edit. Had I been a malicious spirit, there is
no saying what amount of mischief I might have worked, what discoveries
anticipated, what awkward meetings effected. I was, however, what the
French call a "bon diable," and most generously took the side of
the poor sinner against the strong spirit of right. How many a poor
subaltern had been put in arrest for wearing "mufti," had I not been
there to apprise him the town-major White was coming. How often have I
saved a poor college-man from a heavy fine, who, with his name on the
sick-list, was flirting in the "Square." How have I hastened, at the
risk of my neck, between crashing carriages and prancing horses, to
announce to a fair lady lounging in her britzska that the "Counsellor,"
her husband, was unexpectedly returning from court an hour earlier than
his wont. I have rescued sons from fathers, daughters from mothers; the
pupil from his guardian, the debtor from his creditor,--in a word, was a
kind of ragged guardian angel, who watched over the peccadilloes of the
capital. My "amour propre"--if such an expression of such a quality may
be conceded to one like me--was interested in the cause of all who did
wrong. I was the Quixote of all deceivers.

With "Con on the look-out," none feared surprise; and while
my shrewdness was known to be first-rate, my honesty was alike
unimpeachable. It may readily be believed how, with acquirements
and talents like these, I no longer pursued the humble walk of
"horse-holder;" indeed, I rarely touched a bridle, or, if I did so, it
was only to account for my presence in such localities as I might need
an excuse to loiter in. I was at the head of my profession; and the
ordinary salutation of the cavaliers, "Con, get me a fellow to hold this
mare," showed that none presumed to expect the ignoble service at my own
hands.

To some two or three of my early patrons, men who had noticed me in my
obscurity, I would still condescend to yield this attention,--a degree
of grateful acknowledgment on my part which they always rewarded most
handsomely. Among these was the young officer whose pony I had held on
the first night of my arrival. He was an Honorable Captain De Courcy,
very well-looking, well-mannered, and very poor,--member of the
Commander-in-Chief's staff, who eked out his life by the aid of his
noble birth and his wits together.

At the time I speak of, his visits to Merrion Square were devoted to the
cause of a certain Mrs. Mansergh, t