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“Practice before precept, Mr. Hickman,” said Lady Eleanor; “will you join us at luncheon, where I hope you may find something to your liking?”

As the old man seated himself at the table, his eye ranged over the cabinet pictures that covered the walls, the richly chased silver on the table, and the massive wine-coolers that stood on the sideboard, with an eye whose brilliancy betokened far more the covetous taste of the miser than the pleased expression of mere connoisseurship; nor could he recall himself from their admiration to hear Forester’s twice-repeated question as to what he would eat.

“‘T is elegant fine plate, no doubt of it,” muttered he, below his breath; “and the pictures may be worth as much more – ay!”

The last monosyllable was the only part of his speech audible, and being interpreted by Forester as a reply to his request, he at once helped the old gentleman to a very highly seasoned French dish before him.

“Eh! what’s this?” said Hickman, as he surveyed his plate with unfeigned astonishment; “if I did n’t see it laid down on your Ladyship’s table, I ‘d swear it was a bit of Gal way marble.”

“It’s a gélatine truffée, Mr. Hickman,” said Forester, who was well aware of its merits.

“Be it so, in the name of God!” said Hickman, with resignation, as though to say that any one who could eat it might take the trouble to learn the name. “Ay, my Lady, that ‘s what I like, a slice of Kerry beef, – a beast made for man’s eating.”

“Mr. Hickman’s pony is more of an epicure than his master,” said Forester, as he arose from his chair and moved towards the glass-door that opened on the garden; “he has just eaten the top of your lemon-tree.”

“And by way of dessert, he is now cropping my japonica,” cried Helen, as she sprang from the room to rescue her favorite plant. Forester followed her, and Lady Eleanor was left alone with the doctor.

“Now, my Lady, that I have the opportunity, – and sure it was luck gave it to me, – would you give me the favor of a little private conversation?”

“If the matter be on business, Mr. Hickman, I must frankly own I should prefer your addressing yourself to the Knight; he will be home early next week.”

“It is – and it is not, my Lady – but, there! they’re coming back, now, and it is too late;” and so he heaved a heavy sigh, and lay back in his chair, as though worn out and disappointed.

“Well, then, in the library, Mr. Hickman,” said Lady Eleanor, compassionately, “when you’ve eaten some luncheon.”

“No more, my Lady; ‘tis elegant fine beef as ever I tasted, and the gravy in it, but I’m not hungry now.”

Lady Eleanor, without a guess as to what might form the subject of his communication, perceived that he was agitated and anxious; and so, requesting Forester and her daughter to continue their luncheon, she added: “And I have something to tell Mr. Hickman, if he will give five minutes of his company in the next room.”

Taking a chair near the fire, Lady Eleanor motioned to the doctor to be seated; but the old man was so engaged in admiring the room and its furniture that he seemed insensible to all else. As his eye wandered over the many objects of taste and luxury on every side, his lips muttered unceasingly, but the sound was inarticulate.

“I cannot pledge myself that we shall remain long uninterrupted, Mr. Hickman,” said Lady Eleanor, “so pray lose no time in the communication you have to make.”

“I humbly ask pardon, my Lady,” said the old man, in a voice of deep humility; “I’m old and feeble now, and my senses none of the clearest, – but sure it’s time for them to be worn out; ninety-one I ‘ll be, if I live to Lady-day.” It was his habit to exaggerate his age; besides, there was a tremulous pathos in his accents to which Lady Eleanor was far from feeling insensible, and she awaited in silence what was to follow.

“Well, well,” sighed the old man, “if I succeed in this, the last act of my long life, I ‘m well content to go whenever the Lord pleases.” And so saying, he took from his coat-pocket the ominous-looking old leather case to which we have already alluded, and searched for some time amid its contents. “Ay! here it is – that is it – it is only a memorandum, my Lady, but it will show what I mean.” And he handed the paper to Lady Eleanor.

It was some time before she had arranged her spectacles and adjusted herself to peruse the document; but before she had concluded, her hand trembled violently, and all color forsook her cheek. Meanwhile; the doctor sat with his filmy eyes directed towards her, as if watching the working of his spell; and when the paper fell from her fingers, he uttered a low “Ay,” as though to say his success was certain.

“Two hundred thousand pounds!” exclaimed she, with a shudder; “this cannot be true.”

“It is all true, my Lady, and so is this too;” and he took from his hat a newspaper and presented it to her.

“The Ballydermot property! The whole estate lost at cards! This is a calumny, sir, – the libellous impertinence of a newspaper paragraphist. I’ll not believe it.”

“‘T ‘s true, notwithstanding, my Lady. Harvey Dawson was there himself, and saw it all; and as for the other, the deeds and mortgages are at this moment in the hands of my son’s solicitor.”

“And this may be foreclosed – ”

“On the 24th, at noon, my Lady,” continued Hickman, as he folded the memorandum and replaced it in his pocket-book.

“Well, sir,” said she, as, with a great effort to master her emotion, she addressed him in a steady and even commanding voice, “the next thing is to learn what are your intentions respecting this debt? You have not purchased all these various liabilities of my husband’s without some definite object. Speak it out – what is it? Has Mr. Hickman O’Reilly’s ambition increased so rapidly that he desires to date his letters from Gwynne Abbey?”

“The Saints forbid it, my Lady,” said the old man, with a pious horror. “I ‘d never come here this day on such an errand as that. If it was not to propose what was agreeable, you ‘d not see me here – ”

“Well, sir, what is the proposition? Let me hear it at once, for my patience never bears much dallying with.”

“I am coming to it, my Lady,” muttered Hickman, who already felt really ashamed at the deep emotion his news evoked. “There are two ways of doing it – ” A gesture of impatience from Lady Eleanor stopped him, but, after a brief pause, he resumed: “Bear with me, my Lady. Old age and infirmity are always prolix; but I’ll do my best.”

It would be as unfair a trial of the reader’s endurance as it proved to Lady Eleanor’s, were we to relate the slow steps by which Mr. Hickman announced his plan, the substance of which, divested of all his own circumlocution and occasional interruptions, was simply this: a promise had been made by Lord Castlereagh to Hickman O’Reilly that if, through his influence, exercised by means of moneyed arrangements or otherwise, the Knight of Gwynne would vote with the Government on the “Union,” he should be elevated to the Peerage, an object which, however inconsiderable in the old man’s esteem, both his son and grandson had set their hearts upon. For this service they, in requital, would extend the loan to another period of seven years, stipulating only for some trifling advantages regarding the right of cutting timber, some coast fisheries, and other matters to be mentioned afterwards, – points which, although evidently of minor importance, were recapitulated by the old man with a circumstantial minuteness.

It was only by a powerful effort that Lady Eleanor could control her rising indignation at this proposal, while the very thought of Hickman O’Reilly as a Peer, and member of that proud “Order” of which her own haughty family formed a part, was an insult almost beyond endurance.

“Go on, sir,” said she, with a forced composure which deceived old Hickman completely, and made him suppose that his negotiation was proceeding favorably.

“I ‘m sure, my Lady, it ‘s little satisfaction all this grandeur would give me. I ‘d rather be twenty years younger, and in the back parlor of my old shop at Loughrea than the first peer in the kingdom.”

“Ambition is not your failing, then, sir,” said she, with a glance which, to one more quick-sighted, would have conveyed the full measure of her scorn.

“That it is n’t, my Lady; but they insist upon it.”

“And is the Peerage to be enriched by the enrolment of your name among its members? I thought, sir, it was your son.”

“Bob – Mr. Hickman, I mean – suggests that I should be the first lord in the family, my Lady, because then Beecham’s title won’t seem so new when it comes to him. ‘T is the only use they can make of me now – ay!” and the word was accented with a venomous sharpness that told the secret anger he had himself awakened by his remark.

“The Knight of Gwynne,” said Lady Eleanor, proudly, “has often regretted to me the few opportunities he had embraced through life of serving his country; I have no doubt, sir, when he hears your proposal, that he will rejoice at this occasion of making an amende. I will write to him by this post. Is there anything more you wish to add, Mr. Hickman?” said she, as, having risen from her chair, she perceived that the old man remained seated.

“Yes, indeed, my Lady, there is, and I don’t think I ‘d have the heart for it, if it was n’t your Ladyship’s kindness about the other business; and even now, maybe, it would take you by surprise.”

“You can scarcely do that, sir, after what I have just listened to,” said she, with a smile.

“Well, there ‘s no use in going round about the bush, and this is what I mean. We thought there might be a difficulty, perhaps, about the vote; that the Knight might have promised his friends, or said something or other how he ‘d go, and would n’t be able to get out of it so easily, so we saw another way of serving his views about the money. You see, my Lady, we considered it all well amongst us.”

“We should feel deeply grateful, sir, to know how far this family has occupied your kind solicitude. But proceed.”

“If the Knight does n’t like to vote with the Government, of course there is no use in Bob doing it; so he ‘ll be a Patriot, my Lady, – and why not? Ha! ha! ha! they ‘ll be breaking the windows all over Dublin, and he may as well save the glass! – ay!”

“Forgive me, sir, if I cannot see how this has any reference to my family.”

“I’m coming to it – coming fast, my Lady. We were thinking then how we could help the Knight, and do a good turn to ourselves; and the way we hit upon was this: to reduce the interest on the whole debt to five per cent, make a settlement of half the amount on Miss Darcy, and then, if the young lady had no objection to my grandson, Beecham – ”

“Stop, sir,” said Lady Eleanor; “I never could suppose you meant to offend me intentionally, – I cannot permit of your doing so through inadvertence or ignorance. I will therefore request that this conversation may cease. Age has many privileges, Mr. Hickman, but there are some it can never confer: one of these is the right to insult a lady and – a mother.”

The last words were sobbed rather than spoken: affection and pride, both outraged together, almost choked her utterance, and Lady Eleanor sat down trembling in every limb, while the old man, only half conscious of the emotion he had evoked, peered at her in stolid amazement through his spectacles.

Any one who knew nothing of old Hickman’s character might well have pitied his perplexity at that moment; doubts of every kind and sort passed through his mind as rapidly as his timeworn faculties permitted, and at last he settled down into the conviction that Lady Eleanor might have thought his demand respecting fortune too exorbitant, although not deeming the proposition, in other respects, ineligible. To this conclusion the habits of his own mind insensibly disposed him.

“Ay, my Lady,” said he, after a pause, “‘tis a deal of money, no doubt; but it won’t be going out of the family, and that’s more than could be said if you refuse the offer.”

“Sir!” exclaimed Lady Eleanor, in a tone that to any one less obtusely endowed would have been an appeal not requiring repetition; but the old man had only senses for his own views, and went on: —

“They tell me that Mr. Lionel is just as free with his money as his father; throws it out with both hands, horse-racing and high play, and every extravagance he can think of. Well, and if that’s true, my Lady, sure it ‘s well worth while to think that you ‘ll have a decent house to put your head under when your daughter’s married to Beecham. He has no wasteful ways, but can look after the main chance as well as any boy ever I seen. This notion about Miss Helen is the only thing like expense I ever knew him take up, and sure” – here he dropped his voice to soliloquy – “sure, maybe, that same will pay well, after all – ay!”

“My head! my head is bursting with blood,” sighed Lady Eleanor; but the last words alone reached Hickman’s ears.

“Ay! blood’s a fine thing, no doubt of it, but, faith, it won’t pay interest on a mortgage; nor I never heard of it staying the execution of a writ! ‘T is little good blood I had in my veins, and yet I contrived to scrape a trifle together notwithstanding – ay!”

“I do not feel myself very well, Mr. Hickman,” said Lady Eleanor; “may I request you will send my daughter to me, and excuse me if I wish you a good morning.”

“Shall I hint anything to the young lady about what we were saying?” said he, in a tone of most confidential import.

“At your peril, sir!” said Lady Eleanor, with a look that at once seemed to transfix him; and the old man, muttering his adieu, hobbled from the room, while Lady Eleanor leaned back in her chair, overcome by the conflict of her emotions.

“Is he gone?” said Lady Eleanor, faintly, as her daughter entered.

“Yes, Mamma; but are you ill? You look dreadfully pale and agitated.”

“Wearied – fatigued, my dear, nothing more. Tell Captain Forester I must release him from his engagement to us to-day; I cannot come to dinner.” And, so saying, she covered her eyes with her hand, and seemed lost in deep thought.

CHAPTER XIV. “THE MECHANISM OP CORRUPTION”

“Well, Heffernan,” said Lord Castlereagh, as they sat over their wine alone in a small dining-room of the Secretary’s Lodge, – “well, even with Hackett, we shall be run close. I don’t fancy the thought of another division so nearly matched; our fellows don’t see the honor of a Thermopylae.”

“Very true, my Lord; and the desertions are numerous, as they always will be when men receive the bounty before they are enlisted.”

“Yes; but what would you do? We make a man a Commissioner or a sinecurist for his vote, – he vacates his seat on taking office; and, instead of standing the brunt of another election, coolly says, ‘That, differing as he must do from his constituents on an important measure, he restores the trust they had committed into his hands – ‘”

“‘He hopes unsullied,’ – don’t forget that, my Lord.”

“Yes, – ‘he hopes unsullied, – and prefers to retire from the active career of politics, carrying with him the esteem and regard of his former friends, rather than endanger their good opinion by supporting measures to which they are conscientiously opposed.’”

“Felicitous conjuncture, that unites patriotism and profit!” exclaimed Heffernan. “Happy man, that can draw tears from the Mob, and two thousand a year from the Treasury!”

“And yet I see no remedy for it,” sighed the Secretary.

“There is one, notwithstanding; but it demands considerable address and skill. You have always been too solicitous about the estimation of the men you bought were held in, – always thinking of what would be said and thought of them. You pushed the system so far that the fellows themselves caught up the delusion, and began to fancy they had characters to lose. All this was wrong, – radically, thoroughly wrong. When the butcher smears a red streak round a lamb’s neck, – we call it ‘raddling’ in Ireland, my Lord, – any child knows he ‘s destined for the knife; now, when you ‘raddled’ your flock, you wanted the world to believe you were going to make pets of them, and you said as much, and so often that the beasts themselves believed it, and began cutting their gambols accordingly. Why not have paraded them openly to the shambles? It was their bleating you wanted, and nothing else.”

“You forget, Heffernan, how many men would have refused our offers if we had not made a show, at least, of respect for their scruples.”

“I don’t think so, my Lord; you offered a bonus on prudery, and hence you met nothing but coyness. I’d have taken another line with them.”

“And what might that be?” asked Lord Castlereagh, eagerly.

“Compromise them,” said Heffernan, sternly. “I never knew the man yet, nor woman either, that you could n’t place in such a position of entanglement that every effort to go right should seem a struggle to do wrong; and vice versa. You don’t agree with me! Well, my Lord, I ask you if, in your experience of public men, you have ever met one less likely to be captured in this way than my friend Darcy?”

“From what I have seen and heard of the Knight of Gwynne, I acknowledge his character has all those elements of frankness and candor which should except him from such an embarrassment.”

“Well, he ‘s in the net already,” said Heffernan, rubbing his hands gleefully.

“Why, you told me he refused to join us, and actually saw through your negotiation.”

“So he did, and, in return for his keen-sightedness, I ‘ve compromised him with his party, – you did n’t perceive it, but the trick succeeded to perfection. When the Knight told me that he would not vote on the Union, or any measure pertaining to it, I waited for Ponsonby’s motion, and made Holmes and Dawson spread the rumor at Daly’s and through town that Darcy was to speak on the division, well knowing he would not rise. About eleven o’clock, just as Toler sat down, Prendergast got up to reply, but there was a shout of ‘Darcy! Darcy!’ and Prendergast resumed his seat amid great confusion. At that moment I left the bench beside you, and walked over to Darcy’s side of the House, and whispered a few words in his ear – an invitation to sup, I believe it was; but while he was answering me, I nodded towards you, and, as I went down the steps, muttered loud enough to be heard, ‘All right!’ Every eye was turned at once towards him, and he, having no intention of speaking, nor having made any preparation, felt both confused and amazed, and left the House about five minutes afterwards, while Prendergast was bungling out his tiresome reply. Before Darcy reached the Club House, the report was current that he was bought, and old Gillespie was circumstantially recounting how that his title was ‘Lord Darcy in England,’ – ‘Baron Gwynne in that part of the United Kingdom called Ireland.’”

“Not even success, Heffernan,” said the Secretary, with an air of severity, – “not even success will excuse a trick of this kind.”

Heffernan looked steadily towards him, as if he half doubted the sincerity of the speech; it seemed something above or beyond his comprehension.

“Yes,” said Lord Castlereagh, “you heard me quite correctly. I repeat it, advantages obtained in this fashion are too dearly purchased.”

“What an admirable actor John Kemble is, my Lord,” said Heffernan, with a quiet smile; “don’t you think so?”

Lord Castlereagh nodded his assent: the transition was too abrupt to please him, and he appeared to suspect that it concealed some other object than that of changing the topic.

“Kemble,” continued Heffernan, while he sipped his wine carelessly, – ” Kemble is, I suspect strongly, the greatest actor we have ever had on the English stage. Have you seen him in ‘Macbeth’?”

“Several times, and always with renewed pleasure,” said the Secretary, gradually recovering from his reserve.

“What a force of passion he throws into the part! How terrible he makes the conflict between a great purpose and a weak nature! Do you remember his horror at the murderers who come to tell of Banquo’s death? The sight of their bloody hands shocks him as though they were not the evidences of his own success.”

Lord Castlereagh’s calm countenance became for a second crimson, and his lip trembled with struggling indignation; and then, as if subduing the temptation of anger, he broke into a low, easy laugh, and with an imitation at Kemble’s manner, called out, “There ‘s blood upon thy face!”

“Talking of a bloody hand, my Lord,” said Heffernan, at once resuming his former easy jocularity, “reminds me of that Mr. Hickman, or Hickman O’Reilly, as the fashion is to call him: is he to have the baronetcy?”

“Not, certainly, if we can secure him without it.”

“And I think we ought. It should be quite sufficient remuneration for a man like him to vote with the Government; his father became a Protestant because it was the gentlemanly faith; and I don’t see why the son should not choose his politics on the same principle. Have you ever asked him to dinner, my Lord?”

“Yes, and his father, too. I have had the three generations, but I rather fear the party did not go off well. I had not in those days, Heffernan, the benefit of your admirable counsels, and picked my company unwisely.”

“A great mistake with such men as these,” said Heffernan, oracularly; “the guests should have been the cream of your Lordship’s noble acquaintance. I ‘d have had an Earl and a Marquis at either side of each of them; I ‘d have turned their heads with noble names, and pelted them with the Peerage the whole time of dinner; when he had taken wine with a chamberlain and some lords-in-waiting, if your Lordship would only address him, in a voice loud enough to be heard, as ‘O’Reilly,’ referring to him on a point of sporting etiquette or country gentleman’s life, I think you might spare the baronetage the honor of his alliance. Do you think, on a proper representation, and with due securities against the repetition of the offence, the chancellor would let himself be called ‘Clare’? only for once, remember, – because I ‘m satisfied, if this could be arranged, O’Reilly is yours.”

“I ‘d rather depute you to ask the question,” said Lord Castlereagh, laughing; “assuredly I ‘ll not do so myself. But when do these people come to town? – to-morrow or next day, I suppose.”

“On Friday next they will all be here. Old Hickman comes up to receive something like two hundred and twenty thousand pounds, – for Darcy has raised the money to pay off the incumbrances, – the son is coming for the debate, and the grandson is to be balloted for at Daly’s.”

“You have made yourself master of all their arrangements, Heffernan: may I ask if they afford you any clew to assisting us in our object?”

“When can you give a dinner, my Lord?” said the other.

“Any day after Wednesday, – nay, Wednesday itself; I might easily get off Brooke’s dinner for that day.”

“The sooner the better; time is of great consequence now. Shall we say Wednesday?”

“Be it so; now for the party.”

“A small one: selectness is the type of cordiality. The invitation must be verbal, done in your own admirable way: ‘Don’t be late, gentlemen, for Beerhaven and Drogheda are to meet you, and you know they scold if the soup suffers,’ – something in that style. Now let us see who are our men.”

“Begin with Beerhaven and Drogheda, they are sure cards.”

“Well, then, Massey Hamilton, – but he’s only a commoner, – to be sure his uncle’s a Duke, but, confound him, he never talks of him! I might draw him out about the Highlands and deer-stalking, and the Christmas revels at Clanchattagan; he ‘s three – Kilgoff four; he ‘s first-rate, and will discuss his noble descent till his carriage is announced. Loughdooner, five – ”

“He’s another bore, Heffernan.”

“I know he is, my Lord; but he has seven daughters, and will consequently make up to young Beecham, who is a great prize in the wheel matrimonial. We shall want a Bishop to say grace; I think Dunmore is the man: he is the last of your Lordship’s making, and can’t refuse a short invitation.”

“Six, and the three Hickmans nine, and ourselves eleven; now for the twelfth – ”

“Darcy, of course,” said Heffernan; “he must be asked, and, if possible, induced to come; Hickman O’Reilly will be far more easily managed if we make him suppose that we have already secured Darcy ourselves.”

“He’ll decline, Heffernan; depend upon it, he’ll not come.”

“You think he saw through my ruse in the House, – not a bit of it; he is the least suspecting man in Ireland, and I ‘ll make that very circumstance the reason of his coming. Hint to him that rumor says he is coquetting with the Government, and he ‘ll go any lengths to brave public opinion by confronting it, – that’s Darcy, or I ‘m much mistaken in my man; and, to say truth, my Lord, it’s an error I rarely fall into.” A smile of self-satisfaction lit up Heffernan’s features as he spoke; for, like many cunning people, his weak point was vanity.

“You may call me as a witness to character whenever you please,” said Lord Castlereagh, who, in indulging the self-glorification of the other, was now taking his own revenge; “you certainly knew Upton better than I did.”

“Depend upon it,” said Heffernan, as he leaned back in his chair and delivered his words in a tone of authority, – “depend upon it, the great events of life never betray the man, it is the small, every-day dropping occurrences both make and mar him. I made Upton my friend for life by missing a woodcock he aimed at; he brought down the bird, and I bagged the sportsman. Ah, my Lord, the real science of life is knowing how to be gracefully in the wrong; how to make those slips that reflect on your own prudence, by exhibiting the superior wisdom of your acquaintances. Of the men who compassionate your folly or deplore your weakness, you may borrow money, from the fellows who envy your abilities and extol your capacity, you ‘ll never get sixpence.”

“How came it, Heffernan, that you never took office?” said Lord Castlereagh, suddenly, as if the idea forced itself abruptly upon him.

“I’ll tell you, my Lord,” replied Heffernan, speaking in a lower tone, and as if imparting a deep secret, “they could not spare me – that’s the real fact – they could not spare me. Reflect, for a moment, what kind of thing the Government of Ireland is; see the difficulty, nay, the impossibility, of any set of men arriving here fresh from England being able to find out their way, or make any guess at the leading characters about them: every retiring official likes to embarrass his successor, – that’s all natural and fair; then, what a mass of blunders and mistakes await the newly come Viceroy or Secretary! In the midst of the bleak expanse of pathless waste I was the sign-post. The new players, who took up the cards when the game was half over, could know nothing of what trumps were in, or what tricks were taken. I was there to tell them all; they soon saw that I could do this; and they also saw that I wanted nothing from any party.”

“That must be confessed on every hand, Heffernan. Never was support more generous and independent than yours! and the subject reminds me of a namesake, and, as I hear, a nephew of yours, the Reverend Joshua Heffernan, – is not that the name?”

“It is, my Lord, my nephew; but I’m not aware of having asked anything for him; I never – ”

“But I did, Heffernan, and I do. He shall have the living of Drumslade; I spoke to the Lord-Lieutenant about it yesterday. There is a hitch somewhere, but we’ll get over it.”

“What may be the obstacle you allude to?” said Heffernan, with more anxiety than he wished to evince.

“Lord Killgobbin says the presentation was promised to his brother, for his influence over Rochfort.”

“Not a bit of it, my Lord. It was I secured Rochfort. The case was this. He is separated from his wife, Lady Mary, who had a life annuity chargeable on Rochfort’s pension from the Ordnance. Cook enabled me to get him twelve thousand pounds on the secret service list, provided he surrendered the pension. Rochfort was only too happy to do so, because it would spite his wife; and the next Gazette announced ‘that the member for Dun raven had declared his intention of voting with the Government, but, to prevent even the breath of slander on his motives, had surrendered his retiring pension as a Store-keeper-General.’ There never was a finer theme for editorial panegyric, and in good sooth your Lordship’s press made the most of it. What a patriot!”

“What a scoundrel!” muttered Lord Castlereagh; and it would have puzzled a listener, had there been one, to say on whom the epithet was conferred.

“As for Killgobbin or his brother having influence over Rochfort, it’s all absurd. Why, my Lord, it was that same brother married Rochfort to Lady Mary.”

“That is conclusive,” said Lord Castlereagh, laughing.

“Faith, I think so,” rejoined Heffernan; “if you do recover after being hanged, I don’t see that you want to make a friend of the fellow that pinioned your hands in the ‘press-room.’ If there’s no other reason against Jos’s promotion than this – ”

“If there were, I ‘d endeavor to overcome it,” said Lord Castlereagh. “Won’t you take more wine? Pray let’s have another bottle.”

“No more, my Lord; it’s only in such safe company I ever drink so freely,” said Heffernan, laughing, as he rose to say, “Good-night.”

“You ‘ll take measures for Wednesday, then; that is agreed upon?”

“All settled,” said Heffernan, as he left the room. “Good-bye.”

“There’s a building debt on that same living of seventeen hundred pounds,” said Lord Castlereagh, musing; “I’ll easily satisfy Killgobbin that we mean to do better for his brother.”

“Take office, indeed!” muttered Heffernan, as he lay back in his carriage; “there ‘s something better than that, – governing the men that hold office, holding the reins, pocketing the fare, and never paying the breakage when the coach upsets. No, no, my Lord, you are a clever fellow for your years, but you must live longer before you measure Con Heffernan.”