r Billy good-bye."

"Billy? who's Billy?" I thought--a little perplexed, perhaps, with the
labours of composition.

"Come; he's off this minute for Dublin, where he joins the
Trigonometrical Survey--a great honour for a fellow not six months in
the Engineers."

The old fool was talking about his son William Morgan, who had been at
Goslingbury (Park, when I get the turnips up and the grass sown) for a
month--a nice merry young man; and so clever at mathematics, and
hydraulics, and other scientific pursuits, that he had won all the
prizes at Addiscombe; and, though only a second lieutenant, was chosen
to conduct a great survey of Ireland.

"I'm coming," I said; and bundled away my description of Maria Valentine
de Courcy; and away old Morgan and I went to the lawn, where we expected
to find the soldier. But no soldier, nor any body else, was to be seen.

"His mother and sisters are making fools of themselves, I daresay," said
I, "blubbering and crying over the boy, as if he was going out to settle
in New Zealand."

"I suspect there's a good deal of crying going on," replied old Morgan;
"let us look into the summer-house at the top of the garden." So we
hurried up the grass walk; and just as we got to the door, I was in the
very act of stepping into the bower, and old Morgan close on my heels,
when a man, with a handkerchief held to his eyes, rushed distractedly
upon us, and rolled us both down the steps, as if we had been pushed by
a bull; and in a minute or so, when I came to myself; I found my heels
in a gooseberry bush, and my head tight-jammed into a flower-pot; old
Morgan had rolled over into the next bed, which was prepared for celery,
and he lay in one of the long troughs, with his hands folded across his
breast, and evidently persuaded that he was his own effigy on the top of
his own tomb. And this was all the leave-taking we had with the
engineer; for, in an agony of grief at parting from his mother, and
perhaps to hide his crying, he had hurried out blindfolded, and took no
more notice of his host and his father than if we had been a couple of
old cabbage-stalks. However, I got up as soon as I was able, and
assisted Morgan once more upon his feet. This time we proceeded more
cautiously into the summer-house; and on the bench we saw Martha Brown
sitting and sobbing with all her might, with her head on Mrs Morgan's
shoulder, and Miss Sophia holding a bottle of salts to her nose; while a
tear, every now and