ervices; a flat race, or
a steeplechase, all the same to him. His neck was his livelihood, and to
support, he must risk it. A racing-jacket, a pair of leathers and tops,
a heavy-handled whip, and a shot-belt, were his stock-in-trade, and he
travelled through the world a species of sporting Dalgetty, minus the
probity which made the latter firm to his engagements, so long as they
lasted. At least, report denied the quality to Mr. Burke; and those who
knew him well scrupled not to say that fifty pounds had exactly twice as
many arguments in its favour as five-and-twenty.

So much then in brief concerning a character to whom I shall hereafter
have occasion to recur; and now to my own narrative.

O'Grady's anticipations as to the Castle dinner were not in the least
exaggerated; nothing could possibly be more stiff or tiresome; the
entertainment being given as a kind of _ex officio_ civility, to the
commander-of-the-forces and his staff, the conversation was purely
professional, and never ranged beyond the discussion of military topics,
or such as bore in any way upon the army. Happily, however, its duration
was short. We dined at six, and by half-past eight we found ourselves at
the foot of the grand staircase of the theatre in Crow Street, with Mr.
Jones in the full dignity of his managerial costume waiting to receive
us.

'A little late, I fear, Mr. Jones,' said his grace with a courteous
smile. 'What have we got?'

'Your Excellency selected the _Inconstant_, said the obsequious manager;
while a lady of the party darted her eyes suddenly towards the duke, and
with a tone of marked sarcastic import, exclaimed--

'How characteristic!'

'And the after-piece, what is it?' said the duchess, as she fussed her
way upstairs.

'_Timour the Tartar_, your grace.'

The next moment the thundering applause of the audience informed us that
their Excellencies had taken their places. Cheer after cheer resounded
through the building, and the massive lustre itself shook under the
deafening acclamations of the audience. The scene was truly a brilliant
one. The boxes presented a perfect blaze of wealth and beauty; nearly
every person in the pit was in full dress; to the very ceiling itself
the house was crammed. The progress of the piece was interrupted,
while the band struck up 'God Save the King,' and, as I looked upon
the brilliant dress-circle, I could not but think that O'Grady had been
guilty of some exaggeration when he said