BY FREDERICK HARDMAN, ESQ.

[_MAGA._ FEBRUARY 1848.]

"I believe I have the pleasure of seeing Mr ----," said a voice in

English, as I paused for a moment, my breakfast concluded, before the

door of a Palais Royal coffee-house, planning the disposal of my day.

I looked at the person who thus addressed me; and, although I pique

myself on rarely forgetting the face of an acquaintance, in this

instance my memory was completely at fault. But for his knowledge of

my name, I should have concluded my interlocutor mistaken as to my

identity. I was at least as much surprised at the perfectly good

English he spoke, as at having my acquaintance claimed by a person of

his profession and rank. He was a young man of about five-and-twenty,

attired in the handsome and well-fitting undress of a sergeant of

French light dragoons. His brown hair curled short and crisp from

under his smart green forage-cap, cavalierly placed upon one side of

his head; his clear blue eyes contrasted with the tawny colour of his

cheek, a tint for which it was evidently indebted to sun and weather;

his face was clean shaven, save and except small well-trimmed

mustaches and a chin-tuft. Altogether, he was as pretty a model of a

light cavalryman as I remember to have seen: square in the shoulder,

slender in the hip, well limbed, lithe and muscular. His carriage was

soldierly, without the exaggerated stiffness and swagger commonly

found amongst non-commissioned officers of dragoons; and altogether he

had a gentlemanly air which, I doubt not, would have made itself as

visible under the coarse drugget of a private soldier, as beneath the

garb of finer materials and more careful cut, which, in his capacity

of _maréchal des logis_, or sergeant, it was permitted him to wear.

But my admiration of this pretty model of a man-at-arms did not assist

me to recognise him, although, whilst gazing at him, and especially

when he slightly smiled at my visible embarrassment, his features

seemed not totally unfamiliar to me. I looked, I have no doubt,

considerably puzzled. The stranger came to my assistance.

"I see you do not remember me," he said. "Not above four years since

we met, if so much; but four years, an African sun, and a French

uniform, have made a change. I met you in Warwickshire, at George

Clinton's. I have seen you once or twice since; but I think the last

time we spoke was when cantering over Harleigh Downs. My name is Frank

Oakley."

I immediately recollected my man. About four summers previously,

whilst on a flying visit at a country house, I had formed a slight

acquaintance with Mr Frank Oakley, who had then just come of age, and

into possession--by the death of his father, which had occurred a

twelvemonth previously--of a few thousand pounds. The interest of this

sum, which would have been an agreeable and sufficient addition to a

subaltern's pay or curate's stipend, or which would have enabled a

struggling barrister to bide his briefs, was altogether insufficient

to supply the wants and caprices of an idler, especially such an idler

as Oakley. Master Francis was what young gentlemen fresh from school

or at college, sucking ensigns, precocious templars, _et id genus

omne_, are accustomed to call a "fast" man; the said fastness not

referring, as Johnson's dictionary teaches us it might do, to any

particular strength or firmness of character, but merely to the

singular rapidity with which such persons get through their money and

into debt. At the time I speak of, Oakley was going his fastest--that

is to say, spending the utmost amount of coin, for the least possible

value; indeed he could hardly have run madder riot with his moderate

patrimony, had he cast his sovereigns into bullets and made

pipe-lights of his bank-notes. But verily, he had his reward in the

open-mouthed admiration of three or four younkers of his own standing,

then assembled at Harleigh Hall, who looked up to him as something

between a hero and an oracle; and in the encouraging familiarity and

approval of one or two gentlemen of maturer age, who swore he was a

fine fellow, and proved they thought so by winning bets of him at

billiards, and by selling him horses that would have fetched "twice

the money at Tattersall's," with other bargains of an equally

advantageous description. Although we were four days in the same

house, meeting each evening at dinner, and occasionally riding and

walking in the same group, our acquaintance continued of the very

slightest description, and I took my departure without anything

approaching to intimacy having sprung up between us. Amongst the large

party of visitors at the Hall, were not wanting persons of tastes more

suited to my own than those of Oakley and his little knot of

flatterers and admirers; and he, on his part, was far too much taken

up with his newly-inherited fortune--which he evidently considered

inexhaustible--with planning amusements, and inhaling adulatory

incense, to pay attention to a man whom, as full fifteen years his

senior, he doubtless set down as an old fellow, a "slow coach," and

perhaps even as a member of that distinguished corporation known as

the "Fogie Club." So that when we met in London, during the ensuing

season, occasionally in the street and once or twice in a ballroom, a

slight bow or word of recognition was all that passed between us. I

could perceive, however, that Oakley still kept up the rapid pace at

which he had started, and lived, with a few hundreds a-year, as if he

had possessed as many thousands. The proximity of my quiet club to the

fashionable and expensive one into which he had obtained admission,

gave me many opportunities of observing his proceedings, and those

opportunities, in my capacity of a student of human nature, I did not

neglect. I had marked his career and ultimate fate in my mind, and was

curious to see my predictions verified, although I sincerely wished

they might not be, for they were anything but favourable to the

welfare of Oakley, who, in spite of his follies, had generous and

manly qualities. His prodigality was not of that purely egotistical

description most commonly found in spendthrifts of his class. He would

give a lavish alms to a whining beggar, as freely as he would throw

away a handful of gold on some folly of the moment or extravagant

debauch; and I had heard an old one-armed soldier, who sometimes held

his horse at the club door, utter blessings, when he had ridden out

of hearing, on his kind heart and open hand. These and similar little

traits that came under my notice, made me regret to see him going post

to perdition. That he was doing so, I could not for one moment doubt.

His extravagance knew no limit, and in six months he must have got

through as many years' income. Wherever pleasure was to be had, no

matter at what price, Oakley was to be seen.--Upon a revenue overrated

at five hundred a-year, he kept half a dozen horses, a cab, and a

strange nondescript vehicle, made after an eccentric design of his

own, and which everybody turned to look at, as he drove down

Piccadilly of an afternoon, on his way to the Park. He had his stall

at the opera, of course, and an elegant set of apartments in the most

expensive street in London, where he gave suppers and dinners of

extravagant delicacy to thirsty friends and greedy _danseuses_. The

former showed their gratitude for his good cheer by winning his money

at cards; the latter evinced their affection by carrying off the

costly nicknacks that strewed his rooms, and by taking his diamond

shirt-pins to fasten their shawls. In short, he regularly delivered

himself over to the harpies. In addition to these minor drafts upon

his exchequer, came others of a more serious nature. He played high,

and never refused a bet. Like many silly young men (and some silly old

ones), he had a blind veneration for rank, and held that a lord could

do no wrong. Even a baronetcy conferred a certain degree of

infallibility in his eyes. No amount of respectable affidavits would

have convinced him that if Lord Rufus Slam, who not unfrequently

condescended to win a cool fifty of him at écarté, did not turn the

king each time he dealt, it was only because he despised so hackneyed

a swindle, and had other ways of securing the game, equally nefarious

but less palpable. Neither would it have been possible to persuade him

that Sir Tantivy Martingale, "that prime fellow and thorough

sportsman," as Frank admiringly and confidingly styled him, was

capable of taking his bet upon a horse which he, the aforesaid Sir

Tantivy, had just made "safe to lose." In short, poor Oakley, who,

during his father's lifetime, had been little, if at all, in London,

thought himself excessively knowing and fully up to all the wiles and

snares of the metropolis. In reality he was exceedingly raw, was

victimised accordingly, and, at the end of a few months in town, found

himself minus a sum that brought reflection, I suspect, even to his

giddy head. I conjectured so, at least, when, at the end of the

season, I encountered him on a Boulogne steamer, looking fagged and

out of spirits. It was only a year since we had met at Harleigh Hall,

but that year had told upon him. Dissipation had driven the flush of

health from his cheek, and his youthful brow was already care-loaded.

I spoke to him, and made an attempt to converse; but he seemed sulky

and unwilling; and, on reaching Boulogne, I lost sight of him. After a

short tour, I went to winter at Paris, and there I frequently saw him.

He had forgotten, apparently, the annoyances that weighed on him when

he left London, and was again the gayest of the gay; living as if his

purse were bottomless, and his _Gibus_ the wishing cap of Fortunatus.

Nothing was too hot or too strong for him: rated a "fast man" in

England, in France he was held a _viveur enragé_. I did not much

admire the society he selected. I saw him alternately with the most

_roué_ and dissolute young Frenchmen of fashion, and with an English

set which, if it comprised men against whom nothing positively bad

could be proved, also included others whose reputation was more than

doubtful. At first he was chiefly with the French, whose language,

from long residence in the country when a boy, he spoke as one of

themselves; then he seemed to abandon them for the English clique, and

then he suddenly disappeared. I no longer saw him pacing the Boulevard

or riding in the Bois, or issuing at night from the Café Anglais,

flushed with wine and bent on riotous debauch. All his former

companions remained, pursuing their old amusements, frequenting the

same haunts; but he was no more with them. I could not understand his

leaving Paris just as the best season commenced, and at first I

supposed him ill. But week after week slipped by, and, no Oakley

appearing, I made up my mind he had departed, whither I knew not. I

was rather vexed at this, for I had proposed watching him to the end

of his career. Moreover, although we never spoke, and had almost left

off bowing, my idle habit of observing his proceedings had given me a

sort of interest in him. Once only, after his eclipse, did I fancy I

caught a glimpse of him. I was fond of long rambles in the low and

remote quarters of Paris, through those labyrinths of narrow streets,

filthy courts, and rickety houses, where the character and

peculiarities of the humbler classes of Parisians are best to be

studied. Returning, after dark, from an expedition of this kind, I was

surprised by a violent shower in a shabby street of the Faubourg St

Antoine, and took refuge under a doorway. Immediately opposite to me

was the wretched shop of a _traiteur_, in whose dingy window a cloudy

white bowl of mashed spinach, a plate of bouilli, dry as a deal plank,

and some triangular fragments of pear, stewed with cochineal and

exposed in a saucer, served as indications of the luxurious fare to be

obtained within. On one of the grimy shutters, whose scanty coat of

green paint the weather had converted into a sickly blue, was the

announcement, in yellow letters, that "_Fricot, Traiteur, donne à

Boire et à Manger_;" whilst upon the other the hieroglyphical

representation of a bottle and glass, flanked by the words "_Bon Vin

de Macon à 8 et à 10 S._" hinted intelligibly at the well-provided

state of Monsieur Fricot's cellar. It was one of those humble

eating-houses, abounding in the French capital, where a very hungry

man may stave off starvation for about the price of a tooth-pick at

the _Café_ or the _Trois Frères_, and where an exceedingly thirsty one

may get intoxicated upon potato brandy and essence of logwood for a

similar amount. It needs a three days' fast or a paviour's appetite to

induce entrance into such a place. I was gazing with some curiosity at

the windows of this poor tavern, through whose starred and patched

panes, crowded with bottles, and backed by a curtain of dirty muslin,

the waving of iron forks and spoons was dimly discernible by the light

of two flickering candles, when the door suddenly opened, a man came

out, heedless of the rain, which fell in torrents, and walked rapidly

away. It was but a second, and he was lost in the darkness of the

ill-lighted street, but in that second I thought I distinguished the

gait and features of Frank Oakley. But my view of him was very

indistinct, and I concluded myself misled by a resemblance. Since that

day nothing had occurred to remind me of him, and for a long time I

had entirely forgotten the good-hearted but reckless scamp, who for a

brief period had attracted my attention.

Frank Oakley, then, it was, who now stood before me under the arcades

of the Palais Royal. I held out my hand, with a word or two of apology

for my slowness in remembering him.

"No excuse, I beg," was his reply. "Not one in twenty of my former

acquaintances recognises the spendthrift dandy in the humble sergeant

of dragoons, and in the few who do, I observe, upon my approach, a

strong partiality for the opposite side of the street. They give

themselves unnecessary trouble, for I have no wish to intrude upon

them. I have been four months in Paris, and have constantly met former

intimates, but have never spoken to one of them. And I cannot say what

induced me to address you, with whom my acquaintance is so slight,

except that I should be very glad to have a talk about dear old

England, and if I am not mistaken you are a likely man to grant it

me."

"With pleasure, Mr Oakley," said I. "I am glad to see you, although I

confess myself surprised at your present profession. For an

Englishman, I should have thought our own service preferable to a

foreign one; and doubtless your friends would have got you a

commission--that is--if--"

I hesitated, and paused, for I felt that I was upon delicate ground,

getting run away with by my own foregone conclusions, and likely,

unintentionally, to wound my interlocutor's feelings. Oakley observed

my embarrassment, smiled, and completed my unfinished sentence.

"If I had not money left after my extravagance, to buy one for myself.

Well, I had not; and moreover--but you shall hear all about it, if you

care to learn the adventures of a scapegrace, now, I hope, reformed.

And, in return, you shall tell me if London is still in the same

place, and as wicked and pleasant as ever; and how it fares with old

George Clinton, and all the jolly Warwickshire lads. Have you an hour

to spare?"

"Half a dozen, if you like," I replied warmly, for I was greatly taken

with the frank manly tone of the young man, whom I had last known as a

conceited frivolous coxcomb. "Half a dozen. Shall we walk?"

"I will not tax your kindness so long," replied Oakley; "and as for

walking," he added, glancing from the silver stripe upon his sleeve,

indicative of his non-commissioned rank, to my suit of civilian

broadcloth, "although I am by no means ashamed of my position, that is

no reason for exposing you to the stare and wonder of your English

acquaintances, by parading in your company the public promenade. So,

if you have no objection, we will step up here. The place is

respectable; but unfrequented, I dare say, by any you know."

And without giving me time to protest my utter indifference to the

supercilious criticism referred to, he turned into a doorway, upon a

pane of glass above which was painted a ship in full sail, with the

words "Café Estaminet Hollandais." Ascending a flight or two of

stairs, we entered a suite of spacious apartments, furnished with

several billiard tables, with cue-racks, chairs, benches, and small

tables for the use of drinkers. Several of the windows, which looked

out upon the garden of the Palais Royal, were open, in the vain hope,

perhaps, of purifying the place from the inveterate odour of tobacco

remaining there from the previous night. Although it was not yet noon,

the billiard balls rattled vigorously upon more than one of the

tables, and a few early drinkers, chiefly foreigners, professional

billiard players and non-commissioned officers of the Paris garrison,

sipped their Strasburg beer or morning dram of brandy. The further end

of the long gallery, however, was unoccupied, and there Oakley drew a

couple of chairs to a window, called for refreshment as a pretext for

our presence, and seating himself opposite to me, assailed me with a

volley of questions concerning persons and things in England. To these

I replied as satisfactorily as I was able, and allowed the stream of

interrogation to run itself dry, before assuming, in my turn, the

character of questioner. At last, having in some degree appeased

Oakley's eager desire for information about the country whence he had

been so long absent, I intimated a curiosity concerning his own

adventures, and the circumstances that had made a soldier of him. He

at once took the hint, and, perceiving that I listened with friendly

attention and interest, gave me a detailed narrative of his life since

I had first made his acquaintance. He told his story with a spirit and

military conciseness that riveted my attention as much as the real

pungency of the incidents. Its first portion, relating to his London

career, informed me of little beyond what I already knew, or, at

least, had conjectured. It was the everyday tale of a heedless,

inexperienced youth, suddenly cast without guide or Mentor upon the

ocean of life, and striking in turn against all the shoals that

strew the perilous waters. He had been bubbled by gentlemanly

swindlers--none of your low, seedy rapscallions, but men of style

and fashion, even of family, but especially of _honour_, who

would have paraded and shot him, had he presumed to doubt their

word, but made no scruple of genteelly picking his pocket. He had

been duped by designing women, spunged upon by false friends,

pillaged by unprincipled tradesmen. He never thought of making a

calculation--except on a horse-race, and then he was generally

wrong,--or of looking at an account, or keeping one; but, when he

wanted money, and his banker wrote him word he had overdrawn, he just

sent his autograph to his stockbroker, prefixing the words, "Sell five

hundred, or a thousand," as the case might be. For some time these

laconic mandates were obeyed without remark, but at last, towards the

close of the London season, the broker, the highly respectable Mr

Cashup, of Change Alley, called upon his young client, whose father he

had known for many years, and ventured a gentle remonstrance on such

an alarming consumption of capital. Frank affected to laugh at the old

gentleman's caution, and told an excellent story that evening, after a

roaring supper, about the square-toed cit, the wise man of the East,

who made a pilgrimage to St James's, to preach a sermon on frugality.

Nevertheless, the prodigal was startled by the statements of the man

of business. He was unaware how deeply he had dipped into his

principal, and felt something like alarm upon discovering that he had

got through more than half his small fortune. This, in little more

than a year! For a moment he felt inclined to reform, abandon

dissipation, and apply to some profession. But the impulse was only

momentary. How could he, the gay Frank Oakley, the flower of fashion,

and admiration of the town (so at least he thought himself,) bend his

proud spirit to pore over parchments in a barrister's chambers, or to

smoke British Havanas, and spit over the bridge of a country town, as

ensign in a marching regiment? Was he to read himself blind at

college, to find himself a curate at thirty, with a hundred a-year,

and a breeding wife? Or was he to go to India, to get shot by Sikhs,

or carried off by a jungle fever? Forbid it, heaven! What would Slam

and Martingale, and Mademoiselle Entrechat, and all his fast and

fashionable acquaintances, male and female, say to such declension?

The thought was overwhelming, and thereupon Oakley resolved to give up

all idea of earning an honest living, to "drown care," "d-- the

consequences," and act up to the maxim he had frequently professed,

when the champagne corks were flying at his expense for the benefit of

a circle of admiring friends, of "a short life and a merry one." So he

stopped in London till the very close of the season, "keeping the game

alive," as he expressed it, to the last, and then started for the

Continent. An attempt to recruit his finances at Baden-Baden

terminated, as might be expected, in their further reduction, and at

last he found his way to Paris. Unfortunately for him, his ruinous

career in England had been so short, and his self-conceit, and great

opinion of his own knowingness, had made him so utterly reject the

advice and experience of the very few friends who cared a rush for his

welfare, that he was still in the state of a six-day-old puppy, and as

unable to take care of himself. More than half-ruined, he preserved

his illusions; still believed in the sincerity of fashionable

acquaintances, in the fidelity of histrionic mistresses, in the

disinterestedness of mankind in general, or at least of that portion

of it with which he habitually associated. The bird had left half its

feathers with the fowler, but was as willing as ever to run again

into the snare. And at Paris snares were plentiful, well-baited and

carefully covered up.

"I can scarcely define the society into which I got at Paris," said

Oakley, when he came to this part of his history. "It was of a motley

sort, gathered from all quarters, and, upon the whole, rather pleasant

than respectable. It consisted partly of persons I had known in

England, either Englishmen or dashing young Frenchmen of fortune,

whose acquaintance I had made during their visits to London a few

months previously. I had also several letters of introduction, some of

which gave me entrance into the best Parisian circles, but these I

generally neglected, preferring the gay fellows for whom I bore

commendatory scrawls from my London associates. But probably my best

recommendation was my pocket, still tolerably garnished, and the

recklessness with which I scattered my cash. I felt myself on the high

road to ruin, but my down-hill course had given such impetus to my

crazy vehicle, that I despaired of checking it, and shut my eyes to

the inevitable smash awaiting me at the bottom.

"It was not long in coming. Although educated in France, and

consequently speaking the language as a native, I always took more

kindly to my own countrymen than to Frenchmen, and gradually I

detached myself unconsciously from those with whom I had spent much

of my time when first in Paris. I exchanged for the worse, in making

my sole companions of a set of English scamps, who asked no better

than to assist at the plucking of such a pigeon as myself. At first

they treated me with tenderness, fearing to spoil their game by a

measure of wholesale plunder. They made much of me, frequently

favoured me with their company at dinner, occasionally forgot their

purses and borrowed from mine, forgetting repayment, and got up card

parties, at which, however, I was sometimes allowed to come off a

winner. But my gains were units and my losses tens. An imprudent

revelation accelerated the catastrophe. My chosen intimate was one

Harry Darvel, a tall pale man, several years older than myself, who

would have been good-looking, but for the unpleasant shifting

expression of his grey eyes, and for a certain cold rigidity of

feature, frequently seen in persons of the profession I afterwards

found he exercised. I first made his acquaintance at Baden, met him by

appointment at Paris, and he soon became my chief associate. I knew

little of him, except that he had a large acquaintance, lived in good

style, spent his money freely, and was one of the most amusing

companions I had ever had. By this time I began to see through

flattery, when it was not very adroitly administered, and to suspect

the real designs of some of the vultures that flocked about me Darvel

never flattered me; his manner was blunt, almost to roughness; he

occasionally gave me advice, and affected sincere friendship and

anxiety for my welfare. 'You are young in the world,' he would say to

me, 'you know a good deal for the time you have been in it, but I am

an old stager, and have been six seasons in Paris for your one. I

don't want to dry-nurse you, nor are you the man to let me, but two

heads are better than one, and you may sometimes be glad of a hint.

This is a queer town, and there are an infernal lot of swindlers

about.' I little dreamed that my kind adviser was one of the most

expert of the class he denounced, but reposed full trust in him, and,

by attending to his disinterested suggestions, gradually detached

myself from my few really respectable associates, and delivered myself

entirely into his hands, and those of his assistant Philistines. Upon

an unlucky day, when a letter of warning from my worthy old

stockbroker had revived former anxieties in my mind, I made Darvel my

confidant, and asked counsel of him to repair my broken fortunes. He

heard me without betraying surprise, said he would think the matter

over, and that something would assuredly turn up, talked vaguely of

advantageous appointments which he had interest in England to procure,

assured me of his sympathy and friendship, and bade me not despond,

but keep my heart up, for that I had plenty of time to turn in, and

meanwhile I must limit my expenses, and not be offended if he

occasionally gave me a friendly check when he saw me 'outrunning the

constable.' His tone and promises cheered me, and I again forgot my

critical position. Little did I dream that my misplaced confidence had

sealed my doom. If I had hitherto been spared, it was from no excess

of mercy, but because my real circumstances were unknown, my fortune

overrated, and a fear entertained of prematurely scaring the game by

too rapid an attack. It was now ascertained that the goose might be

slaughtered, without any sacrifice of golden eggs. Darvel now knew

exactly what I was worth,--barely two thousand pounds. That gone,

I should be a beggar. For two days he never lost sight of me,

accompanied me everywhere and kept me in a whirl of dissipation,

exerted to the utmost his amusing powers, which were very

considerable, and did all he could to raise my spirits. The third

morning he came to breakfast with me.

"'Dine at my rooms, to-day,' said he, as he sat puffing a Turkish

pipe, after making me laugh to exhaustion at a ridiculous adventure

that had befallen him the night before. 'Bachelor fare, you

know--brace of fowls and a gigot, a glass of that Chambertin you

so highly approve, and a little chicken hazard afterwards. Quite

quiet--shan't allow you to play high. We'll have a harmless,

respectable evening. I will ask Lowther and the Bully. Dine at seven,

to bed at twelve.'

"I readily accepted, and we strolled out to invite the other guests. A

few minutes' walk brought us to the domicile of Thomas Ringwood, Esq.,

known amongst his intimates as the Bully, a sobriquet he owed to

his gruff voice, blustering tone, and skill as a pugilist and

cudgel-player. He was member of a well-known and highly respectable

English family, who had done all in their power to keep him from

disgracing their name by his disreputable propensities. In dress and

manner he affected the plain bluff Englishman, wore a blue coat,

beaver gloves (or none at all), and a hat broad in the brim, spoke of

all foreigners with supreme contempt, and of himself as _honest_ Tom

Ringwood. This lip honesty and assumed bluntness were a standing joke

with those who knew his real character, but passed muster as perfectly

genuine with ingenious and newly imported youngsters like myself, who

took him for a wealthy and respectable English gentleman, the champion

of fair play, just as at a race, or fair, boobies take for a bona-fide

farmer the portly individual in brown tops, who so loudly expresses

his confidence in the chances of the thimble rig, and in the probity

of the talented individual who manoeuvres the 'little pea.'

"Ringwood was at his rooms, having 'half a round' with the Oxford

Chicken, a promising young bruiser who, having recently killed his

man in a prize-fight, had come over to Paris for change of air. There

was bottled English porter on the table, sand upon the floor to

prevent slipping, and the walls were profusely adorned with portraits

of well-known pugilists, sketches of steeple-chases, boxing-gloves,

masks, and singlesticks. In the comfortable embraces of an arm-chair

sat Archibald Lowther, honest Tom's particular ally, who, in every

respect, was the very opposite of his Achates. Lowther affected the

foreigner and dandy as much as Ringwood assumed the bluff and rustic

Briton; wore beard and mustaches, and brilliant waistcoats, owned

shirt-studs by the score and rings by the gross, lisped out his words

with the aid of a silver tooth-pick, and was never seen without a

smile of supreme amiability upon his dark, handsome countenance.

Fortunately, both these gentlemen were disengaged for the evening. The

day passed in lounging and billiard-playing, varied by luncheon and a

fair allowance of liquids, and at half-past seven we sat down to

dinner. It did not occur to me at the time that, although Darvel's

invitation had the appearance of an impromptu, he did not warn his

servant of expected guests, or return home till within an hour of

dinner-time. Nevertheless, all was in readiness; not the promised fowl

and leg of mutton, but an exquisite repast, redolent of spices and

truffles, with wines of every description. I was in high spirits, and

drank freely, mixing my liquor without scruple, and towards ten

o'clock I was much exhilarated, although not yet drunk, and still

tolerably cognisant of my actions. Then came coffee and liqueurs, and

whilst Darvel searched in an adjoining room for some particularly fine

cigars for my special smoking, Lowther cleared a table, and rummaged

in the drawers for cards and dice, whilst Ringwood called for lemons

and sugar, and compounded a fiery bowl of _Kirschwasser_ punch. It was

quite clear we were to have a night of it. Darvel's declaration that

he would have no high play in his rooms, and would turn every one out

at midnight, was replied to by me with a boisterous shout of laughter,

in which I was vociferously joined by Lowther, who, to all appearance,

was more than half tipsy. We sat down to play for moderate stakes;

fortune favoured me at the expense of Ringwood and Lowther. The former

looked sulky, the latter became peevishly noisy and excited, cursed

his luck, and insisted on increasing the stakes. Darvel strongly

objected; as winner, I held myself bound to oppose him, and the

majority carried the day. The stakes were doubled, quadrupled, and

at last became extravagantly high. Presently in came a couple

more 'friends,' in full evening costume, white-waistcoated and

gold-buttoned, patent leather, starch and buckram from heel to

eyebrow. They were on their way to a rout at the Marchioness of

Montepulciano's, but, seeing light through Darvel's windows, came up

'just to see what was going on.' With great difficulty they were

prevailed upon to take a cigar and a hand at cards, and to disappoint

the Marchioness. It was I who, inspired by deep potations and

unbounded good fellowship, urged and insisted upon their stopping. My

three friends did not seem nearly so cordial in their solicitations,

and subsequently, when I came to think over the night's proceedings,

I remembered a look of vexation exchanged between them, upon the

entrance of the uninvited vultures who thus intruded for their share

of the spoil. Doubtless, the worthy trio would rather have kept me to

themselves. They suppressed their discontent, however; externally all

was honeyed cordiality and good feeling; the Bully made perpetual

bowls of punch, and I quaffed the blazing alcohol till I could

scarcely distinguish the pips on the cards. But scenes like these have

been too often described for their details to have much interest.

Enough, that at six o'clock the following morning I threw myself upon

my bed, fevered, frantic, and a beggar. I had given orders upon my

London agent for the very last farthing I possessed.

"Lowther, to all appearance the least sober and worst player of the

party, had been chief winner. Ringwood had won a little; Madame

Montepulciano's friends did not make a bad night's work of it,

although they declared their gains trifling, but as there had been a

good deal of gold and some bank-notes upon the table, it was difficult

to say exactly how the thing had gone. Darvel, who had frequently made

attempts to stop the play--attempts frustrated by Lowther's drunken

violence, Ringwood's dogged sullenness, and my own mad eagerness--was

visibly a loser; but what mattered that, when his confederates won?

There is honour amongst thieves, and no doubt next day witnessed an

equitable division of the spoils.

"It was the second day after the debauch before I again saw any of my

kind friends. I spent the greater part of the intervening one in bed,

exhausted and utterly desponding, revolving in my mind my desperate

position. I had no heart to go out or see anybody. At last Darvel

called upon me, affected great sorrow for my losses, deplored my

obstinacy in playing high against his advice, and inveighed against

Lowther for his drunken persistence. Anxiety and previous excess

had rendered me really unwell; Darvel insisted on sending me his

physician, and left me with many expressions of kindness, and a

promise to call next day. All this feigned sympathy was not lavished

without an object; the gang had discovered I might still be of use to

them. In what way, I did not long remain ignorant. During a week or

more that I remained in the house, suffering from a sort of low

fever, Darvel came daily to sit with me, brought me newspapers, told

me the gossip of the hour, and not unfrequently threw out hints of

better times near at hand, when the blind goddess should again

smile upon me. At last I learned in what way her smiles were to be

purchased. I was convalescent; my doctor had paid his farewell visit,

and pocketed my last napoleon, when Darvel entered my room. After the

usual commonplace inquiries, he sat down by the fire, silent, and with

a gloomy countenance. I could not help noticing this, for I was

accustomed to see him cheerful and talkative upon his visits to me;

and I presently inquired if any thing had gone wrong.

"'Yes--no--nothing with me exactly, but for you. I am disappointed on

your account.'

"'On my account?'

"'Yes. I wrote to England some days ago, urging friends of mine in

high places to get you a snug berth, and to-day I have received

answers.'

"'Well?'

"'No, ill--cold comfort enough. Lots of promises, but with an

unmistakeable hint that many are to be served before me, and that

we must wait several months--which with those people means several

years--before there will be a chance of a good wind blowing your

way. I am infernally sorry for it.'

"'And I also,' I replied, mournfully. There was a short pause.

"'How are you off for the sinews of war?' said Darvel.

"'You may find some small change on the chimney-piece--my last money.'

"'The devil! This won't do. We must fill your exchequer somehow. You

must be taken care of, my boy.'

"'Easy to say,' I answered, 'but how? Unless you win me a lottery

prize, or show me a hidden treasure, my purse is likely to continue

empty.'

"'Pshaw! hidden treasure indeed! There are always treasures to be

found by clever seekers. Nothing without trouble.'

"'I should not grudge that.'

"'Perhaps not; but you young gentlemen are apt to be proud and

squeamish.'

"'Pshaw!' said I in my turn, 'you know I can't afford to be that.

Money I must have, no matter how.'

"I spoke thoughtlessly, and without weighing my words, but also

without evil meaning. I merely meant to express my willingness

to work for my living, in ways whose adoption I should have

scoffed at a fortnight previously. Darvel doubtless understood

me differently--thought dissipation and reckless extravagance

had blunted my sense of honour and honesty, and that I was ripe

for his purpose. After a minute or two's silence--

"'By the bye,' he said, 'are not you intimate with the young D----s,

sons of that rich old baronet Sir Marmaduke D----?'

"'Barely acquainted,' I replied, 'I have seen them once or twice, but

it is a long time back, and we should hardly speak if we met. They

are poor silly fellows, brought up by a fool of a mother, and by a

puritanical private tutor.'

"'They have broken loose from the apron-string then, for they arrived

here yesterday on their way to Italy, Greece, and the Lord knows

where. Why don't you call upon them. They are good to know. They have

swinging letters of credit on Paris and half the towns in Europe.'

"'I see no use in calling on them, nor any that their letters of

credit can be to me.'

"'Pshaw! who knows? They are to be a month here. It might lead to

something.'

"'To what?' I inquired indifferently. A gesture of impatience escaped

Darvel.

"'You certainly are dull to-day--slow of comprehension, as I may say.

Recollect what some play-writing man has said about the world being an

oyster for clever fellows to open. Now these D----s are just the sort

of natives it is pleasant to pick at, because their shells are lined

with pearls. Well, since you won't take a hint, I must speak plainly.

Dine to-day at the table-d'hôte of the _Hôtel W----_. The D----s are

staying there, and you are safe to fall in with them. Renew your

acquaintance, or strike up a fresh one, whichever you please. You are

a fellow of good address, and will have no difficulty in making

friends with two such Johnny Newcomes. Ply them with Burgundy, bring

them here or to my rooms, we will get Lowther and Ringwood, and it

shall be a hundred pounds in your pocket.'

"I must have been a fool indeed, had I doubted for another instant the

meaning and intentions of my respectable ally. As by touch of

enchanter's wand, the scales fell from my eyes; illusions vanished,

and I saw myself and my associates in the right colours, myself as a

miserable dupe, them as vile sharpers. So confounded was I by the

suddenness of the illumination, that for a moment I stood speechless

and motionless, gazing vacantly into the tempter's face. He took my

silence for acquiescence, and opened his lips to continue his base

hints and instructions. Roused into vehement action by the sound of

his odious voice, I grasped his collar, and seizing a horsewhip that

lay opportunely near, I lashed the miscreant round the room till my

arm could strike no longer, and till the inmates of the house, alarmed

by his outcries, assembled at the door of my apartment. Too infuriated

to notice them, I kicked the fellow out and remained alone, to

meditate at leisure upon my past folly and present embarrassments. The

former was irreparable, the latter were speedily augmented. I know

not what Darvel told the master of the house (I subsequently found he

had had an interview with him after his ejection from my room), but

two days later, the month being at an end, I received a heavy bill,

with an intimation that my apartments were let to another tenant, and

a request for my speedy departure. I was too proud to take notice of

this insolence, and too poor, under any circumstances, to continue in

so costly a lodging. Money I had none, and it took the sacrifice of my

personal effects, including even much of my wardrobe, to satisfy my

landlord's demand. I settled it, however, and removed, with a heavy

heart, a light portmanteau, and a hundred francs in my pocket, to a

wretched garret in a cheap faubourg.

"You will think, perhaps, that I acted rashly, and should have sought

temporary assistance from friends before proceeding to such

extremities. But the very few persons who might have been disposed

to help me, I had long since neglected for the society of the

well-dressed thieves by whom I had been so pitilessly fleeced. And had

it been otherwise, I knew not how to beg or borrow. My practice had

been in giving and lending. The first thing I did, when installed in

my _sixième_ at twenty francs a-month, was to write to my uncle in

England, informing him, without entering into details, of the knavery

of which I had been victim, expressing my penitence for past follies,

and my desire to atone them by a life of industry. I craved his

advice as to the course I should adopt, declared a preference for the

military profession, and entreated, as the greatest of favours, and

the only one I should ever ask of him, that he would procure me a

commission, either in the British service or Indian army. I got an

answer by return of post, and, before opening it, augured well from

such promptitude. Its contents bitterly disappointed me. My uncle's

agent informed me, by his employer's command, that Mr Oakley, of

Oakley Manor, was not disposed to take any notice of a nephew who had

disgraced him by extravagance and evil courses, and that any future

letters from me would be totally disregarded. I felt that I deserved

this; but yet I had hoped kinder words from my dead father's elder

brother. The trifling assistance I asked would hardly have been missed

out of his unencumbered income of ten thousand a-year. This was my

first advertisement of the wide difference that sometimes exists

between relatives and friends. Gradually I gathered experience, paid

for, in advance, at a heavy rate.

"Of course, I did not dream of renewing an application thus cruelly

repulsed, but resolved to rely on myself alone, and to find some

occupation, however humble, sufficient for my subsistence. I had no

idea, until I tried, of the immense difficulty of procuring such

occupation. Master of no trade or handicraft, I knew not which way to

turn, or what species of employment to seek. I was a good swordsman,

and once I had a vague notion of teaching fencing; but even had I

had the means to establish myself, the profession was already

over-stocked; and not a regiment of the Paris garrison but could turn

out a score of _prévôts_ to button me six times for my once. I could

ride, which qualified me for a postilion, and had sufficient knowledge

of billiards to aspire to the honourable post of a marker; but even to

such offices--could I have stooped to compete for them--I should have

been held ineligible without certificates of character. And to whom

was I to apply for these? To my gay acquaintances of the Café de

Paris? To the obsequious banker to whom I had come handsomely

accredited, and who had given me a sumptuous dinner in his hotel of

the Rue Bergère? To the noble and fashionable families to whom I had

brought letters of recommendation, and whom I had neglected after a

single visit? To which of these should I apply for a character as

groom? And how was I to exist without condescending to some such

menial office? To aught better, gentleman though I was, I had no

qualifications entitling me to aspire. It was a sharp but wholesome

lesson to my vanity and pride, to find myself, so soon as deprived of

my factitious advantage of inherited wealth, less able to provide for

my commonest wants than the fustian-coated mechanic and hob-nailed

labourer, whom I had been wont to splash with my carriage-wheel and

despise as an inferior race of beings. Bitter were my reflections,

great was my perplexity, during the month succeeding my sudden change

of fortune. I passed whole days lying upon the bed in my melancholy

lodging, or leaning out of the window, which looked over a dreary

range of roofs, ruminating my forlorn position, and endeavouring, but

in vain, to find a remedy. This was urgent; but no cudgelling of my

brain suggested one, and at last I saw myself on the brink of

destitution. A score of five-franc pieces had constituted my whole

fortune after satisfying my former extortionate landlord. These were

nearly gone, and I knew not how to obtain another shilling; for my kit

was reduced to linen and the most indispensable necessaries. I now

learned upon how little a man may live, and even thrive and be

healthy. During that month, I contrived to keep my expenses of food

and lodging within two francs a-day, making the whole month's

expenditure considerably less than I had commonly thrown away on an

epicurean breakfast or dinner. And I was all the better for the coarse

regimen to which I thus suddenly found myself reduced. Harassed in

mind though I was, my body felt the benefit of unusual abstinence from

deep potations, late hours, and sustained dissipation. The large

amount of foot-exercise I took during these few weeks, doubtless

contributed also to restore tone and vigour to a constitution which

my dissolute career, however mad and reckless, had not been long

enough seriously to impair. When weary of my lonesome attic, I would

start through the nearest barrier, avoiding the streets and districts

where I might encounter former acquaintances, and take long walks in

the environs of Paris, returning with an appetite that gave a relish

even to the tough and unsavoury viands of a cheap _traiteur_.

"It chanced, upon a certain day, when striding along the road to

Orleans, that I met a regiment of hussars changing their quarters

from that town to Paris. The morning sun shone brightly on their

accoutrements; the hoofs of their well-groomed horses rang upon the

frosty road; the men, closely wrapped in their warm pelisses, looked

cheerful, in good case, and in high spirits at the prospect of a

sojourn in the capital. I seated myself upon a gate to see them pass,

and could not avoid making a comparison between my position and that

of a private dragoon, which resulted considerably to my disadvantage.

I was not then so well aware as I have since become, of all the

hardships and disagreeables of a soldier's life; and it appeared to me

that these fellows, well clothed, well mounted, and with their daily

wants provided for, were perfect kings compared to a useless,

homeless, destitute being like myself. Their profession was an

honourable one; their regiment was their home; they had comrades and

friends; and their duty as soldiers properly done, none could reproach

or oppress them. The column marched by, and was succeeded by the

rear-guard, half-a-dozen smart, sunburned hussars, with carbine

on thigh; one of whom sang, in a mellow tenor voice, and with

considerable taste, the well-known soldier's song out of _La Dame

Blanche_. In their turn they disappeared behind a bend of the road;

but the spirited burthen of the ditty still reached my ears after

they were lost to my view--

'Ah, quel plaisir! ah, quel plaisir!

Ah, quel plaisir d'être soldat!'

I repeated to myself, as the last notes died in the distance, and

jumping off the gate, I turned my steps towards Paris, my mind

strongly inclining to the sabre and worsted lace.

"My half-formed resolution gathered strength from reflection, and on

reaching Paris I proceeded straight to the Champ de Mars. The

spectacle that there met my eyes was of a nature to encourage my

inclination to embrace a military career, even in the humble capacity

of a private trooper. It was a cavalry field-day, and a number of

squadrons manoeuvred in presence of several general officers and of

a brilliant staff, whilst soldiers of various corps,--dragoons,

lancers, cuirassiers and hussars, stood in groups watching the

evolutions of their comrades. Veterans from the neighbouring Hôtel

des Invalides--scarred and mutilated old warriors, who had shared

the triumphs and reverses of the gallant French armies from Valmy

to Waterloo--talked of their past campaigns and criticised the

movements of their successors in the ranks. Several of these parties

I approached within ear-shot, and overheard, with strong interest,

many a stirring reminiscence of those warlike days when the Corsican

firebrand set Europe in a flame, and spread his conquering legions

from Moscow to Andalusia. At last I came to a group of younger

soldiers, who discussed more recent if less glorious deeds of arms.

The words _Bédouins_, _razzia_, _Algérie_, recurred frequently in

their discourse. I started at the sounds. They reminded me of what I

had previously forgotten, that there was still a battle-field in the

world where danger might be encountered and distinction won. True, I

might have wished more civilised foes than the tawny denizens of the

desert, and a more humane system of warfare than that pursued by the

French in Africa. But my circumstances forbade over-nicety, and that

day I enlisted as volunteer in the light cavalry, merely stipulating

that I should be placed in a corps then serving in Africa.

"Should you care to hear, I will give you at a future time some

details of my military novitiate and African adventures. The former

was by no means easy, the latter had little to distinguish them from

those of thousands of my comrades. A foreign service is rarely an

agreeable refuge, and that of France is undoubtedly the very worst an

Englishman can enter. The old antipathy to England, weakened in the

breasts of French civilians, still exists to a great extent amongst

the military classes of the population. A traditionary feeling of

hatred and humiliation has been handed down from the days of our

Peninsular victories, and especially from that of the crowning triumph

at Waterloo,--the battle won by treachery, as many Frenchmen affirm,

and some positively believe. A French barrack-room, I can assure you,

is anything but a bed of roses to a British volunteer. I was better

off, however, than most of my countrymen would have been under similar

circumstances. Speaking the language like a native--better, indeed,

than the majority of those with whom I now found myself associated--I

escaped the mockery and annoyances which an English accent would

inevitably have perpetuated. My country was known, however; it was

moreover discovered that in birth and education I was superior to

those about me, and these circumstances were sufficient to draw upon

me envy and insult. Of the former I took no heed, the latter I

promptly and fiercely resented, feeling that to do so was the only

means of avoiding a long course of molestation. Two or three

duels, whence my skill with the foils brought me out unscathed and

with credit, made me respected in my regiment, and whilst thus

establishing my reputation for courage, I did my best to conciliate

the good-will of those amongst whom I was henceforward to live. To a

great extent I was successful. My quality of an Englishman gradually

ceased to give umbrage or invite aggression, and, if not forgotten,

was rarely referred to.

"I was found an apt recruit, and after far less than the usual amount

of drill I was dismissed to my duty in the ranks of my present

regiment, with which I returned from Africa at the beginning of this

winter, and am now in garrison at Paris. My steady attention to my

duties, knowledge of writing and accounts, and conduct in one or two

sharply-contested actions, obtained me promotion to the grades of

corporal and _fourrier_. For my last advancement, to the highest

non-commissioned rank, I am indebted to an affair that occurred a few

weeks before we left Africa. A small division, consisting of three

battalions and as many squadrons, including mine, moved from Oran and

its neighbourhood, for the purpose of a reconnaissance. After marching

for a whole day, we halted for the night near a lonely cistern of

water. The only living creature we saw was a wretched little Arab boy,

taking care of three lean oxen, who told us that, with the exception

of his parents, the whole tribe inhabiting that district had fled on

news of our approach, and were now far away. This sounded rather

suspicious, and all precautions were taken to guard against surprise.

Pickets and outposts were established, the bivouac fires blazed

cheerily up, rations were cooked and eaten, and, wrapped in our

cloaks, we sought repose after the day's fatigue. Tired though we

were, sleep was hard to obtain, especially for us cavalry men, by

reason of the uneasiness of our horses, which scarcely ceased for a

moment to neigh and kick and fight with each other. Troopers always

look upon this as a bad omen, and more than one old soldier, whilst

caressing and calming his restless charger, muttered a prediction of

danger at hand. For once, these military prophets were not mistaken.

About two hours after midnight, the bivouac was sunk in slumber, the

horses had become quieter, and the silence was rarely broken, save by

the warning cry of '_Sentinelle, garde à vous!_' when suddenly a few

dropping shots were heard, the drum of a picket rattled a loud alarm,

and a shout arose of '_Les Arabes!_' In an instant, the encampment, so

still before, swarmed like a hive of bees. Luckily we had all laid

down fully accoutred, with our weapons beside us, so that, as we

sprang to our feet, we found ourselves ready for action. The general,

who alone had a small tent, rushed half-dressed from under his

canvass. Our veteran colonel was on foot with the first, cool as on

parade, and breathing defiance. '_Chasseurs_, to your horses!' shouted

he in stentorian tones, hoarse from the smoke of many battles. At the

word we were in the saddle. On every side we heard wild and savage

shouts, and volleys of small arms, and the pickets, overpowered by

numbers, came scampering in, with heavy loss and in much confusion.

There was no moon, but by the starlight we saw large bodies of white

shadowy figures sweeping around and towards our encampment. Our

infantry had lain down in order, by companies and battalions,

according to a plan of defence previously formed, and now they stood

in three compact squares, representing the three points of a triangle;

whilst in the intervals the squadrons manoeuvred, and the

artillerymen watched opportunities to send the contents of their light

mountain-howitzers amongst the hostile masses. With whoop and wild

hurrah, and loud invocations of Allah and the Prophet, the Bedouin

hordes charged to the bayonet's point, but recoiled again before

well-directed volleys, leaving the ground in front of the squares

strewed with men and horses dead and dying. Then the artillery gave

them a round, and we cavalry dashed after them, pursuing and sabring

till compelled to retire before fresh and overwhelming masses. This

was repeated several times. There were many thousand Arabs collected

around us, chiefly horsemen; and had their discipline equalled their

daring, our position would have been perilous indeed. Undismayed by

their heavy loss, they returned again and again to the attack. At

last the general, impatient of the protracted combat, wheeled up the

wings of the squares, reserved the fire till the last moment, and

received the assailants with so stunning a discharge that they fled to

return no more. The cavalry of course followed them up, and our

colonel, Monsieur de Bellechasse, an old soldier of Napoleon's, ever

foremost where cut and thrust are passing, headed the squadron to

which I belong. Carried away by his impetuosity, and charging home the

flying Bedouins, he lost sight of prudence, and we soon found

ourselves surrounded by a raging host, who, perceiving how few we

were, stood at bay, and in their turn assumed the offensive. Seen in

the dim starlight, with their tawny faces, gleaming eyes, white

burnous, and furious gesticulations, the Arabs seemed a legion of

devils let loose for our destruction. Our ranks were disordered by the

pursuit, and we thus lost one of our chief advantages; for the

Bedouins, unable to resist the charge in line of disciplined cavalry,

are no despicable opponents in a hand-to-hand mêlée. And this the

combat soon became. Greatly outnumbered, we fought for our lives, and

of course fought our best. I found myself near the colonel, who was

assailed by two Arabs at one time. He defended himself like a lion,

but his opponents were strong and skilful, and years have impaired the

activity and vigour which procured him, a quarter of a century ago,

the reputation of one of the most efficient dragoons in Buonaparte's

armies. There were none to aid him, for all had their hands full, and

I myself was sharpset with a brawny Bedouin, who made excellent use of

his scimitar. At last I disabled him by a severe cut on the sword arm;

he gnashed his teeth with rage, turned his beautiful horse with

lightning swiftness, and fled from the fight before I had time to

complete my work. I was glad to be quit of him at any price, as I was

now able to strike in by the colonel's side. The old warrior was hard

put-to; a sabre cut had knocked off his shako, and inflicted a wound

on his high, bald forehead, slight indeed, but the blood from which,

trickling into his eyes, nearly blinded him, and he was fain to leave

go his reins to dash it away with his hand. The Arabs perceived their

advantage, and pressed him hard, when I charged one of them in the

flank, bringing the breast of my horse against the shoulder of his,

and cutting at the same time at his head. Man and beast rolled upon

the ground. M. de Bellechasse had scarcely time to observe from whom

the timely succour came, when I dashed in before him, and drew upon

myself the fury of his remaining foe. Just then, to my infinite

relief, I heard at a short distance a steady regular fire of musketry.

It was the infantry, advancing to our support. The Arabs heard it

also, and having had, for one day, a sufficient taste of French

lead, beat a precipitate retreat, scouring away like phantoms, and

disappearing in the gloom of the desert. I was triply recompensed for

my share in this action, by honourable mention in general orders, by

promotion to the rank of _maréchal des logis_--equivalent to troop

sergeant-major in the English service--and by the personal thanks of

my excellent old colonel, who shook me heartily by the hand, and swore

'_Mille millions de sabres!_' that after successfully guarding his

head against Russian, Prussian, and Austrian, Englishman and Spaniard,

he would have been ignominiously cut to pieces by a brace of

black-faced heathens, but for my timely interposition. Since then he

has shown me unvarying kindness, for which I am indebted chiefly to my

preservation of his life, but partly also to his high approval of the

summary manner in which I upset, by a blow of my sabre and bound of my

horse, one of his swarthy antagonists, reminding him, as he always

mentions when telling the story, of a similar feat of his own when

attacked on the Russian retreat by three gigantic Tartars from the

Ukraine. Since we have been in garrison here, he has frequently had me

at his house, nominally to assist in the arrangement of regimental

accounts and orders, but in reality to take opportunities of rendering

me small kindnesses; and latterly, I am inclined to think, a little

for the pleasure of talking to me of his old campaigns. He soon

discovered, what he previously had some inkling of, that my original

position in the world was superior to my present one; and I am not

without hopes, from hints he has let fall, that he will, at no very

distant day, procure my promotion to a cornetcy. These hopes and

alleviations enable me to support, with tolerable patience and

cheerfulness, the dull ordeal of a garrison life, seldom so pleasantly

varied as by my meeting with you. And now, that I have inflicted my

whole history upon you," added Oakley, with a smile, "I must bid you

good-by, for duty calls,--no longer, it is true, to action in the

field, but to the monotonous routine of barrack ordinances."

Thanking Oakley for his interesting narrative, I gave him my address,

and begged him to visit me. This he promised to do, and we parted.

Three days later he called upon me; I kept him to dine with me at my

lodgings, and had reason, during an evening of most agreeable

conversation, to be more than ever pleased with the tone of his mind

and tenor of his discourse. The unthinking rake of former days must

have learned and reflected much during his period of adversity and

soldiering, to convert himself into the intelligent, well-informed,

and unaffected man he had now become. One thing that struck me in him,

however, was an occasional absence of mind and proneness to reverie.

If there was a short pause in the conversation, his thoughts seemed

to wander far away; and at times an expression of perplexed

uneasiness, if not of care, came over his countenance. I had only to

address him, however, to dissipate these clouds, whencesoever they

came, and to recall his usual animated readiness of manner.

A fortnight now elapsed without my again seeing him. I was to return

to England in a couple of days, and was busy one evening writing

letters and making preparations for departure, when the bell at the

door of my apartment was hastily rung. I opened, and Oakley entered.

At first I hardly recognised him, for he was in plain clothes, which

had the effect of converting the smart sergeant into an exceedingly

handsome and gentlemanlike civilian. It struck me he looked paler than

usual, and grave, almost anxious. His first words were an apology for

his intrusion at so late an hour, which I cut short by an assurance of

my gladness to see him, and an inquiry if I could do anything for him

in England.

"When do you go?" said he.

"The day after to-morrow."

"I want nothing there," was his reply; "but before you go you can

render me a great service, if you will."

"If I can, be sure that I will."

"You may perhaps hesitate, when you hear what it is. I want you to be

my second in a duel."

"In a duel!" I repeated, greatly astonished, and not over-pleased at

the idea of being mixed up in some barrack-room quarrel. "In a duel!

and with whom?"

"With an officer of my regiment."

"Of your own rank, I presume?" said I, a little surprised at the sort

of assumption by which he called a sergeant an officer.

"In that case I need not have troubled you," he replied; "I could have

found a dozen seconds. But my antagonist is a commissioned officer--a

lieutenant of the same regiment with myself, although in a different

squadron."

"The devil he is!" I exclaimed. "That becomes a case for

court-martial."

"Undoubtedly," replied Oakley, "for me, but no harm can accrue to you.

I am your countryman; I come to you in plain clothes and ask you to be

my second in a duel. You consent; we go on the ground and meet another

man, apparently a civilian, of whose military quality or grade you are

in no way supposed cognisant. Duels occur daily in France, as you

know, and no notice is taken of them, even when fatal. I assure you

there is no danger for you."

"I was not thinking of myself. But if you escape unhurt from the

encounter, you will be shot for attempting the life of your superior."

Oakley shrugged his shoulders, as if to say, "I know that, but must

take my chance;" but made no other reply to my remark.

"I will tell you the circumstances," he said, "and you shall judge

for yourself if I can avoid the duel. When talking to you of my kind

old colonel, I did not tell you of his only daughter, Bertha de

Bellechasse, the most beautiful and fascinating of her sex. On our

return from Africa, the colonel, in his gratitude for the man who had

saved his life, presented me to his wife and child, pronouncing at the

same time an exaggerated encomium on my conduct. The ladies gave me

their hands to kiss, and had I shed half my blood in saving that of

the colonel, I should have been more than repaid by Bertha's gracious

smile, and by her warm expression of thanks to her father's preserver.

Madame de Bellechasse, I suspect, was about to give me her purse, but

was checked by a sign from her husband, who doubtless told them, after

my departure, as much as he knew of my history,--that I was a

foreigner and a gentleman, whom circumstances had driven to don the

coarse vest of the private dragoon. He may perhaps have added some of

the romantic stories current in the regiment when I first joined. I

had never been communicative concerning my past life, which I felt was

nothing to boast of; and regimental gossips had drawn upon their

invention for various strange tales about the Milord Anglais. When

I became domesticated in the corps, and my country was almost

forgotten, these fictitious histories ceased to be repeated, and fell

into oblivion; but some of them were revived for the benefit of the

colonel, when, after the action near Oran, he instituted inquiries

concerning me amongst his officers. It was not till some weeks later

that he asked and received from me a plain unvarnished account of my

very commonplace career. It is possible that the sort of mystery

previously attaching to me, combined with her father's glowing

eulogiums and her own gratitude for his preservation, worked upon

Bertha's ardent and susceptible imagination, prepossessing her in my

favour. For my part, I had been struck to the heart by the very first

glance from the dark eyes that sparkled like diamonds beneath their

lashes of sable silk; I had been captivated and fettered on the

instant, by the smile of enchanting sweetness that played round her

graceful lips. For a while I struggled steadfastly against the

passionate impulse; its indulgence I felt would be madness, and could

result but in misery. What folly for the penniless soldier, even

though time and her father's protection should convert him into an

equally penniless officer, to raise his eyes to the rich, the

beautiful, the brilliant daughter of the Count de Bellechasse!

Rejection, ridicule, contempt, could be the sole recompense of such

presumption. M. de Bellechasse, although an officer of Napoleon's, is

of old French nobility; his wealth is very great; and if he still

continues to serve, it is solely from enthusiastic love of his

profession. His daughter is a match for the first in the land. All

these and many more such arguments did I again and again repeat to

myself; but when had reason a chance against love? Repeatedly did I

vow to forget the fair vision that had crossed my path and troubled

my repose, or to think of her only as the phantom of a dream,

unsubstantial and unattainable. But the resolution was scarcely

formed, when I found myself dwelling on her perfections,

recapitulating the few gentle words she had addressed to me, recalling

her voice, her look, her gesture. One moment, in view of the precipice

on whose brink I stood, I swore to shun her perilous presence, and to

avert my eyes should I again find myself in it: not an hour afterwards

I eagerly seized a pretext that led me to her father's house, and

afforded me the possibility of another glimpse of my idol. Such

glimpses were not difficult to obtain. The colonel's partiality to me

daily increased, and when I went to him on regimental matters, and he

was alone with his wife and daughter, he would receive me in the

drawing-room in their presence, and waiving for the time the

difference of grade, would converse with me as affably as with an

equal, and make me repeat, for the amusement of the ladies, some of

our African skirmishes and adventures. Doubtless I should have

avoided these dangerous interviews, but how was it to be done without

an appearance of ingratitude and discourtesy? Truth to tell, I taxed

my invention but little for means of escaping them. I continued to see

Bertha, and at each interview my passion gathered strength. She

listened with marked attention to my anecdotes of our campaigns. These

I always addressed to her father or mother; but without looking at

her, I could feel her eyes fixed upon me with an expression of

interest, and, I at last ventured to think, of a more tender feeling.

About this time the colonel frequently kept me for hours together at

his house, arranging regimental papers and accounts, in a room upon

the ground floor, set apart for the purpose. Within this room is

another, used as a library; and thus it happened that one day, when

immersed in states and muster-rolls, I beheld the door open, and the

fairy form of Bertha upon the threshold. She appeared confused at

seeing me; I rose and bowed in silence as she passed through the

apartment, but I was taken too much by surprise to have full command

over myself, and doubtless my eyes said something of what my lips

would gladly have spoken, for before Bertha reached the outer door,

her cheeks were suffused with blushes. Again and again these meetings,

sweet as transient, occurred. But I will not weary you by dwelling

upon such passages.

"We abandoned ourselves to the charm of our attachment, sadly

embittered by its hopelessness. Since then, I have had almost daily

occupation at the colonel's house, and Bertha has found means to

afford me brief but frequent interviews. At these we discussed, but

ever in vain, the possibility of breaking our secret to M. de

Bellechasse. Frank and affable though he be, the colonel's pride of

birth is great, and we were well assured that the disclosure of our

correspondence would produce a terrific explosion of fury, consign

Bertha to the seclusion of a convent, and draw upon me his hatred and

revenge. This morning Bertha came into the room, upon the usual

pretext of seeking a book from the library, and the painful and

perplexing topic that has long and unceasingly occupied our thoughts

was again resumed. For the first time, she had heard her father state

his intention of recommending me in the strongest terms for a

commission. This let in a ray of hope upon our despondency; and we

resolved that, so soon as the epaulet was on my shoulder, I should

hazard a confession to the colonel. The prospect of a termination to

our cruel state of suspense, and the possibility, faint though it

indeed was, of a result favourable to our wishes, brought a joyful

gleam over Bertha's lovely features, which have lately grown pale with

anxiety. On my part, I did my utmost to inspire her with hopes I

myself scarce dared to entertain; when, as she stood beside me, her

hand clasped in mine, a smile of affection upon her countenance, the

door suddenly opened, and, before we had time to separate, Victor de

Berg, a lieutenant in my regiment, and a suitor of Bertha's, made a

step into the room. For an instant he stood like one thunderstruck,

and then, without uttering a word, abruptly turned upon his heel and

went out. The next minute the sound of his step in the court warned us

that he had left the house.

"Overwhelmed with terror and confusion to an extent that precluded

reflection, Bertha fled to her apartment, leaving me to deliberate on

the best course to adopt. My mind was presently made up. The only plan

was to seek Monsieur de Berg, inform him of our mutual attachment, and

appeal to his honour and generosity to preserve inviolate the secret

he had surprised. I hurried to his quarters, which were at no great

distance. He had already arrived there, and was pacing his apartment

in manifest agitation. Since our return from Africa, he had been a

declared admirer of Bertha's; by family and fortune he was an eligible

suitor, and her father favoured his pretensions, contingent, however,

upon his daughter's consent. Dismissing the servant who ushered me in,

he addressed me before I had time to enter upon the object of my

visit.

"'It is unnecessary,' he said, in a voice choked with passionate

emotion, as I was about to speak. 'I can guess all you would say. A

single instant informed me of the state of affairs; the half hour that

has elapsed since then, has sufficed to mark out my line of conduct.

Mr Oakley, I know that by birth and breeding you are above your

station. You have forgotten your present position; I will follow your

example so far as to waive our difference of military rank. As the

friend of Colonel de Bellechasse, I ought, perhaps, instantly to tell

him what I have this day learned; as his daughter's suitor, and the

son-in-law of his choice, I select another course. Your secret is safe

with me. To-night you shall receive a leave of absence, entitling you

to quit your uniform; and to-morrow we will meet in the wood of

Vincennes, not as officer and sergeant, but as private gentlemen, with

arms in our hands. The man whom Bertha de Bellechasse distinguishes by

her preference, cannot be unworthy of the proposal I now make to you.

Do you accept it?'

"I was astounded by the words. Accustomed to the iron rigidity of

military discipline, and to the broad gulf placed between officer and

soldier by the king's commission, the possibility of a duel between

M. de Berg and myself, although it would have been no unnatural

occurrence between rivals of equal rank, had never occurred to me. For

a moment I could not comprehend the singular and unheard-of proposal;

but a glance at my challenger's countenance, on which the passions

agitating him were plainly legible, solved the mystery of his motives.

He was a prey to jealous fury; and, moreover, the chivalrous

generosity of his character, combined, perhaps, with the fear of

irretrievably offending Bertha, prevented his pursuing the course most

persons, in his place, would have adopted, and revealing to Colonel de

Bellechasse his daughter's predilection for an inferior. By a duel he

hoped to rid himself of a favoured rival, whom he might replace in

Bertha's heart. It was not necessary she should know by whose hand I

had fallen. Such were the reasons that flashed across me, explaining

his strange offer of a personal encounter. Doubtless, I defined them

more clearly than he himself did. I believe he spoke and acted upon

the first vague impulse of a passionate nature, racked by jealousy,

and thirsting for revenge upon its cause. I saw at once, however, that

by accepting the duel I virtually secured his silence; and overjoyed

to preserve my secret, and shield Bertha from her father's wrath at so

cheap a price as the exposure of my life, I eagerly accepted M. de

Berg's proposal, thanking him warmly for his generosity in thus

repudiating the stern prejudices of military rank.

"After fixing hour and weapons, I left him, and then only did the

difficulty of finding a second occur to me. For obvious reasons I

could not ask the assistance of a comrade; and out of my regiment I

had not a single friend in Paris. In my difficulty I thought of you.

Our brief acquaintance scarcely warrants my request; but the kindness

you have already shown me encourages the hope that you will not refuse

me this service. M. de Berg is a man of strict honour, and you may

depend on your name and share in the affair remaining undivulged. Even

were they known, you, as a foreigner and civilian, would in no way be

compromised by the relative position of my opponent and myself, which

renders me liable, should the affair get wind, to a court-martial and

severe punishment."

Although opposed to duelling, except under circumstances of

extraordinary aggravation, I had been more than once unavoidably mixed

up in affairs of the kind; and the apprehension of unpleasant results

from accession to Oakley's request did not for an instant weigh with

me. I was greatly struck by the chivalrous conduct of M. de Berg, and

felt strong sympathy with Oakley, in the painful and most peculiar

position into which his early follies and unfortunate attachment had

brought him. Very brief deliberation was necessary to decide me to act

as his second. There was no time to lose, and I begged him to put me

at once in possession of the details of the affair, and to tell me

where I could find De Berg's second. I was not sorry to learn that it

was unnecessary for me to see him, and that all preliminaries were in

fact arranged. The duel not being one of those that the intervention

of friends may prevent, and Oakley having already fixed time and place

with his antagonist, my functions became limited to attending him on

the ground. It grew late, and Oakley left me for the night. In order

to preserve my incognito in the business--for I had no desire to

figure in newspaper paragraphs, or to be arraigned before a criminal

tribunal, even with certainty of acquittal--we agreed to meet at eight

o'clock the next morning, at a certain coffee-house, a considerable

distance from my lodgings, whence a cabriolet would convey us to the

place of rendezvous.

It was a fresh and beautiful spring morning, when Oakley and myself

descended from our hack vehicle, near the little village of St Mande,

and struck into the Bois de Vincennes. There had been rain during the

night, and the leaves and grass were heavy with water drops. The sky

was bright blue, and the sun shone brilliantly; but over the ground

and between the tree trunks floated a light mist, like the smoke of a

skirmish, growing thinner as it ascended, and dissipated before it

reached the topmost branches. At some distance within the wood, we

turned into a secluded glade, seated ourselves upon a fallen tree,

and waited. We had come faster than we expected, and were fully a

quarter of an hour before our time; but in less than five minutes we

heard the sound of steps and voices, soon succeeded by the appearance

of three gentlemen, one of whom, by his military gait and aspect, I

conjectured to be the officer of Chasseurs. In one of his companions

I recognised, after a brief puzzle of memory, a well-known and popular

_littérateur_; doubtless M. de Berg, from motives of delicacy, had not

chosen to ask the aid of a brother officer in his duel with a military

inferior. The black coat and grave aspect of the third stranger

sufficiently indicated the doctor, who, on reaching the ground,

separated himself from his companions and retired a little to one

side. The others bowed to Oakley and myself. M. de Berg's second

stepped forward, and I advanced to meet him. I was particularly

pleased with the appearance of Oakley's antagonist. He was a young man

of six or seven and twenty, of very dark complexion, with flashing

black eyes and a countenance expressive of daring resolution and a

fiery temperament. I should have taken him for an Italian, and I

afterwards learned that he was a native of Provence, born within

a stone's-throw of Italy. I never saw an ardent and enthusiastic

character more strongly indicated by physiognomy, than in the case of

this young officer; and I began to understand and explain to myself

the feelings that had impelled him to challenge the man preferred by

the mistress of his choice, even although that man's position was such

as, in the eyes of society, forbade the encounter.

More as a matter of duty than with expectation of success, I asked De

Berg's second if there were no chance of this meeting terminating

peaceably. He shook his head with a decided gesture.

"Impossible," he said. "I am ignorant of the cause of quarrel: I know

not even your principal's name. My friend, who may possibly be equally

unknown to you, has asked my assistance, pledging himself that the

duel is a just and honourable one, which cannot be avoided, but whose

motive he has reasons to conceal even from me. Satisfied with this

assurance, reposing implicit confidence in his word, I inquire no

further. Moreover, once upon the ground, it is difficult creditably to

arrange an affair of this kind."

I bowed without replying. The ground was measured, the pistols loaded,

the men placed. The toss-up of a five-franc piece gave the first fire

to M. de Berg. His bullet grazed Oakley's cheek, but so slightly as

scarcely to draw blood. Oakley fired in return. The officer staggered,

turned half round, and fell to the ground, the bone of his right leg

broken. His second, the doctor, and I, ran forward to his assistance.

As we did so, three soldiers, who it afterwards appeared had

witnessed, from their concealment amongst the trees, the whole of the

proceedings, emerged from the shelter of the foliage, and walked

across one end of the open space where the duel had taken place,

casting curious and astonished glances in our direction. They had not

yet disappeared, when De Berg, whom we had raised into a sitting

posture, caught sight of them. He started, and uttered an exclamation

of vexation, then looked at Oakley, who had left his ground and stood

near to the wounded man.

"Do you see that?" said De Berg, hurriedly, wincing as he spoke, under

the hands of the surgeon, who by this time had cut off boot and

trousers, and was manipulating the damaged limb.

The soldiers were now again lost to view in the thick wood. It

occurred to me that two of them wore dragoon uniforms.

Oakley bowed his head assentingly.

"You had better be off, and instantly," said the lieutenant. "Go to

England or Germany. You have leave for a week. I will procure you a

prolongation; but be off at once, and get away from Paris. Those

fellows have recognised us, and will not be prevented talking."

He spoke in broken sentences, and with visible effort, for the surgeon

was all the while poking and probing at the leg in a most

uncomfortable manner, and De Berg was pale from pain and loss of

blood. Oakley looked on with an expression of regret, and showed no

disposition to the hasty flight recommended him.

"Well, doctor," said the officer, with a painful smile, "my dancing is

spoilt, eh?"

"_Bagatelle!_" replied the man of lancets. "Clean fracture, neat

wound, well as ever in a month. Your blood's too hot, _mon

lieutenant_; you'll be all the better for losing a little of it."

"There, there," said De Berg kindly to Oakley, "no harm done, you

see--to me at least. I should be sorry that any ensued to you. Away

with you at once. Take him away, sir," he added to me; "he risks his

life by this delay."

I took Oakley's arm, and led him unresistingly away. He was deep in

thought, and scarcely replied to one or two observations I addressed

to him whilst walking out of the wood. Our cabriolet was waiting; we

got in, and took the road to Paris. "I hope you intend following M. de

Berg's advice," said I, "and leaving the country for a while, until

you are certain this affair does not become known. He evidently fears

its getting wind through those soldiers."

"And he is right," said Oakley. "Two of them are of my squadron, and

of those two, one is a bad character whom I have frequently had to

punish. He will assuredly not lose this opportunity of revenge."

"Then you must be off at once to England. My passport is already

countersigned, and you can have it. There is not much similarity in

our age and appearance, but that will never be noticed."

"A thousand thanks. But I think I shall remain in Paris."

"And be brought to a court-martial? To what punishment are you

liable?"

"Death, according to the letter of the law. The French articles of war

are none of the mildest. But, under the circumstances, I daresay I

should get off with a few years' imprisonment, followed, perhaps, by

serving in a condemned regiment."

"A pleasant alternative, indeed," said I.

"I am no way anxious to incur it," replied Oakley; "but, in fact, I am

as safe in Paris as anywhere, at least for a day or two; and possibly

M. de Berg may find means of securing the silence of the witnesses. At

any rate, it will be time enough to-morrow or the next day to make a

run of it. I cannot go upon the instant. There is one person I must

see or communicate with before I leave."

I guessed whom he meant, and saw, from his manner, he was resolved to

remain, so used no farther arguments to dissuade him. Before entering

Paris, we dismissed our vehicle and separated; he betook himself to a

small retired lodging, where he had taken up his quarters since the

previous evening, and I went home to resume my preparations for

departure. I remained in-doors till after dinner, and then repaired to

a well-known coffee-house, frequented chiefly by military men. As I

had feared, the strange duel between Victor de Berg and a sergeant of

his regiment was already the talk of the town. It had been immediately

reported by the soldiers who had seen it; M. de Berg was under close

arrest, and the police were diligently seeking his antagonist. I left

the café, jumped into a cabriolet, and made all speed to Oakley's

lodging. He was out. I went again, as late as eleven o'clock, but

still he was absent; and I was obliged to content myself with leaving

a note, containing a word of caution and advice, which I prudently

abstained from signing. I then went home and to bed, not a little

uneasy about him. The next morning I breakfasted at the coffee-house,

in order to get the news; and the first thing I heard was intelligence

of Oakley's capture. He had been taken the previous evening, in the

neighbourhood of the colonel's house, around which he doubtless

hovered in hopes to obtain sight or speech of Bertha.

Few courts-martial ever excited a stronger interest in the French

military world than those held upon Lieutenant Victor de Berg and the

_maréchal des logis_ Francis Oakley. The case was one almost

unparalleled in the annals of military offences. A duel between an

officer and a sergeant was a thing previously unheard of; and the

mystery in which its causes were enveloped aggravated the universal

curiosity and excitement. The offenders resolutely refused to throw

light upon the subject; it had been vainly endeavoured to ascertain

their seconds; the surgeon who attended on the ground had been sought

for equally in vain; after placing the first dressings he had

disappeared, and another had been summoned to the sufferer's bedside.

The wound proved of little importance, and, with the assistance of

crutches, De Berg was soon able to get out. Upon their trials, he and

Oakley persisted in the same system of defence. When off duty, they

said, they had met in society, and had had a dispute on a subject

unconnected with the service; the result had been an agreement to

settle their difference with pistols. Oakley refused to state from

whom the challenge proceeded; but Lieutenant de Berg proclaimed

himself the aggressor, and, aware that the sentence would weigh far

more heavily on Oakley than on himself, generously assumed a large

share of blame. As to the cause of quarrel, names of the seconds, and

all other particulars, both culprits maintained a determined silence,

which no endeavours of friends or judges could induce them to break.

Colonel de Bellechasse and various other officers visited Oakley in

his prison, and did their utmost to penetrate the mystery. Their high

opinion both of him and De Berg, convinced them there was something

very extraordinary and unusual at the bottom of the business, and that

its disclosure would tell favourably for the prisoners. But nothing

could be got out of the obstinate duellists, who called no witnesses,

except to character. Of these a host attended, for both Oakley and De

Berg; and nothing could be stronger than the laudatory testimonials

given them by their superiors and comrades. These, doubtless, had

weighed with the court, for its sentence was considered very lenient.

Oakley was condemned to five years' imprisonment, for attempting the

life of his officer; De Berg was reprimanded for his forgetfulness of

discipline, in provoking or consenting to a personal encounter with a

subordinate, was removed from his regiment and placed in non-activity,

which, under the circumstances, was equivalent to dismissal from the

service, less the disgrace.

I remained in Paris till the sentence of the court was known. Although

by no means desirous to be brought forward in the business, I was

willing to waive my repugnance, if by so doing I could benefit Oakley.

With some difficulty I obtained access to him, begged him to prescribe

a course for my adoption, and frankly to tell me if my evidence could

be of service. He assured me it could not; there was no question of

the fairness of the duel, and the sole crime was in the breach of

military discipline. This crime my testimony could in no way palliate.

He requested me to see M. de Berg, and to tell him that, to avoid the

possibility of the cause of the duel becoming known, he should refuse

to answer questions, plead guilty to the charge, and state, as sole

extenuation, that the quarrel occurred off duty, and had no connection

with military matters. This commission I duly executed. Another which

he intrusted to me I found greater difficulty in performing. It was to

procure information concerning Bertha de Bellechasse. After some

unsuccessful attempts, I at last ascertained that she had been for

some days confined to her bed by indisposition. This was sad news for

Oakley, and I was loth to convey them to him, but I had promised him

the exact truth. Fortunately I was able to tell him at the same time

that the young lady's illness was not of a dangerous character,

although the species of nervous languor which had suddenly and

unaccountably seized her, caused great alarm to her parents, and

especially to the colonel, who idolised his only child. Oakley was

sadly depressed on learning the effect upon Bertha of his imprisonment

and dangerous position, and made me promise to keep him informed of

the variations in her state of health. This I did, but the bulletins

were not of a very satisfactory nature, and in Oakley's pale and

haggard countenance upon the day of trial, attributed by the

spectators to uneasiness about his own fate, I read the painful and

wearing anxiety the illness of his mistress occasioned him.

The sentence was no sooner published, than every effort was made to

procure Oakley's pardon, or, failing that, a commutation of his

punishment. Colonel de Bellechasse used all the interest he could

command; Monsieur de Berg set his friends to work; and I, on my part,

did everything in my power to obtain mercy for the unfortunate young

man. All our endeavours were fruitless. The minister of war refused to

listen to the applications by which he was besieged. In a military

view, the crime was flagrant, subversive of discipline, and especially

dangerous as a precedent in an army where promotion from the ranks

continually placed between men, originally from the same class of

society and long comrades and equals, the purely conventional barrier

of the epaulet. The court-martial, taking into consideration the

peculiar character of the offence, had avoided the infliction of an

ignominious punishment. Oakley was not sentenced to the _boulet_, or

to be herded with common malefactors; his doom was to simple

imprisonment. And that doom the authorities refused to mitigate.

Some days had elapsed since Oakley's condemnation. Returning weary and

dispirited from a final attempt to interest an influential personage

in his behalf, I was startled by a smart tap upon the shoulder, and

looking round, beheld the shrewd, good-humoured countenance of Mr

Anthony Scrivington, a worthy man and excellent lawyer, who had long

had entire charge of my temporal affairs. Upon this occasion, however,

I felt small gratification at sight of him, for I had a lawsuit

pending, on account of which I well knew I ought to have been in

England a month previously, and should have been but for this affair

of Oakley's, which had interested and occupied me to the exclusion of

my personal concerns. My solicitor's unexpected appearance made me

apprehend serious detriment from my neglect. He read my alarm, upon my

countenance.

"Ah!" said he, "conscience pricks you, I see. You know I have been

expecting you these six weeks. No harm done, however; we shall win the

day, not a doubt of it."

"Then you are not come about my business?"

"Not the least, although I shall take you back with me, now I have

found you. A very different affair brings me over. By the by, you may

perhaps help me. You know all Paris. I am come to look for an

Englishman."

"You need not look long," said I, glancing at a party of unmistakable

Britons, who stood talking broad Cockney on the Boulevard.

"Ay, but not _any_ Englishman. I want one in particular, the heir to a

pretty estate of eight or ten thousand a-year. He was last heard of in

Paris three years ago, and since then all trace of him is lost. 'Tis

an odd affair enough. No one could have expected his coming to the

estate. A couple of years since, there were two young healthy men in

his way. Both have died off,--and he is the owner of Oakley Manor."

"Of what?" I exclaimed, in a tone of voice that made Scrivington

stagger back, and for a moment drew the eyes of the whole street upon

us. "What did you say?"

"Oakley Manor," stammered the alarmed attorney, settling his

well-brushed hat, which had almost fallen from his head with the start

he had given. "Old Valentine Oakley died the other day, and his nephew

Francis comes into the estate. But what on earth is the matter with

you?"

For sole reply I grasped his arm, and dragged him into my house, close

to which we had arrived. There, five minutes cleared up everything,

and convinced Scrivington and myself that the man he sought now

languished, a condemned criminal, in a French military prison.

It is unnecessary to dwell upon what all will conjecture; superfluous

to detail the active steps that were at once taken in Oakley's behalf,

with very different success, now that the unknown sergeant had

suddenly assumed the character of an English gentleman of honourable

name and ample fortune. Persons of great influence and diplomatic

weight, who before had refused to espouse the cause of an obscure

adventurer in a foreign service, suffered themselves to be prevailed

upon, and interceded efficaciously for the master of Oakley Manor. It

was even said that a letter was written on the subject by an English

general of high distinction to an old opponent in arms. Be that as it

may, all difficulties were at length overcome, and Oakley received his

free pardon and discharge from the French service. And that equal

measure of clemency might be shown, De Berg, upon the same day, was

allowed to resume his place in his regiment.

I would tell how the news of her lover's pardon proved more potent

than all the efforts of the faculty to bring back joy to Bertha's

heart and the roses to her cheek; how Colonel Count de Bellechasse, on

being informed of the attachment between his daughter and Oakley, and

of the real cause of the duel, at first stormed and was furious, but

gradually allowed himself to be mollified, and finally gave his

consent to their union; how De Berg exchanged into a regiment serving

in Africa, and has since gained laurels and high rank. But I have no

time to expatiate upon any of these interesting matters, for I leave

town to-morrow morning for Oakley Manor, to pay my annual visit to MY

ENGLISH ACQUAINTANCE.