ayed in when I was a child;--the glen behind our house, the
mountains that rose before us when we left the door, the thorn-bush at
the garden, the hazels in the glen, the little beach-green beside the
river--Oh, sir, don't blame me for crying, for they are all before my
eyes, in my ears, and in my heart! Many a summer evening have I gone to
the march-ditch of the farm that my father's now in, and looked at the
place I loved, till the tears blinded me, and I asked it as a favor of
God to restore us to it! Sir, we are in great poverty at home; before
God we are; and my father's heart is breaking."

The Colonel drew his breath deeply, rubbed his hands, and as he looked
at the fine countenance of the boy--expressing, as it did, enthusiasm
and sorrow--his eye lightened with a gleam of indignation. It could
not be against the poor scholar; no, gentle reader, but against his own
agent.

"O'Brien," said he, "what do you think, and this noble boy is the son
of a man who belongs to a class of which I am ignorant! By Heaven, we
landlords are, I fear, a guilty race."

"Not all, sir," replied the Curate. "There are noble exceptions among
them; their faults are more the faults of omission than commission."

"Well, well, no matter. Come, I will draw up the informations against
this man; afterwards I have something to say to you, my boy," he added,
addressing Jemmy, "that will not, I trust, be unpleasant."

He then drew up the informations as strongly as he could word them,
after which Jemmy deposed to their truth and accuracy, and the Colonel,
rubbing his hands again, said--

"I will have the fellow secured. When you go into town, Mr. O'Brien,
I'll thank you to call on Meares, and hand him these. He will lodge the
miscreant in limbo this very night."

Jemmy then thanked him, and was about to withdraw, when the Colonel
desired him to remain a little longer.

"Now," said he, "your father has been treated inhumanly, I believe; but
no matter. That is not the question. Your sentiments, and conduct, and
your affection for your parents, are noble, my boy. At present, I say,
the question is not whether the history of your father's wrongs be true
or false; you, at least, believe it to be true. From this forward--but
by the by, I forgot; how could your becoming a poor scholar relieve your
parents?"

"I intended to become a priest, sir, and then to help them."

"Ay! so I thought; and, provided your father were restored to the farm,
w