“But, Stubber,” said I, as I conned over the various addresses on this incomprehensible cover, “are you sure this is for me?”

“The postmaster, sir, desired me to ask you if you’d have it, for he has offered it to every one down in these parts lately; the waterguard officers will take it at 8d.  Cir, if you won’t, but I begged you might have the refusal.”

“Oh! very well; I am happy to find matters are managed so impartially in the post-office here.  Nothing like a public cant for making matters find their true level.  Tell the postmaster, then, I’ll keep the letter, and the rather, as it happens, by good luck, to be intended for me.”

“And now for the interior,” said I, as I broke the seal and read: 

     “Paris, Rue Castiglione.

“My dear Mr. Lorrequer—­As her ladyship and my son have in vain essayed to get any thing from you in the shape of reply to their letters, it has devolved upon me to try my fortune, which were I to augur from the legibility of my writing, may not, I should fear, prove more successful than the”—­(what can the word be?) “the—­the” —­why, it can’t be damnable, surely?—­no, it is amiable, I see —­“than the amiable epistle of my lady.  I cannot, however, permit myself to leave this without apprising you that we are about to start for Baden, where we purpose remaining a month or two.  Your cousin Guy, who has been staying for some time with us, has been obliged to set out for Geneva, but hopes to join in some weeks hence.  He is a great favourite with us all, but has not effaced the memory of our older friend, yourself.  Could you not find means to come over and see us—­if only a flying visit?  Rotterdam is the route, and a few days would bring you to our quarters.  Hoping that you may feel so disposed, I have enclosed herewith a letter to the Horse Guards, which I trust may facilitate your obtaining leave of absence.  I know of no other mode of making your peace with the ladies, who are too highly incensed at your desertion to send one civil postscript to this letter; and Kilkee and myself are absolutely exhausted in our defence of you.  Believe me, yours truly,

“Callonby.”

Had I received an official notification of my being appointed paymaster to the forces, or chaplain to Chelsea hospital, I believe I should have received the information with less surprise than I perused this letter —­that after the long interval which had elapsed, during which I had considered myself totally forgotten by this family, I should now receive a letter—­and such a letter, too—­quite in the vein of our former intimacy and good feeling, inviting me to their house, and again professing their willingness that I should be on the terms of our old familiarity—­was little short of wonderful to me.  I read, too—­with what pleasure?—­that slight mention of my cousin, whom I had so long regarded as my successful rival, but who I began now to hope had not been preferred to me.  Perhaps it was