hifting deities,
Glaucus and Proteus, who tenanted the shore.

The one the fancy of Ovid metamorphosed from a restless man to a fickle
sea-god; the other assumed so many deceptive shapes to those who visited
his cave, that his memory has been preserved in the word Protean. Such
fancies well apply to a part of Nature which shifts like the sands, and
ranges from the hideous Cuttle-fish and ravenous Shark to the delicate
Medusa, whose graceful form and trailing tentacles float among the
waving fronds of colored Algae, like

"Sabrina fair,
Under the glassy, cool, translucent wave,
In twisted braids of lilies knitting
The loose train of her amber-dropping hair."

* * * * *

THE YOUNG REPEALER.

About eighteen years ago, when I was confined to two rooms by illness
of long standing, I received a remarkable note by post one day. The
envelope, bearing the Dublin postmark, was addressed in a good, bold,
manly handwriting; but the few lines within showed traces of agitation.
What I am going to relate is a true story,--altogether true, so far as
I can trust my memory,--except the name of the Young Repealer. I might
give his real name without danger of hurting any person's feelings but
one; but, for the sake of that one, who will thus be out of the reach
of my narrative, I speak of him under another name. Having to choose
a name, I will take a thoroughly Irish one, and call my correspondent
Patrick Monahan.

The few lines which showed agitation in the handwriting were calm
in language, but very strange. Patrick Monahan told me that he was
extremely unhappy, and that he had reason to believe that I, and I
alone, could do him good. This, with the address,--to a certain number
in a street in Dublin,--was all.

There was little time before the post went out; I was almost unable to
write from illness; but, after a second glance at this note, I felt that
I dared not delay my reply. I did not think that it was money that he
wished to ask. I did not think that he was insane. I could not conceive
why he should apply to me, nor why he did not explain what he wished
from me; but I had a strong impression that it was safest to reply at
once. I did so, in half a dozen lines, promising to write next day,
after a further attempt to discover his meaning, and begging him to
consider how completely in the dark I was as to him and his case. It was
well that I wrote that day. Long after, when he was