ght, dearest; think of--" The slam of
the street door in my face spoiled the peroration, and I turned towards
home.

By the time I reached the barracks, the united effects of the champagne,
sherry, and Sheffield iron, had, in a good measure subsided, and my head
had become sufficiently clear to permit a slight retrospect of the
evening's amusement.

From two illusions I was at least awakened:--First, the high sheriff's
ball was not the most accurate representation of high society; secondly,
I was not deeply enamoured of Mary Anne Moriarty. Strange as it may
seem, and how little soever the apparent connexion between those two
facts, the truth of one had a considerable influence in deciding the
other. N'importe, said I, the thing is over; it was rather good fun,
too, upon the whole--saving the "chute des casseroles;" and as to the
lady, she must have seen it was a joke as well as myself. At least, so I
am decided it shall be; and as there was no witness to our conversation,
the thing is easily got out of.

The following day, as I was dressing to ride out, my servant announced no
less a person than Mr. Mark Anthony Fitzpatrick, who said "that he came
upon a little business, and must see me immediately."

Mr. Fitzpatrick, upon being announced, speedily opened his negociation by
asking in very terse and unequivocal phrase, my intentions regarding his
sister-in-law. After professing the most perfect astonishment at the
question, and its possible import, I replied, that she was a most
charming person, with whom I intended to have nothing whatever to do.

"And maybe you never proposed for her at the ball last night?"

"Propose for a lady at a ball the first time I ever met her!"

"Just so. Can you carry your memory so far back? or, perhaps I had
better refresh it;" and he here repeated the whole substance of my
conversation on the way homeward, sometimes in the very words I used.

"But, my dear sir, the young lady could never have supposed I used such
language as this you have repeated?"

"So, then, you intend to break off? Well, then, it's right to tell you
that you're in a very ugly scrape, for it was my wife you took home last
night--not Miss Moriarty; and I leave you to choose at your leisure
whether you'd rather be defendant in a suit for breach of promise or
seduction; and, upon my conscience, I think it's civil in me to give you
a choice."

What a pretty disclosure was here! So that while I was imaging