heavy tapestry hangings was visited in the same manner.
“Mere matter of form,” remarked Uncle John, “but old officer—must go my rounds—all habit.”
Obviously more comfortable in his mind, he now proceeded to make his preparations for the night; but the only point in these on which any stress need be laid, was the care which Mr. Daubville displayed in putting on a heavy cotton night-cap; one of the good old sort, which stood upright on the head, and was crowned at its apex with a tassel. For further security, and perhaps not altogether without a lingering sentiment of the beautiful, Uncle John proceeded to bind round his head a pink ribbon.
“Had the hint from the old Vicomte de Pituite. Combination of utility and elegance. Ah! wish I’d turned gray instead of bald. There are so many dyes of approved merit; but here I am as bare as a billiard-ball. Oh! for the sensation of brushing one’s hair! Those young dogs, they don’t know the blessing they enjoy. One hour now of being small-tooth-combed by a rough-handed nurse-maid, with one’s thick elfin locks matted and tangled. Talk of the first kiss of first love—nothing to—
That pleasing agony which schoolboys bear
When nursemaids small-tooth-comb their shaggy hair.
Not so bad, that, and now to bed.”
With some little trouble Mr. Daubville succeeded in performing the feat of ascending his lofty couch, but the weight of his body on the many mattrasses, stuffed as they were with the crackling leaves of the Indian corn, produced such an appalling noise, that he sat upright for some moments with a pistol in each hand, and a look of firm defiance in his face, waiting for the attack, which never came. Understanding at length the real meaning of all this disturbance, he recovered from his alarm, and carefully depositing his pistols within reach of his hands, but beyond idle region marked out in his own mind as sufficient for tossing and turning about in his sleep, and placing the candlestick with a box of matches in the tray just at the edge of the bed, Uncle John blew out the light, and in a quarter of an hour was asleep.
Three or four hours passed away—nothing had occurred to arouse him to consciousness, but somehow or other he fell a dreaming. He was hunting walruses; he was in search of the Magnetic Pole—capital sport, and majestic pursuit—but it was all so cold—so very cold. Then a change came over his dream,—he was with Dante and his Mantuan guide slowly pacing the circles where the condemned spirits expiated their misdeeds in various forms of suffering. Then he himself was a wicked pope of the opposite line of politics to that of the strong party-man whose election-squibs were framed for eternity. He was condemned to lie for ever on a bed of molten lava, with his head in a huge block of ice. Strange to say the torture was bearable, although decidedly uncomfortable. “What shall I do for pocket-handkerchiefs,” thought Uncle John, “if this goes on? I shall never be able to get at my nose.” With one appalling sneeze he awoke; it was pitch dark, and he continued sneezing. His first act was to put his hands up to his head—his night-cap was gone!
“Eh! what is this? night-cap tumbled off, despite the ribbon—never knew that happen before. Where can it be?must strike a light and see.”
This was done; the sleeper was fairly awakened; he groped everywhere—behind the pillows—under the bedclothes; he craned over the sides of the bed—got up and searched everywhere. The night-cap was not to be found. It was very odd—he must have put it on before getting into bed; he had been bald since five-and-twenty, and whatever other duty he had neglected, he had never forgotten to put on a night-cap during all these years. What made matters worse just now was that the trunk containing his provision of night-caps, had not yet been brought up into his room. There was no help for it, but to make shift by tying a stocking round his head, and so to sleep again. He was aroused by a knocking at his door; a servant entered the room with hot water. It was broad daylight, and time to get up. The friendly stocking which he had tied round his head had fallen off in the night, but was lying on the pillow, and Uncle John had a most fearful cold in his head. The night-cap was not to be found!
When he got down to the breakfast-room he found Lady Caroline and her daughters waiting to welcome him with looks of fearful interest. Everybody save Benvenuto, tantæne animis cœlestibus, mindful of the feud of the preceding evening, appeared delighted to see him safe and sound.
“Did the Spirit of the Chamber pass before you in the night, dear John?” said Lady Caroline. “You look worn and wan.”
“Ah-tschoo! ah-tschoo! ah-tschoo!”
“Oh! dear Uncle, tell us all about it—have you seen the ghost?”
“Ah-tschoo! Confound the ghost! Oh! dear! ah-tschoo.”
“Dear John, it appears to me that you are suffering from catarrh; but at least you have escaped the dangers of the supernatural world.”
Mr. Daubville, with watery eyes, and many sneezes, related to them his adventure of the previous night; it was the strangest—the most unaccountable thing. He quite lost his temper when he found that he was unable to convince his sister and nieces that he had put on a night-cap at all; but was somewhat soothed when Margaret and Eliza, who were aware of his partiality for night-caps, told him that for months past they had been engaged in working for him a night-can, which would be to other night-caps as Milan Cathedral to other cathedrals. The presentation night-cap wanted but the tassel, which the young ladies were to procure that afternoon in Leghorn, and it would be ready next day.
“Well, my dear nieces—ah-tschoo—I am much obliged to you for your magnificent present, and still more for your—ah-tschoo—consideration for my comfort. This night I suppose I must put up with—ah-tschoo—one of the ordinary material; but at least to-night I shall be able—ah-tschoo!—to recover from this wretched but temporary ailment, and be in a fit condition to do justice to your—ah-tschoo—gift.”
