Sir Christopher Blunt was a man having many antipathies. Since his rejection for Portsoken he had disliked all aldermen, individually and collectively; and since his union with the present Lady Blunt, he had conceived a violent aversion for all lady's-maids. He abominated Italian organ-players, and hated mendicants. Many other dislikes had Sir Christopher Blunt;—but of the whole batch, none was more settled, more genuine, and more sincere than his antipathy for Irishmen generally, and Captain O'Blunderbuss in particular.

His interview with Mr. Lykspittal had left complacent smiles upon his countenance;—but these suddenly yielded to clouds of the darkest description when the domestic announced the name of that dreadful and dreaded man.

"Be the powers, and how is your wor-r-r-ship?" roared Captain O'Blunderbuss, at the top of his stentorian voice, rattling the r most awfully, as he strode towards the knight with outstretched hand: "tip us your fin, my hearty—and allow me to congratulate ye on your appintment to the Commission of the Pace!"

Thus speaking, the captain shook with such exceeding violence the member which he metaphorically designated as a fin, that the wretched Sir Christopher groaned aloud, while tears started into his eyes.

"Be Jasus! and it's proud I am to own ye as my frind, Sir Christopher!" continued the gallant officer, not observing the pain which his proof of extreme cordiality inflicted upon the worthy knight: then, throwing himself into a chair, he exclaimed, "That rascal of a lacquey of your's told me you was out; but I wasn't to be desayved in such a gross fashion any how. So I just tould him my mind—"

"And what was that, captain?" asked the knight, in a half terrified—half sulky tone.

"That he was an insolent blackguard, Sir Christopher," returned O'Blunderbuss emphatically; "and be Jasus! I was just on the point of taching him how to behave towards his superiors, when I saw the gentleman who was last with ye coming out, and he tould me that your wor-r-r-ship was at home."

"But I—I am very particularly engaged, captain," said the knight; "and if you would excuse me now—another time I shall be happy—when you are passing this way——"

"Be the holy poker! and there's no time like the prisint!" interrupted the captain; "and as I want just to have a little cozie chat with you, my dear frind, may be ye'll orther up the whiskey at once, and so save us the throuble of talking dry-lipped."

"Really, Captain O'Blunderbuss," stammered the knight, "as a gentleman—as a—ahem—a person being in the Commission of the Peace—I—must protest against—this—this intrusion——"

"Inthrusion do ye call it?" vociferated the captain: then, after a few moments' pause, during which he surveyed Sir Christopher in a most ferocious manner, he suddenly assumed a milder demeanour, and, coolly ringing the bell, said, "Be Jasus! I'll save ye the throuble of giving any orthers at all, my frind."

"Captain O'Blunderbuss," cried Sir Christopher, plucking up a spirit, "I will not be treated in this manner! One would think that I am not master in my own house. I have already told you that I am very particularly occupied with business—in consequence of my recent appointment to——"

"To the Commission of the Pace!" added the captain. "Well, my frind—and we are going to dhrink success to the Commission and the Pace and all the rist of it. My good fellow," he continued, addressing himself to the footman who now entered the room, "bring up the whiskey and hot wather; with the sugar and a lemon—d'ye hear?"

"Don't do any such thing," exclaimed Sir Christopher, now in a furious passion. "Who are you, sir, that thus dares to give orders in the house of—of an ex-sheriff and an actual magistrate?" demanded the knight, in a stern and pompous tone, for the presence of the servant seemed to be a kind of protection beneath the shield of which the old gentleman grew every moment more valourous.

"Be the powers! and that same is soon answered," said the captain, rising from his chair and drawing himself up to his full height. "Is it myself that ye are afther enquiring about, Sir Christopher? Be Jasus, then—it's Capthain O'Bluntherbuss, I am—of Bluntherbuss Park, Connemara; and it's a pair of pisthols I've got for any man who dares to insulth that same Capthain O'Bluntherbuss. So, if you're for war-r-r, Sir Christopher-r-r," roared the gallant gentleman, "it shall be war-r-r; and if ye're for pace, let it be pace—and potheen!"

The captain looked so very terrible—grew so awfully red in the face—seemed to swell out so tremendously at the chest—and raised his voice to such a thundering tone, as he enunciated his name and that of his imaginary estate, that Sir Christopher's valour, like the courage of Bob Acres, oozed rapidly away, and the servant drew back as near the door as possible so as to be able to beat a retreat, in case of need, without any assistance from the warlike Irishman's foot.

"Is it war-r-r, or pace?" demanded the captain, seeing that the enemy was discomfited.

"Peace—peace, captain,—by all means," returned the knight, in a tremulous voice. "You'll alarm Lady Blunt—and—and make the dear baby cry—"

"It's pace—and potheen, sirrah," said the military gentleman, addressing himself in a tone of stern determination to the domestic, who instantly disappeared. "Now, my dear frind, ye're too impatient be half," continued the captain, resuming his chair and again speaking to the knight: "you don't give me time to explain to ye the nature of my business and the rayson of me calling; for sure and it was to tell ye how plazed your nev-vy Misther Frank Curtis is to think that ye're put in the Commission of the Pace—and how sorry he is to think that ye should have lost any thing by that scounthrel Howard—and how plazed he is to learn that your son and heir is flourishing just like a green bay-leaf—and how sorry he is to think that your frind Torrens should have got himself into such a tirrible pother—and how plazed he is to be able to send ye back the thrifling amount of five hunthred pounds which ye was kind enough to advance him t'other day—"

"Oh! he has done that, has he?" said Sir Christopher, rubbing his hands, and evidently getting into a better humour. "Well, I am glad he has fulfilled the little engagement, at all events; and I shall not hesitate to receive it, because—because I am sure he would not have sent it, if he couldn't have spared it."

"Your nev-vy, my dear sir, is a man of honour-r—like myself!" cried the captain, striking his breast very hard, so that it gave forth a hollow, rumbling sound, as if he had a small drum buttoned inside his frock-coat. "But, be the powers! here's the potheen; and it's over the glass that we'll settle the little business of the five hunthred pounds."

The servant placed the tray upon the table, and withdrew. Sir Christopher then, with the politeness of a man who is about to receive the payment of money which he had never expected, did the honours in a most affable manner, and only seemed contented when the captain, having poured half a tumbler of scalding hot toddy down his throat, declared that it was excellent!

"And now for the little business," resumed the gallant gentleman; and he forthwith began to fumble in his pockets, producing various pieces of paper, and discarding them one after the other as soon as he consecutively glanced at their contents. "That's not it, be the powers!" he said, laying down a piece of a play-bill;—"and that's not it, be the holy poker!" he added, throwing aside an old account of his washerwoman's: "nor yet that, be Jasus!" he continued, similarly disposing of a tailor's bill. "Why—what the blazes could I have done with the note?"

"Dear me, captain," observed Sir Christopher, in a tone of gentle remonstrance, "it is very imprudent of you to carry notes about loose in that way."

"So it is, my dear frind," returned the gallant gentleman; "but it's a fashion I have, d'ye see—and it's hard to break one-self of habits of the kind. Be the powers! and here it is at last!"

"All right—all right," said Sir Christopher, rubbing his hands.

"Ye can give me change out of a thousand pounds, can't ye, my dear frind?" demanded the captain, crunching a bit of paper in his hand as he spoke.

"Oh! I can write a cheque for the difference, you know," returned the knight. "I presume it's a note for a thousand pounds?"

"Just so," responded the captain; "and as good as a Bank of England note, be the powers—although 'tisn't quite payable at sight."

"Not payable at sight!" exclaimed Sir Christopher, in astonishment. "Why—I never heard of the Bank of England issuing notes that weren't payable on demand."

"Egad, nor I!" said Captain O'Blunderbuss. "But sure it isn't a Bank of England note at all, at all: it's just my own acceptance——"

"Your acceptance!" groaned the knight, his countenance becoming suddenly blank.

"Yes—be Jasus! and here it is, my dear frind," returned O'Blunderbuss, thrusting the rumpled slip of paper into Sir Christopher's hand. "It's as dacent a note for a promissory one as ever you'd wish to see, and as good as any of the palthry flimsy stuff that the Bank of England ever issued—or the Bank of Ould Ireland either: and that's not even saying enough for it."

Sir Christopher—looking indeed like a knight of the rueful countenance—turned the document over and over in his hands, having glanced impatiently at its contents, which were drawn out in the usual style of a bill of exchange, Captain O'Blunderbuss having accepted it in favour of Frank Curtis, for the amount of One Thousand Pounds, and at three months after date.

"Well, Sir Christopher, and what d'ye say to that, my old buck?" cried the captain, apparently surprised that the knight had not already expressed his admiration at the whole proceeding.

"What—what would you have me do with this?" asked Sir Christopher, in a hesitating manner; for the fact is, he could not think well of it, and he dared not speak ill of it.

"Is it what you should do with it?" vociferated the captain. "Arrah! and be Jasus, man, pay yourself out of it and write me a cheque for the balance."

"But, captain—I—I am no discounter," remonstrated the knight. "This little slip of paper is no use to me."

"Why! sirrah, and just now you was prepared to pay me the difference if it had been a Bank-note!" cried O'Blunderbuss. "D'ye suspict the thing, my frind? For if you mane to infer that it isn't as good as a Bank-note, it's a direct insult to myself; and, be the Lord Harry! it's me that'll resint it."

With these words, the captain assumed a most menacing attitude; and Sir Christopher was already in a dreadful fright lest he should be compelled to submit to this new demand on the part of the extortioner, when the footman entered to announce that a gentleman was waiting in the parlour down stairs to speak to him upon very particular and urgent business.

"You must excuse me for a few minutes, Captain O'Blunderbuss," said the knight, rising to quit the apartment.

"By all manes," cried that gentleman. "We can finish the little matther prisintly; and during your absence I'll pay my respicts to the potheen."

Sir Christopher accordingly repaired to the ground-floor parlour, where he beheld a venerable old man who rose from the sofa whereon he was seated, to greet him.

The stranger's aspect was indeed most imposing and respectable. From beneath a black silk skullcap flowed hair as white as silver; and his form seemed bowed by the weight of years. He was dressed in a complete suit of black, having knee-breeches, silk stockings, and shoes with large silver buckles. He supported himself by means of a stick, and appeared to walk with considerable difficulty.

"Pray be seated, sir," exclaimed the knight, already prepossessed in favour of his venerable-looking visitor, who resumed his place on the sofa in such a manner that the light of the lamp should not fall upon his countenance, which however appeared to be very pale and drawn up about the mouth with the wrinkles of age.

"Sir Christopher Blunt," said the old gentleman, in a tremulous voice, "I have ventured to intrude myself upon you, for the purpose of soliciting a very great favour. It is not of the ordinary nature of boons—it involves nothing of a pecuniary kind; for, thank heaven! I am placed far above the necessity of requiring such succour. Indeed, I may say that I enjoy affluence."

"Be assured, my dear sir," returned the knight, whose respect for his visitor was amazingly enhanced by this announcement,—"be assured that if I can serve you in any way—compatible with my honour as a man, and with my position as an individual in the Commission of the Peace——"

"It is just because you are a magistrate, Sir Christopher," interrupted the old gentleman, his tone becoming slightly less tremulous as he continued, "that I have now visited you. Not that any other magistrate would have failed to answer my purpose; but I have heard so much in your favour—the admirable manner in which you filled the office of Sheriff—the becoming way in which you presented the address to his present Majesty, when Prince Regent, and which was so very properly rewarded by the honour of Knighthood—the dignified manner in which you left the ungrateful livery-men of Portsoken to ruminate over their folly in bestowing their votes on your unworthy rival in that grand contest,—in a word, Sir Christopher, the whole tenour of your life, from the period when you were poor and friendless until now that you are a rich, esteemed, and influential member of society——"

"My dear sir—my dear sir," cried Sir Christopher, absolutely whimpering for joy at hearing his praises thus chanted by a gentleman of so venerable and saint-like an appearance; "I really must know you better—I—I—am quite at a loss to express my thanks—my——"

"No thanks are required by one who proclaims the truth," said the stranger, shaking his respectable old head in a solemn and imposing manner. "You will yet be a great—a very great man, Sir Christopher; or my experience, which is of four-score winters, is miserably—miserably deceived."

"Do you really think so, my dear sir?" exclaimed Sir Christopher. "Well, I suppose you know—or perhaps you may not—that I am a very stanch and sincere friend to the Established Church—that I am entirely opposed to Catholic Emancipation—that I have made the subject a profound study, and have devoted——I wish to God Lykspittal was here to prompt me," he muttered in an under-tone to himself.

"I was not exactly aware of all that, my good—my worthy Sir Christopher Blunt," responded the old gentleman; "but I respect you all the more now that I am acquainted with those facts. Indeed, I am proud and delighted to have the honour of your acquaintance—an honour for which I have long craved urgently. But let me return to the subject of my visit? I was saying that you could render me a great—a very great favour, and at the same time convince the world how zealous, how active, and how worthy a magistrate you are."

"My dear sir, I shall be quite delighted to serve you," cried Sir Christopher, catching also at the idea of serving himself by performing some duty which would put him in such a comfortable and desirable light before the world.

"The fact is, most estimable man," continued the stranger, his voice again becoming very tremulous, as if with deep emotion, so that Sir Christopher was positively affected in no ordinary degree, "two men, stained with a dreadful crime, and now in a position which precludes the possibility of their appearing before a magistrate, are anxious to confess their enormity to some competent authority; and I have selected you for the reasons which I mentioned just now."

"You have done me infinite honour, my dear sir," cried the knight. "I presume that this confession will be published to the world——"

"Decidedly so," interrupted the venerable stranger; "and your name will go forth as that of the zealous, trustworthy, and highly respectable magistrate who was selected under such peculiar circumstances to receive the confession."

"Really this is no favour which you ask of me, my venerable friend," exclaimed Sir Christopher, rejoiced at the lucky chance which thus gave promise of publishing his name in so remarkable a manner. "I shall be delighted to serve you in that or any other way. When do you require me to visit these unhappy men?"

"Immediately—at once," answered the old gentleman. "My own carriage is at the door; and we can proceed to the place of destination with a privacy which the nature of the circumstances renders imperative."

Sir Christopher rose and signified his readiness to accompany his venerable visitor, the joy which he experienced entirely obliterating in his mind all remembrance of the fact that he had left Captain O'Blunderbuss in his library.

Giving his arm to his new friend, who walked with considerable difficulty, Sir Christopher led him into the hall, where the knight only stopped for a moment to take down his hat from a peg. They then issued forth together, and Sir Christopher assisted the old gentleman to ascend the steps of the vehicle which was waiting. He then leapt in himself; and the footman belonging to the carriage had just closed the door, when Captain O'Blunderbuss rushed from the house, exclaiming, "Be the powers, and this is the greatest insulth 'twas ever my misfortune to mate with in all my life!"

"Oh! the dreadful man!" murmured the knight, throwing himself back in the carriage in a state of despair.

"Sir Christopher-r-r!" cried the captain, thrusting his head in at the carriage window: "Sir Christopher-r-r!" he repeated, with a terrible rattling of the r: "is this the way ye mane for to trate a gintleman? Now, be the holy poker! if ye don't come forth and finish the little business——"

At this moment the captain was abruptly stopped short in a most unexpected manner; for the old gentleman, growing impatient of the delay, and perceiving that Sir Christopher was cruelly annoyed by the presence of the Irishman, suddenly dealt so well applied and vigorous a blow at the gallant officer, that his countenance disappeared in an instant from the window, and he rolled back upon the pavement, exclaiming, "Blood and thunther!" in a tone of mingled rage and astonishment.

At the same moment the coachman whipped his horses, and the vehicle rolled away with extraordinary rapidity; while a merry laugh burst from the lips of the venerable old gentleman who had so successfully discomfited the warlike captain.

As soon as Sir Christopher Blunt had recovered from the alarm and excitement which the conduct of Captain O'Blunderbuss had caused him, he was seized with a strange surprise, not altogether unaccompanied by vague fear, at the sudden demonstration of vigour and strength made by his companion. This feeling was enhanced by the youthful tones of the merry laugh, which lasted long after the performance of the pleasant feat; and the knight began to tremble with apprehension, when that same mysterious companion hastily drew up the windows and the wooden blinds of the carriage, the interior thus being thrown into a state of utter darkness.

"My dear Sir Christopher Blunt," said a voice, now tremulous no more, but still evidently disguised, "you will pardon me for having practised upon you a slight deception, which would indeed have been sustained until the end of the present adventure, had not the chastisement which I was tempted to administer to that bullying fellow convinced you that I cannot be an old gentleman of four-score. In all other respects no duplicity was practised upon you; for I am a great admirer of your character—the object I have in view is precisely the one I named to you—and I selected you to receive the confessions of the two men, because I knew no magistrate better qualified to answer the purpose in every way."

A faint degree of irony marked the manner in which these last words were uttered; but Sir Christopher Blunt observed it not—for he was now a prey to oppressive fears and vague apprehensions.

"Do not alarm yourself, my dear sir," resumed the stranger: "I pledge you my most solemn word of honour that no harm shall befall you. Circumstances which I cannot disclose render it necessary to observe all possible mystery in respect to the present transaction. To you the results will be just as I ere now promised. You will receive and attest the confession of two criminals; and in forty-eight hours the contents of that confession, coupled with an account of how you became possessed of it, will appear in every London newspaper. Thence the whole transaction will be transferred to the provincial press; and in less than a week, the name of Sir Christopher Blunt, Knight, and Justice of the Peace, will be published and proclaimed throughout these islands."

"And you really mean me no harm?" said Sir Christopher, considerably reassured as well as consoled by this intelligence.

"Give me your hand, my dear sir," exclaimed his companion. "There! And now I swear that as there is a God above us, you hold the hand of friendship in your's; and may that hand wither if I forfeit my word, or do you harm."

"I believe you, sir—I believe you," said the knight, pressing the hand which he held, with convulsive ardour. "But who are you that act thus mysteriously? what is your name? where do you live? and whither are we going?"

"Not one of those questions can I answer," was the reply; "and it is expressly to prevent you from ascertaining the route which we are pursuing that I have drawn up the wooden blinds. I must also inform you that ere we alight at the place where you will have to receive the confession of the two men, I must bind a handkerchief over your eyes, so that you may obtain no clue to the point of our present destination. Recollect, the event of this evening will give you an immense popularity: you will become the hero of one of the most romantic—one of the most extraordinary—one of the most unheard-of adventures that have ever occurred, or will again occur in this metropolis. You will be courted by all the rank, beauty, and fashion of the West End, to learn the narrative from your own lips; and if you write a novel founded upon the occurrence," added the stranger, again in a slight tone of unperceived irony, "you will instantaneously become the most popular author of the day."

"Upon my honour—my dear sir," said Sir Christopher, rubbing his hands, "I am not altogether sorry that—that—ahem!—that you should have pitched upon me to become the hero of this adventure: at the same time you must confess that never was a hero placed in a position so well calculated to alarm him."

"The character of a hero is not to be bought cheaply in the world," observed the knight's companion. "To become such a character, one must necessarily pass through extraordinary circumstances; and extraordinary circumstances are never without their degree of excitement."

"Very true, my dear sir—very true," said Sir Christopher. "But I don't care how extraordinary the circumstances may be, so long as I run no risk. It's the risk—the danger I care about; and I shall be very happy indeed, if I can become a hero—as you are pleased to call it—without undergoing any such peril."

"You shall become a hero, Sir Christopher, without having undergone the slightest danger," returned his companion; "and that's even more than can be said by people who go up in balloons or by men who put their heads into lions' mouths in menageries."

"Upon my honour, your observations are most true—most just," exclaimed the knight, now finding himself almost completely at his ease. "I suppose that if I do get my friend Lykspittal to write me——I mean, if I do write a novel founded on the occurrences of this night, you will have no objection to my putting in all our present conversation?"

"Oh! not the least!" cried the stranger. "It is however a great pity that the night is calm, serene, and beautiful."

"Why so?" enquired Sir Christopher, in a tone of profound astonishment.

"Simply because it would be such scope for a splendid opening, if there were a fearful storm, with all the usual accessories of thunder and lightning," observed the stranger, in a cool, quiet, but dry way. "Only fancy, now, something like this:—'It was on a dark and tempestuous night—the wind blew in fitful gusts—the artillery of heaven roared awfully—the gleaming shafts of electric fluid shot in eccentric motion across the sky;'——and so on."

"Upon my honour, that commencement would be truly grand!" cried the knight, altogether enraptured by the turn which his companion had given to the discourse. "And, after all, as it would be a novel, I might easily begin with the storm. Let me see—I must recollect that sentence which you composed so glibly. How did it run? Oh! I recollect:—'It was on a dark and tempestiferous night—the wind roared—the artillery blew in fitting gusts—the streaming shafts of electricity shot across the eccentric sky.' Eh? that will do, I think," exclaimed Sir Christopher, rubbing his hands joyously. "You see I have not got such a very bad memory, my dear sir."

"Not at all," answered the stranger; "and I should certainly advise you, Sir Christopher, not to lose sight of the novel. If you publish it by subscription, you may put down my name for half a dozen copies."

"But I don't know your name," cried the knight. "And yet," he added, after a moment's pause, "I suppose you must have one."

"I believe that I have," responded the stranger, in a tone suddenly becoming solemn—even mournful; and it struck Sir Christopher that his ear caught the sound of a half-stifled sigh.

But he had not many instants to reflect upon this occurrence—nor even to continue the discourse upon the topic which had so much interested him; for the carriage suddenly stopped, and his companion immediately said, "Now Sir Christopher, you must permit me to blindfold you."

The operation was speedily completed; and the stranger led the knight from the vehicle, into a house, the door of which immediately closed behind them. Up a flight of stairs they then proceeded, and entered a room, where the stranger desired Sir Christopher to remove the bandage.

As soon as this was done, and the knight had recovered his powers of vision, he found himself in a well-furnished room, with the shutters closed, the curtains drawn, and a lamp standing in the middle of a table spread with wine and refreshments of a luxurious description.

His companion still retained the garb and disguise, but no longer affected the decrepitude of old age; and, seating himself with his back to the light, he invited Sir Christopher to take wine with him.

They then sate chatting for upwards of half an hour, when the sound of several footsteps ascending the stairs fell upon their ears: the door opened—and two men entered, leading between them a gentleman with a bandage over his eyes.

The two men retired,—and the stranger desired the gentleman to remove the bandage, adding, "Dr. Lascelles, you will pardon this apparent outrage, the motives of which have doubtless been explained to you by my dependants."

"I am led to believe that my presence is required to witness the confession of two criminals," said the physician, affecting complete ignorance alike of the mysterious master of the house and his affairs; "and if no treachery be intended towards me, I do not feel inclined to complain much of the treatment I have already received."

"I am delighted to hear you express yourself in these moderate terms," observed the prime mover of those widely ramified schemes which are now occupying the reader's attention. "Allow me to introduce you to a gentleman whose name is doubtless familiar to you—Sir Christopher Blunt:" then, turning towards the knight, he added, "Sir Christopher, this is Dr. Lascelles, the eminent physician."

"I think I have had the honour to meet Sir Christopher Blunt on a former occasion—at Lady Hatfield's," said the doctor, offering the knight his hand.

"It is therefore a strange coincidence which has thus brought you together again under such circumstances as the present," observed the stranger. "But you are both no doubt anxious to depart hence as speedily as possible, and I will not detain you longer than is absolutely necessary."

He then rang a bell; and in a few minutes four of his dependants entered the room, leading in Tim the Snammer and Josh Pedler, both strongly bound with cords, and having handkerchiefs over their eyes. These bandages were removed—the two villains cast rapid and searching glances around them—the stranger ordered them to be seated and his dependants to retire—and the business of that memorable night commenced.