“It’s not for meself I keer,” said John to me, with tears in his voice, “but Alfrid’s takin’ it to hear-r-r-t. He niver slep’ a wink since th’ attack on um come out. Now wh-h-at _had_ we betther do?” “I have no doubt that you and Lord Alfred will live it down,” I told him. “Sure it’s what I’m afther tellin’ Alfrid meself. ‘Take no notice of um at all,’ says I. O’ny Alfrid wanted your opinion as well. He thinks sich a lot of your common-sinse, bedad.” “Lord Alfred doesn’t suppose, by any chance, that _I_ wrote the thing?” I asked. “Alfrid would as soon think of suspectin’ Jan Axenford himself,” said Murphy. But he hesitated before he said it; his squint became more pronounced, and there was such a general air of confusion on his beaming and rubicund countenance that I was convinced that both the wily conspirators had attributed the essay to me, and that John had simply been “told off” by his noble friend to lure me into an admission. Burlesque was still a leading card at the Gaiety, and one or two other “burlesque houses,” as they were called, though opera-bouffe was gradually superseding the old home-made article, with its pitiful puns and sawdust buffooneries. And the chorus engaged for these entertainments consisted of handsome girls possessing limbs suitable for exhibition in pink or yellow or violet tights. Murphy and Paget were constant visitors at these theatres. And his lordship would frequently present to some shapely ornament of the chorus a gold bangle as a token of his regards, and as an earnest of his desire for her success in the profession she had adopted. Some attempt on the part of a necessitous chorus girl to pawn one of his lordship’s bangles led to the discovery that the ornaments were of little value. And it eventually transpired that they had been purchased by the gross from a Jew dealer in Houndsditch. His lordship always posed among Bohemians as a poor man, and managers, therefore, thought it nothing that he should accept free admission to the playhouses. There was some searching of spirit among them when the aristocratic dead-head’s will was proved. He “cut up” for quite a lot of money. And when he died, John Murphy soon followed—of a broken heart, they said, and having nothing more to live for. So passed this _par nobile fratum_!