“‘Troublesome, troublesome—what do you mean?’
“‘Just so,’ says I. ‘Isn’t he parsecutiug the life out of me the whole morning, following me about everywhere I go? Contrary bastes they always was.’
“‘I advise you to try and part company, my friend, notwithstanding,’ says he; ‘or may be it’s the same end you’ll be coming to, and not long either.’ And faix, I took his advice; and ye see, Mister Charles, it’s just as I was saying, they’re like the women, the least thing in life is enough to bring them after us, av ye only put the ‘comether’ upon them.”
“And now adieu to the Villa Nuova,” said I, as I rode slowly down the avenue, turning ever and anon in my saddle to look back on each well-known spot.
A heavy sigh from Mike responded to my words.
“A long, a last farewell!” said I, waving my hand towards the trellised walls, now half-hidden by the trees; and, as I spoke, that heaviness of the heart came over me that seems inseparable from leave-taking. The hour of parting seems like a warning to us that all our enjoyments and pleasures here are destined to a short and merely fleeting existence; and as each scene of life passes away never to return, we are made to feel that youth and hope are passing with them; and that, although the fair world be as bright, and its pleasures as rich in abundance, our capacity of enjoyment is daily, hourly diminishing; and while all around us smiles in beauty and happiness, that we, alas! are not what we were.
Such was the tenor of my thoughts as I reached the road, when they were suddenly interrupted by my man Mike, whose meditations were following a somewhat similar channel, though at last inclining to different conclusions. He coughed a couple of times as if to attract my attention, and then, as it were half thinking aloud, he muttered,—
“I wonder if we treated the young ladies well, anyhow, Mister Charles, for, faix, I’ve my doubts on it.”