(_Communicated by the late Capt. Herbert Reginald De Courcy._)
In some remote parts of England there exists an absurd notion, that
tenants are bound by some obsolete law to pay rent four times a year. As
I always entertained very opposite opinions on matters of Dr. and Cr. to
the mercantile portion of my fellow-creatures (having entered the army
at the early age of sixteen), I was preparing on the 25th of June, 18—,
to avail myself of the loveliest moonlight night that I ever witnessed,
to transport the few valuables that several years of half-pay had left
me, when I was presented with a short note from the sheriff of
Middlesex, in which the worthy functionary expressed a strong desire to
avail himself of any trifles I might possess to the amount of 48_l._
9_s._ 6_d._
This circumstance so utterly disgusted me with the world that I
determined to put an end to my existence, and having communicated my
intention to my wife, she not only concurred in the policy of my
determination, but expressed her willingness to assist me in its
perpetration. It was to the hands of that once-excellent woman that I
owe as respectable a death as ever terminated the chequered life of a
captain of Foot, for on the 18th of July, 18—, the following
announcement appeared in the _Times_ newspaper, under the head of
"Deaths:"—
"On the 16th ult., of decline, Captain Herbert Reginald de Courcy, of
the —— Regiment of Foot. His loss will not be easily supplied in the
_corps_, of which he was a distinguished and respected member. He served
a considerable time at Birmingham, where he was quartered for eight
months."
The next day I laid aside my wig, shaved off my moustachios, and removed
a false front tooth, which I had worn since infancy, and the
metamorphosis was so complete, that having one day imprudently ventured
into the park, a tailor, to whom I was indebted a considerable sum,
actually inquired of me the way to the Colosseum.
Mrs. Captain de Courcy shortly after obtained her pension as an
officer's widow, and for some years I enjoyed my ghosthood without a
single unpleasant interruption; but
"This world is but a fleeting show,
For man's delusion given;
There's nothing certain here below"
but death and quarter-day. About a month ago I discovered that Mrs.
Captain De Courcy had presumed upon my decease, and actually considered
herself in a state of widowhood, for ever since she has admitted to her
table a very uncomfortably good-looking fellow, of the name of Briggs.
What can I do? She defies me to interfere. _I_ am only her cousin from
Yorkshire. Should I say a word, the authorities at the War Office might
object that I was "returned killed" by a decline, and possibly be
mercenary enough to deprive me of my hard-earned pension. Again, I say,
what am I to do? As an officer and a gentleman, I ought to resent the
injury. I will—I swear it, come what may—I will throw off the mask. I
will kick Briggs, and uphold the honour of my profession, but not till
this day has passed, for this (I blush while I write it), this is
quarter-day, and I can't afford it.
[Illustration:
THE SPRING QUARTER.
]