If Mr. O"Leary heard one word of this artful speech, I know not, but he certainly paid no attention to it, nor the speaker, who left the room without his appearing aware of it.
"Now that she is gone--for which heaven be praised," said I to myself; "let me see what this fellow can mean."
As I turned from the door, I could scarcely avoid laughing aloud at the figure before me. He stood opposite a large mirror, his hat on one side of his head, one arm in his breast, and the other extended, leaning upon his stick; a look of as much ferocity as such features could accomplish had been a.s.sumed, and his whole att.i.tude was a kind of caricature of a melo-dramatic hero in a German drama.
"Why, O"Leary, what is all this?"
"Hush, hush," said he, in a terrified whisper--"never mention that name again, till we are over the frontier."
"But, man, explain--what do you mean?"
"Can"t you guess," said he drily.
"Impossible; unless the affair at the saloon has induced you to take this disguise, I cannot conceive the reason."
"Nothing farther from it, my dear friend; much worse than that."
"Out with it, then, at once."
"She"s come--she"s here--in this very house--No. 29, above the entre sol."
"Who is here, in No. 29, above the entre sol?"
"Who, but Mrs. O"Leary herself. I was near saying bad luck to her."
"And does she know you are here?"
"That is what I can"t exactly say," said he, "but she has had the Livre des Voyageurs brought up to her room, and has been making rather unpleasant inquiries for the proprietor of certain hieroglyphics beginning with O, which have given me great alarm--the more, as all the waiters have been sent for in turn, and subjected to long examination by her. So I have lost no time, but, under the auspices of your friend Trevanion, have become the fascinating figure you find me, and am now Compte O"Lieuki, a Pole of n.o.ble family, banished by the Russian government, with a father in Siberia, and all that; and I hope, by the end of the week, to be able to cheat at ecarte, and deceive the very police itself."
The idea of O"Leary"s a.s.suming such a metamorphosis was too absurd not to throw me into a hearty fit of laughing, in which the worthy emigre indulged also.
"But why not leave this at once," said I, "if you are so much in dread of a recognition?"
"You forget the trial," added O"Leary, "I must be here on the 18th or all my bail is forfeited."
"True--I had forgot that. Well, now, your plans?"-- "Simply to keep very quiet here till the affair of the tribunal is over, and then quit France at once. Meanwhile, Trevanion thinks that we may, by a bold stratagem, send Mrs. O"Leary off on a wrong scent, and has requested Mrs. Bingham to contrive to make her acquaintance, and ask her to tea in her room, when she will see me, en Polonais, at a distance, you know--hear something of my melancholy destiny from Trevanion--and leave the hotel quite sure she has no claim on me. Meanwhile, some others of the party are to mention incidentally having met Mr. O"Leary somewhere, or heard of his decease, or any pleasant little incident that may occur to them."
"The plan is excellent," said I, "for in all probability she may never come in your way again, if sent off on a good errand this time."
"That"s what I"m thinking," said O"Leary; "and I am greatly disposed to let her hear that I"m with Belzoni in Egypt, with an engagement to spend the Christmas with the Dey of Algiers. That would give her a very pretty tour for the remainder of the year, and show her the pyramids. But, tell me fairly, am I a good Pole?"
"Rather short," said I, "and a little too fat, perhaps."
"That comes from the dash of Tartar blood, nothing more; and my mother was a Fin," said he, "she"ll never ask whether from Carlow or the Caucasus. How I revel in the thought, that I may smoke in company without a breach of the unities. But I must go: there is a gentleman with a quinsey in No. 9, that gives me a lesson in Polish this morning. So good-by, and don"t forget to be well enough to-night, for you must be present at my debut."
O"Leary had scarcely gone, when my thoughts reverted to Emily Bingham. I was not such a c.o.xcomb as to fancy her in love with me; yet certainly there was something in the affair which looked not unlike it; and though, by such a circ.u.mstance, every embarra.s.sment which pressed upon me had become infinitely greater, I could not dissemble from myself a sense of pleasure at the thought. She was really a very pretty girl, and improved vastly upon acquaintance. "Le absens ont toujours torts" is the truest proverb in any language, and I felt it in its fullest force when Trevanion entered my room.
"Well, Lorrequer," said he, "your time is certainly not likely to hang heavily on your hands in Paris, if occupation will prevent it, for I find you are just now booked for a new sc.r.a.pe."
"What can you mean?" said I, starting up.
"Why, O"Leary, who has been since your illness, the constant visiter at the Binghams--dining there every day, and spending his evenings--has just told me that the mamma is only waiting for the arrival of Sir Guy Lorrequer in Paris to open the trenches in all form; and from what she has heard of Sir Guy, she deems it most likely he will give her every aid and support to making you the husband of the fair Emily."
"And with good reason, too," said I; "for if my uncle were only given to understand that I had once gone far in my attentions, nothing would induce him to break off the match. He was crossed in love himself when young, and has made a score of people miserable since, in the benevolent idea of marrying them against every obstacle."
"How very smart you have become," said Trevanion, taking a look round my room, and surveying in turn each of the new occupants. "You must certainly reckon upon seeing your fair friend here, or all this propriete is sadly wasted."
This was the time to explain all about Miss Bingham"s visit; and I did so, of course omitting any details which might seem to me needless, or involving myself in inconsistency.
Trevanion listened patiently to the end--was silent for some moments --then added-- "And you never saw the letter?"
"Of course not. It was burned before my eyes."
"I think the affair looks very serious, Lorrequer. You may have won this girl"s affections. It matters little whether the mamma be a hacknied match-maker, or the cousin a bullying duellist. If the girl have a heart, and that you have gained it"-- "Then I must marry, you would say."
"Exactly so--without the prompting of your worthy uncle, I see no other course open to you without dishonour. My advice, therefore, is, ascertain--and that speedily--how far your attentions have been attended with the success you dread--and then decide at once. Are you able to get as far as Mrs. Bingham"s room this morning? If so, come along. I shall take all the frais of la chere mamma off your hands, while you talk to the daughter; and half-an-hour"s courage and resolution will do it all."
Having made the most effective toilet my means would permit, my right arm in a sling, and my step trembling from weakness, I sallied forth with Trevanion to make love with as many fears for the result as the most bashful admirer ever experienced, when pressing his suit upon some haughty belle--but for a far different reason.
CHAPTER x.x.xVII.
THE PROPOSAL.
On reaching Mrs. Bingham"s apartments, we found that she had just left home to wait upon Mrs. O"Leary, and consequently, that Miss Bingham was alone. Trevanion, therefore, having wished me a safe deliverance through my trying mission, shook my hand warmly, and departed.
I stood for some minutes irresolutely, with my hand upon the lock of the door. To think that the next few moments may decide the fortune of one"s after life, is a sufficiently anxious thought; but that your fate may be so decided, by compelling you to finish in sorrow what you have begun in folly, is still more insupportable. Such, then, was my condition. I had resolved within myself, if the result of this meeting should prove that I had won Miss Bingham"s affections, to propose for her at once in all form, and make her my wife. If, on the other hand, I only found that she too had amused herself with a little pa.s.sing flirtation, why then, I was a free man once more: but, on catechising myself a little closer, also, one somewhat disposed to make love de novo.
With the speed of lightning, my mind ran over every pa.s.sage of our acquaintance--our first meeting--our solitary walks--our daily, hourly a.s.sociations--our travelling intimacy--the adventure at Chantraine; --There was, it is true, nothing in all this which could establish the fact of wooing, but every thing which should convince an old offender like myself that the young lady was "en prise," and that I myself --despite my really strong attachment elsewhere--was not entirely scathless.
"Yes," said I, half aloud, as I once more reviewed the past, "it is but another chapter in my history in keeping with all the rest--one step has ever led me to a second, and so on to a third; what with other men have pa.s.sed for mere trifles, have ever with me become serious difficulties, and the false enthusiasm with which I ever follow any object in life, blinds me for the time, and mistaking zeal for inclination, I never feel how little my heart is interested in success, till the fever of pursuit is over."
These were pleasant thoughts for one about to throw himself at a pretty girl"s feet, and pour out his "soul of love before her;" but that with me was the least part of it. Curran, they say, usually picked up his facts in a case from the opposite counsel"s statements; I always relied for my conduct in carrying on any thing, to the chance circ.u.mstances of the moment, and trusted to my animal spirits to give me an interest in whatever for the time being engaged me.
I opened the door. Miss Bingham was sitting at a table, her head leaning upon her hands--some open letters which lay before her, evidently so occupying her attention, that my approach was unheard. On my addressing her, she turned round suddenly, and became at first deep scarlet, then pale as death: while, turning to the table, she hurriedly threw her letters into a drawer, and motioned me to a place beside her.
After the first brief and common-place inquiry for my health, and hopes for my speedy recovery, she became silent; and I too, primed with topics innumerable to discuss--knowing how short my time might prove before Mrs. Bingham"s return--could not say a word.
"I hope, Mr. Lorrequer," said she, at length, "that you have incurred no risque by leaving your room so early."
"I have not," I replied, "but, even were there a certainty of it, the anxiety I laboured under to see and speak with you alone, would have overcome all fears on this account. Since this unfortunate business has confined me to my chamber, I have done nothing but think over circ.u.mstances which have at length so entirely taken possession of me, that I must, at any sacrifice, have sought an opportunity to explain to you"--here Emily looked down, and I continued--"I need scarcely say what my feelings must long since have betrayed, that to have enjoyed the daily happiness of living in your society, of estimating your worth, of feeling your fascinations, were not the means most in request for him, who knew, too well, how little he deserved, either by fortune or desert, to hope, to hope to make you his; and yet, how little has prudence or caution to do with situations like this." She did not guess the animus of this speech. "I felt all I have described; and yet, and yet, I lingered on, prizing too dearly the happiness of the present hour, to risque it by any avowal of sentiments, which might have banished me from your presence for ever. If the alteration of these hopes and fears have proved too strong for my reason at last, I cannot help it; and this it is which now leads me to make this avowal to you." Emily turned her head away from me; but her agitated manner showed how deeply my words had affected her; and I too, now that I had finished, felt that I had been "coming it rather strong."
"I hoped, Mr. Lorrequer," said she, at length, "I hoped, I confess, to have had an opportunity of speaking with you." Then, thought I, the game is over, and Bishop Lus...o...b.. is richer by five pounds, than I wish him. --"Something, I know not what, in your manner, led me to suspect that your affections might lean towards me; hints you have dropped, and, now and then, your chance allusions strengthened the belief, and I determined, at length, that no feeling of maidenly shame on my part should endanger the happiness of either of us, and I determined to see you; this was so difficult, that I wrote a letter, and that letter, which might have saved me all distressing explanation, I burned before you this morning."
"But, why, dearest girl,"--here was a plunge--"why, if the letter could remove any misconstruction, or could be the means of dispelling any doubt--why not let me see it?"
"Hear me out," cried she, eagerly, and evidently not heeding my interruption, "I determined if your affections were indeed"--a flood of tears here broke forth, and drowned her words; her head sank between her hands, and she sobbed bitterly.
"Corpo di Baccho!" said I to myself, "It is all over with me; the poor girl is evidently jealous, and her heart will break."
"Dearest, dearest Emily," said I, pa.s.sing my arm round her, and approaching my head close to her"s, "if you think that any other love than yours could ever beat within this heart--that I could see you hourly before me--live beneath your smile, and gaze upon your beauty--and, still more than all--pardon the boldness of the thought--feel that I was not indifferent to you."-- "Oh! spare me this at least," said she, turning round her tearful eyes upon me, and looking most bewitchingly beautiful. "Have I then showed you this plainly?"
"Yes, dearest girl! That instinct which tells us we are loved has spoken within me. And here in this beating heart"-- "Oh! say not more," said she, "if I have, indeed, gained your affections"-- "If--if you have," said I, clasping her to my heart, while she continued to sob still violently, and I felt half disposed to blow my brains out for my success. However, there is something in love-making as in fox-hunting, which carries you along in spite of yourself; and I continued to pour forth whole rhapsodies of love that the Pastor Fido could not equal.
"Enough," said she, "it is enough that you love me and that I have encouraged your so doing. But oh! tell me once more, and think how much of future happiness may rest upon your answer--tell me, may not this be some pa.s.sing attachment, which circ.u.mstances have created, and others may dispel? Say, might not absence, time, or another more worthy"-- This was certainly a very rigid cross-examination when I thought the trial was over; and not being exactly prepared for it, I felt no other mode of reply than pressing her taper fingers alternately to my lips, and muttering something that might pa.s.s for a declaration of love unalterable, but, to my own ears, resembled a lament on my folly.
"She is mine now," thought I, "so we must e"en make the best of it; and truly she is a very handsome girl, though not a Lady Jane Callonby. The next step is the mamma; but I do not antic.i.p.ate much difficulty in that quarter."
"Leave me now," said she, in a low and broken voice; "but promise not to speak of this meeting to any one before we meet again. I have my reasons; believe me they are sufficient ones, so promise me this before we part."
Having readily given the pledge required, I again kissed her hand and bade farewell, not a little puzzled the whole time at perceiving that ever since my declaration and acceptance Emily seemed any thing but happy, and evidently struggling against some secret feeling of which I knew nothing. "Yes," thought I, as I wended my way along the corridor, "the poor girl is tremendously jealous, and I must have said may a thing during our intimacy to hurt her. However, that is all past and gone; and now comes a new character for me: my next appearance wil be "en bon mari.""
CHAPTER x.x.xVIII.
THOUGHTS UPON MATRIMONY IN GENERAL, AND IN THE ARMY IN PARTICULAR--THE KNIGHT OF KERRY AND BILLY M"CABE.
"So," thought I, as I closed the door of my room behind me, "I am accepted--the die is cast which makes me a Benedict: yet heaven knows that never was a man less disposed to be over joyous at his good fortune!" What a happy invention it were, if when adopting any road in life, we could only manage to forget that we had ever contemplated any other! It is the eternal looking back in this world that forms the staple of all our misery; and we are but ill-requited for such unhappiness by the brightest antic.i.p.ations we can conjure up for the future. How much of all that "past" was now to become a source of painful recollection, and to how little of the future could I look forward with even hope!
Our weaknesses are much more constantly the spring of all our annoyances and troubles than even our vices. The one we have in some sort of subjection: we are perfectly slaves to the others. This thought came home most forcibly to my bosom, as I reflected upon the step which led me on imperceptibly to my present embarra.s.sment. "Well, c"est fini, now," said I, drawing upon that bountiful source of consolation ever open to the man who mars his fortune--that "what is past can"t be amended;" which piece of philosophy, as well as its twin brother, that "all will be the same a hundred years hence," have been golden rules to me from my childhood.
The transition from one mode of life to another perfectly different has ever seemed to me a great trial of a man"s moral courage; besides that the fact of quitting for ever any thing, no matter how insignificant or valueless, is always attended with painful misgivings. My bachelor life had its share of annoyances and disappointments, it is true; but, upon the whole it was a most happy one--and now I was about to surrender it for ever, not yielding to the impulse of affection and love for one without whom life were valueless to me, but merely a recompense for the indulgence of that fatal habit I had contracted of pursuing with eagerness every shadow that crossed my path. All my early friends --all my vagrant fancies--all my daydreams of the future I was now to surrender--for, what becomes of any man"s bachelor friends when he is once married? Where are his rambles in high and bye-ways when he has a wife? and what is left for antic.i.p.ation after his wedding except, perhaps, to speculate upon the arrangement of his funeral? To a military man more than to any other these are serious thoughts. All the fascinations of an army life, in war or peace, lie in the daily, hourly a.s.sociations with your brother officers--the morning cigar, the barrack-square lounge--the afternoon ride--the game of billiards before dinner--the mess (that perfection of dinner society)--the plans for the evening--the deviled kidney at twelve--forming so many points of departure whence you sail out upon your daily voyage through life. Versus those you have that awful perversion of all that is natural--an officer"s wife. She has been a beauty when young, had black eyes and high complexion, a good figure, rather inclined to embonpoint, and a certain springiness in her walk, and a jauntiness in her air, that are ever sure attractions to a sub in a marching regiment. She can play backgammon, and sing "di tanti palpiti," and, if an Irishwoman, is certain to be able to ride a steeple-chase, and has an uncle a lord, who (en parenthese) always turns out to be a creation made by King James after his abdication. In conclusion, she breakfasts en papillote--wears her shoes down at heel--calls every officer of the regiment by his name --has a great taste for increasing his majesty"s lieges, and delights in London porter. To this genus of Frow I have never ceased to entertain the most thrilling abhorrence; and yet how often have I seen what appeared to be pretty and interesting girls fall into something of this sort! and how often have I vowed any fate to myself rather than become the husband of a baggage-waggon wife!
Had all my most sanguine hopes promised realizing--had my suit with Lady Jane been favourable, I could scarcely have bid adieu to my bachelor life without a sigh. No prospect of future happiness can ever perfectly exclude all regret at quitting our present state for ever. I am sure if I had been a caterpillar, it would have been with a heavy heart that I would have donned my wings as a b.u.t.terfly. Now the metamorphosis was reversed: need it be wondered if I were sad?
So completely was I absorbed in my thoughts upon this matter, that I had not perceived the entrance of O"Leary and Trevanion, who, unaware of my being in the apartment, as I was stretched upon a sofa in a dark corner, drew their chairs towards the fire and began chatting.
"Do you know, Mr. Trevanion," said O"Leary, "I am half afraid of this disguise of mine. I sometimes think I am not like a Pole; and if she should discover me"-- "No fear of that in the world; your costume is perfect, your beard unexceptionable. I could, perhaps, have desired a little less paunch; but then"-- "That comes of fretting, as Falstaff says; and you must not forget that I am banished from my country."
"Now, as to your conversation, I should advise you saying very little --not one word in English. You may, if you like, call in the a.s.sistance of Irish when hard pressed?
"I have my fears on that score. There is no knowing where that might lead to discovery. You know the story of the Knight of Kerry and Billy McCabe?"
"I fear I must confess my ignorance--I have never heard of it."
"Then may be you never knew Giles Daxon?"
"I have not had that pleasure either."
"Lord bless me, how strange that is! I thought he was better known than the Duke of Wellington or the travelling piper. Well, I must tell you the story, for it has a moral, too--indeed several morals; but you"ll find that out for yourself. Well, it seems that one day the Knight of Kerry was walking along the Strand in London, killing an hour"s time, till the house was done prayers, and Hume tired of hearing himself speaking; his eye was caught by an enormous picture displayed upon the wall of a house, representing a human figure covered with long dark hair, with huge nails upon his hands, and a most fearful expression of face. At first the Knight thought it was Dr. Bowring; but on coming nearer he heard a man with a scarlet livery and a c.o.c.ked hat, call out, "Walk in, ladies and gentlemen--the most vonderful curiosity ever exhibited--only one shilling--the vild man from Chippoow.a.n.go, in Africay--eats raw wittles without being cooked, and many other surprising and pleasing performances."
"The knight paid his money, and was admitted. At first the crowd prevented his seeing any thing--for the place was full to suffocation, and the noise awful--for, besides the exclamations and applause of the audience, there were three barrel-organs, playing "Home, sweet Home!" and "Cherry Ripe," and the wild man himself contributed his share to the uproar. At last, the Knight obtained, by dint of squeezing, and some pushing a place in the front, when, to his very great horror, he beheld a figure that far eclipsed the portrait without doors.
"It was a man nearly naked, covered with long, s.h.a.ggy hair, that grew even over his nose and cheek bones. He sprang about, sometimes on his feet, sometimes, all-fours, but always uttering the most fearful yells, and glaring upon the crowd, in a manner that was really dangerous. The Knight did not feel exactly happy at the whole proceeding, and began heartily to wish himself back in the "House," even upon a committee of privileges, when, suddenly, the savage gave a more frantic scream than before, and seized upon a morsel of raw beef, which a keeper extended to him upon a long fork, like a tandem whip--he was not safe, it appears, at close quarters;--this he tore to pieces eagerly and devoured in the most voracious manner, amid great clapping of hands, and other evidences of satisfaction from the audience. I"ll go, now, thought the Knight: for, G.o.d knows whether, in his hungry moods, he might not fancy to conclude his dinner by a member of parliament. Just at this instant, some sounds struck upon his ear that surprised him not a little. He listened more attentively; and, conceive if you can, his amazement, to find that, amid his most fearful cries, and wild yells, the savage was talking Irish. Laugh, if you like; but it"s truth I am telling you; nothing less than Irish. There he was, jumping four feet high in the air, eating his raw meat: pulling out his hair by handfuls; and, amid all this, cursing the whole company to his heart"s content, in as good Irish as ever was heard in Tralee. Now, though the Knight had heard of red Jews and white Negroes, he had never happened to read any account of an African Irishman; so, he listened very closely, and by degrees, not only the words were known to him, but the very voice was familiar. At length, something he heard, left no further doubt upon his mind, and, turning to the savage, he addressed him in Irish, at the same time fixing a look of most scrutinizing import upon him.
""Who are you, you scoundrel" said the Knight.
""Billy M"Cabe your honour."
""And what do you mean by playing off these tricks here, instead of earning your bread like an honest man?"
""Whisht," said Billy, "and keep the secret. I"m earning the rent for your honour. One must do many a queer thing that pays two pound ten an acre for bad land."
"This was enough: the Knight wished Billy every success, and left him amid the vociferous applause of a well satisfied audience. This adventure, it seems, has made the worthy Knight a great friend to the introduction of poor laws; for, he remarks very truly, "more of Billy"s countrymen might take a fancy to a savage life, if the secret was found out.""
It was impossible for me to preserve my incognito, as Mr. O"Leary concluded his story, and I was obliged to join in the mirth of Trevanion, who laughed loud and long as he finished it.
CHAPTER x.x.xIX.
A REMINISCENCE.
O"Leary and Trevanion had scarcely left the room when the waiter entered with two letters--the one bore a German post-mark, and was in the well-known hand of Lady Callonby--the other in a writing with which I was no less familiar--that of Emily Bingham.
Let any one who has been patient enough to follow me through these "Confessions," conceive my agitation at this moment. There lay my fate before me, coupled, in all likelihood, with a view of what it might have been under happier auspices--at least so in antic.i.p.ation did I read the two unopened epistles. My late interview with Miss Bingham left no doubt upon my mind that I had secured her affections; and acting in accordance with the counsel of Trevanion, no less than of my own sense of right, I resolved upon marrying her, with what prospect of happiness I dared not to think of!
Alas! and alas! there is no infatuation like the taste for flirtation --mere empty, valueless, heartless flirtation. You hide the dice-box and the billiard queue, lest your son become a gambler--you put aside the racing calendar, lest he imbibe a jockey predilection--but you never tremble at his fondness for white muslin and a satin slipper, far more dangerous tastes though they be, and infinitely more perilous to a man"s peace and prosperity than all the "queens of trumps" that ever figured, whether on pasteboard or the Doncaster. "Woman"s my weakness, yer honor," said an honest Patlander, on being charged before the lord mayor with having four wives living; and without having any such "Algerine act" upon my conscience, I must, I fear, enter a somewhat similar plea for my downfallings, and avow in humble grat.i.tude, that I have scarcely had a misfortune through life unattributable to them in one way or another. And this I say without any reference to country, cla.s.s, or complexion, "black, brown or fair," from my first step forth into life, a raw sub. in the gallant 4th, to this same hour, I have no other avowal, no other confession to make. "Be always ready with the pistol," was the dying advice of an Irish statesman to his sons: mine, in a similar circ.u.mstance, would rather be "Gardez vous des femmes," and more especially if they be Irish.
There is something almost treacherous in the facility with which an Irish girl receives your early attentions and appears to like them, that invariably turns a young fellow"s head very long before he has any prospect of touching her heart. She thinks it so natural to be made love to, that there is neither any affected coyness nor any agitated surprise. She listens to your declaration of love as quietly as the chief justice would to one of law, and refers the decision to a packed jury of her relatives, who rarely recommend you to mercy. Love and fighting, too, are so intimately united in Ireland, that a courtship rarely progresses without at least one exchange of shots between some of the parties concerned. My first twenty-four hours in Dublin is so pleasantly characteristic of this that I may as well relate it here, while the subject is before us; besides, as these "Confessions" are intended as warnings and guides to youth, I may convey a useful lesson, showing why a man should not "make love in the dark."
It was upon a raw, cold, drizzling morning in February, 18_, that our regiment landed on the North-wall from Liverpool, whence we had been hurriedly ordered to repress some riots and disturbances then agitating Dublin.
We marched to the Royal Barracks, our band playing Patrick"s Day, to the very considerable admiration of as naked a population as ever loved music. The th dragoons were at the same time quartered there--right pleasant jovial fellows, who soon gave us to understand that the troubles were over before we arrived, and that the great city authorities were now returning thanks for their preservation from fire and sword, by a series of entertainments of the most costly, but somewhat incongruous kind--the company being scarce less melee than the dishes. Peers and playactors, judges and jailors, archbishops, tailors, attorneys, ropemakers and apothecaries, all uniting in the festive delight of good feeding, and drinking the "glorious memory"--but of whom half the company knew not, only surmising "it was something agin the papists." You may smile, but these were pleasant times, and I scarcely care to go back there since they were changed. But to return. The th had just received an invitation to a ball, to be given by the high sheriff, and to which they most considerately said we should also be invited. This negociation was so well managed that before noon we all received our cards from a green liveried youth, mounted on a very emaciated pony--the whole turn-out not auguring flatteringly of the high sheriff"s taste in equipage.
We dined with the th, and, as customary before going to an evening party, took the "other bottle" of claret that lies beyond the frontier of prudence. In fact, from the lieutenant-colonel down to the newly-joined ensign, there was not a face in the party that did not betray "signs of the times" that boded most favourably for the mirth of the sheriff"s ball. We were so perfectly up to the mark, that our major, a Connemara man, said, as we left the mess-room, "a liqueure gla.s.s would spoil us."
In this acme of our intellectual wealth, we started about eleven o"clock upon every species of conveyance that chance could press into the service. Of hackney coaches there were few--but in jingles, noddies, and jaunting-cars, with three on a side and "one in the well," we mustered strong--Down Barrack-street we galloped, the mob cheering us, we laughing, and I"m afraid shouting a little, too--the watchmen springing their rattles, as if instinctively at noise, and the whole population up and awake, evidently entertaining a high opinion of our convivial qualities. Our voices became gradually more decorous, however, as we approached the more civilized quarter of the town; and with only the slight stoppage of the procession to pick up an occasional dropper-off, as he lapsed from the seat of a jaunting-car, we arrived at length at our host"s residence, somewhere in Sackville-street.