“'A very bad jest—a mauvaise plaisanterie of the worst taste, I must say,' said Lord E———turning away, and leaving the room.
“I never rightly knew how the matter was afterwards made up, but certainly it was by his lordship's directions, and at his charge, that I was nursed, reared, and educated. My expenses at Eton and Oxford, as well as the cost of my commission, came from him; and it was only a few days ago, on learning his death, that I also learned the termination of my good fortune in life. He bequeathed me what he styled my 'family mansio,'—the fiddle-case; thus repaying by this cruel jest the practical joke passed upon himself so many years before.”
“What name did they give you, sir?”
“'I was called after the celebrated violinist of Cremona who lived in the seventh century, who was named Cornelius Crejanus, or, as some spell, Creganus; and, in compliance with modern usages, they anglicized me into Con Cregan.”
“I have the honor to propose Con Cregan's health,” said the president; “and may he see many happy years ere he next goes to sleep in a wooden box!”
This very gratifying toast was drunk with the most flattering acclamations, and I descended from the tribune the “man of the evening.”
If some of the company who put credence in my story did not hesitate to ascribe a strong interest in me to the Royal Duke himself, others, who put less faith in my narrative, thought less of my parentage, and more of myself; so that what I lost on one hand, I gained on the other.
There was a discretion, a certain shadowy prudery about certain portions of my story, of which I have not attempted to convey any notion here, but which I saw had “told” with the fair part of my audience, who, possibly not over rigid in many of their opinions, were well pleased with the delicate reserve in which I shrouded my direct allusion to my parentage. A rough, red-whiskered skipper, indeed, seemed disposed to pour a broadside into this mystery, by asking “If his Royal Highness never took any notice of me?” but the refined taste of the company concurred in the diplomatic refusal to answer a question of which the “hon. gentleman on the straw chair” had given “no notice.”