merry, and gave parties in his honour.
And whatever the state of his wardrobe or exchequer, he was sure to be
in the fields the following day, reaping, hay-making, ploughing, sowing,
or even milking, as either of these, or similar avocations, came in his
way. Nobody could be angry with him, and his father's lectures, and his
brother's reasonings all melted away before the row of white teeth that
he was for ever displaying in his joyous laughter.

Of middle height, athletic, sunburnt--with hands almost as brown as his
merry brown eyes--with black, long, curly hair, a bushy beard, and
plenty of whiskers, a bronze neck from which, in sailor fashion, the
blue and white shirt-collar receded--and a broad forehead, showing all
kinds of bumps, particularly those of locality over the bushy black
eyebrows--Owen Prothero was as fine a type of an English sailor as could
be found the broad seas over.

He was in the habit of falling desperately in love with at least one out
of every five or six girls that came in his way, and of making frightful
havoc in the hearts of females of all ranks and ages. Netta's general
inquiry was,--'Well, Owen, who is the last new love?' to which Owen
would gravely reply, by a recapitulation of the charms of some fair
damsel on whom his affections would be for ever fixed, could he only
afford to marry. All his beauties had bright eyes, bright complexions,
mirthful smiles, and were very 'jolly,' which seemed to be the word
including all that was necessary to make a woman charming in his eyes.

'So, Netta, Howel has come into a fine fortune!' he began one morning,
when he and his sister were alone together. 'I suppose he won't think of
little cousin Netta now?'

'Oh! indeed,' was Netta's reply with a toss of the head.

'I wish he was here now. He is a fine fellow in his way. I do like
Howel.'

'I knew you would say so,' exclaimed Netta. 'You are a kind, dear
brother. They are all turned against him, even mother, who can take in
the scum of the earth, and make much of a wretched Irish beggar, and
will not ask Howel here, who is a gentleman,'

'Oh! oh! that's the way the wind blows. So you do not forget cousin
Howel, Miss Netta.'

'No, I assure you; and I won't forget him, that's more.'

'Bravo! Netta. I admire a girl of spirit. But, perhaps now he is so rich
he will not think of you.'

'I suppose that depends upon whether I choose to think of him. They say
he is coming down soon, and that he wil