Читать книгу The Knight Of Gwynne, Vol. 2 - Lever Charles James - Страница 2

The Knight of Gwynne was far too much occupied in his own reflections to attend to his companion, and exhibited a total unconcern to several piquant little narratives of Mrs. Mackie’s dexterity in dealing the cards, of Mrs. Fumbally’s parsimony in domestic arrangements, of Miss Boyle’s effrontery, of Leonard’s intemperance, and even of Miss Daly’s assumed superiority.

“You ‘re taking the wrong path,” said Mr. Dempsey, suddenly interrupting one of his own narratives, at a spot where the two roads diverged, – one proceeding inland, while the other followed the line of the coast.

“With your leave, sir,” said Darcy, coldly, “I will take this way, and if you ‘ll kindly permit it, I will do so alone.”

“Oh, certainly!” said Dempsey, without the slightest sign of umbrage; “would never have thought of joining you had it not been from overhearing an expression so exactly pat to my own condition, that I thought we were brothers in misfortune; you scarcely bear up as well as I do, though.”

Darcy turned abruptly round, as the fear flashed across him, and he muttered to himself, “This fellow knows me; if so, the whole county will soon be as wise as himself, and the place become intolerable.” Oppressed with this unpleasant reflection, the Knight moved on, nor was it till after a considerable interval that he was conscious of his companion’s presence; for Mr. Dempsey still accompanied him, though at the distance of several paces, and as if following a path of his own choosing.

Darcy laughed good-humoredly at the pertinacity of his tormentor; and half amused by the man, and half ashamed of his own rudeness to him, he made some casual observation on the scenery to open a reconciliation.

“The coast is much finer,” said Dempsey, “close to your cottage.”

This was a home-thrust for the Knight, to show him that concealment was of no use against so subtle an adversary.

“‘The Corvy’ is, as you observe, very happily situated,” replied Darcy, calmly; “I scarcely know which to prefer, – the coast-line towards Dunluce, or the bold cliffs that stretch away to Bengore.”

“When the wind comes north-by-west,” said Dempsey, with a shrewd glance of his greenish gray eyes, “there ‘s always a wreck or two between the Skerries and Portrush.”

“Indeed! Is the shore so unsafe as that?”

“Oh, yes. You may expect a very busy winter here when the homeward-bound Americans are coming northward.”

“D – n the fellow! does he take me for a wrecker?” said Darcy to himself, not knowing whether to laugh or be angry.

“Such a curiosity that old ‘Corvy’ is, they tell me,” said Dempsey, emboldened by his success; “every species of weapon and arm in the world, they say, gathered together there.”

“A few swords and muskets,” said the Knight, carelessly; “a stray dirk or two, and some harpoons, furnish the greater part of the armory.”

“Oh, perhaps so! The story goes, however, that old Daly – brother, I believe, of our friend at Mother Fum’s – could arm twenty fellows at a moment’s warning, and did so on more than one occasion too.”

“With what object, in Heaven’s name?”

“Buccaneering, piracy, wrecking, and so on,” said Dempsey, with all the unconcern with which he would have enumerated so many pursuits of the chase.

A hearty roar of laughter broke from the Knight; and when it ceased he said, “I would be sincerely sorry to stand in your shoes, Mr. Dempsey, so near to yonder cliff, if you made that same remark in Mr. Daly’s hearing.”

“He ‘d gain very little by me,” said Mr. Dempsey; “one and eightpence, an old watch, an oyster-knife, and my spectacles, are all the property in my possession – except, when, indeed,” added he, after a pause, “Bob remits the quarter’s allowance.”

“It is only just,” said Darcy, gravely, “to a gentleman who takes such pains to inform himself on the affairs of his neighbors, that I should tell you that Mr. Bagenal Daly is not a pirate, nor am I a wrecker. I am sure you will be generous enough for this unasked information not to require of me a more lengthened account either of my friend or myself.”

“You ‘re in the Revenue, perhaps?” interrupted the undaunted Dempsey; “I thought so when I saw you first.”

Darcy shook his head in dissent.

“Wrong again. Ah! I see it all; the old story. Saw better days – you have just come down here to lie snug and quiet, out of the way of writs and latitats – went too fast – by Jove, that touches myself too! If I hadn’t happened to have a grandfather, I ‘d have been a rich man this day. Did you ever chance to hear of Dodd and Dempsey, the great wine-merchants? My father was son of Dodd and Dempsey, – that is Dempsey, you know; and it was his father-Sam Dempsey – ruined him.”

“No very uncommon circumstance,” said the Knight, sorrowfully, “for an Irish father.”

“You ‘ve heard the story, I suppose? – of course you have; every one knows it.”

“I rather think not,” said the Knight, who was by no means sorry to turn Mr. Dempsey from cross-examination into mere narrative.

“I ‘ll tell it to you; I am sure I ought to know it well, I ‘ve heard my father relate it something like a hundred times.”

“I fear I must decline so pleasant a proposal,” said Darcy, smiling. “At this moment I have an engagement.”

“Never mind. To-morrow will do just as well,” interrupted the inexorable Dempsey. “Come over and take your mutton-chop with me at five, and you shall have the story into the bargain.”

“I regret that I cannot accept so very tempting an invitation,” said Darcy, struggling between his sense of pride and a feeling of astonishment at his companion’s coolness.

“Not come to dinner!” exclaimed Dempsey, as if the thing was scarcely credible. “Oh, very well, only remember” – and here he put an unusual gravity into his words – “only remember the onus is now on you.”

The Knight burst into a hearty laugh at this subtle retort, and, willing as he ever was to go with the humor of the moment, replied, —

“I am ready to accept it, sir, and beg that you will dine with me.”

“When and where?” said Dempsey.

“To-morrow, at that cottage yonder: five is your hour, I believe – we shall say five.”

“Booked!” exclaimed Dempsey, with an air of triumph; while he muttered, with a scarcely subdued voice, “Knew I’d do it! – never failed in my life!”

“Till then, Mr. Dempsey,” said Darcy, removing his hat courteously, as he bowed to him, – “till then – ”

“Your most obedient,” replied Dempsey, returning the salute; and so they parted.

“The Corvy,” on the day after the Knight’s visit to Port Ballintray, was a scene of rather amusing bustle; the Knight’s dinner-party, as Helen quizzingly called it, affording occupation for every member of the household. In former times, the only difficult details of an entertainment were in the selection of the guests, – bringing together a company likely to be suitable to each other, and endowed with those various qualities which make up the success of society; now, however, the question was the more material one, – the dinner itself.

It is always a fortunate thing when whatever absurdity our calamities in life excite should be apparent only to ourselves. The laugh which is so difficult to bear from the world is then an actual relief from our troubles. The Darcys felt this truth, as each little embarrassment that arose was food for mirth; and Lady Eleanor, who least of all could adapt herself to such contingencies, became as eager as the rest about the little preparations of the day.

While the Knight hurried hither and thither, giving directions here and instructions there, he explained to Lady Eleanor some few circumstances respecting the character of his guests. It was, indeed, a new kind of company he was about to present to his wife and daughter; but while conscious of the disparity in every respect, he was not the less eager to do the hospitalities of his humble house with all becoming honor. It is true his invitation to Mr. Dempsey was rather forced from him than willingly accorded; he was about the very last kind of person Darcy would have asked to his table, if perfectly free to choose; but, of all men living, the Knight knew least how to escape from a difficulty the outlet to which should cost him any sacrifice of feeling.

“Well, well, it is but once and away; and, after all, the talkativeness of our little friend Dempsey will be so far a relief to poor Leonard, that he will be brought less prominently forward himself, and be suffered to escape unremarked, – a circumstance which, from all that I can see, will afford him sincere pleasure.”

At length all the preparations were happily accomplished: the emissary despatched to Kilrush at daybreak had returned with a much-coveted turkey; the fisherman had succeeded in capturing a lordly salmon; oysters and lobsters poured in abundantly; and Mrs. M’Kerrigan, who had been left as a fixture at “The Corvy,” found her only embarrassment in selection from that profusion of “God’s gifts,” as she phrased it, that now surrounded her. The hour of five drew near, and the ladies were seated in the hall, the doors of which lay open, as the two guests were seen making their way towards the cottage.

“Here they come, papa,” said Helen; “and now for a guess. Is not the short man with the straw hat Mr. Dempsey, and his tall companion Mr. Leonard?”

“Of course it is,” said Lady Eleanor; “who could mistake the garrulous pertinacity of that little thing that gesticulates at every step, or the plodding patience of his melancholy associate?”

The next moment the Knight was welcoming them in front of the cottage. The ceremony of introduction to the ladies being over, Mr. Dempsey, who probably was aware that the demands upon his descriptive powers would not be inconsiderable when he returned to “Mother Fum’s,” put his glass to his eye, and commenced a very close scrutiny of the apartment and its contents.

“Quite a show-box, by Jove!” said he, at last, as he peered through a glass cabinet, where Chinese slippers, with models in ivory and carvings in box, were heaped promiscuously together; “upon my word, sir, you have a very remarkable collection. And who may be our friend in the boat here?” added he, turning to the grim visage of Bagenal Daly himself, who stared with a bold effrontery that would not have disgraced the original.

“The gentleman you see there,” said the Knight, “is the collector himself, and the other is his servant. They are represented in the costumes in which they made their escape from a captivity among the red men.”

“Begad!” said Dempsey, “that fellow with the tortoise painted on his forehead has a look of our old friend, Miss Daly; should n’t wonder if he was a member of her family.”

“You have well guessed it; he is the lady’s brother.”

“Ah, ah!” muttered Dempsey to himself, “always thought there was something odd about her, – never suspected Indian blood, however. How Mother Fum will stare when I tell her she’s a Squaw! Didn’t they show these things at the Rooms in Mary’s Street? I think I saw them advertised in the papers.”

“I think you must mistake,” said the Knight; “they are the private collection of my friend.”

“And where may Woc-woc – confound his name! – the ‘Howling Wind,’ as he is pleased to call himself, be passing his leisure hours just now?”

“He is at present in Dublin, sir; and if you desire, he shall be made aware of your polite inquiries.”

“No, no – hang it, no! – don’t like the look of him. Should have no objection, though, if he ‘d pay old Bob Dempsey a visit, and frighten him out of this world for me.”

“Dinner, my lady,” said old Tate, as he threw open the doors into the dining-room, and bowed with all his accustomed solemnity.

“Hum!” muttered Dempsey, “my lady won’t go down with me, – too old a soldier for that!”

“Will you give my daughter your arm?” said the Knight to the little man, for already Lady Eleanor had passed on with Mr. Leonard.

As Mr. Dempsey arranged his napkin on his knee, he endeavored to catch Leonard’s eye, and telegraph to him his astonishment at the elegance of the table equipage which graced the board. Poor Leonard, however, seldom looked up; a deep sense of shame, the agonizing memory of what he once was, recalled vividly by the sight of those objects, and the appearance of persons which reminded him of his past condition, almost stunned him. The whole seemed like a dream; even though intemperance had degraded him, there were intervals in which his mind, clear to see and reflect, sorrowed deeply over his fallen state. Had the Knight met him with a cold and repulsive deportment, or had he refused to acknowledge him altogether, he could better have borne it than all the kindness of his present manner. It was evident, too, from Lady Eleanor’s tone to him, that she knew nothing of his unhappy fortune, or that if she did, the delicacy with which she treated him was only the more benevolent. Oppressed by such emotions, he sat endeavoring to eat, and trying to listen and interest himself in the conversation around him; but the effort was too much for his strength, and a vague, half-whispered assent, or a dull, unmeaning smile, were about as much as he could contribute to what was passing.

The Knight, whose tact was rarely at fault, saw every straggle that was passing in Leonard’s mind, and adroitly contrived that the conversation should be carried on without any demand upon him, either as talker or listener. If Lady Eleanor and Helen contributed their aid to this end, Mr. Dempsey was not backward on his part, for he talked unceasingly. The good things of the table, to which he did ample justice, afforded an opportunity for catechizing the ladies in their skill in household matters; and Miss Darcy, who seemed immensely amused by the novelty of such a character, sustained her part to admiration, entering deeply into culinary details, and communicating receipts invented for the occasion. At another time, perhaps, the Knight would have checked the spirit of persiflage in which his daughter indulged; but he suffered it now to take its course, well pleased that the mark of her ridicule was not only worthy of the sarcasm, but insensible to its arrow.

“Quite right, – quite right not to try Mother Fum’s when you can get up a little thing like this, – and such capital sherry; look how Tom takes it in, – slips like oil over his lip!”

Leonard looked up. An expression of rebuking severity for a moment crossed his features; but his eyes fell the next instant, and a low, faint sigh escaped him.

“I ought to know what sherry is, – ‘Dodd and Dempsey’s’ was the great house for sherry.”

“By the way,” said the Knight, “did not you promise me a little narrative of Dodd and Dempsey, when we parted yesterday?”

“To be sure, I did. Will you have it now?”

Lady Eleanor and Helen rose to withdraw; but Mr. Dempsey, who took the movement as significant, immediately interposed, by saying, —

“Don’t stir, ma’am, – sit down, ladies, I beg; there’s nothing broad in the story, – it might be told before the maids of honor.”

Lady Eleanor and Helen were thunderstruck at the explanation, and the Knight laughed till the tears came.

“My dear Eleanor,” said he, “you really must accept Mr. Dempsey’s assurance, and listen to his story now.”

The ladies took their seats once more, and Mr. Dempsey, having filled his glass, drank off a bumper; but whether it was that the narrative itself demanded a greater exertion at his hands, or that the cold quietude of Lady Eleanor’s manner abashed him, but he found a second bumper necessary before he commenced his task.

“I say,” whispered he to the Knight, “couldn’t you get that decanter out of Leonard’s reach before I begin? He’ll not leave a drop in it while I am talking.”

As if he felt that, after his explanation, the tale should be more particularly addressed to Lady Eleanor, he turned his chair round so as to face her, and thus began: —

“There was once upon a time, ma’am, a Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland who was a Duke. Whether he was Duke of Rutland, or Bedford, or Portland, or any other title it was he had, my memory does n’t serve me; it is enough, however, if I say he was immensely rich, and, like many other people in the same way, immensely in debt. The story goes that he never travelled through England, and caught sight of a handsome place, or fine domain, or a beautiful cottage, that he did n’t go straightway to the owner and buy it down out of the face, as a body might say, whether he would or no. And so in time it came to pass that there was scarcely a county in England without some magnificent house belonging to him. In many parts of Scotland he had them too, and in all probability he would have done the same in Ireland, if he could. Well, ma’am, there never was such rejoicings as Dublin saw the night his Grace arrived to be our Viceroy. To know that we had got a man with one hundred and fifty thousand a year, and a spirit to spend double the money, was a downright blessing from Providence, and there was no saying what might not be the prosperity of Ireland under so auspicious a ruler.

“To do him justice, he did n’t balk public expectation. Open house at the Castle, ditto at the Lodge in the Park, a mansion full of guests in the county Wicklow, a pack of hounds in Kildare, twelve horses training at the Curragh, a yacht like a little man-of-war in Dunleary harbor, large subscriptions to everything like sport, and a pension for life to every man that could sing a jolly song, or write a witty bit of poetry. Well, ma’am, they say, who remember those days, that they saw the best of Ireland; and surely I believe, if his Grace had only lived, and had his own way, the peerage would have been as pleasant, and the bench of bishops as droll, and the ladies of honor as – Well, never mind, I ‘ll pass on.” Here Mr. Dempsey, to console himself for the abruptness of his pause, poured out and drank another bumper of sherry. “Pleasant times they were.” said he, smacking his lips; “and faith, if Tom Leonard himself was alive then, the color of his nose might have made him Commander of the Forces; but, to continue, it was Dodd and Dempsey’s house supplied the sherry, – only the sherry, ma’am; old Stewart, of Belfast, had the port, and Kinnahan the claret and lighter liquors. I may mention, by the way, that my grandfather’s contract included brandy, and that he would n’t have given it up for either of the other two. It was just about this time that Dodd died, and my grandfather was left alone in the firm; but whether it was out of respect for his late partner, or that he might have felt himself lonely, but he always kept up the name of Dodd on the brass plate, and signed the name along with his own; indeed, they say that he once saluted his wife by the name of Mrs. Dodd and Dempsey. But, as I was saying, it was one of those days when my grandfather was seated on a high stool in the back office of his house in Abbey Street, that a fine, tall young fellow, with a blue frock-coat, all braided with gold, and an elegant cocked-hat, with a plume of feathers in it, came tramping into the room, his spurs jingling, and his brass sabre clinking, and his sabretash banging at his legs.

“‘Mr. Dempsey?’ said he.

“‘D. and D.,’ said my grandfather, – ‘that is, Dodd and Dempsey, your Grace,’ for he half suspected it was the Duke himself.

“‘I am Captain M’Claverty, of the Scots Greys,’ said he, ‘first aide-de-camp to his Excellency.’

“‘I hope you may live to be colonel of the regiment,’ said my grandfather, for he was as polite and well-bred as any man in Ireland.

“‘That’s too good a sentiment,’ said the captain, ‘not to be pledged in a glass of your own sherry.’

“‘And we’ll do it too,’ said old Dempsey. And he opened the desk, and took out a bottle he had for his own private drinking, and uncorked it with a little pocket corkscrew he always carried about with him, and he produced two glasses, and he and the captain hobnobbed and drank to each other.

“‘Begad!’ said the captain, ‘his Grace sent me to thank you for the delicious wine you supplied him with, but it’s nothing to this, – not to be compared to it.’

“‘I ‘ve better again,’ said my grandfather. ‘I ‘ve wine that would bring the tears into your eyes when you saw the decanter getting low.’

“The captain stared at him, and maybe it was that the speech was too much for his nerves, but he drank off two glasses one after the other as quick as he could fill them out.

“‘Dempsey,’ said he, looking round cautiously, ‘are we alone?’

“‘We are,’ said my grandfather.

“‘Tell me, then,’ said M’Claverty, ‘how could his Grace get a taste of this real sherry – for himself alone, I mean? Of course, I never thought of his giving it to the Judges, and old Lord Dunboyne, and such like.’

“‘Does he ever take a little sup in his own room, of an evening?’

“‘I am afraid not, but I ‘ll tell you how I think it might be managed. You ‘re a snug fellow, Dempsey, you ‘ve plenty of money muddling away in the bank at three-and-a-half per cent; could n’t you contrive, some way or other, to get into his Excellency’s confidence, and lend him ten or fifteen thousand or so?’

“‘Ay, or twenty,’ said my grandfather, – ‘or twenty, if he likes it’

“‘I doubt if he would accept such a sum,’ said the captain, shaking his head; ‘he has bags of money rolling in upon him every week or fortnight; sometimes we don’t know where to put them.’

“‘Oh, of course,’ said my grandfather; ‘I meant no offence, I only said twenty, because, if his Grace would condescend, it is n’t twenty, but a fifty thousand I could give him, and on the nail too.’

“‘You’re a fine fellow, Dempsey, a devilish fine fellow; you ‘re the very kind of fellow the Duke likes, – open-handed, frank, and generous.’

“‘Do you really think he’d like me?’ said my grandfather; and he rocked on the high stool, so that it nearly came down.

“‘Like you! I’ll tell you what it is,’ said he, laying his hand on my grandfather’s knee, ‘before one week was over, he could n’t do without you. You ‘d be there morning, noon, and night; your knife and fork always ready for you, just like one of the family.’

“‘Blood alive!’ said my grandfather, ‘do you tell me so?’

“‘I ‘ll bet you a hundred pounds on it, sir.’

“‘Done,’ said my grandfather, ‘and you must hold the stakes;’ and with that he opened his black pocket-book, and put a note for the amount into the captain’s hand.

“‘This is the 31st of March,’ said the captain, taking out his pencil and tablets. ‘I ‘ll just book the bet.’

“And, indeed,” added Mr. Dempsey, “for that matter, if it was a day later it would have been only more suitable.

“Well, ma’am, what passed between them afterwards I never heard said; but the captain took his leave, and left my grandfather so delighted and overjoyed that he finished all the sherry in the drawer, and when the head clerk came in to ask for an invoice, or a thing of the kind, he found old Mr. Dempsey with his wig on the high stool, and he bowing round it, and calling it your Grace. There ‘s no denying it, ma’am, he was blind drunk.

“About ten days or a fortnight after this time, my grandfather received a note from Teesum and Twist, the solicitors, stating that the draft or the bond was already drawn up for the loan he was about to make his Grace, and begging to know to whom it was to be submitted.

“‘The captain will win his bet, devil a lie in it,’ said my grandfather; ‘he’s going to bring the Duke and myself together.’

“Well, ma’am, I won’t bother you with the law business, though if my father was telling the story he would not spare you one item of it all, – who read this, and who signed the other, and the objections that was made by them thieving attorneys! and how the Solicitor-General struck out this and put in that clause; but to tell you the truth, ma’am, I think that all the details spoil, what we may call, the poetry of the narrative; it is finer to say he paid the money, and the Duke pocketed it.

“Well, weeks went over and months long, and not a bit of the Duke did my grandfather see, nor M’Claverty either; he never came near him. To be sure, his Grace drank as much sherry as ever; indeed, I believe out of love to my grandfather they drank little else. From the bishops and the chaplain, down to the battle-axe guards, it was sherry, morning, noon, and night; and though this was very pleasing to my grandfather, he was always wishing for the time when he was to be presented to his Grace, and their friendship was to begin. My grandfather could think of nothing else, daylight and dark. When he walked, he was always repeating to himself what his Grace might say to him, and what he would say to his Grace; and he was perpetually going up at eleven o’clock, when the guard was relieved in the Castle-yard, suspecting that every now and then a footman in blue and silver would come out, and, touching his elbow, whisper in his ear, ‘Mr. Dempsey, the Duke ‘s waiting for you.’ But, my dear ma’am, he might have waited till now, if Providence had spared him, and the devil a taste of the same message would ever have come near him, or a sight of the same footman in blue! It was neither more nor less than a delusion, or an illusion, or a confusion, or whatever the name of it is. At last, ma’am, in one of his prowlings about the Phoenix Park, who does he come on but M’Claverty? He was riding past in a great hurry; but he pulled up when he saw my grandfather, and called out, ‘Hang it! who’s this? I ought to know you.’

“‘Indeed you ought,’ said my grandfather. ‘I ‘m Dodd and Dempsey, and by the same token there’s a little bet between us, and I ‘d like to know who won and who lost.’

“‘I think there’s small doubt about that,’ said the captain. ‘Did n’t his Grace borrow twenty thousand of you?’

“‘He did, no doubt of it.’

“‘And was n’t it my doing?’

“‘Upon my conscience, I can’t deny it.’

“‘Well, then, I won the wager, that’s clear.’

“‘Oh! I see now,’ said my grandfather; ‘that was the wager, was it? Oh, bedad! I think you might have given me odds, if that was our bet.’

“‘Why, what did you think it was?’

“‘Oh, nothing at all, sir. It’s no matter now; it was another thing was passing in my mind. I was hoping to have the honor of making his acquaintance, nattered as I was by all you told me about him.’

“‘Ah! that’s difficult, I confess,’ said the captain; ‘but still one might do something. He wants a little money just now. If you could make interest to be the lender, I would n’t say that what you suggest is impossible.’

“Well, ma’am, it was just as it happened before; the old story, – more parchment, more comparing of deeds, a heavy check on the bank for the amount.

“When it was all done, M’Claverty came in one morning and in plain clothes to my grandfather’s back office.

“‘Dodd and Dempsey,’ said he, ‘I ‘ve been thinking over your business, and I’ll tell you what my plan is. Old Vereker, the chamberlain, is little better than a beast, thinks nothing of anybody that is n’t a lord or a viscount, and, in fact, if he had his will, the Lodge in the Phoenix would be more like Pekin in Tartary than anything else? but I ‘ll tell you, if he won’t present you at the levee, which he flatly refuses at present, I ‘ll do the thing in a way of my own. His Grace is going to spend a week up at Ballyriggan House, in the county of Wicklow, and I ‘ll contrive it, when he ‘s taking his morning walk through the shrubbery, to present you. All you ‘ve to do is to be ready at a turn of the walk. I ‘ll show you the place, you ‘ll hear his foot on the gravel, and you ‘ll slip out, just this way. Leave the rest to me.’

“‘It’s beautiful,’ said my grandfather. ‘Begad, that’s elegant.’

“‘There ‘s one difficulty,’ said M’Claverty, – ‘one infernal difficulty.’

“‘What’s that?’ asked my grandfather.

“‘I may be obliged to be out of the way. I lost five fifties at Daly’s the other night, and I may have to cross the water for a few weeks.’

“‘Don’t let that trouble you,’ said my grandfather; ‘there’s the paper.’ And he put the little bit of music into his hand; and sure enough a pleasanter sound than the same crisp squeak of a new note no man ever listened to.

“‘It ‘s agreed upon now?’ said my grandfather.

“‘All right,’ said M’Claverty; and with a jolly slap on the shoulder, he said, ‘Good-morning, D. and D. and away he went.

“He was true to his word. That day three weeks my grandfather received a note in pencil; it was signed J. M’C, and ran thus: ‘Be up at Ballyriggan at eleven o’clock on Wednesday, and wait at the foot of the hill, near the birch copse, beside the wooden bridge. Keep the left of the path, and lie still.’ Begad, ma’am, it’s well nobody saw it but himself, or they might have thought that Dodd and Dempsey was turned highwayman.

“My grandfather was prouder of the same note, and happier that morning, than if it was an order for fifty butts of sherry. He read it over and over, and he walked up and down the little back office, picturing out the whole scene, settling the chairs till he made a little avenue between them, and practising the way he ‘d slip out slyly and surprise his Grace. No doubt, it would have been as good as a play to have looked at him.

“One difficulty preyed upon his mind, – what dress ought he to wear? Should he be in a court suit, or ought he rather to go in his robes as an alderman? It would never do to appear in a black coat, a light gray spencer, punch-colored shorts and gaiters, white hat with a strip of black crape on it, – mere Dodd and Dempsey! That wasn’t to be thought of. If he could only ask his friend M’Hale, the fishmonger, who was knighted last year, he could tell all about it. M’Hale, however, would blab. He ‘d tell it to the whole livery; every alderman of Skinner’s Alley would know it in a week. No, no, the whole must be managed discreetly; it was a mutual confidence between the Duke and ‘D. and D.’ ‘At all events,’ said my grandfather, ‘a court dress is a safe thing;’ and out he went and bespoke one, to be sent home that evening, for he could n’t rest till he tried it on, and felt how he could move his head in the straight collar, and bow, without the sword tripping him up and pitching him into the Duke. I ‘ve heard my father say that in the days that elapsed till the time mentioned for the interview, my grandfather lost two stone in weight. He walked half over the county Dublin, lying in ambush in every little wood he could see, and jumping out whenever he could see or hear any one coming, – little surprises which were sometimes taken as practical jokes, very unbecoming a man of his age and appearance.

“Well, ma’am, Wednesday morning came, and at six o’clock my grandfather was on the way to Ballyriggan, and at nine he was in the wood, posted at the very spot M’Claverty told him, as happy as any man could be whose expectations were so overwhelming. A long hour passed over, and another; nobody passed but a baker’s boy with a bull-dog after him, and an old woman that was stealing brushwood in the shrubbery. My grandfather remarked her well, and determined to tell his Grace of it; but his own business soon drove that out of his head, for eleven o’clock came, and now there was no knowing the moment the Duke might appear. With his watch in his hand, he counted the minutes, ay, even the seconds; if he was a thief going to be hanged, and looking out over the heads of the crowd for a fellow to gallop in with a reprieve, he could n’t have suffered more: his heart was in his mouth. At last, it might be about half-past eleven, he heard a footstep on the gravel, and then a loud, deep cough, – ‘a fine kind of cough,’ my grandfather afterwards called it. He peeped out; and there, sure enough, at about sixty paces, coming down the walk, was a large, grand-looking man, – not that he was dressed as became him, for, strange as you may think it, the Lord-Lieutenant had on a shooting-jacket, and a pair of plaid trousers, and cloth boots, and a big lump of a stick in his hand, – and lucky it was that my grandfather knew him, for he bought a picture of him. On he came nearer and nearer; every step on the gravel-walk drove out of my grandfather’s head half a dozen of the fine things he had got off by heart to say during the interview, until at last he was so overcome by joy, anxiety, and a kind of terror, that he could n’t tell where he was, or what was going to happen to him, but he had a kind of instinct that reminded him he was to jump out when the Duke was near him; and ‘pon my conscience so he did, clean and clever, into the middle of the walk, right in front of his Grace. My grandfather used to say, in telling the story, that he verily believed his feelings at that moment would have made him burst a blood-vessel if it wasn’t that the Duke put his hands to his sides and laughed till the woods rang again; but, between shame and fright, my grandfather did n’t join in the laugh.

“‘In Heaven’s name!’ said his Grace, ‘who or what are you? – this isn’t May-day.’

“My grandfather took this speech as a rebuke for standing so bold in his Grace’s presence; and being a shrewd man, and never deficient in tact, what does he do but drops down on his two knees before him? ‘My Lord,’ said he, ‘I am only Dodd and Dempsey.’

“Whatever there was droll about the same house of Dodd and Dempsey I never heard, but his Grace laughed now till he had to lean against a tree. ‘Well, Dodd and Dempsey, if that’s your name, get up. I don’t mean you any harm. Take courage, man; I am not going to knight you. By the way, are you not the worthy gentleman who lent me a trifle of twenty thousand more than once?’

“My grandfather could n’t speak, but he moved his lips, and he moved his bands, this way, as though to say the honor was too great for him, but it was all true.

“‘Well, Dodd and Dempsey, I ‘ve a very high respect for you,’ said his Grace; ‘I intend, some of these fine days, when business permits, to go over and eat an oyster at your villa on the coast.’

“My grandfather remembers no more; indeed, ma’am, I believe that at that instant his Grace’s condescension had so much overwhelmed him that he had a kind of vision before his eyes of a whole wood full of Lord-Lieutenants, with about thirty thousand people opening oysters for them as fast as they could eat, and he himself running about with a pepper-caster, pressing them to eat another ‘black fin.’ It was something of that kind; for when he got on his legs a considerable time must have elapsed, as he found all silent around him, and a smart rheumatic pain in his knee-joints from the cold of the ground.

“The first thing my grandfather did when he got back to town was to remember that he had no villa on the sea-coast, nor any more suitable place to eat an oyster than his house in Abbey Street, for he could n’t ask his Grace to go to ‘Killeen’s.’ Accordingly he set out the next day in search of a villa, and before a week was over he had as beautiful a place about a mile below Howth as ever was looked at; and that he mightn’t be taken short, he took a lease of two oyster-beds, and made every preparation in life for the Duke’s visit. He might have spared himself the trouble. Whether it was that somebody had said something of him behind his back, or that politics were weighing on the Duke’s mind, – the Catholics were mighty troublesome then, – or, indeed, that he forgot it altogether, clean, but so it was, my grandfather never heard more of the visit, and if the oysters waited for his Grace to come and eat them, they might have filled up Howth harbor.

“A year passed over, and my grandfather was taking his solitary walk in the Park, very nearly in the same place as before, – for you see, ma’am, he could n’t bear the sight of the seacoast, and the very smell of shell-fish made him ill, – when somebody called out his name. He looked up, and there was M’Claverty in a gig.

“‘Well, D. and D., how goes the world with you?’

“‘Very badly indeed,’ says my grandfather; his heart was full, and he just told him the whole story.

“‘I’ll settle it all,’ said the captain; ‘leave it to me. There ‘s to be a review to-morrow in the Park; get on the back of the best horse you can find, – the Duke is a capital judge of a nag, – ride him briskly about the field; he ‘ll notice you, never fear; the whole thing will come up before his memory, and you ‘ll have him to breakfast before the week’s over.’

“‘Do you think so? – do you really think so?’

“‘I ‘ll take my oath of it. I say, D. and D., could you do a little thing at a short date just now?’

“‘If it was n’t too heavy,’ said my grandfather, with a faint sigh.

“‘Only a hundred.’

“‘Well,’ said he, ‘you may send it down to the office. Good-bye.’ And with that he turned back towards town again; not to go home, however, for he knew well there was no time to lose, but straight he goes to Dycer’s, – it was old Tom was alive in those days, and a shrewder man than Tom Dycer there never lived. They tell you, ma’am, there ‘s chaps in London that if you send them your height, and your width, and your girth round the waist, they ‘ll make you a suit of clothes that will fit you like your own skin; but, ‘pon my conscience, I believe if you ‘d give your age and the color of your hair to old Tom Dycer, he could provide you a horse the very thing to carry you. Whenever a stranger used to come into the yard, Tom would throw a look at him, out of the corner of his eye, – for he had only one, there was a feather on the other, – Tom would throw a look at him, and he’d shout out, ‘Bring out 42; take out that brown mare with the white fetlocks.’ That’s the way he had of doing business, and the odds were five to one but the gentleman rode out half an hour after on the beast Tom intended for him. This suited my grandfather’s knuckle well; for when he told him that it was a horse to ride before the Lord-Lieutenant he wanted, ‘Bedad,’ says Tom, ‘I’ll give you one you might ride before the Emperor of Chaney. – Here, Dennis, trot out 176.’ To all appearance, ma’am, 176 was no common beast, for every man in the yard, big and little, set off, when they heard the order, down to the stall where he stood, and at last two doors were flung wide open, and out he came with a man leading him. He was seventeen hands two if he was an inch, bright gray, with flea-bitten marks all over him; he held his head up so high at one end, and his tail at the other, that my grandfather said he ‘d have frightened the stoutest fox-hunter to look at him; besides, my dear, he went with his knees in his mouth when he trotted, and gave a skelp of his hind legs at every stride, that it was n’t safe to be within four yards of him.

“‘There’s action!’ says Tom, – ‘there ‘s bone and figure! Quiet as a lamb, without stain or blemish, warranted in every harness, and to carry a lady.’

“‘I wish he ‘d carry a wine-merchant safe for about one hour and a half,’ said my grandfather to himself. ‘What’s his price?’

“But Tom would n’t mind him, for he was going on reciting the animal’s perfections, and telling him how he was bred out of Kick the Moon, by Moll Flanders, and that Lord Dunraile himself only parted with him because he did n’t think him showy enough for a charger. ‘Though, to be sure,’ said Tom, ‘he’s greatly improved since that. Will you try him in the school, Mr. Dempsey?’ said he; ‘not but I tell you that you ‘ll find him a little mettlesome or so there; take him on the grass, and he’s gentleness itself, – he’s a kid, that’s what he is.’

“‘And his price?’ said my grandfather.

“Dycer whispered something in his ear.

“‘Blood alive!’ said my grandfather.

“‘Devil a farthing less. Do you think you ‘re to get beauty and action, ay, and gentle temper, for nothing?’

“My dear, the last words, ‘gentle temper,’ wasn’t well out of his mouth when ‘the kid’ put his two hind-legs into the little pulpit where the auctioneer was sitting, and sent him flying through the window behind him into the stall.

“‘That comes of tickling him,’ said Tom; ‘them blackguards never will let a horse alone.’

“‘I hope you don’t let any of them go out to the reviews in the Park, for I declare to Heaven, if I was on his back then, Dodd and Dempsey would be D. D. sure enough.’

“‘With a large snaffle, and the saddle well back,’ says Tom, ‘he’s a lamb.’

“‘God grant it,’ says my grandfather; ‘send him over to me to-morrow, about eleven.’ He gave a check for the money, – we never heard how much it was, – and away he went.

“That must have been a melancholy evening for him, for he sent for old Rogers, the attorney, and after he was measured for breeches and boots, he made his will and disposed of his effects, ‘For there’s no knowing,’ said he, ‘what 176 may do for me.’ Rogers did his best to persuade him off the excursion, —

“‘Dress up one of Dycer’s fellows like you; let him go by the Lord-Lieutenant prancing and rearing, and then you yourself can appear on the ground, all splashed and spurred, half an hour after.’

“‘No,’ says my grandfather, ‘I ‘ll go myself.’

“For so it is, there ‘s no denying, when a man has got ambition in his heart it puts pluck there. Well, eleven o’clock came, and the whole of Abbey Street was on foot to see my grandfather; there was n’t a window had n’t five or six faces in it, and every blackguard in the town was there to see him go off, just as if it was a show.

“‘Bad luck to them,’ says my grandfather; ‘I wish they had brought the horse round to the stable-yard, and let me get up in peace.’

“And he was right there, – for the stirrup, when my grandfather stood beside the horse, was exactly even with his chin; but somehow, with the help of the two clerks and the book-keeper and the office stool, he got up on his back with as merry a cheer as ever rung out to welcome him, while a dirty blackguard, with two old pocket-handkerchiefs for a pair of breeches, shouted out, ‘Old Dempsey’s going to get an appetite for the oysters!’

“Considering everything, 176 behaved very well; he did n’t plunge, and he did n’t kick, and my grandfather said, ‘Providence was kind enough not to let him rear!’ but somehow he wouldn’t go straight but sideways, and kept lashing his long tail on my grandfather’s legs and sometimes round his body, in a way that terrified him greatly, till he became used to it.

“‘Well, if riding be a pleasure,’ says my grandfather, ‘people must be made different from me.’

“For, saving your favor, ma’am, he was as raw as a griskin, and there was n’t a bit of him the size of a half-crown he could sit on without a cry-out; and no other pace would the beast go but this little jig-jig, from side to side, while he was tossing his head and flinging his mane about, just as if to say, ‘Could n’t I pitch you sky-high if I liked? Could n’t I make a Congreve-rocket of you, Dodd and Dempsey?’

“When he got on the ‘Fifteen Acres,’ it was only the position he found himself in that destroyed the grandeur of the scene; for there were fifty thousand people assembled at least, and there was a line of infantry of two miles long, and the artillery was drawn up at one end, and the cavalry stood beyond them, stretching away towards Knockmaroon.

“My grandfather was now getting accustomed to his sufferings, and he felt that, if 176 did no more, with God’s help he could bear it for one day; and so he rode on quietly outside the crowd, attracting, of course, a fair share of observation, for he wasn’t always in the saddle, but sometimes a little behind or before it. Well, at last there came a cloud of dust, rising at the far end of the field, and it got thicker and thicker, and then it broke, and there were white plumes dancing, and gold glittering, and horses all shaking their gorgeous trappings, for it was the staff was galloping up, and then there burst out a great cheer, so loud that nothing seemed possible to be louder, until bang – bang – bang, eighteen large guns went thundering together, and the whole line of infantry let off a clattering volley, till you ‘d think the earth was crashing open.

“‘Devil’s luck to ye all! couldn’t you be quiet a little longer?’ says D. and D., for he was trying to get an easy posture to sit in; but just at this moment 176 pricked up his ears, made three bounds in the air, as if something lifted him up, shook his head like a fish, and away he went: wasn’t it wonderful that my grandfather kept his seat? He remembers, he says, that at each bound he was a yard over his back; but as he was a heavy man, and kept his legs open, he had the luck to come down in the same place, and a sore place it must have been! for he let a screech out of him each time that would have pierced the heart of a stone. He knew very little more what happened, except that he was galloping away somewhere, until at last he found himself in a crowd of people, half dead with fatigue and fright, and the horse thick with foam.

“‘Where am I?’ says my grandfather.

“‘You ‘re in Lucan, sir,’ says a man.

“‘And where ‘s the review?’ says my grandfather.

“‘Five miles behind you, sir.’

“‘Blessed Heaven!’ says he; ‘and where ‘s the Duke?’

“‘God knows,’ said the man, giving a wink to the crowd, for they thought he was mad.

“‘Won’t you get off and take some refreshment?’ says the man, for he was the owner of a little public.

“‘Get off!’ says my grandfather; ‘it’s easy talking! I found it hard enough to get on. Bring me a pint of porter where I am.’ And so he drained off the liquor, and he wiped his face, and he turned the beast’s head once more towards town.

“When my grandfather reached the Park again, he was, as you may well believe, a tired and a weary man; and, indeed, for that matter, the beast did n’t seem much fresher than himself, for he lashed his sides more rarely, and he condescended to go straight, and he didn’t carry his head higher than his rider’s. At last they wound their way up through the fir copse at the end of the field, and caught sight of the review, and, to be sure, if poor D. and D. left the ground before under a grand salute of artillery and small arms, another of the same kind welcomed him back again. It was an honor he ‘d have been right glad to have dispensed with, for when 176 heard it, he looked about him to see which way he ‘d take, gave a loud neigh, and, with a shake that my grandfather said he ‘d never forget, he plunged forward, and went straight at the thick of the crowd; it must have been a cruel sight to have seen the people running for their lives. The soldiers that kept the line laughed heartily at the mob; but they hadn’t the joke long to themselves, for my grandfather went slap at them into the middle of the field; and he did that day what I hear has been very seldom done by cavalry, – he broke a square of the Seventy-ninth Highlanders, and scattered them over the field.

In truth, the beast must have been the devil himself; for wherever he saw most people, it was there he always went. There were at this time three heavy dragoons and four of the horse-police, with drawn swords, in pursuit of my grandfather; and if he were the enemy of the human race, the cries of the multitude could not have been louder, as one universal shout arose of ‘Cut him down! Cleave him in two!’ And, do you know, he said, afterwards, he ‘d have taken it as a mercy of Providence if they had. Well, my dear, when he had broke through the Highlanders, scattered the mob, dispersed the band, and left a hole in the big drum you could have put your head through, 176 made for the staff, who, I may remark, were all this time enjoying the confusion immensely. When, however, they saw my grandfather heading towards them, there was a general cry of ‘Here he comes! here he comes! Take care, your Grace!’ And there arose among the group around the Duke a scene of plunging, kicking, and rearing, in the midst of which in dashed my grandfather. Down went an aide-de-camp on one side; 176 plunged, and off went the town-major at the other; while a stroke of a sabre, kindly intended for my grandfather’s skull, came down on the horse’s back and made him give plunge the third, which shot his rider out of the saddle, and sent him flying through the air like a shell, till he alighted under the leaders of a carriage where the Duchess and the Ladies of Honor were seated.

“Twenty people jumped from their horses now to finish him; if they were bunting a rat, they could not have been more venomous.

“‘Stop! stop!’ said the Duke; ‘he’s a capital fellow, don’t hurt him. Who are you, my brave little man? You ride like Chifney for the Derby.’

“‘God knows who I am!’ says my grandfather, creeping out, and wiping his face. ‘I was Dodd and Dempsey when I left home this morning; but I ‘m bewitched, devil a lie in it.’

“‘Dempsey, my Lord Duke,’ said M’Claverty, coming up at the moment. ‘Don’t you know him?’ And he whispered a few words in his Grace’s ear.

“‘Oh, yes, to be sure,’ said the Viceroy. ‘They tell me you have a capital pack of hounds, Dempsey. What do you hunt?’

“‘Horse, foot, and dragoons, my Lord,’ said my grandfather; and, to be sure, there was a jolly roar of laughter after the words, for poor D. and D. was just telling his mind, without meaning anything more.

“‘Well, then,’ said the Duke, ‘if you ‘ve always as good sport as to-day, you ‘ve capital fun of it.’

“‘Oh, delightful, indeed!’ said my grandfather; ‘never enjoyed myself more in my life.’

“‘Where ‘s his horse?’ said his Grace.

“‘He jumped down into the sand-quarry and broke his neck, my Lord Duke.’

“‘The heavens be praised!’ said my grandfather; ‘if it’s true, I am as glad as if I got fifty pounds.’

“The trumpets now sounded for the cavalry to march past, and the Duke was about to move away, when M’Claverty again whispered something in his ear.

“‘Very true,’ said he; ‘well thought of. I say, Dempsey, I ‘ll go over some of these mornings and have a run with your hounds.’

“My grandfather rubbed his eyes and looked up, but all he saw was about twenty staff-officers with their hats off; for every man of them saluted my father as they passed, and the crowd made way for him with as much respect as if it was the Duke himself. He soon got a car to bring him home, and notwithstanding all his sufferings that day, and the great escape he had of his life, there wasn’t as proud a man in Dublin as himself.

“‘He’s coming to hunt with my hounds!’ said he; ‘’t is n’t to take an oyster and a glass of wine, and be off again! – no, he’s coming down to spend the whole day with me.’

“The thought was ecstasy; it only had one drawback. Dodd and Dempsey’s house had never kept hounds. Well, ma’am, I needn’t detain you long about what happened; it’s enough if I say that in less than six weeks my grandfather had bought up Lord Tyrawley’s pack, and his hunting-box and horses, and I believe his grooms; and though he never ventured on the back of a beast himself, he did nothing from morning to night but listen and talk about hunting, and try to get the names of the dogs by heart, and practise to cry ‘Tally-ho!’ and ‘Stole away!’ and ‘Ho-ith! ho-ith!’ with which, indeed, he used to start out of his sleep at night, so full he was of the sport. From the 1st of September he never had a red coat off his back. ‘Pon my conscience, I believe he went to bed in his spurs, for he did n’t know what moment the Duke might be on him, and that’s the way the time went on till spring; but not a sign of his Grace, not a word, not a hint that he ever thought more of his promise! Well, one morning my grandfather was walking very sorrowfully down near the Curragh, where his hunting-lodge was, when he saw them roping-in the course for the races, and he heard the men talking of the magnificent cup the Duke was to give for the winner of the three-year-old stakes, and the thought flashed on him, ‘I’ll bring myself to his memory that way.’ And what does he do, but he goes back to the house and tells his trainer to go over to the racing-stables, and buy, not one, nor two, but the three best horses that were entered for the race. Well, ma’am, their engagements were very heavy, and he had to take them all on himself, and it cost him a sight of money. It happened that this time he was on the right scent, for down comes M’Claverty the same day with orders from the Duke to take the odds, right and left, on one of the three, a little mare called Let-Me-Alone-Before-the-People; she was one of his own breeding, and he had a conceit out of her. Well, M’Claverty laid on the money here and there, till he stood what between the Duke’s bets and all the officers of the staff and his own the heaviest winner or loser on that race.

“‘She’s Martin’s mare, is n’t she?’ said M’Claverty.

“‘No, sir, she was bought this morning by Mr. Dempsey, of Tear Fox Lodge.’

“‘The devil she is,’ said M’Claverty; and he jumped on his horse, and he cantered over to the Lodge.

“‘Mr. Dempsey at home?’ says he.

“‘Yes, sir.’

“‘Give him this card, and say, I beg the favor of seeing him for a few moments.’

“The man went off, and came back in a few minutes, with the answer, ‘Mr. Dempsey is very sorry, but he ‘s engaged.’

“‘Oh, oh! that’s it!’ says M’Claverty to himself; ‘I see how the wind blows. I say, my man, tell him I ‘ve a message from his Grace the Lord-Lieutenant.’

“Well, the answer came for the captain to send the message in, for my grandfather could n’t come out.

“‘Say, it’s impossible,’ said M’Claverty; ‘it’s for his own private ear.’

“Dodd and Dempsey was strong in my grandfather that day: he would listen to no terms.

“‘No,’ says he, ‘if the goods are worth anything, they never come without an invoice. I ‘ll have nothing to say to him.’

“But the captain wasn’t to be balked; for, in spite of everything, he passed the servant, and came at once into the room where my grandfather was sitting, – ay, and before he could help it, was shaking him by both hands as if he was his brother.

“‘Why the devil didn’t you let me in?’ said he; ‘I came from the Duke with a message for you.’

“‘Bother!’ says my grandfather.

“‘I did, though,’ says he; ‘he’s got a heavy book on your little mare, and he wants you to make your boy ride a waiting race, and not win the first beat, – you understand?’

“‘I do,’ says my grandfather, ‘perfectly; and he’s got a deal of money on her, has he?’

“‘He has,’ said the captain; ‘and every one at the Castle, too, high and low, from the chief secretary down to the second coachman, – we are all backing her.’

“‘I am glad of it, – I am sincerely glad of it,’ said my grandfather, rubbing his hands.

“‘I knew you would be, old boy!’ cried the captain, joyfully.

“‘Ah, but you don’t know why; you ‘d never guess.’

“M’Claverty stared at him, but said nothing.

“‘Well, I’ll tell you,’ resumed my grandfather; ‘the reason is this: I ‘ll not let her run, – no, divil a step! I ‘ll bring her up to the ground, and you may look at her, and see that she ‘s all sound and safe, in top condition, and with a skin like a looking-glass, and then I ‘ll walk her back again! And do you know why I ‘ll do this?’ said he, while his eyes flashed fire, and his lip trembled; ‘just because I won’t suffer the house of Dodd and Dempsey to be humbugged as if we were greengrocers! Two years ago, it was to “eat an oyster with me;” last year it was a “day with my hounds;” maybe now his Grace would join the race dinner; but that’s all past and gone, – I ‘ll stand it no longer.’

“‘Confound it, man,’ said the captain, ‘the Duke must have forgotten it. You never reminded him of his engagement. He ‘d have been delighted to have come to you if he only recollected.’

“‘I am sorry my memory was better than his,’ said my grandfather, ‘and I wish you a very good morning.’

“‘Oh, don’t go; wait a moment; let us see if we can’t put this matter straight. You want the Duke to dine with you?’

“‘No, I don’t; I tell you I ‘ve given it up.’

“‘Well, well, perhaps so; will it do if you dine with him?’

“My grandfather had his hand on the lock, – he was just going, – he turned round, and fixed his eyes on the captain.

“‘Are you in earnest, or is this only more of the same game?’ said he, sternly.

“‘I’ll make that very easy to you,’ said the captain; ‘I ‘ll bring the invitation to you this night; the mare doesn’t run till to-morrow; if you don’t receive the card, the rest is in your own power.’

“Well, ma’am, my story is now soon told; that night, about nine o’clock, there comes a footman, all splashed and muddy, in a Castle livery, up to the door of the Lodge, and he gave a violent pull at the bell, and when the servant opened the door, he called out in a loud voice, ‘From his Excellency the Lord-Lieutenant,’ and into the saddle he jumped, and away he was like lightning; and, sure enough, it was a large card, all printed, except a word here and there, and it went something this way: —

“‘I am commanded by his Excellency the Lord-Lieutenant to request the pleasure of Mr. Dempsey’s company at dinner on Friday, the 23d instant, at the Lodge, Phoenix Park, at seven o’clock.

“‘Granville Vereker, Chamberlain.

“‘Swords and Bags.’

“‘At last!’ said my grandfather, and he wiped the tears from his eyes; for to say the truth, ma’am, it was a long chase without ever getting once a ‘good view.’ I must hurry on; the remainder is easy told. Let-Me-Alone-Before-the-People won the cup, my grandfather was chaired home from the course in the evening, and kept open house at the Lodge for all comers while the races lasted; and at length the eventful day drew near on which he was to realize all his long-coveted ambition. It was on the very morning before, however, that he put on his Court suit for about the twentieth time, and the tailor was standing trembling before him while my grandfather complained of a wrinkle here or a pucker there.

“‘You see,’ said he, ‘you’ve run yourself so close that you ‘ve no time now to alter these things before the dinner.’

“‘I ‘ll have time enough, sir,’ says the man, ‘if the news is true.’

“‘What news?’ says my grandfather, with a choking in his throat, for a sudden fear came over him.

“‘The news they have in town this morning.’

“‘What is it? – speak it out, man!’

“‘They say – But sure you ‘ve heard it, sir?’

“‘Go on!’ says my grandfather; and he got him by the shoulders and shook him. ‘Go on, or I’ll strangle you!’

“‘They say, sir, that the Ministry is out, and – ’

“‘And, well – ’

“‘And that the Lord-Lieutenant has resigned, and the yacht is coming round to Dunleary to take him away this evening, for he won’t stay longer than the time to swear in the Lords Justices, – he’s so glad to be out of Ireland.’

“My grandfather sat down on the chair, and began to cry, and well he might, for not only was the news true, but he was ruined besides. Every farthing of the great fortune that Dodd and Dempsey made was lost and gone, – scattered to the winds; and when his affairs were wound up, he that was thought one of the richest men in Dublin was found to be something like nine thousand pounds worse than nothing. Happily for him, his mind was gone too, and though he lived a few years after, near Finglass, he was always an innocent, didn’t remember anybody, nor who he was, but used to go about asking the people if they knew whether his Grace the Lord-Lieutenant had put off his dinner-party for the 23d; and then he ‘d pull out the old card to show them, for he kept it in a little case, and put it under his pillow every night till he died.”

While Mr. Dempsey’s narrative continued, Tom Leonard indulged freely and without restraint in the delights of the Knight’s sherry, forgetting not only all his griefs, but the very circumstances and people around him. Had the party maintained a conversational tone, it is probable that he would have been able to adhere to the wise resolutions he had planned for his guidance on leaving home; unhappily, the length of the tale, the prosy monotony of the speaker’s voice, the deepening twilight which stole on ere the story drew to a close, were influences too strong for prudence so frail; an instinct told him that the decanter was close by, and every glass he drained either drowned a care or stifled a compunction.

The pleasant buzz of voices which succeeded to the anecdote of Dodd and Dempsey aroused Leonard from his dreary stupor. Wine and laughter and merry voices were adjuncts he had not met for many a day before; and, strangely enough, the only emotions they could call up were some vague, visionary sorrowings over his fallen and degraded condition.

“By Jove!” said Dempsey, in a whisper to Darcy, “the lieutenant has more sympathy for my grandfather than I have myself, – I ‘ll be hanged if he is n’t wiping his eyes! So you see, ma’am,” added he, aloud, “it was a taste for grandeur ruined the Dempseys; the same ambition that has destroyed states and kingdoms has brought your humble servant to a trifle of thirty-eight pounds four and nine per annum for all worldly comforts and virtuous enjoyments; but, as the old ballad says, —

No, ma’am, ‘Never give in while there’s a score behind the door,’ – that’s the motto of the Dempseys. If it’s not on their coat-of-arms, it’s written in their hearts.”

“Your grandfather, however, did not seem to possess the family courage,” said the Knight, slyly.

“Well, and what would you have? Wasn’t he brave enough for a wine-merchant?”

“The ladies will give us some tea, Leonard,” said the Knight, as Lady Eleanor and her daughter had, some time before, slipped unobserved from the room.

“Yes, Colonel, always ready.”

“That’s the way with him,” whispered Dempsey; “he’d swear black and blue this minute that you commanded the regiment he served in. He very often calls me the quartermaster.”

The party rose to join the ladies; and while Leonard maintained his former silence, Dempsey once more took on himself the burden of the conversation by various little anecdotes of the Fumbally household, and sketches of life and manners at Port Ballintray.

So perfectly at ease did he find himself, so inspired by the happy impression he felt convinced he was making, that he volunteered a song, “if the young lady would only vouchsafe few chords on the piano” by way of accompaniment, – a proposition Helen acceded to.

Thus passed the evening, – a period in which Lady

Eleanor more than once doubted if the whole were not a dream, and the persons before her the mere creations of disordered fancy; an impression certainly not lessened as Mr. Dempsey’s last words at parting conveyed a pressing invitation to a “little thing he ‘d get up for them at Mother Finn’s.”