"And he what?"
"He kist her, and told her not to be so wery down-hearted about the misfortn which had hapnd to you."
"I have it now!" says he, clinching his fist, and growing gashly pail--"I have it now--the infernal old hoary scoundrel! the wicked, unnatural wretch! He would take her from me!" And he poured out a volley of oaves which are impossbill to be repeatid here.
I thot as much long ago: and when my lord kem with his vizits so pretious affeckshnt at my Lady Griffinses, I expected some such game was in the wind. Indeed, I'd heard a somethink of it from the Griffinses servnts, that my lord was mighty tender with the ladies.
One thing, however, was evident to a man of his intleckshal capassaties; he must either marry the gal at onst, or he stood very small chance of having her. He must get out of limbo immediantly, or his respectid father might be stepping into his vaykint shoes.
Oh! he saw it all now--the fust attempt at arest, the marridge fixt at 12 o'clock, and the bayliffs fixt to come and intarup the marridge!--the jewel, praps, betwigst him and De l'Orge: but no, it was the WOMAN who did that--a MAN don't deal such fowl blows, igspecially a father to his son: a woman may, poar thing!--she's no other means of reventch, and is used to fight with underhand wepns all her life through.
Well, whatever the pint might be, this Deuceace saw pretty clear that he'd been beat by his father at his own game--a trapp set for him onst, which had been defitted by my presnts of mind--another trap set afterwids, in which my lord had been suxesfle. Now, my lord, roag as he was, was much too good-natured to do an unkind ackshn, mearly for the sake of doing it. He'd got to that pich that he didn't mind injaries--they were all fair play to him--he gave 'em, and reseav'd them, without a thought of mallis. If he wanted to injer his son, it was to benefick himself. And how was this to he done? By getting the hairiss to himself, to be sure.
The Honrabble Mr. D. didn't say so; but I knew his feelinx well enough--he regretted that he had not given the old genlmn the money he askt for.
Poar fello! he thought he had hit it; but he was wide of the mark after all.
Well, but what was to be done? It was clear that he must marry the gal at any rate--cootky coot, as the French say: that is, marry her, and hang the igspence.
To do so he must first git out of prisn--to get out of prisn he must pay his debts--and to pay his debts, he must give every shilling he was worth. Never mind: four thousand pound is a small stake to a reglar gambler, igspecially when he must play it, or rot for life in prisn; and when, if he plays it well, it will give him ten thousand a year.
So, seeing there was no help for it, he maid up his mind, and accordingly wrote the follying letter to Miss Griffin:--"MY ADORED MATILDA,--Your letter has indeed been a comfort to a poor fellow, who had hoped that this night would have been the most blessed in his life, and now finds himself condemned to spend it within a prison wall! You know the accursed conspiracy which has brought these liabilities upon me, and the foolish friendship which has cost me so much. But what matters! We have, as you say, enough, even though I must pay this shameful demand upon me; and five thousand pounds are as nothing, compared to the happiness which I lose in being separated a night from thee! Courage, however! If I make a sacrifice it is for you; and I were heartless indeed if I allowed my own losses to balance for a moment against your happiness.
"Is it not so, beloved one? IS not your happiness bound up with mine, in a union with me? I am proud to think so--proud, too, to offer such a humble proof as this of the depth and purity of my affection.
"Tell me that you will still be mine; tell me that you will be mine tomorrow; and to-morrow these vile chains shall be removed, and I will be free once more--or if bound, only bound to you! My adorable Matilda! my betrothed bride! Write to me ere the evening closes, for I shall never be able to shut my eyes in slumber upon my prison couch, until they have been first blessed by the sight of a few words from thee! Write to me, love! write to me! I languish for the reply which is to make or mar me for ever. Your affectionate "A. P. D."
Having polisht off this epistol, master intrustid it to me to carry, and bade me at the same time to try and give it into Miss Griffin's hand alone. I ran with it to Lady Griffinses. I found Miss, as I desired, in a sollatary condition; and I presented her with master's pafewmed Billy.
She read it, and the number of size to which she gave vint, and the tears which she shed, beggar digscription. She wep and sighed until I thought she would bust. She even claspt my hand in her's, and said, "O Charles! is he very, very miserable?"
"He is, ma'am," says I; "very miserable indeed--nobody, upon my honor, could be miserablerer."
On hearing this pethetic remark, her mind was made up at onst: and sitting down to her eskrewtaw, she immediantly ableaged master with an answer. Here it is in black and white:
"My prisoned bird shall pine no more, but fly home to its nest in these arms! Adored Algernon, I will meet thee to-morrow, at the same place, at the same hour. Then, then, it will be impossible for aught but death to divide us.
"M. G."
This kind of flumry style comes, you see, of reading novvles, and cultivating littery purshuits in a small way. How much better is it to be puffickly ignorant of the hart of writing, and to trust to the writing of the heart. This is MY style: artyfiz I despise, and trust compleatly to natur: but revnong a no mootong, as our continential friends remark: to that nice white sheep, Algernon Percy Deuceace, Exquire; that wenrabble old ram, my Lord Crabs his father; and that tender and dellygit young lamb, Miss Matilda Griffin.
She had just foalded up into its proper triangular shape the noat transcribed abuff, and I was just on the point of saying, according to my master's orders, "Miss, if you please, the Honrabble Mr.
