Charles OMalley, vol 1 | Page 4

mutton-chop together."
"We're behind our time, Major," said my friend, "sorry to leave you so
abruptly, but must push on. Eh, Lorrequer," added he, to evoke
corroboration on my part.
"Harry says nothing of the kind," replied Monsoon, "he says, or he's

going to say, 'Major, I have a nice bit of dinner waiting for me at home,
enough for two, will feed three, or if there be a short-coming, nothing
easier than to eke out the deficiency by another bottle of Moulton;
come along with us then, Monsoon, and we shall be all the merrier for
your company.'"
Repeating his last words, "Come along, Monsoon," etc., I passed my
arm within his, and away we went. For a moment my friend tried to get
free and leave me, but I held him fast and carried him along in spite of
himself. He was, however, so chagrined and provoked that till the
moment we reached my door he never uttered a word, nor paid the
slightest attention to Monsoon, who talked away in a vein that
occasionally made gravity all but impossible.
Our dinner proceeded drearily enough, the diplomatist's stiffness never
relaxed for a moment, and my own awkwardness damped all my
attempts at conversation. Not so, however, Monsoon, he ate heartily,
approved of everything, and pronounced my wine to be exquisite. He
gave us a perfect discourse on sherry and Spanish wines in general, told
us the secret of the Amontillado flavor, and explained that process of
browning by boiling down wine which some are so fond of in England.
At last, seeing perhaps that the protection had little charm for us, with
his accustomed tact, he diverged into anecdote. "I was once fortunate
enough," said he, "to fall upon some of that choice sherry from the St.
Lucas Luentas which is always reserved for royalty. It was a pale wine,
delicious in the drinking, and leaving no more flavor in the mouth than
a faint dryness that seemed to say, another glass. Shall I tell you how I
came by it?" And scarcely pausing for reply, he told the story of having
robbed his own convoy, and stolen the wine he was in charge of for
safe conveyance.
I wish I could give any, even the weakest idea of how he narrated that
incident,--the struggle that he portrayed between duty and temptation,
and the apologetic tone of his voice in which he explained that the
frame of mind that succeeds to any yielding to seductive influences, is
often, in the main, more profitable to a man than is the vain-glorious
sense of having resisted a temptation. "Meekness is the mother of all

the virtues," said he, "and there is no being meek without frailty." The
story, told as he told it, was too much for the diplomatist's gravity, he
resisted all signs of attention as long as he was able, and at last fairly
roared out with laughter.
As soon as I myself recovered from the effects of his drollery, I said,
"Major, I have a proposition to make you. Let me tell the story in print,
and I'll give you five naps."
"Are you serious, Harry?" asked he. "Is this on honor?"
"On honor, assuredly," I replied.
"Let me have the money down, on the nail, and I'll give you leave to
have me and my whole life, every adventure that ever befell me, ay,
and if you like, every moral reflection that my experiences have
suggested."
"Done!" cried I, "I agree."
"Not so fast," cried the diplomatist, "we must make a protocol of this;
the high contracting parties must know what they give and what they
receive, I'll draw out the treaty."
He did so at full length on a sheet of that solemn blue-tinted paper, so
dedicated to despatch purposes; he duly set fourth the concession and
the consideration. We each signed the document; he witnessed and
sealed it; and Monsoon pocketed my five napoleons, filling a bumper to
any success the bargain might bring me, and of which I have never had
reason to express deep disappointment.
This document, along with my university degree, my commission in a
militia regiment, and a vast amount of letters very interesting to me,
was seized by the Austrian authorities on the way from Como to
Florence, in the August of 1847, being deemed part of a treasonable
correspondence,--probably purposely allegorical in form,--and never
restored to me. I fairly own that I'd give all the rest willingly to
repossess myself of the Monsoon treaty, not a little for the sake of that

quaint old autograph, faintly shaken by the quiet laugh with which he
wrote it.
That I did not entirely fail in giving my major some faint resemblance
to the great original from whom I copied him, I may mention