that they were never the property of the general lately in command at Antwerp. Generals, when they are in full dress, wear ornamental lace upon their—their regimentals; and when—” So much she said, and something more, which it may be unnecessary that I should repeat; but such were her eloquence and logic that no doubt would have been left on the mind of any impartial hearer. If an argumentative speaker ever proved anything, Miss Macmanus proved that General Chassé had never been the wearer of the article in question.
“But I know very well they were his!” said Miss Grogram, who was not an impartial hearer. “Of course they were; whose else’s should they be?”
“I’m sure I hope they were his,” said one of the young ladies, almost crying.
“I wish I’d never taken it,” said the other.
“Dear, dear, dear!” said Mrs. Jones.
“I’ll give you my needle-case, Miss Grogram,” said Aunt Sally.
I had sat hitherto silent during the whole scene, meditating how best I might confound the red-nosed harpy. Now, I thought, was the time for me to strike in.
“I really think, ladies, that there has been some mistake,” said I.
“There has been no mistake at all, sir!” said Miss Grogram.
“Perhaps not,” I answered, very mildly; “very likely not. But some affair of a similar nature was very much talked about in Antwerp yesterday.”
“Oh laws!” again ejaculated Mrs. Jones.
“The affair I allude to has been talked about a good deal, certainly,” I continued. “But perhaps it may be altogether a different circumstance.”
“And what may be the circumstance to which you allude?” asked Miss Macmanus, in the same authoritative tone.
“I dare say it has nothing to do with these ladies,” said I; “but an article of dress, of the nature they have described, was cut up in the Castle of Antwerp on the day before yesterday. It belonged to a gentleman who was visiting the place; and I was given to understand that he is determined to punish the people who have wronged him.”
“It can’t be the same,” said Miss Grogram; but I could see that she was trembling.
“Oh laws! what will become of us?” said Mrs. Jones.
“You can all prove that I didn’t touch them, and that I warned her not,” said Aunt Sally. In the meantime the two young ladies had almost fainted behind their fans.
“But how had it come to pass,” asked Miss Macmanus, “that the gentleman had—”
“I know nothing more about it, cousin,” said I; “only it does seem that there is an odd coincidence.”
Immediately after this I took my leave. I saw that I had avenged my friend, and spread dismay in the hearts of those who had injured him. I had learned in the course of the evening at what hotel the five ladies were staying; and in the course of the next morning I sauntered into the hall, and finding one of the porters alone, asked if they were still there. The man told me that they had started by the earliest diligence. “And,” said he, “if you are a friend of theirs, perhaps you will take charge of these things, which they have left behind them?” So saying, he pointed to a table at the back of the hall, on which were lying the black bag, the black needle-case, the black pincushion, and the black pen-wiper. There was also a heap of fragments of cloth which I well knew had been intended by Miss Grogram for the comfort of her feet and ancles.
I declined the commission, however. “They were no special friends of mine,” I said; and I left all the relics still lying on the little table in the back hall.
“Upon the whole, I am satisfied!” said the Rev. Augustus Horne, when I told him the finale of the story.
The O’Conors of Castle Conor, County Mayo
I shall never forget my first introduction to country life in Ireland, my first day’s hunting there, or the manner in which I passed the evening afterwards. Nor shall I ever cease to be grateful for the hospitality which I received from the O’Conors of Castle Conor. My acquaintance with the family was first made in the following manner. But before I begin my story, let me inform my reader that my name is Archibald Green.
I had been for a fortnight in Dublin, and was about to proceed into county Mayo on business which would occupy me there for some weeks. My headquarters would, I found, be at the town of Ballyglass; and I soon learned that Ballyglass was not a place in which I should find hotel accommodation of a luxurious kind, or much congenial society indigenous to the place itself.
“But you are a hunting man, you say,” said old Sir P⸺ C⸺; “and in that case you will soon know Tom O’Conor. Tom won’t let you be dull. I’d write you a letter to Tom, only he’ll certainly make you out without my taking the trouble.”
I did think at the time that the old baronet might have written the letter for me, as he had been a friend of my father’s in former days; but he did not, and I started for Ballyglass with no other introduction to anyone in the county than that contained in Sir P⸺’s promise that I should soon know Mr. Thomas O’Conor.
I had already provided myself with a horse, groom, saddle and bridle, and these I sent down, en avant, that the Ballyglassians might know that I was somebody. Perhaps, before I arrived, Tom O’Conor might learn that a hunting man was coming into the neighbourhood, and I might find at the inn a polite note intimating that a bed was at my service at Castle Conor. I had heard so much of the free hospitality of the Irish gentry as to imagine that such a thing might be possible.
But I found nothing of the kind. Hunting gentlemen in those days were very common in county Mayo, and one horse was no great evidence of a
