When does a school-boy’s writing-book resemble the Hero of Waterloo?—­When it’s a Well ink’d’un (Wellington).

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THE “PUFF PAPERS.”

CHAPTER III.

On my next visit I found Mr. Bayles in full force, and loud in praise of some eleemosynary entertainment to which he had been invited.  Having exhausted his subject and a tumbler of toddy at the same time, Mr. Arden “availed himself of the opportunity to call attention to the next tale,” which was found to be

A FATAL REMEMBRANCE.

I was subaltern of the cantonment main-guard at Bangalore one day in the month of June, 182-.  Tattoo had just beaten; and I was sitting in the guard-room with my friend Frederick Gahagan, the senior Lieutenant in the regiment to which I belonged, and manager of the amateur theatre of the station.

Gahagan was a rattling, care-for-nothing Irishman, whose chief characteristic was a strong propensity for theatricals and practical jokes, but withal a generous, warm-hearted fellow, and as gallant a soldier as ever buckled sword-belt.  In his capacity of manager, he was at present in a state of considerable perplexity, the occasion whereof was this.

There chanced then to be on a visit at Bangalore a particular ally of Fred’s, who was leading tragedian of the Chowringhee theatre in Calcutta; and it was in contemplation to get up Macbeth, in order that the aforesaid star might exhibit in his crack part as the hero of that great tragedy.  Fred was to play Macduff; and the “blood-boltered Banquo” was consigned to my charge.  The other parts were tolerably well cast, with the exception of that of Lady Macbeth, which indeed was not cast at all, seeing that no representative could be found for it.  It must be stated that, as we had no actresses amongst us, all our female characters, as in the times of the primitive drama, were necessarily performed by gentlemen.  Now in general it was not difficult to command a supply of smooth-faced young ensigns to personate the heroines, waiting-maids, and old women, of the comedies and farces to which our performances had been hitherto restricted.  But Lady Macbeth was a very different sort of person to Caroline Dormer and Mrs. Hardcastle; and our ladies accordingly, one and all, struck work, refusing point blank to have anything to say to her.

The unfortunate manager, who had set his heart upon getting up the piece, was at his wits’ end, and had bent his footsteps towards the main guard, to advise with me as to what should be done in this untoward emergency.  I endeavoured to console him as well as I could, and suggested, that if the worst came to the worst, the part might be read.  But, lugubriously shaking his caput, Fred declared that would never do; so, after discussing half-a-dozen Trichinopoly cheroots, with a proportionate quantum of brandy pani, he departed for his quarters. “disgusted,” as he said, “with the ingratitude of mankind,” whilst I set forth to go my grand rounds.