the Exchequer and Masters in Chancery.

Elevated by the scenes of danger he had passed through,--some real, the
far greater number imaginary,--into the dignity of a hero, he preferred
rather to discuss prairie life and scenes in the Havannah, to dwelling
on the topics so nearly interesting to Cashel. Nor was Roland a very
patient listener to digressions, which, at every moment, left the
high-road, and wandered into every absurd by-path of personal history.

"I always thought, sir," said Simms, "and used to say it everywhere,
too, what a splendid change for you this piece of good fortune would be,
springing at a bound, as a body might say, from a powder-monkey into the
wealth of a peer of the realm; but, egad, when I see the glorious life
you lead hereabouts, such grog, such tipple, capital house, magnificent
country, and, if I may pronounce from the view beneath my window, no
lack of company, too! I begin to feel doubts about it."

If Cashel was scarcely pleased at the allusions to himself in this
speech, he speedily forgave them in his amusement at the commentary
Simms passed on life at the villa; but yet would willingly have turned
from either theme to that most engrossing one,--the circumstances of
his altered fortune. Simms, however, was above such grovelling subjects;
and, as he sat, glass in hand, gazing out upon the garden, where
strolling parties came and went, and loitering groups lingered in the
shade, he really fancied the scene a perfect paradise.

"Very hard to leave this, you'll find it!" exclaimed Simms. "I can well
imagine life here must be rare fun. How jolly they do seem down there!"
said he, with a half-longing look at the strange figures, who now and
then favored him with a salute or a gesture of the hand, as they passed.

"Come, let us join them," said Cashel, who, despairing of recalling him
to the wished-for topic, was fain to consent to indulge the stranger's
humor.

"All naval men?" asked Simms, as they issued forth into the lawn.

"Most of them are sailors!" said Cashel, equivocating.

"That's a fine-looking old fellow beneath the beech-tree, with the long
Turkish pipe in his mouth. He's captain of a seventy-four, I take it."

"He's a Greek merchantman," whispered Cashel; "don't look so hard at
him, for he observes you, and is somewhat irascible in temper, if stared
at."

"Indeed! I should n't have thought--"

"No matter, do as I tell you; he stabbed a travelling artist the other
d