"Wait a while now; we'll not go in to Father Malachi, 'till we've put

Giles to bed."

We, accordingly, lifted him from off the car, and assisted him into the

house, and following Finucane down a narrow passage, at last reached a

most comfortable little chamber, with a neat bed; here we placed him,

while the doctor gave some directions to a bare-headed, red-legged

hussey, without shoes or stockings, and himself proceeded to examine the

wound, which was a more serious one than it at first appeared.

After half an hour thus occupied, during which time, roars of merriment

and hearty peals of laughter burst upon us every time the door opened,

from a distant part of the house, where his reverence was entertaining

his friends, and which, as often as they were heard by the doctor seemed

to produce in him sensations not unlike those that afflicted the "wedding

guest" in the "Ancient Mariner," when he heard the "loud bassoon," and as

certainly imparted an equally longing desire to be a partaker in the

mirth. We arranged every thing satisfactorily for Mr. Beamish's comfort,

and with a large basin of vinegar and water, to keep his knee cool, and a

strong tumbler of hot punch, to keep his heart warm--homeopathic medicine

is not half so new as Dr. Hahnneman would make us believe--we left Mr.

Beamish to his own meditations, and doubtless regrets that he did not get

"the saw-handled one, he was used to," while we proceeded to make our

bows to Father Malachi Brennan.

But, as I have no intention to treat the good priest with ingratitude, I

shall not present him to my readers at the tail of a chapter.

CHAPTER VI.

THE PRIEST'S SUPPER--FATHER MALACHI AND THE COADJUTOR

--MAJOR JONES AND THE ABBE

At the conclusion of our last chapter we left our quondam antagonist,

Mr. Beamish, stretched at full length upon a bed practising homeopathy

by administering hot punch to her fever, while we followed our chaperon,

Doctor Finucane, into the presence of the Reverend Father Brennan.

The company into which we now, without any ceremony on our parts,

introduced ourselves, consisted of from five and twenty to thirty

persons, seated around a large oak table, plentifully provided with

materials for drinking, and cups, goblets, and glasses of every shape and

form. The moment we entered, the doctor stepped forward, and, touching

Father Malachi on the shoulder,--for so I rightly guessed him to be,

--presented himself to his relative, by whom he was welcomed with every

demonstration of joy. While their recognitions were exchanged, and while

the doctor explained the reasons of our visit, I was enabled, undisturbed

and unnoticed, to take a brief survey of the party.

Father Malachi Brennan, P.P. of Carrigaholt, was what I had often

pictured to myself as the beau ideal of his caste; his figure was short,

fleshy, and enormously muscular, and displayed proportions which wanted

but height to constitute a perfect Hercules; his legs so thick in the

calf, so taper in the ancle, looked like nothing I know, except perhaps,

the metal balustrades of Carlisle--bridge; his face was large and rosy,

and the general expression, a mixture of unbounded good humour and

inexhaustible drollery, to which the restless activity of his black and

arched eye--brows greatly contributed; and his mouth, were it not for a

character of sensuality and voluptuousness about the nether lip, had been

actually handsome; his head was bald, except a narrow circle close above

the ears, which was marked by a ring of curly dark hair, sadly

insufficient however, to conceal a development behind, that, if there be

truth in phrenology, bodes but little happiness to the disciples of Miss

Martineau.

Add to these external signs a voice rich, fluent, and racy, with the

mellow "doric" of his country, and you have some faint resemblance of one

"every inch a priest." The very antipodes to the 'bonhomie' of this

figure, confronted him as croupier at the foot of the table. This,

as I afterwards learned, was no less a person than Mister Donovan, the

coadjutor or "curate;" he was a tall, spare, ungainly looking man of

about five and thirty, with a pale, ascetic countenance, the only

readable expression of which vibrated between low suspicion and intense

vulgarity: over his low, projecting forehead hung down a mass of straight

red hair; indeed--for nature is not a politician--it almost approached an

orange hue. This was cut close to the head all around, and displayed in

their full proportions a pair of enormous ears, which stood out in

"relief," like turrets from a watch-tower, and with pretty much the same

object; his skin was of that peculiar colour and texture, to which, not

all "the water in great Neptune's ocean" could impart a look of

cleanliness, while his very voice, hard, harsh, and inflexible, was

unprepossessing and unpleasant. And yet, strange as it may seem, he,

too, was a correct type of his order; the only difference being, that

Father Malachi was an older coinage, with the impress of Donay or St.

Omers, whereas Mister Donovan was the shining metal, fresh stamped from

the mint of Maynooth.

While thus occupied in my surveillance of the scene before me, I was

roused by the priest saying--

"Ah, Fin, my darling, you needn't deny it; you're at the old game as sure

as my name is Malachi, and ye'll never be easy nor quiet till ye're sent

beyond the sea, or maybe have a record of your virtues on half a ton of

marble in the church--yard, yonder."

"Upon my honour, upon the sacred honour of a De Courcy--."

"Well, well, never mind it now; ye see ye're just keeping your friends

cooling themselves there in the corner--introduce me at once."

"Mr. Lorrequer, I'm sure--."

"My name is Curzon," said the adjutant, bowing.

"A mighty pretty name, though a little profane; well, Mr. Curse-on," for

so he pronounced it, "ye're as welcome as the flowers in May; and it's

mighty proud I am to see ye here.

"Mr. Lorrequer, allow me to shake your hand--I've heard of ye before."

There seemed nothing very strange in that; for go where I would through

this country, I seemed as generally known as ever was Brummell in

Bond-street.

"Fin tells me," continued Father Malachi, "that ye'd rather not be known

down here, in regard of a reason," and here he winked. "Make yourselves

quite easy; the king's writ was never but once in these parts; and the

'original and true copy' went back to Limerick in the stomach of the

server; they made him eat it, Mr. Lorrequer; but it's as well to be

cautious, for there are a good number here. A little dinner, a little

quarterly dinner we have among us, Mr. Curseon, to be social together,

and raise a 'thrifle' for the Irish college at Rome, where we have a

probationer or two, ourselves.

"As good as a station, and more drink," whispered Fin into my ear. "And

now," continued the priest, "ye must just permit me to re-christen ye

both, and the contribution will not be the less for what I'm going to do;

and I'm certain you'll not be worse for the change Mr. Curseon--though

'tis only for a few hours, ye'll have a dacent name."

As I could see no possible objection to this proposal, nor did Curzon

either, our only desire being to maintain the secrecy necessary for our

antagonist's safety, we at once assented; when Father Malachi took me by

the hand, but with such a total change in his whole air and deportment

that I was completely puzzled by it; he led me forward to the company

with a good deal of the ceremonious reverence I have often admired in Sir

Charles Vernon, when conducting some full--blown dowager through the

mazes of a castle minuet. The desire to laugh outright was almost

irresistible, as the Rev. Father stood at arm's length from me, still

holding my hand, and bowing to the company pretty much in the style of a

manager introducing a blushing debutante to an audience. A moment more,

and I must have inevitably given way to a burst of laughter, when what

was my horror to hear the priest present me to the company as their

"excellent, worthy, generous, and patriotic young landlord, Lord Kilkee.

Cheer every mother's son of ye; cheer I say;" and certainly precept was

never more strenuously backed by example, for he huzzaed till I thought

he would burst a blood--vessel; may I add, I almost wished it, such was

the insufferable annoyance, the chagrin, this announcement gave me; and

I waited with eager impatience for the din and clamour to subside, to

disclaim every syllable of the priest's announcement, and take the

consequences of my baptismal epithet, cost what it might. To this I was

impelled by many and important reasons. Situated as I was with respect

to the Callonby family, my assumption of their name at such a moment

might get abroad, and the consequences to me, be inevitable ruin; and

independent of my natural repugnance to such sailing under false colours,

I saw Curzon laughing almost to suffocation at my wretched predicament,

and (so strong within me was the dread of ridicule) I thought, "what a

pretty narrative he is concocting for the mess this minute." I rose

to reply; and whether Father Malachi, with his intuitive quickness,

guessed my purpose or not, I cannot say, but he certainly resolved to

out-maneuver me, and he succeeded: while with one hand he motioned to the

party to keep silence, with the other he took hold of Curzon, but with no

peculiar or very measured respect, and introduced him as Mr. MacNeesh,

the new Scotch steward and improver--a character at that time whose

popularity might compete with a tithe proctor or an exciseman. So

completely did this tactique turn the tables upon the poor adjutant, who

the moment before was exulting over me, that I utterly forgot my own

woes, and sat down convulsed with mirth at his situation--an emotion

certainly not lessened as I saw Curzon passed from one to the other at

table, "like a pauper to his parish," till he found an asylum at the very

foot, in juxta with the engaging Mister Donovan. A propinquity, if I

might judge from their countenances, uncoveted by either party.

While this was performing, Doctor Finucane was making his recognitions

with several of the company, to whom he had been long known during his

visits to the neighbourhood. I now resumed my place on the right of the

Father, abandoning for the present all intention of disclaiming my rank,

and the campaign was opened. The priest now exerted himself to the

utmost to recall conversation with the original channels, and if possible

to draw off attention from me, which he still feared, might, perhaps,

elicit some unlucky announcement on my part. Failing in his endeavours

to bring matters to their former footing, he turned the whole brunt of

his attentions to the worthy doctor, who sat on his left.

"How goes on the law," said he, "Fin? Any new proofs, as they call them,

forthcoming?"

What Fin replied, I could not hear, but the allusion to the "suit" was

explained by Father Malachi informing us that the only impediment between

his cousin and the title of Kinsale lay in the unfortunate fact, that his

grandmother, "rest her sowl," was not a man.

Doctor Finucane winced a little under the manner in which this was

spoken: but returned the fire by asking if the bishop was down lately in

that quarter? The evasive way in which "the Father" replied having

stimulated my curiosity as to the reason, little entreaty was necessary

to persuade the doctor to relate the following anecdote, which was not

relished the less by his superior, that it told somewhat heavily on Mr.

Donovan.

"It is about four years ago," said the doctor, "since the Bishop, Dr.

Plunkett, took it into his head that he'd make a general inspection, 'a

reconnoisance," as we'd call it, Mr. Lor--that is, my lord! Through the

whole diocese, and leave no part far nor near without poking his nose in

it and seeing how matters were doing. He heard very queer stories about

his reverence here, and so down he came one morning in the month of July,

riding upon an old grey hack, looking just for all the world like any

other elderly gentleman in very rusty black. When he got near the

village he picked up a little boy to show him the short cut across the

fields to the house here; and as his lordship was a 'sharp man and a

shrewd,' he kept his eye on every thing as he went along, remarking this,

and noting down that.

"'Are ye regular in yer duties, my son?' said he to the gossoon.

"'I never miss a Sunday,' said the gossoon; 'for it's always walking his

reverence's horse I am the whole time av prayers.'

"His lordship said no more for a little while, when he muttered between

his teeth, 'Ah, it's just slander--nothing but slander and lying

tongues.' This soliloquy was caused by his remarking that on every gate

he passed, or from every cabin, two or three urchins would come out half

naked, but all with the finest heads of red hair he ever saw in his life.

"'How is it, my son,' said he, at length; 'they tell very strange stories

about Father Malachi, and I see so many of these children with red hair.

Eh--now Father Malachi's a dark man.'

"'True for ye,' said the boy; 'true for ye, Father Malachi's dark; but

the coadjutor!--the coadjutor's as red as a fox.'"

When the laugh this story caused had a little subsided, Father Malachi

called out, "Mickey Oulahan! Mickey, I say, hand his lordship over 'the

groceries'"--thus he designated a square decanter, containing about two

quarts of whiskey, and a bowl heaped high with sugar--"a dacent boy is

Mickey, my lord, and I'm happy to be the means of making him known to

you." I bowed with condescension, while Mr. Oulahan's eyes sparkled like

diamonds at the recognition.

"He has only two years of the lease to run, and a 'long charge,'

(anglice, a large family,) continued the priest.

"I'll not forget him, you may depend upon it," said I.

"Do you hear that," said Father Malachi, casting a glance of triumph

round the table, while a general buzz of commendation on priest and

patron went round, with many such phrases as, "Och thin, it's his

riv'rance can do it," "na bocklish," "and why not," &c. &c. As for me,

I have already "confessed" to my crying sin, a fatal, irresistible

inclination to follow the humour of the moment wherever it led me; and

now I found myself as active a partizan in quizzing Mickey Oulahan, as

though I was not myself a party included in the jest. I was thus fairly

launched into my inveterate habit, and nothing could arrest my progress.

One by one the different individuals round the table were presented to

me, and made known their various wants, with an implicit confidence in my

power of relieving them, which I with equal readiness ministered to. I

lowered the rent of every man at table. I made a general jail delivery,

an act of grace, (I blush to say,) which seemed to be peculiarly

interesting to the present company. I abolished all arrears--made a new

line of road through an impassable bog, and over an inaccessible

mountain--and conducted water to a mill, which (I learned in the morning)

was always worked by wind. The decanter had scarcely completed its third

circuit of the board, when I bid fair to be most popular specimen of the

peerage that ever visited the "far west." In the midst of my career of

universal benevolence, I was interrupted by Father Malachi, whom I found

on his legs, pronouncing a glowing eulogium on his cousin's late

regiment, the famous North Cork.

"That was the corps!" said he. "Bid them do a thing, and they'd never

leave off; and so, when they got orders to retire from Wexford, it's

little they cared for the comforts of baggage, like many another

regiment, for they threw away every thing but their canteens, and never

stopped till they ran to Ross, fifteen miles farther than the enemy

followed them. And when they were all in bed the same night, fatigued

and tired with their exertions, as ye may suppose, a drummer's boy called

out in his sleep--'here they are--they're coming'--they all jumped up and

set off in their shirts, and got two miles out of town before they

discovered it was a false alarm."

Peal after peal of laughter followed the priest's encomium on the

doctor's regiment; and, indeed, he himself joined most heartily in the

mirth, as he might well afford to do, seeing that a braver or better

corps than the North Cork, Ireland did not possess.

"Well," said Fin, "it's easy to see ye never can forget what they did at

Maynooth."

Father Malachi disclaimed all personal feeling on the subject; and I was

at last gratified by the following narrative, which I regret deeply I am

not enabled to give in the doctor's own verbiage; but writing as I do

from memory, (in most instances,) I can only convey the substance:

It was towards the latter end of the year '98--the year of the troubles

--that the North Cork was ordered, "for their sins" I believe, to march

from their snug quarters in Fermoy, and take up a position in the town of

Maynooth--a very considerable reverse of fortune to a set of gentlemen

extremely addicted to dining out, and living at large upon a very

pleasant neighbourhood. Fermoy abounded in gentry; Maynooth at that,

time had few, if any, excepting his Grace of Leinster, and he lived very

privately, and saw no company. Maynooth was stupid and dull--there were

neither belles nor balls; Fermoy (to use the doctor's well remembered

words) had "great feeding," and "very genteel young ladies, that carried

their handkerchiefs in bags, and danced with the officers."

They had not been many weeks in their new quarters, when they began to

pine over their altered fortunes, and it was with a sense of delight,

which a few months before would have been incomprehensible to them, they

discovered, that one of their officers had a brother, a young priest in

the college: he introduced him to some of his confreres, and the natural

result followed. A visiting acquaintance began between the regiment and

such of the members of the college as had liberty to leave the precincts:

who, as time ripened the acquaintance into intimacy, very naturally

preferred the cuisine of the North Cork to the meagre fare of "the

refectory." At last seldom a day went by, without one or two of their

reverences finding themselves guests at the mess. The North Corkians

were of a most hospitable turn, and the fathers were determined the

virtue should not rust for want of being exercised; they would just drop

in to say a word to "Captain O'Flaherty about leave to shoot in the

demesne," as Carton was styled; or, they had a "frank from the Duke for

the Colonel," or some other equally pressing reason; and they would

contrive to be caught in the middle of a very droll story just as the

"roast beef" was playing. Very little entreaty then sufficed--a short

apology for the "dereglements" of dress, and a few minutes more found

them seated at table without further ceremony on either side.

Among the favourite guests from the college, two were peculiarly held in

estimation--"the Professor of the Humanities," Father Luke Mooney; and the

Abbe D'Array, "the Lecturer on Moral Philosophy, and Belles Lettres;" and

certain it is, pleasanter fellows, or more gifted with the "convivial

bump," there never existed. He of the Humanities was a droll dog--a

member of the Curran club, the "monks of the screw," told an excellent

story, and sang the "Cruiskeen Lawn" better than did any before or since

him;--the moral philosopher, though of a different genre, was also a most

agreeable companion, an Irishman transplanted in his youth to St. Omers,

and who had grafted upon his native humour a considerable share of French

smartness and repartee--such were the two, who ruled supreme in all the

festive arrangements of this jovial regiment, and were at last as regular

at table, as the adjutant and the paymaster, and so might they have

continued, had not prosperity, that in its blighting influence upon the

heart, spares neither priests nor laymen, and is equally severe upon mice

(see Aesop's fable) and moral philosophers, actually deprived them, for

the "nonce" of reason, and tempted them to their ruin. You naturally

ask, what did they do? Did they venture upon allusions to the retreat

upon Ross? Nothing of the kind. Did they, in that vanity which wine

inspires, refer by word, act, or inuendo, to the well-known order of

their Colonel when reviewing his regiment in "the Phoenix," to "advance

two steps backwards, and dress by the gutter." Far be it from them:

though indeed either of these had been esteemed light in the balance

compared with their real crime. "Then, what was their failing--come,

tell it, and burn ye?" They actually, "horresco referens," quizzed the

Major coram the whole mess!--Now, Major John Jones had only lately

exchanged into the North Cork from the "Darry Ragement," as he called it.

He was a red--hot orangeman, a deputy--grand something, and vice-chairman

of the "'Prentice Boys" beside. He broke his leg when a school--boy, by

a fall incurred in tying an orange handkerchief around King William's

August neck in College-green, on one 12th of July, and three several

times had closed the gates of Derry with his own loyal hands, on the

famed anniversary; in a word, he was one, that if his church had enjoined

penance as an expiation for sin, would have looked upon a trip to

Jerusalem on his bare knees, as a very light punishment for the crime on

his conscience, that he sat at table with two buck priests from Maynooth,

and carved for them, like the rest of the company!

Poor Major Jones, however, had no such solace, and the canker-worm eat

daily deeper and deeper into his pining heart. During the three or four

weeks of their intimacy with his regiment, his martyrdom was awful. His

figure wasted, and his colour became a deeper tinge of orange, and all

around averred that there would soon be a "move up" in the corps, for the

major had evidently "got his notice to quit" this world, and its pomps

and vanities. He felt "that he was dying," to use Haines Bayley's

beautiful and apposite words, and meditated an exchange, but that, from

circumstances, was out of the question. At last, subdued by grief, and

probably his spirit having chafed itself smooth by such constant

attrition, he became, to all seeming, calmer; but it was only the calm of

a broken and weary heart. Such was Major Jones at the time, when,

"suadente diabolo," it seemed meet to Fathers Mooney and D'Array to make

him the butt of their raillery. At first, he could not believe it; the

thing was incredible--impossible; but when he looked around the table,

when he heard the roars of laughter, long, loud, and vociferous; when he

heard his name bandied from one to the other across the table, with some

vile jest tacked to it "like a tin kettle to a dog's tail," he awoke to

the full measure of his misery--the cup was full. Fate had done her

worst, and he might have exclaimed with Lear, "spit, fire-spout, rain,"

there was nothing in store for him of further misfortune.

A drum-head court-martial--a hint "to sell out"--ay, a sentence of

"dismissed the service," had been mortal calamities, and, like a man, he

would have borne them; but that he, Major John Jones, D.G.S. C.P.B., &c.

&c, who had drank the "pious, glorious, and immortal," sitting astride of

"the great gun of Athlone," should come to this! Alas, and alas! He

retired that night to his chamber a "sadder if not a wiser man;" he

dreamed that the "statue" had given place to the unshapely figure of Leo

X., and that "Lundy now stood where Walker stood before." He humped from

his bed in a moment of enthusiasm, he vowed his revenge, and he kept his

vow.

That day the major was "acting field officer." The various patroles,

sentries, picquets, and out-posts, were all under his especial control;

and it was remarked that he took peculiar pains in selecting the men for

night duty, which, in the prevailing quietness and peace of that time,

seemed scarcely warrantable.

Evening drew near, and Major Jones, summoned by the "oft-heard beat,"

wended his way to the mess. The officers were dropping in, and true as

"the needle to the pole," came Father Mooney and the Abbe. They were

welcomed with the usual warmth, and strange to say, by none more than the

major himself, whose hilarity knew no bounds.

How the evening passed, I shall not stop to relate: suffice it to say,

that a more brilliant feast of wit and jollification, not even the North

Cork ever enjoyed. Father Luke's drollest stories, his very quaintest

humour shone forth, and the Abbe sang a new "Chanson a Boire," that

Beranger might hav envied.

"What are you about, my dear Father D'Array?" said the Colonel; "you are

surely not rising yet; here's a fresh cooper of port just come in; sit

down, I entreat."

"I say it with grief, my dear colonel, we must away; the half-hour has

just chimed, and we must be within 'the gates' before twelve. The truth

is, the superior has been making himself very troublesome about our

'carnal amusements' as he calls our innocent mirth, and we must therefore

be upon our guard."

"Well, if it must be so, we shall not risk losing your society

altogether, for an hour or so now; so, one bumper to our next meeting

--to-morrow, mind, and now, M. D'Abbe, au revoir."

The worthy fathers finished their glasses, and taking a most affectionate

leave of their kind entertainers, sallied forth under the guidance of

Major Jones, who insisted upon accompanying them part of the way, as,

"from information he had received, the sentries were doubled in some

places, and the usual precautions against surprise all taken." Much as

this polite attention surprised the objects of it, his brother officers

wondered still more, and no sooner did they perceive the major and his

companions issue forth, than they set out in a body to watch where this

most novel and unexpected complaisance would terminate.

When the priests reached the door of the barrack-yard, they again turned

to utter their thanks to the major, and entreat him once more, "not to

come a step farther. There now, major, we know the path well, so just

give us the pass, and don't stay out in the night air."

"Ah oui, Monsieur Jones," said the Abbe, "retournez, je vous prie. We

are, I must say, chez nous. Ces braves gens, les North Cork know us by

this time."

The major smiled, while he still pressed his services to see them past

the picquets, but they were resolved and would not be denied.

"With the word for the night, we want nothing more," said Father Luke.

"Well, then," said the major, in the gravest tone, and he was naturally

grave, "you shall have your way, but remember to call out loud, for the

first sentry is a little deaf, and a very passionate, ill--tempered

fellow to boot."

"Never fear," said Father Mooney, laughing; "I'll go bail he'll hear me."

"Well--the word for the night is--'Bloody end to the Pope,'--don't

forget, now, 'Bloody end to the Pope,'" and with these words he banged

the door between him and the unfortunate priests; and, as bolt was

fastened after bolt, they heard him laughing to himself like a fiend over

his vengeance.

"And big bad luck to ye, Major Jones, for the same, every day ye see a

paving stone," was the faint sub-audible ejaculation of Father Luke, when

he was recovered enough to speak.

"Sacristi! Que nous sommes attrappes," said the Abbe, scarcely able to

avoid laughing at the situation in which they were placed.

"Well, there's the quarter chiming now; we've no time to lose--Major

Jones! Major, darling! Don't now, ah, don't! sure ye know we'll be

ruined entirely--there now, just change it, like a dacent fellow--the

devil's luck to him, he's gone. Well, we can't stay here in the rain all

night, and be expelled in the morning afterwards--so come along."

They jogged on for a few minutes in silence, till they came to that part

of the "Duke's" demesne wall, where the first sentry was stationed. By

this time the officers, headed by the major, had quietly slipped out of

the gate, and were following their steps at a convenient distance.

The fathers had stopped to consult together, what they should do in this

trying emergency--when their whisper being overheard, the sentinel called

out gruffly, in the genuine dialect of his country, "who goes that?"

"Father Luke Mooney, and the Abbe D'Array," said the former, in his most

bland and insinuating tone of voice, a quality he most eminently

possessed.

"Stand and give the countersign."

"We are coming from the mess, and going home to the college," said Father

Mooney, evading the question, and gradually advancing as he spoke.

"Stand, or I'll shot ye," said the North Corkian.

Father Luke halted, while a muttered "Blessed Virgin" announced his state

of fear and trepidation.

"D'Array, I say, what are we to do."

"The countersign," said the sentry, whose figure they could perceive in

the dim distance of about thirty yards.

"Sure ye'll let us pass, my good lad, and ye'll have a friend in Father

Luke the longest day ye live, and ye might have a worse in time of need;

ye understand."

Whether he did understand or not, he certainly did not heed, for his only

reply was the short click of his gun-lock, that bespeaks a preparation to

fire.

"There's no help now," said Father Luke; "I see he's a haythen; and bad

luck to the major, I say again;" and this in the fulness of his heart he

uttered aloud.

"That's not the countersign," said the inexorable sentry, striking the

butt end of the musket on the ground with a crash that smote terror into

the hearts of the priests.

Mumble--mumble--"to the Pope," said Father Luke, pronouncing the last

words distinctly, after the approved practice of a Dublin watchman, on

being awoke from his dreams of row and riot by the last toll of the

Post-office, and not knowing whether it has struck "twelve" or "three,"

sings out the word "o'clock," in a long sonorous drawl, that wakes every

sleeping citizen, and yet tells nothing how "time speeds on his flight."

"Louder," said the sentry, in a voice of impatience.

_____ "to the Pope."

"I don't hear the first part."

"Oh then," said the priest, with a sigh that might have melted the heart

of anything but a sentry, "Bloody end to the Pope; and may the saints in

heaven forgive me for saying it."

"Again," called out the soldier; "and no muttering."

"Bloody end to the Pope," cried Father Luke in bitter desperation.

"Bloody end to the Pope," echoed the Abbe.

"Pass bloody end to the Pope, and good night," said the sentry, resuming

his rounds, while a loud and uproarious peal of laughter behind, told the

unlucky priests they were overheard by others, and that the story would

be over the whole town in the morning.

Whether it was that the penance for their heresy took long in

accomplishing, or that they never could summon courage sufficient to face

their persecutor, certain it is, the North Cork saw them no more, nor

were they ever observed to pass the precincts of the college, while that

regiment occupied Maynooth.

Major Jones himself, and his confederates, could not have more heartily

relished this story, than did the party to whom the doctor heartily

related it. Much, if not all the amusement it afforded, however,

resulted from his inimitable mode of telling, and the power of mimicry,

with which he conveyed the dialogue with the sentry: and this, alas, must

be lost to my readers, at least to that portion of them not fortunate

enough to possess Doctor Finucane's acquaintance.

"Fin! Fin! your long story has nearly famished me," said the padre, as

the laugh subsided; "and there you sit now with the jug at your elbow

this half-hour; I never thought you would forget our old friend Martin

Hanegan's aunt."

"Here's to her health," said Fin; "and your reverence will get us the

chant."

"Agreed," said Father Malachi, finishing a bumper, and after giving a few

preparatory hems, he sang the following "singularly wild and beautiful

poem," as some one calls Christabel:--

"Here's a health to Martin Hanegan's aunt,

And I'll tell ye the reason why!

She eats bekase she is hungry,

And drinks bekase she is dry.

"And if ever a man,

Stopped the course of a can,

Martin Hanegan's aunt would cry--

'Arrah, fill up your glass,

And let the jug pass;

How d'ye know but what your neighbour's dhry?"

"Come, my lord and gentlemen, da capo, if ye please--Fill up your glass,"

and the chanson was chorussed with a strength and vigour that would

have astonished the Philharmonic.

The mirth and fun now grew "fast and furious;" and Father Malachi, rising

with the occasion, flung his reckless drollery and fun on every side,

sparing none, from his cousin to the coadjutor. It was not that peculiar

period in the evening's enjoyment, when an expert and practical chairman

gives up all interference or management, and leaves every thing to take

its course; this then was the happy moment selected by Father Malachi to

propose the little "contrhibution." He brought a plate from a side

table, and placing it before him, addressed the company in a very brief

but sensible speech, detailing the object of the institution he was

advocating, and concluding with the following words:--"and now ye'll just

give whatever ye like, according to your means in life, and what ye can

spare."

The admonition, like the "morale" of an income tax, having the immediate

effect of pitting each man against his neighbour, and suggesting to their

already excited spirits all the ardour of gambling, without, however,

a prospect of gain. The plate was first handed to me in honour of my

"rank," and having deposited upon it a handful of small silver, the

priest ran his finger through the coin, and called out:--

"Five pounds! at least; not a farthing less, as I am a sinner. Look,

then,--see now; they tell ye, the gentlemen don't care for the like of

ye! but see for yourselves. May I trouble y'r lordship to pass the plate

to Mr. Mahony--he's impatient, I see."

Mr. Mahony, about whom I perceived very little of the impatience alluded

to, was a grim-looking old Christian, in a rabbit-skin waistcoat, with

long flaps, who fumbled in the recesses of his breeches pocket for five

minutes, and then drew forth three shillings, which he laid upon the

plate, with what I fancied very much resembled a sigh.

"Six and sixpence, is it? or five shillings?--all the same, Mr. Mahony,

and I'll not forget the thrifle you were speaking about this morning any

way;" and here he leaned over as interceding with me for him, but in

reality to whisper into my ear, "the greatest miser from this to

Castlebar."

"Who's that put down the half guinea in goold?" (And this time he spoke

truth.) "Who's that, I say?"

"Tim Kennedy, your reverence," said Tim, stroking his hair down with one

hand, and looking proud and modest at the same moment.

"Tim, ye're a credit to us any day, and I always said so. It's a gauger

he'd like to be, my lord," said he, turning to me, in a kind of stage

whisper. I nodded and muttered something, when he thanked me most

profoundly as if his suit had prospered.

"Mickey Oulahan--the lord's looking at ye, Mickey." This was said

piannisime across the table, and had the effect of increasing Mr.

Oulahan's donation from five shillings to seven--the last two being

pitched in very much in the style o a gambler making his final coup, and

crying "va banque." "The Oulahans were always dacent people--dacent

people, my lord."

"Be gorra, the Oulahans was niver dacenter nor the Molowneys, any how,"

said a tall athletic young fellow, as he threw down three crown pieces,

with an energy that made every coin leap from the plate.

"They'll do now," said Father Brennan; "I'll leave them to themselves;"

and truly the eagerness to get the plate and put down the subscription,

fully equalled the rapacious anxiety I have witnessed in an old maid at

loo, to get possession of a thirty-shilling pool, be the same more or

less, which lingered on its way to her, in the hands of many a fair

competitor.

"Mr. M'Neesh"--Curzon had hitherto escaped all notice--"Mr. M'Neesh, to

your good health," cried Father Brennan. "It's many a secret they'll be

getting out o'ye down there about the Scotch husbandry."

Whatever poor Curzon knew of "drills," certainly did not extend to them

when occupied by turnips. This allusion of the priest's being caught up

by the party at the foot of the table, they commenced a series of

inquiries into different Scotch plans of tillage--his brief and

unsatisfactory answers to which, they felt sure, were given in order to

evade imparting information. By degrees, as they continued to press him

with questions, his replies grew more short, and a general feeling of

dislike on both sides was not very long in following.

The father saw this, and determining with his usual tact to repress it,

called on the adjutant for a song. Now, whether he had but one in the

world, or whether he took this mode of retaliating for the annoyances he

had suffered, I know not; but true it is, he finished his tumbler at a

draught, and with a voice of no very peculiar sweetness, though

abundantly loud, began "The Boyne Water."

He had just reached the word "battle," in the second line upon which he

was bestowing what he meant to be a shake, when, as if the word suggested

it, it seemed the signal for a general engagement. Decanters, glasses,

jugs, candlesticks,--aye, and the money-dish, flew right and left--all

originally intended, it is ture, for the head of the luckless adjutant,

but as they now and then missed their aim, and came in contact with the

"wrong man," invariably provoked retaliation, and in a very few minutes

the battle became general.

What may have been the doctor's political sentiments on this occasion, I

cannot even guess; but he seemed bent upon performing the part of a

"convivial Lord Stanley," and maintaining a dignified neutrality. With

this apparent object, he mounted upon the table, to raise himself, I

suppose, above the din and commotion of party clamour, and brandishing a

jug of scalding water, bestowed it with perfect impartiality on the

combatants on either side. This Whig plan of conciliation, however well

intended, seemed not to prosper with either party; and many were the

missiles directed at the ill-starred doctor. Meanwhile Father Malachi,

whether following the pacific instinct of his order, in seeking an asylum

in troublesome times, or equally moved by old habit to gather coin in low

places, (much of the money having fallen,) was industriously endeavouring

to insert himself beneath the table; in this, with one vigorous push, he

at last succeeded, but in so doing lifted it from its legs, and thus

destroying poor "Fin's" gravity, precipitated him, jug and all, into the

thickest part of the fray, where he met with that kind reception such a

benefactor ever receives at the hands of a grateful public. I meanwhile

hurried to rescue poor Curzon, who, having fallen to the ground, was

getting a cast of his features taken in pewter, for such seemed the

operation a stout farmer was performing on the adjutant's face with a

quart. With considerable difficulty, notwithstanding my supposed

"lordship," I succeeded in freeing him from his present position; and he

concluding, probably, that enough had been done for one "sitting," most

willingly permitted me to lead him from the room. I was soon joined by

the doctor, who assisted me in getting my poor friend to bed; which being

done, he most eagerly entreated me to join the company. This, however,

I firmly but mildly declined, very much to his surprise; for as he

remarked--"They'll all be like lambs now, for they don't believe there's

a whole bone in his body."

Expressing my deep sense of the Christian-like forbearance of the party,

I pleaded fatigue, and bidding him good night, adjourned to my bed-room;

and here, although the arrangements fell somewhat short of the luxurious

ones appertaining to my late apartment at Callonby, they were most

grateful at the moment; and having "addressed myself to slumber," fell

fast asleep, and only awoke late on the following morning to wonder where

I was: from any doubts as to which I was speedily relieved by the

entrance of the priest's bare-footed "colleen," to deposit on my table a

bottle of soda water, and announce breakfast, with his reverence's

compliments.

Having made a hasty toilet, I proceeded to the parlour, which, however

late events might have impressed upon my memory, I could scarcely

recognise. Instead of the long oak table and the wassail bowl, there

stood near the fire a small round table, covered with a snow--white

cloth, upon which shone in unrivalled brightness a very handsome tea

equipage--the hissing kettle on one hob was vis a vis'd by a gridiron

with three newly taken trout, frying under the reverential care of Father

Malachi himself--a heap of eggs ranged like shot in an ordnance yard,

stood in the middled of the table, while a formidable pile of buttered

toast browned before the grate--the morning papers were airing upon the

hearth--every thing bespoke that attention to comfort and enjoyment one

likes to discover in the house where chance may have domesticated him for

a day or two.

"Good morning, Mr. Lorrequer. I trust you have rested well," said Father

Malachi as I entered.

"Never better; but where are our friends?"

"I have been visiting and comforting them in their affliction, and I may

with truth assert it is not often my fortune to have three as sickly

looking guests. That was a most unlucky affair last night, and I must

apologise."

"Don't say a word, I entreat; I saw how it all occurred, and am quite

sure if it had not been for poor Curzon's ill-timed melody--"

"You are quite right," said the father interrupting me. "Your friend's

taste for music--bad luck to it--was the 'teterrima causa belli.'"

"And the subscription," said I; "how did it succeed?"

"Oh, the money went in the commotion; and although I have got some seven

pounds odd shillings of it, the war was a most expensive one to me. I

caught old Mahony very busy under the table during the fray; but let us

say no more about it now--draw over your chair. Tea or coffee? there's

the rum if you like it 'chasse.'"

I immediately obeyed the injunction, and commenced a vigorous assault

upon the trout, caught, as he informed me, "within twenty perches of the

house."

"Your poor friend's nose is scarcely regimental," said he, "this morning;

and as for Fin, he was never remarkable for beauty, so, though they might

cut and hack, they could scarcely disfigure him, as Juvenal says--isn't

it Juvenal?

"'Vacuus viator cantabit ante Latronem;'

"or in the vernacular:

"'The empty traveller may whistle

Before the robber and his pistil' (pistol)."

"There's the Chili vinegar--another morsel of the trout?"

"I thank you; what excellent coffee, Father Malachi!"

"A secret I learned at St. Omer's some thirty years since. Any letters,

Bridget?"--to a damsel that entered with a pacquet in her hand.

"A gossoon from Kilrush, y'r reverence, with a bit of a note for the

gentleman there."

"For me!--ah, true enough. Harry Lorrequer, Esq. Kilrush--try

Carrigaholt." So ran the superscription--the first part being in a

lady's handwriting; the latter very like the "rustic paling" of the

worthy Mrs. Healy's style. The seal was a large one, bearing a coronet

at top, and the motto in old Norman--French, told me it came from

Callonby.

With what a trembling hand and beating heart I broke it open, and yet

feared to read it--so much of my destiny might be in that simple page.

For once in my life my sanguine spirit failed me; my mind could take in

but one casualty, that Lady Jane had divulged to her family the nature of

my attentions, and that in the letter before me lay a cold mandate of

dismissal from her presence for ever.

At last I summoned courage to read it; but having scrupled to present to

my readers the Reverend Father Brennan at the tail of a chapter, let me

not be less punctilious in the introduction of her ladyship's billet.

CHAPTER VII.

THE LADY'S LETTER--PETER AND HIS ACQUAINTANCES--TOO LATE.

Her ladyship's letter ran thus--

"Callonby, Tuesday morning.

"My dear Mr. Lorrequer,--My lord has deputed me to convey to you our

adieus, and at the same time to express our very great regret that we

should not have seen you before out departure from Ireland. A sudden

call of the House, and some unexpected ministerial changes, require Lord

Callonby's immediate presence in town; and probably before this reaches

you we shall be on the road. Lord Kilkee, who left us yesterday, was

much distressed at not having seen you--he desired me to say you shall

hear from him from Leamington. Although writing amid all the haste

and bustle of departure, I must not forget the principal part of my

commission, nor lady-like defer it to a postscript: my lord entreats that

you will, if possible, pass a month or two with us in London this season;

make any use of his name you think fit at the Horse-Guards, where he has

some influence. Knowing as I do, with what kindness you ever accede to

the wishes of your friends, I need not say how much gratification this

will afford us all; but, sans response, we expect you. Believe me to

remain, yours very sincerely,

"Charlotte Callonby."

"P.S.--We are all quite well, except Lady Jane, who has a slight cold,

and has been feverish for the last day or two."

Words cannot convey any idea of the torrent of contending emotions under

which I perused this letter. The suddenness of the departure, without an

opportunity of even a moment's leave-taking, completely unmanned me.

What would I not have given to be able to see her once more, even for an

instant--to say "a good bye"--to watch the feeling with which she parted

from me, and augur from it either favourably to my heart's dearest hope,

or darkest despair. As I continued to read on, the kindly tone of the

remainder reassured me, and when I came to the invitation to London,

which plainly argued a wish on their part to perpetuate the intimacy,

I was obliged to read it again and again, before I could convince myself

of its reality. There it was, however, most distinctly and legibly

impressed in her ladyship's fairest calligraphy; and certainly great as

was its consequence to me at the time, it by no means formed the

principal part of the communication. The two lines of postscript

contained more, far more food for hopes and fears than did all the

rest of the epistle.

Lady Jane was ill then, slightly however--a mere cold; true, but she was

feverish. I could not help asking myself what share had I causing that

flushed cheek and anxious eye, and pictured to myself, perhaps with more

vividness than reality, a thousand little traits of manner, all proofs

strong as holy writ to my sanguine mind, that my affection was returned,

and that I loved not in vain. Again and again I read over the entire

letter; never truly did a nisi prius lawyer con over a new act of

parliament with more searching ingenuity, to detect its hidden meaning,

than did I to unravel through its plain phraseology the secret intention

of the writer towards me.

There is an old and not less true adage, that what we wish we readily

believe; and so with me--I found myself an easy convert to my own hopes

and desires, and actually ended by persuading myself--no very hard task

--that my Lord Callonby had not only witnessed but approved of my

attachment to his beautiful daughter, and for reasons probably known to

him, but concealed from me, opined that I was a suitable "parti," and

gave all due encouragement to my suit. The hint about using his

lordship's influence at the Horse guards I resolved to benefit by; not,

however, in obtaining leave of absence, which I hoped to accomplish more

easily, but with his good sanction in pushing my promotion, when I

claimed him as my right honorable father-in-law--a point, on the

propriety of which, I had now fully satisfied myself. What visions of

rising greatness burst upon my mind, as I thought on the prospect that

opened before me; but here let me do myself the justice to record, that

amid all my pleasure and exultation, my proudest thought, was in the

anticipation of possessing one in every way so much my superior--the very

consciousness of which imparted a thrill of fear to my heart, that such

good fortune was too much even to hope for.

How long I might have luxuriated in such Chateaux en Espagne, heaven

knows; thick and thronging fancies came abundantly to my mind, and it

was with something of the feeling of the porter in the Arabian Nights,

as he surveyed the fragments of his broken ware, hurled down in a moment

of glorious dreaminess, that I turned to look at the squat and

unaristocratic figure of Father Malachi, as he sat reading his newspaper

before the fire. How came I in such company; methinks the Dean of

Windsor, or the Bishop of Durham had been a much more seemly associate

for one destined as I was for the flood-tide of the world's favour.

My eye at this instant rested upon the date of the letter, which was that

of the preceding morning, and immediately a thought struck me that, as

the day was a louring and gloomy one, perhaps they might have deferred

their journey, and I at once determined to hasten to Callonby, and, if

possible, see them before their departure.

"Father Brennan," said I, at length, "I have just received a letter which

compels me to reach Kilrush as soon as possible. Is there any public

conveyance in the village?"

"You don't talk of leaving us, surely," said the priest, "and a haunch of

mutton for dinner, and Fin says he'll be down, and your friend, too, and

we'll have poor Beamish in on a sofa."

"I am sorry to say my business will not admit of delay, but, if possible,

I shall return to thank you for all you kindness, in a day or two

--perhaps tomorrow."

"Oh, then," said Father Brennan, "if it must be so, why you can have

'Pether,' my own pad, and a better you never laid leg over; only give him

his own time, and let him keep the 'canter,' and he'll never draw up from

morning till night; and now I'll just go and have him in readiness for

you."

After professing my warm acknowledgments to the good father for his

kindness, I hastened to take a hurried farewell of Curzon before going.

I found him sitting up in bed taking his breakfast; a large strip of

black plaster, extending from the corner of one eye across the nose, and

terminating near the mouth, denoted the locale of a goodly wound, while

the blue, purple and yellow patches into which his face was partitioned

out, left you in doubt whether he now resembled the knave of clubs or a

new map of the Ordnance survey; one hand was wrapped up in a bandage, and

altogether a more rueful and woe-begone looking figure I have rarely

looked upon; and most certainly I am of opinion that the "glorious, pious

and immortal memory" would have brought pleasanter recollections to

Daniel O'Connell himself, than it would on that morning to the adjutant

of his majesty's 4_th.

"Ah, Harry," said he, as I entered, "what Pandemonium is this we've got

into? did you ever witness such a business as last night's?"

"Why truly," said I, "I know of no one to blame but yourself; surely you

must have known what a fracas your infernal song would bring on."

"I don't know now whether I knew it or not; but certainly at the moment

I should have preferred anything to the confounded cross-examination I

was under, and was glad to end it by any coup d'etat. One wretch was

persecuting me about green crops, and another about the feeding of

bullocks; about either of which I knew as much as a bear does of a

ballet."

"Well, truly, you caused a diversion at some expense to your countenance,

for I never beheld anything--"

"Stop there," said he, "you surely have not seen the doctor--he beats me

hollow--they have scarcely left so much hair on his head as would do for

an Indian's scalp lock; and, of a verity, his aspect is awful this

morning; he has just been here, and by-the-bye has told me all about your

affair with Beamish. It appears that somewhere you met him at dinner,

and gave a very flourishing account of a relative of his who you informed

him was not only selected for some very dashing service, but actually the

personal friend of Picton; and, after the family having blazed the matter

all over Cork, and given a great entertainment in honor of their kinsman,

it turns out that, on the glorious 19th, he ran away to Brussels faster

than even the French to Charleroi; for which act, however, there was no

aspersion ever cast upon his courage, that quality being defended at the

expense of his honesty; in a word, he was the paymaster of the company,

and had what Theodore Hook calls an 'affection of his chest,' that

required change of air. Looking only to the running away part of the

matter, I unluckily expressed some regret that he did not belong to the

North Cork, and I remarked the doctor did not seem to relish the

allusion, and as I only now remember, it was his regiment, I suppose

I'm in for more mischief."

I had no time to enjoy Curzon's dilemma, and had barely informed him of

my intended departure, when a voice from without the room proclaimed that

"Pether" was ready, and having commissioned the adjutant to say the

"proper" to Mr. Beamish and the doctor, hurried away, and after a hearty

shake of the hand from Father Brennan, and a faithful promise to return

soon, I mounted and set off.

Peter's pace was of all others the one least likely to disturb the

lucubrations of a castle-builder like myself; without any admonition from

whip or spur he maintained a steady and constant canter, which, I am free

to confess, was more agreeable to sit, than it was graceful to behold;

for his head being much lower than his tail, he every moment appeared in

the attitude of a diver about to plunge into the water, and more than

once I had misgivings that I would consult my safety better if I sat with

my face to the tail; however, what will not habit accomplish? before I

had gone a mile or two, I was so lost in my own reveries and reflections,

that I knew nothing of my mode of progression, and had only thoughts and

feelings for the destiny that awaited me; sometimes I would fancy myself

seated in the House of Commons, (on the ministerial benches, of course,)

while some leading oppositionist was pronouncing a glowing panegyric upon

the eloquent and statesmanlike speech of the gallant colonel--myself;

then I thought I was making arrangements for setting out for my new

appointment, and Sancho Panza never coveted the government of an island

more than I did, though only a West Indian one; and, lastly, I saw myself

the chosen diplomate on a difficult mission, and was actually engaged in

the easy and agreeable occupation of outmaneuvering Talleyrand and Pozzo

di Borgo, when Peter suddenly drew up at the door of a small cabin, and

convinced me that I was still a mortal man, and a lieutenant in his

Majesty's 4_th. Before I had time afforded me even to guess at the

reason of this sudden halt, an old man emerged from the cabin, which I

saw now was a road-side ale-house, and presented Peter with a bucket of

meal and water, a species of "viaticum" that he evidently was accustomed

to, at this place, whether bestrode by a priest or an ambassador. Before

me lay a long straggling street of cabins, irregularly thrown, as if

riddled over the ground; this I was informed was Kilkee; while my good

steed, therefore, was enjoying his potation, I dismounted, to stretch my

legs and look about me, and scarcely had I done so when I found half the

population of the village assembled round Peter, whose claims to

notoriety, I now learned, depended neither upon his owner's fame, nor

even my temporary possession of him. Peter, in fact, had been a racer,

once--when, the wandering Jew might perhaps have told, had he ever

visited Clare--for not the oldest inhabitant knew the date of his

triumphs on the turf; though they were undisputed traditions, and never

did any man appear bold enough to call them in question: whether it was

from his patriarchal character, or that he was the only race-horse ever

known in his county I cannot say, but, of a truth, the Grand Lama could

scarcely be a greater object of reverence in Thibet, than was Peter in

Kilkee.

"Musha, Peter, but it's well y'r looking," cried one.

"Ah, thin, maybe ye an't fat on the ribs," cried another.

"An' cockin' his tail like a coult," said a third.

I am very certain, if I might venture to judge from the faces about,

that, had the favourite for the St. Leger, passed through Kilkee at that

moment, comparisons very little to his favor had been drawn from the

assemblage around me. With some difficulty I was permitted to reach my

much admired steed, and with a cheer, which was sustained and caught up

by every denizen of the village as I passed through, I rode on my way,

not a little amused at my equivocal popularity.

Being desirous to lose no time, I diverged from the straight road which

leads to Kilrush, and took a cross bridle-path to Callonby; this, I

afterwards discovered was a detour of a mile or two, and it was already

sun-set when I reached the entrance to the park. I entered the avenue,

and now my impatience became extreme, for although Peter continued to

move at the same uniform pace, I could not persuade myself that he was

not foundering at every step, and was quite sure we were scarcely

advancing; at last I reached the wooden bridge, and ascended the steep

slope, the spot where I had first met her, on whom my every thought now

rested. I turned the angle of the clump of beech trees from whence the

first view of the house is caught--I perceived to my inexpressible

delight that gleams of light shone from many of the windows, and could

trace their passing from one to the other. I now drew rein, and with a

heart relieved from a load of anxiety, pulled up my good steed, and began

to think of the position in which a few brief seconds would place me.

I reached the small flower-garden, sacred by a thousand endearing

recollections. Oh! of how very little account are the many words of

passing kindness, and moments of light-hearted pleasure, when spoken or

felt, compared to the memory of them when hallowed by time or distance.

"The place, the hour, the sunshine and the shade," all reminded me of the

happy past, and all brought vividly before me every portion of that dream

of happiness in which I was so utterly--so completely steeped--every

thought of the hopelessness of my passion was lost in the intensity of

it, and I did not, in the ardour of my loving, stop to think of its

possible success.

It was strange enough that the extreme impatience, the hurried anxiety, I

had felt and suffered from, while riding up the avenue, had now fled

entirely, and in its place I felt nothing but a diffident distrust of

myself, and a vague sense of awkwardness about intruding thus

unexpectedly upon the family, while engaged in all the cares and

preparations for a speedy departure. The hall-door lay as usual wide

open, the hall itself was strewn and littered with trunks, imperials,

and packing-cases, and the hundred et ceteras of travelling baggage.

I hesitated a moment whether I should not ring, but at last resolved to

enter unannounced, and, presuming upon my intimacy, see what effect my

sudden appearance would have on Lady Jane, whose feelings towards me

would be thus most unequivocally tested. I passed along the wide

corridor, entered the music-room--it was still--I walked then to the door

of the drawing-room--I paused--I drew a full breath--my hand trembled

slightly as I turned the lock--I entered--the room was empty, but the

blazing fire upon the hearth, the large arm-chairs drawn around, the

scattered books upon the small tables, all told that it had been

inhabited a very short time before. Ah! thought I, looking at my watch,

they are at dinner, and I began at once to devise a hundred different

plans to account for my late absence and present visit. I knew that a

few minutes would probably bring them into the drawing-room, and I felt

flurried and heated as the time drew near. At last I heard voices

without--I started from the examination of a pencil drawing but partly

finished, but the artist of which I could not be deceived in--I listened

--the sounds drew near--I could not distinguish who were the speakers

--the door-lock turned, and I rose to make my well-conned, but

half-forgotten speech; and oh, confounded disappointment, Mrs. Herbert,

the house-keeper, entered. She started, not expecting to see me, and

immediately said,

"Oh! Mr. Lorrequer! then you've missed them."

"Missed them!" said I; "how--when--where?"

"Did you not get a note from my lord?"

"No; when was it written?"

"Oh, dear me, that is so very unfortunate. Why, sir, my lord sent off a

servant this morning to Kilrush, in Lord Kilkee's tilbury, to request you

would meet them all in Ennis this evening, where they had intended to

stop for to-night; and they waited here till near four o'clock to-day,

but when the servant came back with the intelligence that you were from

home, and not expected to return soon, they were obliged to set out, and

are not going to make any delay now, till they reach London. The last

direction, however, my lord gave, was to forward her ladyship's letter to

you as soon as possible."

What I thought, said, or felt, might be a good subject of confession to

Father Malachi, for I fear it may be recorded among my sins, as I doubt

not that the agony I suffered vented itself in no measured form of speech

or conduct; but I have nothing to confess here on the subject, being so

totally overwhelmed as not to know what I did or said. My first gleam of

reason elicited itself by asking,

"Is there, then, no chance of their stopping in Ennis to-night?" As I

put the question my mind reverted to Peter and his eternal canter.

"Oh, dear, no, sir; the horses are ordered to take them, since Tuesday;

and they only thought of staying in Ennis, if you came time enough to

meet them--and they will be so sorry."

"Do you think so, Mrs. Herbert? do you, indeed, think so?" said I, in a

most insinuating tone.

"I am perfectly sure of it, sir."

"Oh, Mrs. Herbert, you are too kind to think so; but perhaps--that is

--may be, Mrs. Herbert, she said something--"

"Who, sir?"

"Lady Callonby, I mean; did her ladyship leave any message for me about

her plants? or did she remember--"

Mrs. Herbert kept looking at me all the time, with her great wide grey

eyes, while I kept stammering and blushing like a school-boy.

"No, sir; her ladyship said nothing, sir; but Lady Jane--"

"Yes; well, what of Lady Jane, my dear Mrs. Herbert?"

"Oh, sir! but you look pale; would not you like to have a little wine and

water--or perhaps--"

"No, thank you, nothing whatever; I am just a little fatigued--but you

were mentioning--"

"Yes, sir; I was saying that Lady Jane was mighty particular about a

small plant; she ordered it to be left in her dressing-room, though

Collins told her to have some of the handsome ones of the green-house,

she would have nothing but this; and if you were only to hear half the

directions she gave about keeping it watered, and taking off dead leaves,

you'd think her heart was set on it."

Mrs. Herbert would have had no cause to prescribe for my paleness had she

only looked at me this time; fortunately, however, she was engaged,

housekeeper-like, in bustling among books, papers, &c. which she had come

in for the purpose of arranging and packing up. She being left behind to

bring up the rear, and the heavy baggage.

Very few moments' consideration were sufficient to show me that pursuit

was hopeless; whatever might have been Peter's performance in the reign

of "Queen Anne," he had now become like the goose so pathetically

described by my friend Lover, rather "stiff in his limbs," and the odds

were fearfully against his overtaking four horses, starting fresh every

ten miles, not to mention their being some hours in advance already.

Having declined all Mrs. Herbert's many kind offers, anent food and rest,

I took a last lingering look at the beautiful pictures, which still held

its place in the room lately mine, and hurried from a place so full of

recollections; and, notwithstanding the many reasons I had for

self-gratulation, every object around and about, filled me with sorrow

and regret for hours that had passed--never, never to return.

It was very late when I reached my old quarters at Kilrush; Mrs. Healy

fortunately was in bed asleep--fortunately I say, for had she selected

that occasion to vent her indignation for my long absence, I greatly fear

that, in my then temper I should have exhibited but little of that

Job-like endurance for which I was once esteemed; I entered my little

mean-looking parlour, with its three chairs and lame table, and, as I

flung myself upon the wretched substitute for a sofa, and thought upon

the varied events which a few weeks had brought about; it required the

aid of her ladyship's letter, which I opened before me, to assure me I

was not dreaming.

The entire of that night I could not sleep; my destiny seemed upon its

balance; and, whether the scale inclined to this side or that, good or

evil fortune seemed to betide me. How many were my plans and

resolutions, and how often abandoned; again to be pondered over, and once

more given up. The grey dawn of the morning was already breaking, and

found me still doubting and uncertain. At last the die was thrown; I

determined at once to apply for leave to my commanding officer, (which he

could, if he pleased, give me, without any application to the Horse

Guards,) set out for Elton, tell Sir Guy my whole adventure, and

endeavour, by a more moving love story than ever graced even the Minerva

Press, to induce him to make some settlement on me, and use his influence

with Lord Callonby in my behalf; this done, set out for London, and then

--and then--what then?--then for the Morning Post--"Cadeau de noces"

--"happy couple"--"Lord Callonby's seat in Hampshire," &c. &c.

"You wished to be called at five, sir," said Stubber.

"Yes; is it five o'clock?"

"No, sir; but I heard you call out something about 'four horses,' and I

thought you might be hurried, so I came a little earlier."

"Quite right, Stubber; let me have my breakfast as soon as possible, and

see that chestnut horse I brought here last night, fed."

"And now for it," said I, after writing a hurried note to Curzon,

requesting him to take command of my party at Kilrush, till he heard from

me, and sending my kindest remembrance to my three friends; I despatched

the epistle by my servant on Peter, while I hastened to acquire a place in

the mail for Ennis, on the box seat of which let my kind reader suppose

me seated, as wrapping my box-coat around me, I lit my cigar and turned

my eyes towards Limerick.

CHAPTER VIII.

CONGRATULATIONS--SICK LEAVE--HOW TO PASS THE BOARD.

I had scarcely seated myself to breakfast at Swinburn's hotel in

Limerick, when the waiter presented me with a letter. As my first glance

at the address showed it to be in Colonel Carden's handwriting, I felt

not a little alarmed for the consequences of the rash step I had taken in

leaving my detachment; and, while quickly thronging fancies of arrest and

courtmartial flitted before me, I summoned resolution at last to break

the seal, and read as follows:--

"My dear Lorrequer," ("dear Lorrequer!" dear me, thought I; cool

certainly, from one I have ever regarded as an open enemy)--"My dear

Lorrequer, I have just accidentally heard of your arrival here, and

hasten to inform you, that, as it may not be impossible your reasons

for so abruptly leaving your detachment are known to me, I shall not

visit your breach of discipline very heavily. My old and worthy

friend, Lord Callonby, who passed through here yesterday, has so

warmly interested himself in your behalf, that I feel disposed to do

all in my power to serve you; independently of my desire to do so on

your own account. Come over here, then, as soon as possible, and

let us talk over your plans together.

"Believe me, most truly yours,

"Henry Carden.

"Barracks, 10 o'clock."

However mysterious and difficult to unravel, have been some of the

circumstances narrated in these "Confessions," I do not scruple to avow

that the preceding letter was to me by far the most inexplicable piece of

fortune I had hitherto met with. That Lord Callonby should have

converted one whom I believed an implacable foe, into a most obliging

friend, was intelligible enough, seeing that his lordship had through

life been the patron of the colonel; but why he had so done, and what

communications he could possibly have made with regard to me, that

Colonel Carden should speak of "my plans" and proffer assistance in them

was a perfect riddle; and the only solution, one so ridiculously

flattering that I dared not think of it. I read and re-read the note;

misplaced the stops; canvassed every expression; did all to detect a

meaning different from the obvious one, fearful of a self-deception where

so much was at stake. Yet there it stood forth, a plain straightforward

proffer of services, for some object evidently known to the writer; and

my only conclusion, from all, was this, that "my Lord Callonby was the

gem of his order, and had a most remarkable talent for selecting a

son-in-law."

I fell into a deep reverie upon my past life, and the prospects which I

now felt were opening before me. Nothing seemed extravagant to hopes so

well founded--to expectations so brilliant--and, in my mind's eye, I

beheld myself at one moment leading my young and beautiful bride through

the crowded salons of Devonshire House; and, at the next, I was

contemplating the excellence and perfection of my stud arrangements at

Melton, for I resolved not to give up hunting. While in this pleasurable

exercise of my fancy, I was removing from before me some of the breakfast

equipage, or, as I then believed it, breaking the trees into better

groups upon my lawn, I was once more brought to the world and its dull

reality, by the following passage which my eye fell upon in the newspaper

before me--"We understand that the 4_th are daily expecting the route for

Cork, from whence they are to sail, early in the ensuing month for

Halifax, to relieve the 99th." While it did not take a moment's

consideration to show me that though the regiment there mentioned was the

one I belonged to, I could have no possible interest in the announcement;

it never coming into my calculation that I should submit to such

expatriation; yet it gave me a salutary warning that there was no time

to be lost in making my application for leave, which, once obtained,

I should have ample time to manage an exchange into another corps.

The wonderful revolution a few days had effected in all my tastes and

desires, did not escape me at this moment. But a week or two before and

I should have regarded an order for foreign service as anything rather

than unpleasant--now the thought was insupportable. Then there would

have been some charm to me in the very novelty of the locale, and the

indulgence of that vagrant spirit I have ever possessed; for, like

Justice Woodcock, "I certainly should have been a vagabond if Providence

had not made me a justice of the peace"--now, I could not even

contemplate the thing as possible; and would have actually refused the

command of a regiment, if the condition of its acceptance were to sail

for the colonies.

Besides, I tried--and how ingenious is self-deception--I tried to find

arguments in support of my determination totally different from the

reasons which governed me. I affected to fear climate, and to dread the

effect of the tropics upon my health. It may do very well, thought I,

for men totally destitute of better prospects; with neither talent,

influence or powerful connexion, to roast their cheeks at Sierra Leone,

or suck a sugar-cane at St. Lucia. But that you, Harry Lorrequer, should

waste your sweetness upon planters' daughters--that have only to be

known, to have the world at your feet! The thing is absurd, and not to

be thought of! Yes, said I half aloud--we read in the army list, that

Major A. is appointed to the 50th, and Capt. B. to the 12th; but how much

more near the truth would it be, to say--"That His Majesty, in

consideration of the distinguished services of the one, has been

graciously pleased to appoint him to--a case of blue and collapsed

cholera, in India; and also, for the bravery and gallant conduct of the

other, in his late affair with the 'How-dow-dallah Indians,' has promoted

him to the--yellow fever now devastating and desolating Jamaica." How

far my zeal for the service might have carried me on this point, I know

not; for I was speedily aroused from my musings by the loud tramp of feet

upon the stairs, and the sound of many well-known voices of my brother

officers, who were coming to visit me.

"So, Harry, my boy," said the fat major as he entered; "is it true we are

not to have the pleasure of your company to Jamaica this time?"

"He prefers a pale face, it seems, to a black one; and certainly, with

thirty thousand in the same scale, the taste is excusable."

"But, Lorrequer," said a third, "we heard that you had canvassed the

county on the Callonby interest. Why, man, where do you mean to pull

up?"

"As for me," lisped a large-eyed, white-haired ensign of three months'

standing, "I think it devilish hard, old Carden didn't send ME down

there, too, for I hear there are two girls in the family. Eh,

Lorrequer?"

Having with all that peculiar bashfulness such occasions are sure to

elicit, disclaimed the happiness my friends so clearly ascribed to me,

I yet pretty plainly let it be understood that the more brilliant they

supposed my present prospects to be, the more near were they to estimate

them justly. One thing certainly gratified me throughout. All seemed

rejoiced at my good fortune, and even the old Scotch paymaster made no

more caustic remark than that he "wad na wonder if the chiel's black

whiskers wad get him made governor of Stirling Castle before he'd dee."

Should any of my most patient listeners to these my humble confessions,

wonder either here, or elsewhere, upon what very slight foundations I

built these my "Chateaux en Espagne," I have only one answer--"that from

my boyhood I have had a taste for florid architecture, and would rather

put up with any inconvenience of ground, than not build at all."

As it was growing late I hurriedly bade adieu to my friends, and hastened

to Colonel Carden's quarters, where I found him waiting for me, in

company with my old friend, Fitzgerald, our regimental surgeon. Our

first greetings over, the colonel drew me aside into a window, and said

that, from certain expressions Lord Callonby had made use of--certain

hints he had dropped--he was perfectly aware of the delicate position in

which I stood with respect to his lordship's family. "In fact, my dear

Lorrequer," he continued, "without wishing in the least to obtrude myself

upon your confidence, I must yet be permitted to say, you are the

luckiest fellow in Europe, and I most sincerely congratulate you on the

prospect before you."

"But, my dear Colonel, I assure you--"

"Well, well, there--not a word more; don't blush now. I know there is

always a kind of secrecy thought necessary on these occasions, for the

sake of other parties; so let us pass to your plans. From what I have

collected, you have not yet proposed formally. But, of course you desire

a leave. You'll not quit the army, I trust; no necessity for that; such

influence as yours can always appoint you to an unattached commission."

"Once more let me protest, sir, that though for certain reasons most

desirous to obtain a leave of absence, I have not the most remote--"

"That's right, quite right; I am sincerely gratified to hear you say so,

and so will be Lord Callonby; for he likes the service."

And thus was my last effort at a disclaimer cut short by the loquacious

little colonel, who regarded my unfinished sentence as a concurrence with

his own opinion.

"Allah il Allah," thought I, "it is my Lord Callonby's own plot; and his

friend Colonel Cardon aids and abets him."

"Now, Lorrequer," resumed the colonel, "let us proceed. You have, of

course, heard that we are ordered abroad; mere newspaper report for the

present; nevertheless, it is extremely difficult--almost impossible,

without a sick certificate, to obtain a leave sufficiently long for your

purpose."

And here he smirked, and I blushed, selon les regles..

"A sick certificate," said I in some surprise.

"The only thing for you," said Fitzgerald, taking a long pinch of snuff;

"and I grieve to say you have a most villainous look of good health about

you."

"I must acknowledge I have seldom felt better."

"So much the worse--so much the worse," said Fitzgerald despondingly.

"Is there no family complaint; no respectable heir-loom of infirmity, you

can lay claim to from your kindred?"

"None, that I know of, unless a very active performance on the several

occasions of breakfast, dinner, and supper, with a tendency towards port,

and an inclination to sleep ten in every twenty-four hours, be a sign of

sickness; these symptoms I have known many of the family suffer for

years, without the slightest alleviation, though, strange as it may

appear, they occasionally had medical advice."

Fitz. took no notice of my sneer at the faculty, but proceeded to strike

my chest several times, with his finger tips. "Try a short cough now,"

said he. "Ah, that will never do!"

"Do you ever flush. Before dinner I mean?"

"Occasionally, when I meet with a luncheon."

"I'm fairly puzzled," said poor Fitz. throwing himself into a chair;

"gout is a very good thing; but, then, you see you are only a sub., and

it is clearly against the articles of war, to have it before being a

field officer at least. Apoplexy is the best I can do for you; and, to

say the truth, any one who witnesses your performance at mess, may put

faith in the likelihood of it.

"Do you think you could get up a fit for the medical board," said Fitz.,

gravely.

"Why, if absolutely indispensable," said I, "and with good instruction

--something this way. Eh, is it not?"

"Nothing of the kind: you are quite wrong."

"Is there not always a little laughing and crying," said I.

"Oh, no, no; take the cue from the paymaster any evening after mess, and

you'll make no mistake--very florid about the cheeks; rather a lazy look

in one eye, the other closed up entirely; snore a little from time to

time, and don't be too much disposed to talk."

"And you think I may pass muster in this way."

"Indeed you may, if old Camie, the inspector, happen to be (what he is

not often) in a good humour. But I confess I'd rather you were really

ill, for we've passed a great number of counterfeits latterly, and we may

be all pulled up ere long."

"Not the less grateful for your kindness," said I; "but still, I'd rather

matters stood as they do."

Having, at length, obtained a very formidable statement of my 'case' from

the Doctor, and a strong letter from the Colonel, deploring the temporary

loss of so promising a young officer, I committed myself and my

portmanteau to the inside of his Majesty's mail, and started for Dublin

with as light a heart and high spirits, as were consistent with so much

delicacy of health, and the directions of my Doctor.

CHAPTER IX.

THE ROAD--TRAVELLING ACQUAINTANCES--A PACKET ADVENTURE.

I shall not stop now to narrate the particulars of my visit to the

worthies of the medical board; the rather, as some of my "confessions

to come" have reference to Dublin, and many of those that dwell therein.

I shall therefore content myself here with stating, that without any

difficulty I obtained a six months' leave, and having received much

advice and more sympathy from many members of that body, took a

respectful leave of them, and adjourned to Bilton's where I had ordered

dinner, and (as I was advised to live low) a bottle of Sneyd's claret.

My hours in Dublin were numbered; at eight o'clock on the evening of my

arrival I hastened to the Pidgeon House pier, to take my berth in the

packet for Liverpool; and here, gentle reader, let me implore you if you

have bowels of compassion, to commiserate the condition of a sorry mortal

like myself. In the days of which I now speak, steam packets were not

--men knew not then, of the pleasure of going to a comfortable bed in

Kingstown harbour, and waking on the morning after in the Clarence dock

at Liverpool, with only the addition of a little sharper appetite for

breakfast, before they set out on an excursion of forty miles per hour

through the air.

In the time I have now to commemorate, the intercourse between the two

countries was maintained by two sailing vessels of small tonnage, and

still scantier accommodation. Of the one now in question I well

recollect the name--she was called the "Alert," and certainly a more

unfortunate misnomer could scarcely be conceived. Well, there was no

choice; so I took my place upon the crowded deck of the little craft, and

in a drizzling shower of chilly rain, and amid more noise, confusion, and

bustle, than would prelude the launch of a line-of-battle ship, we

"sidled," goose-fashion, from the shore, and began our voyage towards

England.

It is not my intention, in the present stage of "my Confessions," to

delay on the road towards an event which influenced so powerfully, and so

permanently, my after life; yet I cannot refrain from chronicling a

slight incident which occurred on board the packet, and which, I have no

doubt, may be remembered by some of those who throw their eyes on these

pages.

One of my fellow-passengers was a gentleman holding a high official

appointment in the viceregal court, either comptroller of the household,

master of the horse, or something else equally magnificent; however,

whatever the nature of the situation, one thing is certain--one possessed

of more courtly manners, and more polished address, cannot be conceived,

to which he added all the attractions of a very handsome person and a

most prepossessing countenance. The only thing the most scrupulous

critic could possibly detect as faulty in his whole air and bearing, was

a certain ultra refinement and fastidiousness, which in a man of

acknowledged family and connections was somewhat unaccountable, and

certainly unnecessary. The fastidiousness I speak of, extended to

everything round and about him; he never eat of the wrong dish, nor spoke

to the wrong man in his life, and that very consciousness gave him a kind

of horror of chance acquaintances, which made him shrink within himself

from persons in every respect his equals. Those who knew Sir Stewart

Moore, will know I do not exaggerate in either my praise or censure, and

to those who have not had that pleasure, I have only to say, theirs was

the loss, and they must take my word for the facts.

The very antithesis to the person just mentioned, was another passenger

then on board. She, for even in sex they were different--she was a

short, squat, red-faced, vulgar-looking woman, of about fifty, possessed

of a most garrulous tendency, and talking indiscriminately with every one

about her, careless what reception her addresses met with, and quite

indifferent to the many rebuffs she momentarily encountered. To me by

what impulse driven Heaven knows this amorphous piece of womanhood seemed

determined to attach herself. Whether in the smoky and almost

impenetrable recesses of the cabin, or braving the cold and penetrating

rain upon deck, it mattered not, she was ever at my side, and not only

martyring me by the insufferable annoyance of her vulgar loquacity, but

actually, from the appearance of acquaintanceship such constant

association gave rise to, frightening any one else from conversing with

me, and rendering me, ere many hours, a perfect Paria among the

passengers. By not one were we--for, alas, we had become Siamese--so

thoroughly dreaded as by the refined baronet I have mentioned; he

appeared to shrink from our very approach, and avoided us as though we

had the plagues of Egypt about us. I saw this--I felt it deeply, and as

deeply and resolutely I vowed to be revenged, and the time was not long

distant in affording me the opportunity.

The interesting Mrs. Mulrooney, for such was my fair companion called,

was on the present occasion making her debut on what she was pleased to

call the "says;" she was proceeding to the Liverpool market as proprietor

and supercargo over some legion of swine that occupied the hold of the

vessel, and whose mellifluous tones were occasionally heard in all

parts of the ship. Having informed me on these, together with some

circumstances of her birth and parentage, she proceeded to narrate some

of the cautions given by her friends as to her safety when making such a

long voyage, and also to detail some of the antiseptics to that dread

scourge, sea-sickness, in the fear and terror of which she had come on

board, and seemed every hour to be increasing in alarm about.

"Do you think then sir, that pork is no good agin the sickness? Mickey,

that's my husband, sir, says it's the only thing in life for it, av it's

toasted."

"Not the least use, I assure you."

"Nor sperits and wather?"

"Worse and worse, ma'am."

"Oh, thin, maybe oaten mail tay would do? it's a beautiful thing for the

stomick, any how."

"Rank poison on the present occasion, believe me."

"Oh, then, blessed Mary, what am I to do--what is to become of me?"

"Go down at once to your berth, ma'am; lie still and without speaking

till we come in sight of land; or," and here a bright thought seized me,

"if you really feel very ill, call for that man there, with the fur

collar on his coat; he can give you the only thing I ever knew of any

efficacy; he's the steward, ma'am, Stewart Moore; but you must be on your

guard too as you are a stranger, for he's a conceited fellow, and has

saved a trifle, and sets up for a half gentleman; so don't be surprised

at his manner; though, after all, you may find him very different; some

people, I've heard, think him extremely civil."

"And he has a cure, ye say?"

"The only one I ever heard of; it is a little cordial of which you take,

I don't know how much, every ten or fifteen minutes."

"And the naygur doesn't let the saycret out, bad manners to him?"

"No, ma'am; he has refused every offer on the subject.'

"May I be so bowld as to ax his name again?"

"Stewart Moore, ma'am. Moore is the name, but people always call him

Stewart Moore; just say that in a loud clear voice, and you'll soon have

him."

With the most profuse protestations of gratitude and promises of pork "a

discretion," if I ever sojourned at Ballinasloe, my fair friend proceeded

to follow my advice, and descended to the cabin.

Some hours after, I also betook myself to my rest, from which, however,

towards midnight I was awoke by the heavy working and pitching of the

little vessel, as she laboured in a rough sea. As I looked forth from my

narrow crib, a more woe-begone picture can scarcely be imagined than that

before me. Here and there through the gloomy cabin lay the victims of

the fell malady, in every stage of suffering, and in every attitude of

misery. Their cries and lamentings mingled with the creaking of the

bulk-heads and the jarring twang of the dirty lamp, whose irregular swing

told plainly how oscillatory was our present motion. I turned from the

unpleasant sight, and was about again to address myself to slumber with

what success I might, when I started at the sound of a voice in the very

berth next to me--whose tones, once heard, there was no forgetting. The

words ran as nearly as I can recollect thus:--

"Oh, then, bad luck to ye for pigs, that ever brought me into the like of

this. Oh, Lord, there it is again." And here a slight interruption to

eloquence took place, during which I was enabled to reflect upon the

author of the complaint, who, I need not say, was Mrs. Mulrooney.

"I think a little tay would settle my stomach, if I only could get it;

but what's the use of talking in this horrid place? They never mind me

no more than if I was a pig. Steward, steward--oh, then, it's wishing

you well I am for a steward. Steward, I say;" and this she really did

say, with an energy of voice and manner that startled more than one

sleeper. "Oh, you're coming at last, steward."

"Ma'am," said a little dapper and dirty personage, in a blue jacket, with

a greasy napkin negligently thrown over one arm "ex officio," "Ma'am, did

you call?"

"Call, is it call? No; but I'm roaring for you this half hour. Come

here. Have you any of the cordial dhrops agin the sickness?--you know

what I mean."

"Is it brandy, ma'am?"

"No, it isn't brandy;"

"We have got gin, ma'am, and bottled porter--cider, ma'am, if you like."

"Agh, no! sure I want the dhrops agin the sickness."

"Don't know indeed, ma'am."

"Ah, you stupid creature; maybe you're not the real steward. What's your

name?"

"Smith, ma'am."

"Ah, I thought so; go away, man, go away."

This injunction, given in a diminuendo cadence, was quickly obeyed, and

all was silence for a moment or two. Once more was I dropping asleep,

when the same voice as before burst out with--

"Am I to die here like a haythen, and nobody to come near me? Steward,

steward, steward Moore, I say."

"Who calls me?" said a deep sonorous voice from the opposite side of the

cabin, while at the same instant a tall green silk nightcap, surmounting

a very aristocratic-looking forehead, appeared between the curtains of

the opposite berth.

"Steward Moore," said the lady again, with her eyes straining in the

direction of the door by which she expected him to enter.

"This is most strange," muttered the baronet, half aloud. "Why, madam,

you are calling me!"

"And if I am," said Mrs. Mulrooney, "and if ye heerd me, have ye no

manners to answer your name, eh? Are ye steward Moore?"

"Upon my soul ma'am I thought so last night, when I came on board; but

you really have contrived to make me doubt my own identity."

"And is it there ye're lying on the broad of yer back, and me as sick as

a dog fornent ye?"

"I concede ma'am the fact; the position is a most irksome one on every

account."

"Then why don't ye come over to me?" and this Mrs. Mulrooney said with a

voice of something like tenderness--wishing at all hazards to conciliate

so important a functionary.

"Why, really you are the most incomprehensible person I ever met."

"I'm what?" said Mrs. Mulrooney, her blood rushing to her face and

temples as she spoke--for the same reason as her fair townswoman is

reported to have borne with stoical fortitude every harsh epithet of the

language, until it occurred to her opponent to tell her that "the divil a

bit better she was nor a pronoun;" so Mrs. Mulrooney, taking "omne

ignotum pro horribili," became perfectly beside herself at the unlucky

phrase. "I'm what? repate it av ye dare, and I'll tear yer eyes out? Ye

dirty bla--guard, to be lying there at yer ease under the blankets,

grinning at me. What's your thrade--answer me that--av it isn't to wait

on the ladies, eh?"

"Oh, the woman must be mad," said Sir Stewart.

"The devil a taste mad, my dear--I'm only sick. Now just come over to

me, like a decent creature, and give me the dhrop of comfort ye have.

Come, avick."

"Go over to you?"

"Ay, and why not? or if it's so lazy ye are, why then I'll thry and cross

over to your side."

These words being accompanied by a certain indication of change of

residence on the part of Mrs. Mulrooney, Sir Stewart perceived there was

no time to lose, and springing from his berth, he rushed half-dressed

through the cabin, and up the companion-ladder, just as Mrs. Mulrooney

had protruded a pair of enormous legs from her couch, and hung for a

moment pendulous before she dropped upon the floor, and followed him to

the deck. A tremendous shout of laughter from the sailors and deck

passengers prevented my hearing the dialogue which ensued; nor do I yet

know how Mrs. Mulrooney learned her mistake. Certain it is, she no more

appeared among the passengers in the cabin, and Sir Stewart's manner the

following morning at breakfast amply satisfied me that I had had my

revenge.

CHAPTER X.

UPSET--MIND--AND BODY.

No sooner in Liverpool, than I hastened to take my place in the earliest

conveyance for London. At that time the Umpire Coach was the perfection

of fast travelling; and seated behind the box, enveloped in a sufficiency

of broad-cloth, I turned my face towards town with as much anxiety and as

ardent expectations as most of those about me. All went on in the

regular monotonous routine of such matters until we reached Northampton,

passing down the steep street of which town, the near wheel-horse

stumbled and fell; the coach, after a tremendous roll to one side,

toppled over on the other, and with a tremendous crash, and sudden shock,

sent all the outsides, myself among the number, flying through the air

like sea-gulls. As for me, after describing a very respectable parabola,

my angle of incidence landed me in a bonnet-maker's shop, having passed

through a large plate-glass window, and destroyed more leghorns and

dunstables than a year's pay would recompense. I have but light

recollection of the details of that occasion, until I found myself lying

in a very spacious bed at the George Inn, having been bled in both arms,

and discovering by the multitude of bandages in which I was enveloped,

that at least some of my bones were broken by the fall. That such fate

had befallen my collar-bone and three of my ribs I soon learned; and was

horror-struck at hearing from the surgeon who attended me, that four or

five weeks would be the very earliest period I could bear removal with

safety. Here then at once was a large deduction from my six months'

leave, not to think of the misery that awaited me for such a time,

confined to my bed in an inn, without books, friends, or acquaintances.

However even this could be remedied by patience, and summoning up all I

could command, I "bided my time," but not before I had completed a term

of two months' imprisonment, and had become, from actual starvation,

something very like a living transparency.

No sooner, however, did I feel myself once more on the road, than my

spirits rose, and I felt myself as full of high hope and buoyant

expectancy as ever. It was late at night when I arrived in London.

I drove to a quiet hotel in the west-end; and the following morning

proceeded to Portman-square, bursting with impatience to see my friends

the Callonbys, and recount all my adventures--for as I was too ill to

write from Northampton, and did not wish to entrust to a stranger the

office of communicating with them, I judged that they must be exceedingly

uneasy on my account, and pictured to myself the thousand emotions my

appearance so indicative of illness would give rise to; and could

scarcely avoid running in my impatience to be once more among them. How

Lady Jane would meet me, I thought of over again and again; whether the

same cautious reserve awaited me, or whether her family's approval would

have wrought a change in her reception of me, I burned to ascertain. As

my thoughts ran on in this way, I found myself at the door; but was much

alarmed to perceive that the closed window-shutters and dismantled look

of the house proclaimed them from home. I rung the bell, and soon

learned from a servant, whose face I had not seen before, that the family

had gone to Paris about a month before, with the intention of spending

the winter there. I need not say how grievously this piece of

intelligence disappointed me, and for a minute or two I could not

collect my thoughts. At last the servant said:

"If you have any thing very particular, sir, that my Lord's lawyer can

do, I can give you his address."

"No, thank you--nothing;" at the same time I muttered to myself, "I'll

have some occupation for him though ere long. The family were all quite

well, didn't you say?"

"Yes sir, perfectly well. My Lord had only a slight cold,"

"Ah--yes--and there address is 'Meurice;' very well."

So saying I turned from the door, and with slower steps than I had come,

returned to my hotel.

My immediate resolve was to set out for Paris; my second was to visit my

uncle, Sir Guy Lorrequer, first, and having explained to him the nature

of my position, and the advantageous prospects before me, endeavour to

induce him to make some settlement on Lady Jane, in the event of my

obtaining her family's consent to our marriage. This, from his liking

great people much, and laying great stress upon the advantages of

connexion, I looked upon as a matter of no great difficulty; so that,

although my hopes of happiness were delayed in their fulfilment, I

believed they were only about to be the more securely realized. The same

day I set out for Elton, and by ten o'clock at night reached my uncle's

house. I found the old gentleman looking just as I had left him three

years before, complaining a little of gout in the left foot--praising his

old specific, port-wine--abusing his servants for robbing him--and

drinking the Duke of Wellington's health every night after supper; which

meal I had much pleasure in surprising him at on my arrival--not having

eaten since my departure from London.

"Well, Harry," said my uncle, when the servants had left the room, and we

drew over the spider table to the fire to discuss our wine with comfort,

"what good wind has blown you down to me, my boy? for it's odd enough,

five minutes before I heard the wheels on the gravel I was just wishing

some good fellow would join me at the grouse--and you see I have had my

wish! The old story, I suppose, 'out of cash.' Would not come down here

for nothing--eh? Come, lad, tell truth; is it not so?"

"Why, not exactly, sir; but I really had rather at present talk about

you, than about my own matters, which we can chat over tomorrow. How do

you get on, sir, with the Scotch steward?"

"He's a rogue, sir--a cheat--a scoundrel; but it is the same with them

all; and your cousin, Harry--your cousin, that I have reared from his

infancy to be my heir, (pleasant topic for me!) he cares no more for me

than the rest of them, and would never come near me, if it were not that,

like yourself, he was hard run for money, and wanted to wheedle me out of

a hundred or two."

"But you forget, sir--I told you I have not come with such an object."

"We'll see that--we'll see that in the morning," replied he, with an

incredulous shake of the head.

"But Guy, sir--what has Guy done?"

"What has he not done? No sooner did he join that popinjay set of

fellows, the __th hussars, than he turned out, what he calls a

four-in-hand drag, which dragged nine hundred pounds out of my pocket

--then he has got a yacht at Cowes--a grouse mountain in Scotland--and

has actually given Tattersall an unlimited order to purchase the

Wreckinton pack of harriers, which he intends to keep for the use of the

corps. In a word, there is not an amusement of that villanous regiment,

not a flask of champagne drank at their mess, I don't bear my share in

the cost of; all through the kind offices of your worthy cousin, Guy

Lorrequer."

This was an exceedingly pleasant expose for me, to hear of my cousin

indulged in every excess of foolish extravagance by his rich uncle, while

I, the son of an elder brother who unfortunately called me by his own

name, Harry, remained the sub. in a marching regiment, with not three

hundred pounds a year above my pay, and whom any extravagance, if such

had been proved against me would have deprived of even that small

allowance. My uncle however did not notice the chagrin with which I

heard his narrative, but continued to detail various instances of wild

and reckless expense the future possessor of his ample property had

already launched into.

Anxious to say something without well-knowing what, I hinted that

probably my good cousin would reform some of these days, and marry.

"Marry," said my uncle; "yes, that, I believe, is the best thing we can

do with him; and I hope now the matter is in good train--so the latest

accounts say, at least."

"Ah, indeed," said I, endeavouring to take an interest where I really

felt none--for my cousin and I had never been very intimate friends, and

the differences in our fortunes had not, at least to my thinking, been

compensated by any advances which he, under the circumstances, might have

made to me.

"Why, Harry, did you not hear of it?" said my uncle.

"No--not a word, sir."

"Very strange, indeed--a great match, Harry--a very great match, indeed."

"Some rich banker's daughter," thought I. "What will he say when he

hears of my fortune?"

"A very fine young woman, too, I understand--quite the belle of London

--and a splendid property left by an aunt."

I was bursting to tell him of my affair, and that he had another nephew,

to whom if common justice were rendered, his fortune was as certainly

made for life.

"Guy's business happened this way," continued my uncle, who was quite

engrossed by the thought of his favourite's success. "The father of the

young lady met him in Ireland, or Scotland, or some such place, where he

was with his regiment--was greatly struck with his manner and address

--found him out to be my nephew--asked him to his house--and, in fact,

almost threw this lovely girl at his head before they were two months

acquainted."

"As nearly as possible my own adventure," thought I, laughing to myself.

"But you have not told me who they are, sir," said I, dying to have his

story finished, and to begin mine.

"I'm coming to that--I'm coming to that. Guy came down here, but did not

tell me one word of his having ever met the family, but begged me to give

him an introduction to them, as they were in Paris, where he was going on

a short leave; and the first thing I heard of the matter was a letter

from the papa, demanding from me if Guy was to be my heir, and asking

'how far his attentions in his family, met with my approval.'"

"Then how did you know sir that they were previously known to each

other?"

"The family lawyer told me, who heard it all talked over."

"And why, then, did Guy get the letter of introduction from you, when he

was already acquainted with them?"

"I am sure I cannot tell, except that you know he always does every thing

unlike every one else, and to be sure the letter seems to have excited

some amusement. I must show you his answer to my first note to know how

all was going on; for I felt very anxious about matters, when I heard

from some person who had met them, that Guy was everlastingly in the

house, and that Lord Callonby could not live without him."

"Lord who, sir?" said I in a voice that made the old man upset his glass,

and spring from his chair in horror.

"What the devil is the matter with the boy. What makes you so pale?"

"Whose name did you say at that moment, sir," said I with a slowness of

speech that cost me agony.

"Lord Callonby, my old schoolfellow and fag at Eton."

"And the lady's name, sir?" said I, in scarcely an audible whisper.

"I'm sure I forget her name; but here's the letter from Guy, and I think

he mentions her name in the postscript."

I snatched rudely the half-opened letter from the old man, as he was

vainly endeavouring to detect the place he wanted, and read as follows:

"My adored Jane is all your fondest wishes for my happiness could

picture, and longs to see her dear uncle, as she already calls you on

every occasion." I read no more--my eyes swam--the paper, the candles,

every thing before me, was misty and confused; and although I heard my

uncle's voice still going on, I knew nothing of what he said.

For some time my mind could not take in the full extent of the base

treachery I had met with, and I sat speechless and stupified. By degrees

my faculties became clearer, and with one glance I read the whole

business, from my first meeting with them at Kilrush to the present

moment. I saw that in their attentions to me, they thought they were

winning the heir of Elton, the future proprietor of fifteen thousand per

annum. From this tangled web of heartless intrigue I turned my thoughts

to Lady Jane herself. How had she betrayed me! for certainly she had not

only received, but encouraged my addresses--and so soon, too.--To think

that at the very moment when my own precipitate haste to see her had

involved me in a nearly fatal accident, she was actually receiving the

attentions of another! Oh, it was too, too bad.

But enough--even now I can scarcely dwell upon the memory of that moment,

when the hopes and dreams of many a long day and night were destined to

be thus rudely blighted. I seized the first opportunity of bidding my

uncle good night; and having promised him to reveal all my plans on the

morrow, hurried to my room.

My plans! alas, I had none--that one fatal paragraph had scattered them

to the winds; and I threw myself upon my bed, wretched and almost

heart-broken.

I have once before in these "Confessions" claimed to myself the

privilege, not inconsistent with a full disclosure of the memorabilia of

my life, to pass slightly over those passages, the burden of which was

unhappy, and whose memory is painful. I must now, therefore, claim the

"benefit of this act," and beg of the reader to let me pass from this sad

portion of my history, and for the full expression of my mingled rage,

contempt, disappointment, and sorrow, let me beg of him to receive

instead, what a learned pope once gave as his apology for not reading a

rather polysyllabic word in a Latin letter--"As for this," said he,

looking at the phrase in question, "soit qui'l dit," so say I. And now

--en route.

EBOOK EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

A rather unlady-like fondness for snuff

Amount of children which is algebraically expressed by an X

And some did pray--who never prayed before

Annoyance of her vulgar loquacity

Brought a punishment far exceeding the merits of the case

Chateaux en Espagne

Ending--I never yet met the man who could tell when it ended

Escaped shot and shell to fall less gloriously beneath champagne

Exclaimed with Othello himself, "Chaos was come again;"

Fearful of a self-deception where so much was at stake

Green silk, "a little off the grass, and on the bottle"

Had a most remarkable talent for selecting a son-in-law

Had to hear the "proud man's contumely"

Has but one fault, but that fault is a grand one

How ingenious is self-deception

If such be a sin, "then heaven help the wicked"

Indifferent to the many rebuffs she momentarily encountered

Memory of them when hallowed by time or distance

No equanimity like his who acts as your second in a duel

Nothing seemed extravagant to hopes so well founded

Now, young ladies, come along, and learn something, if you can

Oh, the distance is nothing, but it is the pace that kills

Opportunely been so overpowered as to fall senseless

Profuse in his legends of his own doings in love and war

Respectable heir-loom of infirmity

Stoicism which preludes sending your friend out of the world

Suppose I have laughed at better men than ever he was

That land of punch, priests, and potatoes

That vanity which wine inspires

That "to stand was to fall,"

The divil a bit better she was nor a pronoun

There are unhappily impracticable people in the world

Time, that 'pregnant old gentleman,' will disclose all

Vagabond if Providence had not made me a justice of the peace

What will not habit accomplish

When you pretended to be pleased, unluckily, I believed you

Whose paraphrase of the book of Job was refused

Wretched, gloomy-looking picture of woe-begone poverty

What we wish we readily believe