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CHAPTER II.

A RAMBLE ON WHEELS.

LIKE the chapter much," I said, the

next morning, handing my friend the MS. which he had placed in my hands over night.

"Is it too long?"

"No."

"I don't pretend to be a descriptive writer.

I hope this may be my last effort."

"I am not sure that I like your title."

"The Taffeta Petticoat ?' I thought it

rather novel.

The story all turns upon the

colour and character of that particular article

of dress."

"Of all the titles of your works, I like more than any other that of Hearts are Trumps."

"Did I ever tell you how the story suggested itself to me?"

"Yes; but I have an imperfect recollection of the incident. You shall give me a second edition of it, if you will."

"By-and-by; when we are reposing comfortably in our chariot.”

Here we are interrupted by Bardolph and Shallow, who come in to breakfast, with the daily papers (containing notices of the performance of the previous night), and letters for "Falstaff." These latter are of far deeper interest to Sir John than the papers, which Bardolph and Shallow eagerly devour, extolling this editor in mock heroics, and damning with faint praise the other. Shallow pretends to be very bitter against the press for the ignominious way in which he is overlooked.

We

have a smart discussion upon the equivocal compliments which Bardolph receives for the "make-up of his nose."

66

"That nose of thine," remarks Shallow, seems to get into the editorial head."

"I would it were in the editorial stomach."

"Ah, then indeed would the press be heartburned," responds Shallow. "Sir John Fal

staff, a word with you."

"Ah, Shallow, give you good time of day," says Mark Lemon, looking up from his letters. "Shall we to breakfast? Give me a cup of

coffee."

Thus breakfast commences, accompanied by a rattle of harmless fun and apt Falstaffian quotation. The end of the morning meal brings the carriage ordered over night. Bardolph and Shallow leave us, to explore Edinburgh on foot. Falstaff and the amateur impresario are of a lazier habit of body. The holiday feeling has taken too firm a hold upon

them for anything but an idle, lolling, easy, dreamy indulgence on wheels.

We were fortunate in obtaining the services of a particularly intelligent driver, who was evidently proud of his fare.

"Tell us all you know," said Mark Lemon, as he got into the conveyance; "tell us all you know, and stop at any place of special interest. When you have driven us where you please, then we will direct you. We have a call to make."

The coachman obeyed these instructions with great tact and judgment. Whether he told us all he knew, or more, is neither here nor there. He was an excellent showman, and the little present of "Falstaff," with some kindly words of remembrance written therein, and signed "Mark Lemon," which he carried home that day, will now, alas! more than ever be a cherished memorial of Mark Lemon's visit to Scotland.

Sandy pointed to the unfinished monument on Calton Hill as "the national disgrace." At the Castle he gave us an example of his reading and intelligence by his shrewd reference to the stratagem by which Sir William Douglas recovered possession of the place in 1341. A party of Sir William's men, dressed as sailors, arrived early in the morning at the Castle gate with a cartload of wine, which they said had just arrived by land at Leith. They upset the cart in the middle of the gate. This prevented the portcullis from being lowered. A number of men, who had been placed in ambuscade during the night, rushing in to the assistance of the sailors, the garrison was put to the sword, and possession of the Castle regained.

It is a grand historical romance, the history of Edinburgh Castle. The past and present are characteristically united on the Castle Hill by a monumental cross to the officers of the

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