ories, repartees,
and practical jokes rained in showers over the land. A privy council was
a _conversazione_ of laughing bishops and droll chief-justices. Every
trial at the bar, every dinner at the court, every drawing-room,
afforded a theme for some ready-witted absurdity; and all the graver
business of life was carried on amid this current of unceasing fun and
untiring drollery, just as we see the serious catastrophe of a modern
opera assisted by the crash of an orchestral accompaniment.

With materials like these society was made up; and into this I plunged
with all the pleasurable delight of one who, if he could not appreciate
the sharpness, was at least dazzled by the brilliancy of the wit that
flashed around him. My duties as aide-de-camp were few, and never
interfered with my liberty: while in my double capacity of military man
and _attache_ to the court, I was invited everywhere, and treated with
marked courtesy and kindness. Thus passed my life pleasantly along, when
a few mornings after the events I have mentioned, I was sitting at my
breakfast, conning over my invitations for the week, and meditating a
letter, home, in which I should describe my mode of life with as much
reserve as might render the record of my doings a safe disclosure for
the delicate nerves of my lady-mother. In order to accomplish this
latter task with success, I scribbled with some notes a sheet of paper
that lay before me. "Among other particularly nice people, my dear
mother," wrote I, "there are the Rooneys. Mr. Rooney--a member of the
Irish bar, of high standing and great reputation--is a most agreeable
and accomplished person. How much I should like to present him to you."
I had got thus far, when a husky, asthmatic cough, and a muttered curse
on the height of my domicile, apprised me that some one was at my door.
At the same moment a heavy single knock, that nearly stove in the panel,
left no doubt upon my mind.

"Are ye at home, or is it sleeping ye are? May I never, if it's much
else the half of ye's fit for. Ugh, blessed hour! three flights of
stairs, with a twist in them instead of a landing. Ye see he's not in
the place. I tould you that before I came up. But if s always the same
thing. Corny, run here; Corny, fly there; get me this, take that. Bad
luck to them! One would think they badgered me for bare divarsion, the
haythins, the Turks!"

A fit of coughing, that almost convinced me that Corny had given his
last curse, fol