Stuartry to be laid prone and bleeding by a frolic of his daughter Bab's. 'Twas impossible, you'll say, and that is what I also said, but there it was.
"Oh, these politics!" cries I, in a passion. "A pestilence upon 'em! Confound these politics! And what in the world is there to make so wry a face about, my lord? The matter might be serious. Do I not repeat, sir, that the thing was but a piece of mischief? Call it fun, my lord, bravado, diablerie, what you will, but I want you to understand that 'twas a piece of mischief."
"'Tis perfectly correct," says he; "an infernal piece of mischief."
"Then might I ask, my lord, what there is to make a song about? True, the rebel is escaped, but I'm not sorry in the least for that; indeed, betwixt ourselves, I am somewhat glad of it. He is a very handsome lad, and will make a prettier man than any that I've seen. But what is there to make a ballad of, I ask? Is he the only rebel in the world then? There are thousands of rebels up and down the earth, and I'm sure not a man jack of 'em's so handsome as that lad. Why," laughs I, "he hath an eye that is a rival to my own. No, 'twould not be truthful of me to say that I am sorry for it. As for the bullet that traversed Captain Grantley's knee, I do indeed regret that very deeply, but I ask you, my lord, is his the first knee that hath had a bullet through it? And is it going to be the last? Why, at that same instant a portion of the same discharge hit my shoulder, too, so he is not
