EndPage 206THE GRIDIRON.BY SAMUEL LOVER.ACERTAIN old gentleman in the west of Ireland, whose love of the ridiculous quite equalled his taste for claret and fox-hunting, was wont, upon festive occasions, when opportunity offered, to amuse his friends bydrawing outone of his servants, exceedingly fond of what he termed his "thravels," and in whom, a good deal of whim, some queer stories, and perhaps, more than all, long and faithful services, had established a right of loquacity. He was one of those few trusty and privileged domestics, who, if his master unheedingly uttered a rash thing in a fit of passion, would venture to set him right. If the squire said, "I'll turn that rascal off," my friend Pat would say, "Troth you won't, sir"; and Pat was always right, for if any altercation arose upon the "subject-matter in hand," he was sure to throw in some good reason, either from former services,—general good conduct,—or the delinquent's "wife and children," that always turned the scale.But I am digressing: on such merry meetings as I have alluded to, the master, after making certain "approaches," as a military man would say, as the preparatory steps in laying siege to someextravaganzaof his servant, might, perchance, assail Pat thus: "By the by, Sir John (addressing a distinguished guest), Pat has a very curious story, which something you told me to-day reminds me of. You remember, Pat (turning to the man, evidently pleased at the notice thus paid to himself),—you remember that queer adventure you had in France?""Troth I do, sir," grins forth Pat."What!" exclaims Sir John, in feigned surprise, "was Pat ever in France?""Indeed he was," cries mine host; and Pat adds, "Ay, and farther, plaze your honor.""I assure you, Sir John," continues my host, "Pat told me a story once that surprised me very much, respecting the ignorance of the French.""Indeed!" rejoined the baronet; "really, I always supposed the French to be a most accomplished people.""Troth, then, they're not, sir," interrupts Pat."O, by no means," adds mine host, shaking his head emphatically."I believe, Pat, 'twas when you were crossing the Atlantic?" says the master, turning to Pat with a seductive air, and leading into the "full and true account"—(for Pat had thought fit to visitNorth Amerikay, for "a raison he had," in the autumn of the year ninety-eight)."Yes, sir," says Pat, "the broad Atlantic,"—a favorite phrase of his, which he gave with a brogue as broad, almost, as the Atlantic itself."It was the time I was lost in crassin' the broad Atlantic, a comin' home," began Pat, decoyed into the recital; "whin the winds began to blow, and the sae to rowl, that you'd think theColleen Dhas(that was her name), would not have a mast left but what would rowl out of her."Well, sure enough, the masts went by the board, at last, and the pumps were choked (divil choke them for that same), and av coorse the water gained an us; and troth, to be filled with water is neither good for man or baste; and she was sinkin' fast, settlin' down, as the sailors call it; and faith I never was good at settlin' down in my life, and I liked it then less nor ever; accordingly we prepared for the worst and put out the boat and got a sack o' bishkits and a cask o' pork, and a kag o' wather, and a thrifle o' rum aboord, and any other little matthers we could think iv in the mortial hurry we wor in,—and faith there was no time to be lost, for, my darlint, theColleen Dhaswent down like a lump o' lead, afore we wor many sthrokes o' the oar away from her."Well, we dhrifted away all that night, and next mornin' we put up a blanket an the end av a pole as well as we could, and then we sailed iligant; for we darn't show a stitch o' canvas the night before, bekase it was blowin' like bloody murther, savin' your presence, and sure it's the wondher of the world we worn't swally'd alive by the ragin' sae."Well, away we wint, for more nor a week, and nothin' before our two good-lookin' eyes but the canophy iv heaven, and the wide ocean—the broad Atlantic—nota thing was to be seen but the sae and the sky; and though the sae and the sky is mighty purty things in themselves, throth they're no great things when you've nothin' else to look at for a week together,—and the barest rock in the world, so it was land, would be more welkim. And then, soon enough, throth, our provisions began to run low, the bishkits, and the wather, and the rum—throththatwas gone first of all—God help uz—and oh! it was thin that starvation began to stare us in the face,—'O, murther, murther, Captain darlint,' says I, 'I wish we could land anywhere,' says I."'More power to your elbow, Paddy, my boy,' says he, 'for sitch a good wish, and throth it's myself wishes the same.'"'Och,' says I, 'that it may plaze you, sweet queen iv heaven, supposing it was only adissoluteisland,' says I, 'inhabited wid Turks, sure they wouldn't be such bad Christians as to refuse us a bit and a sup.'"'Whisht, whisht, Paddy,' says the captain, 'don't be talking bad of any one,' says he; 'you don't know how soon you may want a good word put in for yourself, if you should be called to quarthers in th' other world all of a suddint,' says he."'Thrue for you, Captain darlint,' says I—I called him darlint, and made free with him, you see, bekase disthress makes us all equal,—'thrue for you, Captain jewel,'—God betune uz and harm, I owe no man any spite,—and throth that was only thruth. Well, the last bishkit was sarved out, and by gor thewather itselfwas all gone at last, and we passed the night mighty cowld; well, at the brake o' day the sun riz most beautifully outo' the waves, that was as bright as silver and as clear as chrystal. But it was only the more cruel upon us, for we wor beginnin' to feelterriblehungry; when all at wanst I thought I spied the land,—by gor, I thought I felt my heart up in my throat in a minit, and 'Thunder an' turf, Captain,' says I, 'look to leeward,' says I."'What for?' says he."'I think I see the land,' says I. So he ups with his bring-'em-near (that's what the sailors call a spy-glass, sir), and looks out, and, sure enough, it was."'Hurra!' says he, 'we're all right now; pull away, my boys,' says he."'Take care you're not mistaken,' says I; 'maybe it's only a fog-bank, Captain darlint,' says I."'O no,' says he, 'it's the land in airnest.'"'O, then, whereabouts in the wide world are we, Captain?' says I; 'maybe it id be inRoosia, orProosia, or the Garmant Oceant,' says I."'Tut, you fool,' says he, for he had that consaited way wid him—thinkin' himself cleverer nor any one else—'tut, you fool,' says he, 'that'sFrance,' says he."'Tare an ouns,' says I, 'do you tell me so? and how do you know it's France it is, Captain dear,' says I."'Bekase this is the Bay o' Bishky we're in now,' says he."'Throth, I was thinkin' so myself,' says I, 'by the rowl it has; for I often heerd av it in regard of that same; and throth the likes av it I never seen before nor since, and, with the help of God, never will.'"Well, with that, my heart began to grow light; and when I seen my life was safe, I began to grow twicehungrier nor ever—so, says I, 'Captain jewel, I wish we had a gridiron.'"'Why, then,' says he, 'thunder and turf,' says he, 'what puts a gridiron into your head?'"'Bekase I'm starvin' with the hunger,' says I."'And sure, bad luck to you,' says he, 'you couldn't eat a gridiron,' says he, 'barrin' you were apelican o' the wildherness,' says he."'Ate a gridiron,' says I, 'och, in throth, I'm not such agommochall out as that, anyhow. But sure, if we had a gridiron, we could dress a beefstake,' says I."'Arrah! but where's the beefstake?' says he."'Sure, couldn't we cut a slice aff the pork,' says I."'Be gor, I never thought o' that,' says the captain. 'You're a clever fellow, Paddy,' says he, laughin'."'O, there's many a thrue word said in joke,' says I."'Thrue for you, Paddy,' says he."'Well, then,' says I, 'if you put me ashore there beyant' (for we were nearin' the land all the time), 'and sure I can ax them for to lind me the loan of a gridiron,' says I."'O, by gor, the butther's comin' out o' the stirabout in airnest now,' says he, 'you gommoch,' says he, 'sure I told you before that's France,—and sure they're all furriners there,' says the captain."'Well,' says I, 'and how do you know but I'm as good a furriner myself as any o' thim?'"'What do you mane?' says he."'I mane,' says I, 'what I towld you, that I'm as good a furriner myself as any o' thim.'"'Make me sinsible,' says he."'By dad, maybe that's more nor me, or greater nor me, could do,' says I,—and we all began to laugh at him, for I thought I would pay him off for his bit o' consait about the Garmant Oceant."'Lave aff your humbuggin',' says he, 'I bid you, and tell me what it is you mane, at all at all.'"'Parly voo frongsay,' says I."'O, your humble sarvant,' says he; 'why, by gor, you're a scholar, Paddy.'"'Throth, you may say that,' says I."'Why, you're a clever fellow, Paddy,' says the captain, jeerin' like."'You're not the first that said that,' says I, 'whether you joke or no.'"'O, but I'm in airnest,' says the captain; 'and do you tell me, Paddy,' says he, 'that you spake Frinch?'"'Parly voo frongsay,' says I."'By gor, that bangs Banagher, and all the world knows Banagher bangs the divil,—I never met the likes o' you, Paddy,' says he,—'pull away, boys, and put Paddy ashore, and maybe we won't get a good bellyful before long.'"So, with that, it wos no sooner said nor done,—they pulled away, and got close into shore in less than no time, and run the boat up in a little creek, and a beautiful creek it was, with a lovely white sthrand,—an illegant place for ladies to bathe in the summer; and out I got,—and it's stiff enough in the limbs I was, afther bein' cramped up in the boat, and perished with the cowld and hunger, but I conthrived to scramble on, one way or t' other, tow'rds a little bit iv a wood that wasclose to the shore, and the smoke curlin' out iv it, quite timptin' like."'By the powdhers o' war, I'm all right,' says I, 'there's a house there,'—and sure enough there was, and a parcel of men, women, and childher, ating their dinner round a table, quite convanient. And so I wint up to the door, and I thought I'd be very civil to them, as I heerd the French was always mighty p'lite intirely,—and I thought I'd show them I knew what good manners was."So I took aff my hat, and, making a low bow, says I, 'God save all here,' says I."Well, to be sure, they all stapt eating at wanst, and began to stare at me, and faith they almost looked me out of countenance,—and I thought to myself, it was not good manners at all, more betoken from furriners which they call so mighty p'lite; but I never minded that, in regard o' wantin' the gridiron; and so says I, 'I beg your pardon,' says I, 'for the liberty I take, but it's only bein' in disthress in regard of eating,' says I, 'that I made bowld to throuble yez, and if you could lind me the loan of a gridiron,' says I, 'I'd be entirely obleeged to ye.'"By gor, they all stared at me twice worse nor before,—and with that, says I (knowing what was in their minds), 'Indeed it's thrue for you,' says I, 'I'm tatthered to pieces, and God knows I look quare enough,—but it's by raison of the storm,' says I, 'which dhruv us ashore here below, and we're all starvin',' says I."So then they began to look at each other again; and myself, seeing at once dirty thoughts was in their heads,and that they tuk me for a poor beggar coming to crave charity,—with that, says I, 'O, not at all,' says I, 'by no manes,—we have plenty of mate ourselves there below, and we'll dhress it,' says I, 'if you would be plased to lind us the loan of a gridiron,' says I, makin' a low bow."Well, sir, with that, throth, they stared at me twice worse nor ever, and faith I began to think that maybe the captain was wrong, and that it was not France at all at all; and so says I, 'I beg pardon, sir,' says I, to a fine ould man, with a head of hair as white as silver,—'maybe I'm under a mistake,' says I, 'but I thought I was in France, sir: aren't you furriners?' says I,—'Parly voo frongsay?""'We, munseer,' says he."'Then would you lind me the loan of a gridiron,' says I, 'if you plase?'"O, it was thin that they stared at me as if I had seven heads; and, faith, myself began to feel flushed like and onaisy,—and so, says I, makin' a bow and scrape agin, 'I know it's a liberty I take, sir,' says I, 'but it's only in the regard of bein' cast away; and if you plase, sir,' says I, 'parly voo frongsay?'"'We, munseer,' says he, mighty sharp."'Then would you lind me the loan of a gridiron!' says I, 'and you'll obleege me.'"Well, sir, the ould chap began to munseer me; but the devil a bit of a gridiron he'd gi' me; and so I began to think they wor all neygars, for all their fine manners; and throth my blood begun to rise, and says I, 'By my sowl, if it was you was in distriss,' says I, 'and if itwas to ould Ireland you kem, it's not only the gridiron they'd give you, if you axed it, but something to put an it, too, and the drop o' dhrink into the bargain, andcead mile failte.'"Well, the wordcead mile failteseemed to sthreck his heart, and the ould chap cocked his ear, and so I thought I'd give him another offer, and make him sensible at last: and so says I, wanst more, quite slow, that he might understand,—'Parly—voo—frongsay, munseer.'"'We, munseer,' says he."'Then lind me the loan of a gridiron,' says I, 'and bad scram to you.'"Well, bad win to the bit of it he'd gi' me, and the ould chap begins bowin' and scrapin', and said something or other about a longtongs.[D][D]Some mystification of Paddy's touching the Frenchn'entends."'Phoo!—the divil swape yourself and your tongs,' says I, 'I don't want a tongs at all at all; but can't you listen to raison,' says I,—'Parly voo frongsay?'"'We, munseer.'"'Then lind me the loan of a gridiron,' says I, 'and howld your prate.'"Well, what would you think, but he shook his old noddle as much as to say he wouldn't; and so, says I, 'Bad cess to the likes o' that I ever seen,—throth if you wor in my counthry it's not that away they'd use you. The curse o' the crows an you, you owld sinner,' says I, 'the divil a longer I'll darken your door.'"So he seen I was vexed, and I thought, as I wasturnin' away, I seen him begin to relint, and that his conscience throubled him; and says I, turnin' back, 'Well, I'll give one chance more,—you ould thief,—are you a Chrishthan at all? are you a furriner!' says I, 'that all the world calls so p'lite? Bad luck to you, do you understand your own language?—Parly voo frongsay?' says I."'We, munseer,' says he."'Then, thunder an' turf,' says I, 'will you lind me the loan of a gridiron?'"Well, sir, the devil resave the bit of it he'd gi' me,—and so, with that, the 'curse o' the hungry an you, you ould negarly villain,' says I; 'the back o' my hand and the sowl o' my foot to you, that you may want a gridiron yourself yit,' says I; and with that I left them there, sir, and kem away,—and, in throth, it's often sense that I thought that it was remarkable."EndPage 217THE BOX TUNNEL.BY CHARLES READE.THE 10.15 train glided from Paddington, May 7, 1847. In the left compartment of a certain first-class carriage were four passengers; of these, two were worth description. The lady had a smooth, white, delicate brow, strongly marked eyebrows, long lashes, eyes that seemed to change color, and a good-sized delicious mouth, with teeth as white as milk. A man could not see her nose for her eyes and mouth; her own sex could and would have told us some nonsense about it. She wore an unpretending grayish dress buttoned to the throat with lozenge-shaped buttons, and a Scottish shawl that agreeably evaded color. She was like a duck, so tight her plain feathers fitted her, and there she sat, smooth, snug, and delicious, with a book in her hand, and asoupçonof her wrist just visible as she held it. Her opposite neighbor was what I call a good style of man,—the more to his credit, since he belonged to a corporation that frequently turns out the worst imaginable style of young men. He was a cavalry officer, aged twenty-five. He had a mustache, but nota very repulsive one; not one of those subnasal pigtails on which soup is suspended like dew on a shrub; it was short, thick, and black as a coal. His teeth had not yet been turned by tobacco smoke to the color of juice, his clothes did not stick to nor hang to him; he had an engaging smile, and, what I liked the dog for, his vanity, which was inordinate, was in its proper place, his heart, not in his face, jostling mine and other people's who have none,—in a word, he was what one oftener hears of than meets,—a young gentleman. He was conversing in an animated whisper with a companion, a fellow-officer; they were talking about what it is far better not to—women. Our friend clearly did not wish to be overheard; for he cast ever and anon a furtive glance at his fairvis-à-visand lowered his voice. She seemed completely absorbed in her book, and that reassured him. At last the two soldiers came down to a whisper (the truth must be told), the one who got down at Slough, and was lost to posterity, bet ten pounds to three, that he who was going down with us to Bath and immortality would not kiss either of the ladies opposite upon the road. "Done, done!" Now I am sorry a man I have hitherto praised should have lent himself, even in a whisper, to such a speculation; "but nobody is wise at all hours," not even when the clock is striking five and twenty; and you are to consider his profession, his good looks, and the temptation—ten to three.After Slough the party was reduced to three; at Twylford one lady dropped her handkerchief; Captain Dolignan fell on it like a lamb; two or three words wereinterchanged on this occasion. At Reading the Marlborough of our tale made one of the safe investments of that day, he bought a Times and Punch; the latter full of steel-pen thrusts and woodcuts. Valor and beauty deigned to laugh at some inflamed humbug or other punctured by Punch. Now laughing together thaws our human ice; long before Swindon it was a talking match—at Swindon who so devoted as Captain Dolignan?—he handed them out—he souped them—he tough-chickened them—he brandied and cochinealed one, and he brandied and burnt-sugared the other; on their return to the carriage, one lady passed into the inner compartment to inspect a certain gentleman's seat on that side of the line.Reader, had it been you or I, the beauty would have been the deserter, the average one would have stayed with us till all was blue, ourselves included; not more surely does our slice of bread and butter, when it escapes from our hand, revolve it ever so often, alight face downward on the carpet. But this was a bit of a fop, Adonis, dragoon,—so Venus remained intête-à-têtewith him. You have seen a dog meet an unknown female of his species; how handsome, howempressé, how expressive he becomes; such was Dolignan after Swindon, and to do the dog justice, he got handsome and handsomer; and you have seen a cat conscious of approaching cream,—such was Miss Haythorn; she became demurer and demurer; presently our captain looked out of the window and laughed; this elicited an inquiring look from Miss Haythorn."We are only a mile from the Box Tunnel.""Do you always laugh a mile from the Box Tunnel?" said the lady."Invariably.""What for?""Why, hem! it is a gentleman's joke."Captain Dolignan then recounted to Miss Haythorn the following:—"A lady and her husband sat together going through the Box Tunnel,—there was one gentleman opposite; it was pitch dark: after the tunnel the lady said, 'George, how absurd of you to salute me going through the tunnel.' 'I did no such thing.' 'You didn't?' 'No! why?' 'Because somehow I thought you did!'"Here Captain Dolignan laughed and endeavored to lead his companion to laugh, but it was not to be done. The train entered the tunnel.Miss Haythorn.Ah!Dolignan.What is the matter?Miss Haythorn.I am frightened.Dolignan(moving to her side). Pray do not be alarmed; I am near you.Miss Haythorn.You are near me,—very near me, indeed, Captain Dolignan.Dolignan.You know my name?Miss Haythorn.I heard you mention it. I wish we were out of this dark place.Dolignan.I could be content to spend hours here, reassuring you, my dear lady.Miss Haythorn.Nonsense!Dolignan.Pweep! (Grave reader, do not put yourlips to the next pretty creature you meet, or you will understand what this means.)Miss Haythorn.Ee! Ee!Friend.What is the matter?Miss Haythorn.Open the door! Open the door!There was a sound of hurried whispers, the door was shut and the blind pulled down with hostile sharpness.If any critic falls on me for putting inarticulate sounds in a dialogue as above, I answer with all the insolence I can command at present. "Hit boys as big as yourself"; bigger, perhaps, such as Sophocles, Euripides, and Aristophanes; they began it, and I learned it of them, sore against my will.Miss Haythorn's scream lost most of its effect because the engine whistled forty thousand murders at the same moment; and fictitious grief makes itself heard when real cannot.Between the tunnel and Bath our young friend had time to ask himself whether his conduct had been marked by that delicate reserve which is supposed to distinguish the perfect gentleman.With a long face, real or feigned, he held open the door; his late friends attempted to escape on the other side,—impossible! they must pass him. She whom he had insulted (Latin for kissed) deposited somewhere at his feet a look of gentle, blushing reproach; the other, whom he had not insulted, darted red-hot daggers at him from her eyes; and so they parted.It was, perhaps, fortunate for Dolignan that he had the grace to be a friend to Major Hoskyns of his regiment, a veteran laughed at by the youngsters, for the Major was too apt to look coldly upon billiard-balls and cigars; he had seen cannon-balls and linstocks. He had also, to tell the truth, swallowed a good bit of the mess-room poker, which made it as impossible for Major Hoskyns to descend to an ungentlemanlike word or action as to brush his own trousers below the knee.Captain Dolignan told this gentleman his story in gleeful accents; but Major Hoskyns heard him coldly, and as coldly answered that he had known a man to lose his life for the same thing."That is nothing," continued the Major, "but unfortunately he deserved to lose it."At this, blood mounted to the younger man's temples; and his senior added, "I mean to say he was thirty-five; you, I presume, are twenty-one!""Twenty-five.""That is much the same thing; will you be advised by me?""If you will advise me.""Speak to no one of this, and send White the £3, that he may think you have lost the bet.""That is hard, when I won it.""Do it, for all that, sir."Let the disbelievers in human perfectibility know that this dragoon capable of a blush did this virtuous action, albeit with violent reluctance; and this was his first damper. A week after these events he was at a ball. He was in that state of factitious discontent which belongs to us amiable English. He was looking in vain for a lady, equal in personal attraction to the idea he hadformed of George Dolignan as a man, when suddenly there glided past him a most delightful vision! a lady whose beauty and symmetry took him by the eyes,—another look: "It can't be! Yes, it is!" Miss Haythorn! (not that he knew her name!) but what an apotheosis!The duck had become a peahen—radiant, dazzling, she looked twice as beautiful and almost twice as large as before. He lost sight of her. He found her again. She was so lovely she made him ill—and he, alone, must not dance with her, speak to her. If he had been content to begin her acquaintance the usual way, it might have ended in kissing: it must end in nothing. As she danced, sparks of beauty fell from her on all around, but him—she did not see him; it was clear she never would see him—one gentleman was particularly assiduous; she smiled on his assiduity; he was ugly, but she smiled on him. Dolignan was surprised at his success, his ill taste, his ugliness, his impertinence. Dolignan at last found himself injured; "who was this man? and what right had he to go on so? He never kissed her, I suppose," said Dolle. Dolignan could not prove it, but he felt that somehow the rights of property were invaded. He went home and dreamed of Miss Haythorn, and hated all the ugly successful. He spent a fortnight trying to find out who his beauty was,—he never could encounter her again. At last he heard of her in this way: A lawyer's clerk paid him a little visit and commenced a little action against him in the name of Miss Haythorn, for insulting her in a railway train.The young gentleman was shocked; endeavored to soften the lawyer's clerk; that machine did not thoroughly comprehend the meaning of the term. The lady's name, however, was at last revealed by this untoward incident; from her name to her address was but a short step; and the same day our crestfallen hero lay in wait at her door, and many a succeeding day, without effect. But one fine afternoon she issued forth quite naturally, as if she did it every day, and walked briskly on the parade. Dolignan did the same, met and passed her many times on the parade, and searched for pity in her eyes, but found neither look nor recognition, nor any other sentiment; for all this she walked and walked, till all the other promenaders were tired and gone,—then her culprit summoned resolution, and, taking off his hat, with a voice for the first time tremulous, besought permission to address her. She stopped, blushed, and neither acknowledged nor disowned his acquaintance. He blushed, stammered out how ashamed he was, how he deserved to be punished, how he was punished, how little she knew how unhappy he was, and concluded by begging her not to let all the world know the disgrace of a man who was already mortified enough by the loss of her acquaintance. She asked an explanation; he told her of the action that had been commenced in her name; she gently shrugged her shoulders and said, "How stupid they are!" Emboldened by this, he begged to know whether or not a life of distant unpretending devotion would, after a lapse of years, erase the memory of his madness—his crime!"She did not know!""She must now bid him adieu, as she had some preparations to make for a ball in the Crescent, where everybody was to be." They parted, and Dolignan determined to be at the ball, where everybody was to be. He was there, and after some time he obtained an introduction to Miss Haythorn, and he danced with her. Her manner was gracious. With the wonderful tact of her sex, she seemed to have commenced the acquaintance that evening. That night, for the first time, Dolignan was in love. I will spare the reader all a lover's arts, by which he succeeded in dining where she dined, in dancing where she danced, in overtaking her by accident when she rode. His devotion followed her to church, where the dragoon was rewarded by learning there is a world where they neither polk nor smoke,—the two capital abominations of this one.He made an acquaintance with her uncle, who liked him, and he saw at last with joy that her eye loved to dwell upon him, when she thought he did not observe her. It was three months after the Box Tunnel that Captain Dolignan called one day upon Captain Haythorn, R. N., whom he had met twice in his life, and slightly propitiated by violently listening to a cutting-out expedition; he called, and in the usual way asked permission to pay his addresses to his daughter. The worthy Captain straightway began doing quarter-deck, when suddenly he was summoned from the apartment by a mysterious message. On his return he announced with a total change of voice, that "It was all right, and his visitor might run alongside as soon as he chose." My reader has divined the truth; this nautical commander,terrible to the foe, was in complete and happy subjugation to his daughter, our heroine.As he was taking leave, Dolignan saw his divinity glide into the drawing-room. He followed her, observed a sweet consciousness deepen into confusion,—she tried to laugh, and cried instead, and then she smiled again; when he kissed her hand at the door it was "George" and "Marian" instead of "Captain" this and "Miss" the other.A reasonable time after this (for my tale is merciful and skips formalities and torturing delays), these two were very happy; they were once more upon the railroad, going to enjoy their honeymoon all by themselves. Marian Dolignan was dressed just as before,—duck-like and delicious; all bright except her clothes; but George sat beside her this time instead of opposite; and she drank him in gently from her long eyelashes."Marian," said George, "married people should tell each other all. Will you ever forgive me if I own to you; no—""Yes! yes!""Well, then, you remember the Box Tunnel." (This was the first allusion he had ventured to it.) "I am ashamed to say I had £3 to £10 with White I would kiss one of you two ladies," and George, pathetic externally, chuckled within."I know that, George; I overheard you," was the demure reply."Oh! you overheard me! impossible.""And did you not hear me whisper to my companion? I made a bet with her.""You made a bet! how singular! What was it?""Only a pair of gloves, George.""Yes, I know; but what about it?""That if you did you should be my husband, dearest.""Oh! but stay; then you could not have been so very angry with me, love. Why, dearest, then you brought that action against me?"Mrs. Dolignan looked down."I was afraid you were forgetting me! George, you will never forgive me?""Sweet angel! why, here is the Box Tunnel!"Now, reader,—fie! no! no such thing! you can't expect to be indulged in this way every time we come to a dark place. Besides, it is not the thing. Consider, two sensible married people. No such phenomenon, I assure you, took place. No scream in hopeless rivalry of the engine—this time!EndTranscriber's Notes:Inconsistencies in spelling have been retained as they appear in the original.Page14was'nt changed to wasn't44double quotation added after ... the wood72double quotation added after ... hand it over.209single quotation added after ... Captain jewel,214"started" changed to "stared"216double quotation changed to single after ... frongsay?223"in" in "him in in the name" removed
End
Page 206
A
CERTAIN old gentleman in the west of Ireland, whose love of the ridiculous quite equalled his taste for claret and fox-hunting, was wont, upon festive occasions, when opportunity offered, to amuse his friends bydrawing outone of his servants, exceedingly fond of what he termed his "thravels," and in whom, a good deal of whim, some queer stories, and perhaps, more than all, long and faithful services, had established a right of loquacity. He was one of those few trusty and privileged domestics, who, if his master unheedingly uttered a rash thing in a fit of passion, would venture to set him right. If the squire said, "I'll turn that rascal off," my friend Pat would say, "Troth you won't, sir"; and Pat was always right, for if any altercation arose upon the "subject-matter in hand," he was sure to throw in some good reason, either from former services,—general good conduct,—or the delinquent's "wife and children," that always turned the scale.
But I am digressing: on such merry meetings as I have alluded to, the master, after making certain "approaches," as a military man would say, as the preparatory steps in laying siege to someextravaganzaof his servant, might, perchance, assail Pat thus: "By the by, Sir John (addressing a distinguished guest), Pat has a very curious story, which something you told me to-day reminds me of. You remember, Pat (turning to the man, evidently pleased at the notice thus paid to himself),—you remember that queer adventure you had in France?"
"Troth I do, sir," grins forth Pat.
"What!" exclaims Sir John, in feigned surprise, "was Pat ever in France?"
"Indeed he was," cries mine host; and Pat adds, "Ay, and farther, plaze your honor."
"I assure you, Sir John," continues my host, "Pat told me a story once that surprised me very much, respecting the ignorance of the French."
"Indeed!" rejoined the baronet; "really, I always supposed the French to be a most accomplished people."
"Troth, then, they're not, sir," interrupts Pat.
"O, by no means," adds mine host, shaking his head emphatically.
"I believe, Pat, 'twas when you were crossing the Atlantic?" says the master, turning to Pat with a seductive air, and leading into the "full and true account"—(for Pat had thought fit to visitNorth Amerikay, for "a raison he had," in the autumn of the year ninety-eight).
"Yes, sir," says Pat, "the broad Atlantic,"—a favorite phrase of his, which he gave with a brogue as broad, almost, as the Atlantic itself.
"It was the time I was lost in crassin' the broad Atlantic, a comin' home," began Pat, decoyed into the recital; "whin the winds began to blow, and the sae to rowl, that you'd think theColleen Dhas(that was her name), would not have a mast left but what would rowl out of her.
"Well, sure enough, the masts went by the board, at last, and the pumps were choked (divil choke them for that same), and av coorse the water gained an us; and troth, to be filled with water is neither good for man or baste; and she was sinkin' fast, settlin' down, as the sailors call it; and faith I never was good at settlin' down in my life, and I liked it then less nor ever; accordingly we prepared for the worst and put out the boat and got a sack o' bishkits and a cask o' pork, and a kag o' wather, and a thrifle o' rum aboord, and any other little matthers we could think iv in the mortial hurry we wor in,—and faith there was no time to be lost, for, my darlint, theColleen Dhaswent down like a lump o' lead, afore we wor many sthrokes o' the oar away from her.
"Well, we dhrifted away all that night, and next mornin' we put up a blanket an the end av a pole as well as we could, and then we sailed iligant; for we darn't show a stitch o' canvas the night before, bekase it was blowin' like bloody murther, savin' your presence, and sure it's the wondher of the world we worn't swally'd alive by the ragin' sae.
"Well, away we wint, for more nor a week, and nothin' before our two good-lookin' eyes but the canophy iv heaven, and the wide ocean—the broad Atlantic—nota thing was to be seen but the sae and the sky; and though the sae and the sky is mighty purty things in themselves, throth they're no great things when you've nothin' else to look at for a week together,—and the barest rock in the world, so it was land, would be more welkim. And then, soon enough, throth, our provisions began to run low, the bishkits, and the wather, and the rum—throththatwas gone first of all—God help uz—and oh! it was thin that starvation began to stare us in the face,—'O, murther, murther, Captain darlint,' says I, 'I wish we could land anywhere,' says I.
"'More power to your elbow, Paddy, my boy,' says he, 'for sitch a good wish, and throth it's myself wishes the same.'
"'Och,' says I, 'that it may plaze you, sweet queen iv heaven, supposing it was only adissoluteisland,' says I, 'inhabited wid Turks, sure they wouldn't be such bad Christians as to refuse us a bit and a sup.'
"'Whisht, whisht, Paddy,' says the captain, 'don't be talking bad of any one,' says he; 'you don't know how soon you may want a good word put in for yourself, if you should be called to quarthers in th' other world all of a suddint,' says he.
"'Thrue for you, Captain darlint,' says I—I called him darlint, and made free with him, you see, bekase disthress makes us all equal,—'thrue for you, Captain jewel,'—God betune uz and harm, I owe no man any spite,—and throth that was only thruth. Well, the last bishkit was sarved out, and by gor thewather itselfwas all gone at last, and we passed the night mighty cowld; well, at the brake o' day the sun riz most beautifully outo' the waves, that was as bright as silver and as clear as chrystal. But it was only the more cruel upon us, for we wor beginnin' to feelterriblehungry; when all at wanst I thought I spied the land,—by gor, I thought I felt my heart up in my throat in a minit, and 'Thunder an' turf, Captain,' says I, 'look to leeward,' says I.
"'What for?' says he.
"'I think I see the land,' says I. So he ups with his bring-'em-near (that's what the sailors call a spy-glass, sir), and looks out, and, sure enough, it was.
"'Hurra!' says he, 'we're all right now; pull away, my boys,' says he.
"'Take care you're not mistaken,' says I; 'maybe it's only a fog-bank, Captain darlint,' says I.
"'O no,' says he, 'it's the land in airnest.'
"'O, then, whereabouts in the wide world are we, Captain?' says I; 'maybe it id be inRoosia, orProosia, or the Garmant Oceant,' says I.
"'Tut, you fool,' says he, for he had that consaited way wid him—thinkin' himself cleverer nor any one else—'tut, you fool,' says he, 'that'sFrance,' says he.
"'Tare an ouns,' says I, 'do you tell me so? and how do you know it's France it is, Captain dear,' says I.
"'Bekase this is the Bay o' Bishky we're in now,' says he.
"'Throth, I was thinkin' so myself,' says I, 'by the rowl it has; for I often heerd av it in regard of that same; and throth the likes av it I never seen before nor since, and, with the help of God, never will.'
"Well, with that, my heart began to grow light; and when I seen my life was safe, I began to grow twicehungrier nor ever—so, says I, 'Captain jewel, I wish we had a gridiron.'
"'Why, then,' says he, 'thunder and turf,' says he, 'what puts a gridiron into your head?'
"'Bekase I'm starvin' with the hunger,' says I.
"'And sure, bad luck to you,' says he, 'you couldn't eat a gridiron,' says he, 'barrin' you were apelican o' the wildherness,' says he.
"'Ate a gridiron,' says I, 'och, in throth, I'm not such agommochall out as that, anyhow. But sure, if we had a gridiron, we could dress a beefstake,' says I.
"'Arrah! but where's the beefstake?' says he.
"'Sure, couldn't we cut a slice aff the pork,' says I.
"'Be gor, I never thought o' that,' says the captain. 'You're a clever fellow, Paddy,' says he, laughin'.
"'O, there's many a thrue word said in joke,' says I.
"'Thrue for you, Paddy,' says he.
"'Well, then,' says I, 'if you put me ashore there beyant' (for we were nearin' the land all the time), 'and sure I can ax them for to lind me the loan of a gridiron,' says I.
"'O, by gor, the butther's comin' out o' the stirabout in airnest now,' says he, 'you gommoch,' says he, 'sure I told you before that's France,—and sure they're all furriners there,' says the captain.
"'Well,' says I, 'and how do you know but I'm as good a furriner myself as any o' thim?'
"'What do you mane?' says he.
"'I mane,' says I, 'what I towld you, that I'm as good a furriner myself as any o' thim.'
"'Make me sinsible,' says he.
"'By dad, maybe that's more nor me, or greater nor me, could do,' says I,—and we all began to laugh at him, for I thought I would pay him off for his bit o' consait about the Garmant Oceant.
"'Lave aff your humbuggin',' says he, 'I bid you, and tell me what it is you mane, at all at all.'
"'Parly voo frongsay,' says I.
"'O, your humble sarvant,' says he; 'why, by gor, you're a scholar, Paddy.'
"'Throth, you may say that,' says I.
"'Why, you're a clever fellow, Paddy,' says the captain, jeerin' like.
"'You're not the first that said that,' says I, 'whether you joke or no.'
"'O, but I'm in airnest,' says the captain; 'and do you tell me, Paddy,' says he, 'that you spake Frinch?'
"'Parly voo frongsay,' says I.
"'By gor, that bangs Banagher, and all the world knows Banagher bangs the divil,—I never met the likes o' you, Paddy,' says he,—'pull away, boys, and put Paddy ashore, and maybe we won't get a good bellyful before long.'
"So, with that, it wos no sooner said nor done,—they pulled away, and got close into shore in less than no time, and run the boat up in a little creek, and a beautiful creek it was, with a lovely white sthrand,—an illegant place for ladies to bathe in the summer; and out I got,—and it's stiff enough in the limbs I was, afther bein' cramped up in the boat, and perished with the cowld and hunger, but I conthrived to scramble on, one way or t' other, tow'rds a little bit iv a wood that wasclose to the shore, and the smoke curlin' out iv it, quite timptin' like.
"'By the powdhers o' war, I'm all right,' says I, 'there's a house there,'—and sure enough there was, and a parcel of men, women, and childher, ating their dinner round a table, quite convanient. And so I wint up to the door, and I thought I'd be very civil to them, as I heerd the French was always mighty p'lite intirely,—and I thought I'd show them I knew what good manners was.
"So I took aff my hat, and, making a low bow, says I, 'God save all here,' says I.
"Well, to be sure, they all stapt eating at wanst, and began to stare at me, and faith they almost looked me out of countenance,—and I thought to myself, it was not good manners at all, more betoken from furriners which they call so mighty p'lite; but I never minded that, in regard o' wantin' the gridiron; and so says I, 'I beg your pardon,' says I, 'for the liberty I take, but it's only bein' in disthress in regard of eating,' says I, 'that I made bowld to throuble yez, and if you could lind me the loan of a gridiron,' says I, 'I'd be entirely obleeged to ye.'
"By gor, they all stared at me twice worse nor before,—and with that, says I (knowing what was in their minds), 'Indeed it's thrue for you,' says I, 'I'm tatthered to pieces, and God knows I look quare enough,—but it's by raison of the storm,' says I, 'which dhruv us ashore here below, and we're all starvin',' says I.
"So then they began to look at each other again; and myself, seeing at once dirty thoughts was in their heads,and that they tuk me for a poor beggar coming to crave charity,—with that, says I, 'O, not at all,' says I, 'by no manes,—we have plenty of mate ourselves there below, and we'll dhress it,' says I, 'if you would be plased to lind us the loan of a gridiron,' says I, makin' a low bow.
"Well, sir, with that, throth, they stared at me twice worse nor ever, and faith I began to think that maybe the captain was wrong, and that it was not France at all at all; and so says I, 'I beg pardon, sir,' says I, to a fine ould man, with a head of hair as white as silver,—'maybe I'm under a mistake,' says I, 'but I thought I was in France, sir: aren't you furriners?' says I,—'Parly voo frongsay?"
"'We, munseer,' says he.
"'Then would you lind me the loan of a gridiron,' says I, 'if you plase?'
"O, it was thin that they stared at me as if I had seven heads; and, faith, myself began to feel flushed like and onaisy,—and so, says I, makin' a bow and scrape agin, 'I know it's a liberty I take, sir,' says I, 'but it's only in the regard of bein' cast away; and if you plase, sir,' says I, 'parly voo frongsay?'
"'We, munseer,' says he, mighty sharp.
"'Then would you lind me the loan of a gridiron!' says I, 'and you'll obleege me.'
"Well, sir, the ould chap began to munseer me; but the devil a bit of a gridiron he'd gi' me; and so I began to think they wor all neygars, for all their fine manners; and throth my blood begun to rise, and says I, 'By my sowl, if it was you was in distriss,' says I, 'and if itwas to ould Ireland you kem, it's not only the gridiron they'd give you, if you axed it, but something to put an it, too, and the drop o' dhrink into the bargain, andcead mile failte.'
"Well, the wordcead mile failteseemed to sthreck his heart, and the ould chap cocked his ear, and so I thought I'd give him another offer, and make him sensible at last: and so says I, wanst more, quite slow, that he might understand,—'Parly—voo—frongsay, munseer.'
"'We, munseer,' says he.
"'Then lind me the loan of a gridiron,' says I, 'and bad scram to you.'
"Well, bad win to the bit of it he'd gi' me, and the ould chap begins bowin' and scrapin', and said something or other about a longtongs.[D]
[D]Some mystification of Paddy's touching the Frenchn'entends.
"'Phoo!—the divil swape yourself and your tongs,' says I, 'I don't want a tongs at all at all; but can't you listen to raison,' says I,—'Parly voo frongsay?'
"'We, munseer.'
"'Then lind me the loan of a gridiron,' says I, 'and howld your prate.'
"Well, what would you think, but he shook his old noddle as much as to say he wouldn't; and so, says I, 'Bad cess to the likes o' that I ever seen,—throth if you wor in my counthry it's not that away they'd use you. The curse o' the crows an you, you owld sinner,' says I, 'the divil a longer I'll darken your door.'
"So he seen I was vexed, and I thought, as I wasturnin' away, I seen him begin to relint, and that his conscience throubled him; and says I, turnin' back, 'Well, I'll give one chance more,—you ould thief,—are you a Chrishthan at all? are you a furriner!' says I, 'that all the world calls so p'lite? Bad luck to you, do you understand your own language?—Parly voo frongsay?' says I.
"'We, munseer,' says he.
"'Then, thunder an' turf,' says I, 'will you lind me the loan of a gridiron?'
"Well, sir, the devil resave the bit of it he'd gi' me,—and so, with that, the 'curse o' the hungry an you, you ould negarly villain,' says I; 'the back o' my hand and the sowl o' my foot to you, that you may want a gridiron yourself yit,' says I; and with that I left them there, sir, and kem away,—and, in throth, it's often sense that I thought that it was remarkable."
End
Page 217
T
HE 10.15 train glided from Paddington, May 7, 1847. In the left compartment of a certain first-class carriage were four passengers; of these, two were worth description. The lady had a smooth, white, delicate brow, strongly marked eyebrows, long lashes, eyes that seemed to change color, and a good-sized delicious mouth, with teeth as white as milk. A man could not see her nose for her eyes and mouth; her own sex could and would have told us some nonsense about it. She wore an unpretending grayish dress buttoned to the throat with lozenge-shaped buttons, and a Scottish shawl that agreeably evaded color. She was like a duck, so tight her plain feathers fitted her, and there she sat, smooth, snug, and delicious, with a book in her hand, and asoupçonof her wrist just visible as she held it. Her opposite neighbor was what I call a good style of man,—the more to his credit, since he belonged to a corporation that frequently turns out the worst imaginable style of young men. He was a cavalry officer, aged twenty-five. He had a mustache, but nota very repulsive one; not one of those subnasal pigtails on which soup is suspended like dew on a shrub; it was short, thick, and black as a coal. His teeth had not yet been turned by tobacco smoke to the color of juice, his clothes did not stick to nor hang to him; he had an engaging smile, and, what I liked the dog for, his vanity, which was inordinate, was in its proper place, his heart, not in his face, jostling mine and other people's who have none,—in a word, he was what one oftener hears of than meets,—a young gentleman. He was conversing in an animated whisper with a companion, a fellow-officer; they were talking about what it is far better not to—women. Our friend clearly did not wish to be overheard; for he cast ever and anon a furtive glance at his fairvis-à-visand lowered his voice. She seemed completely absorbed in her book, and that reassured him. At last the two soldiers came down to a whisper (the truth must be told), the one who got down at Slough, and was lost to posterity, bet ten pounds to three, that he who was going down with us to Bath and immortality would not kiss either of the ladies opposite upon the road. "Done, done!" Now I am sorry a man I have hitherto praised should have lent himself, even in a whisper, to such a speculation; "but nobody is wise at all hours," not even when the clock is striking five and twenty; and you are to consider his profession, his good looks, and the temptation—ten to three.
After Slough the party was reduced to three; at Twylford one lady dropped her handkerchief; Captain Dolignan fell on it like a lamb; two or three words wereinterchanged on this occasion. At Reading the Marlborough of our tale made one of the safe investments of that day, he bought a Times and Punch; the latter full of steel-pen thrusts and woodcuts. Valor and beauty deigned to laugh at some inflamed humbug or other punctured by Punch. Now laughing together thaws our human ice; long before Swindon it was a talking match—at Swindon who so devoted as Captain Dolignan?—he handed them out—he souped them—he tough-chickened them—he brandied and cochinealed one, and he brandied and burnt-sugared the other; on their return to the carriage, one lady passed into the inner compartment to inspect a certain gentleman's seat on that side of the line.
Reader, had it been you or I, the beauty would have been the deserter, the average one would have stayed with us till all was blue, ourselves included; not more surely does our slice of bread and butter, when it escapes from our hand, revolve it ever so often, alight face downward on the carpet. But this was a bit of a fop, Adonis, dragoon,—so Venus remained intête-à-têtewith him. You have seen a dog meet an unknown female of his species; how handsome, howempressé, how expressive he becomes; such was Dolignan after Swindon, and to do the dog justice, he got handsome and handsomer; and you have seen a cat conscious of approaching cream,—such was Miss Haythorn; she became demurer and demurer; presently our captain looked out of the window and laughed; this elicited an inquiring look from Miss Haythorn.
"We are only a mile from the Box Tunnel."
"Do you always laugh a mile from the Box Tunnel?" said the lady.
"Invariably."
"What for?"
"Why, hem! it is a gentleman's joke."
Captain Dolignan then recounted to Miss Haythorn the following:—
"A lady and her husband sat together going through the Box Tunnel,—there was one gentleman opposite; it was pitch dark: after the tunnel the lady said, 'George, how absurd of you to salute me going through the tunnel.' 'I did no such thing.' 'You didn't?' 'No! why?' 'Because somehow I thought you did!'"
Here Captain Dolignan laughed and endeavored to lead his companion to laugh, but it was not to be done. The train entered the tunnel.
Miss Haythorn.Ah!
Dolignan.What is the matter?
Miss Haythorn.I am frightened.
Dolignan(moving to her side). Pray do not be alarmed; I am near you.
Miss Haythorn.You are near me,—very near me, indeed, Captain Dolignan.
Dolignan.You know my name?
Miss Haythorn.I heard you mention it. I wish we were out of this dark place.
Dolignan.I could be content to spend hours here, reassuring you, my dear lady.
Miss Haythorn.Nonsense!
Dolignan.Pweep! (Grave reader, do not put yourlips to the next pretty creature you meet, or you will understand what this means.)
Miss Haythorn.Ee! Ee!
Friend.What is the matter?
Miss Haythorn.Open the door! Open the door!
There was a sound of hurried whispers, the door was shut and the blind pulled down with hostile sharpness.
If any critic falls on me for putting inarticulate sounds in a dialogue as above, I answer with all the insolence I can command at present. "Hit boys as big as yourself"; bigger, perhaps, such as Sophocles, Euripides, and Aristophanes; they began it, and I learned it of them, sore against my will.
Miss Haythorn's scream lost most of its effect because the engine whistled forty thousand murders at the same moment; and fictitious grief makes itself heard when real cannot.
Between the tunnel and Bath our young friend had time to ask himself whether his conduct had been marked by that delicate reserve which is supposed to distinguish the perfect gentleman.
With a long face, real or feigned, he held open the door; his late friends attempted to escape on the other side,—impossible! they must pass him. She whom he had insulted (Latin for kissed) deposited somewhere at his feet a look of gentle, blushing reproach; the other, whom he had not insulted, darted red-hot daggers at him from her eyes; and so they parted.
It was, perhaps, fortunate for Dolignan that he had the grace to be a friend to Major Hoskyns of his regiment, a veteran laughed at by the youngsters, for the Major was too apt to look coldly upon billiard-balls and cigars; he had seen cannon-balls and linstocks. He had also, to tell the truth, swallowed a good bit of the mess-room poker, which made it as impossible for Major Hoskyns to descend to an ungentlemanlike word or action as to brush his own trousers below the knee.
Captain Dolignan told this gentleman his story in gleeful accents; but Major Hoskyns heard him coldly, and as coldly answered that he had known a man to lose his life for the same thing.
"That is nothing," continued the Major, "but unfortunately he deserved to lose it."
At this, blood mounted to the younger man's temples; and his senior added, "I mean to say he was thirty-five; you, I presume, are twenty-one!"
"Twenty-five."
"That is much the same thing; will you be advised by me?"
"If you will advise me."
"Speak to no one of this, and send White the £3, that he may think you have lost the bet."
"That is hard, when I won it."
"Do it, for all that, sir."
Let the disbelievers in human perfectibility know that this dragoon capable of a blush did this virtuous action, albeit with violent reluctance; and this was his first damper. A week after these events he was at a ball. He was in that state of factitious discontent which belongs to us amiable English. He was looking in vain for a lady, equal in personal attraction to the idea he hadformed of George Dolignan as a man, when suddenly there glided past him a most delightful vision! a lady whose beauty and symmetry took him by the eyes,—another look: "It can't be! Yes, it is!" Miss Haythorn! (not that he knew her name!) but what an apotheosis!
The duck had become a peahen—radiant, dazzling, she looked twice as beautiful and almost twice as large as before. He lost sight of her. He found her again. She was so lovely she made him ill—and he, alone, must not dance with her, speak to her. If he had been content to begin her acquaintance the usual way, it might have ended in kissing: it must end in nothing. As she danced, sparks of beauty fell from her on all around, but him—she did not see him; it was clear she never would see him—one gentleman was particularly assiduous; she smiled on his assiduity; he was ugly, but she smiled on him. Dolignan was surprised at his success, his ill taste, his ugliness, his impertinence. Dolignan at last found himself injured; "who was this man? and what right had he to go on so? He never kissed her, I suppose," said Dolle. Dolignan could not prove it, but he felt that somehow the rights of property were invaded. He went home and dreamed of Miss Haythorn, and hated all the ugly successful. He spent a fortnight trying to find out who his beauty was,—he never could encounter her again. At last he heard of her in this way: A lawyer's clerk paid him a little visit and commenced a little action against him in the name of Miss Haythorn, for insulting her in a railway train.
The young gentleman was shocked; endeavored to soften the lawyer's clerk; that machine did not thoroughly comprehend the meaning of the term. The lady's name, however, was at last revealed by this untoward incident; from her name to her address was but a short step; and the same day our crestfallen hero lay in wait at her door, and many a succeeding day, without effect. But one fine afternoon she issued forth quite naturally, as if she did it every day, and walked briskly on the parade. Dolignan did the same, met and passed her many times on the parade, and searched for pity in her eyes, but found neither look nor recognition, nor any other sentiment; for all this she walked and walked, till all the other promenaders were tired and gone,—then her culprit summoned resolution, and, taking off his hat, with a voice for the first time tremulous, besought permission to address her. She stopped, blushed, and neither acknowledged nor disowned his acquaintance. He blushed, stammered out how ashamed he was, how he deserved to be punished, how he was punished, how little she knew how unhappy he was, and concluded by begging her not to let all the world know the disgrace of a man who was already mortified enough by the loss of her acquaintance. She asked an explanation; he told her of the action that had been commenced in her name; she gently shrugged her shoulders and said, "How stupid they are!" Emboldened by this, he begged to know whether or not a life of distant unpretending devotion would, after a lapse of years, erase the memory of his madness—his crime!
"She did not know!"
"She must now bid him adieu, as she had some preparations to make for a ball in the Crescent, where everybody was to be." They parted, and Dolignan determined to be at the ball, where everybody was to be. He was there, and after some time he obtained an introduction to Miss Haythorn, and he danced with her. Her manner was gracious. With the wonderful tact of her sex, she seemed to have commenced the acquaintance that evening. That night, for the first time, Dolignan was in love. I will spare the reader all a lover's arts, by which he succeeded in dining where she dined, in dancing where she danced, in overtaking her by accident when she rode. His devotion followed her to church, where the dragoon was rewarded by learning there is a world where they neither polk nor smoke,—the two capital abominations of this one.
He made an acquaintance with her uncle, who liked him, and he saw at last with joy that her eye loved to dwell upon him, when she thought he did not observe her. It was three months after the Box Tunnel that Captain Dolignan called one day upon Captain Haythorn, R. N., whom he had met twice in his life, and slightly propitiated by violently listening to a cutting-out expedition; he called, and in the usual way asked permission to pay his addresses to his daughter. The worthy Captain straightway began doing quarter-deck, when suddenly he was summoned from the apartment by a mysterious message. On his return he announced with a total change of voice, that "It was all right, and his visitor might run alongside as soon as he chose." My reader has divined the truth; this nautical commander,terrible to the foe, was in complete and happy subjugation to his daughter, our heroine.
As he was taking leave, Dolignan saw his divinity glide into the drawing-room. He followed her, observed a sweet consciousness deepen into confusion,—she tried to laugh, and cried instead, and then she smiled again; when he kissed her hand at the door it was "George" and "Marian" instead of "Captain" this and "Miss" the other.
A reasonable time after this (for my tale is merciful and skips formalities and torturing delays), these two were very happy; they were once more upon the railroad, going to enjoy their honeymoon all by themselves. Marian Dolignan was dressed just as before,—duck-like and delicious; all bright except her clothes; but George sat beside her this time instead of opposite; and she drank him in gently from her long eyelashes.
"Marian," said George, "married people should tell each other all. Will you ever forgive me if I own to you; no—"
"Yes! yes!"
"Well, then, you remember the Box Tunnel." (This was the first allusion he had ventured to it.) "I am ashamed to say I had £3 to £10 with White I would kiss one of you two ladies," and George, pathetic externally, chuckled within.
"I know that, George; I overheard you," was the demure reply.
"Oh! you overheard me! impossible."
"And did you not hear me whisper to my companion? I made a bet with her."
"You made a bet! how singular! What was it?"
"Only a pair of gloves, George."
"Yes, I know; but what about it?"
"That if you did you should be my husband, dearest."
"Oh! but stay; then you could not have been so very angry with me, love. Why, dearest, then you brought that action against me?"
Mrs. Dolignan looked down.
"I was afraid you were forgetting me! George, you will never forgive me?"
"Sweet angel! why, here is the Box Tunnel!"
Now, reader,—fie! no! no such thing! you can't expect to be indulged in this way every time we come to a dark place. Besides, it is not the thing. Consider, two sensible married people. No such phenomenon, I assure you, took place. No scream in hopeless rivalry of the engine—this time!
End
Transcriber's Notes:Inconsistencies in spelling have been retained as they appear in the original.Page14was'nt changed to wasn't44double quotation added after ... the wood72double quotation added after ... hand it over.209single quotation added after ... Captain jewel,214"started" changed to "stared"216double quotation changed to single after ... frongsay?223"in" in "him in in the name" removed
Inconsistencies in spelling have been retained as they appear in the original.