On reaching the domicile of Mr Fitzgerald, and inquiring if he was at home, our friend was ushered into the presence of a most alarmingly spruce young gentleman, six feet high in his stockings, handsome enough to be a handsome man, and with a head of hair that awfully contrasted with the rather carroty wisp which lay between Charley and high heaven. To him, on questioning him fully as to his identity, he delivered the letter, and likewise the speech which he had been composing on the subject all the morning. “This letter, sir,” quoth Charley, “was entrusted to my care by a very pretty girl, to whom I pledged myself that I would put it in the penny-post last night, but I was so cursedly tired, that, hang me if I ever thought of it; and so, to redeem my pledge, I have come to place it in your hands, Miss Bindon having some reason best known to herself for wishing it should reach you to-day.” “Miss Bindon, did you say?” exclaimed the young man, looking very much like a personage who had been wakened out of a dream. “Yes, sir, Miss Lucy Bindon,” answered Charley, and to prevent mistakes he added with rather a significant tone, “and a young lady, by the bye, in whom I take a very especial interest. You understand me?” “Oh! perfectly,” stammered the young man in answer. “Somebody told me she was going to be married.” “I don’t know how that may be, sir,” said Charley, with a sort of simpering consciousness; “but this at least I can say, that he’ll be a devilish lucky man who gets her.” “Yes,” responded Mr Edward Fitzgerald, with a bitter sigh; “she is in truth a beautiful girl. Such animation!” “And such a fine fortune!” continued Charley, rubbing his hands with triumph. “Amiable, excellent, fascinating!” said the doleful Mr Fitzgerald; and a pause ensued of most lugubrious silence, during which his eyes were fastened on the letter, seemingly unconscious of the presence of its bearer. “Excuse me,” said Charley at last; “you are impatient to read it, so I’ll be off. Good morning.” The young man rose with all the amiability he could summon, and quitted the apartment with him to show him the way. “Thunder and turf, sir!” ejaculated Charley; “is it out on the skylight you want to send me?” And, certainly, the direction in which the gentleman pointed would have led to some such exit. “Oh! pardon me,” exclaimed the other, covered with confusion; “I really forgot--your way is down stairs, not up.”