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No. 144.]

OR,

Monthly Journal of Fashion.

LONDON, DECEMBER 1, 1842.

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DOROTHY MEREDITH was my cousin, my favorite cousin. Nay, she was, most emphatically, my pet.

As for Major Abercrombie Crowbar, public opinion was unanimous! A brave man, undoubtedly, but the last man in creation for a husband. He thought too much of his whiskers.

What could I do? To step between a lover and his mistress is, generally speaking, no trifle. There are cases where it is literally coming "between the dragon and his rage." But Dorothy Meredith was the finest girl in Lancashire-and my cousin!

What could she see to love, in that baboon, Crowbar? Not that the major was so insufferable, apart from his whiskers. But military men are anti-social. The worst of fathers. The most negligent of husbands. They can't take a joke. Besides, there was no chance of a war, and he would make a point of not dying these ten years.

It is needless to say that Dorothy Meredith was unrivalled in accomplishments. How could it be otherwise? Six rich uncles had educated her; and she was the legatee of a round dozen of maiden aunts. Of course, there was no such match in the country.

Now for me to stand still and see such a sacrifice-this was manifestly impossible. Understand me: I should not take such ground in any ordinary case, but Major Crowbar's mustaches were a foot long.

It is true, the thing was not so easily done. Interference in this kind is a delicate business. Open expostulation is out of the question, and friendly remonstrance is only a declaration of war, sub-rosa. It is surprising how a woman will stick to her betrothed" against the field." If I knew that her lover had scraped his mother to death with an oyster-shell, I should only make her a foe for life by the really friendly act of giving her the information. A woman, in such a case, will doubt the

VOL. 12.

testimony of a whole regiment under oath, and the evidence of her own senses into the bargain. Besides, if you could, by some miracle, convince her, you would accomplish nothing: for she forgives even more obstinately than she disbelieves; and unless you can actually produce before her eyes a previous living wife and five children, (all the bona fide property of her suitor,) you had much better let her alone.

It is obvious, then, that whatever exists of interference must occur between Major Crowbar and myself. The hope to prevail with Dorothy is altogether desperate.

To be sure, the major sings a good song; and I am told that he can split a man into three pieces with "cut one" of his broadsword; but he drinks like a fish, and his whiskers are absolutely terrific. He marry my cousin with five thousand a-year!

"Rather than so, come fate into the list, And champion me to th' utterance! "

What can Dorothy Meredith possibly see in that fellow? She is my cousin. If she would listen to reason for five minutes! What am I talking about? A woman in love listen to reason? Pah!

Come what will, it is very plain that this affair must be arbi-' trated between the major and myself. Talking to her is entire' out of the question. The fool! The silly jade! The good'..-' nothing, obstinate hussy! Why didn't she fall in love with an ourang-outang, and have done with it?

Besides, these military chaps are so tremendous in the matter of despatch. They have no remote conception of dely. After the place is once fairly invested, nothing will do but a bombardment, an assault, a coup-de-main. They can't wait to starve out the garrison. If the thing is to be done at all, say they,

"Then 'twere well 'twere done quickly."

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Thus situated, what could I do? To deliberate was ruin,, absolute ruin. Yet I paused.

Not that I was afraid of the major. I am afraid of no man. But there was a quiet ferocity in his upper lip, which I fancy few people would contravene, just for the fun of it.

Certainly, duels are things to be avoided. I have ever had but one opinion on that subject. This being shot down for another man's benefit, is all wrong. I venture to say that duels never did any good. They give rise to scandal. They disturb, the passions. They make awkward gaps in a family circle. I once knew three brothers out of five killed in duels, in the single month of April. They were April fools. For my own part, I would never sanction a duel, excepting, perhaps, those very few cases, where really there's no getting away from it.

Yet it was unpleasant, very unpleasant-I acknowledge it. The wrong end of a pistol-barrel, levelled, as near as you can, judge, at the fourth button, is, to say the least, no joke. And I was no shot. And I happened to know, on the other hand, that the major was no bungler. He had already been the "principal" cause of nine private funerals, and the "second" of forty-odd. Things began to look serious. But what could I do? He had sworn matrimony on my cousin, and I could devise no other way of getting at him.

In short, I decided not to challenge him-(for that, as you shall presently see, would have disconcerted my entire plan)but to make him challenge me. This was a nice point.

When I'm in a quandary, I always look at my watch. It was precisely half-past three. "Ha! this is fortunate. The major takes soup at the Red Lion every day at half-past three. I laid my plan.

I seated myself within ear-shot of his favorite corner, and called for terrapins and port. I took up the Weekly Chronicle Ha! what's this?

"CUPID TAKEN LODGINGS AMONG THE WHISKERS!- We copy the following singular story from the Daily Post: 'A coterie of fine ladies received and encouraged the addresses of a company of fine, smooth-faced Americans. Presently, a party of Englishmen, with whiskers, cut in, and cut out the Americans. Before long, a party of Frenchmen appeared, and very soon supplanted the Englishmen. Messieurs wore mustaches! After a time, a party of Prussians appeared: they added the imperial to the whiskers and mustaches; and it is unnecessary to say, that the Frenchmen had to stand aside. By and by, came a company of Russians, so enveloped in whiskers, mustaches, etc., that no one could tell on which side of their heads the face was. This was decisive! The Russians married the ladies!"

A thought struck me. In a moment I improved on my plan, but said nothing. Just as I had finished this, who should come in but my friend, Colonel

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Eh, waiter! make those terrapins for two, and double the port. Colonel, I am glad to see you."

"How are you?-how are you!" said the colonel, straining away at his left-hand glove. "Warm day, this! what's the news?"

"Umph! nothing special. Nothing but a little scandal about one of your professional brethren,-Major Crowbar. I hear he's in a bad way."

(There was a slight noise in the corner.) "How?" said the colonel-" How ?"

"He lost his commission last night at brag."

"(There was a sudden rap on the table in the corner, as of a man's knuckles: the waiter mistook it for a call, aud said, "coming sir!")

"You dont say it!" continued the colonel.

"Matter of fact, I assure you; and that isn't the worst of it. A gentleman at the same table lost his purse in a very mysterious way, and it is whispered that some people could tell where it went."

(The noise in the corner rather increased than diminished!) "You astonish me!" exclaimed the colonel.

"Between ourselves, colonel, it does not astonish me. I know a little of that man's history."

"Why, my good sir, you do very much astonish me. I thought that he was to marry your cousin."

"He marry my cousin, the Algerine rascal! I should like to catch him making such a proposition!"

(Just here, there was a thundering crash in the aforesaid corner! I believe every atom of crockery was dashed to pieces! I raised my voice.) "Colonel -, if that mustached puppy should mention such a thing to my cousin, I'd challenge him!" The colonel fairly rolled his eyes in wonder. I changed the subject. Enough, thought I, is as good as a feast.

I was hardly seated in my arm-chair, when the following note was placed before me.

"SIR-I scorn to reply to your scurilous abuse by a superfluous word. Name your own time, place, weapons; and take the first shot at A. CROW BAR."

This was just what I wanted.

My reply was equally brief, informal, and pointed:

"MAJOR CROWBAR's proposition is accepted. He will do me the favor to be at Collins' Heath to-morrow, at sun-rise, without weapons, as they will be furnished on the ground.

I happened to know that the only weapon with which the major was wholly unacquainted, was a long rifle.

1 happened to know that the only weapon with which I was perfectly acquainted, was a long rifle.

I bore the major no malice. A puppy he certainly was; and, at any risk, I was determined to oppose his marrying my cousin. But I had no weasel-like longing for his blood. If it could be so, I would much rather not shed it. But he must not marry my cousin!

The morning was chilly, even for March. The sun had just risen; cloudless, indeed, but the atmosphere was filled with half-frozen vapor that attached itself like hoar-frost to our clothes, and gave to every mortal man of us the appearance of having just emerged from a snow-drift. I shall never forget the major's figure! His mustaches and whiskers seemed arranged on purpose to gather up this imitation snow, and it was so piled over his visage that nothing was visible save his falcon eyes, and the plentiful puffs of fog into which the keen air converted his breath.

His manner was dignified to a fraction. He evidently thought of nothing but the pleasure of submitting me to the care of an undertaker. He was quiet. But he was, nevertheless, ferocious! When he saw the ground measured-thirty paces-he smiled in downright derision.

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Umph!" said he, " some people have yet to learn that Crowbar's long shots are his best shots!"

But he laughed out of the other corner when he saw my two long rifles! This was unkind. He had no possible notion of any thing but a pistol. But it was vain to protest. I was the party challenged. I had the undoubted right to my selection.

The seconds began to load the pieces. I watched them as a cat watches a mouse. The major's friend chose a ball that was absolutely perfect. I envied the major the luxury of firing that ball.

As Colonel

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was adjusting my bullet, I remarked that it had a flaw; a very small flaw, 'tis true, but still, a flaw. "Colonel," said I, excuse me; that ball is a bad one." And in a twinkling, I popped into the rifle a ball of my own preparation. It contained dry powder in the centre, and was bound up, tight and hard, with wet powder and tow. An odd thing to encounter that beautiful ball of the major's !—but you shall see.

man.

In trying situations, it is a great thing for one to know one's I knew the major. I knew that he was a brave man, but no shot with a rifle-and he knew it too! I never saw him cowed before.

At the word, we walked to our posts, and were told to fire while my second counted one-two-three-four-five.

"One," was hadly pronounced, when my rifle gave its music. I watched the track of smoke and fire of my tow bullet-it lodged in the very midst of the major's right whisker-it blazed -it blew up-he fired-he fell !-the two explosions were simultaneous, and what little he had of aim was entirely lost.*

The major was, as I said, a brave man ; and when he found that he really was not dead, he soon rallied and stood upon his feet.

But, to a brave man, honor is dearer than life; and to the major, his whiskers were dearer than honor itself!

As the novelists say, this took place in much less time than is occupied in the description.

His whiskers did I say? Alack! He had no whiskers! He had a part of one whisker, most atrociously singed and discolored. But its fellow was gone for ever!

Not the foliage-the branches-the trunks merely ;-the very roots were gone!

Had the been only shorn-no matter how close to the skintime would have done his work: they would have grown again. As it was, the major was in the predicament of Othello, after he put the light out:

"He knew not where was that Promethean grease That could their life relumine!"

It would be trifling to dwell on the comical expression of a man's face when one whisker was taken off clean, and the other was left standing, but browned and crisped like a fox's tail dipped in aqua-fortis. Not to laugh, was Roman firmness.

Major Crowbar was a doomed man, and he felt it. He said nothing. He walked off the ground in a worse pickle than he walked on it, but he was as dignified as ever.

He never saw Dorothy more. It was useless. She had loved him for his whiskers-and his whiskers were gone!

LINES.

I'LL tell thee why this weary world me seemeth
But as the visions light of one who dreameth,

Which pass like clouds, leaving no trace behind:
Why this strange life, so full of sin and folly,
In me awakeneth no melancholy,

Nor casteth shade or sadness o'er my mind. 'Tis not, that with an undiscerning eye, I see the pageant wild go dancing by, Mistaking that which falsest is, for true; Tis not that pleasure hath entwined me, 'Tis not that sorrow hath enshrined me,I bear no badge of roses, or of rue. But in the inmost chambers of my soul There is another world, a blessed home, O'er which no living power holdeth control, Anigh to which ill things do never come. There shineth the glad sun-light of sweet thought, With hope and faith holding communion high, Over a fragrant land, with flow'rs ywrought, Where gush the living springs of poesy. There speak the voices that I loved to hear,

There smile the glances that I love to see, There live the forms of those my soul holds dear, For ever in that secret world with me. They who have walk'd with me along life's way, And sever'd been by Fortune's adverse tide, Who ne'er again, thro' Time's uncertain day,

In weal or woe may wander by my side; These all dwell here: nor these, whom life alone Divideth from me, but the dead-the dead, Those happy ones, who to their rest are gone,

Whose foot-prints from the earth have vanished. There dwell they all ;-and here, within this world, Like light within a summer sun cloud furl'd,

My spirit dwells :-therefore, this evil life, With all its gilded snares, and fair deceivings, Its wealth, its want, its pleasures and its grievings, Nor frights nor frets me, by its idle strife. Othon who readest, for thy courtesy, Whoe'er thou art, I wish the same to thee!

THE RIBBON MEN.

A TALE OF IRELAND.

About the commencement of the Spring in the year of 1830, when the luxuriance of this healthful season was scarcely seen in field or forest, I took a journey through the county of Tipperary, in the South of Ireland. Though well mounted, still from the distance I had travelled during the day, and the bad roads in that part of the country, the evening was considerably advanced ere I arrived near the house of the gentleman whom I was about to visit.

I proceeded along slowly, my poor jaded steed dragging his heels after him at a snail's pace; so that I was overtaken by the darkness of night, before I had travelled over more than one-half of the space marked out to me by the gousoon, in consequence of the badness and intricacy of the road, and the wearied state of my horse; however, by perseverance and steadily jogging on, I at length arrived at my journey's end, and soon found myself comfortably seated by the side of a blazing fire, with plenty of good cheer before me, which, hungry and fatigued as I was, I found very consoling after all the toils and perils of a long uninteresting journey.

On my arrival at this hospitable mansion, I soon perceived from the extreme caution with which I was admitted, the noise made inside by the undoing of bars and bolts, and the great care taken to fasten them all again, the dreadfully troubled state of the times amongst these restless and discontented people. On making enquiries as to the cause of so much caution at the present period, I was given to understand that the country was never in a more disturbed state, that there was no security for any well. disposed persons, unless by being constantly on the watch, and taking care to barricade all the doors and windows at nightfall. Among many dreadful recitals of the tragical scenes occasionally acted by these midnight miscreants, and the terrible consequences with which they are often attended, to the unfortunate patriots themselves, my worthy entertainer told me the following tale.

"Within a few miles of the place where you now are, and not far from the foot of the Gaultee monntains, just over them in the valley, by the skirt of which you passed this evening, lying between the Gaultee and the Kilworth mountains, there lived not long since, in the prime of youth and health, aye, and in the opinion of every one that knew him, in peace and prosperity, too, a young man of the name of Connor Hogan; he was the son of a farmer, who was sufficiently extensive and industrious to be wealthy, without possessing any of the vulgar pride which rude independence frequently engrafts upon the ignorant and narrow minded. His family consisted of two sons and a daughter; Judy the last named being the youngest, and Dick by several years the senior to his brother Connor. Between these two brothers there was in many respects, a striking contrast of character, whilst in others, there at times appeared to exist a strong similarity. Dick was of a sullen, gloomy temperament, and rather passionate when irritated, though in general quiet and inoffensive. His passions would blaze out for a moment, and only for a moment, when he would see his error, and quickly suffer himself to be convinced of the folly of giving way to useless fits of passion. Connor, on the other hand, though in a few traits of his character he resembled his brother, still he was manly, liberal and cheerful, while in field sports and exercises he was without a rival: and in bis domestic character he was at times, kind and affectionate to every person about him, and never caused his parents a pang by his disobedience. Industrious, kind-hearted, and of a high and generous spirit, he made home cheerful, and under his careful tillage the fields returned abundant harvests. His sister Judy, too when she had arrived at womanhood, was a pattern of discretion to all the maidens in the neighbourhood, and stood high in the esteem of the old, while the young were all her admirers.

Such was the family of farmer Hogan, prosperous, and, indeed, it may be said, advancing in prosperity; very unlike the generality of their neighbours of an equal rank, for they basked in the love and respect of their acquaintances, and lived in the enjoyment of those blessings which are naturally the most coveted, the power of relieving the wants of the distressed, and winning the affections of all within their sphere, who deserved to be valued. What wonder is it,' their poor mother would say, as with a swelling heart and eyes she gazed on her hopeful offspring-'what wonder is it that they look like the great quality of the land, and that they have their spirit. Many a prayer was put up for them when they were young, that they should never do any thing mean or low, or that would bring down shame on the heads or memories of any of their people that came before them, and they never told me a lie, nor hid any thing from me since they were able to know right from wrong.' Quality, indeed,' the old female servant would exclaim. Musha, then, I'm sure I don't know what quality among them has a better right to hold up their heads, or has purer or cleaner blood flowing in their veins, as your own three children, God bless 'em. It's the spirit of nobles ought to be in them, and so it is; God betue 'em and all havin.'

It was a happiness to these poor people, afterwards, when sorrow came upon them, to have remembered, like a heavenly dream, having seen their children collected, when the night closed in, around their cheerful hearth, talking of the times of old, relating the different legendary tales of the glory long gone by of their native land, when Ireland was governed by its own chieftains, and when its far-famed bards sung forth the praises of her choicest warriors-and Judy, also, her day's toil over-her household cares dispatched, breaking in with prohibited, but quickly forgiven mirth, on these important topics. But the remembrance of those dreamlike evenings, those balmy joys that had long since passed away, and were doomed never to return, was too frequently accompanied by a memory which made it painfully oppressive. There came with it, too, the recollection of one who had destroyed all their comfort.

It was a calm night at the close of Autumn, and all the members of farmer Hogan's family were assembled around a blazing fire-the servants and their superiors forming the company, and contributing according to their plan and abilities, to the general entertainment, when the mistress of the house, whose attention was, perhaps, more quickly excited, was alarmed by the sound of approaching footsteps. The disturbances by which shortly afterwards, the country became so affected, had not at this time, convulsed their retired and tranquil neighbourhood, but as strangers seldom visited their peaceful abode after night had fallen, she felt some little anxiety, as she thought who this new comer might be. Presently two or three very distinct knocks were struck upon the door, and, for a moment, silence, and something like alarm, seemed to have affected the group within. ick, however, almost instantly started up, and was proceeding to the door- Ask who is there, Dick,' said his mother-she had not raised her voice above the ordinary pitch-but she heard outside the house,

A traveller, ma'am, begging for a night's lodging.'

On the door being opened, a figure entered whom they quickly recognized to be a travelling schoolmaster of the name of Purcell -one of those pests of society, who having no settled habitation, wander about the country under pretence of instilling into the minds of youth, the principles of religion and morality, with other branches of useful information; but, too often, I am sorry to say, instead of this, they carry about with them the seeds of disaffection and rebellion, and sow them, with an unsparing band, among the simple and unsuspicious creatures, who have the misfortune to be exposed to the blighting influence of such miscreants.

The ruffian who thus broke in on the happiness of this guiltless circle, was a man apparently about forty years old, rather tall and meagre looking, and dressed in a shabby old threadbare coat of

black, or, at all events, of a colour somewhat like what might once have been black, and breeches of the same stuff, reaching not much further than the middle of his bony legs, which were cased in grey worsted stockings, and large high quartered shoes; round his neck was a white cravat, very much soiled, with a shirt which seemed a very meet companion for it. His old hat, too, seemed rather the worse for wear, beaten into a shape, the exact form of which, it would be very difficult to give any just idea of. Having seated himself with the greatest possible coolness before the fire and partaken of some refreshment, he joined in the conversation which was going on, and which chiefly turned on the history of Ireland; a subject on which Mrs. Hogan observed, her eldest son, of late, to recur to, oftener than she thought was consistent with his welfare. She had frequently observed a fire in his manner when speaking or hearing of Ireland in the old time, and an excitement on such subjects frequently manifesting itself, which caused her some alarm. Tell them now, said she, turning to her new guest, and what you speak they will respect, and keep your saying-tell them that there is no good now in thinking of the old times, but that much trouble and sore hearts may come of it.'

I will tell them,' said Purcell, to think when they speak of the ancient glories of their country, that it was when sin came they were quenched, and that they will never give light again until the land is holy. I will tell them, when they speak of the pride and honour of Ireland in her happy days, that she has now no pride or honour except in her real children, and that, if they be faithful and virtuous, she needs no brighter glory then they can win for her. I will tell them to be wise and wary; but I will never tell any of them that I have a regard for, that the stories of the Island of Saints and heroes should become strangers to their tongues.'

'God direct us all,' said the poor woman, 'sure it is not for the like of me to say against what you think proper; but I was afraid, and the times so troublesome in other places, and so many bad boys going about in wild courses, I was afraid, that may be, it was better not to make much of thoughts that came, God knows, too often into our hearts to disturb us. I thought it was not right or good to be speaking about them, and I thought that, may be but sure you know better-that, since they took away power from Ireland, it was wrong for us to be wishing for it back again.'

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'We are all liable to mistake,' said the schoolmaster. 'We don't know what we should wish for, or do; and we cannot say that the memory of Ireland's greatness and pride in her purity of faith, may not be appointed as the means of restoring her to her pristine splendour. If we should prove ourselves worthy of it, God will surely bring the mighty change to pass. There is the Abbey of Birdfinnan over there, I never set my eyes on it but I am moved to see those monuments of ancient days, which England and heresy have been unable to destroy. Then strange thoughts and visions come upon me, and I begin to commune with myself, and to say, What spirit, or what saint was it, that was guardian of the place, that the enemies of the pure and holy faith were not strong enough to profane or eradicate it? I would ask myself inwardly, how it was that blessed Abbey had not felt the desolating influence of war, and that the prayers of heretics were never heard within its blessed cloisters? I would ruminate, why, when Castles sunk in unremembered ruin, this peaceful and holy temple held up its head against all the blasts of adversity, and the assaults of its Sassenagh enemies ? and how it came to pass, that when the heretics sought a place for their accursed rights, they forsook their high stations when saints and monarchs had raised a temple worthy of the God they served, and chose out a spot for fitting more his lukewarm and stinted worship? It was not his conscience, his heartfelt unworthiness, that saved the blessed shrine from pollution; it was not his reverence for holy things that kept ruin from them. No, they saw the adorable mystery of faith-that heard pure prayers and holy worship there,

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