Chapter Sixty Four.

Chapter Sixty Four.As O’Brien said, it’s a long lane that has no turning—I am rescued, and happiness pours in upon me as fast as misery before overwhelmed me.The shock was too great—I fell back on my pillow insensible. How long I lay, I know not, but when I recovered, the keeper was gone, and I found a jug of water and some bread by the side of the bed. I drank the water, and the effect it had upon me was surprising. I felt that I could get up, and I rose: my arms had been unpinioned during my swoon.It was about noon that the medical people, attended by the keepers and others, came into my apartment.“Is he quite quiet?”“O Lord! yes, sir, as quiet as a lamb,” replied the man who had before entered.I then spoke to the medical gentleman, begging him to tell why, and how, I had been brought here. He answered mildly and soothingly, saying that I was there at the wish of my friends, and that every care would be taken of me; that he was aware that my paroxysms were only occasional, and that, during the time that I was quiet, I should have every indulgence that could be granted, and that he hoped that I soon should be perfectly well, and be permitted to leave the hospital. I replied by stating who I was, and how I had been taken ill. The doctor shook his head, advised me to lie down as much as possible, and then quitted me to visit the other patients.As I afterwards discovered, my uncle had had me confined upon the plea that I was a young man, who was deranged with an idea that his name was Simple, and that he was the heir to the title and estates; that I was very troublesome at times, forcing my way into his house and insulting the servants, but in every other respect was harmless; that my paroxysms generally ended in a violent fever, and that it was more from the fear of my coming to some harm, than from any ill-will towards the poor young man, that he wished me to remain in the hospital, and be taken care of.The reader may at once perceive the art of this communication: I, having no idea why I was confined, would of course continue to style myself by my true name; and as long as I did this, so long would I be considered in a deranged state. The reader must not therefore be surprised when I tell him, that I remained in Bedlam for one year and eight months. The doctor called upon me for two or three days, and finding me quiet, ordered me to be allowed books, paper, and ink, to amuse myself; but every attempt at explanation was certain to be the signal for him to leave my apartment. I found, therefore, not only by him, but from the keeper, who paid no attention to anything I said, that I had no chance of being listened to, or of obtaining my release.After the first month, the doctor came to me no more: I was a quiet patient, and he received the report of the keeper. I was sent there with every necessary document to prove that I was mad; and, although a very little may establish a case of lunacy, it requires something very strong indeed, to prove that you are in your right senses. In Bedlam I found it impossible. At the same time I was well treated, was allowed all necessary comforts, and such amusement as could be obtained from books, etcetera. I had no reason to complain of the keeper—except that he was too much employed to waste his time in listening to what he did not believe. I wrote several letters to my sister and to O’Brien during the first two or three months, and requested the keeper to put them in the post. This he promised to do, never refusing to take the letters; but, as I afterwards found out, they were invariably destroyed. Yet I still bore up with the hopes of release for some time; but the anxiety relative to my sister, when I thought of her situation, my thoughts of Celeste and of O’Brien, sometimes quite overcame me; then, indeed, I would almost become frantic, and the keeper would report that I had had a paroxysm. After six months I became melancholy, and I wasted away. I no longer attempted to amuse myself, but sat all day with my eyes fixed upon vacancy. I no longer attended to my person; I allowed my beard to grow—my face was never washed, unless mechanically, when ordered by the keeper; and, if I was not mad, there was every prospect of my soon becoming so. Life passed away as a blank—I had become indifferent to everything—I noted time no more—the change of seasons was unperceived—even the day and the night followed without my regarding them.I was in this unfortunate situation, when one day the door was opened, and, as had been often the custom during my imprisonment, visitors were going round the establishment, to indulge their curiosity, in witnessing the degradation of their fellow-creatures, or to offer their commiseration. I paid no heed to them, not even casting up my eyes. “This young man,” said the medical gentleman who accompanied the party, “has entertained the strange idea that his name is Simple, and that he is the rightful heir to the title and property of Lord Privilege.”One of the visitors came up to me, and looked me in the face. “And so he is,” cried he, to the doctor, who looked with astonishment. “Peter, don’t you know me?” I started up. It was General O’Brien. I flew into his arms, and burst into tears.“Sir,” said General O’Brien, leading me to the chair, and seating me upon it, “I tell you thatisMr Simple, the nephew of Lord Privilege; and, I believe the heir to the title. If, therefore, his assertion of such being the case, is the only proof of his insanity, he is illegally confined. I am here, a foreigner, and a prisoner on parole; but I am not without friends. My Lord Belmore,” said he, turning to another of the visitors who had accompanied him, “I pledge you my honour that what I state is true; and I request you will immediately demand the release of this poor young man.”“I assure you, sir, that I have Lord Privilege’s letter,” observed the doctor.“Lord Privilege is a scoundrel,” replied General O’Brien. “But there is justice to be obtained in this country, and he shall pay dearly for hislettre de cachet. My dear Peter, how fortunate was my visit to this horrid place! I have heard so much of the excellent arrangements of this establishment, that I agreed to walk round with Lord Belmore; but I find that it is abused.”“Indeed, General O’Brien, I have been treated with kindness,” replied I; “and particularly by this gentleman. It was not his fault.”General O’Brien and Lord Belmore then inquired of the doctor if he had any objection to my release.“None whatever, my lord, even if he were insane; although I see now how I have been imposed upon. We allow the friends of any patient to remove him, if they think that they can pay him more attention. He may leave with you this moment.”I now did feel my brain turn with the revulsion from despair to hope, and I fell back in my seat. The doctor perceiving my condition, bled me copiously, and laid me on the bed, where I remained more than an hour, watched by General O’Brien. I then got up, calm and thankful. I was shaved by the barber of the establishment, washed and dressed myself, and, leaning on the general’s arm, was led out. I cast my eyes upon the two celebrated stone figures of Melancholy and Raving Madness; as I passed them, I trembled, and clung more tightly to the general’s arm, was assisted into the carriage, and bade farewell to madness and misery.The general said nothing until we approached the hotel where he resided, in Dover Street; and then he inquired, in a low voice, whether I could bear more excitement.“Is it Celeste you mean, general?”“It is, my dear boy, she is here;” and he squeezed my hand.“Alas!” cried I, “what hopes have I now of Celeste?”“More than you had before,” replied the general. “She lives but for you; and if you are a beggar, I have a competence to make you sufficiently comfortable.”I returned the general’s pressure of the hand, but could not speak. We descended, and in a minute I was led by the father into the arms of the astonished and delighted daughter.I must pass over a few days, during which I had almost recovered my health and spirits; and had narrated my adventures to General O’Brien and Celeste. My first object was to discover my sister. What had become of poor Ellen, in the destitute condition in which she had been left, I knew not; and I resolved to go down to the vicarage, and make inquiries. I did not, however, set off until a legal adviser had been sent for by General O’Brien; and due notice given to Lord Privilege of an action to be immediately brought against him for false imprisonment.I set off in the mail, and the next evening arrived at the town of —. I hastened to the parsonage, and the tears stood in my eyes as I thought of my mother, my poor father, and the peculiar and doubtful situation of my dear sister. I was answered by a boy in livery, and found the present incumbent at home. He received me politely, listened to my story, and then replied, that my sister had set off for London on the day of his arrival, and that she had not communicated her intentions to any one. Here, then, was all clue lost, and I was in despair, I walked to the town in time to throw myself into the mail, and the next evening joined Celeste and the general, to whom I communicated the unpleasant intelligence, and requested advice how to proceed.Lord Belmore called the next morning, and the general consulted him. His lordship took great interest in my concerns; and, previous to any further steps, advised me to step into his carriage, and allow him to relate my case to the First Lord of the Admiralty. This was done immediately; and, as I had now an opportunity of speaking freely to his lordship, I explained to him the conduct of Captain Hawkins, and his connexion with my uncle; also the reason of my uncle’s persecution. His lordship finding me under such powerful protection as Lord Belmore’s, and having an eye to my future claims, which my uncle’s conduct gave him reason to suppose were well founded, was extremely gracious, and said, that I should hear from him in a day or two. He kept his word, and on the third day after my interview, I received a note, announcing my promotion to the rank of commander. I was delighted with this good fortune, as was General O’Brien and Celeste.When at the Admiralty, I inquired about O’Brien, and found that he was expected home every day. He had gained great reputation in the East Indies, was chief in command at the taking of some of the islands, and, it was said, was to be created a baronet for his services. Everything wore a favourable aspect, excepting the disappearance of my sister. This was a weight on my mind I could not remove.But I have forgotten to inform the reader by what means General O’Brien and Celeste arrived so opportunely in England. Martinique had been captured by our forces about six months before, and the whole of the garrison surrendered as prisoners of war. General O’Brien was sent home, and allowed to be on parole; although born a Frenchman, he had very high connections in Ireland, of whom Lord Belmore was one. When they arrived, they had made every inquiry for me without success: they knew that I had been tried by a court-martial and dismissed my ship, but after that, no clue could be found for my discovery.Celeste, who was fearful that some dreadful accident had occurred to me, had suffered very much in health, and General O’Brien, perceiving how much his daughter’s happiness depended upon her attachment for me, had made up his mind that if I were found, we should be united. I hardly need say how delighted he was when he discovered me, though in a situation so little to be envied.The story of my incarceration, of the action to be brought against my uncle, and the reports of foul play, relative to the succession, had, in the meantime, been widely circulated among the nobility; and I found that, every attention was paid me, and I was repeatedly invited out as an object of curiosity and speculation. The loss of my sister also was a subject of much interest, and many people, from good will, made every inquiry to discover her. I had returned one day from the solicitor’s, who had advertised for her in the newspapers without success, when I found a letter for me on the table, in an Admiralty enclosure. I opened it—the enclosure was one from O’Brien, who had just cast anchor at Spithead, and who had requested that the letter should be forwarded to me, if any one could tell my address.“My dear Peter,—Where are, and what has become of, you? I have received no letters for these two years, and I have fretted myself to death. I received your letter about the rascally court-martial; but, perhaps, you have not heard that the little scoundrel is dead. Yes, Peter; he brought your letter out in his own ship, and that was his death-warrant. I met him at a private party. He brought up your name—I allowed him to abuse you, and then told him he was a liar and a scoundrel; upon which he challenged me, very much against his will; but the affront was so public, that he couldn’t help himself. Upon which I shot him, with all the good-will in the world, and could he have jumped up again twenty times, like Jack in the box, I would have shot him every time. The dirty scoundrel! but there’s an end of him. Nobody pitied him, for every one hated him; and the admiral only looked grave, and then was very much obliged to me for giving him a vacancy for his nephew. By-the-bye, from some unknown hand, but I presume from the officers of his ship, I received a packet of correspondence between him and your worthy uncle, which is about as elegant a piece of rascality as ever was carried on between two scoundrels; but that’s not all, Peter. I’ve got a young woman for you, who will make your heart glad—not Mademoiselle Celeste, for I don’t know where she is—but the wet-nurse who went out to India. Her husband was sent home as an invalid, and she was allowed her passage home with him in my frigate. Finding that he belonged to the regiment, I talked to him about one O’Sullivan who married in Ireland, and mentioned the girl’s name, and when he discovered that she was a countryman of mine, he told me that his real name was O’Sullivan, sure enough, but that he had always served as O’Connell, and that his wife on board was the young woman in question. Upon which, I sent to speak to her, and telling her that I knew all about it, and mentioning the names of Ella Flanagan, and her mother, who had given me the information, she was quite astonished; and when I asked her what had become of the child which she took in place of her own, she told me that it had been drowned at Plymouth, and that her husband was saved at the same time by a young officer, ‘whose name I have here,’ says she; and then she pulled out of her neck your card, with Peter Simple on it. ‘Now,’ says I, ‘do you know, good woman, that in helping on the rascally exchange of children, you ruin that very young man who saved your husband, for you deprive him of his title and property?’ She stared like a stuck pig, when I said so, and then cursed and blamed herself, and declared she’d right you as soon as we came home; and most anxious she is still to do so, for she loves the very name of you; so you see, Peter, a good action has its reward sometimes in this world, and a bad action also, seeing as how I’ve shot that confounded villain who dared to ill-use you. I have plenty more to say to you, Peter; but I don’t like writing what, perhaps, may never be read, so I’ll wait till I hear from you; and then, as soon as I get through my business, we will set to and trounce that scoundrel of an uncle. I have twenty thousand pounds jammed together in the consolidated, besides the Spice Islands, which will be a pretty penny; and every farthing of it shall go to right you, Peter, and make a lord of you, as I promised you often that you should be; and if you win you shall pay, and if you don’t, then damn the luck and damn the money too. I beg you will offer my best regards to Miss Ellen, and say how happy I shall be to hear that she is well; but it has always been on my mind, Peter, that your father did not leave too much behind him, and I wish to know how you both get on. I left you acarte blancheat my agent’s, and I only hope that you have taken advantage of it, if required; if not, you’re not the Peter that I left behind me. So now, farewell, and don’t forget to answer my letter in no time.“Ever yours,Terence O’Brien.”This was indeed joyful intelligence. I handed the letter to General O’Brien, who read it; Celeste hanging over his shoulder, and perusing it at the same time.“This is well,” said the general. “Peter, I wish you joy; and, Celeste, I ought to wish you joy also, at your future prospects. It will indeed be a gratification if ever I hail you as Lady Privilege.”“Celeste,” said I, “you did not reject me when I was penniless, and in disgrace. O my poor sister Ellen! if I could but find you, how happy should I be!”I sat down to write to O’Brien, acquainting him with all that had occurred, and the loss of my dear sister. The day after the receipt of my letter, O’Brien burst into the room. After the first moments of congratulation were past, he said, “My heart’s broke, Peter, about your sister Ellen: find her I must. I shall give up my ship, for I’ll never give up the search as long as I live. I must find her.”“Do, pray, my dear O’Brien, and I only wish—”“Wish what, Peter? shall I tell you what I wish?—that if I find her; you’ll give her to me for my trouble.”We then turned round to General O’Brien and Celeste.“Captain O’Brien,” said the general.“Sir Terence O’Brien, if you please, general. His Majesty has given me a handle to my name.”“I congratulate you, Sir Terence,” said the general, shaking him by the hand; “what I was about to say is, that I hope you will take up your quarters at this hotel, and we will all live together. I trust we shall soon find Ellen: in the meanwhile, we have no time to lose, in our exposure of Lord Privilege. Is the woman in town?”“Yes, and under lock and key; but the devil a fear of her. Millions would not bribe her to wrong him who risked his life for her husband. She’s Irish, general, to the back-bone. Nevertheless, Peter, we must go to our solicitor, to give the intelligence, that he may take the necessary steps.”For three weeks, O’Brien was diligent in his search for Ellen, employing every description of emissary without success. In the meanwhile, the general and I were prosecuting our cause against Lord Privilege. One morning, Lord Belmore called upon us, and asked the general if we would accompany him to the theatre, to see two celebrated pieces performed. In the latter, which was a musical farce, a new performer was to come out of whom report spoke highly. Celeste consented, and after an early dinner, we joined his lordship in his private box, which was above the stage, on the first tier. The first piece was played, and Celeste, who had never seen the performance of Young, was delighted. The curtain then drew up for the second piece. In the second act, the new performer, a Miss Henderson, was led by the manager on the stage; she was apparently much frightened and excited, but three rounds of applause gave her courage, and she proceeded. At the very first notes of her voice I was startled, and O’Brien, who was behind, threw himself forward to look at her; but as we were almost directly above, and her head was turned the other way, we could not distinguish her features. As she proceeded in her song, she gained courage, and her face was turned towards us, and she cast her eyes up—saw me—the recognition was mutual—I held out my arm, but could not speak—she staggered, and fell down in a swoon.“’Tis Ellen!” cried O’Brien, rushing past me; and, making one spring down on the stage, he carried her off, before any other person could come to her assistance. I followed him, and found him with Ellen still in his arms, and the actresses assisting in her recovery. The manager came forward to apologise, stating that the young lady was too ill to proceed, and the audience, who had witnessed the behaviour of O’Brien and myself, were satisfied with the romance in real life which had been exhibited. Her part was read by another, but the piece was little attended to, every one trying to find out the occasion of this uncommon occurrence. In the meantime, Ellen was put into a hackney-coach by O’Brien and me, and we drove to the hotel, where we were soon joined by the general and Celeste.

The shock was too great—I fell back on my pillow insensible. How long I lay, I know not, but when I recovered, the keeper was gone, and I found a jug of water and some bread by the side of the bed. I drank the water, and the effect it had upon me was surprising. I felt that I could get up, and I rose: my arms had been unpinioned during my swoon.

It was about noon that the medical people, attended by the keepers and others, came into my apartment.

“Is he quite quiet?”

“O Lord! yes, sir, as quiet as a lamb,” replied the man who had before entered.

I then spoke to the medical gentleman, begging him to tell why, and how, I had been brought here. He answered mildly and soothingly, saying that I was there at the wish of my friends, and that every care would be taken of me; that he was aware that my paroxysms were only occasional, and that, during the time that I was quiet, I should have every indulgence that could be granted, and that he hoped that I soon should be perfectly well, and be permitted to leave the hospital. I replied by stating who I was, and how I had been taken ill. The doctor shook his head, advised me to lie down as much as possible, and then quitted me to visit the other patients.

As I afterwards discovered, my uncle had had me confined upon the plea that I was a young man, who was deranged with an idea that his name was Simple, and that he was the heir to the title and estates; that I was very troublesome at times, forcing my way into his house and insulting the servants, but in every other respect was harmless; that my paroxysms generally ended in a violent fever, and that it was more from the fear of my coming to some harm, than from any ill-will towards the poor young man, that he wished me to remain in the hospital, and be taken care of.

The reader may at once perceive the art of this communication: I, having no idea why I was confined, would of course continue to style myself by my true name; and as long as I did this, so long would I be considered in a deranged state. The reader must not therefore be surprised when I tell him, that I remained in Bedlam for one year and eight months. The doctor called upon me for two or three days, and finding me quiet, ordered me to be allowed books, paper, and ink, to amuse myself; but every attempt at explanation was certain to be the signal for him to leave my apartment. I found, therefore, not only by him, but from the keeper, who paid no attention to anything I said, that I had no chance of being listened to, or of obtaining my release.

After the first month, the doctor came to me no more: I was a quiet patient, and he received the report of the keeper. I was sent there with every necessary document to prove that I was mad; and, although a very little may establish a case of lunacy, it requires something very strong indeed, to prove that you are in your right senses. In Bedlam I found it impossible. At the same time I was well treated, was allowed all necessary comforts, and such amusement as could be obtained from books, etcetera. I had no reason to complain of the keeper—except that he was too much employed to waste his time in listening to what he did not believe. I wrote several letters to my sister and to O’Brien during the first two or three months, and requested the keeper to put them in the post. This he promised to do, never refusing to take the letters; but, as I afterwards found out, they were invariably destroyed. Yet I still bore up with the hopes of release for some time; but the anxiety relative to my sister, when I thought of her situation, my thoughts of Celeste and of O’Brien, sometimes quite overcame me; then, indeed, I would almost become frantic, and the keeper would report that I had had a paroxysm. After six months I became melancholy, and I wasted away. I no longer attempted to amuse myself, but sat all day with my eyes fixed upon vacancy. I no longer attended to my person; I allowed my beard to grow—my face was never washed, unless mechanically, when ordered by the keeper; and, if I was not mad, there was every prospect of my soon becoming so. Life passed away as a blank—I had become indifferent to everything—I noted time no more—the change of seasons was unperceived—even the day and the night followed without my regarding them.

I was in this unfortunate situation, when one day the door was opened, and, as had been often the custom during my imprisonment, visitors were going round the establishment, to indulge their curiosity, in witnessing the degradation of their fellow-creatures, or to offer their commiseration. I paid no heed to them, not even casting up my eyes. “This young man,” said the medical gentleman who accompanied the party, “has entertained the strange idea that his name is Simple, and that he is the rightful heir to the title and property of Lord Privilege.”

One of the visitors came up to me, and looked me in the face. “And so he is,” cried he, to the doctor, who looked with astonishment. “Peter, don’t you know me?” I started up. It was General O’Brien. I flew into his arms, and burst into tears.

“Sir,” said General O’Brien, leading me to the chair, and seating me upon it, “I tell you thatisMr Simple, the nephew of Lord Privilege; and, I believe the heir to the title. If, therefore, his assertion of such being the case, is the only proof of his insanity, he is illegally confined. I am here, a foreigner, and a prisoner on parole; but I am not without friends. My Lord Belmore,” said he, turning to another of the visitors who had accompanied him, “I pledge you my honour that what I state is true; and I request you will immediately demand the release of this poor young man.”

“I assure you, sir, that I have Lord Privilege’s letter,” observed the doctor.

“Lord Privilege is a scoundrel,” replied General O’Brien. “But there is justice to be obtained in this country, and he shall pay dearly for hislettre de cachet. My dear Peter, how fortunate was my visit to this horrid place! I have heard so much of the excellent arrangements of this establishment, that I agreed to walk round with Lord Belmore; but I find that it is abused.”

“Indeed, General O’Brien, I have been treated with kindness,” replied I; “and particularly by this gentleman. It was not his fault.”

General O’Brien and Lord Belmore then inquired of the doctor if he had any objection to my release.

“None whatever, my lord, even if he were insane; although I see now how I have been imposed upon. We allow the friends of any patient to remove him, if they think that they can pay him more attention. He may leave with you this moment.”

I now did feel my brain turn with the revulsion from despair to hope, and I fell back in my seat. The doctor perceiving my condition, bled me copiously, and laid me on the bed, where I remained more than an hour, watched by General O’Brien. I then got up, calm and thankful. I was shaved by the barber of the establishment, washed and dressed myself, and, leaning on the general’s arm, was led out. I cast my eyes upon the two celebrated stone figures of Melancholy and Raving Madness; as I passed them, I trembled, and clung more tightly to the general’s arm, was assisted into the carriage, and bade farewell to madness and misery.

The general said nothing until we approached the hotel where he resided, in Dover Street; and then he inquired, in a low voice, whether I could bear more excitement.

“Is it Celeste you mean, general?”

“It is, my dear boy, she is here;” and he squeezed my hand.

“Alas!” cried I, “what hopes have I now of Celeste?”

“More than you had before,” replied the general. “She lives but for you; and if you are a beggar, I have a competence to make you sufficiently comfortable.”

I returned the general’s pressure of the hand, but could not speak. We descended, and in a minute I was led by the father into the arms of the astonished and delighted daughter.

I must pass over a few days, during which I had almost recovered my health and spirits; and had narrated my adventures to General O’Brien and Celeste. My first object was to discover my sister. What had become of poor Ellen, in the destitute condition in which she had been left, I knew not; and I resolved to go down to the vicarage, and make inquiries. I did not, however, set off until a legal adviser had been sent for by General O’Brien; and due notice given to Lord Privilege of an action to be immediately brought against him for false imprisonment.

I set off in the mail, and the next evening arrived at the town of —. I hastened to the parsonage, and the tears stood in my eyes as I thought of my mother, my poor father, and the peculiar and doubtful situation of my dear sister. I was answered by a boy in livery, and found the present incumbent at home. He received me politely, listened to my story, and then replied, that my sister had set off for London on the day of his arrival, and that she had not communicated her intentions to any one. Here, then, was all clue lost, and I was in despair, I walked to the town in time to throw myself into the mail, and the next evening joined Celeste and the general, to whom I communicated the unpleasant intelligence, and requested advice how to proceed.

Lord Belmore called the next morning, and the general consulted him. His lordship took great interest in my concerns; and, previous to any further steps, advised me to step into his carriage, and allow him to relate my case to the First Lord of the Admiralty. This was done immediately; and, as I had now an opportunity of speaking freely to his lordship, I explained to him the conduct of Captain Hawkins, and his connexion with my uncle; also the reason of my uncle’s persecution. His lordship finding me under such powerful protection as Lord Belmore’s, and having an eye to my future claims, which my uncle’s conduct gave him reason to suppose were well founded, was extremely gracious, and said, that I should hear from him in a day or two. He kept his word, and on the third day after my interview, I received a note, announcing my promotion to the rank of commander. I was delighted with this good fortune, as was General O’Brien and Celeste.

When at the Admiralty, I inquired about O’Brien, and found that he was expected home every day. He had gained great reputation in the East Indies, was chief in command at the taking of some of the islands, and, it was said, was to be created a baronet for his services. Everything wore a favourable aspect, excepting the disappearance of my sister. This was a weight on my mind I could not remove.

But I have forgotten to inform the reader by what means General O’Brien and Celeste arrived so opportunely in England. Martinique had been captured by our forces about six months before, and the whole of the garrison surrendered as prisoners of war. General O’Brien was sent home, and allowed to be on parole; although born a Frenchman, he had very high connections in Ireland, of whom Lord Belmore was one. When they arrived, they had made every inquiry for me without success: they knew that I had been tried by a court-martial and dismissed my ship, but after that, no clue could be found for my discovery.

Celeste, who was fearful that some dreadful accident had occurred to me, had suffered very much in health, and General O’Brien, perceiving how much his daughter’s happiness depended upon her attachment for me, had made up his mind that if I were found, we should be united. I hardly need say how delighted he was when he discovered me, though in a situation so little to be envied.

The story of my incarceration, of the action to be brought against my uncle, and the reports of foul play, relative to the succession, had, in the meantime, been widely circulated among the nobility; and I found that, every attention was paid me, and I was repeatedly invited out as an object of curiosity and speculation. The loss of my sister also was a subject of much interest, and many people, from good will, made every inquiry to discover her. I had returned one day from the solicitor’s, who had advertised for her in the newspapers without success, when I found a letter for me on the table, in an Admiralty enclosure. I opened it—the enclosure was one from O’Brien, who had just cast anchor at Spithead, and who had requested that the letter should be forwarded to me, if any one could tell my address.

“My dear Peter,—Where are, and what has become of, you? I have received no letters for these two years, and I have fretted myself to death. I received your letter about the rascally court-martial; but, perhaps, you have not heard that the little scoundrel is dead. Yes, Peter; he brought your letter out in his own ship, and that was his death-warrant. I met him at a private party. He brought up your name—I allowed him to abuse you, and then told him he was a liar and a scoundrel; upon which he challenged me, very much against his will; but the affront was so public, that he couldn’t help himself. Upon which I shot him, with all the good-will in the world, and could he have jumped up again twenty times, like Jack in the box, I would have shot him every time. The dirty scoundrel! but there’s an end of him. Nobody pitied him, for every one hated him; and the admiral only looked grave, and then was very much obliged to me for giving him a vacancy for his nephew. By-the-bye, from some unknown hand, but I presume from the officers of his ship, I received a packet of correspondence between him and your worthy uncle, which is about as elegant a piece of rascality as ever was carried on between two scoundrels; but that’s not all, Peter. I’ve got a young woman for you, who will make your heart glad—not Mademoiselle Celeste, for I don’t know where she is—but the wet-nurse who went out to India. Her husband was sent home as an invalid, and she was allowed her passage home with him in my frigate. Finding that he belonged to the regiment, I talked to him about one O’Sullivan who married in Ireland, and mentioned the girl’s name, and when he discovered that she was a countryman of mine, he told me that his real name was O’Sullivan, sure enough, but that he had always served as O’Connell, and that his wife on board was the young woman in question. Upon which, I sent to speak to her, and telling her that I knew all about it, and mentioning the names of Ella Flanagan, and her mother, who had given me the information, she was quite astonished; and when I asked her what had become of the child which she took in place of her own, she told me that it had been drowned at Plymouth, and that her husband was saved at the same time by a young officer, ‘whose name I have here,’ says she; and then she pulled out of her neck your card, with Peter Simple on it. ‘Now,’ says I, ‘do you know, good woman, that in helping on the rascally exchange of children, you ruin that very young man who saved your husband, for you deprive him of his title and property?’ She stared like a stuck pig, when I said so, and then cursed and blamed herself, and declared she’d right you as soon as we came home; and most anxious she is still to do so, for she loves the very name of you; so you see, Peter, a good action has its reward sometimes in this world, and a bad action also, seeing as how I’ve shot that confounded villain who dared to ill-use you. I have plenty more to say to you, Peter; but I don’t like writing what, perhaps, may never be read, so I’ll wait till I hear from you; and then, as soon as I get through my business, we will set to and trounce that scoundrel of an uncle. I have twenty thousand pounds jammed together in the consolidated, besides the Spice Islands, which will be a pretty penny; and every farthing of it shall go to right you, Peter, and make a lord of you, as I promised you often that you should be; and if you win you shall pay, and if you don’t, then damn the luck and damn the money too. I beg you will offer my best regards to Miss Ellen, and say how happy I shall be to hear that she is well; but it has always been on my mind, Peter, that your father did not leave too much behind him, and I wish to know how you both get on. I left you acarte blancheat my agent’s, and I only hope that you have taken advantage of it, if required; if not, you’re not the Peter that I left behind me. So now, farewell, and don’t forget to answer my letter in no time.“Ever yours,Terence O’Brien.”

“My dear Peter,—Where are, and what has become of, you? I have received no letters for these two years, and I have fretted myself to death. I received your letter about the rascally court-martial; but, perhaps, you have not heard that the little scoundrel is dead. Yes, Peter; he brought your letter out in his own ship, and that was his death-warrant. I met him at a private party. He brought up your name—I allowed him to abuse you, and then told him he was a liar and a scoundrel; upon which he challenged me, very much against his will; but the affront was so public, that he couldn’t help himself. Upon which I shot him, with all the good-will in the world, and could he have jumped up again twenty times, like Jack in the box, I would have shot him every time. The dirty scoundrel! but there’s an end of him. Nobody pitied him, for every one hated him; and the admiral only looked grave, and then was very much obliged to me for giving him a vacancy for his nephew. By-the-bye, from some unknown hand, but I presume from the officers of his ship, I received a packet of correspondence between him and your worthy uncle, which is about as elegant a piece of rascality as ever was carried on between two scoundrels; but that’s not all, Peter. I’ve got a young woman for you, who will make your heart glad—not Mademoiselle Celeste, for I don’t know where she is—but the wet-nurse who went out to India. Her husband was sent home as an invalid, and she was allowed her passage home with him in my frigate. Finding that he belonged to the regiment, I talked to him about one O’Sullivan who married in Ireland, and mentioned the girl’s name, and when he discovered that she was a countryman of mine, he told me that his real name was O’Sullivan, sure enough, but that he had always served as O’Connell, and that his wife on board was the young woman in question. Upon which, I sent to speak to her, and telling her that I knew all about it, and mentioning the names of Ella Flanagan, and her mother, who had given me the information, she was quite astonished; and when I asked her what had become of the child which she took in place of her own, she told me that it had been drowned at Plymouth, and that her husband was saved at the same time by a young officer, ‘whose name I have here,’ says she; and then she pulled out of her neck your card, with Peter Simple on it. ‘Now,’ says I, ‘do you know, good woman, that in helping on the rascally exchange of children, you ruin that very young man who saved your husband, for you deprive him of his title and property?’ She stared like a stuck pig, when I said so, and then cursed and blamed herself, and declared she’d right you as soon as we came home; and most anxious she is still to do so, for she loves the very name of you; so you see, Peter, a good action has its reward sometimes in this world, and a bad action also, seeing as how I’ve shot that confounded villain who dared to ill-use you. I have plenty more to say to you, Peter; but I don’t like writing what, perhaps, may never be read, so I’ll wait till I hear from you; and then, as soon as I get through my business, we will set to and trounce that scoundrel of an uncle. I have twenty thousand pounds jammed together in the consolidated, besides the Spice Islands, which will be a pretty penny; and every farthing of it shall go to right you, Peter, and make a lord of you, as I promised you often that you should be; and if you win you shall pay, and if you don’t, then damn the luck and damn the money too. I beg you will offer my best regards to Miss Ellen, and say how happy I shall be to hear that she is well; but it has always been on my mind, Peter, that your father did not leave too much behind him, and I wish to know how you both get on. I left you acarte blancheat my agent’s, and I only hope that you have taken advantage of it, if required; if not, you’re not the Peter that I left behind me. So now, farewell, and don’t forget to answer my letter in no time.

“Ever yours,Terence O’Brien.”

This was indeed joyful intelligence. I handed the letter to General O’Brien, who read it; Celeste hanging over his shoulder, and perusing it at the same time.

“This is well,” said the general. “Peter, I wish you joy; and, Celeste, I ought to wish you joy also, at your future prospects. It will indeed be a gratification if ever I hail you as Lady Privilege.”

“Celeste,” said I, “you did not reject me when I was penniless, and in disgrace. O my poor sister Ellen! if I could but find you, how happy should I be!”

I sat down to write to O’Brien, acquainting him with all that had occurred, and the loss of my dear sister. The day after the receipt of my letter, O’Brien burst into the room. After the first moments of congratulation were past, he said, “My heart’s broke, Peter, about your sister Ellen: find her I must. I shall give up my ship, for I’ll never give up the search as long as I live. I must find her.”

“Do, pray, my dear O’Brien, and I only wish—”

“Wish what, Peter? shall I tell you what I wish?—that if I find her; you’ll give her to me for my trouble.”

We then turned round to General O’Brien and Celeste.

“Captain O’Brien,” said the general.

“Sir Terence O’Brien, if you please, general. His Majesty has given me a handle to my name.”

“I congratulate you, Sir Terence,” said the general, shaking him by the hand; “what I was about to say is, that I hope you will take up your quarters at this hotel, and we will all live together. I trust we shall soon find Ellen: in the meanwhile, we have no time to lose, in our exposure of Lord Privilege. Is the woman in town?”

“Yes, and under lock and key; but the devil a fear of her. Millions would not bribe her to wrong him who risked his life for her husband. She’s Irish, general, to the back-bone. Nevertheless, Peter, we must go to our solicitor, to give the intelligence, that he may take the necessary steps.”

For three weeks, O’Brien was diligent in his search for Ellen, employing every description of emissary without success. In the meanwhile, the general and I were prosecuting our cause against Lord Privilege. One morning, Lord Belmore called upon us, and asked the general if we would accompany him to the theatre, to see two celebrated pieces performed. In the latter, which was a musical farce, a new performer was to come out of whom report spoke highly. Celeste consented, and after an early dinner, we joined his lordship in his private box, which was above the stage, on the first tier. The first piece was played, and Celeste, who had never seen the performance of Young, was delighted. The curtain then drew up for the second piece. In the second act, the new performer, a Miss Henderson, was led by the manager on the stage; she was apparently much frightened and excited, but three rounds of applause gave her courage, and she proceeded. At the very first notes of her voice I was startled, and O’Brien, who was behind, threw himself forward to look at her; but as we were almost directly above, and her head was turned the other way, we could not distinguish her features. As she proceeded in her song, she gained courage, and her face was turned towards us, and she cast her eyes up—saw me—the recognition was mutual—I held out my arm, but could not speak—she staggered, and fell down in a swoon.

“’Tis Ellen!” cried O’Brien, rushing past me; and, making one spring down on the stage, he carried her off, before any other person could come to her assistance. I followed him, and found him with Ellen still in his arms, and the actresses assisting in her recovery. The manager came forward to apologise, stating that the young lady was too ill to proceed, and the audience, who had witnessed the behaviour of O’Brien and myself, were satisfied with the romance in real life which had been exhibited. Her part was read by another, but the piece was little attended to, every one trying to find out the occasion of this uncommon occurrence. In the meantime, Ellen was put into a hackney-coach by O’Brien and me, and we drove to the hotel, where we were soon joined by the general and Celeste.

Chapter Sixty Five.It never rains but it pours, whether it be good or bad news—I succeed in everything, and to everything, my wife, my title, and estate—And “all’s well that ends well.”I shall pass over the scenes which followed, and give my sister’s history in her own words.“I wrote to you, my dear Peter, to tell you that I had considered it my duty to pay all my father’s debts with your money, and that there were but sixty pounds left when every claim had been satisfied; and I requested you to come to me as soon as you could, that I might have your counsel and assistance as to my future arrangements.”“I received your letter, Ellen, and was hastening to you, when—but no matter I will tell my story afterwards.”“Day after day I waited with anxiety for a letter, and then wrote to the officers of the ship to know if any accident had occurred. I received an answer from the surgeon, informing me that you had quitted Portsmouth to join me, and had not since been heard of. You may imagine my distress at this communication, as I did not doubt but that something dreadful had occurred, as I know, too well, that nothing would have detained you from me at such a time. The new vicar appointed, had come down to look over the house, and to make arrangements for bringing in his family. The furniture he had previously agreed to take at a valuation, and the sum had been appropriated in liquidation of our father’s debts. I had already been permitted to remain longer than was usual, and had no alternative but to quit, which I did not do until the last moment. I could not leave my address, for I knew not where I was to go. I took my place in the coach, and arrived in London. My first object was to secure the means of livelihood, by offering myself as a governess; but I found great difficulties from not being able to procure a good reference, and from not having already served in that capacity. At last I was taken into a family to bring up three little girls; but I soon found out how little chance I had of comfort. The lady had objected to me as too good-looking—for this same reason the gentleman insisted upon my being engaged.“Thus was I a source of disunion—the lady treated me with great harshness, and the gentleman with too much attention. At last, her ill-treatment, and his persecution, were both so intolerable, that I gave notice that I should leave my situation.”“I beg your pardon, Miss Ellen, but will you oblige me with the name and residence of that gentleman?” said O’Brien.“Indeed, Ellen, do no such thing,” replied I; “continue your story.”“At last I was engaged as teacher to a school. I had better have taken a situation as housemaid. I was expected to be everywhere, to do everything—was up at daylight, and never in bed till past midnight: fared very badly, and was equally ill-paid—but still it was honest employment, and I remained there for more than a year; but, though as economical as possible, my salary would not maintain me in clothes and washing, which was all I required. There was a master of elocution, who came every week, and whose wife was the teacher of music. They took a great liking to me, and pointed out how much better I should be off, if I could succeed on the stage, of which they had no doubt. For months I refused, hoping still to have some tidings of you; but at last my drudgery became so insupportable, and my means so decreased, that I unwillingly consented.“It was then nineteen months since I had heard of you, and I mourned you as dead. I had no relations except my uncle, and I was unknown even to him. I quitted the situation, and took up my abode with the teacher of elocution and his wife, who treated me with every kindness, and prepared me for my new career. Neither at the school, which was three miles from London, nor at my new residence, which was over Westminster-bridge, did I ever see a newspaper; it was no wonder, therefore, that I did not know of your advertisements. After three months’ preparation I was recommended and introduced to the manager by my kind friends, and accepted. You know the rest.”“Well, Miss Ellen, if any one ever tells you that you were on the stage, at all events you may reply that you wasn’t there long.”My sister had been with us about three days, during which I had informed her of all that had taken place, when, one evening finding myself alone with her, I candidly stated to her what were O’Brien’s feelings towards her, and pleaded his cause with all the earnestness in my power.“My dear brother,” replied she, “I have always admired Captain O’Brien’s character, and always have felt grateful to him for his kindness and attachment to you; but I cannot say that I love him—I have never thought about him, except as one to whom we are both much indebted.”“But do you mean to say that you could not love him?”“No, I do not: and I will do all I can, Peter—I will try—I never will, if possible, make him unhappy who has been so kind to you.”“Depend upon it, Ellen, that with your knowledge of O’Brien, and with feelings of gratitude to him, you will soon love him, if once you accept him as a suitor. May I tell him—”“You may tell him that he may plead his own cause, my dear brother; and, at all events, I will listen to no other, until he has had fair play; but recollect, that at present I onlylikehim—like himvery much, it is true—but still I onlylikehim.”I was quite satisfied with my success, and so was O’Brien, when I told him.“By the powers, Peter, she’s an angel, and I can’t expect her to love an inferior being like myself; but if she’ll only like me well enough to marry me, I’ll trust to after-marriage for the rest.”O’Brien having thus obtained permission, certainly lost no time in taking advantage of it. Celeste and I were more fondly attached every day. The solicitor declared my case so good, that he could raise fifty thousand pounds upon it. In short, all our causes were prosperous, when an event occurred, the details of which, of course, I did not obtain until some time afterwards, but which I shall narrate here.My uncle was very much alarmed when he discovered that I had been released from Bedlam—still more so, when he had notice given him of a suit, relative to the succession to the title. His emissaries had discovered that the wet-nurse had been brought home in O’Brien’s frigate, and was kept so close that they could not communicate with her. He now felt that all his schemes would prove abortive. His legal adviser was with him, and they had been walking in the garden, talking over the contingencies, when they stopped close to the drawing-room windows of the mansion at Eagle Park.“But, sir,” observed the lawyer, “if you will not confide in me, I cannot act for your benefit. You still assert that nothing of the kind has taken place?”“I do,” replied his lordship. “It is a foul invention.”“Then, my lord, may I ask you why you considered it advisable to imprison Mr Simple in Bedlam?”“Because I hate him,” retorted his lordship,—“detest him.”“And for what reason, my lord? his character is unimpeached, and he is your near relative.”“I tell you, sir, that I hate him—would that he were now lying dead at my feet!”Hardly were the words out of my uncle’s mouth, when a whizzing was heard for a second, and then something fell down within a foot of where they stood, with a heavy crash. They started—turned round—the adopted heir lay lifeless at their feet, and their legs were bespattered with his blood and his brains. The poor boy, seeing his lordship below, had leaned out of one of the upper windows to call to him, but lost his balance, and had fallen head foremost upon the wide stone pavement which surrounded the mansion. For a few seconds, the lawyer and my uncle looked upon each other with horror.“A judgment!—a judgment!” cried the lawyer at last, looking at his client. My uncle covered his face with his hands, and fell. Assistance now came out, but there was more than one to help up. The violence of his emotion had brought on an apoplectic fit, and my uncle, although he breathed, never spoke again.It was in consequence of this tragical event, of which we did not know the particulars until afterwards, that the next morning my solicitor called, and put a letter into my hand, saying, “Allow me to congratulate your lordship.” We were all at breakfast at the time, and the general, O’Brien, and myself jumped up, all in such astonishment at this unexpected title being so soon conferred upon me, that we had a heavy bill for damages to pay; and had not Ellen caught the tea-urn, as it was tipped over, there would, in all probability, have been a doctor’s bill into the bargain. The letter was eagerly read—it was from my uncle’s legal adviser, who had witnessed the catastrophe, informing me, that all dispute as to the succession was at an end by the tragical event that had taken place, and that he had put seals upon everything awaiting my arrival or instructions. The solicitor, as he presented the letter, said that he would take his leave, and call again in an hour or two, when I was more composed. My first movement, when I had read the letter aloud, was to throw my arms round Celeste and embrace her—and O’Brien, taking the hint, did the same to Ellen, and was excused in consideration of circumstances; but, as soon as she could disengage herself her arms were entwined round my neck, while Celeste was hanging on her father’s. Having disposed of the ladies, the gentlemen now shook hands, and although we had not all appetites to finish our breakfasts, never was there a happier quintette.In about an hour my solicitor returned, and congratulated me, and immediately set about the necessary preparations. I desired him to go down immediately to Eagle Park, attend to the funeral of my uncle, and the poor little boy who had paid so dearly for his intended advancement, and take charge from my uncle’s legal adviser, who remained in the house. The “dreadful accident in high life” found its way into the papers of the day, and before dinner-time a pile of visiting cards was poured in, which covered the table. The next day, a letter arrived from the First Lord, announcing that he had made out my commission as post-captain, and trusted that I would allow him the pleasure of presenting it himself at his dinner-hour, at half-past seven. Very much obliged to him: the “fool of the family” might have waited a long while for it.While I was reading this letter the waiter came up to say that a young woman below wanted to speak to me. I desired her to be shown up. As soon as she came in, she burst into tears, knelt down, and kissed my hand. “Sure, it’s you—oh! yes—it’s you that saved my poor husband when I was assisting to your ruin. And a’n’t I punished for my wicked doings—a’n’t my poor boy dead?”She said no more, but remained on her knees sobbing bitterly. Of course the reader recognises in her the wet-nurse who had exchanged her child. I raised her up, and desired her to apply to my solicitor to pay her expenses, and leave her address.“But do you forgive me, Mr Simple? It’s not that I have forgiven myself.”“I do forgive you with all my heart, my good woman. You have been punished enough.”“I have, indeed,” replied she, sobbing; “but don’t I deserve it all, and more too? God’s blessing, and all the saints’ too, upon your head, for your kind forgiveness, anyhow. My heart is lighter.” And she quitted the room.She had scarcely quitted the hotel, when the waiter came up again. “Another lady, my lord, wishes to speak with you; but she won’t give her name.”“Really, my lord, you seem to have an extensive female acquaintance,” said the general.“At all events, I am not aware of any that I need be ashamed of. Show the lady up, waiter.”In a moment entered a fat unwieldy little mortal, very warm from walking; she sat down in a chair, threw back her tippet, and then exclaimed, “Lord bless you, how you have grown! gemini, if I can hardly believe my eyes; and I declare he don’t know me.”“I really cannot exactly recollect were I had the pleasure of seeing you before, madam.”“Well, that’s what I said to Jemima, when I went down in the kitchen, ‘Jemima,’ says I, ‘I wonder if little Peter Simple will know me.’ And Jemima says, ‘I think he would the parrot, marm.’”“Mrs Handycock, I believe,” said I, recollecting Jemima and the parrot, although, from a little thin woman, she had grown so fat as not to be recognisable.“Oh! so you’ve found me out, Mr Simple—my lord, I ought to say. Well, I need not ask after your grandfather now, for I know he’s dead; but as I was coming this way for orders, I thought I would just step in and see how you looked.”“I trust Mr Handycock is well, ma’am. Pray is he a bull or a bear?”“Lord bless you, Mr Simple—my lord, I should say—he’s been neither bull nor bear for these three years. He was obliged towaddle; if I didn’t know much about bulls and bears, I know very well what alame duckis to my cost. We’re off the Stock Exchange, and Mr Handycock is set up as a coal merchant.”“Indeed!”“Yes; that is, we have no coals, but we take orders, and have half-a-crown a chaldron for our trouble. As Mr Handycock says, it’s a very good business, if you only had enough for it. Perhaps your lordship may be able to give us an order. It’s nothing out of your pocket, and something into ours.”“I shall be very happy when I return again to town, Mrs Handycock. I hope the parrot is quite well.”“Oh! my lord, that’s a sore subject; only think of Mr Handycock, when we retired from the ’Change, taking my parrot one day and selling it for five guineas, saying, five guineas was better than a nasty squalling, bird. To be sure, there was nothing for dinner that day; but, as Jemima agreed with me, we’d rather have gone without a dinner for a month, than have parted with Poll. Since we’ve looked up a little in the world, I saved up five guineas, by hook or by crook, and tried to get Poll back again, but the lady said she wouldn’t take fifty guineas for him.”Mrs Handycock then jumped from her chair, saying, “Good morning, my lord; I’ll leave one of Mr Handycock’s cards. Jemima would be so glad to see you.”As she left the room, Celeste laughingly asked me whether I had any more such acquaintances.I replied, that I believed not; but I must acknowledge that Mrs Trotter was brought to my recollection, and I was under some alarm lest she should also come and pay me her respects.The next day I had another unexpected visit. We had just sat down to dinner, when we heard a disturbance below; and, shortly after, the general’s French servant came up in great haste, saying that there was a foreigner below, who wished to see me; that he had been caning one of the waiters of the hotel, for not paying him proper respect.“Who can that be?” thought I: and I went out of the door and looked over the banisters, as the noise still continued.“You must not come here to beat Englishmen, I can tell you,” roared one of the waiters. “What do we care for your foreign counts?”“Sacre, canaille!” cried the other party, in a contemptuous voice, which I well knew.“Ay, canal!—we’ll duck you in the canal, if you don’t mind.”“You will!” said the stranger, who had hitherto spoken French. “Allow me to observe—in the most delicate manner in the world—just to hint, that you are a damned trencher-scraping, napkin-carrying, shilling-seeking, up-and-down-stairs son of a bitch—and take this for your impudence!”The noise of the cane was again heard; and I hastened downstairs, where I found Count Shucksen thrashing two or three of the waiters without mercy. At my appearance, the waiters, who were showing fight, retreated to a short distance, out of reach of the cane.“My dear count,” exclaimed I, “is it you?” and I shook him by the hand.“My dear Lord Privilege, will you excuse me? but these fellows are saucy.”“Then I’ll have them discharged,” replied I. “If a friend of mine, and an officer of your rank and distinction, cannot come to see me without insult, I will seek another hotel.”This threat of mine, and the reception I gave the count, put all to rights. The waiters sneaked off, and the master of the hotel apologised. It appeared that they had desired him to wait in the coffee-room until they could announce him, which had hurt the count’s dignity.“We are sitting down to dinner, count; will you join us?”“As soon as I have improved my toilet, my dear lord,” replied he “you must perceive that I am off a journey.”The master of the hotel bowed, and proceeded to show the count to a dressing-room.When I returned up-stairs—“What was the matter?” inquired O’Brien. “O nothing!—a little disturbance in consequence of a foreigner not understanding English.”In about five minutes the waiter opened the door, and announced Count Shucksen.“Now, O’Brien, you’ll be puzzled,” said I; and in came the count.“My dear Lord Privilege,” said he, coming up and taking me by the hand, “let me not be the last to congratulate you upon your accession. I was running up the channel in my frigate, when a pilot-boat gave me the newspaper, in which I saw your unexpected change of circumstances. I made an excuse for dropping my anchor at Spithead this morning, and I have come up post to express how sincerely I participate in your good fortune.” Count Shucksen then politely saluted the ladies and the general, and turned round to O’Brien, who had been staring at him with astonishment.“Count Shucksen, allow me to introduce Sir Terence O’Brien.”“By the piper that played before Moses, but it’s a puzzle,” said O’Brien, earnestly looking in the count’s face. “Blood and thunder! if it a’n’t Chucks!—my dear fellow, when did you rise from your grave?”“Fortunately,” replied the count, as they shook each other’s hands for some time, “I never went into it, Sir Terence. But now, with your permission, my lord, I’ll take some food, as I really am not a little hungry. After dinner, Captain O’Brien, you shall hear my history.”His secret was confided to the whole party, upon my pledging myself for their keeping it locked up in their own breasts, which was a bold thing on my part, considering that two of them were ladies.The count stayed with us for some time, and was introduced by me everywhere. It was impossible to discover that he had not been bred up in a court, his manners were so good. He was a great favourite with the ladies; and his mustachios, bad French, and waltzing—an accomplishment he had picked up in Sweden—were quite the vogue. All the ladies were sorry when the Swedish count announced his departure by a PPC.Before I left town, I called upon the First Lord of the Admiralty, and procured for Swinburne a first-rate, building—that is to say, ordered to be built. This he had often said he wished, as he was tired of the sea, after a service of forty-five years. Subsequently, I obtained leave of absence for him every year; and he used to make himself very happy at Eagle Park. Most of his time was, however, passed on the lake, either fishing or rowing about; telling long stories to all who would join him in his water excursions.A fortnight after my assuming my title, we set off for Eagle Park: and Celeste consented to my entreaties, that the wedding should take place that day month. Upon this hint O’Brien spake; and to oblige me, Ellen consented that we should be united on the same day.O’Brien wrote to Father McGrath; but the letter was returned by post, with “dead” marked upon the outside. O’Brien then wrote to one of his sisters, who informed him, that Father McGrath would cross the bog one evening when he had taken a very large proportion of whisky; and that he was seen out of the right path, and had never been heard of afterwards.On the day appointed, we were all united; and both unions have been attended with as much happiness as this world can afford. Both O’Brien and I are blessed with children, which, as O’Brien observed, have come upon us like old age, until we now can muster a large Christmas party in the two families. The general’s head is white, and he sits and smiles, happy in his daughter’s happiness, and in the gambols of his grandchildren.Such, reader, is the history of Peter Simple, Viscount Privilege, no longer the fool, but the head of the family, who now bids you farewell.

I shall pass over the scenes which followed, and give my sister’s history in her own words.

“I wrote to you, my dear Peter, to tell you that I had considered it my duty to pay all my father’s debts with your money, and that there were but sixty pounds left when every claim had been satisfied; and I requested you to come to me as soon as you could, that I might have your counsel and assistance as to my future arrangements.”

“I received your letter, Ellen, and was hastening to you, when—but no matter I will tell my story afterwards.”

“Day after day I waited with anxiety for a letter, and then wrote to the officers of the ship to know if any accident had occurred. I received an answer from the surgeon, informing me that you had quitted Portsmouth to join me, and had not since been heard of. You may imagine my distress at this communication, as I did not doubt but that something dreadful had occurred, as I know, too well, that nothing would have detained you from me at such a time. The new vicar appointed, had come down to look over the house, and to make arrangements for bringing in his family. The furniture he had previously agreed to take at a valuation, and the sum had been appropriated in liquidation of our father’s debts. I had already been permitted to remain longer than was usual, and had no alternative but to quit, which I did not do until the last moment. I could not leave my address, for I knew not where I was to go. I took my place in the coach, and arrived in London. My first object was to secure the means of livelihood, by offering myself as a governess; but I found great difficulties from not being able to procure a good reference, and from not having already served in that capacity. At last I was taken into a family to bring up three little girls; but I soon found out how little chance I had of comfort. The lady had objected to me as too good-looking—for this same reason the gentleman insisted upon my being engaged.

“Thus was I a source of disunion—the lady treated me with great harshness, and the gentleman with too much attention. At last, her ill-treatment, and his persecution, were both so intolerable, that I gave notice that I should leave my situation.”

“I beg your pardon, Miss Ellen, but will you oblige me with the name and residence of that gentleman?” said O’Brien.

“Indeed, Ellen, do no such thing,” replied I; “continue your story.”

“At last I was engaged as teacher to a school. I had better have taken a situation as housemaid. I was expected to be everywhere, to do everything—was up at daylight, and never in bed till past midnight: fared very badly, and was equally ill-paid—but still it was honest employment, and I remained there for more than a year; but, though as economical as possible, my salary would not maintain me in clothes and washing, which was all I required. There was a master of elocution, who came every week, and whose wife was the teacher of music. They took a great liking to me, and pointed out how much better I should be off, if I could succeed on the stage, of which they had no doubt. For months I refused, hoping still to have some tidings of you; but at last my drudgery became so insupportable, and my means so decreased, that I unwillingly consented.

“It was then nineteen months since I had heard of you, and I mourned you as dead. I had no relations except my uncle, and I was unknown even to him. I quitted the situation, and took up my abode with the teacher of elocution and his wife, who treated me with every kindness, and prepared me for my new career. Neither at the school, which was three miles from London, nor at my new residence, which was over Westminster-bridge, did I ever see a newspaper; it was no wonder, therefore, that I did not know of your advertisements. After three months’ preparation I was recommended and introduced to the manager by my kind friends, and accepted. You know the rest.”

“Well, Miss Ellen, if any one ever tells you that you were on the stage, at all events you may reply that you wasn’t there long.”

My sister had been with us about three days, during which I had informed her of all that had taken place, when, one evening finding myself alone with her, I candidly stated to her what were O’Brien’s feelings towards her, and pleaded his cause with all the earnestness in my power.

“My dear brother,” replied she, “I have always admired Captain O’Brien’s character, and always have felt grateful to him for his kindness and attachment to you; but I cannot say that I love him—I have never thought about him, except as one to whom we are both much indebted.”

“But do you mean to say that you could not love him?”

“No, I do not: and I will do all I can, Peter—I will try—I never will, if possible, make him unhappy who has been so kind to you.”

“Depend upon it, Ellen, that with your knowledge of O’Brien, and with feelings of gratitude to him, you will soon love him, if once you accept him as a suitor. May I tell him—”

“You may tell him that he may plead his own cause, my dear brother; and, at all events, I will listen to no other, until he has had fair play; but recollect, that at present I onlylikehim—like himvery much, it is true—but still I onlylikehim.”

I was quite satisfied with my success, and so was O’Brien, when I told him.

“By the powers, Peter, she’s an angel, and I can’t expect her to love an inferior being like myself; but if she’ll only like me well enough to marry me, I’ll trust to after-marriage for the rest.”

O’Brien having thus obtained permission, certainly lost no time in taking advantage of it. Celeste and I were more fondly attached every day. The solicitor declared my case so good, that he could raise fifty thousand pounds upon it. In short, all our causes were prosperous, when an event occurred, the details of which, of course, I did not obtain until some time afterwards, but which I shall narrate here.

My uncle was very much alarmed when he discovered that I had been released from Bedlam—still more so, when he had notice given him of a suit, relative to the succession to the title. His emissaries had discovered that the wet-nurse had been brought home in O’Brien’s frigate, and was kept so close that they could not communicate with her. He now felt that all his schemes would prove abortive. His legal adviser was with him, and they had been walking in the garden, talking over the contingencies, when they stopped close to the drawing-room windows of the mansion at Eagle Park.

“But, sir,” observed the lawyer, “if you will not confide in me, I cannot act for your benefit. You still assert that nothing of the kind has taken place?”

“I do,” replied his lordship. “It is a foul invention.”

“Then, my lord, may I ask you why you considered it advisable to imprison Mr Simple in Bedlam?”

“Because I hate him,” retorted his lordship,—“detest him.”

“And for what reason, my lord? his character is unimpeached, and he is your near relative.”

“I tell you, sir, that I hate him—would that he were now lying dead at my feet!”

Hardly were the words out of my uncle’s mouth, when a whizzing was heard for a second, and then something fell down within a foot of where they stood, with a heavy crash. They started—turned round—the adopted heir lay lifeless at their feet, and their legs were bespattered with his blood and his brains. The poor boy, seeing his lordship below, had leaned out of one of the upper windows to call to him, but lost his balance, and had fallen head foremost upon the wide stone pavement which surrounded the mansion. For a few seconds, the lawyer and my uncle looked upon each other with horror.

“A judgment!—a judgment!” cried the lawyer at last, looking at his client. My uncle covered his face with his hands, and fell. Assistance now came out, but there was more than one to help up. The violence of his emotion had brought on an apoplectic fit, and my uncle, although he breathed, never spoke again.

It was in consequence of this tragical event, of which we did not know the particulars until afterwards, that the next morning my solicitor called, and put a letter into my hand, saying, “Allow me to congratulate your lordship.” We were all at breakfast at the time, and the general, O’Brien, and myself jumped up, all in such astonishment at this unexpected title being so soon conferred upon me, that we had a heavy bill for damages to pay; and had not Ellen caught the tea-urn, as it was tipped over, there would, in all probability, have been a doctor’s bill into the bargain. The letter was eagerly read—it was from my uncle’s legal adviser, who had witnessed the catastrophe, informing me, that all dispute as to the succession was at an end by the tragical event that had taken place, and that he had put seals upon everything awaiting my arrival or instructions. The solicitor, as he presented the letter, said that he would take his leave, and call again in an hour or two, when I was more composed. My first movement, when I had read the letter aloud, was to throw my arms round Celeste and embrace her—and O’Brien, taking the hint, did the same to Ellen, and was excused in consideration of circumstances; but, as soon as she could disengage herself her arms were entwined round my neck, while Celeste was hanging on her father’s. Having disposed of the ladies, the gentlemen now shook hands, and although we had not all appetites to finish our breakfasts, never was there a happier quintette.

In about an hour my solicitor returned, and congratulated me, and immediately set about the necessary preparations. I desired him to go down immediately to Eagle Park, attend to the funeral of my uncle, and the poor little boy who had paid so dearly for his intended advancement, and take charge from my uncle’s legal adviser, who remained in the house. The “dreadful accident in high life” found its way into the papers of the day, and before dinner-time a pile of visiting cards was poured in, which covered the table. The next day, a letter arrived from the First Lord, announcing that he had made out my commission as post-captain, and trusted that I would allow him the pleasure of presenting it himself at his dinner-hour, at half-past seven. Very much obliged to him: the “fool of the family” might have waited a long while for it.

While I was reading this letter the waiter came up to say that a young woman below wanted to speak to me. I desired her to be shown up. As soon as she came in, she burst into tears, knelt down, and kissed my hand. “Sure, it’s you—oh! yes—it’s you that saved my poor husband when I was assisting to your ruin. And a’n’t I punished for my wicked doings—a’n’t my poor boy dead?”

She said no more, but remained on her knees sobbing bitterly. Of course the reader recognises in her the wet-nurse who had exchanged her child. I raised her up, and desired her to apply to my solicitor to pay her expenses, and leave her address.

“But do you forgive me, Mr Simple? It’s not that I have forgiven myself.”

“I do forgive you with all my heart, my good woman. You have been punished enough.”

“I have, indeed,” replied she, sobbing; “but don’t I deserve it all, and more too? God’s blessing, and all the saints’ too, upon your head, for your kind forgiveness, anyhow. My heart is lighter.” And she quitted the room.

She had scarcely quitted the hotel, when the waiter came up again. “Another lady, my lord, wishes to speak with you; but she won’t give her name.”

“Really, my lord, you seem to have an extensive female acquaintance,” said the general.

“At all events, I am not aware of any that I need be ashamed of. Show the lady up, waiter.”

In a moment entered a fat unwieldy little mortal, very warm from walking; she sat down in a chair, threw back her tippet, and then exclaimed, “Lord bless you, how you have grown! gemini, if I can hardly believe my eyes; and I declare he don’t know me.”

“I really cannot exactly recollect were I had the pleasure of seeing you before, madam.”

“Well, that’s what I said to Jemima, when I went down in the kitchen, ‘Jemima,’ says I, ‘I wonder if little Peter Simple will know me.’ And Jemima says, ‘I think he would the parrot, marm.’”

“Mrs Handycock, I believe,” said I, recollecting Jemima and the parrot, although, from a little thin woman, she had grown so fat as not to be recognisable.

“Oh! so you’ve found me out, Mr Simple—my lord, I ought to say. Well, I need not ask after your grandfather now, for I know he’s dead; but as I was coming this way for orders, I thought I would just step in and see how you looked.”

“I trust Mr Handycock is well, ma’am. Pray is he a bull or a bear?”

“Lord bless you, Mr Simple—my lord, I should say—he’s been neither bull nor bear for these three years. He was obliged towaddle; if I didn’t know much about bulls and bears, I know very well what alame duckis to my cost. We’re off the Stock Exchange, and Mr Handycock is set up as a coal merchant.”

“Indeed!”

“Yes; that is, we have no coals, but we take orders, and have half-a-crown a chaldron for our trouble. As Mr Handycock says, it’s a very good business, if you only had enough for it. Perhaps your lordship may be able to give us an order. It’s nothing out of your pocket, and something into ours.”

“I shall be very happy when I return again to town, Mrs Handycock. I hope the parrot is quite well.”

“Oh! my lord, that’s a sore subject; only think of Mr Handycock, when we retired from the ’Change, taking my parrot one day and selling it for five guineas, saying, five guineas was better than a nasty squalling, bird. To be sure, there was nothing for dinner that day; but, as Jemima agreed with me, we’d rather have gone without a dinner for a month, than have parted with Poll. Since we’ve looked up a little in the world, I saved up five guineas, by hook or by crook, and tried to get Poll back again, but the lady said she wouldn’t take fifty guineas for him.”

Mrs Handycock then jumped from her chair, saying, “Good morning, my lord; I’ll leave one of Mr Handycock’s cards. Jemima would be so glad to see you.”

As she left the room, Celeste laughingly asked me whether I had any more such acquaintances.

I replied, that I believed not; but I must acknowledge that Mrs Trotter was brought to my recollection, and I was under some alarm lest she should also come and pay me her respects.

The next day I had another unexpected visit. We had just sat down to dinner, when we heard a disturbance below; and, shortly after, the general’s French servant came up in great haste, saying that there was a foreigner below, who wished to see me; that he had been caning one of the waiters of the hotel, for not paying him proper respect.

“Who can that be?” thought I: and I went out of the door and looked over the banisters, as the noise still continued.

“You must not come here to beat Englishmen, I can tell you,” roared one of the waiters. “What do we care for your foreign counts?”

“Sacre, canaille!” cried the other party, in a contemptuous voice, which I well knew.

“Ay, canal!—we’ll duck you in the canal, if you don’t mind.”

“You will!” said the stranger, who had hitherto spoken French. “Allow me to observe—in the most delicate manner in the world—just to hint, that you are a damned trencher-scraping, napkin-carrying, shilling-seeking, up-and-down-stairs son of a bitch—and take this for your impudence!”

The noise of the cane was again heard; and I hastened downstairs, where I found Count Shucksen thrashing two or three of the waiters without mercy. At my appearance, the waiters, who were showing fight, retreated to a short distance, out of reach of the cane.

“My dear count,” exclaimed I, “is it you?” and I shook him by the hand.

“My dear Lord Privilege, will you excuse me? but these fellows are saucy.”

“Then I’ll have them discharged,” replied I. “If a friend of mine, and an officer of your rank and distinction, cannot come to see me without insult, I will seek another hotel.”

This threat of mine, and the reception I gave the count, put all to rights. The waiters sneaked off, and the master of the hotel apologised. It appeared that they had desired him to wait in the coffee-room until they could announce him, which had hurt the count’s dignity.

“We are sitting down to dinner, count; will you join us?”

“As soon as I have improved my toilet, my dear lord,” replied he “you must perceive that I am off a journey.”

The master of the hotel bowed, and proceeded to show the count to a dressing-room.

When I returned up-stairs—“What was the matter?” inquired O’Brien. “O nothing!—a little disturbance in consequence of a foreigner not understanding English.”

In about five minutes the waiter opened the door, and announced Count Shucksen.

“Now, O’Brien, you’ll be puzzled,” said I; and in came the count.

“My dear Lord Privilege,” said he, coming up and taking me by the hand, “let me not be the last to congratulate you upon your accession. I was running up the channel in my frigate, when a pilot-boat gave me the newspaper, in which I saw your unexpected change of circumstances. I made an excuse for dropping my anchor at Spithead this morning, and I have come up post to express how sincerely I participate in your good fortune.” Count Shucksen then politely saluted the ladies and the general, and turned round to O’Brien, who had been staring at him with astonishment.

“Count Shucksen, allow me to introduce Sir Terence O’Brien.”

“By the piper that played before Moses, but it’s a puzzle,” said O’Brien, earnestly looking in the count’s face. “Blood and thunder! if it a’n’t Chucks!—my dear fellow, when did you rise from your grave?”

“Fortunately,” replied the count, as they shook each other’s hands for some time, “I never went into it, Sir Terence. But now, with your permission, my lord, I’ll take some food, as I really am not a little hungry. After dinner, Captain O’Brien, you shall hear my history.”

His secret was confided to the whole party, upon my pledging myself for their keeping it locked up in their own breasts, which was a bold thing on my part, considering that two of them were ladies.

The count stayed with us for some time, and was introduced by me everywhere. It was impossible to discover that he had not been bred up in a court, his manners were so good. He was a great favourite with the ladies; and his mustachios, bad French, and waltzing—an accomplishment he had picked up in Sweden—were quite the vogue. All the ladies were sorry when the Swedish count announced his departure by a PPC.

Before I left town, I called upon the First Lord of the Admiralty, and procured for Swinburne a first-rate, building—that is to say, ordered to be built. This he had often said he wished, as he was tired of the sea, after a service of forty-five years. Subsequently, I obtained leave of absence for him every year; and he used to make himself very happy at Eagle Park. Most of his time was, however, passed on the lake, either fishing or rowing about; telling long stories to all who would join him in his water excursions.

A fortnight after my assuming my title, we set off for Eagle Park: and Celeste consented to my entreaties, that the wedding should take place that day month. Upon this hint O’Brien spake; and to oblige me, Ellen consented that we should be united on the same day.

O’Brien wrote to Father McGrath; but the letter was returned by post, with “dead” marked upon the outside. O’Brien then wrote to one of his sisters, who informed him, that Father McGrath would cross the bog one evening when he had taken a very large proportion of whisky; and that he was seen out of the right path, and had never been heard of afterwards.

On the day appointed, we were all united; and both unions have been attended with as much happiness as this world can afford. Both O’Brien and I are blessed with children, which, as O’Brien observed, have come upon us like old age, until we now can muster a large Christmas party in the two families. The general’s head is white, and he sits and smiles, happy in his daughter’s happiness, and in the gambols of his grandchildren.

Such, reader, is the history of Peter Simple, Viscount Privilege, no longer the fool, but the head of the family, who now bids you farewell.

|Chapter 1| |Chapter 2| |Chapter 3| |Chapter 4| |Chapter 5| |Chapter 6| |Chapter 7| |Chapter 8| |Chapter 9| |Chapter 10| |Chapter 11| |Chapter 12| |Chapter 13| |Chapter 14| |Chapter 15| |Chapter 16| |Chapter 17| |Chapter 18| |Chapter 19| |Chapter 20| |Chapter 21| |Chapter 22| |Chapter 23| |Chapter 24| |Chapter 25| |Chapter 26| |Chapter 27| |Chapter 28| |Chapter 29| |Chapter 30| |Chapter 31| |Chapter 32| |Chapter 33| |Chapter 34| |Chapter 35| |Chapter 36| |Chapter 37| |Chapter 38| |Chapter 39| |Chapter 40| |Chapter 41| |Chapter 42| |Chapter 43| |Chapter 44| |Chapter 45| |Chapter 46| |Chapter 47| |Chapter 48| |Chapter 49| |Chapter 50| |Chapter 51| |Chapter 52| |Chapter 53| |Chapter 54| |Chapter 55| |Chapter 56| |Chapter 57| |Chapter 58| |Chapter 59| |Chapter 60| |Chapter 61| |Chapter 62| |Chapter 63| |Chapter 64| |Chapter 65|

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