beautiful and romantic place, this cove, very spacious, and being nearly land-locked, was sheltered from every wind. A small island, every inch of which was covered with fortifications, appeared to swim upon the waters, whose dark blue denoted their immense depth; tall green hills, which ascended gradually from the shore, formed the background to the west; they were carpeted to the top with turf of the most vivid green, and studded here and there with wood seemingly of oak; there was a strange old castle half way up the ascent, a village on a crag-but the mists of the morning were half veiling the scene when I surveyed it, and the mists of time are now hanging densely between it and my no longer youthful eye; I may not describe it; nor will I try.

Leaving the ship in the cove, we passed up a wide river in boats till we came to a city, where we disembarked. It was a large city. as large as Edinburgh to my eyes; there were plenty of fine houses, but little neatness; the streets were full of impurities; handsome equipages rolled along, but the greater part of the population were in rags; beggars abounded; there was no lack of merriment, however, boisterous shouts of laughter were heard on every side. It appeared a city of contradictions. After a few days' rest we marched from this place in two divisions. My father commanded the second, I walked by his side.

I walked on by my father's side holding the stirrup-leather of his horse; presently several low, uncouth cars passed by, drawn by starved cattle, the drivers were tall fellows, with dark features and athletic frames-they wore long loose blue cloaks with sleeves, which last, however, dangled unoccupied: these cloaks appeared in tolerably good condition, not so their under garments. On their heads were broad slouching hats: the generality of them were bare-footed. As they passed, the soldiers jested with them in the patois of East Anglia, whereupon the fellows laughed, and appeared to jest with the soldiers; but what they said who knows, it being in a rough guttural language, strange and wild. The soldiers stared at each other, and were silent.

"A strange language that!" said a young officer to my father, "I don't understand a word of it; what can it be?"

"Irish," said my father, with a loud voice, "and a bad language it is; I have known it of old, that is, I have often heard it spoken when I was a guardsman in London. There's one part of London where all the Irish live-at least all the worst of them-and there they hatch their villanies to speak this tongue; it is that which keeps them together and makes them dangerous: I was once sent there to seize a couple of deserters-Irish-who had taken refuge among their companions; we found them in what was in my time called a ken, that is, a house where only thieves and desperadoes are to be found. Knowing on what kind of business I was bound, I had taken with me a sergeant's party: it was well I did so. We found the deserters in a large room, with at least thirty ruffians, horrid. looking fellows, seated about a long table, drinking, swearing, and talking Irish. Ah! we had a tough battle, I remember; the two fellows did nothing, but sat still, thinking it best to be quiet; but the rest, with an ubbubboo, like the blowing up of a powder magazine, sprang up, brandishing their sticks; for these fellows always carry sticks with them, even to bed, and not unfrequently spring up in their sleep, striking left and right."

"Did you take the deserters?" said the officer.

found that it was our destination; there were extensive barracks at the farther end, in which the corps took up its quarters; with respect to ourselves, we took lodgings in a house which stood in the principal street.

"You never saw more elegant lodgings than these, captain,'' said the master of the house, a tall, handsome, and athletic man, who came up whilst our little family were seated at dinner late in the afternoon of the day of our arrival; "they beat anything in this town of Clonmel. I do not let them for the sake of interest, and to none but gentlemen in the army, in order that myself and my wife, who is from Londonderry, may have the advantage of pleasant company, a genteel company; ay, and Protestant company, captain. It did my heart good when I saw your honor ride in at the head of all those fine fellows, real Protestants, I'll engage, not a Papist among them, they are too good-looking and honest-looking for that. So I no sooner saw your honor at the head of your army, with that handsome young gentleman holding by your stirrup, than I said to my wife, Mistress Hyne, who is from Londonderry, 'God bless me,' said I, 'what a truly Protestant countenance, what a noble bearing, and what a sweet young gentleman. By the silver hairs of his honorand sure enough I never saw hairs more regally silver than those of your honor-by his honor's gray silver hairs, and by my own soul, which is not worthy to be mentioned in the same day with one of them-It would be no more than decent and civil to run out and welcome such a father and son coming in at the head of such a Protestant military.' And then my wife, who is from Londonderry, Mistress Hyne, looking me in the face like a fairy as she is, 'You may say that,' says she. 'It would be but decent and civil, honey.' And your honor knows how I ran out of my own door and welcomed your honor who was riding in company with your son, who was walking; how I welcomed you both at the head of your royal regiment, and how I shook your honor by the hand, saying, I am glad to see your honor, and your honor's son, and your honor's royal miliary Protestant regiment. And now I have you in the house, and right proud I am to have ye one and all; one, two, three, four, true Protestants every one, no Papists here. And here is to your honor's speedy promotion to be Lord Lieutenant, and to the speedy downfall of the Pope and Saint Anthony of Padua."

Such was the speech of the Irish Protestant addressed to my father in the long lofty dining room with three windows, looking upon the high street of the good town of Clonmel, as he sat at meat with his family, after saying grace like a true-hearted respectable soldier as he was.

"A bigot and an Orangeman!" Oh, yes! It is easier to apply epithets of opprobrium to people than to make yourself acquainted with their history and position. He was a specimen, and a fair specimen, of a most remarkable body of men, who during two centuries have fought a good fight in Ireland in the cause of civilization and religious truth; they were sent as colonists, few in number, into a barbarous and unhappy country, where ever since, though surrounded with difficulties of every kind, they have maintained their ground; theirs has been no easy life, nor have their lines fallen upon very pleasant places; amidst darkness they have held up a lamp, and it would be well for Ireland were all her children like these her adopted ones. "But they are fierce and sanguinary," it is said. Ay, ay! they have not unfrequently opposed the keen sword to the savage pike. "But they are bigoted and narrow-minded." Ay, ay! they do not like idolatry, and will not bow the knee before a stone! "But their language is frequently indecorous." Go to, my dainty one. did ye ever listen to the voice of Papist cursing?

"A queer tongue," said I, "I wonder if I could learn it?” "Learn it!" said my father; "what should you learn it for?-however, I am not afraid of that. It is not like Scotch, no person can learn it, save those who are born in it, and even in Ireland the respectable people do not speak it, only the wilder sort, like those we have passed.”

Within a day or two we had reached a tall range of mountains running north and south, which I was told were those of Tipperary; along the skirts of these we proceeded till we came to a town, the principal one of these regions. It was on the bank of a beautiful river, which separated it from the mountains. It was rather an ancient place, and might contain some ten thousand inhabitants--I

The Irish Protestants have faults, numerous ones; but the greater number of these may be traced to the peculiar circumstances of their

are their own, their industry, their energy, and their undaunted resolution are their own. They have been vilified and tr1duced— but what would Ireland be without them? I repeat, that it would be well for her were all her sons no worse than these much calumniated children of her adoption.

CHAPTER VII.

We continued at this place for some months, during which time the soldiers performed their duties, whatever they were; and I, having no duties to perform, was sent to school. I had been to English schools, and to the celebrated one of Edinburgh; but my education, at the present day, would not be what it is perfect, had I never had the honor of being alumnus in an Irish sen.inary.

"Captain," said our kind host, "you would, no doubt, wish that the young gentleman should enjoy every advantage which the town may afford toward helping him on in the path of genteel learning. It's a great pity that he should waste his time in idleness-doing nothing else than what he says he has been doing for the last fortnight-fishing in the river for trout which he never catches; and wandering up the glen in the mountain, in search of the hips that grow there. Now, we have a school here, where he can learn the most elegant Latin, and get an insight into the Greek letters, which is desirable; and where, moreover, he will have an opportunity of making acquaintance with all the Protestant young gentlemen of the place, the handsome well-dressed young persons whom your honor sees in the church on the Sundays, when your honor goes there in the morning, with the rest of the Protestant military; for it is no Papist school, though there may be a Papist or two there-a few poor farmers' sons from the country, with whom there is no necessity for your honor's child to form any acquintance at all, at all!”

And to the school I went, where I read the Latin tongue and the Greek letters, with a nice old clergyman, who sat behind a black aken desk, with a huge Elzevir Flaccus before him, in a long gloomy kind of hall, with a broken stone floor, the roof festooned with cobwebs, the walls considerably dilapidated and covered over with strange figures and hieroglyphics, evidently produced by the application of burnt stick; and there I made acquaintance with the Protestant young gentlemen of the place, who, with whatever éclat they might appear at church on a Sunday, did assuredly not exhibit to much advantage in the school-room on the week days, either with respect to clothes or looks. And there I was in the habit of sitting on a large stone, before the roaring fire in the huge open chimney, and entertaining certain of the Protestant young gentlemen of my own age, seated on similar stones, with extraordinary accounts of my own adventures, and those of the corps, with an occasional anecdote extracted from the story-book of Hickathrift and Wight Wallace, pretending to be conning the lesson all the while.

And there I made acquaintance, notwithstanding the hints of the landlord, with the Papist "asoons," as they were called, the farmers' sons from the country; and of these gasoons, of which there were three, two might be reckonel as nothing at all; in the third, however, I soon discovered that there was something extraordinary.

He was about sixteen years old, and above six feet high, dressed in a grey suit; the coat, from its size, appeared to have been made for him some ten years before. He was remarkably narrow-chested and round-shouldered, owing, perhaps, as much to the tightness of his garment as to the hand of nature. His face was long, and his complexion swarthy, relieved, however, by certain freckles, with which the skin was plentifully studded. He had strange wandering eyes, gray, and somewhat unequal in size; they seldom rested on the book, but were generally wandering about the room, from one object to another. Sometimes he would fix them intently on the wall; and then suddenly starting, as if from a reverie, he would commence making certain mysterious movements with his thumbs and fore-fingers, as if he were shuffling something from him.

One morning, as he sat by himself on a bench, engaged in this manner, I went up to him and said, "Good day, Murtagh; you do not seem to have much to do? I should like to know all about you; where do you live, joy?"

"Faith, then, ye shall know all about me, and where I live. It is at a place called the Wilderness that I live, and they call it so because it is a fearful wild place, without any house near it but my father's own; and that's where I live when at home."

"And your father is a farmer, I suppose?"

might be

"You may say that; and it is a farmer I should have been, like my brother Denis, had not my uncle Phelim, the thief, tould my father to send me to school, to learn Greek letters, that made a saggart of, and sent to Paris and Salamanca." "And you would rather be a farmer than a priest?" "You may say that!-for, were I a farmer, like the rest, I should have something to do, like the rest-something that I cared for-and I should come home tired at night, and fall asleep, as the rest do, before the fire, but when I comes home at night I am not tired, for I have been doing nothing all day that I care for; and then I sits down and stares about me, and at the fire, till I become frightened; and then I shouts to my brother Denis, or to the gasoons, 'Get up, I say, and let's be doing something; tell us a tale of Finn-ma-Coul, and Low he lay down in the Shannon's bed, and let the river flow down his jaws! Arrah, Shorsha, I wish you would come and stay with us, and tell us some o' your sweet stories of your ownself and the

snake ye carried about wid ye. Faith, Shorsha dear! that snake bates anything about Finn-ma-Coul or Brian Boroo, the thieves two, bad luck to them!"

"And do they get up and tell you stories?"

"Sometimes they do, but oftenmost they curses me, and bids me be quiet! But I can't be quiet, either before the fire or abed; so I runs out of the house and stares at the rocks, at the trees, and sometimes at the clouds, as they run a race across the bright moon; and, the more I stares, the more frightened I grows, till I screeches and holloas. And last night I went into the barn, and hid my face in the straw; and there, as I lay and shivered in the straw, I heard a voice above my head singing out 'To whit, to whoo!' and then up I starts and runs into the house, and falls over my brother Denis, as he lies at the fire. 'What's that for?' says he. Get up, you thief!' says I, 'and be helping me. I have been out in the barn, and an owl has crow'd at me!'

"Murtagh, you speak Irish; I heard you talking it the other day to the cripple. You shall teach me Irish."

"And is it a language-master you'd be making of me?"

"To be sure!-what better can you do?-it will help you to pass your time at school. You can't learn Greek, so you must teach

Irish!"

Before Christmas I could speak a considerable quantity of broken Irish.

CHAPTER VIII.

From the scenes which I have attempted to describe I must now transport the reader to others of a widely different character. He must suppose himself no longer in Ireland, but in the eastern corner of merry England. Bogs, ruins, and mountains have disappeared amidst the vapors of the west: I have nothing more to say of them; the region in which we are now is not famous for objects of that kind; perhaps it flatters itself that it can produce fairer and better things, of some of which let me speak; there is a fine old city before us, and first of that let me speak.

A fine old city, truly, is that, view it from whatever side you will; but it shows best from the east, where the ground, bold and elevated, overlooks the fair and fertile valley in which it stands. Gazing from those heights, the eye beholds a scene which can not fail to awaken, even in the least sensitive bosom, feelings of pleasure and admiration. At the foot of the heights flows a narrow and deep river, with an antique bridge communicating with a long and narrow suburb, flanked on either side by rich meadows of the brightest green, beyond which spreads the city; the fine old city, perhaps the most curious specimen extant of the genuine old English town.

Ah! there is good blood in that old city, and in the whole circumjacent region of which it is the capital. The Angles possessed the land at an early period, which, however, they were eventually compelled to share with hordes of Danes and Northmen, who flocked thither across the sea to found hearthsteads on its fertile soil. The present race, a mixture of Angles and Danes, still preserve much which speaks strongly of their northern ancestry; amongst them ye will find the light-brown hair of the north, the strong and burly forms of the north, many a wild superstition, ay, and many a wild name connected with the ancient history of the north and its sublime mythology; the warm heart, and the strong heart of the old Danes and Saxons still beat in those regions, and there ye will find, if anywhere, old northern hospitality and kindness of manner, united with energy, perseverance, and dauntless intrepidity; better soldiers or mariners never bled in their country's battles than those nurtured in those regions, and within those old walls. It was yonder, to the west, that the great naval hero of Britain first saw the light; he who annihilated the sea pride of Spain, and dragged the humble banner of France in triumph at his stern. He was born yonder, toward the west, and of him there is a glorious relic in that old town; in its dark flint guild-house, the roof of which you can just descry rising above that maze of buildings, in the upper hall of justice, is a species of glass shrine, in which the relic is to be seen: a sword of curious workmanship, the blade is of keen Toledan steel, the heft of ivory and mother-of-pearl. 'Tis the sword of Cordova, won in bloodiest fray off Saint Vincent's promontory, and presented by Nelson to the old capital of the much-loved land of his birth. Yes, the proud Spaniard's sword is to be seen in yonder guild-house, in the glass case affixed to the wall. Many other relics has the good old town, but none prouder than the Spaniard's sword.

Such was the place to which, when the war was over, my father

retired. It was here that the old tired soldier set himself down with his little family. He had passed the greater part of his life in meritorious exertion, in the service of his country, and his chief wish now was to spend the remainder of his days in quiet and respectability. His means, it is true, were not very ample; fortunate it was that his desires corresponded with them. With a small fortune of his own, and with his half-pay as a royal soldier, he had no fears for himself or for his faithful partner and helpmate; but then his children! how was he to provide for them? how launch them upon the wide ocean of the world? This was, perhaps, the only thought which gave him uneasiness, and I believe that many an old retired officer at that time, and under similar circumstances, experienced similar anxiety. Had the war continued, their children would have been, of course, provided for in the army, but peace now reigned, and the military career was closed to all save the scions of the aristocracy, or those who were in some degree connected with that privileged order, an advantage which few of these old officers could boast of; they had slight influence with the great, who gave themselves very little trouble either about them or their families.

"I have been writing to the Duke," said my father one day to my excellent mother, after we had been at home somewhat better than a year; "I have been writing to the Duke of York about a commission for that eldest boy of ours. He, however, affords me no hopes; he says that his list is crammed with names, and that the greater number of the candidates have better claims than my son."

"I do not see how that can be," said my mother.

"Nor do I," replied my father. "I see the sons of bankers and merchants gazetted every month, and I do not see what claims they have to urg, unless they be golden ones. However, I have not served my king fifty years to turn grumbler at this time of life. I suppose that the people at the head of affairs know what is most proper and convenient; perhaps when the lad sees how difficult, nay, how impossible it is that he should enter the army, he will turn his mind to some other profession; I wish he may!"

"I think he has already," said my mother; 'you see how fond he is of the arts, of drawing and painting, and, as far as I can judge, what he has already done is very respectable; his mind seems quite turned that way, and I heard him say the other day that he would sooner be a Michael Angelo than a general officer. But you are always talking of him; what do you think of doing with the other child?"

'What, indeed!" said my father; "that is a consideration which gives me no little uneasiness. I fear it will be much more difficult to settle him in life than his brother. What is he fitted for, even were it in my power to provide for him? God help the child! I bear him no ill will, on the contrary, all love and affection; but I can not shut my eyes; there is something so strange about him! How he behaved in Ireland! I sent him to school to learn Greek, and he picked up Irish!"

"And Greek as well," said my mother. "I heard him say the other day that he could read St. John in the original tongue."

"You will find excuses for him, I know," said my father. • You tell me I am always talking of my first-born; I might retort by saying you are always thinking of the other; but it is the way of women always to side with the second-born. There's what's her name in the Bible, by whose wiles the old blind man was induced to give to his second son the blessing which was the birthright of the other. I wish I had been in his place! I should not have been so easily deceived! No disguise would ever have caused me to mistake an impostor for my first-born. Though I may say for this boy that he is nothing like Jacob; he is neither smooth nor sleek, and, though my secondborn, is already taller and larger than his brother."

"Just so," said my mother. "His brother would make a far better Jacob than he."

"I will hear nothing against my first-born," said my father, "even in the way of insinuation. He is my joy and pride; the very image of myself in my youthful days, long before I fought Big Ben, though perhaps not quite so tall or strong built. As for the other, God bless the child! I love him, I'm sure; but I must be biind not to see the difference between him and his brother. Why, he has neither my hair nor my eyes; and then his countenance! why, 'tis absolutely swarthy, God forgive me! I had almost said like that of a gypsy, but I have nothing to say against that; the boy is not to be blamed for the color of his face, nor for his hair and eyes; but, then, his ways and manners!-I confess I do not like them, and that they give me no little uneasiness-I know that he kept very strange company when he was in Ireland; people of evil report, of whom terrible things were said-horse witches and the like. I questioned him

once or twice upon the matter, and even threatened him, but it was of no use; he put on a look as if he didn't understand me, a regular Irish look, just such a one as those rascals assume when they wish to appear all innocence and simplicity, and they full of malice and deceit all the time. I don't like them; they are no friends to old England, or its old king, God bless him! They are not good subjects, and never were; always in league with foreign enemies. When I was in the Coldstream, long before the Revolution, I used to hear about the Irish brigades kept by the French kings to be a thorn in the side of the English whenever opportunity served. Old Sergeant Meredith once told me, that in the time of the Pretender there were always, in London alone, a dozen of fellows connected with these brigades, with the view of seducing the king's soldiers from their allegiance, and persuading them to desert to France to join the honest Irish, as they were called. One of these traitors once accosted him and proposed the matter to him, offering handfuls of gold if he could induce any of his comrades to go over. Meredith appeared to consent, but secretly gave information to his colonel; the fellow was seized, and certain traitorous papers found upon him; he was hanged before Newgate, and died exulting in his treason. His name was Michael Nowlan. That ever son of mine should have been intimate with the Papist Irish, and have learnt their language!' "But he thinks of other things now," said my mother. "Other languages, you mean," said my father. "It is strange that he has conceived such a zest for the study of languages; no sooner did he come home than he persuaded me to send him to that old priest to learn French and Italian, and, if I remember right, you abetted him; but, as I said before, it is in the nature of women invariably to take the part of the second-born. Well, there is no harm in learning French and Italian, perhaps much good in his case, as they may drive the other tongue out of his head. Irish! why, he might go to the university but for that; but how would he look when, on being examined with respect to his attainments, it was discovered that he understood Irish? How did you learn it? they would ask him; how did you become acquainted with the language of Papists and rebels? The boy would be sent away in disgrace." "Be under no apprehension, I have no doubt that he has long since forgotten it."

"I am glad to hear it," said my father; "for, between ourselves, I love the poor child; ay, quite as well as my first-born. I trust they will do well, and that God will be their shield and guide; I have no doubt he will, for I have read something in the Bible to that effect. What is that text about the young ravens being fed ?"

"I know better than that," said my mother; "one of David's own words, 'I have been young and now am grown old, yet never have I seen the righteous man forsaken, or his seed begging their bread.'" I have heard talk of the pleasures of idleness, yet it is my own firm belief that no one ever yet took pleasure in it. Mere idleness is the most disagreeable state of existence, and both mind and body are continually making efforts to escape from it. It has been said that idleness is the parent of mischief, which is very true; but mischief itself is merely an attempt to escape from the dreary vacuum of idleness. There are many tasks and occupations which a man is unwilling to perform, but let no one think that he is therefore in love with idleness; he turns to something which is more agreeable to his inclination, and doubtless more suited to his nature; but he is not in love with idleness. A boy may play the truant from school because he dislikes books and study; but, depend upon it, he intends doing something the while-to go fishing, or perhaps to take a walk; and who knows but that from such excursions both his mind and body may derive more benefit than from books and school? Many people go to sleep to escape from idleness; the Spaniards do; and, according to the French account, John Bull, the 'squire, hangs himself in the month, of November; but the French, who are a very sensible · people, attribute the action, “à une grande envie de se désennuyer;" he wishes to be doing something, say they, and having nothing better to do he has recourse to the cord.

It was for want of something better to do that, shortly after my return home, I applied myself to the study of languages. By the acquisition of Irish, with the first elements of which I had become acquainted under the tuition of Murtagh, I had contracted a certain zest and inclination for the pursuit. Yet it is probable, that had I been launched about this time into some agreeable career, that of arms, for example, for which, being the son of a soldier, I had, as was natural, a sort of penchant, I might have thought nothing more of the acquisition of tongues of any kind; but, having nothing to do, I followed the only course suited to my genius which appeared open »

to me.

So it came to pass that one day, whilst wandering listlessly about the streets of the old town, I came to a small book-stall, and stopping, commenced turning over the books; I took up at least a dozen, and almost instantly flung them down. What were they to me? At last, coming to a thick volume, I opened it, and after inspecting its contents for a few minutes, I paid for it what was demanded, and forthwith carried it home.

It was a tessara-glot grammar; a strange old book, printed somewhere in Holland, which pretended to be an easy guide to the acquirement of the French, Italian, Low Dutch, and English tongues, by means of which any one conversant in any one of these languages could make himself master of the other three. I turned my attention to the French and Italian. The old book was not of much value; I derived some benefit from it, however, and, conning it intensely, at the end of a few weeks obtained some insight into the structure of these two languages. At length I had learnt all that the book was capable of informing me, yet was still far from the goal to which it had promised to conduct me. "I wish I had a master!" I exclaimed; and the master was at hand. In an old court of the old town lived a certain elderly personage, perhaps sixty, or thereabouts; he was rather tall, and something of a robust make, with a countenance in which bluffness was sir gularly blended with vivacity and grimace; and with a complexion which would have been ruddy, but for a yellow hue which rather predominated. His dress consisted of a snuff-colored coat and drab pantaloons, the former evidently seldom subjected to the annoyance of a brush, and the latter exhibiting here and there spots of something which, if not grease, bore a strong resemblance to it; add to these articles an immense frill, seldom of the purest white, but invariably of the finest French cambric, and you have some idea of his dress. He had rather a remarkable stoop, but his step was rapid and vigorous, and as he hurried along the streets, he would glance to the right and the left with a pair of big eyes like plums, and on recognizing any one would exalt a pair of grizzled eyebrows, and slightly kiss a tawny and ungloved hand. At certain hours of the day he might be seen entering the doors of female boardi g-schools, generally with a book in his hand, and perhaps another just peering from the orifice of a capacious back pocket; and at a certain season of the year he might be seen, dressed in white, before the altar of a certain small popish chapel, chanting from the breviary in very intelligible Latin, or perhaps reading from the desk in utterly unintelligible English. Such was my preceptor in the French and Italian tongues. "Exul sacerdos; vone banished priest. I came into England twenty-five years ago, 'my dear.'"

CHAPTER IX.

"I am afraid that I have not acted very wisely in putting this boy of ours to the law," said my father to my mother, as they sat together one summer evening in their little garden, beneath the shade of some tall poplars.

Yes, there sat my father in the garden chair which leaned against the wall of his quiet home, the haven in which he had sought rest, and, praise be to God, found it, after many a year of poorly requited toil; there he sat, with locks of silver gray, which set off so nobly his fine bold but benevolent face, his faithful consort at his side, and his trusty dog at his feet-an eccentric animal of the genuine regimental breed, who, born among red-coats, had not yet become reconciled to those of any other hue, barking and tearing at them when they drew near the door, but testifying his fond reminiscence of the former by hospitable waggings of the tail whenever a uniform made its appearance-at present a very unfrequent occurrence.

"I am afraid I have not done right in putting him to the law," said my father, resting his chin upon his gold-headed bamboo cane. "Why, what makes you think so?" said my mother.

"I have been taking my usual ever ing walk up the road, with the animal here," said my father; "and, as I walked along, I overtook the boy's master, Mr. S. We shook hands, and, after walking a little way farther, we turned back together, talking about this and that; the state of the country, the weather, and the dog, which he greatly admired; for he is a good-natured man, and has a good word for everybody, though the dog all but bit him when he attempted to coax his head; after the dog, we began talking about the boy; it was myself who introduced that subject: I thought it was a good opportunity to learn how he was getting on, so I asked what he thought of my son; he hesitated at first, seemingly scarcely to know what to say; at length he came out with 'Oh, a very extraordinary youth, a

most remarkable youth indeed, captain!' 'Indeed,' said I, 'I am glad to hear it, but I hope you find him steady?' 'Steady, steady,” said he, 'why, yes, he's steady, I can not say that he is not steady." Come, come,' said I, beginning to be rather uneasy, I see plainly that you are not altogether satisfied with him; I was afraid you would not be, for, though he is my own son, I am anything but blind to his imperfections: but do tell me what particular fault you have to find with him; and I will do my best to make him alter his conduct No fault to find with him, captain, I assure you, no fault whatever; the youth is a remarkable youth, an extraordinary youth, only' as I told you before, Mr. S is the best-natured man in the world, and it was only with the greatest difficulty that I could get. him to say a single word to the disadvantage of the boy, for whom he seems to entertain a very great regard. At last I forced the truth from him, and grieved I was to hear it; though I must confess I was somewhat prepared for it. It appears that the lad has a total want of discrimination."

"I don't understand you," said my mother.

"You can understand nothing that would seem for a moment to impugn the conduct of that child I am not, however, so blind; want of discrimination was the word and it both sounds well, and is expressive. It appear that, since he has been placed where he is, he has been guilty of the grossest blunders; only the other day, Mr. S told me, as he was engaged in close conversation with one of his principal clients, the boy came to tell him that a person wanted particularly to speak with him; and, on going out he found a lamentable figure with one eye, who came to ask for charity; whom, nevertheless, the lad had ushered into a private room, and installed in an arm chair, like a justice of the peace, instead of telling him to go about his business-now what did that show, but a total want of discrimination?"

"I wish we may never have anything worse to reproach him with," said my mother.

"I don't know what worse we could reproach him with," said my father; “I mean of course as far as his profession is concerned: discrimination is the very key-note; if he treated all people alike, he would soon become a beggar himself; there are grades in society as well as in the army: and according to these grades we should fashion our behavior, else there would instantly be an end of all order and discipline. I am afraid that the child is too condescending to his inferiors, whilst to his superiors he is apt to be unbending enough; I don't believe that would do in the world; I am sure it would not in the army. He told me another anecdote with respect to his behavior, which shocked me more than the other had done. It appears that his wife, who, by the by, is a very fine woman, and highly fashionable, gave him permission to ask the boy to tea one evening, for she is herself rather partial to the lad; there had been a great dinner party there that day, and there were a great many fashionable people, so the boy went and behaved very well and modestly for some time, and was rather noticed, till, unluckily, a very great gentleman, an archdeacon, I think, put some questions to him, and, finding that he understood the languages, began talking to him about the classics. What do you think? the boy had the impertinence to say that the classics were much overvalued, and, amongst other things, that some horrid fellow or other, some Welshman, I think (thank God it was not an Irishman), was a better poet than Ovid; the company were of course horrified; the archdeacon, who is seventy years of age, and has seven thousand a year, took snuff and turned away. Mrs. S-turned up her eyes. Mr. S-, however, told me with his usual good-nature (I suppose to spare my feelings) that he rather enjoyed the thing, and thought it a capital joke."

"I think so, too," said my mother.

"I do not," said my father; "that a boy of his years should entertain an opinion of his own-I mean one which militates against all established authority-is astounding; as well as might a raw recruit pretend to offer an unfavorable opinion on the manual and platoon exercise; the idea is preposterous; the lad is too independent by half. I never knew one of an independent spirit to get on in the army; the secret of success in the army is the spirit of subordination,"

"Which is a poor spirit after all," said my mother; "but the child is not in the army."

"And it is well for him that he is not," said my father; "but you do not talk wisely: the world is a field of battle, and he who leaves the ranks, what can he expect but to be cut down? I call his present behavior leaving the ranks, and going vaporig about without orders; his only chance lies in falling in again as quick as possible; does he think he can carry the day by himself? an opinion of his own at these years--I confess I am exceedingly uneasy about the lad.”

"You make me uneasy, too," said my mother; "but I really think you are too hard upon the child; after all, though not, perhaps, all you could wish him; he is always ready to read the Bible. Let us go in; he is in the room above us; at least he was two hours ago, I left him there bending over his books; I wonder what he has been doing all this time; it is now getting late; let us go in. and he shall read to us."

"I am getting old," said my father; "and I love to hear the Bible read to me, for my own sight is something dim; yet I do not wish the child to read to me this night, I can not so soon forget what I have heard; but I hear my eldest son's voice, he is now entering the gate; he shall read the Bible to us this night. What say you?"

CHAPTER X.

I now ceased all at once to take much pleasure in the pursuits which formerly interested me, I yawned over Ab Gwilym; even as I now in my mind's eye perceive the reader yawning over the present pages. What was the cause of this? Constitutional lassitude, or a desire for novelty? Both, it is probable, had some influence in the matter, but I rather think that the latte, feeling was predominant. The parting words of my brother had sunk into my mind. He had talked of traveling in strange regions and seeing strange and wonderful objects, and my imagination fell to work and drew pictures of adventures wild and fantastic, and I thought what a fine thing it must be to travel, and I wished that my father would give me his blessing, and the same sum that he had given my brother, and bid me go forth into the world; always forgetting that I had neither talent nor energies at this period which would enable me to make any successful figure on its stage.

And then I again sought up the book which had so captivated me in my infancy, and I read it through; and I sought up others of a similar character, and in seeking for them I met books also of adventure, but by no means of a harmless description, lives of wicked and lawless men, Murray and Latroon-books of singular power, but of coarse and prurient imagination-books at one time highly in vogue; now deservedly forgotten, and most difficult to be found.

And when I had gone through these books, what was my state of mind? I had derived entertainment from their perusal, but they left me more listless and unsettled than before, and I really knew not what to do to pass my time. My philological studies had become distasteful, and I had never taken any pleasure in the duties of my profession. I sat behind my desk in a state of torpor, my mind almost as blank as the paper before me, on which I rarely traced a line. It was always a relief to hear the bell ring, as it afforded me an opportunity of doing something which I was yet capable of doing, to rise and open the door and stare in the countenances of the visitors. All of a sudden I fell to studying countenances, and soon flattered myself that I had made considerable progress in the science.

"There is no faith in countenances," said some Roman of old; trust anything but a person's countenance." "Not trust a man's countenance?" say some moderns. "Why, it is the only thing in many people that we can trust; on which account they can keep it most assiduously out of the way. Trust not a man's words, if you please, or you may come to very erroneous conclusions; but at all times place implicit confidence in a man's countenance, in which there is no deceit; and of necessity there can be none. If people would but look each other more in the face, we should have less cause to complain of the deception of the world; nothing so easy as physiognomy nor so useful." Somewhat in this latter strain I thought, at the time of which I am speaking. I am now older, and, let us hope, less presumptuous. It is true that in the course of my life I have scarcely ever had occasion to repent placing confidence in individuals whose countenances have prepossessed me in their favor; though to how many I may have been unjust, from whose countenances I may have drawn unfavorable conclusions, is another mat

ter

But it had been decreed by Fate which governs our every action, that I was soon to return to my old pursuits. It was written that I should not yet cease to be Lavengro, though I had become, in my own opinion, a kind of Lavater. It is singular enough that my renewed ardor for philology seems to have been brought about indirectly by my physiognomical researches, in which had I not indulged, the event which I am about to relate, as far as connected with myself, might never have occurred. Amongst the various countenances which I admitted during the period of my answering the bell, there were two which particularly pleased me, and which belonged to

an elderly yeoman and his wife, whom some little business had brought to our law sanctuary. I believe they experienced from me some kindness and attention, which won the old people's hearts. So, one day when their little business had been brought to a conclusion, and they chanced to be alone with me, who was seated as usual behind the deal desk in the outer room, the old man with some confusion began to tell me how grateful himself and dame felt for the many attentions I had shown them, and how desirous they were to make me some remuneration. Of course," said the old man, "we must be cautious what we offer to so fine a young gentleman as yourself; we have, however, something we think will just suit the occasion, a strange kind of thing which people say is a book, though no one that my dame or myself have shown it to can make anything out of it; so as we are told that you are a fine young gentleman, who can read all the tongues of the earth and stars, as the Bible says, we thought, I and my dame, that it would be just the thing you would like; and my dame has it now at the bottom of her basket." "A book," said I, "how did you come by it?"

"We live near the sea," said the old man; "so near that sometimes our hut is wet with the spray; and it may now be a year ago that there was a fearful storm, and a ship was driven ashore during the night, and ere the morn was a complete wreck. When we got up at daylight there were the poor shivering crew at our door; they were foreigners, red-haired men, whose speech we did not understand; but we took them in and warmed them, and they remained with us three days; and when they went away they left behind them this thing; here it is, part of the contents of a box which was washed ashore."

"And then did you learn who they were ?"

"Why, yes; they made us understand that they were Danes." Danes! thought I, Danes! and instantaneously, huge and grisly appeared to rise up before my vision the skull of the old pirate Dane, even as I had seen it of yore in the pent-house of the ancient church to which, with my mother and my brother, I had wandered on the memorable summer eve.

And now the old man handed me the book; a strange and uncouth-looking volume enough. It was not very large, but instead of the usual covering was bound in wood, and was compressed with strong iron clasps. It was a printed book, but the pages were not of paper, but vellum, and the characters were black, and resembled those generally termed Gothic.

"It is certainly a curious book," said I; "and I should like to have it, but I can't think of taking it as a gift, I must give you an equivalent, I never take presents from anybody."

The old man whispered with his dame and chuckled, and then turned his face to me, and said, with another chuckle, "Well, we have agreed about the price; but, maybe, you will not consent." "I don't know," said I; "what do you demand?" "Why, that you shake me by the hand, and hold out your cheek to my old dame, she has taken an affection to you."

"I shall be very glad to shake you by the hand," said I, "but as for the other condition it requires consideration."

"No consideration at all," said the old man, with something like a sigh; "she thinks you like her son, our only child, that was lost twenty years ago in the waves of the North Sea."

"Oh, that alters the case altogether," said I, “ and of course I can have no objection."

And now, at once, I shook off my listlessness, to enable me to do which nothing could have happened more opportune than the above event. The Danes, the Danes! And I was at last to become acquainted, and in so singular a manner, with the speech of a people which had as far back as I could remember exercised the strongest influence over my imagination, as how should they not!-in infancy there was the summer-eve adventure, to which I often looked back, and always with a kind of strange interest, with respect to those to whom such gigantic and wondrous bones could belong as I had seen on that occasion; and, more than this, I had been in Ireland, and there, under peculiar circumstances, this same interest was increased tenfold. I had mingled much whilst there with the genuine Irish-a wild, but kind-hearted race, whose c nversation was deeply imbued with traditionary lore, connected with the early history of their own romantic land, and from them I heard enough of the Danes, but nothing common-place, for they never mentioned them but in terms which tallied well with my own preconceived ideas. For at an early period the Danes had invaded Ireland, and had subdued it, and, though eventually driven out, had left behind them an enduring remembrance in the minds of the people, who loved to speak of their strength and their stature, in evidence of which they