much to the animosity of Paddy Burns. Then Mr. Mouse convoying
mademoiselle, to the infinite disgust of the commander of the "Rosalie,"
one-gun schooner, formerly the "Perdita." But what made that old negro
in spotless white, standing at the door, jerk his head back and open his
great eyes till there was no black left in them? And why did he blunder
about the table afterward, and pour wine over the colonel's richly-laced
coat, while staring like an ogre at the young blue-jacket opposite? That
old Banou, perhaps, did not like to see his young mistress too much
attended to by every gay scamp who came near her. Oh no; of course not.
But then, if that brawny negro in white had only known over whose arm
and mutilated hand he was pouring light wine in his abstraction, he
would have crammed that heavy cut decanter in powdered glass splinters
down the chieftain's throat. There would have been claret of a different
color spilled then--quantities of it. You needn't feel in your pockets,
colonel, or look round the sala to see if perchance there is a green
silk rope squirming from the ceiling. We don't keep any of those pretty
things out at Escondido. So go on with your dinner, you cold-eyed
scoundrel, and tell all the lies you can to that lovely woman at your
elbow; how you wanted to save Bolivar's life, and it was saved without
you. Don't forget, either, to tell her how that patriot had you drummed
out of his army, suspecting you of having assassinated the officer near
you in the confusion of battle, and robbing him of his watch to replace
the one presented to you by the captain general. Paddy Burns is watching
you, Colonel Lawton, and that whole-souled little Irishman is not the
man to be trifled with. Now remove the covers. But take care, Banou--you
nearly twitched off the military gentleman's hair. Tom Stewart saw it,
and he noticed, too, a broad red seam, like the track of a musket
bullet--honorable wound, no doubt--under your black glossy wig.

Mr. Mouse had fallen desperately in love with the perfumed damsel beside
him, and he knew she was up to her rose-tipped ears in love with him,
oh! fifty fathoms deep; but his mother liked girls, and he would leave
her half-pay! Still he didn't forget his adoration for the roast duck;
and he slyly swigged some Madeira too, with a wary eye on the broad
pennant through the flowers of the epergne. Talked, too, did that
reefer--ay, chattered--and said that the quiet young officer on her left