We hope it is not necessary to assure our fair readers that Edward O'Connor had nothing to do with this scene of drunken absurdity. No: long before the evening's proceedings had assumed the character of a regular drinking bout, he had contrived to make his escape, his head only sufficiently excited to increase his sentimentality; so, instead of riding home direct, he took a round of some eight miles, to have a look at Merryvale, for there dwelt Fanny Dawson--the Darling Fanny Dawson, sister to Dick, whose devilry was more than redeemed in the family by the angelic sweetness of his lovely and sportive sister. For the present, however, poor Edward O'Connor was not allowed to address Fanny; but his love for her knew no abatement notwithstanding; and to see the place where she dwelt had for him a charm. There he sat in his saddle, at the gate, looking up the long line of old trees through which the cool moonlight was streaming; and he fancied that Fanny's foot had trodden that avenue perhaps a few hours before, and even _that_ gave him pleasure: for to those who love with the fond enthusiasm of Edward O'Connor, the very vacancy where the loved one has been is sacred. The horse pawed impatiently to be gone, and Edward reined him up with a chiding voice; but the animal continuing restless, Edward's apostrophes to his mistress, and warnings to his horse, made an odd mixture; and we would recommend gentlemen, after their second bottle, not to let themselves be overheard in their love-fits; for even as fine a fellow as Edward O'Connor is likely to be ridiculous under such circumstances. "Oh, Fanny!" cried Edward, "my adored Fanny!"--then to his horse, "_Be quiet, you brute!_--My love, my angel;--_you devil, I'll thrash you, if you don't be quiet!_--though separated from me, you are always present to mind; your bright eyes, your raven locks--_your mouth's as hard as a paving-stone, you brute!_--Oh, Fanny! if fate be ever propitious--should I be blessed with the divine possession of your charms, you should then know--_what a devil you are!_--you should then know the tenderest care. I'll guard you, caress you, fondle you--_I'll bury my spurs in you, you devil!_--Oh, Fanny! beloved one!--farewell--good night--a thousand blessings on you!--_and now go and be hanged to you!_" said he, bitterly, putting his spurs to his horse and galloping home. * * * * *