before they could subdue them. Often, when they thought they had the
whole rude nation under their hands, or rather under their feet, the
rebellious spirit would break out again in a new spot, fiercer and
hotter than ever, and all the work had to be done over again.

Many of the stories in Welsh history are very grand and heroic, but
they are also very terrible; and I think you will find more to your
taste a simple little story of domestic life, which I have picked up
somewhere, and can assure you is as true as a great deal we find in
history.

THE FISHERMAN'S RETURN.

A good many years ago, somewhere on the southwestern coast of Wales,
there lived an honest fisherman, by the name of John Jenkins. The
Jenkinses are a very numerous and respectable family in Wales, and so
are the Joneses.

Mrs. Jenkins was a Jones, but she was not half so proud of her high and
vast family connections, as she was of her industrious, hardy husband,
and her pretty little daughter, Fanny.

When Fanny was a fortnight-old baby, the least, puny, little, pink
creature, wrapped in flannel, there came up a dreadful storm, and a
small London packet was wrecked on the coast, near her father's
cottage. The passengers were all lost except a little boy, about three
years of age, whom John Jenkins saved at the risk of his life. Two of
the crew escaped, but they could tell nothing of the child more than
that he came from Ireland, and was bound for London, with his nurse.
The boy could give no clear account of himself, but he wore round his
neck a gold locket, with arms engraved on it, and containing a lock of
black hair, twined with small pearls. So the fisherman concluded that
he must belong to some great family; and when they asked what was his
name, they expected to hear some prodigious great title, such as earl,
or marquis; but when he proudly answered, "Brian O'Neill," they could
make nothing of it--little knowing, simple folks as they were, that the
O'Neills were once kings and princes in Ireland. But that was in the
old, old time; great changes have taken place since, and there are a
few O'Neills quite in common life nowadays.

John Jenkins did all that lay in his power to find the parents and home
of the child--but he was poor and ignorant--the lord of the manor was a
little boy, at school, and the steward could not or would not help him;
so, his efforts all proving useless, he adopted Brian, and brought him
up as his son, giving