Gae him strong drink until he wink,
That's sinking in despair;
And liquor gúid to fire his blúid,
That's prest wi' grief and care;--
Then let him boose and deep carouse,
Wi' bumpers flowing o'er;
'Till he forgets his fears and debts,
And minds his ills no more.
~109~~ DASHALL, during a stroll with his relation round the
neighbourhood of Covent Garden, learning that several of his friends had
formed a select party to dine at the Shakespear that day, sent in the
names of himself and Coz, and they were received by the social and
convivial assemblage with acclamation.
The Dinner-party comprised Sir Felix O'Grady, an Irish baronet just
imported from the province of Munster; the honorable Frederick
Fitzroy, a luminary in the constellation of Fashion; Colonel Mc. Can,
a distinguished Scotch Officer; an amateur Poet; a member of the
Corps Dramatique; and our old friends Sparkle and Mortimer, with the
augmentation of Dashall and Tallyho, as already mentioned.
The viands were excellent, and the wines of the first quality.
Conviviality was the order of the evening, and its whimsicalities were
commenced during the repast, by the player, who, taking up a goblet
of wine, and assuming the attitude of Macbeth in the banquet scene,
exclaimed--
“I drink
To the general joy of the whole table;--
May good digestion wait on appetite,
And health on both.”----
~110~~The bottle was now put into quick circulation; harmony and
hilarity prevailed; and the poet, availing himself of the moments of
inspiration, gave the following chant, _extempore_.--
Song.
Air. Here's to the maiden of bashful fifteen.
Here's to the land where fair Freedom is seen,
Old England,--her glory and trade, aye;--
Here's to the island of Erin so green,
And here's to Sir Felix O'Grady;
Let the toast pass,
Flinch not the glass
That warms like the kiss of your favorite lass.
Here's to the beaus and the belles of the day,
The pleasures of life who enjoy, sir;--
Here's to the leaders of fashion, so gay,
And here's to the dashing Fitzroy, sir.
Let the toast pass,
Flinch not the glass
That warms like the kiss of your favorite lass.
Here's to our sailors who plough the salt wave,
And never from battle have ran, sir;--
Here's to our soldiers who nobly behave,
And here's to brave Colonel Mc. Can, sir.
Let the toast pass,
Flinch not the glass
That warms like the kiss of your favorite lass.
Here's to the joys that our reason engage,
Where Truth shines our best benefactress;
Here's to the triumph of Learning,--the Stage,-
And here's to each actor and actress.
Let the toast pass,
Flinch not the glass
That warms like the kiss of your favorite lass.
Here's to the man with a head to discern,
And eke with a heart to bestow, sir,
Tom Dashall, well skill'd Life in London to learn;
And here's to the Squire Tallyho, sir.
Let the toast pass,
Flinch not the glass
That warms like the kiss of your favorite lass.
Here's to the friendship united and true,
That paces variety's round, sir;
To Sparkle and Mortimer fill then, anew,
And let us with pleasure abound, sir.
Let the toast pass,
Flinch not the glass
That warms like the kiss of your favorite lass.
This complimentary bag-a-telle was well received, and Sir Felix,
shaking the amateur cordially by the hand, observed, that amongst other
attainments before he left London, he meant to acquire the art of making
verses, when he should give the poet a Rowland for his Oliver!
The player having but recently returned to Town, after completing his
engagements with some of the Irish provincial theatres, proceeded to
amuse his auditory, the baronet excepted, with accounts of the manner of
posting in the sister kingdom.--
“Travelling,” said he, “in the province of Munster, having got into a
chaise, I was surprised to hear the driver knocking at each side of the
carriage.--“What are you doing?”--“A'n't I nailing your honor?”--“Why do
you nail me up? I don't wish to be nailed up.”--“Augh! would your honor
have the doors fly off the hinges?” When we came to the end of the
stage, I begged the man to unfasten the doors.--“Ogh! what would I be
taking out the nails for, to be racking the doors?”--“How shall I get
out then?”--“Can't your honor get out of the window like any other
jontleman?” I then began the operation; but having forced my head
and shoulders out, could get no farther, and called again to the
postillion.--“Augh! did any one ever see any one get out of a chay head
foremost? Can't your honor put out your feet first, like a Christian?”
Here the baronet manifested considerable impatience, and was about
to interrupt the narrator, when the latter requesting permission,
continued:
“Next day four horses were attached to the crazy vehicle;--one,
unfortunately, lost a shoe; and as I refused to go on until the
poor animal was shod, my two postillions commenced, in my hearing, a
colloquy.--“Paddy, where will I get a shoe, and no smith nigh
hand?”--“Why don't you see yon jontleman's horse in the field; can't you
go and unshoe him?”--“True for ye,” said Jem, “but that horse's shoe
will never fit him.” “Augh! you can but try it,” said Paddy. So the
gentleman's horse was actually unshod, and his shoe put upon the posting
hack; and fit or not fit, Paddy went off with it.
~112~~ “Same day, during a violent storm of wind and rain, 1 found that
two of the windows were broken, and two could not, by force or art of
man, be pulled up. I ventured to complain to Paddy of the inconvenience
I suffered from the storm pelting in my face. His consolation was,
“Augh! God bless your honour, and can't you get out and set behind the
carriage, and you'll not get a drop at all, I'll engage!”
The player having thus closed his narrative, and the laughter of the
company having subsided, the baronet very candidly admitted, that the
sister kingdom in many parts, was miserably deficient in the requisites
of travelling, and other conveniences to which the English were
accustomed. But in process of time (he continued) we shall get more
civilized. Nevertheless, we have still an advantage over you; we have
more hospitality, and more honesty. Nay, by the powers! but it is so, my
good friends. However much we unhappily may quarrel with each other, we
respect the stranger who comes to sojourn amongst us; and long would he
reside, even in the province of Munster, before a dirty spalpeen would
rob him of his great coat and umbrella, and be after doing that same
thing when he was at a friend's house too, from which they were taken,
along with nearly all the great coats, cloaks, shawls, pelisses, hats
and umbrellas, belonging to the company.”{1}
1 We are inclined to believe that Sir Felix alludes to the
fol-lowing instance of daring depredation.
Extraordinary Robbery. On Thursday night, whilst a large party of young
folks were assembled at the house of Mr. Gregory, in Hertford Street,
Fitzroy Square, to supper, a young man was let in by a servant, who said
he had brought a cloak for his young mistress, as the night was cold.
The servant left him in the hall, and went up stairs; when shortly
after, a second arrived with a hackney coach, and on his being
questioned by the servant, he said he brought the coach to take his
master and mistress home. The servant was not acquainted with the names
of half the company, and therefore credited what was told her. The two
strangers were suffered to stand at the stairs head, to listen to the
music and singing, with which they appeared highly delighted, and
also had their supper and plenty to drink. But while festive hilarity
prevailed above, the villains began to exercise their calling below, and
the supper table in a trice they unloaded of four silver table spoons,
a silver sauce-boat, knives and forks, &c. and from off the pegs and
banisters they stole eight top-coats, several cloaks, shawls, pelisses
and hats, besides a number of umbrellas, muffs, tippets, and other
articles, all of which they carried off in the coach which was in
waiting. To complete the farce, the watchman shut the coach door, and
wished “their honours” good night. The robbery was not discovered until
the company was breaking up. No trace of the thieves can be found.
~113~~ There was certainly somewhat of an _Irishism_ in the baronet's
remark.--Of eight great coats stolen, the thieves could not discriminate
who were the respective owners, and if it had been possible that they
could have discriminated, it is not likely that any regard for the laws
of hospitality would have induced them to make an exception of Sir Felix
O'Grady's property amidst the general depredation.
The company, although secretly amused by the baronet's remarks, condoled
with him on the loss he had sustained; and the player protesting that
in stating the facts of Irish posting, he had no intention of giving the
baronet the least offence, unanimity was restored, and the conviviality
of the evening proceeded without further interruption.
Sir Felix made Irish bulls, and gave Irish anecdotes; the amateur
occasionally gave a song or a stanza impromptu; the player spouted,
recited, and took off several of his brother performers, by exhibiting
their defects in close imitations,--
“Till tired at last wi' mony a farce,”
They sat them down--
and united with the remaining company in an attentive hearing to a
conversation which the honorable Frederick Fitzroy had just commenced
with his friend Dashall.--
“You have now,” said the honourable Frederick Fitzroy, addressing
himself to Dashall, “You have now become a retired, steady,
contemplative young man; a peripatetic philosopher; tired with the
scenes of ton, and deriving pleasure only from the investigation of
Real Life in London, accompanied in your wanderings, by your respectable
relative of Belville-Hall; and yet while you were one of us, you shone
like a star of the first magnitude, and participated in all the follies
of fashion with a zest of enjoyment that forbid the presage of satiety
or decline.”
“Neither,” answered Dashall, “have I now altogether relinquished those
pleasures, but by frequent repetition they become irksome; the mind is
thus relieved by opposite pursuits, and the line of observation which
I have latterly chosen has certainly afforded me much substantial
information and rational amusement.”
~114~~ “Some such pursuit I too must think of adopting,” replied
Fitzroy, “else I shall sink into the gulph of ennuit to the verge
of which I am fast approaching. Independent of the frequent ruinous
consequences of the gaming-table, I have taken a dislike to its
associates, and therefore abandoned their society; nor will you be
surprised at my having adopted this resolution, when I inform you, that
at my last sitting in one of these nefarious haunts of dissipation, I
was minus to the extent, in a few hours, of several thousand pounds,
the prize of unprincipled adventurers, of swindlers, black-legs, and
pigeon-fanciers!”{1}
1 A pigeon-fancier is one of those speculators at the
Gambling Houses, whose object it is to lie in wait for
inexperienced noviciates, and under the pretext of fair and
honorable dealing pluck their feathers; that is to say,
strip them bare of their property. Days and nights are
passed at the gaming-table. “I remember,” said the Earl
of G----, “spending three days and three nights in the
hazard room of a well-known house in St James's Street; the
shutters were closed, the curtains down, and we had candles
the whole time; even in the adjoining rooms we had candles,
that when our doors were opened to bring in refreshments, no
obtrusive gleam of day-light might remind us how the hours
had passed. How human nature supported the fatigue, I know
not. We scarcely allowed ourselves a moment's pause to take
the sustenance our bodies required. At last one of the
waiters, who had been in the room with us the whole time,
declared that he could hold out no longer, and that sleep he
must. With difficulty he obtained an hour's truce; the
moment he got out of the room he fell asleep, absolutely at
the very threshold of our door. By the rules of the house he
was entitled to a bonus on every transfer of property at the
hazard-table; and he made in the course of three days, up-
wards of Three hundred pounds! Sleep and avarice had
struggled to the utmost, but, with his vulgar habit, sleep
prevailed. We were wide awake. I never shall forget the
figure of one of my noble associates, who sat holding his
watch, his eager eyes fixed upon the minute-hand, whilst he
exclaimed continually, “This hour will never be over!” Then
he listened to discover whether his watch had stopped, then
cursed the lazy fellow for falling asleep, protesting, that
for his part, he never would again consent to such a waste
of time. The very instant the hour was ended, he ordered
“that dog” to be awakened, and to work we went. At this
sitting Thirty-five Thousand Pounds were lost and won. I was
very fortunate, for I lost a mere trifle--Ten Thousand
Pounds only!”
Dashall congratulated Fitzroy on his resolution, in having cut the
dangerous connexion, and expressed a hope that in due process of time he
would emancipate himself from the trammels of dissipation generally.
~115~~ “That,” rejoined Fitzroy, “is already in a considerable degree
effected.”
“In the higher and middle classes of society,” says a celebrated writer,
“it is a melancholy and distressing sight to observe, not unfrequently,
a man of a noble and ingenuous disposition, once feelingly alive to a
sense of honor and integrity, gradually sinking under the pressure of
his circumstances, making his excuses at first with a blush of conscious
shame, afraid to see the faces of his friends from whom he may have
borrowed money, reduced to the meanest tricks and subterfuges to delay
or avoid the payment of his just debts, till ultimately grown familiar
with falsehood, and at enmity with the world, he loses all the grace and
dignity of man.”--
“Such,” continued Fitzroy, “was the acmé of degradation to which I was
rapidly advancing, when an incident occurred to arrest the progress of
dissipation, and give a stimulus to more worthy pursuits.
“One morning having visited a certain nunnery in the precincts of
Pall-Mail, the Lady Abbess introduced me to a young noviciate, a
beautiful girl of sixteen.
“When we were left alone, she dropped on her knees, and in attitude
and voice of the most urgent supplication, implored me to save her from
infamy!”
“I am in your power,” she exclaimed, “but I feel confident that you
will not use it to my dishonor.--I am yet innocent;--restore me to my
parents,--pure and unsullied,--and the benediction of Heaven will reward
you!”--
She then told me a most lamentable tale of distress;--that her father
was in prison for a small debt; and that her mother, her brothers and
sisters, were starving at home.--Under these disastrous circumstances
she had sought service, and was inveighd into that of mother W. from
whence she had no hope of extrication, unless through my generous
assistance! She concluded her pathetic appeal, by observing, that if the
honorable Frederick Fitzroy had listened to the call of humanity, and
paid a debt of long standing, her father would not now be breaking
his heart in prison, her family famishing, nor herself subject to
destruction.
“And I am the Author of all!” I exclaimed, “I am the dis-honorable
Frederick Fitzroy, who in the vortex of dissipation, forgot the exercise
of common justice, and involved a worthy man and his suffering family in
misery! But I thank heaven, the injury is not irreparable!”
~116~ “I immediately explained to Mother W. the peculiarly
distressing situation of this poor girl, rescued her from meditated
perdition,--restored the husband to his family, with improved
circumstances,--and by a continuance of my support, I trust, in some
degree to atone for past transgression.”
This narrative excited much interest, and the approval, by the company,
of Fitzroy's munificence was expressive and unanimous.
The conviviality of the evening was renewed, and sustained until an
early hour, when the party broke up; having enjoyed “the feast of
reason, and the flow of soul,” with temperate hilarity.
Dashall, his Cousin, and Fitzroy, proceeding under the piazzas of
Covent Garden, the latter suggested an hour's amusement in the Cellars
underneath the Hotel, a proposition which was immediately acceded to by
his companions, and the trio descended into the lower regions.
The descent however bore not any resemblance to that of Telemachus into
Hell. A brilliant light irradiated their passage, and the grim shadows
of the infernal abode were, if present, without the ken of ocular
observation. In place of the palace of Pandemonium, our triumvirate
beheld the temple of Bacchus, where were assembled a number of Votaries,
sacrificing to the jolly Deity of the Ancients, in frequent and powerful
libations.
By some unaccountable means the daemon of discord, however, gained
admission and ascendancy.
A scene now took place which baffles every attempt at description.--The
row became general; decanters, glasses, and other fragile missiles,
were resorted to,--their fragments strewed the floor,--and the terrified
attendants hastened to require the interposition of the guardians of the
night, in restoring order and tranquillity.
Amidst the ravage and dissonance of war, our trio preserved a strict
neutrality, and before the arrival of the mediating powers, had regained
their position in the piazzas, where they waited the result of the
conflict.
Negotiations of peace having been unavailingly attempted, the refractory
combatants were taken into custody, after an obstinate resistance, and
conducted to “duress vile,” in the Watch-house.
~117~~ The tragi-comedy was dacently wound up by one of the performers,
a native of the Emerald Isle, who thinking it necessary that the
neighbourhood should have an intimation of the proceedings, announced
the hour of “past three,” with the accompaniment of “a bloody
MORNING!”{1}
The neutrals now proceeded to their respective homes, and our two
associates reached their domicile, without the occurrence of further
incident.
Next morning the indicative double rit-tat of the postman induced the
Squire from the breakfast-parlor to the hall. The servant had opened
the door, and received the letters; when an itinerant dealer in genuine
articles obtruded himself on the threshold, and doffing his castor after
the manner of a knowing one, enquired whether his honor was pleased to
be spoke with. Tallyho desired him to step in, and required to know
his business. The fellow with a significant wink, and many prelusive
apologies for the liberty he was about to take, stated that he had
accidentally come into possession of some contraband goods, chiefly
Hollands, Geneva, and India silk handkerchiefs, of prime and
indisputable excellence; which he could part with at unparalleled low
prices;--that he had already, in this private way, disposed of the
greatest portion, and that if his honor was inclined to become
a purchaser, he now had the opportunity of blending economy with
superlative excellence, in an almost incredible degree, and unequalled
in any part of the three kingdoms.
This flourish the Squire answered with becoming indignity; expressed his
surprise at the consummate assurance of any trickster who would dare
to offer him a contraband article, to the prejudice of His Majesty's
revenue; and ordered the servant to turn the “scoundrel” out of
doors.{2}
1 The above mentioned fracas took place a few weeks ago.--
The offenders “against the peace of our Sovereign Lord the
King,” were next day held before one of the Police
Magistrates, when it appearing that the row occurred under
the influence of ebriety, and that the landlord and the
watchmen were the only sufferers, a com-promise was
permitted, and the parties were discharged with a suitable
admonition.
2 “Contraband articles.” The Squire apparently was not
aware that the superlatively excellent Hollands, Geneva, and
India-hand-kerchiefs were, the one the manufacture of
Spital-fields, and the other the sophisticated balderdash
known by the name of Maidstone gin. It is a fact, altho' not
generally known, that at the different watering places every
season, the venders of silk handkerchiefs manufactured in
Spital-flelds, carry on a lucrative trade, by disposing of
them under the affectation of secrecy, as the genuine
produce of the Indian loom; and thus accommodating
themselves to the prejudice of their customers against our
native productions; get off in threefold proportion, the
number sold in London, and at a cent per cent greater
advantage!
With respect to alleged contraband SPIRITS, the deceit is
more successfully manoeuvred in Town than in the country.--
The facility of smuggling on the coast frequently supplies
the maritime visitant with a cheap and genuine beverage. In
Town the same opportunity does not occur, and on the
uninitiated in the cheats of London, the system of this
species of imposition is more frequently practised.
Professing to exhibit Real Life in London, we shall not
trouble our readers with an apology for the introduction of
the following appropriate incident--
Court ok Requests.--Holborn.--A case of rather a curious
nature, and which was characterised rather by the absurd
credulity of the parties than by its novelty, came before
the Commissioners on Thursday last. A man of the name of
O'Regan attended the Court, to show cause against a summons
which had been issued, calling upon him to pay a debt of
eighteen shillings, which was alleged to be due by him to a
person who stated his name to be Higgins. The parties were
both Irishmen, and exhibited a good deal of irritation as
well as confusion, in their stories. With some difficulty
the following facts were collected from their respective
statements;--On Tuesday week, about nine o'clock in the
evening, a man dressed in the costume of a sailor, and
wearing a large rough coat, similar to that commonly worn by
sea-faring men, in bad weather, entered the shop of O'Regan,
who is a dealer in salt fish, and other haberdashery,” as he
called it, in St. Giles's; and beckoning to the back part of
the room, and at the same time looking very significantly,
said, “May be you would not like a drop of the “real thing,”
to keep a merry Christmas with?” “What do you mane?” says
O'Regan. “Whiskey, to be sure,” says the man. “Faith, and
it's I that would, “replied O'Regan, “provided it was good
and chape.” “Och, by the piper of Kilrush,” says the man,
“there has not been a noter, claner, more completer drop of
_Putshean_ (whiskey illicitly distilled,) smuggled across
the _Herring-brook_ (the Irish Channel,) for many a long
day, and as for chapeness, you shall have it for an ould
song.” “You don't mane to say it's after being smuggled!”
says O'Regan. “Be my soul, but I do,” rejoined the man,
“it's I and Jack Corcoran, a friend of mine, brought it safe
and sound into the Thames last Sunday, in the shape of a
cargo of butter-firkins, from Cork.” “Could a body taste
it?” pursued O'Regan. With a couple of “why nots,” says the
man, “I've a blather full of it under my oxther (his arm-
pit,) if you'll lind us hould of a glass.” O'Regan said he
hadn't a glass handy, but he brought a cup, and the bladder
being produced, a fair taste was poured forth, which
O'Regan, having tippled it off, after collecting his breath,
swore was “the darling of a drop, it was the next kin to
aquafortis.”--“Aqua fifties you mane” says the man,
“aquafortis is a fool to it.” The next question was, as to
the price? “Och, by the powers,” says the honest smuggler,
“as you're a countryman and friend, you shall have it for
ten shillings a gallon, and less than that I would'nt give
it to my mother.” O'Regan thought this too much, and
proposed eight shillings a gallon; but, after much
chartering, he agreed to give nine shillings. The quantity
was next discussed. The man could not sell less than an
anker, four gallons. This was too much for O'Regan; but he
finally determined to get a friend to go partners, and
Higgins, who lodged in his house, was called down and also
indulged with a taste, which he likewise pronounced
“beautiful.” It was then arranged, with strong injunctions
of secrecy, that the tub should be brought the next night,
in a half-bushel sack, as if it were coals, and the hour of
nine was appointed. The smuggler then departed, but was true
to his appointment. He came at the hour fixed on the
Wednesday night, and in the disguise proposed. The commodity
was then carried into a little back parlor, with great
mystery, and deposited in a cupboard, and the doors being
all shut, he demanded his cash. “To be sure,” says Higgins;
“but, first and foremost (for he was more cautious than his
friend,) let us see if it is as good as the sample was?”
“Och, the devil burn me,” says the smuggler, “if I'd desave
you.” “Sure I know you would'nt,” replied Higgins, “only
just I'd like to wet my whistle with another drop, as you
may say.” “Touch my honor, touch my life,” says the
smuggler; and seizing the tub with some indignation, he
called for the poker, and then striking the barrel on each
side the bung-hole, out started the bung. He next called for
a table-spoon, and a cup, and ladling out about a noggin,
alias a quartern, handed it to O'Regan, who, having taken a
suck, by the twist of his eye and the smack of his lips,
evinced his satisfaction. Higgins finished it; and
exclaiming, “it's the dandy,” passed his hand in his
pocket, without further hesitation, and produced his
eighteen shillings. O'Regan did the same, and the cask being
safely locked in the cupboard, the smuggler was let out with
as much caution as he had been admitted. O'Regan and Higgins
then held a council upon the division of the spoil; and the
latter went up stairs to fetch down a two gallon jar, while
the former ran to the public-house to borrow a measure. They
soon met again in the parlor, and the tub was brought out.
They endeavoured at first to get the bung out in the same
manner which they had observed the smuggler pursue, but not
being equally acquainted with the subject, they could not
succeed. This difficulty, however, was soon obviated.
O'Regan obtained a large gimblet from a next door neighbour,
and a hole being bored in one of the ends, the liquor began
to flow very freely into the measure which was held to
receive it. Higgins remarked that it looked very muddy, and
on the pint being full, lifted it up to have another sup;
but he had no sooner taken a gulp, than, to the dismay of
O'Regan, he exclaimed, “Oh, Holy Paul, it's bilge!”
mentioning a very unsavoury liquid. “Brother,” says O'Regan,
and snatching the measure from his partner, took a mouthful
himself, which he as quickly spirted about the floor; and
then, in an agitated tone, cried out, “Sure enough Higgins,
it is bilge, and precious bail it is, as ever I drank.” They
now eyed each other for some time with mutual surprise, and
then sympathetically agreed that they must have been “done.”
It was still, however, a matter of surprise to them, how
their friend, the smuggler, could have taken good whiskey
(which that they had tasted from the bung-hole certainly
was,) from such nastiness. In order to solve their doubts,
they procured a pail; and, having emptied the cask, they
proceeded to break it to pieces, when, to their
astonishment, the mystery was unravelled, and their folly,
in being made the dupes of a pretended smuggler, made fully
manifest; for immediately under the bung-hole they found a
small tin box, capable of containing about half a pint,
which, being tightly tacked to one of the staves, kept the
pure liquor, a small quantity of which still remained, from
that which was of a very opposite character. It was no
laughing matter, and they were not, therefore, very merry on
the occasion; and still less so, when Higgins demanded of
O'Regan the repayment of his eighteen shillings; this
O'Regan refused, and a quarrel ensued, which after having
terminated in a regular “set to,” attended with painful
consequences to both; was followed by Higgins applying to
this Court for the summons which led to their appearance
before the Commissioners. The whole of the circum-stances,
with infinite trouble, having been thus unravelled; the
Commissioner declared his inability to afford Mr. Higgins
any re-dress. There was clearly no debt incurred; there was
a mutual compact, entered into for an illegal purpose, for
had the liquid which they had purchased been smuggled
spirits, they were liable to pay a large penalty for having
bought it. But putting aside all these considerations, it
was clear that Higgins had, with a proper degree of caution,
endeavoured to satisfy himself of the quality of the article
before he paid his money; and thereby showed that he was not
acting under a confidence in any guarantee on the part of
O'Regan; and consequently could have no claim on him. In
this view of the case, he should dismiss the summons without
costs. The parties then retired, amidst the laughter of the
by-standers; and Higgins, who was evidently much mortified,
swore he would take the worth of his eighteen shillings
“out of O'Regan's bones!”
This command was obeyed with alacrity, and as promptly acceded to by
the discomfited intruder, who, however, retrieved, without doubt, in
the credulity of others, the disappointment he had sustained by the
pertinacity of the Squire.
~120~~ The morning was unfavourable to pedestrian excursion. The library
was well stored with literature in choice variety. To this antidote of
ennui the Squire resorted, while Dashall wrote cards of invitation to a
few select friends, whom he knew would, _sans cerémonie_ honor his table
to take bachelor's fare with him in the evening.
“I pity the man in a rainy day,” says a writer, “who cannot
find amusement in reading.” This was not the case with the two
associates;--the intellectual treat afforded by the library was fully
enjoyed; and the moments glided on, imperceptibly, until verging on the
hour of dinner.
The friends to whom Dashall had sent round, one and all accepted his
invitation, and the remainder of the day was devoted to that
refined hilarity, of which his hospitable board was always the chief
characteristic.