whiskers, "I am one of those easier fools who pitch a penny to quite every beggar whom they meet. I have no objection to mendicity when it takes the form of an appeal to benevolence; I do not even grumble if it seeks the aid of a little harmless fiction. But when mendicity takes the form of a right, as it does especially near the lakes of Killarney, my repugnance is excited. The guides evidently think that you are bound to be guided, and the venders of bogoak treasures that you are bound to buy. The old-fashioned excuse that you have no small change in your pocket will not suffice. In the wildest spots about the Gap of Dunloe money-changers are to be found who make it their business to furnish you with silver and copper enough to meet the most various demands. Then the sudden change from poetry to prose !" "What do you mean ?" asked Wideawake. "Look here," pursued Whiskers. "Did you ever in the course of your life chance to become acquainted with a man whom you looked upon as the pleasantest fellow in the whole world, till at last you had something to do with him in the way of business which altogether reversed your opinion?" "More than once. And what makes the change especially disagreeable is this: that while you are disgusted with the man of business, the same man, who was so agreeable when he had no business about him, still lives in your memory, and seems to reproach you with fickleness." 66 Wicklow, they say, is as much noted for mendicity in various shapes as Killarney," observed Wideawake, with an inquiring look. "Certainly not," replied Whiskers, "as far as Glendalough is concerned, which, with its stone churches and round tower is the chief show-place in Wicklow, and one of the chief in all Ireland. There the only exhibitor I found was an extremely civil, respectable, and unobtrusive old lady, who lived close to one of the ruined churches, and who loudly repeated a scrap of Moore's poem about the austerity of St. Kevin and the sad fate of the too-loving Kathleen, citing with particular relish the lines: Ah! the good saint little knew Nay, not only did she tell me how the druid used "What is a deer-stone ?" asked Wideawake. Well, the stone I saw, near one of the stone churches, was a fragment of rock, hollowed out at the top, so as to form a basin. The whole district is impregnated with legends of St. Kevin, as is Clonmacnoise, near the Shannon, which is likewise attractive on account of its seven churches and two round towers, with the fame of St. Kiaran. It appears that the good saint, taking compassion on the sorrows of some orphan child, who had been left without means of sustenance, so worked by prayer upon a female deer that she came to the stone, and filled it with milk for the nourishment of the infant. The marks of the child's fingers and knees are still to be seen on the rock, and the miracle has another marvel in the circumstance that water is always to be found in the hollow, and refuses to be entirely dried up.” Exactly," said Whiskers, with an assenting nod. "Well, the change, which in commercial affairs takes place gradually, is wrought amid lake and mountain in the twinkling of an eye. While the excursion lasts, your kind instructor is overflowing with poetry, anecdote, and fun -a regular child of song. He knows all the legends that belong to one place, recites to you the verses that illustrate another, and is to the land of wild scenery what the wellinformed verger is to the cathedral; with this difference, that the latter crams you with dry Suppose that the marks were gradually history, while the communications of the former made by a succession of children. Thus, you are most faucitully decorated. But- He will at once increase the probability of the paused. story and the compass of the good saint's benevolence. By the way, St. Kevin always seems to have been on as good terms with the irrational creation, as the inhabitants of the "Well ?" enquired Wideawake. "A fine, strapping, vigorous child that must have been!" ejaculated Wideawake. But," continued Whiskers, "the excursion comes to an end, and before you part with your guide, a certain settlement has to be made. Central World,' of whom I once read in All Here a difference of opinion respecting the the Year Round. Once, they say, during the amount of gratuity is sure to arise, some extra season of Lent, when he had retired to perform item creeping into the account, which was not his devotions in a solitary place, and knelt in contemplated when your preliminaries were ar- a state of ecstacy, the birds perched upon his ranged; and perhaps some boy, who performed arm, which they found more motionless than some inferior service, and whom you did not the surrounding trees. Nay, one of them placed notice, turns out to be a retainer of your inti-in his hand the first twigs of her nest, and so mate friend, with a special claim of his own. Now, during the discussion of this difference all the fanciful and genial elements of your instructor evaporate, and a sediment of a dull, business-like form remains; all the more repulsive because strongly impregnated with a flavour of ill-humour." deeply touched the heart of the saint that, lest he might disturb her in her innocent labours, he kept his hand still till summer came, and the young birds were strong enough to leave their nest." "Very extravagant and very pretty," said Wideawake. "My opinion, too," said Whiskers. "It is to a similar good understanding between the saints and the creatures debarred of speech that the existence of those beehives that are so frequently to be found in Ireland are to be attributed, if legend speaks truth. St. Dominic of Ossory, crossed over to Britain to study divinity under St. David, the patron of Wales, who was the head of a most important seminary, and his stay lasted for many years, during which the beehives of the abbey where he resided were intrusted to his care. The bees not only grew extremely fond of him, but seemed to be perfectly aware when he intended to return home, for no sooner had the day come that threatened to part them from their darling to him the royal maiden confided to her care. keeper, than they clustered round him in a mass and refused to leave. Three times he attempted to carry them back to their cells, but the attempts were vain, for the bees persisted in following him to his ship, and at last the abbot allowed him to depart with his winged retinue." "And these were the first bees that ever settled in Ireland ?" Precisely; unless, with some, you prefer to treat the legend as an allegory, and consider that the bees were, in fact, British teachers, who crossed the water laden with the honey of pious doctrine," "To return to St. Kevin," said Wideawake, after a pause, during which he had been looking exceeding profound. "He must have been a man of very mixed character if he was so kind to orphans and birds, and yet so cruel as to give poor Kathleen the unlucky push, immortalised by Moore, which consigned her to the bottom of the lake, merely because she would not get out of his way. Do you recollect the words of the melody ?" "Certainly," replied Whiskers. "Moore had the very same idea as yourself with regard to the cruelty of the transaction. Thus sings he: chea was a holy woman, the head of a monastery, to whose care was intrusted a maiden of royal blood. Enda was a warrior of lofty descent, who passing the monastery, where he had just slain one of his enemies, was stopped by Fanchea, anxious to prevent further bloodshed. He argued, as a warrior of the olden time naturally would, that by destroying his hereditary foes he was but honouring his deceased father; nor was he convinced, when she told him that his father was suffering in the other world for crimes, which he had no occasion to repeat. He affected, however, to negotiate, and informed Fanchea that he would comply with her pacific request if she would give up Fanchea appeared to hesitate, and having desired him to wait for her answer, returned to the chamber of the princess, and asked her whether she would become the bride of Enda, or die in a state of celibacy. The princess replying that she chose the latter alternative was desired by Fanchea to rest upon her couch, and immediately expired. Fanchea, covering the face of the corpse, requested Enda to come into the chamber, and then removing the veil, asked him if he desired such a wife as he now saw before him? The warrior replied that the maiden was no longer beautiful, and much too pale for his taste. This gave Fanchea a cue for effecting Enda's conversion. He soon became her disciple, and assuming the religious habit, fasted, laboured, and superintended the workmen who were completing the monastery. In vain did his old companions come to see him, Fanchea made the sign of the cross, and they became as motionless as the pagan warriors who saw the head of the Gorgon on the shield of Perseus. At last, however, a skirmish took place at the very gates of the monastery, between some men of Enda's family and a band of robbers, and Euda, yielding to the native Hibernian instinct, could not refrain from snatching up his sword and pressing forward to take part in the fight. He was, however, checked by Fanchea, who exhorted him to touch his shaven crown, and remember that he was no longer a warrior but a monk. He did so; the sword dropped from his hand, and he retired peaceably to his cell.” "All this is very pretty and very moral," observed Wideawake, "but I do not see that it illustrates the mixed feeling about which we spoke." Ah, you saints have cruel hearts! Stealing from his bed he starts, And with rude repulsive shock Hurls her from the beetling rock. Glendalough, thy glossy wave Soon was gentle Kathleen's grave. "If you go through the history of the early Irish saints, you will find in them a strange mixture of an ascetic repugnance to the fair sex combined with much tenderness towards them. Saint Patrick himself is said in the first years of his missionary career to have allowed "Patience!" exclaimed Whiskers. "I have male and female devotees to live together in not yet come to the end of my tale. To precouples in a sort of spiritual union, without ap- vent further temptation Fanchea advised Enda prehending any danger to their vow of celibacy, to quit Ireland, and study at the feet of until a scandal, which arose in his family, shook a saint who presided over a great monastery his belief in what would now be called Platonic in Britain, adding that it would be time for love,' and caused him to separate the sexes entirely. The mixed feeling is remarkably illustrated by the legend of two early devotees, Enda and Fanchea." him to return when the fame of his virtues had reached his native island. Enda followed her counsel, and, after a lapse of some years, some pilgrims from Rome, passing by the monastery, spoke of a saint of Irish extraction, named Enda, who was head of a monastery in Britain, Fan- and had become very famous for his sanctity. "Enda and Fanchea? Which is masculine and which is feminine ?" "You shall hear," replied Whiskers, 66 Fanchea, delighted, hastened with three of her virgins to the coast, and, flinging her cloak on the waves, was conveyed on it, as on a raft, to Britain. But Enda was now an abbot, and his nature had greatly changed; so when Fanchea, with her companions, came to the door of the monastery, he gave her to understand that she might either see his face or hear his voice, but that to see and hear was impossible. She chose to hear, and a tent having been pitched, Enda, veiling his face, conversed with her. Thus abruptly the story comes to an end, and so must our discourse, for it is getting very late. Perhaps we can talk about Ennis another time." and military employment; and one of the Paris To begin with the time when the tide of revolution was on the flood. A certain young noble, M. de Servan, on taking leave of some court ladies to attend the opening of the States General in 1789, gallantly shook out his white cambric handkerchief before them, and said, "I shall bring you back half a dozen of those troublesome Bretons' ears.' His first essay was upon M. de Hératry, whose cheek he stroked in a playful way. On being remonstrated with, he repeated the familiarity, and had his foot pounded beneath the Breton's heavy boot-heel in return. A duel ensued. The courtiers came in coaches and chairs, attended by servants bearing torches, to witness the reaping of M. de Servan's first crop of ears, instead of which they saw the unfortunate champion of feudalism, in the course of a few minutes, stretched dead upon the ground. Later, the noblesse are said to have leagued together, to get rid of the popular leaders in the National Assembly, one by one, by fastening quarrels upon them, and by systematically silencing their tongues and their pens by the skilful application of the requisite number of inches of cold steel. This was, however, too slow a method for the royalist Faussigny, who boldly proclaimed in At the restoration of the Bourbons in 1815, the Assembly, that there was but one way of scarcely a day went by without its hostile meetdealing with the ultra-patriotic party: "to falling in Paris, chiefly between the officers of sword in hand on these gentry there," meaning the members on the extreme left. Mirabeau, as has often been recorded, refused to fight until after the constitution was made, and used to content himself with observing to his challengers, "Monsieur, I have put your name down on my list; but I warn you that it is a long one, and that I grant no preferences." The Grange Batelière section prayed the Assembly to declare, that whoever sent or accepted a challenge, should be excluded from all future civil While the duels between the royalists and patriots were at their height, Gervais, the mâtre d'armes of Viscount de Mirabeau (Barrel Mirabeau as he was called by reason of his bulk and his powers of imbibition) used to pass his nights in training young aristocrats to spit patriot orators in the Bois de Boulogne, on the coming morning. Napoleon's army and those of Louis the Eighteenth's Body Guard, but also between the former and the various English, Prussian, Russian, and Austrian officers in the French capital. The Bonapartist officers would repair to the Café Foy, the rendezvous of Prussian military men for the sole purpose of picking quarrels with them; and, if the opportunity presented itself, they would insult English officers with equal readiness. Captain Gronow, known by his lively reminiscences," who 66 was a dead shot, was walking with a lady weapon than the ordinary small-sword, he had in the Palais Royal, when a Bonapartist taken a strange fancy. This laudable desire officer, a notorious duellist, after announcing of his was not destined to be realised, for that he intended to bully an Anglais," pro- he was himself killed in a duel, under rather ceeded to place his arm round the lady's waist. strange circumstances, a few days after the On being remonstrated with, he replied by spit- death of his eleventh, and last, victim. ting in Captain Gronow's face, and was instantly felled to the ground for his filthy impertinence. A meeting took place the following morning, the Frenchman bragging that he intended to add an Englishman to his list of killed and wounded. He fired, and singed his opponent's whiskers, and in a few seconds was shot through the heart. Gronow having afterwards to fight with the French officer's second, was content to wound his adversary in the knee-an act of forbearance which brought the captain no less than eleven challenges. The French Minister of War, however, interfered, and no more meetings took place. One of the most celebrated of these duellists, the Count de Larillière, was a native of Bordeaux. He was at the time of my story a man of between thirty-five and forty years of age, tall, well made, and with polished manners; in short, his appearance utterly belied the good-for-nothing kind of life he was in the habit of leading. One day while he was walking with a friend, or, rather, an accomplice, in the most frequented street of Bordeaux, he saw approaching them, on the same side of the way, one of the richest and most honourable merchants of the town with his newly married wife upon his arm. When the young couple were within hearing, Larillière advanced courteously towards them, hat in hand, and with a smile upon his lips, and with all the outward semblance of a well-bred man, who is about to deliver himself of a speech of more than ordinary politeness. "I beg your pardon," said he, addressing himself to the merchant, who with his wife had abruptly halted, "but I have just made a bet with my friend, whom I have the honour of presenting to you," here he mentioned his friend's name and quality in due form, "that I will kiss your wife on your arm"-the husband, knowing the count's character and reputation, here became ghastly pale-" after having, first of all, given you a box on the ear." Saying this, the miscreant, stared impudently in the face of the amazed merchant, who was, however, still more amazed to find, spite of all the resistance he could offer, both threats put into immediate execution. A challenge and a meeting followed as a matter of course, which resulted in the injured party receiving his death wound, and the aggressor going forth in search of new victims. After proceeding for some time in this course, Larillière was enabled to boast of having killed no less than eleven individuals; of those whom he had merely wounded, he took no kind of account. He had fought altogether upwards of forty duels and was bent upon making up his dozen, after which he proposed to rest for a time, and to continue his practice with the new cavalry sabre, to which, as being a far more deadly On the evening of a masked ball at the grand theatre at Bordeaux, Larillière was seated in an adjoining café, which he was in the habit of frequenting with the members of his own particular set. It was eleven o'clock, and our duellist, who had been for the moment abandoned by his ordinary companions, feeling in no particularly quarrelsome humour, was occupied in peacefully imbibing a glass of punch. Suddenly, a tall young man, wearing a black domino, and with his face concealed behind a black velvet mask, entered the café, and strode up to the table at which Larillière was seated. None of the ordinary habitués of the café took any particular notice of the new comer on his entrance, as the masked ball, which was to take place that night, sufficiently explained his costume; but, no sooner was the mysterious visitor observed in the vicinity of Larillière's table, than all eyes were attracted towards him. Without a single preliminary observation he seized hold of Larillière's glass, threw away the punch it contained, and ordered the waiter, in a loud voice, to bring a small bottle of orgeat in place of it. Witnesses of the scene say that, at this moment, for the first time in their lives, they observed Larillière turn pale. It was the common belief in Bordeaux that, during the fifteen years this man had been applying himself to the task of destruction, he had never once allowed his countenance to betray the slightest emotion. "Scoundrel!" he exclaimed to his masked adversary, "you do not know who I am," making, at the same moment, a vigorous, but unsuccessful, effort to remove the mask from the stranger's face. "I know who you are perfectly well," coldly replied the unknown, forcing Larillière violently back with one hand. All present started to their feet, and, though no one among them ventured to approach the disputants, they contemplated, none the less anxiously, the issue of this strange provocation. 66 Waiter," exclaimed the unknown, "be quick with that bottle of orgeat." At this second command the bottle was brought: whereupon the masked man, still standing immediately in front of Larillière, who was foaming at the mouth with rage, proceeded to draw a pistol from his right-hand pocket. Then, addressing his adversary, he said:" "If in the presence of this company, and for my own personal satisfaction, you do not at once swallow this glass of orgeat, I will blow out your brains with as little compunction as I would those of a dog. Should you, however, perform my bidding, I will then do you the honour of fighting with you to-morrow morning." "With the sabre ?" asked Larillière, in a paroxysm of rage. "With whatever weapon you please," replied the stranger, disdainfully. Whereupon Larillière swallowed the orgeat, with an expression of countenance as though it were to him the dregs of a bitter cup indeed, while every one present preserved a death-like silence. The masked man, satisfied with the effect produced by his provocation, now retired: saying to Larillière as he did so, in a tone of voice loud enough to be heard by the lookers-on: "To-day I have humbled you sufficiently; tomorrow I intend to take your life. My seconds will wait on you at eight o'clock in the morning. We will fight on the spot where you killed the young Chevalier de C." This was the name of the count's eleventh victim. Larillière's opponent proved to be one of the young officers of the garrison at Blaye. When the fact of the count's death became generally known in Bordeaux, many mothers of families actually had masses said, in thankfulness to the Almighty, for having delivered them from so dreaded a scourge. After this detestable count's death, there sprang up in Bordeaux a tribe of duellists, obstinately prepared to contest with each other the succession to that vacant post of infamy, which the count had for several years filled without a rival. Among these aspirants were two, more audacious and resolute than the rest, who eventually remained masters of the field of action, and for five years rivalled each other The following morning, Larillière found him- in effrontery and temerity, with the view of obself in the presence of a man no longer wearing taining the coveted title of "first blade." In this a mask, and who appeared to be some twenty- strange kind of contest, in which each at times five years old. The seconds by whom he was gave proofs of a laudable courage, they displayed accompanied, were two common soldiers, belong-no lack of artifice to impart to their more insoing to one of the regiments stationed in the citadel of Blaye. The bearing of the unknown was collected and dignified, and singularly resolute. His seconds had brought weapons to the ground, but Larillière's seconds took exception to them, at which a scarcely perceptible smile passed over the stranger's face. On taking his position, Larillière turned towards the second nearest to him, and said, in an undertone: "For once, I believe, I have found my equal." The combat commenced. At the first passes the count was confirmed in his opinion, that he had to deal with a skilful adversary. However, his courage did not fail him, though there were times when he seemed to lose his accustomed composure. Lunges and parryings succeeded each other with rapidity on both sides. Larillière, desirous of bringing the affair to a close, had already tried his finishing thrust two or three times, but only to find his sword turned aside by his adversary's blade. Harassed at finding his efforts unavailing, he insolently remarked to his opponent, "Well, sir, at what hour do you intend to kill me ?" 66 There was a momentary silence, broken only by the clash of the two swords. Then the stranger, who seemed to have profited by that slight interval to assure himself that the advantage of the encounter lay decidedly with him, quietly replied to Larillière's last question, Immediately." Saying which, he thrust the point of his sword between the ribs of his adversary, who sprang backwards, tottered, and sank into the arms of his nearest second. Putting his right hand to his wound, the count said, with difficulty: "That, sir, is not a sabre cut; it is a thrust with the point-with the sabre I feared no one." In a few moments he fell back dead. The stranger now advanced politely towards the seconds of his victim, and inquired if he was at liberty to depart. "Will you at least tell us your name ?" asked they, in reply. lent provocations all the importance of a great scandal. One of the pair, an Italian by birth, but resident in France for a considerable time, and recently settled at Bordeaux, was the Marquis de Lignano, better known by the simple title of the Marquis. He was rather above thirty-five years of age; of a small, thin, weakly figure; and with a repulsive, sickly-looking countenance. He was excessively nervous and petulant. The sound of his voice grated most disagreeably on the ear, and it was impossible to look at the man while he was speaking, with his head insolently thrown back, without conceiving a strong prejudice against him. The marquis handled his sword like no other individual skilful of fence; his lunges were lively, jerky, in fact, singularly rapid, and commonly mortal. He recognised but a single rival; only one foeman really worthy of his steel. This was his intimate friend, M. Lucien Claveau, who for the moment shared his glory, but whom he hoped some day to kill, and so peaceably to enjoy the succession of the deceased Count de Larillière. The inhabitants of Bordeaux, victims of the turpitudes of this pair of spadassins, on their part looked forward with interest to a contest which they knew to be inevitable, and the issue of which would be their certain deliverance from one or the other scourge. Meanwhile, the Marquis and Lucien Claveau seemed on the most intimate and agreeable terms. Some few days subsequent to a meeting which resulted in the marquis killing his adversary (and which made a great noise at the time on account of the peculiarly unjustifiable act which led to it), Lucien Claveau, priding himself upon his brute strength, and jealous of his rival's reputation, resolved to outdo the marquis in some more than ordinarily extravagant proceeding. For this purpose he went one evening to the opera, accompanied by a friend and accomplice. Claveau, having slowly scanned the different individuals seated in the stalls, fixed upon the |