e you had of Emily: she was only quizzing you all
the time. She is engaged to be married to Tom O'Flaherty, who is
here now. Emily's imitation of you, with the hat a little on one
side, and a handkerchief flourishing away in one hand, is capital;
but when she kneels down and says, 'dearest Emily, &c.' you'd swear
it was yourself."--[Here the laughter of the auditory prevented
Kilkee proceeding, who, to my utter confusion, resumed after a
little.]--"Don't be losing your time making up to Lord Callonby's
daughter"--[here came another burst of laughter]--"they say here you
have not a chance, and moreover she's a downright flirt."--["It is
your turn now, Jane," said Kilkee, scarcely able to proceed.]
--"Besides that, her father's a pompous old Tory, that won't give a
sixpence with her; and the old curmudgeon, your uncle, has as much
idea of providing for you, as he has of dying."--[This last sally
absolutely convulsed all parties.]--"To be sure Kilkee's a fool, but
he is no use to you."--["Begad I thought I was going to escape,"
said the individual alluded to, "but your friend O'Leary cuts on
every side of him."] The letter, after some very grave reflections
upon the hopelessness of my pursuit, concluded with a kind pledge to
meet me soon, and become my travelling companion. Meanwhile, added
he, "I must cross over to London, and look after my new work, which
is to come out soon, under the title of 'the Loiterings of Arthur
O'Leary.'"

This elegant epistle formed the subject of much laughter and conversation
amongst us long after it was concluded; and little triumph could be
claimed by any party, when nearly all were so roughly handled. So passed
the last evening I spent in Munich--the next morning I was married.

THE END.

EBOOK EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

Accept of benefits with a tone of dissatisfaction
Mistaking your abstraction for attention
My English proves me Irish
My French always shows me to be English
Nine-inside leathern "conveniency," bumping ten miles an hour
Pleased are we ever to paint the past according to our own fancy
Sure if he did, doesn't he take it out o' me in the corns?
They were so perfectly contented with their self-deception
Unwashed hands, and a heavy gold ring upon his thumb

End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Confessions of Harry Lorrequer,
Vol.6, by Charles J