TRANSFUSION OF BLOOD.

TRANSFUSION OF BLOOD.

The Irish on the continent—Slow travelling of remittances—Inconveniences thereof—Sir John Burke, of Glinsk—Reasonable points of curiosity—Prompt satisfaction—Messieurs des Créanciers—Sir John’s health declines—Given over by the faculty generally—Doctor T—’s perseverance—Its success—A game at cross purposes—Custodiums in Ireland—New mode of liquidating a debt—Galway gore—Receipt for ennobling thebourgeoisof Paris—Sir John Burke’s marriage and visit to Rome—His return—Lady Burke—Glinsk Castle.

It has been generally observed, that our fellow-subjects who sojourn long on the continent often lose many of their national traits, and imbibe those of other countries. The Irish, however, present an exception to this rule. I have scarce ever met a thorough-paced Irishman whose oddities totally deserted him; the humorous idiom of his language, and the rich flavour of his dialect, are intrinsic, and adhere as steadily to his tongue asfancydoes to his brain, and eccentricity to his actions.

An Irishman istoujoursan Irishman, and wheresoever he “puts up” seldom fails to find one inveterate enemy—“himself.” This observation is not confined to the lower or middle classes of Hibernians, but occasionally includes the superior orders. Like the swine, when the demon got into them, Irishmen on the continent keep frisking, pirouetting, galloping, and puffing away, till they lose their footing; and there is scarcely a more entertaining spectacle than that afforded by the schemes, devices, and humours of a true son of Erin, under these circumstances.

I was greatly amused by an incident which took place at Paris some time since;—it possesses as much of the Irishflavouras any bagatelle anecdote I recollect to have met with; and as the parties are above the medium class, well known, all alive, and still on the samepavéin perfect harmony, the thing is rendered more entertaining.

An Irish baronet of very ancient family (an honour which he never suffered any person to be ignorant of after twenty minutes’ conversation), proprietor of a large Galway territory, garnished with the usual dilapidated chateau, brogueless tenantry, managing attorneys, and mis-managing agents, having sufficiently squeezed his estate to get (as he terms) thejuiceout of it, determined to serve a few campaigns about St. James’ Street, &c., and try if he couldretrenchat the several club-houses and “hells” to be met with amidstwhat is called “high life” in our economical metropolis.

After having enacted withéclatall the parts in the various scenes usually performed on that great theatre, he at length found, that the place was not muchcheaperthansweetGlinsk, or any old principality of his own dear country. He therefore resolved to change the scene for a more diverting and cheerful one; and by way of afinish, came over to Paris, where any species of ruin may be completed with a taste, ease, and despatch unknown in our boorish country.

The baronet brought over three or four thousand pounds in his fob, just (as he told me) to try, by way of comparison, how long that quantity ofthe drosswould last in Paris[9]—on which point his curiosity was promptly satisfied:—“Frascati” and the “Salon des Etrangers,” by a due application of spotted bones, coloured pasteboard, and painted whirligigs, under the superintendence of the Marquis de Livere, informed him at the termination of a short novitiate, that nearly the last of his“Empereurs” had been securely vested in the custody of the said Marquis de Livere.

9.Last year, the son of a very great man in England came over to Paris with a considerable sum in his pocket for the very same purpose. The first thing he did was gravely to ask his banker (an excellent and sensible man), “How long six thousand pounds would last him in Paris?” The reply was a true and correct one, “If you play, three days; if you don’t, six weeks.”

9.Last year, the son of a very great man in England came over to Paris with a considerable sum in his pocket for the very same purpose. The first thing he did was gravely to ask his banker (an excellent and sensible man), “How long six thousand pounds would last him in Paris?” The reply was a true and correct one, “If you play, three days; if you don’t, six weeks.”

Though this seemed,primâ facie, ratherinconvenient, yet the baronet’s dashing establishment did not immediately suffer diminution, until his valet’s repeated answer,pas chez lui, began to alarm the crew of grooms, goddesses, led captains, &c.

Misfortune (and he began to fancy this was very like one) seldom delays long to fill up the place of ready money when that quits a gentleman’s service: and it now seemed disposed to attach itself to the baronet in another way. Madam Pandora’s box appeared to fly open, and a host of bodily ills beset Sir John, who, having but indifferent nerves, was quite thrown on his back.

Such was the hapless situation of Sir John Burke, while exercising his portion of the virtue of patience, inwaiting for remittances—a period of suspense particularly disagreeable to travellers abroad—every post-day being pretty certain to carry off theappetite; which circumstance, to be sure, may be sometimes consideredconvenientenough.

Families from the interior of Hibernia are peculiarly subject to that suspense; and where their Irish agent happens to be an oldconfidential solicitor, or avery dear friend, or a near relation of thefamily, the attack is frequently acute. An instance, indeed,occurred lately, wherein themiscarriageof an Irish letter actually caused the very same accident to a new-married lady!

The baronet, however, bore up well; and being extremely good-humoured, the surliestcréanciersin Paris could not find in their hearts for some time to be angry with him; and so, most unreasonably left him to be angry with himself, which is a thousand times more tormenting to a man, becausesansintermission.

At length, some of his mostpressingfriends, who a short time before had considered it their highest honour to enjoy thepratiqueof Monsieur le Chevalier, began to show symptoms of losing temper;—as smoke generally forebodes the generation of fire, something like a blaze seemed likely to burst forth; and as the baronet most emphatically said to me—“The d—d duns, like a flock of jack snipes, were eternally thrusting theirlong billsinto me, as if I was a piece ofbog!”

Complaisance and smooth words very rarely fail to conciliate a Frenchman; and, after all, the baronet never experienced more civil or kinder friends in Paris than some of these verysnipeswho stuck their long bills into him. But “remittances” from the county of Galway have been, time immemorial, celebrated for the extreme slowness of their movements; and though in general verylight, they travel more deliberately than a broad-wheel waggon. Hence, Sir John Burke’s“corporal ills” were both perpetuated and heightened by his mental uneasiness.

Doctors were called in, in hopes that one or other of them mightby chancehit upon a remedy; and Sir John submitted to their prescriptions (to use his own words), like a lamb going to the slaughter.—“I knew very well,” said he, “that onebankercould do me more good by a single dose, than all thedoctorsin Paris put together;—but as my friends Messrs. * * * * * had declined to administer any moremetallicprescriptions, I really feared that mycatastrophewas not very distant.”

And, indeed, the doctors, neither jointly nor severally agreeing as to the nature of his symptoms, nor to the necessary mode of treatment, after severalconsultationsrespecting theweatherand thewar(as customary), gave Sir John’s case up as desperate: and having showed the palms of their hands without any favourable result, shook their heads, made each three low and lingering bows, and left the baronet to settle affairs himself with Madam Pandora as well as he could.

One of these medical gentlemen, however,—a fair, square, straightforward, skilful nosologist,—could not bring himself so easily to give up the baronet: he returned; and by dint of medicamenta, phlebotomy, blistering, leeching, cupping, smothering in vapour, &c. &c. (the pains of the patient’s mind, meanwhile, being overcome by the pains of his body) the doctor at last got himthorough the thing(as they say in Ireland). He was not, however, quite free from the danger of a relapse; and an unlucky flaskextraordinaryof “Epernay sec” (taken to celebrate his recovery) set Sir John’s solids and fluids again fermenting, knocked down his convalescence, which Dr. T—— had so indefatigably re-established, and introduced a certain inflammatory gentleman called fever.

The clergy were now summoned, and attended with an extra quantity of oil and water to lighten and prepare the baronet’s soul for speedy transportation; some souls, they said, and I believe truly, being much easier put into dying order than others. The skill of Doctor T——, however, once more preserved his patient for further adventures, and both physician and baronet agreed that, as the priests had done his body none, and his soul noperceptibleservice, and as holy men were of course above all lust of lucre, there was no necessity for cashingthem; so that the contemplated fees for masses should in strict justice be transferred to prescriptions. A few more plenteous bleedings were therefore substituted for extreme unction: with the aid of a sound natural constitution, Sir John once more found himself on his legs; and having but little flesh, and no fat, his shanks had not much difficulty in carrying his body moderate distances.

At the last bleeding, the incident occurred towhich the foregoing is but matter of induction. The blood which the doctor had just extracted from the baronet was about twenty ounces of genuine ruby Galway gore, discharged unadulterated from the veins of a high-crested, aboriginal Irishman. It lay proudly basking and coagulating before the sun in china basins, at the chamber-window. Sir John seeming still rather weak, the physician determined to bring all his skill into a focus, discover the latent source of indisposition, and if possible at once root it out of the baronet’s constitution, thereby gaining the double advantage of increasing professional fame and the amount of his fees. Now, at precisely the same point of time, the baronet was inventing an apology fornot payingthe doctor.

After musing some time, as every physician in the world does, whether he is thinking of the patient or not, Doctor T—— said, “Pray, let me see your tongue, Sir John.”

“Mytongue!” exclaimed the baronet, “ah! you might be greatly disappointed bythatorgan; there’s no depending ontonguesnow-a-days, doctor!”

“Yet the tongue is very symptomatic, I can assure you, Sir John,” pursued the doctor gravely.

“Possibly, inyourpart of the world,” replied the baronet. “But I do assure you, we place very little reliance on tongues in my country.”

“You know best,” said the doctor coolly:“then, pray let me feel your pulse, Sir John,” looking steadfastly on his stop-watch, counting the seconds and the throbs of the Milesian artery. “Heyday! why, your pulse is not only irregular, butintermits!”

“I wish my remittances did not,” remarked Sir John, mournfully, and thinking he had got an excellent opportunity of apologising to the doctor.

The latter, however, had no idea of any roundaboutapologies(never having been in Ireland), and resumed: “your remittances! ah, ah, Sir John! But seriously, your pulse is all astray; pray, do you feel a pain any where?”

“Why, doctor,” said Sir John, (sticking in like manner tohispoint,) “whenever I put my hand into my breeches-pocket, I feel a confounded twitch, which gives me very considerable uneasiness, I assure you.”

“Hah!” said the doctor, conceiving he had now discovered some new symptom about the femoral artery—“are you sure there’s nothinginyour pocket that hurts you, Sir John?—Perhaps some—”

“O no, doctor,” said the baronet rather impatiently; “there’snothing at allin my pocket, Doctor T——.”

“Then the twitch may be rather serious,” and the doctor lookedknowing, although he was stillat faultconcerning theéclaircissement. “It is a singular symptom. Do you feel your head at all heavy, Sir John—a sensation of weight?”

“Not at all,” replied the other:—“my head is (except mypurse) the lightest thing I possess at present.”

The disciple of Galen still supposed Sir John was jesting as to his purse, inasmuch as the plum-coloured vis-a-vis, with arms, crests, and mantlings to match—with groom, geldings, and the baronet’s white Arabian, still remained at the Hotel de Wagram, Rue de la Paix.

“Ha! ha! Sir John,” cried he, “I am glad to see you in such spirits.”

Nothing, however, either as to the malady or the fees being fully explained, it at length flashed across the doctor’s comprehension that the baronet mightpossiblybe in downrightearnestas to hisremittances. Such a thought must, under the circumstances, have a most disheartening effect on the contour of any medical man in Europe. On the first blush of this fatal suspicion the doctor’s features began to droop—his eyebrows descended, and a sort ofin utrumque paratuslook, that many of my readers must have borne when expecting a money letter, but not quite sure it may not be anapology, overspread his countenance, while his nasal muscles puckering up (as in the tic douloureux), seemed to quaver between a smile and a sardonic grin.

Sir John could scarcely contain himself at the doctor’s ludicrous embarrassment. “By Jove,” said he, “I am serious!”

“Serious! as to what, Sir John?” stammered the physician, getting out of conceit both with his patient and himself.

“The fact,” said Sir John, “is this: your long and indefatigable attention merits all my confidence, and you shall have it.”

“Confidence!” exclaimed the doctor, bowing, “you do me honour; but—”

“Yes, doctor, I now tell you (confidentially) that certain papers and matters called in Irelandcustodiums,[10]have bothered both me and my brotherJoseph, notwithstanding all his exertions for me as agent, receiver, remitter, attorney, banker, auditor, and arranger-general; which said custodiums have given up all my lands, in spite of Joe, to the king, as trustee for a set of horse-jockies, Jews, mortgagees, gamblers, solicitors, and annuity-boys—who have been tearing me to pieces for twenty years past without my having the slightest suspicion of their misdemeanors; and now, doctor, they have finally, by divers law fictions, gothis majestyto patronise them.”

10.Acustodiumis a law proceeding in Ireland, not practised much any where else, and is vastly worse than even an “extent in aid.” By one fiction the debtor is supposed to owe money to the king:—by another “fiction,” the king demands his money;—and the debtor, by a third “fiction,” is declared a rebel, because he does not pay the king.—A commission of rebellion then issues in the name of the king against the debtor; and by a fourth “fiction,” he is declared an outlaw, and all his estates are seized and sequestered to payhis majesty. A receiver of every shilling belonging to the debtor is then appointed by the king’s chief baron of the exchequer; every tenant on the estates is served with the “fictions,” as well as the landlord; and adebtofone hundred poundshas been frequently ornamented with a bill of costs to the amount ofthree thousandin the name of his majesty, who does not know the least circumstance of the matter.There was scarcely a gentleman in the county of Galway, formerly, but was as great anoutlawas Robin Hood; with this difference, that Robin Hood might behanged, and his majesty could onlystarvethe gentleman.

10.Acustodiumis a law proceeding in Ireland, not practised much any where else, and is vastly worse than even an “extent in aid.” By one fiction the debtor is supposed to owe money to the king:—by another “fiction,” the king demands his money;—and the debtor, by a third “fiction,” is declared a rebel, because he does not pay the king.—A commission of rebellion then issues in the name of the king against the debtor; and by a fourth “fiction,” he is declared an outlaw, and all his estates are seized and sequestered to payhis majesty. A receiver of every shilling belonging to the debtor is then appointed by the king’s chief baron of the exchequer; every tenant on the estates is served with the “fictions,” as well as the landlord; and adebtofone hundred poundshas been frequently ornamented with a bill of costs to the amount ofthree thousandin the name of his majesty, who does not know the least circumstance of the matter.

There was scarcely a gentleman in the county of Galway, formerly, but was as great anoutlawas Robin Hood; with this difference, that Robin Hood might behanged, and his majesty could onlystarvethe gentleman.

“But, sir! sir!” interrupted the doctor.

“I assure you, however,” continued Sir John, placidly, “that my brother Joe (whose Christian name—between you and me, doctor—ought to have been Ulick, after Ulick the Milesian, if my mother had done him common justice at his christening) is a long-headed fellow, and will promptly bring those infernal custodium impostors into proper order.”

“But, sir, sir!” repeated the doctor.

“One fellow,” pursued the baronet, “hearing that Joe intended tocall him outfor laying on his papers, has stopped all law proceedings already, and made a proper apology. The very name of Burke of Glinsk, doctor, is as sounding asWaterloo, in the county of Galway.”

“Pardon me, Sir John,” said Doctor T——, “but what can all this have to do with—”

“Never mind,” again interrupted the baronet, catching hold of one of the doctor’s coat-buttons,[11]“never mind; I give you my word, Joe is a steady, good, clever fellow, and looks two ways at every thing before he does it—I don’t allude to the cast in his eye: a horse with a wall-eye, you know, doctor, is the very lad for hard work!—ha! ha! ha!”

11.How admirably does Horace describe the grievance of aborecatching hold of your button, and making the proprietor a prisoner till his speech is expended. Doctor T—— told me that the satire came into his head whilst Sir John had him in hold, and that in his hurry to emancipate himself, he made a large cut in a new surtout, and quite spoiled its beauty.

11.How admirably does Horace describe the grievance of aborecatching hold of your button, and making the proprietor a prisoner till his speech is expended. Doctor T—— told me that the satire came into his head whilst Sir John had him in hold, and that in his hurry to emancipate himself, he made a large cut in a new surtout, and quite spoiled its beauty.

The doctor could stand this no longer, and said, “I know nothing about wall-eyed horses, Sir John.”—Indeed, being now hopeless, he made the second of the three bows he had determined to depart with; but he found his button still in custody between Sir John’s fingers, and was necessitated to suspend his exit, or leave it behind him.

“A plan has occurred to me, doctor,” said the baronet, thoughtfully, “which may not only liquidate my just and honourable debt to you for attendance and operations, but must, if you are as skilful as I think you are, eventually realise you a pretty fortune.”

This in a moment changed the countenance of the doctor, as a smouldering fire, when it gets ablast of the bellows, instantly blazes up and begins to generate its hydrogen. “And pray, sir,” asked the impatient physician, “what plan may this be? what newbankare you thinking of?”

“’Tis nobank,” said Sir John; “its a much better thing than any bank, for the more youdraw, the richer you’ll be.”

The doctor’s eyelids opened wide; his eyebrows became elevated, and he drew his ear close to the proposer, that he might not lose a single word of so precious anexposé.

“You know,” said Sir John, “though you are a Sarnion (Guernsey-man) by birth, youmustknow, asall the worldknows, that the name of the Burkes or O’Bourkes (Irlandois), and their castle of Glinsk, have been established and celebrated in Ireland some dozen centuries.”

“I have heard the name, sir,” said the doctor, rather peevishly.

“Be assured ’tis the very first cognomen in Ireland,” said Sir John.

“Possibly,” said the doctor.

“Nay,positively,” rejoined the baronet: “far more ancient than the O’Neils, O’Briens, O’Flahertys, who indeed are comparativelymoderns. We were native princes and kings several centuries before even the term AnnoDominiwas used.”

“I will not dispute it, sir.”

“Nay, I can prove it. I had six and twentyquarters on my shield without a blot upon either—save by one marriage with a d—dBodkinout of the twelve tribes of Galway, about a hundred and eighty years ago. We never got over that!”

“For Heaven’s sake, sir,” said Doctor T——, “do come to the point.”

“Pardon me,” said Sir John, “I am on the point itself.”

“As how?” inquired the other.

“Come here,” said Sir John, “and I will soon satisfy you on that head:” and as he spoke he led him to the window, where three china cups full of the baronet’s gore lay in regular order. “See! that’s the genuine crimson stuff for you, doctor! eighteen ounces at least of it; the richest in Europe! and as to colour—what’s carmine to it?”

The doctor was bewildered; but so passive, he stood quite motionless.

“Now,” continued Sir John, “we are bringing the matter to the point. You canguaranteethis gore to be genuine Glinsk blood: it gushed beautifully after your lancet, doctor, eh! didn’t it?”

“What of that, sir?” said Doctor T——: “really, Sir John, I can stay no longer.”

“You have much ordinary professional practice,” said the baronet—“I mean exclusive of your noble patients in Rue Rivoli, &c.—visits, for instance, to the Boulevard St. Martin, St. Antoine, Place de Bastile, De Bourse, &c., which you know are principally peopled by brokers withaspiring families; richnégocians, with ambitious daughters, &c., who, if they were to give five hundred thousand francs, can’t get into one fashionablesoiréefor want of a touch of gentility—not even within smell of sweet little Berry’s[12]under nursery-maids. Now,” said Sir John, pausing a moment, “we’re at the point.”

12.Sir John is the greatest eulogist of the Duchess of Berry, and has got the Legion of Honour for having given up his bed, blankets, and all, to the Duke of Berry, somewhere on the road, when they were both running away from Napoleon Bonaparte.

12.Sir John is the greatest eulogist of the Duchess of Berry, and has got the Legion of Honour for having given up his bed, blankets, and all, to the Duke of Berry, somewhere on the road, when they were both running away from Napoleon Bonaparte.

“So much the better,” said the man of medicine.

“I understand that there is a member of the faculty in Paris, who undertakes thetransfusion of bloodwith miraculous success, and has not only demonstrated its practicability, but insists that it may by improvement be rendered sufficiently operative to harmonise and amalgamate the different qualities of different species of animals. I am told he does not yet despair of seeing, bytransfusion of blood, horses becoming the best mousers, cats setting partridges, and the vulgarest fellows upon earth metamorphosed into gentlemen.”

“Pshaw! pshaw!” exclaimed Doctor T——.

“Now, I perceive no reason,” resumed Sir John, “why any man should perform such an operation better than yourself: and if you advertise in thePetit Avisthat you have a quantity of genuine GlinskO’Bourkegorealways at command, to transfuse into persons who wish to acquire thegentilitiesand the feelings of noblesse, without pain or patent, my blood, fresh from the veins, would bring you at least aNapa spoonful: and in particular proportions, would so refine and purify the vulgar puddle of thebourgeois, that they might soon be regarded (in conjunction with their money) as high at least as the half-starvedquatrièmenobility, who hobble down to their sugar and water atsoiréesin the fauxbourg St. Germain, and go to bed in the dark to save candle-light.”

The doctor felt hurt beyond all endurance: he blushed up to his very whiskers, sealed his lips hermetically—by a sardonic smile only disclosing one of his dog-teeth, and endeavoured to depart: but the button was still fast between Sir John’s fingers, who begged of his victim not to spare his veins, saying, “that he would with pleasure stand as much phlebotomy as would make a fortune for any reasonable practitioner.”

This was decisive: the doctor could stand it no longer; so snatching up the toilet scissors, he cut the button clean off his new surtout, and vanished without waiting ceremoniously to make the third bow, as had always previously been his custom.

However, the baronet, when Joe (who should have been Ulick) afterward sent him over some of thedross, made full metallic compensation to thedoctor,—and within this last month I met them walking together in great harmony.

This incident, which I had known and noted long before, was then repeated by Sir John in the doctor’s presence; and it affords the very strongest proof what a truly valuable liquid genuine Irish gore is considered by the chiefs of County Galway.

There is not a baronet in the United Kingdom who (with the very essence of good-humour) has afforded a greater opportunity for notes and anecdotes than Sir John Burke of Glinsk Castle and tilt-yard;—and no person ever will, or ever can, relate them so well as himself.

Sir John Burke is married to the sister of Mr. Ball, the present proprietor of Oatlands, commonly called theGolden Ball. I witnessed the courtship; negotiated with the brother; read over the skeleton of the marriage settlement, and was present at the departure of the baronet and his new lady for Rome, to kiss the pope’s toe. I also had the pleasure of hailing them on their return, asle Marquisandla Marquise de Bourkeof the Holy Roman Empire. Sir John had thepromiseof aprincipalityfrom the papal see when he should be prepared to pay his holiness the regulation price for it. At all events, he came back highly freighted with a papal bull, a nobleman’s patent, holy relics, mock cameos, real lava, wax tapers, Roman paving-stones, &c. &c.; and after having been oversetinto the Po, and making the fortune of his courier, he returned in a few months to Paris, to ascertain what fortune his wife had;—a circumstance which his anxiety to be married and kiss the pope’s toe had not given him sufficient time to investigate before. He found it very large, and calculated to bear a good deal of cutting and hacking ere it should quit his service—with no great probability of his ever coaxing it back again. Sir John’s good temper, however, settles that matter with great facility by quoting Dean Swift’s admirable eulogium upon poverty:—“Money’s the devil, and God keeps it from us,” said the dean. If this be orthodox, there will be more gentlemen’s souls saved in Ireland than in any other part of his Britannic Majesty’s dominions.

Previous to Sir John’s marriage, Miss Ball understood, or rather had formed a conception, that Glinsk Castle was placed in one of the most cultivated, beautiful, and romantic districts of romantic Ireland, in which happy island she had never been, and I dare say never will be. Burke, who seldom says any thing without laughing heartily at his own remark, was questioned by her pretty closely as to the beauty of the demesne, and the architecture of the castle. “Now, Sir John,” said she, “have you much dressed grounds upon the demesne of Glinsk?”

“Dressed, my love!” repeated Sir John, “why, my whole estate has been nearlydressed upthese seven years past.”

“That’s very uncommon,” said Miss Ball; “there must have been a great expenditure on it.”

“Oh, very great,” replied the baronet, “very great.”

“The castle,” said her future ladyship, “is, I suppose, in good order?”

“It ought to be,” answered Sir John; “for (searching his pockets) I got a bill from my brother Joe of, I think, two hundred pounds, only for nails, iron cramps, and holdfasts—for a single winter.”

The queries of Miss Ball innocently proceeded, and, I think, the replies were among the pleasantest and most adroit I ever heard. The lady seemed quite delighted, and nearly expressed a wish to go down to the castle as soon as possible. “As Sir John’s rents may not come in instantly,” said she, “I have, I fancy, a few thousand pounds in the bank just now, and that may take us down and new-furnish, at least, a wing of the castle!”

This took poor Sir John dreadfully aback. Glinsk was, he told me, actually in a tumbling state. Not a gravel walk within twenty miles of it: and as to timber, “How the devil,” said he, “could I support both my trees and my establishment at the same time?—Now,” he pursued, “Barrington, my good friend, do just tell her what I told you about my aunt Margaret’s ghost, that looks out of the castle window on every anniversaryof her own death and birth-day, and on other periodical occasions. She’ll be so frightened (for, thank God! she’s afraid of ghosts), that she’ll no more think of going to Glinsk than to America.”

“Tell her yourself, Sir John,” said I:—“nobody understands a romance better; and I’m sure, if this be not ameritorious, it is certainly aninnocentone.”

In fine, he got his groom to tell her maid all aboutthe ghost: the maid told the mistress, with frightful exaggerations: Sir John, when appealed to, spoke mysteriously of the matter; and the purchase of Glinsk Castle could not have induced Miss Ball to put her foot in it afterwards. She is a particularly mild and gentlewomanly lady, and, I fancy, would scarcely have survived a visit to Glinsk, even if the ghost of Madam Margaret had not prevented her making the experiment.

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