--"It does not seem to have been one of those moments with you just then," continued Freddy, "for the poem comes to an abrupt and untimely conclusion, unless three -364-- blots, and something that looks like a horse's head, may be a hieroglyphic mode of recording your inspirations, which I'm not learned enough to decipher."

"Eh! no; I broke down there," replied Lawless; "the muse deserted me, and went off in a canter for--where was it those young women used to hang out?--the '_Gradus ad_' place, you know?"

"The tuneful Nine, whom you barbarously designate young women," returned Coleman, "are popularly supposed to have resided on Mount Parna.s.sus, which acclivity I have always imagined of a triangular or sugar-loaf form, with Apollo seated on the apex or extreme point, his attention divided between preserving his equilibrium and keeping up his playing, which latter necessity he provided for by executing difficult pa.s.sages on a golden (or, more probably, silver-gilt) lyre."

"Eh! nonsense," rejoined Lawless; "now, do be serious for five minutes, and go ahead with this letter, there's a good fellow; for, 'pon my word, I'm in a wretched state of mind--I am indeed. It's a fact, I'm nearly half a stone lighter than I was when I came here; I know I am, for there was an old fellow weighing a defunct pig down at the farm yesterday, and I made him let me get into the scales when he took piggy out. I tell you what, if I'm not married soon I shall make a job for the s.e.xton; such incessant wear and tear of the sensibilities is enough to kill a prize-fighter in full-training, let alone a man that has been leading such a molly-coddle life as I have of late, lounging about drawing-rooms like a lapdog."

"Well, then, let us begin at once," said Freddy, seizing a pen; "now, what am I to say?"

"Eh! why, you don't expect me to know, do you?" exclaimed Lawless aghast; "I might just as well write it myself as have to tell you; no, no, you must help me, or else I'd better give the whole thing up at once."

"I'll help you, man, never fear," rejoined Freddy, "but you must give me something to work upon; why, it's all plain sailing enough; begin by describing your feelings."

"Feelings, eh?" said Lawless, rubbing his ear violently, as if to arouse his dormant faculties, "that's easier said than done. Well, here goes for a start: 'My dear Miss Fairlegh'".

"'My dear Miss Fairlegh,'" repeated Coleman, writing rapidly, "yes."

"Have you written that?" continued Lawless; "ar--let me think--'I have felt for some time past very -365-- peculiar sensations, and have become, in many respects, quite an altered man'." "'Altered man,'"

murmured Freddy, still writing. "'I have given up hunting,'" resumed Lawless, "'which no longer possesses any interest in my eyes, though I think you'd have said, if you had been with us the last time we were out, that you never saw a prettier run in your life; the meet was at Chorley Bottom, and we got away in less than ten minutes after the hounds had been in cover, with as plucky a fox as ever puzzled a pack--'"

"Hold hard there!" interrupted Coleman, "I can't put all that in; n.o.body ever wrote an account of a fox-hunt in a love-letter--no, 'You've given up hunting, which no longer possesses any interest in your eyes'; now go on."

"My eyes," repeated Lawless reflectively; "yes: 'I am become indifferent to everything; I take no pleasure in the new dog-cart, King in Long Acre is building for me, with cane sides, the wheels larger, and the seat, if possible, still higher than the last, and which, if I am not very much out in my reckoning, will follow so light--'"

"I can't write all that trash about a dog-cart," interrupted Freddy crossly; "that's worse than the fox-hunting; stick to your feelings, man, can't you?"

"Ah! you little know the effect such feelings produce," sighed Lawless.

"That's the style," resumed Coleman with delight; "that will come in beautifully--'such feelings produce'; now, go on."

"'At night my slumbers are rendered distracting by visions of you--as--as----'"

"'The bride of another,'" suggested Coleman.

"Exactly," resumed Lawless; "or, 'sleep refusing to visit my----'"

"'Aching eye-b.a.l.l.s,'" put in Freddy. "'I lie tossing restlessly from side to side, as if bitten by----'"

"'The gnawing tooth of Remorse;' that will do famously," added his scribe; "now tell her that she is the cause of it."

"'All these unpleasantnesses are owing to you,'" began Lawless.

"Oh! that won't do," said Coleman; "no--'These tender griefs' (that's the term, I think) 'are some of the effects, goods and chattels'--psha!

I was thinking of drawing a will--'the effects produced upon me by----'"

-366-- "'The wonderful way in which you stuck to your saddle when the mare bolted with you,'" rejoined Lawless enthusiastically; "what, won't that do either?"

"No, be quiet, I've got it all beautifully now, if you don't interrupt me: 'Your many perfections of mind and person--perfections which have led me to centre my ideas of happiness solely in the fond hope of one day calling you my own'."

"That's very pretty indeed," said Lawless; "go on."

"'Should I be fortunate enough,'" continued Coleman '"to succeed in winning your affection, it will be the study of my future life to prevent your every wish--'"

"Eh! what do you mean? not let her have her own way? Oh! that will never pay; why, the little I know of women, I'm sure that, if you want to come over them, you must flatter 'em up with the idea that you mean to give 'em their heads on all occasions--let 'em do just what they like. Tell a woman she should not go up the chimney, it's my belief you'd see her nose peep out of the top before ten minutes were over. Oh! that'll never do!"

"Nonsense," interrupted Freddy; "'prevent' means to forestall in that sense; however, I'll put it 'forestall,' if you like it better."

"I think it will be safest," replied Lawless, shaking his head solemnly.

"'In everything your will shall be law,'" continued Coleman, writing.

"Oh! I say, that's coming it rather strong, though," interposed Lawless, "query about that?"

"All right," rejoined Coleman, "it's always customary to say so in these cases, but it means nothing; as to the real question of mastery, that is a matter to be decided post-nuptially; you'll be enlightened on the subject before long in a series of midnight discourses, commonly known under the t.i.tle of curtain-lectures."

"Pleasant, eh?" returned Lawless; "well, I bet two to one on the grey mare, for I never could stand being preached to, and shall consent to anything for the sake of a quiet life--so move on."

"'If this offer of my heart and hand should be favourably received by the loveliest of her s.e.x,'" continued Coleman, "'a line, a word, a smile, a----'"

"'Wink,'" suggested Lawless.

"'Will be sufficient to acquaint me with my happiness.'"

"Tell-her to look sharp about sending an answer," exclaimed Lawless; "if she keeps me waiting long after -367-- that letter's sent, I shall go off pop, like a bottle of ginger-beer; I know I shall--string won't hold me, or wire either."

"'When once this letter is despatched, I shall enjoy no respite from the tortures of suspense till the answer arrives, which shall exalt to the highest pinnacle of happiness, or plunge into the lowest abysses of despair, one who lives but in the sunshine of your smile, and who now, with the liveliest affection, tempered by the most profound respect, ventures to sign himself, Your devotedly attached--'"

"'And love-lorn,'" interposed Lawless in a sharp, quick tone.

"Love-lorn!" repeated Coleman, looking up with an air of surprise; "sentimental and ridiculous in the extreme! I shall not write any such thing."

"I believe, Mr. Coleman, that letter is intended to express my feelings, and not yours?" questioned Lawless in a tone of stern investigation.

"Yes, of course it is," began Coleman.

"Then write as I desire, sir," continued Lawless authoritatively; "I ought to know my own feelings best, I imagine; I feel love-lorn, and 'love-lorn' it shall be."

"Oh! certainly," replied Coleman, slightly offended, "anything you please, 'Your devotedly attached and lovelorn admirer'; here, sign it yourself, 'George Lawless'."

"Bravo!" said Lawless, relapsing into his accustomed good humour the moment the knotty point of the insertion of "love-lorn" had been carried; "if that isn't first-rate, I'm a Dutchman; why, Freddy, boy, where did you learn it? how does it all come into your head?"

"Native talent," replied Coleman, "combined with a strong and lively appreciation of the sublime and beautiful, chiefly derived from my maternal grandmother, whose name was Burke."

"That wasn't the Burke who wrote a book about it, was it?" asked Lawless.

"Ah! no, not exactly," replied Coleman; "she would have been, I believe, had she been a man."

"Very likely," returned Lawless, whose attention was absorbed in folding, sealing and directing the important letter, "Miss Fairlegh".

"Now, if she does but regard my suit favourably."