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2, 1863.] left the room, Dyvart, before any one could ask him questions, spoke as follows, to the utter amazement of every person.

“I am bound to confess that what Colonel Moreton stated last night was perfectly true, that he did not in the least degree exaggerate my state of fear, and that in all probability I showed more signs of terror than he mentioned. To the ladies who have lost their bets through my gross cowardice I may be allowed to say, that I trust I shall be permitted to pay their gloves for them. To the gentlemen I can only add that I trust they are fully satisfied; that, however strange it may seem, I do hope they will fully believe me when I say, that so far from fancying that I should this evening have to confess what I have confessed, I would most decidedly, as a matter of pecuniary consideration, have gladly taken all their bets last night on my own hands.”

A short silence followed. Everybody seemed astonished and bewildered, astonished that Dyvart should have been a coward, bewildered because they could not reconcile his present confession with what he had said last night, namely, that he could not understand how Moreton or any other man could have seen him in such a state.

“Well, George,” exclaimed Sir Edward, “tell us the story: let us hear the how, when, and where, and all about it.”

“Not a bit of it, father; I simply bet that this evening Plucky Dick shall confess certain things. He confesses them. I have won my bet. The story is Dyvart’s. He may tell it or not as he likes, but I calculate he will not like to do so.”

Curiosity was now most insatiably whetted. By the ladies, by the gentlemen, by fair means, by foul means, poor Dyvart was attacked, till at last he consented, merely premising two things, one of which was, that it was not until that very day that he had fully understood the facts he was about to relate, in which he himself had been chief actor; and the other that he trusted pardon would be granted to youthful acts of folly committed both by himself and his companions in the days of opening manhood.

“Some of you are aware,” he commenced, “that I did not enter the army at as early an age as most men. I was twenty years old when I was still from time to time residing in London, a member of Inn, and reading, or pretending to read, for the bar. My greatest amusement had always been driving—there was nothing in which I took so much pleasure, nothing on which I prided myself more, nothing on which I spent so much money. Not being rich enough to keep horses of my own, I was obliged to drive those belonging to other persons. Many and many a coach had I driven—many an omnibus, too, with a shabby great coat on my back, and the driver’s badge on my breast—many a Hansom, too, have I piloted through the City, and through the West End. I once drove one of those large awkward, lumbering three-horse goods’ waggons from Paddington to the opposite side of the City, partly because I doubted my power to accomplish the journey safely, partly because I had a weakness for being able to say I had driven everything. And I was almost able to make such a boast. One exception I was compelled always to state. I had never driven a hearse. My boast and my exception, many of my friends had heard me make; among others, no doubt, Colonel Moreton, then a young officer on leave, staying for a short time in London. In various ways had I tried to get myself perched, reins in hand, on the much coveted box, but to no purpose. Either hearse-owners and hearse-drivers were more conscientious than most people, or the risk of detection, and consequent injury to owner and driver, were greater than in other cases, where I have been allowed by proprietors or Jehus to drive. So it was, I never could get the chance of driving a hearse. One night there came to my lodgings in Mount Street, Grosvenor Square, a curiously- attired individual, dressed half in ostler’s style, half in cast-off mourning clothes, with a face which seemed quite able to laugh on one side, and cry on the other, at the same time, or laugh and cry alternately with both halves in simultaneous action, as often as required. The man stood bowing and scraping at the door, chewing, à la Punch’s Palmerston, a dilapidated straw.

‘What on earth do you want, man?’ said I.

‘Please, sir, I am told as how you wants to drive a hearse, and my master have got a job of the kind to-morrow, for Messrs. ’ (mentioning a well-known firm of undertakers), ‘and if you will be a gentleman, sir, I will let you take it for me, but I am most afraid for many reasons, sir; but if, sir—’

“I was delighted: I checked the man at once in his voluble initiatory speech, made him sit down, put before him something hot to drink, and after giving him a preliminary fee, and promising to double it the next day, when the job was over, I said I was ready to listen to his fears, cautions, instructions, &c.

‘Well, sir,’ said he, ‘in the first place you must be dressed in black, look solemn like, and so forth; and let me tell you, sir, when you have four black horses and mutes afore you, and a dead ’un for an inside passenger, you will find your feelings—’

‘Nonsense, get on,’ said I.

‘Well, sir, in the next place, you have driven four horses in a coach afore now, and you have looked back to see that your passengers were all right, and your luggage safe, may-be; but to-morrow you must not look back to see your coach loaded. You will receive your orders from the undertaker’s man to move on a bit at first, and then to go on slowly. And go on slowly you must, sir. You are sure to be tempted to cut in and out among the wehicles; though you are going at a walking pace you will see an opening, and you will be wanting gently to double thong your wheelers, or just touch your leaders with the lash, but you must not do it, sir, or you will be found out, and I shall be ruined. You must just keep steady on, and you will find everything get out of your way.’

“A few more minor instructions my mentor gave me, and then we parted; he, no doubt, to get drunk on my present to him of a sovereign, I