The first prompting of Augusta's anger, when she had recovered her burst of passion, was to write “such a letter” to Furlong—and she spent half a day at the work; but she could not please herself—she tore twenty at least, and determined, at last, not to write at all, but just wait till he returned and overwhelm him with reproaches. But, though she could not compose a letter, she composed herself by the endeavour, which acted as a sort of safety-valve to let off the superabundant steam; and it is wonderful how general is this result of sitting down to write angry letters: people vent themselves of their spleen on the uncomplaining paper, which silently receives words a listener would not. With a pen for our second, desperate satisfaction is obtained with only an effusion of ink, and when once the pent-up bitterness has oozed out in all the blackness of that fluid—most appropriately made of the best galls—the time so spent, and the “letting of words,” if I may use the phrase, has cooled our judgment and our passions together; and the first letter is torn: 't is too severe; we write a second; we blot and interline till it is nearly illegible; we begin a third; till at last we are tired out with our own angry feelings, and throw our scribbling by with a “Pshaw! what's the use of it?” or, “It's not worth my notice;” or, still better, arrive at the conclusion, that we preserve our own dignity best by writing without temper, though we may be called upon to be severe.
Furlong at this time was on his road to Dublin in happy unconsciousness of Augusta's rage against him, and planning what pretty little present he should send her specially, for his head was naturally running on such matters, as he had quantities of commissions to execute in the millinery line for Mrs. O'Grady, who thought it high time to be getting up Augusta's wedding-dresses, and Andy was to be despatched the following day to Dublin to take charge of a cargo of bandboxes back from that city to Neck-or-Nothing Hall. Furlong had received a thousand charges from the ladies, “to be sure to lose no time” in doing his devoir in their behalf, and he obeyed so strictly, and was so active in laying milliners and mercers under contributions, that Andy was enabled to start the day after his arrival, sorely against Andy's will, for he would gladly have remained amidst the beauty and grandeur and wonders of Dublin, which struck him dumb for the day he was amongst them, but gave him food for conversation for many a day after. Furlong, after racking his invention about the souvenir to his “dear Gussy,” at length fixed on a fan, as the most suitable gift; for Gussy had been quizzed at home about “blushing,” and all that sort of thing, and the puerile perceptions of the attache saw something very smart in sending her wherewith “to hide her blushes.” Then the fan was the very pink of fans; it had quivers and arrows upon it, and bunches of hearts looped up in azure festoons, and doves perched upon them; though Augusta's little sister, who was too young to know what hearts and doves were, when she saw them for the first time, said they were pretty little birds picking at apples. The fan was packed up in a nice case, and then on scented note paper did the dear dandy indite a bit of namby-pamby badinage to his fair one, which he thought excessively clever:—
“DEAR DUCKY DARLING,—You know how naughty they are in quizzing you about a little something, I won't say what, you will guess, I dare say—but I send you a little toy, I won't say what, on which Cupid might write this label after the doctor's fashion, 'To be used occasionally, when the patient is much troubled with the symptoms.'
“Ever, ever, ever yours,
“P.S. Take care how you open it.”
“J.F.”
Such was the note that Handy Andy was given, with particular injunctions to deliver it the first thing on his arrival at the Hall to Miss Augusta, and to be sure to take most particular care of the little case; all which Andy faithfully promised to do. But Andy's usual destiny prevailed, and an unfortunate exchange of parcels quite upset all Furlong's sweet little plan of his pretty present and his ingenious note: for as Andy was just taking his departure, Furlong said he might as well leave something for him at Reade's, the cutler, as he passed through College Green, and he handed him a case of razors which wanted setting, which Andy popped into his pocket, and as the fan case and that of the razors were much of a size, and both folded up, Andy left the fan at the cutler's and took the case of razors by way of present to Augusta. Fancy the rage of a young lady with a very fine pair of moustachios getting such a souvenir from her lover, with a note, too, every word of which applied to a beard and a razor, as patly as to a blush and a fan—and this, too, when her jealousy was aroused and his fidelity more than doubtful in her estimation.
Great was the row in Neck-or-Nothing Hall; and when, after three days, Furlong came down, the nature of his reception may be better imagined than described. It was a difficult matter, through the storm which raged around him, to explain all the circumstances satisfactorily, but, by dint of hard work, the verses were at length disclaimed, the razors disavowed, and Andy at last sent for to “clear matters up.”
Andy was a hopeful subject for such a purpose, and by his blundering answers nearly set them all by the ears again; the upshot of the affair was, that Andy, used as he was to good scoldings, never had such a torrent of abuse poured on him in his life, and the affair ended in Andy being dismissed from Neck-or-Nothing Hall on the instant; so he relinquished his greasy livery for his own rags again, and trudged homewards to his mother's cabin.
“She'll be as mad as a hatter with me,” said Andy; “bad luck to them for razhirs, they cut me out o' my place: but I often heard cowld steel is unlucky, and sure I know it now. Oh! but I'm always unfort'nate in having cruked messages. Well, it can't be helped; and one good thing at all events is, I'll have time enough now to go and spake to Father Blake;” and with this sorry piece of satisfaction poor Andy contented himself.