nes by a year's tour on the
continent."

"Although I acknowledge," said Trevanion, "that hitherto I have reaped no
aid from Mr. O'Leary's narrative, yet I think it is not without a moral."

"Well, but," said I, "he has got another adventure to tell us; we have
quite time for it, so pray pass the wine and let us have it."

"I have just finished the burgundy," said O'Leary, "and if you will ring
for another flask, I have no objection to let you hear the story of my
second love."

CHAPTER XXXIII.

MR. O'LEARY'S SECOND LOVE.

"You may easily suppose," began Mr. O'Leary, "that the unhappy
termination of my first passion served as a shield to me for a long time
against my unfortunate tendencies towards the fair; and such was really
the case. I never spoke to a young lady for three years after, without a
reeling in my head, so associated in my mind was love and sea-sickness.
However, at last what will not time do. It was about four years from the
date of this adventure, when I became so, from oblivion of my former
failure, as again to tempt my fortune. My present choice, in every way
unlike the last, was a gay, lively girl, of great animal spirits, and a
considerable turn for raillery, that spared no one; the members of her
own family were not even sacred in her eyes; and her father, a reverend
dean, as frequently figured among the ludicrous as his neighbours.

"The Evershams had been very old friends of a rich aunt of mine, who
never, by the by, had condescended to notice me till I made their
acquaintance; but no sooner had I done so, than she sent for me, and gave
me to understand that in the event of my succeeding to the hand of Fanny
Eversham, I should be her heir, and the possessor of about sixty thousand
pounds. She did not stop here; but by canvassing the dean in my favour,
speedily put the matter on a most favourable footing, and in less than
two months I was received as the accepted suitor of the fair Fanny, then
one of the reigning belles of Dublin.

"They lived at this time about three miles from town, in a very pretty
country, where I used to pass all my mornings, and many of my evenings
too, in a state of happiness that I should have considered perfect, if
it were not for two unhappy blots--one, the taste of my betrothed for
laughing at her friends; another the diabolical propensity to talk
politics of my intended father-in-law--to the former I could submit; but
with the latter, submission only