THE HONEY-MOON.

The weak at Fontingblow past quickly away; and at the end of it, our son and daughter-inlaw — a pare of nice young tuttle-duvs — returned to their nest, at the Hotel Mirabew. I suspeck that the COCK turtle-dove was preshos sick of his barging.

When they arriv’d, the fust thing they found on their table was a large parsle wrapt up in silver paper, and a newspaper, and a couple of cards, tied up with a peace of white ribbing. In the parsle was a hansume piece of plum-cake, with a deal of sugar. On the cards was wrote, in Goffick characters,

Earl of Crabs.

And, in very small Italian,

Countess of Crabs.

And in the paper was the following parrowgraff:—

“MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. — Yesterday, at the British embassy, the Right Honorable John Augustus Altamont Plantagenet, Earl of Crabs, to Leonora Emilia, widow of the late Lieutenant-General Sir George Griffin, K. C. B. An elegant dejeune was given to the happy couple by his Excellency Lord Bobtail, who gave away the bride. The elite of the foreign diplomacy, the Prince Talleyrand and Marshal the Duke of Dalmatia on behalf of H. M. the King of France, honored the banquet and the marriage ceremony. Lord and Lady Crabs intend passing a few weeks at Saint Cloud.”

The above dockyments, along with my own triffling billy, of which I have also givn a copy, greated Mr. and Mrs. Deuceace on their arrivle from Fontingblo. Not being present, I can’t say what Deuceace said; but I can fancy how he LOOKT, and how poor Mrs. Deuceace lookt. They weren’t much inclined to rest after the fiteeg of the junny; for, in 1/2 an hour after their arrival at Paris, the hosses were put to the carridge agen, and down they came thundering to our country-house at St. Cloud (pronounst by those absud Frenchmin Sing Kloo), to interrup our chaste loves and delishs marridge injyments.

My lord was sittn in a crimson satan dressing-gown, lolling on a sofa at an open windy, smoaking seagars, as ushle; her ladyship, who, to du her justice, didn mind the smell, occupied another end of the room, and was working, in wusted, a pare of slippers, or an umbrellore case, or a coal-skittle, or some such nonsints. You would have thought to have sean ’em that they had been married a sentry, at least. Well, I bust in upon this conjugal tator-tator, and said, very much alarmed, “My lord, here’s your son and daughter-inlaw.”

“Well,” says my lord, quite calm, “and what then?”

“Mr. Deuceace!” says my lady, starting up, and looking fritened.

“Yes, my love, my son; but you need not be alarmed. Pray, Charles, say that Lady Crabs and I will be very happy to see Mr. and Mrs. Deuceace; and that they must excuse us receiving them en famille. Sit still, my blessing — take things coolly. Have you got the box with the papers?”

My lady pointed to a great green box — the same from which she had taken the papers, when Deuceace fust saw them — and handed over to my lord a fine gold key. I went out, met Deuceace and his wife on the stepps, gave my messinge, and bowed them palitely in.

My lord didn’t rise, but smoaked away as usual (praps a little quicker, but I can’t say); my lady sat upright, looking handsum and strong. Deuceace walked in, his left arm tied to his breast, his wife and hat on the other. He looked very pale and frightened; his wife, poar thing! had her head berried in her handkerchief, and sobd fit to break her heart.

Miss Kicksey, who was in the room (but I didn’t mention her, she was less than nothink in our house), went up to Mrs. Deuceace at onst, and held out her arms — she had a heart, that old Kicksey, and I respect her for it. The poor hunchback flung herself into Miss’s arms, with a kind of whooping screech, and kep there for some time, sobbing in quite a historical manner. I saw there was going to be a sean, and so, in cors, left the door ajar.

“Welcome to Saint Cloud, Algy my boy!” says my lord, in a loud, hearty voice. “You thought you would give us the slip, eh, you rogue? But we knew it, my dear fellow: we knew the whole affair — did we not, my soul? — and you see, kept our secret better than you did yours.”

“I must confess, sir,” says Deuceace, bowing, “that I had no idea of the happiness which awaited me in the shape of a mother-inlaw.”

“No, you dog; no, no,” says my lord, giggling: “old birds, you know, not to be caught with chaff, like young ones. But here we are, all spliced and happy, at last. Sit down, Algernon; let us smoke a segar, and talk over the perils and adventures of the last month. My love,” says my lord, turning to his lady, you have no malice against poor Algernon, I trust? Pray shake HIS HAND.” (A grin.)

But my lady rose and said, “I have told Mr. Deuceace, that I never wished to see him, or speak to him, more. I see no reason, now, to change my opinion.” And herewith she sailed out of the room, by the door through which Kicksey had carried poor Mrs. Deuceace.

“Well, well,” says my lord, as Lady Crabs swept by, “I was in hopes she had forgiven you; but I know the whole story, and I must confess you used her cruelly ill. Two strings to your bow! — that was your game, was it, you rogue?”

“Do you mean, my lord, that you know all that past between me and Lady Grif — Lady Crabs, before our quarrel?”

“Perfectly — you made love to her, and she was almost in love with you; you jilted her for money, she got a man to shoot your hand off in revenge: no more dice-boxes, now, Deuceace; no more sauter la coupe. I can’t think how the deuce you will manage to live without them.”

“Your lordship is very kind; but I have given up play altogether,” says Deuceace, looking mighty black and uneasy.

“Oh, indeed! Benedick has turned a moral man, has he? This is better and better. Are you thinking of going into the church, Deuceace?”

“My lord, may I ask you to be a little more serious?”

“Serious! a quoi bon? I am serious — serious in my surprise that, when you might have had either of these women, you should have preferred that hideous wife of yours.”

“May I ask you, in turn, how you came to be so little squeamish about a wife, as to choose a woman who had just been making love to your own son?” says Deuceace, growing fierce.

“How can you ask such a question? I owe forty thousand pounds — there is an execution at Sizes Hall — every acre I have is in the hands of my creditors; and that’s why I married her. Do you think there was any love? Lady Crabs is a dev’lish fine woman, but she’s not a fool — she married me for my coronet, and I married her for her money.”

“Well, my lord, you need not ask me, I think, why I married the daughter-inlaw.”

“Yes, but I DO, my dear boy. How the deuce are you to live? Dawkins’s five thousand pounds won’t last forever; and afterwards?”

“You don’t mean, my lord — you don’t — I mean, you can’t — D——!” says he, starting up, and losing all patience, “you don’t dare to say that Miss Griffin had not a fortune of ten thousand a year?”

My lord was rolling up, and wetting betwigst his lips, another segar; he lookt up, after he had lighted it, and said quietly —

“Certainly, Miss Griffin had a fortune of ten thousand a year.”

“Well, sir, and has she not got it now? Has she spent it in a week?”

“SHE HAS NOT GOT A SIX-PENCE NOW: SHE MARRIED WITHOUT HER MOTHER’S CONSENT!”

Deuceace sunk down in a chair; and I never see such a dreadful picture of despair as there was in the face of that retchid man! — he writhed, and nasht his teeth, he tore open his coat, and wriggled madly the stump of his left hand, until, fairly beat, he threw it over his livid pale face, and sinking backwards, fairly wept alowd.