ote in high spirits. The Commander-in-chief had
been most kind to him, appointing him to a vacant Majority--not, as he
anticipated, in the Forty-first, but in the Ninth light Dragoons.

'I am anxiously looking out for Corny,' said he, 'and a great letter-bag
from Ireland--the only bit of news from which, except your own, is that
the Rooneys have gone into deep mourning, themselves and their whole
house. Various rumours are afloat as to whether any money speculations
of Paul's may have suggested the propriety of retrenchment, or whether
there may not have been a death in the royal family of OToole. Look to
this for me, Hinton; for even in Canada I shall preserve the memory
of that capital house, its excellent _cuisine_, its charming hostess.
Cultivate them, my dear Jack, for your sake and for mine. One Rembrandt
is as good as a gallery; so sit down before them, and make a study of
the family.'

The letter concluded as it began, by hearty thanks for the service I had
rendered him, begging me to accept of Moddiridderoo as a souvenir of his
friendship. And in a postscript, to write which the letter had evidently
been reopened, was a warning to me against any chance collision with
Ulick Burke.

'Not, my dear boy, because he is a dead shot--although that same is
something--but that a quarrel with him could scarcely be reputable in
its commencement, and must be bad whatever the result.'

After some further cautioning on this matter, the justice of which
was tolerably evident from my own experience, O'Grady concluded with a
hurried postscript:--

'Corny has not yet arrived, and we have received our orders for
embarkation within twenty-four hours. I begin half to despair of his
being here in time. Should this be the case, will you, my dear Hinton,
look after the old villain for me, at least until I write to you again
on the subject?'

While I was yet pondering on these last few lines, I perceived that a
card had fallen from my father's letter. I took it up, and what was
my astonishment to find that it contained a correct likeness of Corny
Delany, drawn with a pen, underneath which was written, in my cousin
Julia's hand, the following few lines:--

'The dear old thing has waited three days, and I think I have at length
caught something like him. Dear Jack, if the master be only equal to
the man, we shall never forgive you for not letting us see him.--Yours,
Julia.'

[Illustration: 367]

This, of course, explained the