“Yes, I am, Shuffler,” I replied, “and pretty soon, too!”
“Lor! Mister Lorton; but I’m right loth to ’ear it! I’ve got a brother myself over in Amerikey; s’pose now, sir, I was to give you a letter to ’im? It might, you know, some’ow or hother, be o’ service, hay?”
“America is a large place, Shuffler,” I answered.—“Whereabouts is he over there, eh?”
“Well, sir,” said he, “I don’t ’zackly knows were ’e his; but I dessay you’ll come across him, sir. I’ll give you the letter, at hany rate;”—and he did too, although I combated his resolution. I need hardly add that I never met the said “brother in Amerikey” of his; so, that it was of no use to me, as I told him—although, it was a considerate action on Shuffler’s part!
Lady Dasher, also, did not forget me.
Believing that the last of the Mohicans still lived, and that the continent of the setting sun resembled Hounslow Heath in the old highwaymen’s days, she presented to me—a blunderbuss!
It was one with which her “poor dear papa” had been in the habit of frightening obstreperous White Boys, who might assail the sacred premises of Ballybrogue Castle—the ancestral seat of the Earls of Planetree in sportive Tipperary, as I believe I’ve told you before. The weapon, she informed me, was a most efficient one, having once been known—when missing the advocate of “young Ireland” it was aimed at—to demolish a whole litter of those little gentlemen with curly tails who assist, in conjunction with the “praties,” in “paying the rint” of the trusting natives of the Emerald Isle; consequently, its destructive powers were beyond question, and it might really, she thought, be of the utmost utility to me on the western prairies, where, she believed, I was going to “camp out” for ever!
My lady gave me, in addition, a piece of advice, which she implored me always to bear in mind throughout my life—as she had invariably done—and that was, that, “Though I might unfortunately be poor, never to forget being proud”:—it was the pass-word to her morbid system.
And the vicar, and dear little Miss Pimpernell, and Monsieur Parole d’Honneur—how can I speak of all their kindness—evinced in many, many ways—ere I left the old parish and its whilom associations behind me?
Little Miss Pimpernell worked a supply of knitted socks, “comforters,” and muffetees, sufficient to last me for a three years’ cruise in the Polar circle in search of the north-west passage. The vicar gave me letters of introduction to some American friends of his, who received me afterwards most kindly in virtue of his credentials—he wanted to do much more for me, but I would not allow him; and as for Monsieur, he would not be denied, in spite of my telling him, over and over again, that I had no need of temporal assistance.