A letter, too, he gave (I never read it) Of good advice, and two or three of credit.” Next morning I called at the quaker’s house to say _adieu_ in form, and found the ladies at home. I sate for a long half-hour; but had I remained till doomsday, I fancy Mrs. Pryme would have knitted on. At last I took a ceremonious leave; and--confound all stiff-backed gentlewomen who won’t leave young people to themselves--Rachael and I parted without the kiss of peace. CHAPTER XIII. MARK ANTONY IN LOVE FIRST, AND IN TROUBLE AFTERWARDS. “Oh, Heaven! that such companions thou’dst unfold, And put in every honest hand a whip, To lash the rascal naked through the world.” Shakspere |Fate seemed determined that on the world’s stage mine should be a hurried _entree_; and, when I had only caught a glimpse of passing life, that my bark should be launched at once upon the current of existence, to float or flounder as it could. Short as my career had been, it had not passed unmarked by incident. To fortune I was already indebted for more than one deliverance; and believing them to be an earnest of future civilities on the lady’s part, I resolved to take the world as it came, put my trust in the blind goddess of the wheel, and prove the proverbial good luck which mostly follows in the footsteps ol an Irishman. Willingly, therefore, I obeyed my father’s orders, and on the following evening quitted the Emerald Isle, on the pleasant and profitable pursuit of “the bubble reputation.” It had surprised me that, hitherto, no communication had reached me from Mark Antony O’Toole, touching the adventures which had befallen him since his disappearance from Kilcullen. There, his evasion, as my father mentioned in Iris letter, had occasioned a marvellous sensation. Miss Kitty O’Dwyer, as a mere matter of course, having been expected to commit suicide, or die broken-hearted within a fortnight. Neither event, however, as the fancy say, “came off.” Kitty continued in rude health, and the fosterer’s movements remained still wrapped in mystery. But, as it turned out, Mark Antony’s career was singularly connected with my own--the same star appeared to rule our destinies--both were simultaneously leaving the land of the west, apparently at the beck of fortune’s finger; and of the twain, which pursuit was the more crotchetty would have been a question; the fosterer, levanting for love, and I, for glory.