————— III. INTRODUCING DONOHUE. I have hinted, I think, that my friend disapproves of many usages of modern society. He maintains that it is in no sense representative of the true aristocracy. (“I have known a knight, Raymond,” he says “who avoided eating water-melon because it made his ears wet.”) This anecdote I take to be more properly a parable; but it serves to illustrate a phase of O’Hagan’s character. He would have the feminine section of society composed wholly of Cæsar’ wives. How he reconciles this view with the career of the fair O’Hagan who embellished a Stuart Court held at Hampton, I am too diffident to inquire though curious to know. His espousal of the righteous cause of Sir Roger Rundel was in every sense a love-match. What advice should _you_ have offered to Sir Roger? At best your aid had ceased with words, I dare to predict. But from the first traceable O’Hagan (some kind of pirate, I believe) to Bernard, the O’Hagans essentially figure as men of action, often as not of sanguinary action. We are agreed, then, that you and I are not of the kidney properly to conduct this affair? Your attention for Captain Bernard O’Hagan! No communication from Haverley reached him during the following morning. (“I have since taken occasion to look up the fellow’s pedigree,” O’Hagan informed me; “and the fortunes of the family apparently date from a certain pork butcher by letters patent to George III. One can understand a lack of finesse in a scion of sausage-mongers. God help the Army!”) Noon, and after, saw my friend engaged upon affairs of his own. But in the evening Donohue reported in the _mandarah_. This remarkable man is worthy of a brief inspection. In figure he is sturdy, of no more than medium height. He has well-brushed hair of the colour of stale mustard, and a ruddy complexion. Clean-shaven, his upper lip usurps an undue share of his countenance, and his jaw would spell truculence were its significance not modified by the humorous twinkle in the sky-blue eyes. Behold Donohue, a man of attainments; a valet unsurpassable, of eye more true for the fold of a cloak than any modiste of the Rue de la Paix; a colourist in whom discord between a scarf and a soft shirt produces a blanching of the cheek; who, of a hundred waistcoats, having a hundred shades, will unerringly select _the_ waistcoat for _the_ occasion. He has other qualities, to be displayed later. Donohue: “Sir.” “Well, Donohue?”—O’Hagan. “Captain Haverley, with Lady Rundel at Folly Theatre; stalls; Row B; numbers 6 and 7.” “Very good.” Exit Donohue. This paragon must have delighted the gloomy soul of Athos.