V.-LEVER'S DECLARATION THAT "DEUVILLE" MUST HAVE BEEN WRITTEN BY HIM. (See p. 158, vol. ii.) The piece alluded to, and which helps to throw light on the influences that led him to change his style so completely (see Mr. Trollope's letter, p. 270, ante), was one of Bret Harte's condensed novels, "Terence Deuville." "Chapter I., My Home," describes the little village of Pilwiddle, on the western coast of Ireland. "On a lofty crag overlooking the hoarse Atlantic, stands Deuville's ShotTower-a corruption of D'Euville's Chateau, so-called from my great grandfather, Phelim St. Remy D'Euville, who assumed the title of a French heiress, with whom he ran away." He describes himself as, when only eight, winning the St. Remy Cup-riding his bloodmare, Hellfire. There was a great stir among the swell spectators who surrounded the lord-lieutenant on the course; and his daughter, the Hon. Blanche Sackville, quite fell in love with the boy rider. An A.D.C. tries to disenchant her by sneering at him as "a ragged scion," Deuville deliberately insults him, and the lordling A.D.C. retorts livid with rage-a duel is the result. Nineteen shots are exchanged in the glen, and at each fire Deuville shoots away a button from his uniform. As my last bullet shot off the last button from his sleeve, I remarked, 'You seem now, my lord, to be almost as ragged as the gentry you sneered at,' and rode haughtily away." The Chateau is sold and a commission bought. Deuville is next found in the army, and with the allies preparing to resist Napoleon. On the battlefield he is handed a dispatch in mistake for a general officer, with directions to communicate the order to Picton, whose division, however, being two miles away, he is obliged to ride through a heavy cross-fire of artillery and musketry. He cuts his way through an entire squadron of cavalry who try to surround him, advances boldly on a battery and sabres the gunners ere they can bring their pieces to bear. By this time Terence Deuville has penetrated the French centre. A sharp voice in French, from a little man in a cocked hat, asks whether he is a prisoner? "No, sire,' I replied proudly. A spy, then?' I placed my hand upon my sword, but a gesture from the 66 THE PORTFOLIO. 423 Emperor made me forbear." Later on, when presenting his snuff-box with a bow, Napoleon's quick eye catching the cypher on the lid, asks if he were any relative of Roderick D'Euville. This man turns out to have been his father and the schoolfellow of Napoleon at the École Polytechnique. An embrace takes place in presence of the entire staff; and hanging upon his breast the cross of the Legion of Honour which he removes from his own, he bids one of his marshals conduct Deuville back to his regiment. He is so intoxicated with the honour that on reaching the English lines he utters a shout of joy and puts spurs to his horse. Then it was that the adventure with the Duke noticed in Miss Boyle's letter (p. 158, ante) occurs. "Seize him!" roars the entire army. Deuville faints, and for six months lies in brain fever. During his illness the grape-shot which he received are extracted. When he opens his eyes, he meets the sweet glance of a Sister of Mercy-the quondam Lady Blanche ; and "I am now, dear reader, Sir Terence Sackville, K.C.B., and Lady Blanche is Lady Sackville." VI. SOME RECOLLECTIONS OF LEVER BY HIS (See p. 197, Vol. II.) [Dr. John Lever in some answers to queries gives a glimpse of his uncle which ought not to be lost. By way of preface to his account of Lever's wonderfully high spirits in Dublin, it may be observed, as not unfrequently happened in his case, that reaction is traceable in it. From Casa Capponi, Florence, the novelist wrote to McGlashan, just before starting for Ireland in 1854, that a residence for seven years in the relaxing clime of Italy was a sad damper to all energy, and that he feared there would be no use winding up the clock again when the spring had relaxed for ever! He hoped, however, that he might see much of his old friend when he should go over in August. It would not be McGlashan's busy season, and no doubt they would have abundance of time together. Softening of the brain, however, had already begun its work on McGlashan, and instead of the Scot cheering Lever as he was wont to do, Lever found himself obliged to rally the sinking Scot.] "I first met him at Sallynoggin, near Kingstown, in 1842, where he rented a house for the season; but I was then too young to retain any marked impressions of him. In 1854 he visited my father at Ardnurcher (I was then going through college), and I dined with him at the Imperial Hotel in Dublin, to meet young Baker, now in orders, and James McGlashan. The dinner was a roar of fun from beginning to end. I never heard anything like his stories, the usually impassive waiters rushing from the room with napkins stuffing their mouths, &c. He was very fond of recounting his amusements: boating, riding, driving, fencing, use of the gloves; whist-playing and gambling on the Continent: how a foreigner would sit an hour staring steadfastly at you, to find out if you held such and such a card before he would play his own. I heard him say of an F.T.C.D., who once played all night with him, when desiring a student next morning in the Examination Hall to translate, that he called on him to'play' instead. On one occasion he wanted the late eminent Sir William Wilde, M.D., to come and meet at dinner some friends he had assembled; and calling at his house was told that the Doctor could not possibly appear. Being denied several times, my uncle at last put his handkerchief in bandage form over one of his merry twinkling eyes. This expedient brought the oculist to the door in a moment; the rencontre ending in a hearty laugh at the success of the trick, which continued that evening to afford much amusement at Templeogue. "Next day, when with my uncle at his hotel, while dressing to dine with some Trinity fellows, an invitation came from Sir Philip Crampton for the following day. I asked if he would go. He said, 'No ; he knew all Sir Philip's stories, and, what is better, could tell them a great deal better himself.'* My uncle's extreme friendship and love for the Rev. Mortimer O'Sullivan brought him down to Tanderagee within that week. He mentioned that the latter, standing at his own hall door, when lecturing a labourer in his employment on the follies of intemperance, said, 'Just look at that poor cow there at the * This when read by the light of page 412, ante, is amusing enough. THE PORTFOLIO. 425 stream; she won't drink too much. Who'd thank her, when it's only water!' was the reply. He would sometimes regret having left the medical profession, but dispensary doctoring he regarded as wretched work. His ruling passion all through life was love of horses; he drew Kenny J. Dodd in a great measure for himself, and frightened my father by saying that he intended bringing out K. J.'s brother, the country parson, in his next. His letters home were generally pictures of great banquets with great people, their witty mots, &c., and descriptions of Italian life, given with more elaboration in his books. You see I know more of his early doings than later on. He was staying with Lord Spencer in the Phoenix Park in 1870, and had no time to visit us in the King's County, though wishing he could find himself sufficiently disengaged from the importunities of friends to do so. "Of course you know Frank Webber's original was my father's college chum, John Ottiwell, who did many of, if not all, the wonderful things ascribed to the former. The student's pranks were most amusing. On one occasion Ottiwell assisted to put the late Dr. Montgomery into the box of a Foundling Hospital, and rang the bell, when he was immediately turned in for a deserted infant.” The college chum of Charles Lever seems to have been Robert Boyle (p. 41, vol. i.). Ottiwell, we now learn, was the college chum of his brother John-the senior by ten years of Charles. As regards Lever's trip to Tanderagee it was followed, in 1857, by a more extended stay on the part of his son. Dr. O'Sullivan's family describe the latter as possessing many fine qualities—especially love for his mother, whose latest letter he always carried about his person, and constantly kissed. He mentioned how his father had early taught him a passion for horseflesh by carrying upstairs to him, while yet a child, a tiny pony, which was lifted by the cars, and made to give the paw like a dog. |