he mused, would sink into deep wrinkles, premature though they were;
and the occasional flashing of her eyes strongly impressed you
with the idea of insanity. There appeared to be some deep-seated,
irremovable, hopeless cause of anguish, never for one moment permitted
to be absent from her memory: a chronic oppression, fixed and graven
there, only to be removed by death. She was dressed in the widow's
coif of the time; but although clean and neat, her garments were faded
from long wear. She was seated upon the small couch which we have
mentioned, evidently brought down as a relief to her, in her declining
state.

On the deal table in the centre of the room sat the other person, a
stout, fair-headed, florid youth of nineteen or twenty years old. His
features were handsome and bold, and his frame powerful to excess; his
eye denoted courage and determination, and as he carelessly swung his
legs, and whistled an air in an emphatic manner, it was impossible
not to form the idea that he was a daring, adventurous, and reckless
character.

"Do not go to sea, Philip; oh, promise me _that_, my dear, dear
child," said the female, clasping her hands.

"And why not go to sea, mother?" replied Philip; "what's the use of my
staying here to starve?--for, by Heaven! it's little better. I must do
something for myself and for you. And what else can I do? My uncle Van
Brennen has offered to take me with him, and will give me good wages.
Then I shall live happily on board, and my earnings will be sufficient
for your support at home."

"Philip--Philip, hear me. I shall die if you leave me. Whom have I in
the world but you? O my child, as you love me, and I know you _do_
love me, Philip, don't leave me; but if you will, at all events do not
go to sea."

Philip gave no immediate reply; he whistled for a few seconds, while
his mother wept.

"Is it," said he at last, "because my father was drowned at sea, that
you beg so hard, mother?"

"Oh, no--no!" exclaimed the sobbing woman. "Would to God--"

"Would to God what, mother?"

"Nothing--nothing. Be merciful--be merciful, O God!" replied the
mother, sliding from her seat on the couch, and kneeling by the side
of it, in which attitude she remained for some time in fervent prayer.

At last she resumed her seat, and her face wore an aspect of more
composure.

Philip, who, during this, had remained silent and thoughtful, again
addressed his mother.

"Look ye, mother. You ask me to sta