before him, the time when men would stop at the windows of
printshops to gaze on the features of "Le fameux M'Caskey."

There was something glorious in his self-conceit, for there was nothing
he would not dare to achieve that estimation which he had already
conceived of his own abilities. At the time I now speak of, there was a
momentary lull in the storm of Italian politics caused by Count Cavour's
crafty negotiations with the Neapolitan Government,--negotiations solely
devised to induce that false sense of security which was to end in
downfall and ruin. Whether M'Caskey had any forebodings of what was to
come or not, he knew well that it was not the moment for men like
himself to be needed. "When the day of action comes, will come the
question, 'Where is M'Caskey?' Meanwhile I will be off to Baden. I feel
as though I ought to break the bank."

To Baden he went. How many are there who can recall that bustling,
pretentious, over-dressed little fellow, who astonished the
pistol-gallery by his shooting, and drove the poor _maitre d'armes_ to
the verge of despair by his skill with the rapier, and then swaggered
into the play-room to take the first chair he pleased, only too happy if
he could provoke any to resent it. How he frowned down the men and ogled
the women; smiling blandly at the beauties that passed, as though in
recognition of charms their owners might well feel proud of, for they
had captivated a M'Caskey!

How sumptuous, too, his dinner; how rare and curious his wines; how
obsequious were they who waited on him; what peril impended over the man
that asked to be served before him!

Strong men,--men in all the vigor of their youth and strength,--men
of honor and men of tried courage, passed and repassed, looked at, but
never dreamed of provoking him. Absurd as he was in dress, ridiculous in
his overweening pretension, not one ventured on the open sneer at what
each in his secret heart despised for its vulgar insolence. And what a
testimony to pluck was there in all this! for to what other quality in
such a man's nature had the world consented to have paid homage?

Not one of those who made way for him would have stooped to know him.
There was not a man of those who controlled his gravity to respect a
degree of absurdity actually laughable, who would have accepted his
acquaintance at any price; and yet, for all that, he moved amongst them
there, exacting every deference that was accorded to the highest, and