of the business, and showed him Beamish’s note, at which he was greatly amused:  and, indeed, it furnished food for mirth for the whole party during the evening.  The next morning I set out with Lord Callonby on the long-threatened canvassing expedition—­with the details of which I need not burden my “Confessions.”  Suffice it to say, that when Lord Kilkee was advocating Toryism in the west, I, his accredited ambassador, was devoting to the infernal gods the prelacy, the peerage, and the pension list—­a mode of canvass well worthy of imitation in these troublesome times; for, not to speak of the great prospect of success from having friends on both sides of the question, the principal can always divest himself of any unpleasant consequences as regards inconsistency, by throing the blame on this friend, “who went too far,” as the appropriate phrase is.

Nothing could be more successful than our mission.  Lord Callonby was delighted beyond bounds with the prospect, and so completely carried away by high spirits, and so perfectly assured that much of it was owing to my exertions, that on the second morning of our tour—­for we proceeded through the county for three days—­he came laughing into my dressing-room, with a newspaper in his hand.

“Here, Lorrequer,” said he, “here’s news for you.  You certainly must read this,” and he handed me a copy of the “Clare Herald,” with an account of our meeting the evening before.

After glancing my eye rapidly over the routine usual in such cases —­Humph, ha—­nearly two hundred people—­most respectable farmers—­room appropriately decorated—­“Callonby Arms”—­“after the usual loyal toasts, the chairman rose”—­Well, no matter.  Ah! here it is:  “Mr. Lorrequer here addressed the meeting with a flow of eloquence it has rarely, if ever, been our privilege to hear equalled.  He began by”—­humph—­

“Ah,” said his lordship, impatiently, “you will never find it out—­look here—­’Mr. Lorrequer, whom we have mentioned as having made the highly exciting speech, to be found in our first page, is, we understand, the son of Sir Guy Lorrequer, of Elton, in Shropshire—­one of the wealthiest baronets in England.  If rumour speak truly, there is a very near prospect of an alliance between this talented and promising young gentleman, and the beautiful and accomplished daughter of a certain noble earl, with whom he has been for some time domesticated.”

“Eh, what think you?  Son of Sir Guy Lorrequer.  I always thought my old friend a bachelor, but you see the ‘Clare Herald’ knows better.  Not to speak of the last piece of intelligence, it is very good, is it not?”

“Capital, indeed,” said I, trying to laugh, and at the same time blushing confoundedly, and looking as ridiculously as need be.