“Eh! what's that?” cried a gruff voice; “the corpse does what?”

“'T is a rhetorical amplification, that means he would if he could,” said Darby, stopping to explain.

“I say,” said another, “that's all gammon and stuff; a corpse could n't know what was doing,—eh, old fellow?”

“'T is an Irish corpse I was describin',” said Darby, proudly, and evidently, while sore pushed for an explanation, having a severe struggle to keep down his contempt for the company that needed it.

An effort I made at this moment to obtain a nearer view of the party, from whom I was slightly separated by some low brushwood, brought my hand in contact with something sharp; I started and looked round, and to my astonishment saw a clasp knife, such as gardeners carry, lying open beside me. In a second I guessed the meaning of this. It had been so left by Darby, to give me an opportunity of cutting the cords that bound my arms, and thus facilitating my escape. His presence was doubtless there for this object, and all the entertaining powers he displayed only brought forth to occupy the soldiers' attention while I effected my deliverance. Regret for the time lost was my first thought; my second, more profitable, was not to waste another moment. So, kneeling down I managed with the knife to cut some of my fastenings, and after some little struggle freed one arm; to liberate the other was the work of a second, and I stood up untrammelled. What was to be done next? for although at liberty, the soldiers lay about me on every side, and escape seemed impossible. Besides, I knew not where to turn, where to look for one friendly face, nor any one who would afford me shelter. Just then I heard Darby's voice raised above its former pitch, and evidently intended to be heard by me.

“Sure, there's Captain Bubbleton, of the Forty-fifth Regiment, now in Dublin, in George's Street Barracks. Ay, in George's Street Barracks,” said he, repeating the words as if to impress them on me. “'T is himself could tell you what I say is thrue; and if you wouldn't put confidential authentification on the infirmation of a poor leather-squeezing, timber-tickling crayture like myself, sure you 'd have reverential obaydience to your own commissioned captain.”

“Well, I don't think much of that song of yours, anyhow, old Blow, or Blast, or whatever your name is. Have you nothing about the service, eh? 'The British Grenadiers;' give us that.”

“Yes; 'The British Grenadiers,' that's the tune!” cried a number of the party together.

“I never heard them play but onst, sir,” said Darby, meekly; “and they were in sich a hurry that day, I couldn't pick up the tune.”

“A hurry! what d' you mean?” said the corporal.

“Yes, sir; 't was the day but one after the French landed; and the British Grenadiers that you were talking of was running away towards Castlebar.”

“What 's that you say there?” cried out one of the soldiers, in a voice of passion.

“'Tis that they wor running away, sir,” replied Darby, with a most insulting coolness; “and small blame to thim for that same, av they wor frightened.”

In an instant the party sprang to their legs, while a perfect shower of curses fell upon the luckless piper, and fifty humane proposals to smash his skull, break his neck and every bone in his body, were mooted on all sides. Meanwhile M'Keown remonstrated, in a spirit which in a minute I perceived was not intended to appease their irritation; on the contrary, his apologies were couched in very different guise, being rather excuses for his mishap in having started a disagreeable topic, than any regret for the mode in which he treated it.

“And sure, sir,” continued he, addressing the corporal, “'t was n't my fault av they tuck to their heels; would n't any one run for his life av he had the opportunity?”

He raised his voice once more at these words with such significance that I resolved to profit by the counsel if the lucky moment should offer.—I had not long to wait. The insulting manner of Darby, still more than his words, had provoked them beyond endurance, and one of the soldiers, drawing his bayonet, drove it through the leather bag of his pipes. A shout of rage from the piper, and a knockdown blow that levelled the offender, replied to the insult. In an instant the whole party were upon him. Their very numbers, however, defeated their vengeance; as I could hear from the tone of Darby's voice, who, far from declining the combat, continued to throw in every possible incentive to battle, as he struck right and left of him. “Ah, you got that!—Well done!—'Tis brave you are! ten against one!—Devil fear you!”

The scuffle by this time had brought the sergeant to the spot, who in vain endeavored to ascertain the cause of the tumult, as they rolled over one another on the ground, while caps, belts, and fragments of bagpipes were scattered about on every side. The uproar had now reached its height, and Darby's yells and invectives were poured forth with true native fluency. The moment seemed propitious to me. I was free,—no one near; the hint about Bubbleton was evidently intended for my guidance. I crept stealthily a few yards beneath the brushwood, and emerged safely upon the road. The sounds of the conflict, amid which Darby's own voice rose pre-eminent, told me that all were too busily engaged to waste a thought on me. I pressed forward at my best pace, and soon reached the crest of a hill, from which the view extended for miles on every side. My eyes, however, were bent in but one direction: they turned westwards, where a vast plain stretched away towards the horizon, its varied surface presenting all the rich and cultivated beauty of a garden; villas and mansions surrounded with large parks; waving cornfields and orchards in all the luxuriance of blossom. Towards the east lay the sea; the coast line broken into jutting promontories and little bays, dotted with white cottages, with here and there some white-sailed skiff, scarce moving in the calm air. But amid all this outspread loveliness of view, my attention was fixed upon a dense and heavy cloud that seemed balanced in the bright atmosphere far away in the distance. Thither my eyes turned, and on that spot was my gaze riveted, for I knew that beneath that canopy of dull smoke lay Dublin. The distant murmur of the angry voices still reached me as I stood. I turned one backward look; the road was lonely, not a shadow moved upon it. Before me the mountain road descended in a zigzag course till it reached the valley. I sprang over the low wall that skirted the wayside, and with my eyes still fixed upon the dark cloud, I hurried on. My heart grew lighter with every step; and when at length I reached the shelter of a pine-wood, and perceived no sign of being pursued, my spirits rose to such a pitch of excitement that I shouted for very joy.

For above an hour my path continued within the shelter of the wood; and when at last I emerged, it was not without a sense of sudden fear that I looked back upon the mountains which frowned above me, and seemed still so near. I thought, too, I could mark figures on the road, md imagined I could see them moving backwards and forwards, like persons seeking for something; and then I shuddered to think that they too might be at that very moment looking at me. The thought added fresh speed to my flight, and for some miles I pressed forward without even turning once.

It was late in the evening as I drew near the city. Hungry and tired as I was, the fear of being overtaken was uppermost in my thoughts; and as I mingled in the crowds that strolled along the roads enjoying the delicious calmness of a summer's eve, I shrank from every eye like something guilty, and feared that every glance that fell on me was detection itself.

It was not until I entered the city, and found myself traversing the crowded and narrow streets that formed the outskirts, that I felt at ease; and inquiring my way to George's Street Barracks, I hurried on, regardless of the strange sights and sounds about. At that hour the humbler portion of the population was all astir; their daily work ended, they were either strolling along with their families for an evening walk, or standing in groups around the numerous ballad-singers, who delighted their audience with diatribes against the Union, and ridiculous attacks on the Ministry of the day. These, however, were not always unmolested, for as I passed on, I saw more than one errant minstrel seized on by the soldiery, and hurried off to the guardhouse to explain some uncivil or equivocal allusion to Lord Castlereagh or Mr. Cook,—such evidences of arbitrary power being sure to elicit a hearty groan or shout' of derision from the mob, which in turn was replied to by the soldiers. These scolding matches gave an appearance of tumult to the town, which on some occasions did not stop short at mere war of words.

In the larger and better streets such scenes were unfrequent; but here patrols of mounted dragoons or police passed from time to time, exchanging as they went certain signals as to the state of the city; while crowds of people thronged the pathways, and conversed in a low tone, which broke forth now and then into a savage yell as often as some interference on the part of the military seemed to excite their angry passions. At the Castle gates the crowd was more dense and apparently more daring, requiring all the efforts of the dragoons to keep them from pressing against the railings, and leave a space for the exit of carriages which from time to time issued from the Castle yard. Few of these, indeed, went forth unnoticed. Some watchful eye would detect the occupant as he lay back to escape observation; his name would be shouted aloud, as an inevitable volley of hisses and execrations showered upon him. And in this way were received the names of Mr. Bingham, Colonel Loftus, the Right Hon. Denis Browne, Isaac Corry, and several others who happened that day to be dining with the Lord-Lieutenant, and were now on their way to the House of Commons.

Nothing struck me so much in the scene as the real or apparent knowledge possessed by the mob of all the circumstances of each individual's personal and political career; and thus the price for which they had been purchased—either in rank, place, or pounds sterling—was cried aloud amid shouts of derision and laughter, or the more vindictive yells of an infuriated populace.

“Ha, Ben! what are you to get for Baltinglass? Boroughs is up in the market.” “Well, Dick, you won't take the place; nothing but hard cash.” “Don't be hiding. Jemmy.” “Look at the Prince of Orange, boys!” “A groan for the Prince of Orange!”—here a fearful groan from the mob echoed through the streets. “There 's Luke Fox; ha! stole away!”—here followed another yell.

With difficulty I elbowed my way through the densely-packed crowd, and at last reached the corner of George's Street, where a strong police force was stationed, not permitting the passage of any one either up or down that great thoroughfare. Finding it impossible to penetrate by this way, I continued along Dame Street, where I found the crowd to thicken as I advanced. Not only were the pathways, but the entire streets, filled with people; through whom the dragoons could with difficulty force a passage for the carriages, which continued at intervals to pass down. Around the statue of King William the mob was in its greatest force. Not merely the railings around the statue, but the figure itself was surmounted by persons, who, taking advantage of their elevated and secure position, hurled their abuse upon the police and military with double bitterness. These sallies of invective were always accompanied by some humorous allusion, which created a laugh among the crowd beneath; to which, as the objects of the ridicule were by no means insensible, the usual reply was by charging on the people, and a command to keep back,—a difficult precept when pressed forward by some hundreds behind them. As I made my way slowly through the moving mass, I could see that a powerful body of horse patrolled between the mob and the front of the College, the space before which and the iron railings being crammed with students of the University, for so their caps and gowns bespoke them. Between this party and the others a constant exchange of abuse and insult was maintained, which even occasionally came to blows whenever any chance opportunity of coming in contact, unobserved by the soldiery, presented itself.

In the interval between these rival parties, each member's carriage was obliged to pass; and here each candidate for the honors of one and the execrations of the other, met his bane and antidote.

“Ha, broken beak, there you go! bad luck to you!” “Ha, old vulture, Flood!”

“Three cheers for Flood, lads!” shouted a voice from the College; and in the loud cry the yells of their opponents were silenced, but only to break forth the next moment into further license.

“Here he comes, here he comes!” said the mob; “make way there, or he 'll take you flying! it 's himself can do it. God bless your honor, and may you never want a good baste under ye!”

This civil speech was directed to a smart, handsome-looking man of about five and forty, who came dashing along on a roan thoroughbred, perfectly careless of the crowd, through which he rode with a smiling face and a merry look. His leathers and tops were all in perfect jockey style, and even to his long-lashed whip he was in everything a sportsmanlike figure.

“That's Greorge Ponsonby,” said a man beside me, in answer to my question. “And I suppose you know who that is?”

A perfect yell from the crowd drowned my reply; and amid the mingled curses and execrations of the mass, a dark-colored carriage moved slowly on, the coachman evidently fearful at every step lest his horses should strike against some of the crowd, and thus license the outbreak that seemed only waiting an opportunity to burst forth.

“Ha, Bladderchops, Bloody Jack! are you there?” shouted the savage ringleaders, as they pressed up to the very glasses of the carriage, and stared at the occupant.

“Who is it?” said I, again.

“John Toler, the Attorney-General.”

Amid deafening cries of vengeance against him, the carriage moved on, and then rose the wild cheers of the College men to welcome their partisan.

A hurrah from the distant end of Dame Street now broke on the ear, which, taken up by those bearer, swelled into a regular thunder; and at the same moment the dragoons cried out to keep back, a lane was formed in a second, and down it came six smoking thoroughbreds, the postilions in white and silver, cutting and spurring with all their might. Never did I hear such a cheer as now burst forth. A yellow chariot, its panels covered with emblazonry, came flying past; a hand waved from the window in return to the salutation of the crowd, and the name of Tom Conolly of Castletown rent the very air. Two outriders in their rich liveries followed, unable to keep their place through the thick mass that wedged in after the retiring equipage.

Scarcely had the last echo of the voices subsided when a cheer burst from the opposite side, and a waving of caps and handkerchiefs proclaimed that some redoubted champion of Protestant ascendancy was approaching. The crowd rocked to and fro as question after question poured in.

“Who is it? who is coming?” But none could tell, for as yet the carriage, whose horses were heard at a smart trot, had not turned the corner of Grafton Street. In a few moments the doubt seemed resolved, for scarcely did the horses appear in sight when a perfect yell rose from the crowd and drowned the cheers of their opponents. I cannot convey anything like the outbreak of vindictive passion that seemed to convulse the mob as a splendidly appointed carriage drove rapidly past and made towards the colonnade of the Parliament House. A rush of the people was made at the moment, in which, as in a wave, I was borne along in spite of me. The dragoons, with drawn sabres, pressed down upon the crowd, and a scene of frightful confusion followed: many were sorely wounded by the soldiers; some were trampled under foot; and one poor wretch, in an effort to recover himself from stumbling, was supposed to be stooping for a stone, and cut through the skull without mercy. He lay there insensible for some time; but at last a party of the crowd, braving everything, rushed forward and carried him away to an hospital.

During this, I had established myself on the top of a lamp-post, which gave me a full view, not only of all the proceedings of the mob, but of the different arrivals as they drew up at the door of the House. The carriage whose approach was signalized by all these disasters, had now reached the colonnade. The steps were lowered, and a young man of the very handsomest and most elegant appearance descended slowly from the chariot. His dress was in the height of the reigning fashion, but withal had a certain negligence that bespoke one who less paid attention to toilette, than that his costume was a thing of course, which could not but be, like all about him, in the most perfect taste. In his hand he held a white handkerchief, which, as he carelessly shook, the perfume floated over the savage-looking, half-naked crowd around. He turned to give some directions to his coachman; and at the same moment a dead cat was hurled by some one in the crowd and struck him on the breast, a cry of exultation rending the very air in welcome of this ruffian act. As for him, he slowly moved his face round towards the mob, and as he brushed the dirt from his coat with his kerchief, he be, stowed on them one look so full of immeasurable heartfelt contempt that they actually quailed beneath it. The cry grew fainter and fainter, and it was only as he turned to enter the House that they recovered self-possession enough to renew their insulting shout. I did not need to ask the name, for the yell of “Bloody Castlereagh” shook the very air.

“Make way there! make way, boys!” shouted a rough voice from the crowd; and a roar of laughter, that seemed to burst from the entire street, answered the command, and the same instant a large burly figure advanced through a lane made for him in the crowd, mopping his great bullet head with a bright scarlet handkerchief.

“Long life to you, Mr. Egan!” shouted one. “Three cheers for Bully Egan, boys!” cried another; and the appeal was responded to at once.

“Make way, you blackguards! make way, I say,” said Egan, affecting to be displeased at this display of his popularity; “don't you see who's coming?”

Every eye was turned at once towards Daly's Clubhouse, in which direction he pointed; but it was some minutes before the dense crowd would permit anything to be seen. Suddenly, however, a cheer arose wilder and louder than any I had yet heard; from the street to the very housetops the cry was caught up and repeated, while a tumultuous joy seemed to rock the crowd as they moved to and fro.

At this moment the excitement was almost maddening. Every neck was strained in one direction, every eye pointed thither, while the prolonged cheering was sustained with a roar as deafening as the sea in a storm. At last the crowd were forced back, and I saw three gentlemen advancing abreast: the two outside ones were holding between them the weak and trembling figure of an old and broken man, whose emaciated form and withered face presented the very extreme of lassitude and weakness; his loose coat hung awkwardly on his spare and shrunken form, and he moved along in a shuffling, slipshod fashion. As they mounted the steps of the Parliament House, the cheering grew wilder and more enthusiastic; and I wondered how he who was evidently the object could seem so indifferent to the welcome thus given him, as with bent-down head he pressed on, neither turning right nor left. With seeming difficulty he was assisted up the steps, when he slowly turned round, and removing his hat, saluted the crowd. The motion was a simple one, but in its very simplicity was its power. The broad white forehead,—across which some scanty hair floated,—the eye that now beamed proudly forth, was turned upon them; and never was the magic of a look more striking. For a second all was hushed, and then a very thunder of applause rolled out, and the name of Henry Grattan burst from every tongue.

Just then one of the mob, exasperated by a stroke from the flat of a dragoon's sabre, had caught the soldier by the foot and flung him from his saddle to the ground; his comrades flew to his rescue at once, and charged the crowd, which fell back before them. The College men, taking advantage of this, sprang forward on the mob, armed with their favorite weapons, their hurdles of strong oak; the street was immediately torn up behind, and a shower of paving stones poured in upon the luckless military, now completely hemmed in between both parties. Tells of rage and defiance rose on either side, and the cheers of the victors and cries of the wounded were mixed in mad confusion.

My lamp-post was no longer an enviable position, and I slipped gently down towards the ground; in doing so, however, I unfortunately kicked off a soldier's cap. The man turned on me at once and collared me, and notwithstanding all my excuses insisted on carrying me off to the guardhouse. The danger of such a thing at once struck me, and I resisted manfully. The mob cheered me, at which the soldier only became more angry; and ashamed, too, at being opposed by a mere boy, he seized me rudely by the throat. My blood rose at this, and I struck boldly at him; my fist met him in the face, and before he could recover himself the crowd were upon him. Down he went, while a rush of the mob, escaping from the dragoons, flowed over his body. At the same moment the shout, “Guard, turn out!” was heard from the angle of the Bank, and the clattering of arms and the roll of a drum followed. A cheer from the mob seemed to accept the challenge, and every hand was employed tearing up the pavement and preparing for the fray. Whether by my own self-appointment, or by common consent, I cannot say, but I at once took the leadership; and having formed the crowd into two parties, directed them, if hard pressed, to retreat either by College Street or Westmoreland Street. Thus one party could assist the other by enfilading the attacking force, unless they were in sufficient strength to pursue both together. We had not long to wait the order of battle. The soldiers were formed in a second, and the word was given to advance at a charge. The same instant I stepped forward and cried, “Fire!” Never was an order so obeyed; a hundred paving stones showered down on the wretched soldiers, who fell here and there in the ranks. “Again!” I shouted to my second battalion, that stood waiting for the word; and down came another hailstorm, that rattled upon their caps and muskets, and sent many a stout fellow to the rear. A wild cheer from the mob proclaimed the victory; but at the same instant a rattling of ramrods and a clank of firelocks was heard in front, and from the rear of the soldiers a company marched out in echelon, and drew up as if on parade. All was stilled; not a man moved in the crowd,—indeed our tactics seemed now at an end; when suddenly the word, “Make ready—present!” was called out, and the same instant a ringing discharge of musketry tore through the crowd. Never did I witness such a scene as followed. All attempts to retreat were blocked up by the pressure from behind; and the sight of the wounded who fell by the discharge of the soldiers seemed to paralyze every effort of the mob. One terrified cry rose from the mass, as they shrank from the muskets. Again the ramrods were heard clinking in the barrels. I saw there was but one moment, and cried out, “Courage, lads, and down upon them!”—and with that I dashed madly forward, followed by the mob, that like a mighty mass now rolled heavily after me. The soldiers fell back as we came on; their bayonets were brought to the charge; the word “Fire low!” was passed along the line, and a bright sheet of flame flashed forth, and was answered by a scream of anguish that drowned the crash of the fire. In the rush backwards I was thrown on the ground, and at first believed I had been shot; but I soon perceived I was safe, and sprang to my legs. But the same moment a blow on the head from the but-end of a musket smote me to the earth, and I neither saw nor heard of anything very clearly afterwards. I had, indeed, a faint, dreamy recollection of being danced upon and trampled by some hundred heavy feet, and then experiencing a kind of swinging, rocking motion, as if carried on something; but these sensations are far too vague to reason upon, much less to chronicle.

CHAPTER XII. A CHARACTER.

There must have been a very considerable interval from the moment I have last recorded to that in which I next became a responsible individual; but in what manner, in what place, or in what company it was passed, the reader must excuse my indulging, for many important reasons,—one of which is, I never clearly knew anything of the matter.

To date my recollections from my first consciousness, I may state that I found myself on my back in a very narrow bed, a table beside me covered with phials and small flasks, with paper cravats, some of which hung down, queue fashion, to an absurd extent. A few rush backed and bottomed chairs lay along the walls, which were coarsely whitewashed. A window, of very unclean and unprepossessing aspect, was partly shaded by a faded scarlet curtain, while the floor was equally sparingly decked with a small and ragged carpet. Where was I? was the frequent but unsatisfactory query I ever put to myself. Could this be a prison? had I been captured on that riotous evening, and carried off to jail? or was I in Darby M'Keown's territory?—for somehow, a very general impression was on my mind that Darby's gifts of ubiquity were somewhat remarkable,—or, lastly (and the thought was not a pleasant one), was this the domicile of Anthony Basset, Esq., attorney-at-law? To have resolved any or all of these doubts by rising and taking a personal survey of the premises would have been my first thought; but unluckily I found one of my arms bandaged, and enclosed in a brace of wooden splints; a very considerable general impression pervaded me of bruises and injuries all over my body; and, worse still, a kind of megrim accompanied every attempt to lift my head from the pillow, that made me heartily glad to lie down again and be at rest.

That I had not fallen into unfriendly hands was about the extent to which my deductions led me; and with this consolatory fact, and a steady resolve to remain awake three days, if necessary, so as to interrogate the first visitor who should approach me, I mustered all my patience, and waited quietly. What hour of the day it was when first I awoke to even thus much of consciousness I cannot say; but I well remember watching what appeared to me twelve mortal hours in my anxious expectation. At last a key turned in an outer lock, a door opened, and I heard a heavy foot enter. This was shortly followed by another step, whose less imposing tread was, I suspected, a woman's.

“Where, in the devil's name, is the candle?” said a gruff voice, that actually seemed to me not unknown. “I left it on the table when I went out. Oh, my shin's broke!—that infernal table!”

“Oh, Lord! oh, Lord!” screamed the female voice.

“Ah, you 've caught it too!” cried the other, in glee; “did you think you saw a little blue flame before you when your shin was barked?”

“You're a monster!” said the lady, in a tone of passionate indignation.

“Here it is,—I have it,” replied the other, not paying the slightest attention to the endearing epithet last bestowed; “and damn me, if it 's not burned down to the socket. Halloo there, Peter Dodd! You scoundrel, where are you?”

“Call him Saladin,” said the lady, with a sneer, “and perhaps he 'll answer.”

“Imp of darkness, where are you gone to? Peter—Dodd—Dodd—Peter! Ah, you young blackguard! where were you all this time?”

“Asleep, sir; sure you know well, sir, it 's little rest I get,” said a thin, childish voice in answer. “Wasn't it five o'clock this morning when I devilled the two kidneys ye had for supper for the four officers, and had to borrey the kian pepper over the way?”

“I'll bore a gimlet hole through your pineal gland, and stuff it with brass-headed nails, if you reply to me. Anna Maria, that was a fine thought, eh? glorious, by Jove! There, put the candle there, hand your mistress a chair; give me my robe-de'chambre. Confound me, if it's not getting like the kingdom of Prussia on the map, full of very straggling dependencies. Supper, Saladin!”

“The sorrow taste—”

“What, thou piece of human ebony! what do you say?”

“Me hab no—a—ting in de larder,” cried the child, in a broken voice.

“Isn't there a back of a duck and two slices of cold bacon?” asked the lady, in the tone of a cross-examining barrister.

“I poisoned the bacon for the rats, Miss; and for the duck—”

“Let me strangle him with my own hands,” shouted the man; “let me tear him up into merrythoughts. Look here, sirrah,” said he, in a voice like John Kemble's; “there may be nothing which man eats within these walls; there may not be wherewithal to regale a sickly fly,—no, not enough for one poor spider to lunch upon; but if you ever dare to reply to me, save in Oriental phrase, I 'll throw you in a sack, call my mutes, and hurl you into the Bosphorus.”

“Where, sir?”

“The Dodder, you son of a burned father! My hookah.”

“My slippers,” repeated the lady.

“My lute, and the sherbet,” added the gentleman.

By the stir in the chamber, these arrangements, or something equivalent to them, seemed to have taken place; when again I heard,—“Dance a lively measure, Saladin; my soul is heavy.”

Here a most vile tinkling of a guitar was heard, to which, by the sounds of the feet, I could perceive Saladin was moving in a species of dance.

“Let the child go to bed, and don't be making a fool of yourself,” said the lady, in a voice of bursting passion.

“Thank Heaven,” said I, half aloud, “she isn't mad.”

“Tink, tink, a - tink - a - tink, tink - a - tink - a - dido!” thrummed out her companion. “I say, Saladin, heat me a little porter, with an egg and some sugar.”

The door closed as the imp made his exit, and there was silence for some seconds, during which my uppermost thought was, “What infernal mischance has thrown me into a lunatic asylum?” At length the man spoke,—

“I say, Anna Maria, Cradock has this run of luck a long time.”

“He plays better than you,” responded the lady, sharply.

“I deny it,” rejoined he, angrily. “I play whist better than any man that ever lived, except the Begum of Soutancantantarahad, who beat my father. They played for lacs of rupees on the points, and a territory on the rub; five to two, first game against the loser, in white elephants.”

“How you do talk!” said Anna Maria. “Do you forget that all this rubbish does n't go down with me?”

“Well, I mean old Hickory, that had the snuffshop in Bath, used only to give me one point in the rub, and we played for sixpence; damme, I 'll not forget it,—he cleaned me out in no time. Tink, tink, a-tink-a-tink, tink-a-tinka-dido! Here, Saladin! bear me the spicy cup, ambrosial boy!”

“Ahem!” said the lady, in a tone that didn't sound exactly like concurrence.

“Eat a few dates, and then repose,” said the deep voice.

“I wish I had them, av they were eatable,” said Saladin, as he turned away.

“Wretch, you have forgotten to salaam; exit slowly. Tink, tink, a-tink-a-tink! Anna Maria, he's devilish good now for black parts; I think I'll make Jones bring him out. Wouldn't it be original to make Othello talk broken English? 'Farewell de camp!' Eh, by Jove! that 's a fine thought. 'De spirit stir a drum, de piercy pipe.' By Jove! I like that notion.”

Here the gentleman rose in a glorious burst of enthusiasm, and began repeating snatches from Shakspeare, in the pleasant travesty he had hit upon.

“Cradock revoked, and you never saw him,” said the lady, dryly, interrupting the monologue.

“I did see it clearly enough, but I had done so twice the same game,” said he, gayly; “and if the grave were to give up its dead, I, too, should be a murderer. Fine thought that, is n't it?”

“He won seventeen and sixpence from you,” rejoined she, pettishly.

“Two bad half-crowns,—dowlas, filthy dowlas,” was the answer.

“And the hopeful young gentleman in the next room,—what profitable intentions, may I ask you, have you with respect to him?”

“Burke! Tom Burke! Bless your heart, he 's only son and heir to Burke of Mount Blazes, in the county Galway. His father keeps three packs of harriers, one of fox, and another of staghounds,—a kind of brindled devils, three feet eight in height; he won't take them under. His father and mine were schoolfellows at Dundunderamud, in the Himalaya, and he—that is, old Burke—saved my father's life in a tiger hunt. And am I to forget the heritage of gratitude my father left me?”

“You ought not, perhaps, since it was the only one he bequeathed,” quoth the lady.

“What! is the territory of Shamdoonah and Bunfunterabad nothing? are the great suits of red emeralds and blue opal, that were once the crown jewels of Saidh Sing Doolah, nothing? is the scymitar of Hafiz, with verses of the Koran in letters of pure brilliants, nothing?”

“You'll drive me distracted with your insane folly,” rejoined the lady, rising and pushing back her chair with violence. “To talk this way when you know you have n't got a five pound note in the world.”

“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed out the jolly voice of the other; “that's good, faith. If I only consented to dip my Irish property, I could raise fourteen hundred and seventy thousand pounds,—so Mahony tells me. But I 'll never give up the royalties,—never! There, you have my last word on the matter: rather than surrender my tin mine, I'd consent to starve on twelve thousand a year, and resign my claim to the title which, I believe, the next session will give me; and when you are Lady Machinery—something or other—maybe they won't bite, eh? Ramskins versus wrinkles.”

A violent bang of the door announced at this moment the exit of the lady in a rage, to which her companion paid no attention, as he continued to mumble to himself, “Surrender the royalties,—never! Oh, she 's gone. Well, she's not far wrong, after all. I dare not draw a cheque on my own exchequer at this moment for a larger sum than—let me see—twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-eight and tenpence; with twenty-nine shillings, the grand firm of Bubbleton and Co. must shut up and suspend their payments.” So saying, he walked from the room in stately fashion, and closed the door after him.

My first thought, as I listened to this speech, was one of gratefulness that I had fallen into the friendly hands of my old coach companion, whose kindness still lived fresh in my memory; my next was, what peculiar form of madness could account for the strange outpouring I had just overheard, in which my own name was so absurdly introduced, coupled with family circumstances I knew never had occurred. Sleep was now out of the question with me; for whole hours long I could do nothing but revolve in my mind all the extraordinary odds and ends of my friend Bubbleton's conversation, which I remembered to have been so struck by at my first meeting with him. The miraculous adventures of his career, his hairbreadth 'scapes, his enormous wealth, the voluptuous ease of his daily life, and his habits of luxury and expenditure with which he then astounded me, had now received some solution; while, at the same time, there was something in his own common-sense observations to himself that puzzled me much, and gave a great difficulty to all my calculations concerning him.

To all these conflicting doubts and difficulties sleep at last succeeded. But better far for me it had not; for with it came dreams such as sick men only experience: all the distorted images that rose before my wandering faculties, mingling with the strange fragments of Bubbleton's conversation, made a phantasmagoria the most perplexing and incomprehensible; and which, even on waking, I could not banish, so completely had Saladin and his pas seul, the guitar, the hookah, and the suit of red emeralds taken hold of my erring intellect.

Candid, though not fair reader, have you ever been tipsy? Have you ever gone so far over the boundaryline that separates the land of mere sobriety from its neighboring territory, the country of irresponsible impulses, that you actually doubted which was the way back,—that you thought you saw as much good sense and good judgment on the one side of the frontier as the other, with only a strong balance of good-fellowship to induce a preference? If you know this state,—if you have taken the precise quantum of champagne or moselle mousseux that induces it, and yet goes no farther,—then do you perfectly understand all the trials and difficulties of my waking moments, and you can appreciate the arduous task I undertook in my effort to separate the real from the imaginary, the true types from their counterfeits; in a word, the wanderings of my own brain from those of Captain Bubbleton's.

In this agreeable and profitable occupation was I engaged; when the same imposing tread and heavy footstep I had heard the previous evening entered the adjoining room and approached my door. The lock turned, and the illustrious captain himself appeared. And here let me observe, that if grave censure be occasionally bestowed on persons who, by the assumption of voice, look, or costume, seek to terrorize over infant minds, a no less heavy sentence should be bestowed on all who lord it over the frail faculties of sickness by any absurdity in their personal appearance. And that I may not seem captious, let me describe my friend. The captain, who was somewhere about the forties, was a full-faced, chubby, good-looking fellow, of some five feet ten or eleven inches in height; his countenance had been intended by nature for the expression of such emotions as arise from the enjoyment of turtle, milk punch, truffled turkeys, mulled port, mullagatawny, stilton, stout, and pickled oysters; a rich, mellow-looking pair of dark-brown eyes, with large bushy eyebrows meeting above the nose, which latter feature was a little “on the snub and off the Roman;” his mouth was thick-lipped, and had that peculiar mobility which seems inseparable wherever eloquence or imagination predominate; in color, his face was of that uniform hue painters denominate as “warm, “—in fact, a rich sunset Claude-Lorrainish tint that seemed a compound, the result of high-seasoned meats, plethora, punch, and the tropics; in figure, he was like a huge pudding-bag, supported on two short little dumpy pillars, that from a sense of the superincumbent weight had wisely spread themselves out below, giving to his lower man the appearance of a stunted letter A; his arms were most preposterously short, and for the convenience of locomotion he used them somewhat after the fashion of fins. As to his costume on the morning in question, it was a singularly dirty and patched dressing-gown of antique silk, fastened about the waist by a girdle, from which depended a scymitar on one side and a meerschaum on the other; a well-worn and not over clean-looking shawl was fastened in fashion of a turban round his head; a pair of yellow buskins with faded gold tassels decorated legs which occasionally peeped from the folds of the robe-de-chambre without any other covering.

Such was the outward man of him who suddenly stopped short at the doorway, while he held the latch in his hand, and called out,—

“Burke, Tom Burke! don't be violent, don't be outrageous; you see I'm armed! I'd cut you down without mercy if you attempt to lift a finger! Promise me this,—do you hear me?”

That any one even unarmed could have conceived fear from such a poor weak object as I was seemed so utterly absurd that I laughed outright; an emotion on my part that seemingly imparted but little confidence to my friend the captain, who retreated still closer to the door, and seemed ready for flight. The first use I could make of speech, however, was, to assure him that I was not only perfectly calm and sensible, but deeply grateful for kindness which I knew not how, nor to whom, I became indebted.

“Don't roll your eyes there; don't look so damned treacherous!” said he. “Keep down your hands; keep them under the bedclothes. I 'll put a bullet through your skull if you stirred!”

I again protested that any manifestation of quietness he asked for I would immediately comply with, and begged him to sit down beside me and tell me where I was and how I had come hither. Having established an outwork of a table and two chairs between us, and cautiously having left the door ajar to secure his retreat, he drew the scymitar and placed it before him, his eyes being fixed on me the entire time.

“Well,” said he, as he assumed a seat, and leaned his arm on the table, “so you are quiet at last. Lord, what a frightful lunatic you were! Nobody would approach your bed but me. The stoutest keeper of Swift's Hospital fled from the spot; while I said, 'Leave him to me, the human eye is your true agent to humble the pride of maniacal frenzy.'”

With these words he fixed on me a look such as the chief murderer in a melodrama assumes at the moment he proceeds to immolate a whole family.

“You infernal young villain, how I subdued you! how you quailed before me!”

There was something so ludicrous in the contrast of this bravery with his actual terror, that again I burst out a-laughing; upon which he sprang up, and brandishing his sabre, vowed vengeance on me if I stirred. After a considerable time spent thus, I at last succeeded in impressing him with the fact, that if I had all the will in the world to tear him to pieces, my strength would not suffice to carry me to the door,—an assurance which, however sorrowfully made by me, I perceived to afford him the most unmixed satisfaction.

“That's right, quite right,” said he; “and mad should he be indeed who would measure strength with me. The red men of Tuscarora always called me the 'Great Buffalo.' I used to carry a bark canoe with my squaw and nine little black devils under one arm, so as to leave the other free for my tomahawk. 'He, how, he!' that 's the war step.”

Here he stooped down to his knees, and then sprang up again, with a yell that actually made me start, and brought a new actor on the scene in the person of Anna Maria, whose name I had so frequently heard the night before.

“What is the matter?” said the lady, a short, squablike woman, of nearly the captain's age, but none of his personal attractions. “We can't have him screaming all day in that fashion.”

“It isn't he; it was I who was performing the war dance. Come, now, let down your hair, and be a squaw,—do. What trouble is it? And bring in Saladin; we'll get up a combat scene. Devilish fine thought that!”

The indignant look of the lady in reply to this modest proposal again overpowered me, and I sank back in my bed exhausted with laughter,—an emotion which I was forced to subdue as well as I might on beholding the angry countenance with which the lady regarded me.

“I say, Burke,” cried the captain, “let me present you to my sister, Miss Anna Maria Bubbleton.”

A very dry recognition on Miss Anna Maria's part replied to the effort I made to salute her; and as she turned on her heel, she said to her brother, “Breakfast's ready,” and left the room.

Bubbleton jumped up at this, rubbed his mouth pleasantly with his hand, smacked his lips; and then dropping his voice to a whisper, muttered, “Excuse me, Tom; but if I have a weakness it is for Yarmouth bloaters, and anchovy toast, milk chocolate, marmalade, hot rolls, and reindeer tongue, with a very small glass of pure white brandy as a qualifier.” So saying, he whisked about and made his exit.

While my host was thus occupied, I was visited by the regimental surgeon, who informed me that my illness had now been of some weeks' duration; severe brain fever, with various attending evils, and a broken arm, being the happy results of my evening's adventure at the Parliament House.

“Bubbleton is an old friend of yours,” continued the doctor. And then, without giving me time to reply, added, “Capital fellow,—no better; a little given to the miraculous, eh? but nothing worse.”

“Why, he does indeed seem to have a strong vein for fiction,” said I, half timidly.

“Bless your heart, he never ceases. His world is an ideal thing, fall of impossible people and events, where he has lived at least some centuries, enjoying the intimacies of princes, statesmen, poets, and warriors. He has, in his own estimation, unlimited wealth and unbounded resources, the want of which he is never convinced of till pressed for five shillings to buy his dinner.”

“And his sister,” said I; “what of her?”

“Just as strange a character in the opposite direction. She is as matter of fact as he is imaginative. To all his flights she as resolutely enters a dissentient; and he never inflates his balloon of miracles without her stepping forward to punch a hole in it. But here they come.”

“I say. Pepper, how goes your patient? Spare no pains, old fellow,—no expense; only get him round. I've left a cheque for you for five hundred in the next room. This is no regimental case; come, come! it 's my way, and I insist upon it.”

Pepper bowed with an air of the deepest gratitude, and actually looked so overpowered by the liberality that I began to suspect there might be less truth in his account of Bubbleton than I thought a few minutes before.

“All insanity has left him,—that's pleasant. I say, Tom, you must have had glorious thoughts, eh? When you were mad, did you ever think you were an anaconda bolting a goat, or the Eddystone Lighthouse when the foundation began to shift?”

“No, never.”

“How odd! I remember being once thrown on my head off a drag. I was breaking in a pair of young unicorns for the Queen of—”

“No!” said Anna Maria, in a voice of thunder, holding up her finger, at the same moment, in token of reproof.

The captain became mute on the instant, and the very word he was about to utter stuck in his throat, and he stood with his mouth open, like one in enchantment.

“You said a little weak tea, I think,” said Miss Bubbleton, turning towards the doctor.

“Yes; and some dry toast, if he liked it; and, in a day or two; a half glass of wine and water.”

“Some of that tokay old Pippo Esterhazy sent us.”

“No,” said the lady again, in the same tone of menace.

“And perhaps, after a week, the open air and a little exercise in a carriage.”

“The barouche and the four ponies,” interrupted Bubbleton.

“No!” repeated Miss Anna Maria, but in such a voice of imperious meaning that the poor captain actually fell back, and only muttered to himself, “What would be the use of wealth, if one could n't contribute to the enjoyment of one's friends?”

“There's the drum for parade,” cried the doctor; “you'll be late, and so shall I.”

They both bustled out of the room together; while Miss Anna Maria, taking her work out of a small bag she carried on her arm, drew a chair to the window and sat down, having quietly intimated to me that, as conversation was deemed injurious to me, I must not speak one syllable.