of the Bloomer, whose appearance had struck him as he entered, and in whose society he spent the greater part of the evening. Our business at present, however, is more with his out-of-door conquests, and to them we will now devote our attention.

T

T

The "A.D.C." letters appended to his name, coupled with the extreme commonness, not to say vulgarity, of our present style of morning dress, caused what in other days would have been thought "queer to be overlooked, or attributed to fashion or the whim of travelling incognito. Military men liked making "guys" of themselves out of harness, some said; others made no doubt he would be a great swell in the evening. Great were the hopes entertained for the morrow. Here, however, our friends were doomed to disappointment, for our hero studiously kept to his room; nor could all the giggle and chatter of high 'Change, or the important rumbling of Sir Thomas's wheels, or the audible tone in which the great man inquired if the Bloomer had given Mr. Heveland his card, induce him to show himself. Sir Thomas, indeed, looked rather disconcerted when, in reply to his inquiry, what the A.D.C. said when she gave him it, the Bloomer replied that "he just put it in his pocket." Sir Thomas had hoped he would have made such a demonstration of gratitude as, when told, would have enhanced Sir Thomas's consequence in the eyes of the company.

Nor could Timothy, the waiter-a genius possessed of all the easy inquisitive impudence of the brotherhood-throw any light upon our friend's movements, beyond that he seemed very busy, whenever he went into the room, with compasses and pencils and tracing-paper, which, being communicated from one person to another, at length resolved itself into a very plausible story-namely, that he was aide-decamp to Sir John Burgoyne, the inspector-general of fortifications, and was down on a secret mission from the government. Some said Sir John was coming too. This idea seemed to receive confirmation from Sir Thomas Trout, who, being questioned about it, replied, with a solemn shake of the head, that he was "not at liberty to mention." The interest greatly increased with the mystery. It became all-absorbing.

Next day brought partial relief. Towards noon the great man was seen sauntering along, cigar in mouth, staring idly at horses and carriages, and into shop-windows, giving both ladies and gentlemen ample opportunity of looking him over-a privilege that he seemed equally disposed to avail himself of.

We may candidly admit that there was a difference of opinion with regard to his looks; but what young gentleman ever appeared on the stage of public life without raising adverse opinions as to his appearance? It does not, however, always follow, that because young ladies proclaim a man a fright, an object, or a horror, that they really think so. They have a useful way of running men down, in hopes of preventing each other entering for them.

As praise, however, is always more agreeable to a well-disposed Bramah pen than censure, we may commence by stating that both the Miss Sheepshanks and their mamma thought him very handsome. They admired the rich jet-black luxuriance of his hair, also the stiff inward curl of his regular all-round-the-chin whiskers, above all, his beautiful billygoat imperial. Their sagacious eyes, too, detected in the deep-blue out

line of the upper lip, where the dear moustaches had recently been. They thought him very, very handsome; and miss it was who christened him William the Conqueror!"

The Miss Trypperleys, too, thought him good-looking rather more colour, perhaps, than was strictly aristocratic, but that looked as if he kept better hours than the generality of young men, and as if that " "filthy smoking" didn't disagree with him as it did with many.

The Miss D'Oleys thought he would have been better if he had been a little taller, though, to be sure, he would look different in uniform; and wondered whether he was in the lights or the heavies, or the artillery or what. The Miss Bowerbanks, too, liked his looks; and the Softeners were as enamoured of him as the Sheepshanks.

Mrs. Flummocks passed no opinion in public, priding herself upon her discretion; she, however, thought well of him in private. The Miss Sowerbys (oldish) couldn't bear him; they thought they never saw such a great, staring, impudent, vulgar-looking fellow, and only wished they had a brother to horsewhip him; while the Conqueror had never looked at either of them. He furnished abundant conversation for the town that day.

"Not at

Meanwhile, the A.D.C. letters poured in apace; not a post arrived but some came, either "On her Majesty's Service," or in the smaller form used by ordinary mortals; and the importance of the Conqueror's mission swelled with the exclusiveness of his retirement. Though many people called, all anxious for an interview, the unvarying answer was, home," though the waiter, on his cross-examination, could not but admit that our friend was up-stairs. Indeed, we may observe that the A.D.C. had completely overpowered the otherwise communicative waiter's loquacity, and from having nothing to tell, he assumed a sort of mysterious gravity that greatly assisted the A.D.C. interest. The Conqueror was so throaty and important, so peremptory in his orders, so stern in his censures, that Timothy, who is rather free and easy, given to the persiflage of matrimony, pretending to get heiresses for young gentlemen, and so on, stood awed in his presence, and bowed lowly and reverentially before him. Moreover, as Timothy afterwards said, he thought the Conqueror was a gent, because he always took a glass of sherry before he began his port. But though the Conqueror evidently did not courtnay, rather seemed to avoid-society, he was not above conforming to the ordinary rules that regulate its dealings; and having got the fair Bloomer to sort his callers' cards, and tell him where each lived, so that he might not go over the same ground twice, he shot meteor-like through the place, knocking at this door, ringing at that, putting in his pasteboard, "Mr. William Heveland, A.D.C.," but firmly resisting all the reiterated assurances of both Johnnys and Janes that their mistresses or the young ladies were at home.

"Dear me, Mary!" exclaimed the Crusher, taking up the card, "how stupid! Didn't I tell you we were at home !”

"Please, mum, the gen'l'man didn't ask;" or "Please, mum, I told him so, and he just gave me that."

Oh, don't tell me! It's one of your stupid mistakes; you are the stupidest girl I ever saw in my life."

Nor did the Conqueror make any exception in favour of the great Sir Thomas Trout, though the man of the coat of many colours insisted that

his master was at home to him—as if a special exception had been made in his favour.

"Then, give him that," said the Conqueror, presenting his card, and blowing a cloud of smoke right past the man's face into the anti-tobacconist major-general's very entrance-hall.

This disgusted the great man. The ladies, however, are not so easily put off a scent as the men, and the preliminaries to an acquaintance being now accomplished, they proceeded to clench it with invitations to dine. Cards came pouring in from all quarters, some in envelopes, some open, some printed, some written, some embossed, some plain, requesting the honour of Mr. William Heveland's company to dinner on Monday the 10th, or Tuesday the 11th, or Wednesday the 12th, just as their larders or previous engagements favoured the speculation.

The Crusher, thinking to steal a march on the rest, drew a short bill upon him for tea, which the Bloomer, who had firmly established herself in the A.D.C.'s confidence, had great pleasure in recommending him to put in the fire, which he did accordingly. The rest of the cards he just bundled into his queer jacket-pocket, to answer at his leisure.

One great beauty of a place like Droppingfall Wells-indeed, of all small places-is, that everybody knows what you are about. It isn't like London, where you may die and be buried without your next-door neighbour being any the wiser; but at the Wells, all your in-comings and out-goings are watched and accurately noted-where you dine, who there is to meet you-nay, what you have for dinner-and you feel as if you didn't stand quite alone in the world.

Some people-generally those who take plenty of time themselves-are often desperately anxious to get answers to their invitations, and wonder others don't answer-so idle not answering-what can they be about they don't answer; and so it was on the present occasion. Our friend, not intending to accept of any of the invitations, just let them remain in his jacket-pocket, along with "her Majesty's" and others, until it suited his convenience to have a general clearance; and as cards and crested notes still kept dropping in, he kept putting off and putting off till he had all the senders in a state of excitement. Great were the gatherings in the hall of the Turtle Doves, and numerous the whispering inquiries that were made of the Bloomer, if there was anything for Mrs. Softener or Mrs. Sheepshanks, or Mrs. Bowerbank; and then if the Bloomer was quite sure Mr. Heveland had got a certain card or a certain note, or whatever it was. Little satisfaction, however, was to be obtained from the Bloomer, who seemed rather to take pleasure in their mortification, and in increasing the mystery that enveloped our hero.

All things, however, must have an end; and on the fifth day, as the crowd was at the greatest, and Major-General Sir Thomas Trout was indulging in his usual ominous shakes of the head, and "not-at-libertiesto-mention," a stentorian voice, proceeding from a dog-cart, with the name, "JOHN GOLLERfield, Farmer, HARDPYE HILL" behind, was heard roaring,

"TIMOTHY! TIMOTHY! TIMOTHY!" drawing all eyes to the vehicle. In it was seated a little roundabout red-faced man, whose figure might have been drawn with a box of wafers-a red wafer for the face, a brown one for the body, four black ones for legs, and so on; the little man being

1

then in a terrible state of perturbation, appearing as well by the red wafer as by the white lather in which he had brought his rough-headed, curly-coated brown horse.

Timothy at length appearing, napkin, or rather duster in hand, the man of the dog-cart thus addressed him, speaking as before at the top of his voice,

"Is Mr. Heavyland in?"

"Heavyland, Heavyland," repeated Timothy, quickly; "no such gen'l'man here, sir."

"Oh, yes, there is," roared the voice, confidently.

"There's a Mr. Heveland here, sir-a Mr. Heveland, sir-aide-decamp to General Sir John Somebody," thinking to flabbergaster Gollerfield with his greatness.

"No! no!" roared the little man; "it's Heavyland I want. I know he's here. Had a letter from him yesterday, sayin' he'd be at my place, Hardpye Hill, at ten o'clock this mornin', and he's never come.

It then struck Timothy that he had posted a letter headed "On Her Majesty's Service," for Mr. Gollerfield, Hardpye-hill; and he began to think whether Heavyland and Heveland could be one and the same person.

"What sort of a lookin' gen'l'man is he, please, sir?" asked Timothy. ແ Oh, a queer black-and-red-lookin' beggar-all teeth and hair, like a rat-catcher's dog," replied Gollerfield, shaking with vexation.

"What is he, please, sir?" asked Timothy.

"An ASSISTANT DRAINAGE COMMISSIONER!" roared Gollerfield. "Puts A.D.C. on his cards, like an ass. Promised to be at my house, Hardpye Hill, at ten this mornin', to pass my drains, and he's never come;" adding, "if he thinks to get three guineas out o' me, he's very much mistaken."

If a hand-grenade had fallen among the assembled company, it could not have caused greater consternation than this proclamation. There was such shrugging of shoulders, such holdings of breath, such frowning from those who had invited our friend, and such giggling and laughing from those who had not; while the unfortunate Conqueror, who now came bounding down stairs three steps at a time to appease the choleric Gollerfield, was regarded with very different eyes to what he had been before. However, there was no harm done, for on returning from Mr. Gollerfield's, who now carried him off in his dog-cart, he placed his invitations in the hands of the Bloomer, who speedily set all minds at rest by politely declining the whole of them. And such is the new history of William the Conqueror, much at Mr. Macaulay's service, if he has any occasion for it. P.S.-It's an ill wind that blows nobody good. In the last number of the Droppingfall Wells Gazette, at the head of "marriages," is the following: "On the 29th ult., at St. Mary's Church, by the Rev. Simon Pure, assisted by the Rev. Arthur Lovejoy, William Heveland, Esq., A.D.C., to Constantia, youngest surviving daughter of the late Michael Mendlove, Esq., of Droppingfall Wells. The lovely bride, who was dressed as a Bloomer, was attended by six beautiful bridesmaids similarly attired."

Long live the happy couple! say we.

"OUR OWN CORRESPONDENT" IN ITALY.*

THE life of a newspaper correspondent, as may naturally be supposed, is one of alternate cloud and sunshine-one day basking in an Andalusian balcony, playing a rubber at the club on the off-nights of the Opera, being very musical when the handsome Prima Donna sings, and very light fantastic toeish when the lively Prima Ballerina dances; another day roughing it over the Balkan, amid sleet and snow, or starving at the tail of an ill-conditioned army, and receiving bullets instead of billets-doux. So it was with "Our Own" free, hearty, and clever correspondent of the Times, when suddenly ordered from gay Oporto to Genoa, and thence to where the progress of events might direct him. Oporto was a gay place at that time, the English squadron was in the Tagus, and "Our Own" acted as cicerone to the merry-hearted lieutenants in the coulisses.

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On one occasion the gayest and most true-hearted of those thoughtless souls, who had been long ogling from his stall the pretty Milanese who then led the ballet, was determined to essay a grand effort at making her acquaintance, and imagining that an Italian knew as little of French, as he, an Englishman, did, whilst the sylphide was taking the usual canter before the race commenced, he advanced, cocked hat in hand, with all the lustre of new epaulettes and of full uniform, and addressed her :-" Mademoiselle! parlez-vous Français ?" “Oui, monsieur! à votre service," said the lady, reining up at the same time, and throwing out the left leg at an angle of forty-five from its fellow, as she undertook a new pose, and laid the whole weight of her person on the right foot, the left being still suspended. Hang it! I'm done," was the gallant tar's exclamation, for not a word more of the French language had he in store; but seeing the pretty Milanese, as she turned her head, smile at his embarrassment, he took heart again, and with a drollery that was irresistible, laid hold of the suspended foot, and kissed the point of it, with all the ardour of three-andtwenty. At this moment the word " clear the stage" being given, in Portuguese, of which tongue he knew not a syllable, followed by the ring of "curtain up," not heard by the danseuse, the drop-scene rose, and the whole house rang with repeated bursts of laughter, on discovering the Prima Ballerina bent down as I have described, and the lieutenant of the Thunder Bomb kissing and fondling her little foot, or, as an Irishman near me said, “By all that's gracious, he is shaking hands with her big toe!"

It was hard to tear oneself from so much gaiety, but there was no alternative, and wiping his eyes from the imaginative tears that dimmed them, "Our Own" stepped on board the mail steamer to Gibraltar; and, after a little carousing with the rock-scorpions, and an earnest and serious recommendation of an additional basin or wet-dock, sailed for Genoa in a French steamer, and, after touching at nigh a dozen interesting spots, and tasting the sweets of the Gulf of Lyons, he landed at the City of Palaces on the 25th of February, 1848. This was at the time when the long-concealed detestation of Austria was openly avowed at Milan, and in all the great cities of the Lombardo-Venetian kingdom; but "Our Own" tells us at the onset, that the rural population did not participate in this feeling, and on the contrary, were attached to Austrian dominion; for under the system that then prevailed, the occupier of the land paid no

* The Personal Adventures of "Our Own Correspondent" in Italy. Showing how an active campaigner can find good quarters when other men lie in the fields; good dinners whilst many are half starved; and good wine, though the king's staff be reduced to half rations. By Michael Burke Honan. Chapman and Hall.

2 vols.