Ormond was received with much kindness in Dr. Cambray’s family, in which he felt himself at ease, and soon forgot that he was a stranger: his mind, however, was anxious about his situation, as he longed to get into active life. Every morning, when the post came in, he hoped there would be a letter for him with his commission; and he was every morning regularly surprised and disappointed, on finding that there was none. In the course of each ensuing day, however, he forgot his disappointment, and said he believed he was happier where he was than he could be any where else. The regular morning question of “Any letters for me?” was at last answered by “Yes; one franked by Sir Ulick O’Shane.” “Ah! no commission — I feel no enclosure — single letter — no! double.” Double or single, it was as follows:—

“DEAR HARRY,

“At last I have seen the executrix and son-in-law, whom that great genius deceased, my well-beloved cousin in folly, King Corny, chose for himself. As to that thing, half mud, half tinsel, half Irish, half French, Miss, or Mademoiselle, O’Faley, that jointed doll, is — all but the eyes, which move of themselves in a very extraordinary way — a mere puppet, pulled by wires in the hands of another. The master showman, fully as extraordinary in his own way as his puppet, kept, while I was by, as much as possible behind the scenes. The hand and ruffle of the French petit-maitre, and the prompter’s voice, however, were visible and audible enough for me. In plain English, I suppose it is no news to you to hear that Mdlle. O’Faley is a fool, and Monsieur de Connal, Captain O’Connal, Black Connal, or by whatever other alias he is to be called, is properly a puppy. I am sorry, my dear boy, to tell you that the fool has let the rogue get hold of the five hundred pounds lodged in the bank — so no hopes of your commission for three months, or at the least two months to come. My dear boy, your much-lamented friend and benefactor (is not that the style?), King Corny, who began, I think, by being, years ago, to your admiration, his own tailor, has ended, I fear to your loss, by being his own lawyer: he has drawn his will so that any attorney could drive a coach and six through it — so ends ‘every man his own lawyer.’ Forgive me this laugh, Harry. By-the-bye, you, my dear ward, will be of age in December, I think — then all my legal power of interference ceases.

“Meantime, as I know you will be out of spirits when you read this, I have some comfort for you and myself, which I kept for a bonne-bouche — you will never more see Lady O’Shane, nor I either. Articles of separation — and I didn’t trust myself to be my own lawyer — have been signed between us: so I shall see her ladyship sail for England this night — won’t let any one have the pleasure of putting her on board but myself — I will see her safe off, and feel well assured nothing can tempt her to return — even to haunt me — or scold you. This was the business which detained me in Dublin — well worth while to give up a summer to secure, for the rest of one’s days, liberty to lead a bachelor’s merry life, which I mean to do at Castle Hermitage or elsewhere, now and from henceforth — Miss Black in no ways notwithstanding. Miss Black, it is but justice to tell you, is now convinced of my conjugal virtues, and admires my patience as much as she used to admire Lady O’Shane’s. She has been very useful to me in arranging my affairs in this separation —in consequence, I have procured a commission of the peace for a certain Mr. M’Crule, a man whom you may remember to have seen or heard at the bottom or corner of the table at Castle Hermitage, one of the Cromwellians, a fellow with the true draw-down of the mouth, and who speaks, or snorts, through his nose. I have caused him, not without some difficulty, to ask Miss Black to be his helpmate (Lord help him and forgive me!); and Miss Black, preferring rather to stay in Ireland and become Mrs. M’Crule than to return to England and continue companion to Lady O’Shane, hath consented (who can blame her?) to marry on the spur of the occasion — to-morrow — I giving her away — you may imagine with what satisfaction. What with marriages and separations, the business of the nation, my bank, my canal, and my coal-mines, you may guess my hands have been full of business. Now, all for pleasure! next week I hope to be down enjoying my liberty at Castle Hermitage, where I shall be heartily glad to have my dear Harry again. Marcus in England still — the poor Annalys in great distress about the son, with whom, I fear, it is all over. No time for more. Measure my affection by the length of this, the longest epistle extant in my hand-writing.

“My dear boy, yours ever,

“Ulick O’Shane.”

The mixed and crossing emotions which this letter was calculated to excite having crossed, and mixed, and subsided a little, the predominating feeling was expressed by our young hero with a sigh, and this reflection: “Two months at the least! I must wait before I can have my commission — two months more in idleness the fates have decreed.”

“That last is a part of the decree that depends on yourself, not on the fates. Two months you must wait, but why in idleness?” said Dr. Cambray.

The kind and prudent doctor did not press the question — he was content with its being heard, knowing that it would sink into the mind and produce its effect in due season. Accordingly, after some time, after Ormond had exhaled impatience, and exhausted invective, and submitted to necessity, he returned to reason with the doctor. One evening, when the doctor and his family had returned from walking, and as the tea-urn was just coming in bubbling and steaming, Ormond set to work at a corner of the table, at the doctor’s elbow.

“My dear doctor, suppose I was now to read over to you my list of books.”

“Suppose you were, and suppose I was to fall asleep,” said the doctor.

“Not the least likely, sir, when you are to do any thing kind for a friend — may I say friend?”

“You may. Come, read on — I am not proof against flattery, even at my age — well, read away.”

Ormond began; but at that moment there drove past the windows a travelling chariot and four.

“Sir Ulick O’Shane, as I live!” cried Ormond, starting up. “I saw him — he nodded to me. Oh! no, impossible — he said he would not come till next week — Where’s his letter? — What’s the date? — Could it mean this week? — No, he says next week quite plainly — What can be the reason?”

A note for Mr. Ormond was brought in, which had been left by one of Sir Ulick O’Shane’s servants as they went by.

“My commission, after all,” cried Harry. “I always knew, I always said, that Sir Ulick was a good friend.”

“Has he purchased the commission?” said Dr. Cambray.

“He does not actually say so, but that must be what his note means,” said Ormond.

“Means! but what does it say? — May I see it?”

“It is written in such a hurry, and in pencil, you’ll not be able to make it out.”

The doctor, however, read aloud —

“If Mr. Harry Ormond will inquire at Castle Hermitage, he will hear of something to his advantage.

U. O’SHANE.”

“Go off this minute,” said Mrs. Cambray, “and inquire at Castle Hermitage what Mr. Harry Ormond may hear to his advantage, and let us learn it as soon as possible.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” said Harry; and ere the words were well uttered, a hundred steps were lost.

With more than his usual cordiality, Sir Ulick O’Shane received him, came out into the hall to meet his dear Harry, his own dear boy, to welcome him again to Castle Hermitage.

“We did not expect you, sir, till next week — this is a most agreeable surprise. Did you not say —”

“No matter what I said — you see what I have done,” interrupted Sir Ulick; “and now I must introduce you to a niece of mine, whom you have never yet seen — Lady Norton, a charming, well-bred, pleasant little widow, whose husband died, luckily for her and me, just when they had run out all their large fortune. She is delighted to come to me, and is just the thing to do the honours of Castle Hermitage — used to the style; but observe, though she is to rule my roast and my boiled, she is not to rule me or my friends — that is a preliminary, and a special clause for Harry Ormond’s being a privileged ami de la maison. Now, my dear fellow, you understand how the land lies; and depend upon it, you’ll like her, and find her every way of great advantage to you.”

So, thought Harry, is this all the advantage I am to hear of?

Sir Ulick led on to the drawing-room, and presented him to a fashionable~looking lady, neither young nor old, nothing in any respect remarkable.

“Lady Norton, Harry Ormond — Harry Ormond, my niece, Lady Norton, who will make this house as pleasant to you, and to me, and to all my friends, as it has been unpleasant ever since — in short, ever since you were out of it, Harry.”

Lady Norton, with gracious smile and well-bred courtesy, received Harry in a manner that promised the performance of all for which Sir Ulick had engaged. Tea came; and the conversation went on chiefly between Sir Ulick and Lady Norton on their own affairs, about invitations and engagements they had made, before they left Dublin, with various persons who were coming down to Castle Hermitage. Sir Ulick asked, “When are the Brudenells to come to us, my dear? — Did you settle with the Lascelles? — and Lady Louisa, she must be here with the vice-regal party — arrange that, my dear.”

Lady Norton had settled every thing; she took out an elegant memorandum~book, and read the arrangements to Sir Ulick. Between whiles, Sir Ulick turned to Ormond and noted the claims of those persons to distinction, and as several ladies were named, exclaimed, “Charming woman! — delightful little creature! — The Darrells; Harry, you’ll like the Darrells too! — The Lardners, all clever, pleasant, and odd, will entertain you amazingly, Harry! — But Lady Millicent is the woman — nothing at all has been seen in this country like her! — most fascinating! Harry, take care of your heart.”

Then, as to the men — this man was clever — and the other was quite a hero — and the next the pleasantest fellow — and the best sportsman — and there were men of political eminence — men who had distinguished themselves on different occasions by celebrated speeches — and particularly promising rising young; men, with whom he must make Ormond intimately acquainted. Now Sir Ulick closed Lady Norton’s book, and taking it from her hand, said, “I am tiring you, my dear — that’s enough for to-night — we’ll settle all the rest to-morrow: you must be tired after your journey — I whirled you down without mercy — you look fatigued and sleepy.”

Lady Norton said, “Indeed, she believed she was a little tired, and rather sleepy.”

Her uncle begged she would not sit up longer from compliment; accordingly, apologizing to Mr. Ormond, and “really much fatigued,” she retired. Sir Ulick walked up and down the room, meditating for some moments, while Harry renewed his intimacy with an old dog, who, at every pause in the conversation, jumping up on him, and squealing with delight, had claimed his notice.

“Well, my boy,” exclaimed Sir Ulick, stopping short, “aren’t you a most extraordinary fellow? Pray did you get my note?”

“Certainly, sir, and came instantly in consequence.”

“And yet you have never inquired what it is that you might hear to your advantage.”

“I— I thought I had heard it, sir.”

“Heard it, sir!” repeated Sir Ulick: “what can you mean?”

“Simply, sir, that I thought the advantage you alluded to was the introduction you did me just now the favour to give me to Lady Norton; you said, her being here would be a great advantage to me, and that led me to conclude —”

“Well, well! you were always a simple good fellow — confiding in my friendship — continue the same — you will, I am confident. But had you no other thought?”

“I had,” said Harry, “when first I read your note, I had, I own, another thought.”

“And what might it be?”

“I thought of my commission, sir.”

“What of your commission?”

“That you had procured it for me, sir.”

“Since you ask me, I tell you honestly, that if it had been for your interest, I would have purchased that commission long ago; but there is a little secret, a political secret, which I could not tell you before — those who are behind the scenes cannot always speak — I may tell it to you now confidentially, but you must not repeat it, especially from me — that peace is likely to continue; so the army is out of the question.”

“Well, sir, if that be the case — you know best.”

“I do — it is, trust me; and as things have turned out — though I could not possibly foresee what has happened — every thing is for the best: I have come express from town to tell you news that will surprise you beyond measure.”

“What can you mean, sir?”

“Simply, sir, that you are possessed, or soon will be possessed of — But come, sit down quietly, and in good earnest let me explain to you. You know your father’s second wife, the Indian woman, the governor’s mahogany~coloured daughter — she had a prodigious fortune, which my poor friend, your father, chose, when dying, to settle upon her, and her Indian son; leaving you nothing but what he could not take from you, the little paternal estate of three hundred pounds a year. Well, it has pleased Heaven to take your mahogany-coloured step-mother and your Indian brother out of this world; both carried off within a few days of each other by a fever of the country — much regretted, I dare say, in the Bombay Gazette, by all who knew them.

“But as neither you nor I had that honour, we are not, upon this occasion, called upon for any hypocrisy, farther than a black coat, which I have ordered for you at my tailor’s. Have also noted and answered, in conformity, the agent’s letter of 26th July, received yesterday, containing the melancholy intelligence: farther, replied to that part of his last,............