Harry finally leaves Dublin

CHAPTER XXIII

The Journey** **

When I did at last venture upon deck, it was with a costume studiously accurate, and as much of manner as I could possibly muster, to endeavour at once to erase the unfortunate impression of my first appearance; this, however, was not destined to be a perfectly successful manoeuvre, and I was obliged after a few minutes to join the laugh, which I found could not be repressed, at my expense.

One good result certainly followed from all this. I became almost immediately on intimate terms with Mrs. Bingham and her daughter, and much of the awkwardness in my position as their chaperon, which *bon gre, mal gre I was destined to be, was at once got over. Mrs. Bingham herself was of that “genre” of widow which comes under the “fat, *fair, and forty” category, with a never-ceasing flow o£ high, almost boisterous, spirits-an excellent temper, good health-and a well-stocked purse.

Life to her was like a game of her favourite “speculation.” When, as she *believed, *the “company honest,” and knew her cards trumps, she was tolerably easy for the result. She liked Kingstown - she liked short whist - she liked the military - she liked “the junior bar,” of which she knew a good number

• she had a well furnished house in Kildare-street - and a well cushioned pew in St. Anne’s - she was a favourite at the castle - and Dr. Labatt “knew her constitution.”

Why, with all these advantages, she should ever have thought of leaving the “happy valley” of her native city, it was somewhat hard to guess. Was it that thoughts of matrimony, which the continent held out more prospect for, had invaded the fair widow’s heart? was it that the altered condition to which politics had greatly reduced Dublin, had effected this change of opinion? or was it like that indescribable longing for the unknown something, which we read of in the pathetic history of the fair lady celebrated, I believe, by Petrarcb, but I quote from memory:

“Mrs. Gill is very ill,

Nothing can improve her,

But to see the Tuillerie,

And waddle through the Louvre.”

None of these, I believe, however good and valid reasons in themselves, were the moving powers upon the present occasion; the all-sufficient one being that Mrs. Bingham had a daughter. Now Miss Bingham was Dublin too - but Dublin of a later edition - and a finer, more hot-pressed copy than her mamma. She had been educated at Mrs. Somebody’s seminary in Mountjoy-square-had been taught to dance by Montague-and had learned French from a Swiss governess - with a number of similar advantages - a very pretty figure-dark eyes - long eyelashes and a dimple - and last, but of course least, the deserved reputation of a large fortune. She had made a most successful *debut *in the Dublin world, where she was much admired and flattered, and which soon suggested to her quick mind, as it has often done in similar cases to a young provincial debutante, not to waste her “*fraicheur” *upon the minor theatres, but at once to appear upon the “great boards;” so far evidencing a higher flight of imagination and enterprise than is usually found among the *clique *of her early associates, who may be characterized as that school of young ladies, who, like the “Corsair” and Dunleary, and say, “ah don’t!”

She possessed much more common sense than her mamma, and promised under proper advantages to become speedily quite sufficiently acquainted with the world and its habitudes. In the meanwhile, I perceived that she ran a very considerable risque of being carried off by some mustachoed Pole, with a name like a sneeze, who might pre tend to enjoy the *entrée *into the fashionable circles of the continent.

Very little study of my two fair friends enabled me to see thus much and very little “usage” sufficed to render me speedily intimate with both; the easy *bonhommie *of the mamma, who had a very methodistical appreciation of what the “connexion” call “creature comforts,” amused me much, and opened one ready path to her good graces by the opportunity afforded of getting up a luncheon of veal cutlets and London porter, of which I partook, not a little to the evident loss of the fair daughter’s esteem.

While, therefore, I made the tour of the steward’s cell in search of Harvey’s sauce, I brushed up my memory of the Corsair and Childe Harold, and alternately discussed Stilton and Southey, Lover and lobsters, Haynes Bayley and ham.

The day happened to be particularly calm and delightful, so that we never left the deck; and the six hours which brought us from land to land, quickly passed over in this manner; and ere we reached “the Head,” I had become the warm friend and legal adviser of the mother; and with the daughter I was installed as chief confidant of all her griefs and sorrows, both of which appointments cost me a solemn promise to take care of them till their arrival in Paris, where they had many friends and acquaintances awaiting them. Here, then, as usual, was the invincible facility with which I gave myself up to any one who took the trouble to influence me.

One thing, nevertheless, I was determined on, to let no circumstance defer my arrival at Paris a day later than was possible: therefore, though my office as chaperon might diminish my comforts *en route, *it should not interfere with the object before me. Had my mind not been so completely engaged with my own immediate prospects, when hope suddenly and unexpectedly revived, had become so tinged with fears and doubts as to be almost torture, I must have been much amused with my present position, as I found myself seated with my two fair friends, rolling along through Wales in their comfortable travelling carriage - giving all the orders at the different hotels - seeing after the luggage - and acting *en maitre *in every respect.

The good widow enjoyed particularly the difficulty which my precise position, with regard to her and her daughter, threw the different innkeepers on the road into, sometimes supposing me to be her husband, sometimes her son, and once her son-in-law; which very alarming conjecture brought a crimson tinge to the fair daughter’s cheek, an expression, which, in my ignorance, I thought looked very like an inclination to faint in my arms.

At length we reached London, and having been there safely installed at “Mivart’s,” I sallied forth to present my letter to the Horse Guards, and obtain our passport for the continent.

General Contents. .