“Never was a handsomer fellow than Tim O’Donnell, lieutenant in the ——. Tall, well shaped, with the eye of a young eagle, and a pair of jet black whiskers, that were worth, to a fortune-hunter, fifty thousand dollars, Tim was the perfect picture of a soldier—and, to use his own phrase, ‘a divil of a chap among the girls.’ He made more conquests in a week than I would in a year; and, as you may see,” and here he stroked his chin complacently, “there are few fellows as good looking as I am. But Tim was after money, and used to flirt with the dear creatures only to keep his hand in for an heiress, when one should present. At length he was introduced to a lovely creature at a ball,—blue eyes, auburn hair, the shape of a goddess, and lips that would make your mouth water, even if you were as dry as old mahogany—and, for a while, he scarcely knew whether he was standing on his head or on his feet. He even paid court, so much was he smitten, to a long, scraggy, hatchet-shouldered spinster of an aunt, who attended his charmer as a sort of _chaperon_. The next day he was somewhat cooled down—at least he determined to check his raptures until he inquired after the fortunes of Miss Wheeler, for so his charmer was called. He left me for this purpose about noon, and in an hour rushed into my room perfectly insane with joy. “‘Och—give me your hand—shower the blessings on my head,’ he exclaimed, dancing round the room, ‘sure and I’m in heaven the day—ouch, ullabaloo, was there iver such luck?—ten thousand acres, the dear sowl, and a rint roll as long as a rigiment’s line: I’m a made man—hurrah!’ and throwing his cap up he caught it again, and then capered around the room, even carrying his antics so far as to leap over sundry chairs. I was nearly dying with laughter—and as yet I was totally ignorant of the cause of this joy. “‘What do you mean?’ said I, ‘you haven’t told me what all this congratulation is to be about.’ “Never did I see a fellow look more astonished than Tim. He stopped still, stared at me incredulously, and then gave vent to his wonder. “‘Blood and ages, and is the man drunk? Don’t ye know it’s all about Miss Araminta Wheeler, and the immense fortune she’s to bring me? The only living child—all the rest dead of scarlet fever, praise to the saints! and her owld father expected to kick the bucket everyday. Ouch, ullaloo-o-o, ain’t I the happy man? It’s marry the girl I will, this blessed week.’ “‘But will the ‘owld father’ consent—eh! Tim?’ “‘Divil a bit do I care whether he consents or not, if the daughter says ‘yes’—oh! such a jewel of a woman,—and what an iligant pattern the young O’Donnells will be!’ “‘Suppose the father guards her too well to permit an elopement? That dragon of an aunt looks as if she was kept to play the duenna.’