singing; the distant shots had ceased, the
musicians had laid aside their instruments, and were sharing the general
repose; the only sounds that broke the stillness were the distant
challenging from the outpost, the tramp of the sentry faintly audible
upon the turf, the rattling of the collar chain of some restless horse,
or the snore of the sleeping soldiery. Restoring his horse to Paco, whom
he found waiting beside the watch-fire, Herrera desired him to remain
there till morning, and then wrapping himself in his cloak, he lay down
upon the grass, to court a slumber, of which anxious and uneasy thoughts
long debarred his eyelids.

MOSES AND SON.

A DIDACTIC TALE.

CHAPTER I.

"It's no good your talking, Aby," said a diminutive gentleman, with a
Roman nose and generally antique visage; "you must do the best you can
for yourself, and get your living in a respectable sort of vay. I can't
do no more for you, so help my ----"

"You're a nice father, aint you?" interrogatively replied the gentleman
addressed--a youth of eighteen, very tall, very thin, very dressy, and
very dirty. "I should like to know why you brought me into the world at
all."

"To make a man of you, you ungrateful beast," answered the small father;
"and that's vot you'll never be, as true as my name's Moses. You aint
got it in you. You're as big a fool as any Christian in the parish."

"Thankee, old un," replied he of six feet. "'_Twas nature's fault that
made me like my father_," he added immediately, throwing himself into a
theatrical posture, and pointing irreverently to the individual referred
to.

"There he goes again!" exclaimed Moses senior, with a heavy sigh.
"That's another of his tricks that'll bring him to the gallows. Mark my
words, Aby--that acting of yours will do your business. I vish the
amytoors had been at the devil before you made their acquaintance!"

"In course you do, you illiterate old man. What do you know of
literature? Aint all them gentlemen as I plays with chice sperits and
writers? Isn't it a honour to jine 'em in the old English drammy, and to
eat of the wittles and drink of the old ancient poets?"

"Aby, my dear," proceeded the other sarcastically, "I've only two vurds
to say. You have skulked about this 'ere house for eighteen years of
your precious life, vithout doing a ha'porth of work. It's all very fine
while it lasts; but I am sorry to say it can't last much longer.
To-morrow is Sabbath, make much