On the morning after my visit to the boarding-house, I received a few hurried lines from Curzon, informing me that no time was to be lost in joining the regiment—that a grand fancy ball was about to be given by the officers of the Dwarf frigate, then stationed off Dunmore; who, when inviting the ——, specially put in a demand for my well-known services, to make it to go off, and concluding with an extract from the Kilkenny Moderator, which ran thus—
“An intimation has just reached us, from a quarter on which we can place the fullest reliance, that the celebrated amateur performer, Mr. Lorrequer, may shortly be expected amongst us; from the many accounts we have received of this highly-gifted gentleman’s powers, we anticipate a great treat to the lovers of the drama,” &c. &c. “So you see, my dear Hal,” continued Curzon, “thy vocation calls thee; therefore come, and come quickly—provide thyself with a black satin costume, slashed with light blue—point lace collar and ruffles—a Spanish hat looped in front—and, if possible, a long rapier, with a flap hilt.—Carden is not here; so you may show your face under any colour with perfect impunity.—Yours from the side scenes,
“C. Curzon.”
This clever epistle sufficed to show me that the gallant —th had gone clean theatrical mad; and although from my “last appearance on any stage,” it might be supposed I should feel no peculiar desire to repeat the experiment, yet the opportunity of joining during Col. Carden’s absence, was too tempting to resist, and I at once made up my mind to set out, and, without a moment’s delay, hurried across the street to the coach office, to book myself an inside in the mail of that night; fortunately no difficulty existed in my securing the seat, for the way-bill was a perfect blank, and I found myself the only person who had, as yet, announced himself a passenger. On returning to my hotel, I found O’Flaherty waiting for me; he was greatly distressed on hearing my determination to leave town—explained how he had been catering for my amusement for the week to come—that a picnic to the Dargle was arranged in a committee of the whole house, and a boating party, with a dinner at the Pigeon-house, was then under consideration; resisting, however, such extreme temptations, I mentioned the necessity of my at once proceeding to headquarters, and all other reasons for my precipitancy failing, concluded with that really knock-down argument, “I have taken my place;” this, I need scarcely add, finished the matter—at least I have never known it fail in such cases. Tell your friends that your wife is hourly expecting to be confined; your favourite child is in the measles—you best friend waiting your aid in an awkward scrape—your one vote only wanting to turn the scale in an election. Tell them, I say, each or all of these, or a hundred more like them, and to any one you so speak, the answer is—“Pooh, pooh, my dear fellow, never fear—don’t fuss yourself—take it easy—to-morrow will do just as well.” If, on the other hand, however, you reject such flimsy excuses, and simply say, “I’m booked in the mail,” the opposition at once falls to the ground, and your quondam antagonist, who was ready to quarrel with you, is at once prepared to assist in packing your portmanteau.
Having soon satisfied my friend Tom that resistance was in vain, I promised to eat an early dinner with him at Morrisson’s, and spent the better part of the morning in putting down a few notes of my Confessions, as well as the particulars of Mr. Daly’s story, which, I believe, I half or wholly promised my readers at the conclusion of my last chapter; but which I must defer to a more suitable opportunity, when mentioning the next occasion of my meeting him on the southern circuit.
My dispositions were speedily made. I was fortunate in securing the exact dress my friend’s letter alluded to among the stray costumes of Fishamble-street; and rich in the possession of the only “properties” it has been my lot to acquire, I despatched my treasure to the coach office, and hastened to Morrisson’s, it being by this time nearly five o’clock. There, true to time, I found O’Flaherty deep in the perusal of the bill, along which figured the novel expedients for dining, I had been in the habit of reading in every Dublin hotel since my boyhood. “Mock turtle, mutton, gravy, roast beef and potatoes—shoulder of mutton and potatoes!—ducks and peas, potatoes!! ham and chicken, cutlet steak and potatoes!!! apple tart and cheese:” with a slight cadenza of a sigh over the distant glories of Very, or still better the “Freres,” we sat down to a very patriarchal repast, and what may be always had par excellence in Dublin, a bottle of Sneyd’s claret.
Poor Tom’s spirits were rather below their usual pitch; and although he made many efforts to rally and appear gay, he could not accomplish it. However, we chatted away over old times and old friends, and forgetting all else but the topics we talked of, the time-piece over the chimney first apprised me that two whole hours had gone by, and that it was now seven o’clock, the very hour the coach was to start. I started up at once, and notwithstanding all Tom’s representations of the impossibility of my being in time, had despatched waiters in different directions for a jarvey, more than ever determined upon going; so often is it that when real reasons for our conduct are wanting, any casual or chance opposition confirms us in an intention which before was but uncertain. Seeing me so resolved, Tom, at length, gave way, and advised my pursuing the mail, which must be now gone at least ten minutes, and which, with smart driving, I should probably overtake before getting free of the city, as they have usually many delays in so doing. I at once ordered out the “yellow post-chaise,” and before many minutes had elapsed, what, with imprecation and bribery, I started in pursuit of his Majesty’s Cork and Kilkenny mail coach, then patiently waiting in the court-yard of the Post Office.
“Which way now, your honor?” said a shrill voice from the dark—for such the night had already become, and threatened with a few heavy drops of straight rain, the fall of a tremendous shower.
“The Naas road,” said I; “and, harkye, my fine fellow, if you overtake the coach in half an hour, I’ll double your fare.”
“Be gorra, I’ll do my endayvour,” said the youth; at the same time instant dashing in both spurs, we rattled down Nassau-street at a very respectable pace for harriers. Street after street we passed, and at last I perceived we had got clear of the city, and were leaving the long line of lamp-lights behind us. The night was now pitch dark. I could not see any thing whatever. The quick clattering of the wheels, the sharp crack of the postillion’s whip, or the still sharper tone of his “gee hup,” showed me we were going at a tremendous pace, had I not even had the experience afforded by the frequent visits my head paid to the roof of the chaise, so often as we bounded over a stone, or splashed through a hollow. Dark and gloomy as it was, I constantly let down the window, and with half my body protruded, endeavores to catch a glimpse of the “Chase;” but nothing could I see. The rain now fell in actual torrents; and a more miserable night it is impossible to conceive.