The Confessions of Harry Lorrequer — Volume 6

THE COURIER'S PASSPORT.

A second night succeeded the long dreary day of the diligence, and the only one agreeable reflection arose in the feeling that every mile travelled, was diminishing the chance of pursuit, and removing me still further from that scene of trouble and annoyance that was soon to furnish gossip for Paris—under the title of "The Affaire O'Leary."

How he was ever to extricate himself from the numerous and embarrassing difficulties of his position, gave me, I confess, less uneasiness than the uncertainty of my own fortunes. Luck seemed ever to befriend him—me it had always accompanied far enough through life to make its subsequent desertion more painful. How far I should blame myself for this, I stopped not to consider; but brooded over the fact in a melancholy and discontented mood. The one thought uppermost in my mind was, how will Lady Jane receive me—am I forgotten—or am I only remembered as the subject of that unlucky mistake, when, under the guise of an elder son, I was feted and made much of. What pretensions I had, without fortune, rank, influence, or even expectations of any kind, to seek the hand of the most beautiful girl of the day, with the largest fortune as her dowry, I dare not ask myself—the reply would have dashed all my hopes, and my pursuit would have at once been abandoned. "Tell the people you are an excellent preacher," was the advice of an old and learned divine to a younger and less experienced one—"tell them so every morning, and every noon, and every evening, and at last they will begin to believe it." So thought I. I shall impress upon the Callonbys that I am a most unexceptionable "parti." Upon every occasion they shall hear it—as they open their newspapers at breakfast—as they sip their soup at luncheon—as they adjust their napkin at dinner—as they chat over their wine at night. My influence in the house shall be unbounded—my pleasures consulted—my dislikes remembered. The people in favour with me shall dine there three times a-week—those less fortunate shall be put into schedule A. My opinions on all subjects shall be a law—whether I pronounce upon politics, or discuss a dinner: and all this I shall accomplish by a successful flattery of my lady—a little bullying of my lord—a devoted attention to the youngest sister—a special cultivation of Kilkee—and a very "prononce" neglect of Lady Jane. These were my half-waking thoughts, as the heavy diligence rumbled over the pave into Nancy; and I was aroused by the door being suddenly jerked open, and a bronzed face, with a black beard and moustache, being thrust in amongst us.

"Your passports, Messieurs," as a lantern was held up in succession across our faces, and we handed forth our crumpled and worn papers to the official.

The night was stormy and dark—gusts of wind sweeping along, bearing with them the tail of some thunder cloud—mingling their sounds with a falling tile from the roofs, or a broken chimney-pot. The officer in vain endeavoured to hold open the passports while he inscribed his name; and just as the last scrawl was completed, the lantern went out. Muttering a heavy curse upon the weather, he thrust them in upon us en masse, and, banging the door to, called out to the conducteur, "en route."

Again we rumbled on, and, ere we cleared the last lamps of the town, the whole party were once more sunk in sleep, save myself. Hour after hour rolled by, the rain pattering upon the roof, and the heavy plash of the horses' feet contributing their mournful sounds to the melancholy that was stealing over me. At length we drew up at the door of a little auberge; and, by the noise and bustle without, I perceived there was a change of horses. Anxious to stretch my legs, and relieve, if even for a moment, the wearisome monotony of the night, I got out and strode into the little parlour of the inn. There was a cheerful fire in an open stove, beside which stood a portly figure in a sheepskin bunta and a cloth travelling cap, with a gold band; his legs were cased in high Russia leather boots, all evident signs of the profession of the wearer, had even his haste at supper not bespoke the fact that he was a government courier.

"You had better make haste with the horses, Antoine, if you don't wish the postmaster to hear of it," said he, as I entered, his mouth filled with pie crust and vin de Beaune, as he spoke.

A lumbering peasant, with a blouse, sabots, and a striped nightcap, replied in some unknown patois; when the courier again said—

"Well, then, take the diligence horses; I must get on at all events; they are not so presse, I'll be bound; besides it will save the gens-d'armes some miles of a ride if they overtake them here."

"Have we another vise of our passports here, then?" said I, addressing the courier, "for we have already been examined at Nancy?"

"Not exactly a vise," said the courier, eyeing me most suspiciously as he spoke, and then continuing to eat with his former voracity.

"Then, what, may I ask, have we to do with the gens-d'armes?"

"It is a search," said the courier, gruffly, and with the air of one who desired no further questioning.

I immediately ordered a bottle of Burgundy, and filling the large goblet before him, said, with much respect,

"A votre bonne voyage, Monsier le Courier."

To this he at once replied, by taking off his cap and bowing politely as he drank off the wine.

"Have we any runaway felon or a stray galerien among us?" said I, laughingly, "that they are going to search us?"

"No, monsieur," said the courier; "but there has been a government order to arrest a person on this road connected with the dreadful Polish plot, that has just eclated at Paris. I passed a vidette of cavalry at Nancy, and they will be up here in half an hour."

"A Polish plot! Why, I left Paris only two days ago, and never heard of it."

"C'est bien possible, Monsieur? Perhaps, after all, it may only be an affair of the police; but they have certainly arrested one prisoner at Meurice, charged with this, as well as the attempt to rob Frascati, and murder the croupier."

"Alas," said I, with a half-suppressed groan, "it is too true; that infernal fellow O'Leary has ruined me, and I shall be brought back to Paris, and only taken from prison to meet the open shame and ignominy of a public trial."

What was to be done?—every moment was precious. I walked to the door to conceal my agitation. All was dark and gloomy. The thought of escape was my only one; but how to accomplish it! Every stir without suggested to my anxious mind the approaching tread of horses—every rattle of the harness seemed like the clink of accoutrements.

While I yet hesitated, I felt that my fate was in the balance. Concealment where I was, was impossible; there were no means of obtaining horses to proceed. My last only hope then rested in the courier; he perhaps might be bribed to assist me at this juncture. Still his impression as to the enormity of the crime imputed, might deter him; and there was no time for explanation, if even he would listen to it. I returned to the room; he had finished his meal, and was now engaged in all the preparations for encountering a wet and dreary night. I hesitated; my fears that if he should refuse my offers, all chance of my escape was gone, deterred me for a moment. At length as he wound a large woollen shawl around his throat, and seemed to have completed his costume, I summoned nerve for the effort, and with as much boldness in my manner as I could muster, said—

"Monsieur le Courier, one word with you." I here closed the door, and continued. "My fortunes—my whole prospects in life depend upon my reaching Strasbourg by to-morrow night. You alone can be the means of my doing so. Is there any price you can mention, for which you will render me this service?—if so, name it."

"So then, Monsieur," said the Courier, slowly—"so, then, you are the—"

"You have guessed it," said I, interrupting. "Do you accept my proposal?"

"It is impossible," said he, "utterly impossible; for even should I be disposed to run the risk on my own account, it would avail you nothing; the first town we entered your passport would be demanded, and not being vised by the minister to travel en courier, you would at once be detained and arrested."

"Then am I lost," said I, throwing myself upon a chair; at the same instant my passport, which I carried in my breast pocket, fell out at the feet of the courier. He lifted it and opened it leisurely. So engrossed was I by my misfortunes, that for some minutes I did not perceive, that as he continued to read the passport, he smiled from time to time, till at length a hearty fit of laughing awoke me from my abstraction. My first impulse was to seize him by the throat; controlling my temper, however, with an effort, I said—

"And pray, Monsieur, may I ask in what manner the position I stand in at this moment affords you so much amusement? Is there any thing so particularly droll—any thing so excessively ludicrous in my situation—or what particular gift do you possess that shall prevent me throwing you out of the window?"

"Mais, Monsieur," said he, half stifled with laughter, "do you know the blunder I fell into? it is really too good. Could you only guess who I took you for, you would laugh too."

Here he became so overcome with merriment, that he was obliged to sit down, which he did opposite to me, and actually shook with laughter.

"When this comedy is over," thought I, "we may begin to understand each other." Seeing no prospect of this, I became at length impatient, and jumping on my legs, said—

"Enough, sir, quite enough of this foolery. Believe me, you have every reason to be thankful that my present embarrassment should so far engross me, that I cannot afford time to give you a thrashing."

"Pardon, mille pardons," said he humbly; "but you will, I am sure, forgive me when I tell you that I was stupid enough to mistake you for the fugitive Englishman, whom the gens-d'armes are in pursuit of. How good, eh?"

"Oh! devilish good—but what do you mean?"

"Why, the fellow that caused the attack at Frascati, and all that, and—"

"Yes—well, eh? Did you think I was him?"

"To be sure I did, till I saw your passport."

"Till you saw my passport!" Why, what on earth can he mean? thought I. "No, but," said I, half jestingly, "how could you make such a blunder?"

"Why, your confused manner—your impatience to get on—your hurried questions, all convinced me. In fact, I'd have wagered any thing you were the Englishman."

"And what, in heaven's name, does he think me now?" thought I, as I endeavoured to join the laugh so ludicrous a mistake occasioned.

"But we are delaying sadly," said the courier. "Are you ready?"

"Ready?—ready for what?"

"To go on with me, of course. Don't you wish to get early to Strasbourg?"

"To be sure I do."

"Well, then, come along. But, pray, don't mind your luggage, for my caleche is loaded. Your instruments can come in the diligence."

"My instruments in the diligence! He's mad—that's flat."

"How they will laugh at Strasbourg at my mistake."

"That they will," thought I. "The only doubt is, will you join in the merriment?"

So saying, I followed the courier to the door, jumped into his caleche, and in another moment was hurrying over the pave at a pace that defied pursuit, and promised soon to make up for all our late delay. Scarcely was the fur-lined apron of the caleche buttoned around me, and the German blinds let down, when I set to work to think over the circumstance that had just befallen me. As I had never examined my passport from the moment Trevanion handed it to me in Paris, I knew nothing of its contents; therefore, as to what impression it might convey of me, I was totally ignorant. To ask the courier for it now might excite suspicion; so that I was totally at sea how to account for his sudden change in my favour, or in what precise capacity I was travelling beside him. Once, and once only, the thought of treachery occurred to me. Is he about to hand me over to the gens-d'armes? and are we now only retracing our steps towards Nancy? If so, Monsieur le Courier, whatever be my fate, your's is certainly an unenviable one. My reflections on this head were soon broken in upon, for my companion again returned to the subject of his "singular error," and assured me that he was as near as possible leaving me behind, under the mistaken impression of my being "myself;" and informed me that all Strasbourg would be delighted to see me, which latter piece of news was only the more flattering, that I knew no one there, nor had ever been in that city in my life; and after about an hour's mystification as to my tastes, habits, and pursuits, he fell fast asleep, leaving me to solve the difficult problem as to whether I was not somebody else, or the only alternative—whether travelling en courier might not be prescribed by physicians as a mode of treating insane patients.

A NIGHT IN STRASBOURG.

A SURPRISE.

It was late upon the following day ere I awoke from the long deep sleep that closed my labours in Strasbourg. In the confusion of my waking thoughts, I imagined myself still before a crowded and enthusiastic audience—the glare of the foot-lights—the crash of the orchestra—the shouts of "l'Auteur," "l'Auteur," were all before me, and so completely possessed me, that, as the waiter entered with hot water, I could not resist the impulse to pull off my night-cap with one hand, and press the other to my heart in the usual theatrical style of acknowledgments for a most flattering reception. The startled look of the poor fellow as he neared the door to escape, roused me from my hallucination, and awakened me to the conviction that the suspicion of lunacy might be a still heavier infliction than the personation of Monsieur Meerberger.

With thoughts of this nature, I assumed my steadiest demeanour—ordered my breakfast in the most orthodox fashion—eat it like a man in his senses; and when I threw myself back in the wicker conveniency they call a caleche, and bid adieu to Kehl, the whole fraternity of the inn would have given me a certificate of sanity before any court in Europe.

"Now for Munich," said I, as we rattled along down the steep street of the little town. "Now for Munich, with all the speed that first of postmasters and slowest of men, the Prince of Tour and Taxis, will afford us."

The future engrossed all my thoughts; and puzzling as my late adventures had been to account for, I never for a moment reverted to the past. "Is she to be mine?" was the ever-rising question in my mind. The thousand difficulties that had crossed my path might long since have terminated a pursuit where there was so little of promise, did I not cherish the idea in my heart, that I was fated to succeed. Sheridan answered the ribald sneers of his first auditory, by saying, "Laugh on; but I have it in me, and by ____ it shall come out." So I whispered to myself:—Go on Harry. Luck has been hitherto against you, it is true; but you have yet one throw of the dice, and something seems to say, a fortunate one in store; and, if so——, but I cannot trust myself with such anticipations. I am well aware how little the world sympathises with the man whose fortunes are the sport of his temperament—that April-day frame of mind is ever the jest and scoff of those hardier and sterner natures, who, if never overjoyed by success, are never much depressed by failure. That I have been cast in the former mould, these Confessions have, alas! plainly proved; but that I regret it, I fear also, for my character for sound judgment, I must answer "No."

is, doubtless, very pretty poetry, but very poor philosophy. For myself —and some glimpses of sunshine this fair world has afforded me, fleeting and passing enough, in all conscience—and yet I am not so ungrateful as to repine at my happiness, because it was not permanent, as I am thankful for those bright hours of "Love's young dream," which, if nothing more, are at least delightful souvenirs. They form the golden thread in the tangled web of our existence, ever appearing amid the darker surface around, and throwing a fair halo of brilliancy on what, without it, were cold, bleak, and barren. No, no— The light that lies
In woman's eyes,

were it twice as fleeting—as it is ten times more brilliant—than the forked lightning, irradiates the dark gloom within us for many a long day after it has ceased to shine upon us. As in boyhood it is the humanizing influence that tempers the fierce and unruly passions of our nature, so in manhood it forms the goal to which all our better and higher aspirations tend, telling us there is something more worthy than gold, and a more lofty pinnacle of ambition than the praise and envy of our fellow-men; and we may rest assured, that when this feeling dies within us, that all the ideal of life dies with it, and nothing remains save the dull reality of our daily cares and occupations. "I have lived and have loved," saith Schiller; and if it were not that there seems some tautology in the phrase, I should say, such is my own motto. If Lady Jane but prove true—if I have really succeeded—if, in a word—but why speculate upon such chances?—what pretensions have I?—what reasons to look for such a prize? Alas! and alas! were I to catechise myself too closely, I fear that my horses' heads would face towards Calais, and that I should turn my back upon the only prospect of happiness I can picture to myself in this world. In reflections such as these, the hours rolled over, and it was already late at night when we reached the little village of Merchem. While fresh horses were being got ready, I seized the occasion to partake of the table d'hote supper of the inn, at the door of which the diligence was drawn up. Around the long, and not over-scrupulously clean table, sat the usual assemblage of a German "Eilwagen"—smoking, dressing salad, knitting, and occasionally picking their teeth with their forks, until the soup should make its appearance. Taking my place amid this motley assemblage of mustachioed shopkeepers and voluminously-petticoated frows, I sat calculating how long human patience could endure such companionship, when my attention was aroused by hearing a person near me narrate to his friend the circumstances of my debut at Strasbourg, with certain marginal notes of his own that not a little surprised me.

"And so it turned out not to be Meerberger, after all,": said the listener.

"Of course not," replied the other. "Meerberger's passport was stolen from him in the diligence by this English escroc, and the consequence was, that our poor countryman was arrested, the other passport being found upon him; while the Englishman, proceeding to Strasbourg, took his benefit at the opera, and walked away with above twelve thousand florins.

"Sappermint" said the other, tossing off his beer. "He must have been a clever fellow, though, to lead the orchestra in the Franc Macons."

"That is the most astonishing part of all; for they say in Strasbourg that his performance upon the violin was far finer than Paganini's; but there seems some secret in it, after all: for Madame Baptiste swears that he is Meerberger; and in fact the matter is far from being cleared up—nor can it be till he is apprehended."

"Which shall not be for some time to come," said I to myself, as, slipping noiselessly from the room, I regained my "caleche," and in ten minutes more was proceeding on my journey. So much for correct information, thought I. One thing, however, is certain—to the chance interchange of passports I owe my safety, with the additional satisfaction that my little German acquaintance is reaping a pleasant retribution for all his worry and annoyance of me in the coupe.

Only he who has toiled over the weary miles of a long journey—exclusively occupied with one thought—one overpowering feeling—can adequately commiserate my impatient anxiety as the days rolled slowly over on the long tiresome road that leads from the Rhine to the south of Germany.

The morning was breaking on the fourth day of my journey as the tall spires of Munich rose to my view, amid the dull and arid desert of sand that city is placed in. At last! was my exclamation as the postilion tapped at the window with his whip, and then pointed towards the city. At last! Oh! what would be the extacy of my feelings now could I exchange the torturing anxieties of suspense for the glorious certainty my heart throbs for; now my journey is nearing its end to see me claim as my own what I now barely aspire to in the sanguine hope of a heart that will not despair. But cheer up, Harry. It is a noble stake you play for; and it is ever the bold gambler that wins. Scarcely was this reflection made half aloud, when a sudden shock threw me from my seat. I fell towards the door, which, bursting open, launched me out upon the road, at the same moment that the broken axletree of the caleche had upset it on the opposite side, carrying one horse along with it, and leaving the other with the postillion on his back, kicking and plunging with all his might. After assisting the frightened fellow to dismount, and having cut the traces of the restive animal, I then perceived that in the melee I had not escaped scatheless. I could barely stand; and, on passing my hand upon my instep, perceived I had sprained my ancle in the fall. The day was only breaking, no one was in sight, so that after a few minutes' consideration, the best thing to do, appeared to get the other horse upon his legs, and despatching the postillion to Munich, then about three leagues distant, for a carriage, wait patiently on the road-side for his return. No sooner was the resolve made than carried into execution; and in less than a quarter of an hour from the moment of the accident, I was seated upon the bank, watching the retiring figure of the postillion, as he disappeared down a hill, on his way to Munich. When the momentary burst of impatience was over, I could not help congratulating myself, that I was so far fortunate in reaching the end of my journey ere the mischance befell me. Had it occurred at Stuttgard I really think that it would have half driven me distracted.

I was not long in my present situation till a number of peasants, with broad-brimmed hats, and many-buttoned coats, passed on their way to work; they all saluted me respectfully; but although they saw the broken carriage, and might well guess at the nature of my accident, yet not one ever thought of proffering his services, or even indulging curiosity, by way of inquiry. "How thoroughly German," thought I; "these people are the Turks of Europe, stupified with tobacco and 'starkes bier.' They have no thought for any thing but themselves, and their own immediate occupations." Perceiving at length one whose better dress and more intelligent look bespoke a rank above the common, I made the effort with such "platt deutsch," as I could muster, to ask if there were any house near, where I could remain till the postillion's return? and learned greatly to my gratification, that by taking the path which led through a grove of pine trees near me, I should find a chateau; but who was the proprietor he knew not; indeed the people were only newly come, and he believed were foreigners. English he thought. Oh, how my heart jumped as I said, "can they be the Callonbys; are they many in family; are there ladies—young ladies, among them?"—he knew not. Having hastily arranged with my new friend to watch the carriage till my return, I took the path he showed me, and smarting with pain at every step, hurried along as best I could towards the chateau. I had not walked many minutes, when a break in the wood gave me a view of the old mansion, and at once dispelled the illusion that was momentarily gaining upon me. "They could not be the Callonbys." The house was old; and though it had once been a fine and handsome structure, exhibited now abundant traces of decay; the rich cornices which supported the roof had fallen in many places, and lay in fragments upon the terrace beneath; the portico of the door was half tumbling; and the architraves of the windows were broken and dismantled; the tall and once richly ornamented chimnies, were bereft of all their tracery, and stood bolt upright in all their nakedness above the high pitched roof. A straggling "jet d'eau" was vigorously fighting its way amid a mass of creeping shrubs and luxuriant lichens that had grown around and above a richly carved fountain, and fell in a shower of sparkling dew upon the rank grass and tall weeds around. The gentle murmur was the only sound that broke the stillness of the morning.

A few deities in lead and stone, mutilated and broken, stood like the Genii loci, guarding the desolation about them, where an old, superannuated peacock, with dropping, ragged tail was the only living thing to be seen. All bespoke the wreck of what once was great and noble, and all plainly told me that such could not be the abode of the Callonbys.

Half doubting that the house were inhabited, and half scrupling if so to disturb its inmates from their rest, I sat down upon the terrace steps and fell into a fit of musing on the objects about. That strange propensity of my countrymen to settle down in remote and unfrequented spots upon the continent, had never struck me so forcibly; for although unquestionably there were evident traces of the former grandeur of the place, yet it was a long past greatness; and in the dilapidated walls, broken statues, weed grown walls, and dark and tangled pine grove, there were more hints for sadness than I should willingly surround myself by in a residence. The harsh grating of a heavy door behind roused me; I turned and beheld an old man in a species of tarnished and worm-eaten livery, who, holding the door, again gazed at me with a mingled expression of fear and curiosity. Having briefly explained the circumstances which had befallen me, and appealed to the broken caleche upon the road to corroborate a testimony that I perceived needed such aid, the old man invited me to enter, saying that his master and mistress were not risen, but that he would himself give me some breakfast, of which by this time I stood much in want. The room into which I was ushered, corresponded well with the exterior of the house. It was large, bleak, and ill furnished; the ample, uncurtained windows; the cold, white pannelled walls; the uncarpeted floor; all giving it an air of uninhabitable misery. A few chairs of the Louis-quatorze taste, with blue velvet linings, faded and worn, a cracked marble table upon legs that once had been gilt; two scarcely detectable portraits of a mail-clad hero and a scarcely less formidable fair, with a dove upon her wrist, formed the principal articles of furniture in the dismal abode, where so "triste" and depressing did every thing appear, that I half regretted the curiosity that had tempted me from the balmy air, and cheerful morning without, to the gloom and solitude around me.

The old man soon re-appeared with a not despicable cup of "Cafe noir," and a piece of bread as large as a teaspoon, and used by the Germans pretty much in the same way. As the adage of the "gift horse" is of tolerably general acceptation, I eat and was thankful, mingling my acknowledgments from time to time with some questions about the owners of the mansion, concerning whom I could not help feeling curious. The ancient servitor, however, knew little or nothing of those he served; his master was the honourable baron; but of his name he was ignorant; his mistress was young; they had not been many months there; they knew no one—had no visitors—he had heard they were English, but did not know it himself; they were "Gute leute," "good people," and that was enough for him. How strange did all this seem, that two people, young, too, should separate themselves from all the attractions and pleasures of the world, and settle down in the dark and dreary solitude, where every association was of melancholy, every object a text for sad reflections. Lost in these thoughts I sat down beside the window, and heeded not the old man as he noiselessly left the room. My thoughts ran on over the strange phases in which life presents itself, and how little after all external influences have to do with that peace of mind whose origin is within. The Indian, whose wigwam is beside the cataract, heeds not its thunders, nor feels its sprays as they fall in everlasting dews upon him; the Arab of the desert sees no bleakness in those never ending plains, upon whose horizon his eye has rested from childhood to age. Who knows but he who inhabits this lonely dwelling may have once shone in the gay world, mixing in its follies, tasting of its fascination; and to think that now —the low murmurs of the pine tops, the gentle rustle of the water through the rank grass, and my own thoughts combining, overcame me at length, and I slept—how long I know not; but when I awoke, certain changes about showed me that some length of time had elapsed; a gay wood fire was burning on the hearth; an ample breakfast covered the table; and the broadsheet of the "Times" newspaper was negligently reposing in the deep hollow of an arm chair. Before I had well thought how to apologize for the cool insouciance of my intrusion, the door opened, and a tall, well built man entered; his shooting jacket and gaiters were evidence of his English origin, while a bushy moustache and most ample "Henri quatre" nearly concealed features, that still were not quite unknown to me; he stopped, looked steadily at me, placed a hand on either shoulder, and calling out, "Harry—Harry Lorrequer, by all that's glorious!" rushed from the room in a transport of laughter.

If my escape from the gallows depended upon my guessing my friend, I should have submitted to the last penalty of the law; never was I so completely nonplussed. Confound him what does he mean by running away in that fashion. It would serve him right were I to decamp by one of the windows before he comes back; but hark! some one is approaching.

"I tell you I cannot be mistaken," said the man's voice from without.

"Oh, impossible!" said a lady-like accent that seemed not heard by me for the first time.

"Judge for yourself; though certainly the last time you saw him may confuse your memory a little."

"What the devil does he mean by that?" said I, as the door opened, and a very beautiful young woman came forward, who, after a moment's hesitation, called out—

"True, indeed, it is Mr. Lorrequer, but he seems to have forgotten me."

The eyes, the lips, the tone of the voice, were all familiar. What! can it be possible? Her companion who had now entered, stood behind her, holding his sides with ill-suppressed mirth; and at length called out—

"Harry, my boy, you scarcely were more discomposed the last morning we parted, when the yellow plush—"

"By Jove it is," said I, as I sprang forward, and seizing my fair friend in my arms, saluted upon both cheeks my quondam flame, Miss Kamworth, now the wife of my old friend Jack Waller, of whom I have made due mention in an early chapter of these Confessions.

Were I given a muster roll of my acquaintance to say which of them might inhabit this deserted mansion, Jack Waller would certainly have been the last I should have selected—the gay, lively, dashing, high-spirited Jack, fond of society, dress, equipage, living greatly in the world, known to and liked by every body, of universal reputation. Did you want a cavalier to see your wife through a crush at the opera, a friend in a duel, a rider for your kicking horse in a stiff steeple chase, a bow oar for your boat at a rowing match, Jack was your man. Such then was my surprise at finding him here, that although there were many things I longed to inquire about, my first question was—

"And how came you here?"

"Life has its vicissitudes," replied Jack, laughing; "many stranger things have come to pass than my reformation. But first of all let us think of breakfast; you shall have ample satisfaction for all your curiosity afterwards."

"Not now, I fear; I am hurrying on to Munich."

"Oh, I perceive; but you are aware that—your friends are not there."

"The Callonbys not at Munich!" said I, with a start.

"No; they have been at Saltzburgh, in the Tyrol, for some weeks; but don't fret yourself, they are expected to-morrow in time for the court masquerade; so that until then at least you are my guest."

Overjoyed at this information, I turned my attention towards madame, whom I found much improved; the embonpoint of womanhood had still farther increased the charms of one who had always been handsome; and I could not help acknowledging that my friend Jack was warrantable in any scheme for securing such a prize.

JACK WALLER'S STORY.

The day passed quickly over with my newly-found friends, whose curiosity to learn my adventures since we parted, anticipated me in my wish to learn theirs. After an early dinner, however, with a fresh log upon the hearth, a crusty flask of red hermitage before us, Jack and I found ourselves alone and at liberty to speak freely together.

"I scarcely could have expected such would be our meeting, Jack," said I, "from the way we last parted."

"Yes, by Jove, Harry; I believe I behaved but shabbily to you in that affair; but 'Love and War,' you know; and besides we had a distinct agreement drawn up between us."

"All true; and after all you are perhaps less to blame than my own miserable fortune that lies in wait to entrap and disappoint me at every turn in life. Tell me what do you know of the Callonbys?"

"Nothing personally; we have met them at dinner, a visit passed subsequently between us, 'et voila tout;' they have been scenery hunting, picture hunting, and all that sort of thing since their arrival; and rarely much in Munich; but how do you stand there? to be or not to be—eh?"

"That is the very question of all others I would fain solve; and yet am in most complete ignorance of all about it; but the time approaches which must decide all. I have neither temper nor patience for further contemplation of it; so here goes; success to the Enterprize."

"Or," said Jack, tossing off his glass at the moment, "or, as they would say in Ireland, 'your health and inclinations, if they be virtuous.'"

"And now, Jack, tell me something of your own fortunes since the day you passed me in the post-chaise and four."

"The story is soon told. You remember that when I carried off Mary, I had no intention of leaving England whatever: my object was, after making her my wife, to open negociations with the old colonel, and after the approved routine of penitential letters, imploring forgiveness, and setting forth happiness only wanting his sanction to make it heaven itself, to have thrown ourselves at his feet 'selon les regles,' sobbed, blubbered, blew our noses, and dressed for dinner, very comfortable inmates of that particularly snug residence, 'Hydrabad Cottage.' Now Mary, who behaved with great courage for a couple of days, after that got low-spirited and depressed; the desertion of her father, as she called it, weighed upon her mind, and all my endeavours to rally and comfort her, were fruitless and unavailing. Each day, however, I expected to hear something of, or from, the colonel, that would put an end to this feeling of suspense; but no—three weeks rolled on, and although I took care that he knew of our address, we never received any communication. You are aware that when I married, I knew Mary had, or was to have, a large fortune; and that I myself had not more than enough in the world to pay the common expenses of our wedding tour. My calculation was this —the reconciliation will possibly, what with delays of post—distance—and deliberation, take a month—say five weeks—now, at forty pounds per week, that makes exactly two hundred pounds—such being the precise limit of my exchequer, when blessed with a wife, a man, and a maid, three imperials, a cap-case, and a poodle, I arrived at the Royal Hotel, in Edinburgh. Had I been Lord Francis Egerton, with his hundred thousand a year, looking for a new 'distraction,' at any price; or still more—were I a London shopkeeper, spending a Sunday in Boulogne sur Mer, and trying to find out something expensive, as he had only one day to stay, I could not have more industriously sought out opportunities for extravagance, and each day contrived to find out some two or three acquaintances to bring home to dinner. And as I affected to have been married for a long time, Mary felt less genee among strangers, and we got on famously; still the silence of the colonel weighed upon her mind, and although she partook of none of my anxieties from that source, being perfectly ignorant of the state of my finances, she dwelt so constantly upon this subject, that I at length yielded to her repeated solicitations, and permitted her to write to her father. Her letter was a most proper one; combining a dutiful regret for leaving her home, with the hope that her choice had been such as to excuse her rashness, or, at least, palliate her fault. It went to say, that her father's acknowledgment of her, was all she needed or cared for, to complete her happiness, and asking for his permission to seek it in person. This was the substance of the letter, which upon the whole, satisfied me, and I waited anxiously for the reply. At the end of five days the answer arrived. It was thus:—

"'Dear Mary,

"'You have chosen your own path in life, and having done so, I have neither the right nor inclination to interfere with your decision; I shall neither receive you, nor the person you have made your husband; and to prevent any further disappointment, inform you that, as I leave this to-morrow, any future letters you might think proper to address, will not reach me.

"'Yours very faithful,
C. Kamworth, Hydrabad Cottage.'

"This was a tremendous coup, and not in the least anticipated by either of us; upon me the effect was stunning, knowing, as I did, that our fast-diminishing finances were nearly expended. Mary on the other hand, who neither knew nor thought of the exchequer, rallied at once from her depression, and after a hearty fit of crying, dried her eyes, and putting her arm round my neck, said:

"'Well, Jack, I must only love you the more, since papa will not share any of my affection.'

"'I wish he would his purse though,' muttered I, as I pressed her in my arms, and strove to seem perfectly happy.

"I shall not prolong my story by dwelling upon the agitation this letter cost me; however, I had yet a hundred pounds left, and an aunt in Harley-street, with whom I had always been a favourite. This thought, the only rallying one I possessed, saved me for the time; and as fretting was never my forte, I never let Mary perceive that any thing had gone wrong, and managed so well in this respect, that my good spirits raised her's, and we set out for London one fine sunshiny morning, as happy a looking couple as ever travelled the north road.

"When we arrived at the 'Clarendon,' my first care was to get into a cab, and drive to Harley-street. I rung the bell; and not waiting to ask if my aunt was at home, I dashed up stairs to the drawing-room; in I bolted, and instead of the precise old Lady Lilford, sitting at her embroidery, with her fat poodle beside her, beheld a strapping looking fellow, with a black moustache, making fierce love to a young lady on a sofa beside him.

"'Why, how is this—I really—there must be some mistake here.' In my heart I knew that such doings in my good aunt's dwelling were impossible.

"'I should suspect there is, sir,' drawled out he of the moustache, as he took a very cool survey of me, through his glass.

"'Is Lady Lilford at home, may I ask,' said I, in a very apologetic tone of voice.

"'I haven't the honor of her ladyship's acquaintance,' replied he in a lisp, evidently enjoying my perplexity, which was every moment becoming more evident.

"'But this is her house,' said I, 'at least—'

"'Lady Lilford is at Paris, sir,' said the young lady, who now spoke for the first time. 'Papa has taken the house for the season, and that may perhaps account for your mistake.'

"What I muttered by way of apology for my intrusion, I know not; but I stammered—the young lady blushed—the beau chuckled, and turned to the window, and when I found myself in the street, I scarcely knew whether to laugh at my blunder, or curse my disappointment.

"The next morning I called upon my aunt's lawyer, and having obtained her address in Paris, sauntered to the 'Junior Club,' to write her a letter before post hour. As I scanned over the morning papers, I could not help smiling at the flaming paragraph which announced my marriage, to the only daughter and heiress of the Millionaire, Colonel Kamworth. Not well knowing how to open the correspondence with my worthy relative, I folded the paper containing the news, and addressed it to 'Lady Lilford, Hotel de Bristol, Paris.'

"When I arrived at the 'Clarendon,' I found my wife and her maid surrounded by cases and band-boxes; laces, satins and velvets were displayed on all sides, while an emissary from 'Storr and Mortimer' was arranging a grand review of jewellery on a side table, one half of which would have ruined the Rajah of Mysore, to purchase. My advice was immediately called into requisition; and pressed into service, I had nothing left for it, but to canvass, criticise, and praise, between times, which I did, with a good grace, considering that I anticipated the 'Fleet,' for every flounce of Valenciennes lace; and could not help associating a rich diamond aigrette, with hard labour for life, and the climate of New South Wales. The utter abstraction I was in, led to some awkward contre temps; and as my wife's enthusiasm for her purchases increased, so did my reverie gain ground.

"'Is it not beautiful, Jack?—how delicately worked—it must have taken a long time to do it.'

"'Seven years,' I muttered, as my thoughts ran upon a very different topic.

"'Oh, no—not so much,' said she laughing; 'and it must be such a hard thing to do.'

"'Not half so hard as carding wool, or pounding oyster shells.'

"'How absurd you are. Well, I'll take this, it will look so well in—'

"'Botany Bay,' said I, with a sigh that set all the party laughing, which at last roused me, and enabled me to join in the joke.

"As, at length, one half of the room became filled with millinery, and the other glittered with jewels and bijouterie, my wife grew weary with her exertions, and we found ourselves alone.

"When I told her that my aunt had taken up her residence in Paris, it immediately occurred to her, how pleasant it would be to go there too; and, although I concurred in the opinion for very different reasons, it was at length decided we should do so; and the only difficulty now existed as to the means, for although the daily papers teem with 'four ways to go from London to Paris;' they all resolved themselves into one, and that one, unfortunately to me, the most difficult and impracticable—by money.

"There was, however, one last resource open—the sale of my commission. I will not dwell upon what it cost me to resolve upon this—the determination was a painful one, but it was soon come to, and before five-o'clock that day, Cox and Greenwood had got their instructions to sell out for me, and had advanced a thousand pounds of the purchase. Our bill settled—the waiters bowing to the ground (it is your ruined man that is always most liberal)—the post-horses harnessed, and impatient for the road, I took my place beside my wife, while my valet held a parasol over the soubrette in the rumble, all in the approved fashion of those who have an unlimited credit with Coutts and Drummond; the whips cracked, the leaders capered, and with a patronizing bow to the proprietor of the 'Clarendon,' away we rattled to Dover.

"After the usual routine of sea sickness, fatigue, and poisonous cookery, we reached Paris on the fifth day, and put up at the 'Hotel de Londres,' Place Vendome.

"To have an adequate idea of the state of my feelings as I trod the splendid apartments of this princely Hotel, surrounded by every luxury that wealth can procure, or taste suggest, you must imagine the condition of a man, who is regaled with a sumptuous banquet on the eve of his execution. The inevitable termination to all my present splendour, was never for a moment absent from my thoughts, and the secrecy with which I was obliged to conceal my feelings, formed one of the greatest sources of my misery. The coup, when it does come, will be sad enough, and poor Mary may as well have the comfort of the deception, as long as it lasts, without suffering as I do. Such was the reasoning by which I met every resolve to break to her the real state of our finances, and such the frame of mind in which I spent my days at Paris, the only really unhappy ones I can ever charge my memory with.

"We had scarcely got settled in the hotel, when my aunt, who inhabited the opposite side of the 'Place,' came over to see us and wish us joy. She had seen the paragraph in the Post, and like all other people with plenty of money, fully approved a match like mine.

"She was delighted with Mary, and despite the natural reserve of the old maiden lady, became actually cordial, and invited us to dine with her that day, and every succeeding one we might feel disposed to do so. So far so well, thought I, as I offered her my arm to see her home; but if she knew of what value even this small attention is to us, am I quite so sure she would offer it?—however, no time is to be lost; I cannot live in this state of hourly agitation; I must make some one the confidant of my sorrows, and none so fit as she who can relieve as well as advise upon them. Although such was my determination, yet somehow I could not pluck up courage for the effort. My aunt's congratulations upon my good luck, made me shrink from the avowal; and while she ran on upon the beauty and grace of my wife, topics I fully concurred in, I also chimed in with her satisfaction at the prudential and proper motives which led to the match. Twenty times I was on the eve of interrupting her, and saying, 'But, madam, I am a beggar—my wife has not a shilling—I have absolutely nothing—her father disowns us—my commission is sold, and in three weeks, the 'Hotel de Londres' and the 'Palais Royale,' will be some hundred pounds the richer, and I without the fare of a cab, to drive me to the Seine to drown myself.'

"Such were my thoughts; but whenever I endeavoured to speak them, some confounded fulness in my throat nearly choked me; my temples throbbed, my hands trembled, and whether it was shame, or the sickness of despair, I cannot say; but the words would not come, and all that I could get out was some flattery of my wife's beauty, or some vapid eulogy upon my own cleverness in securing such a prize. To give you in one brief sentence an idea of my state, Harry—know, then, that though loving Mary with all my heart and soul, as I felt she deserved to be loved, fifty times a day I would have given my life itself that you had been the successful man, on the morning I carried her off, and that Jack Waller was once more a bachelor, to see the only woman he ever loved, the wife of another.