your uncle, has as much idea of providing for you, as he has of dying.”—­[This last sally absolutely convulsed all parties.]—­“To be sure Kilkee’s a fool, but he is no use to you.”—­["Begad I thought I was going to escape,” said the individual alluded to, “but your friend O’Leary cuts on every side of him.”] The letter, after some very grave reflections upon the hopelessness of my pursuit, concluded with a kind pledge to meet me soon, and become my travelling companion.  Meanwhile, added he, “I must cross over to London, and look after my new work, which is to come out soon, under the title of ’the Loiterings of Arthur O’Leary.’”

This elegant epistle formed the subject of much laughter and conversation amongst us long after it was concluded; and little triumph could be claimed by any party, when nearly all were so roughly handled.  So passed the last evening I spent in Munich—­the next morning I was married.

The end.

EBOOK EDITOR’S BOOKMARKS FOR ALL VOLUMES: 

A c’est egal, mam’selle, they don’t mind these things in France
A rather unlady-like fondness for snuff
A crowd is a mob, if composed even of bishops
Accept of benefits with a tone of dissatisfaction
Accustomed to the slowness and the uncertainty of the law
Air of one who seeks to consume than enjoy his time
Always a pleasure felt in the misfortunes of even our best friend
Amount of children which is algebraically expressed by an X
And some did pray—­who never prayed before
Annoyance of her vulgar loquacity
Brought a punishment far exceeding the merits of the case
Chateaux en Espagne
Chew over the cud of his misfortune
Daily association sustains the interest of the veriest trifles
Dear, dirty Dublin—­Io te salute
Delectable modes of getting over the ground through life
Devilish hot work, this, said the colonel
Disputing “one brandy too much” in his bill
Empty, valueless, heartless flirtation
Ending—­I never yet met the man who could tell when it ended
Enjoy the name without the gain
Enough is as good as a feast
Escaped shot and shell to fall less gloriously beneath champagne
Every misfortune has an end at last
Exclaimed with Othello himself, “Chaos was come again;”
Fearful of a self-deception where so much was at stake
Fighting like devils for conciliation
Finish in sorrow what you have begun in folly
Gardez vous des femmes, and more especially if they be Irish
Green silk, “a little off the grass, and on the bottle”
Had a most remarkable talent for selecting a son-in-law
Had to hear the “proud man’s contumely”
Half pleased and whole frightened with the labour before him
Has but one fault, but that fault is a grand one
Hating each other for the love of God
He first butthers them up, and then slithers them down
He was very much disguised in drink