated my conduct, prevented me, yesterday, from asking you

the meaning of the short and contemptuous message which you

commissioned me to deliver to a certain young lady of our

acquaintance, whose name I do not choose to drag into a

correspondence. But now that there is no danger of its

disturbing any one, I must say that in your desiring me to tell

that young lady she might consider herself as d----d, you were

guilty of conduct highly unbecoming of an officer and a

gentleman, and subversive of the discipline of the hunt. I

have the honour to be, sir, your most obedient humble servant,

"'ROBERT BURKE.

"'P. S.--This note will be delivered to you by my friend, Major

Mug, of the 3d West Indian; and you will, I trust, see the

propriety of referring him to another gentleman without further

delay.'

"'That, I think, is neat,' said the Major. 'Now, seal it with wax, Mr

Burke, with wax--and let the seal be your arms. That's right. Now,

direct it.'

"'Ensign Brady?'

"'No--no--the right thing would be, "Mr Brady, Ensign, 48th foot," but

custom allows "Esquire." That will do.--"Thady Brady, Esq., Ensign, 48th

Foot, Barracks, Mallow." He shall have it in less than a quarter of an

hour.'

"The Major was as good as his word, and in about half an hour he brought

back the result of his mission. The Ensign, he told us, was extremely

reluctant to fight, and wanted to be off, on the ground that he had

meant no offence, did not even remember having used the expression, and

offered to ask the lady if she conceived for a moment he had any idea of

saying anything but what was complimentary to her.

"'In fact,' said the Major, 'he at first plumply refused to fight; but I

soon brought him to reason. "Sir," said I, "you either consent to fight,

or refuse to fight. In the first case, the thing is settled to hand,

and we are not called upon to inquire if there was an affront or not--in

the second case, your refusal to comply with a gentleman's request is,

of itself, an offence for which he has a right to call you out. Put it,

then, on any grounds, you must fight him. It is perfectly indifferent to

me what the grounds may be; and I have only to request the name of your

friend, as I too much respect the coat you wear to think that there can

be any other alternative." This brought the chap to his senses, and he

referred me to Captain Codd, of his own regiment, at which I felt much

pleased, because Codd is an intimate friend of my own, he and I having

fought a duel three years ago in Falmouth, in which I lost the top of

this little finger, and he his left whisker. It was a near touch. He is

as honourable a man as ever paced a ground; and I am sure that he will

no more let his man off the field until business is done, than I would

myself.'

"I own," continued Burke, "I did not half relish this announcement of

the firm purpose of our seconds; but I was in for it, and could not get

back. I sometimes thought Dosy a dear purchase at such an expense; but

it was no use to grumble. Major Mug was sorry to say that there was a

review to take place immediately, at which the Ensign must attend, and

it was impossible for him to meet me until the evening; 'but,' added he,

'at this time of the year it can be of no great consequence. There will

be plenty of light till nine, but I have fixed _seven_. In the mean

time, you may as well divert yourself with a little pistol-practice, but

do it on the sly, as, if they were shabby enough to have a trial, it

would not tell well before the jury.'

"Promising to take a quiet chop with me at five, the Major retired,

leaving me not quite contented with the state of affairs. I sat down,

and wrote a letter to my cousin, Phil Purdon of Kanturk, telling him

what I was about, and giving directions what was to be done in the case

of any fatal event. I communicated to him the whole story--deplored my

unhappy fate in being thus cut off in the flower of my youth--left him

three pair of buckskin breeches--and repented my sins. This letter I

immediately packed off by a special messenger, and then began

half-a-dozen others, of various styles of tenderness and sentimentality,

to be delivered after my melancholy decease. The day went off fast

enough, I assure you; and at five the Major, and Wooden-leg Waddy,

arrived in high spirits.

"'Here, my boy,' said Waddy, handing me the pistols, 'here are the

flutes; and pretty music, I can tell you, they make.'

"'As for dinner,' said Major Mug, 'I do not much care; but, Mr Burke, I

hope it is ready, as I am rather hungry. We must dine lightly, however,

and drink not much. If we come off with flying colours, we may crack a

bottle together by-and-by; in case you shoot Brady, I have everything

arranged for our keeping out of the way until the thing blows over--if

he shoot you, I'll see you buried. Of course, you would not recommend

anything so ungenteel as a prosecution? No. I'll take care it shall all

appear in the papers, and announce that Robert Burke, Esq., met his

death with becoming fortitude, assuring the unhappy survivor that he

heartily forgave him, and wished him health and happiness.'

"'I must tell you,' said Wooden-leg Waddy, 'it's all over Mallow, and

the whole town will be on the ground to see it. Miss Dosy knows of it,

and is quite delighted--she says she will certainly marry the survivor.

I spoke to the magistrate to keep out of the way, and he promised that,

though it deprived him of a great pleasure, he would go and dine five

miles off--and know nothing about it. But here comes dinner. Let us be

jolly.'

"I cannot say that I played on that day as brilliant a part with the

knife and fork as I usually do, and did not sympathise much in the

speculations of my guests, who pushed the bottle about with great

energy, recommending me, however, to refrain. At last the Major looked

at his watch, which he had kept lying on the table before him from the

beginning of dinner--started up--clapped me on the shoulder, and

declaring it only wanted six minutes and thirty-five seconds of the

time, hurried me off to the scene of action--a field close by the

Castle.

"There certainly was a miscellaneous assemblage of the inhabitants of

Mallow, all anxious to see the duel. They had pitted us like game-cocks,

and bets were freely taken as to the chances of our killing one another,

and the particular spots. One betted on my being hit in the jaw, another

was so kind as to lay the odds on my knee. A tolerably general opinion

appeared to prevail that one or other of us was to be killed; and much

good-humoured joking took place among them, while they were deciding

which. As I was double the thickness of my antagonist, I was clearly the

favourite for being shot; and I heard one fellow near me say, 'Three to

two on Burke, that he's shot first--I bet in ten-pennies.'

"Brady and Codd soon appeared, and the preliminaries were arranged with

much punctilio between our seconds, who mutually and loudly extolled

each other's gentlemanlike mode of doing business. Brady could scarcely

stand with fright, and I confess that I did not feel quite as Hector of

Troy, or the Seven Champions of Christendom, are reported to have done

on similar occasions. At last the ground was measured--the pistols

handed to the principals--the handkerchief dropped--whiz! went the

bullet within an inch of my ear--and crack! went mine exactly on Ensign

Brady's waistcoat pocket. By an unaccountable accident, there was a

five-shilling piece in that very pocket, and the ball glanced away,

while Brady doubled himself down, uttering a loud howl that might be

heard half a mile off. The crowd was so attentive as to give a huzza for

my success.

"Codd ran up to his principal, who was writhing as if he had ten

thousand colics, and soon ascertained that no harm was done.

"'What do you propose,' said he to my second--'What do you propose to

do, Major?'

"'As there is neither blood drawn nor bone broken,' said the Major, 'I

think that shot goes for nothing.'

"'I agree with you,' said Captain Codd.

"'If your party will apologise,' said Major Mug, 'I'll take my man off

the ground.'

"'Certainly,' said Captain Codd, 'you are quite right, Major, in asking

the apology, but you know that it is my duty to refuse it.'

"'You are correct, Captain,' said the Major; 'I then formally require

that Ensign Brady apologise to Mr Burke.'

"'I as formally refuse it,' said Captain Codd.

"'We must have another shot then,' said the Major.

"'Another shot, by all means,' said the Captain.

"'Captain Codd,' said the Major, 'you have shown yourself in this, as

in every transaction of your life, a perfect gentleman.'

"'He who would dare to say,' replied the Captain, 'that Major Mug is not

among the most gentlemanlike men in the service, would speak what is

untrue.'

"Our seconds bowed, took a pinch of snuff together, and proceeded to

load the pistols. Neither Brady nor I was particularly pleased at these

complimentary speeches of the gentlemen, and, I am sure, had we been

left to ourselves, would have declined the second shot. As it was, it

appeared inevitable.

"Just, however, as the process of loading was completing, there appeared

on the ground my cousin Phil Purdon, rattling in on his black mare as

hard as he could lick. When he came in sight he bawled out,--

"'I want to speak to the plaintiff in this action--I mean, to one of the

parties in this duel. I want to speak to you, Bob Burke.'

"'The thing is impossible, sir,' said Major Mug.

"'Perfectly impossible, sir,' said Captain Codd.

"'Possible or impossible is nothing to the question,' shouted Purdon;

'Bob, I _must_ speak to you.'

"'It is contrary to all regulation,' said the Major.

"'Quite contrary,' said the Captain.

"Phil, however, persisted, and approached me. 'Are you fighting about

Dosy Mac?' said he to me in a whisper.

"'Yes,' I replied.

"'And she is to marry the survivor, I understand?'

"'So I am told,' said I.

"'Back out, Bob, then; back out, at the rate of a hunt. Old Mick

Macnamara is married.'

"'Married!' I exclaimed.

"'Poz,' said he. 'I drew the articles myself. He married his housemaid,

a girl of eighteen; and,'--here he whispered.

"'What,' I cried, 'six months!'

"'Six months,' said he, 'and no mistake.'

"'Ensign Brady,' said I, immediately coming forward, 'there has been a

strange misconception in this business. I here declare, in presence of

this honourable company, that you have acted throughout like a man of

honour, and a gentleman; and you leave the ground without a stain on

your character.'

"Brady hopped three feet off the ground with joy at the unexpected

deliverance. He forgot all etiquette, and came forward to shake me by

the hand.

"'My dear Burke,' said he, 'it must have been a mistake: let us swear

eternal friendship.'

"'For ever,' said I. 'I resign you Miss Theodosia.'

"'You are too generous,' he said, 'but I cannot abuse your generosity.'

"'It is unprecedented conduct,' growled Major Mug. 'I'll never be second

to a _Pekin_ again.'

"'_My_ principal leaves the ground with honour,' said Captain Codd,

looking melancholy nevertheless.

"'Humph!' grunted Wooden-leg Waddy, lighting his meerschaum.

"The crowd dispersed much displeased, and I fear my reputation for

valour did not rise among them. I went off with Purdon to finish a jug

at Carmichael's, and Brady swaggered off to Miss Dosy's. His renown for

valour won her heart. It cannot be denied that I sunk deeply in her

opinion. On that very evening Brady broke his love, and was accepted.

Mrs Mac. opposed, but the red-coat prevailed.

"'He may rise to be a general,' said Dosy, 'and be a knight, and then I

will be Lady Brady.'

"'Or if my father should be made an earl, angelic Theodosia, you would

be Lady Thady Brady,' said the Ensign.

"'Beautiful prospect!' cried Dosy, 'Lady Thady Brady! What a harmonious

sound!'

"But why dally over the detail of my unfortunate loves? Dosy and the

Ensign were married before the accident which had befallen her uncle was

discovered; and if they were not happy, why, then you and I may. They

have had eleven children, and, I understand, he now keeps a comfortable

eating-house close by Cumberland Basin in Bristol. Such was my duel with

Ensign Brady of the 48th."

"Your fighting with Brady puts me in mind, that the finest duel I ever

saw," said Joe MacGillycuddy, "was between a butcher and bull-dog, in

the Diamond of Derry."

"I am obliged to you for your comparison," said Burke, "but I think it

is now high time for dinner, and your beautiful story will keep. Has

anybody the least idea where dinner is to be raised?"

To this no answer was returned, and we all began to reflect with the

utmost intensity.

THE HEADSMAN.

A TALE OF DOOM.

[_MAGA_. FEBRUARY 1830.]

On a dark and gusty evening in November 178--, three students at a

university in Northern Germany were sitting with Professor N. around the

stove of his study. These four individuals had in the morning

accompanied a much-valued friend, who was finally quitting the

university, on the first stage of his journey homeward, and had returned

at the full speed of their jaded horses, to reach the city before the

closing of the gates. On arrival within the ramparts, they were invited

by the Professor to drown their parting sorrow in a bowl of punch, and

accompanied him to his abode, where they sat for some time gazing at the

crackling firewood in the stove, and musing in silent melancholy upon

the social and endearing qualities of the friend with whom they had

parted--perhaps for ever. Meanwhile the materials for the most cheering

of all potations lay untouched upon the table, the candles remained

unlighted and forgotten, and, as if by tacit agreement, the friends

continued to indulge in retrospective musings until the twilight waned

into darkness, and the flickering light from the open door of the stove

just enabled each of them to discern the saddened features of his

neighbour. When returning to the city, their exhausted spirits had been

painfully jarred by the spectacle, so rare in Germany, of a scaffold

erecting without the ramparts for the execution of a murderer. Some

remarks of the humane Professor upon the crime and punishment of the

condemned did not tend to cheer the young men, who replied in

monosyllables, and were pondering in mute and melancholy excitement upon

the awful catastrophe so near at hand, when a tap at the door made them

all start from the reverie in which they had been too deeply absorbed to

hear any one ascending the stairs. "Come in," at length shouted the

Professor, after pausing a little to recollect himself. The door was

gently opened, and the dying flame in the stove threw its last blaze

upon the pallid features of a tall and handsome youth, who entered the

room with diffidence, and inquired if Professor N. was at home. "Here I

am, my dear Julius," answered the kind Professor, as he rose from his

chair, and grasped with cordial pressure the hand of the inquirer. "Can

I do anything to oblige you?"

"I have called upon you to request a favour," answered the stranger

hesitatingly, as he surveyed with searching looks the three students,

whose features were not distinguishable in the Rembrandt chiaroscuro of

the Professor's study.

"If no secret," said the Professor briskly, as he replenished his stove

with beechwood, "explain yourself freely. All present are my particular

friends, and certainly no enemies of yours. Say, my dear boys! you all

know and respect our worthy Harpocrates?"

The students briefly assented, and the Professor invited the stranger to

take a seat near the fire, which, darting playfully through the pile of

beech, soon roared loudly up the chimney. "I believe that Lieutenant B.

is your near relation?" began the pale youth, in tones which betrayed an

inward tremor.

"He is my nephew," replied the Professor.

"I have understood," continued the stranger, "that he will command the

detachment ordered on duty at the execution to-morrow. I am particularly

desirous to stand near the criminal at the moment of decapitation, and

wish, through your kind interference with the Lieutenant, to obtain

admission within the circle."

"By all means," answered the Professor. "My nephew has invited me to

accompany him, but I have declined it, and I must own that your request

surprises me no little. How is it, my dear Julius, that you, who are by

nature and habit so gentle and fastidious, can seek such strong aliment

as the near inspection of a public execution? Even I, who served three

campaigns in the artillery before I betook myself to mathematics, could

not face a catastrophe so appalling."

"I study anatomy as an amateur," replied Julius, somewhat disconcerted;

"and, as I may eventually embrace the medical profession, it is

essential to my purpose to steel my nerves by inuring them to every

trying spectacle."

"You are right, Julius!" exclaimed the Professor, with cordial assent.

"Trials are the fostering element of great hearts and lofty natures. To

become great in anything, we must take the Egyptian test, and purify our

feeble minds by passing through fire and water. Call upon me to-morrow

morning at seven. I will introduce you to my nephew, and he shall give

you a place near the headsman. And now, not another word on this painful

subject, which has haunted us ever since we heard the workmen hammering

the scaffold this afternoon. So cheer up, my dear boys! Light the

candles, and fill your meerschaums, while I compound a bowl of such

punch as Anacreon would have made, had he known how.--No, no! my dear

Julius," he continued, seizing the arm of the young stranger, who was

rising to depart. "A friendly chance has brought you into our cordial

circle, and I must insist upon your remaining my guest."

In vain did the three students, by whom Julius was more respected than

liked, indicate by significant looks their objection to his stay; the

benevolent Professor, who had long observed, with better feelings than

curiosity, the pale features and habitual depression of a youth

distinguished by great intellectual promise, persevered in his

hospitable attempt, and at length succeeded in subduing his visible

reluctance to stay.

Julius Arenbourg had been three years a student at the university, but

his retiring habits and invincible taciturnity had hitherto prevented

any free and amicable communion with his fellow-students. His name was

that of a Swiss, or of a Strasburger; and, although he spoke German with

facility, there were certain peculiarities of accent and idiom in his

language which betrayed a longer familiarity with French: he shunned,

however, all intercourse with the Swiss and French students at the

university, and his country and connections were still a matter of

conjecture. His engaging person and address, and the dejection so

legibly written in his countenance, had excited on his arrival an

immediate and general impression in his favour, but he shunned alike

exclusive intimacy and general intercourse; his replies were either

commonplaces or monosyllables; and as the unhappy and reserved find

little sympathy from the young and joyous, his fellow-students dubbed

him the Harpocrates of the university, and left him to solitude and

self-communion.

The kind-hearted Professor, desirous to lead this interesting youth into

habits of social ease and intimacy with the students present, exerted

his colloquial powers, and endeavoured to lead them into general

conversation; but his benevolent endeavours were baffled by the

ineradicable impression which the approaching execution had made upon

the mind of every student of good feeling in the university; and the

successive attempts of the Professor were succeeded by long intervals of

brooding and melancholy silence. At length, one of the young men,

notwithstanding his host's prohibition, could no longer refrain from

adverting to this all-absorbing subject. "Excuse me, Professor," he

began, "but I find it impossible to withdraw my thoughts, even for a

moment, from the present situation of the poor wretch who is so soon to

bend his neck to the executioner. It appears to me, that the intervening

hours of deadly and rising terror, are the real and atoning punishment,

and not the friendly blow which releases him from the fear of death.

Even the reprieve, sometimes granted on the scaffold, is no compensation

for terrors so intense. The criminal has already died many deaths, and

the new existence, thus tardily bestowed, can be compared only with the

revival of the seeming dead in his coffin. Gracious Heaven!" he

continued, with shuddering emotion, "how dreadfully bitter must be the

sensations of the poor fellow at this moment!"

"In all probability," replied another student, "he has either made up

his mind to the impending catastrophe, or he finds sustaining

consolation in the hope of a reprieve. At all events, his reflections

must have, in my opinion, a more justified character than those of the

wretch, who, before another sunset, with a firm eye and unsparing hand,

with as little remorse as the butcher who kills a lamb, will shed the

blood of a fellow-creature--of one who never injured him in deed or

thought--who will kneel to him with folded hands, and humbly stretch his

neck to the fatal blow. Verily, I think that I would rather thus suffer

death, than thus inflict it."

"Does not this view of the subject," remarked the third student,

"justify, in some measure, the so often ridiculed prejudice of the

uneducated multitude, who pronounce an executioner infamous, because

they cannot otherwise define the disgust which his appearance, even

across a street, invariably excites?[B] And may not this association of

ideas be grounded on a religious feeling? The Mosaic law provided a

sanctuary for the blood-guilty who had committed murder in sudden

wrath; and, except in cases of rare enormity, compassion for the

criminal must tend to increase the popular detestation of a man, who, in

consideration of a good salary, is ever ready to shed the blood of a

fellow-creature."

[Footnote B: Throughout Germany, public executioners are called

infamous, and are shut out of the pale of society. A similar feeling

prevailed in France before the Revolution.]

"For the honour of human nature," observed the Professor, "I will hope

that, could we read the hearts of many who fulfil this terrible duty to

society, we should behold, both before and during its exercise, strong

feelings of reluctance and compassion. I can conceive, too, that those

who have by long habit become callous to their vocation, are by no means

destitute of kindly feeling in matters unconnected with their calling;

but I do not comprehend how any man can voluntarily devote himself to an

office which excludes him for life from the sympathy and society of his

fellow-men; nor do I believe that this terrible vocation is ever

adopted, except by those who, through early training, or a long course

of crime, have blunted the best feelings of human nature."

Julius, who had hitherto been a silent but attentive listener, now

addressed the Professor with an animation which surprised all present.

"You must excuse me, Professor," said he, "if I dissent from your last

remark. You seem to have overlooked the fact, that the numerous

individuals devoted to this melancholy office, in Germany and France,

compose two large families severally connected by intermarriages and

adoptions. In France especially, the executioner is under a compulsory

obligation to transmit his office to one of his sons, who grows up with

a consciousness of this necessity; and, being systematically trained to

it, he submits, in most instances, without repining, to his painful lot.

If the executioner has only daughters, he adopts a young man, who

becomes his son-in-law and successor. I knew an instance of adoption

which affords decisive evidence, that even a youth of education and

refinement, of spotless integrity, diffident, gentle, and humane to a

fault, may be compelled, by the force of circumstances, to undertake an

office from which his nature recoils with abhorrence, and from which, in

this instance, the party would have been saved by a higher degree of

moral courage."

It was here remarked by one of the students, that cruel propensities and

a want of courage were perfectly compatible.

"But I am speaking of a _good_ man," warmly rejoined Julius, "and good

in the best and most comprehensive sense of the word. A man, not only

pure from all offence, but of primitive and uncorrupted singleness of

heart. For the truth of this I can pledge myself, for I know him well."

At this undisguised avowal of his acquaintance with a public

executioner, his auditors looked at him, and at each other, with

obvious dismay. "Oh!" continued he, with a mournful smile, while his

pale face was flushed with strong emotion, "wonder not at this

acknowledgment. I can assure you, that, on my part, the acquaintance was

involuntary; and had we not already devoted too much time to this

painful subject, I could, by relating this headsman's strange and

eventful history, fully vindicate my opinion of him, and of the unhappy

caste to which he belongs."

The Professor, who thought that the detail of an interesting story would

excite in the three students a friendly feeling for the melancholy

narrator, besought him earnestly to indulge them with the recital. "In

our present frame of mind," he added, "your narrative will lay a strong

hold, and will doubtless tend to reconcile our various opinions."

The students warmly seconded the Professor's entreaties, and, thus

called upon, Julius could no longer hesitate to comply. A flush of

timidity, or of some more deeply-seated feeling, darkened his pale

forehead, while he paused some moments as if to collect his firmness for

a trying effort. He then began, in tones which, although tremulous at

first, became deep and impressive as he proceeded; while the Professor

and his friends, little prepared to expect any continuous recital from

one who rarely uttered a connected sentence, listened with strong and

rising interest to the following narrative.

* * * * *

It is about five-and-thirty years since a murderer was condemned to

suffer death by the sword, at a town in western Normandy; and, on the

morning of the execution, two senior pupils of the Jesuit-seminary went,

by permission of their superiors, to view a spectacle of rare occurrence

in that province. The cordial intimacy subsisting between these youths

had long been a problem, both to their teachers and schoolfellows. So

widely different, indeed, were they in appearance and character, and so

harshly did the ferocity and cunning of the one contrast with the pure

and gentle habits of the other, that they were called the "Wolf and the

Lamb."

The older of them, named Bartholdy, was a native of Strasburg, tall and

robust in person, but high-shouldered, stooping, and in dress and gait

slovenly and clownish. His yellow visage was deeply furrowed with the

small-pox, and his remarkably large and staring eyes, which were of a

pale and milky blue, indicated a dulness bordering on imbecility. This

appearance, however, was belied by his habitual cunning, and by the

dexterity with which he often contrived to exculpate himself under

criminatory circumstances. His spreading jawbones, large mouth, and

coarsely-moulded lips, truly betokened his proneness to sensual

gratifications; and the collective expression of his forbidding features

was so remarkable, that a single glance sufficed to fix it in the memory

for ever. It was rumoured in the seminary, that this youth had been sent

by his friends to a school so remote from Strasburg in consequence of

some highly culpable irregularities; and certainly these rumours were

justified by occasional instances of wolfish ferocity and deliberate

duplicity, for which he was severely but vainly punished.

Florian, the friend of Bartholdy, although nearly of the same age, was

shorter by the head. His figure was slender and elegant--his countenance

eminently prepossessing and ingenuous. His complexion was of that pure

red and white, through which every flitting emotion is instantaneously

legible. His hazel eyes sparkled with intelligence; locks of glossy

chestnut curled round his fair and open forehead; and there was about

his lips and smile a winning grace, which, at maturer age, would have

been thought too feminine. Although not regularly handsome, there was in

his form and features that harmonious configuration which is termed

beauty of character, and which, when accompanied by the correspondent

moral graces of gentleness and refinement, often lays a more enduring

hold of the affections than beauty of a more dignified and masculine

order. An habitual and blushing timidity of address, of which he was

painfully conscious, made him shrink from a free and general intercourse

with his fellow-pupils. He had few friends, because his bashful habits

had made him fastidious and reserved; but his gentle and unassuming

deportment, and the invariable sweetness of his temper, endeared him to

the few who had penetration enough to discern his real merits; and so

far recommended him to all, that the existence of an enemy was

impossible.

Thus widely opposite in physical and moral attributes were Florian and

Bartholdy; and yet so cordial appeared their attachment, so incessant

was their intercourse, that the presiding Jesuits could only solve this

psychological enigma by conjecturing that Bartholdy, whose fierce temper

and great bodily strength made him detested and shunned by every other

boy, had found in the gentle sympathies of the unspoiled and credulous

Florian a relief which long habit had made essential to him. It is

probable, too, that the often guilty, and ever equivocal Bartholdy, had

found a protecting influence in the warm adherence of one whose purity

of mind and character were universally acknowledged. His specious

reasoning rarely failed to convince the confiding Florian that he was

unjustly accused, and on several occasions he was screened from

well-merited punishment by the favourable testimony of a friend whose

veracity was above all suspicion.

Florian, on the other hand, was flattered by the consciousness of his

power to protect one so much feared by all but himself, and whom he

thought unjustly persecuted. He was bound to him also by the tie of

gratitude, for the protection which he derived from the size and

strength of Bartholdy when insulted or aggrieved in the quarrels which

so often occur in large seminaries. Gradually, however, this exclusive

intercourse with one so generally detested, alienated from Florian the

good-will of his schoolfellows. Even the few who had most esteemed him,

now shunned his society; and the two friends, finding themselves

excluded from all participation in the sports and feelings of others,

became more than ever essential to each other. This enduring intimacy of

two beings so opposite had been long watched by the Jesuits who

conducted the establishment; but, with their wonted sagacity, they

forbore to check this singular friendship; not, however, in the hope of

any amelioration in the habits of Bartholdy, but with a view to learn

from the unqualified sincerity of Florian what the duplicity of the

other would have concealed. Hoping that the trying spectacle of a public

execution would make a salutary impression upon the hitherto callous

feelings of Bartholdy, the reverend fathers had permitted him and his

friend to be present on this awful occasion. Florian, who, at the

urgent and often-repeated entreaties of Bartholdy, had applied for this

permission, followed him with reluctant steps, and a heart beating with

terror, and was prevented only by the jeers and remonstrances of his

companion from running back to school, and burying his head under his

bed-clothes, until the rush of the excited multitude, and the deep

rolling of the drums and deathbells, had ceased. As usual, however, his

complying temper yielded to the persuasion of his plausible and reckless

friend, with whom he gained an elevated station, and so near the

scaffold as to enable them to discern the features of the hapless

criminal. Florian saw him kneel before the headsman; the broad weapon

glittered in the sun-beams, and the assumed firmness of the trembling

gazer utterly failed him. An ashy paleness overspread his features; his

joints shook with terror; and closing his eyes, he saved himself from

falling by clinging to the arm of Bartholdy, who, with unshaken nerves,

opened to their full extent his large dull eyes, and glutted his savage

curiosity by gazing with intense eagerness on the appalling scene. In a

few seconds the severed head fell upon the scaffold; the headsman's

assistant, grasping the matted locks, held it aloft to the gazing crowd;

and Bartholdy exclaimed, with heartless indifference, "Come along,

Florian! 'tis all over, and capitally done! I would bet a louis that you

saw nothing, and yet your face looks as white as if it had left your

shoulders. Be more a man, Florian. If thus daunted at the sight of

another's execution, how would you face your own, if destined to mount

the scaffold?"

"Face my own!" exclaimed Florian, shuddering at the suggestion. "God

forbid! I shall take good care to avoid it."

"Say not so," rejoined Bartholdy; "no man can avoid his doom; and it may

be yours or mine to die upon the scaffold. _Avoid it_, indeed! I wish

from my soul that you had never uttered those unlucky words. How often

do the very evils we most carefully shun fall upon our devoted heads! My

mind has been long made up to avoid nothing; and, soon as I become my

own master, I will throw myself on the world, and grapple with it

boldly. _Avoid_ your destiny, indeed! Beware of using those words again;

for, trust me, Florian, they bode no good to you."

The timid Florian felt his blood freeze as he listened; but,

recollecting himself, he was about to express his perfect reliance upon

the integrity of his life and principles, when he shuddered with new

dismay as he recollected the judicial murder of Calas, and considered

the complexities of human and circumstantial evidence. In deep and

silent dejection, he walked homeward with his friend. He felt as if his

existence had been blighted by some sudden and dreadful calamity; and

even fancied that he saw his future fate rising before him in storm and

darkness, through which menacing images were indistinctly shadowed.

Bartholdy, meanwhile, appeared as much exhilarated as if returning from

a comedy, and amused himself with making sarcastic and ludicrous remarks

upon the saddened countenances of the returning spectators.

The lapse of several months gradually weakened the strong hold which the

execution, and the strange comments of Bartholdy, had laid upon the

imagination of Florian, but they tended to increase the timid indecision

of his character, and induced a disposition to endure, in uncomplaining

silence, many school annoyances, which more energy of character would

have easily repelled. An extraordinary incident, however, gave a new

turn to his situation. About six months after the execution, Bartholdy

suddenly disappeared from the seminary; and this unaccountable event, by

which Florian was the only sufferer, was neither explained nor even

alluded to by the reverend fathers. To the scholars, who in vain sought

an explanation of this mystery from the friend of Bartholdy, it was for

some weeks a subject of wondering conjecture, which soon, however,

subsided into indifference with all save Florian. He had lost his only,

and, as he firmly believed, his sincerely attached friend and companion;

and as this friendship had deprived him of the sympathy of every other

schoolfellow, he had now no alternative but to retire within himself,

and lean upon his own thoughts and resources. For some time he brooded

incessantly upon the strange disappearance of his friend. He recollected

that for several days preceding the event, the spirits of Bartholdy were

so obviously depressed as to create inquiries, to which his replies were

vague and unsatisfactory. Notwithstanding the guarded silence of the

reverend fathers, it was evident to Florian that his friend had not

absconded from the seminary, as not only his clothes and books, but even

his bed, had disappeared with him. One article only remained, which had

been left in the custody of Florian. It was a large clasp-knife, of

excellent workmanship and finish. The handle was of the purest ivory,

wrought in curious devices, and the long blade, which terminated in a

sharp point, was secured from closing by a powerful spring, thus serving

the double purpose of a knife and dagger. The owner of this remarkable

weapon had told Florian that it was precious to him, as the legacy of a

near relative, and requested him to take charge of it, from an

apprehension that, if discovered in his own possession, it would either

be stolen by the boys, or taken from him by the Jesuit fathers. "And

now," sighed Florian, as he gazed with painful recollections on the

knife, "it is too probably lost to him for ever. But if he is still in

being, I may yet see and restore to him his favourite knife; and that I

may be always ready to restore it, as well as in remembrance of the

owner, I will henceforth always carry it about me."

During the remainder of Florian's stay at the seminary, his thoughts

continually reverted to his lost friend, who had, he feared, from a

mysterious expression of the presiding Jesuit, met with some terrible

calamity. During confession, he had once expressed his grief for the

sudden deprivation of his friend, when, to his great surprise, the

venerable priest, placing his hand solemnly upon the fair and innocent

brow of Florian, exclaimed with fervent emphasis, "Thank God, my son,

that it has so happened!"

Florian often pondered upon these remarkable words, which, until some

years after his departure from school, he could never satisfactorily

interpret. For a long period he fondly cherished the memory of

Bartholdy, and this feeling was prolonged by the knife, which, from

habit, he continued to carry about him, even when the lapse of time had

reconciled him to the loss of his early friend, and his riper judgment

told him that that friend had unworthily imposed upon his credulity, and

that the consequences of their exclusive intimacy still exercised a

pernicious influence upon his character and his happiness.

About three years after the disappearance of Bartholdy, the guardians of

Florian, who had been an orphan from infancy, removed him from the

seminary, and placed him as a law-student at the University of D.; but

here again, although advantageously introduced and recommended, he found

himself a stranger, unheeded, and desolate. His timid and now invincible

reserve, which prevented all advances on his part towards a frank and

social communion with his fellow-students, chilled that disposition to

cultivate his acquaintance, which his graceful person and intelligent

physiognomy had excited; while his hesitating indecision, at every

trivial and commonplace incident, made him ridiculous to the few who had

been won, by his prepossessing exterior, to occasional intercourse.

Thus, amidst numbers of his own age and pursuit, and in the dense

population of a city, the timid Florian continued as deficient as a

child in all practical acquaintance with society. Without a single

friend or associate, he acquired the habits of a solitary recluse; and,

yielding supinely to what now appeared to him his destiny, he became

anxious, disconsolate, and misanthropic. Conscious, however, that in

France a sound and comprehensive knowledge of jurisprudence was a

frequent avenue to honourable civic appointments, and yet overlooking

his own incompetency to make any degree of legal knowledge available for

this purpose, he pursued his studies for some years with indefatigable

assiduity; and during the last year of his stay at D. his endeavours to

insure himself, by accumulated knowledge, an honourable support, were

stimulated by a growing attachment to the lovely daughter of a merchant,

through whose agency he drew occasional supplies of money from his

guardians.