hat establishes a successful son. Be proud of the boy,
Potts, and thank your stars that he had a soul above senna, and a spirit
above sal volatile!"

As I invent all this play of dialogue for myself, and picture the speakers
before me, I come at last to a small peevish little fellow named Lynch,
a merchant tailor, who lived next door to us, and enjoyed much of my
father's confidence. "So they tell me you have heard from that runaway
of yours, Potts. Is it true? What face does he put upon his disgraceful
conduct? What became of the livery-stable-keeper's horse? Did he sell
him, or ride him to death? A bad business if he should ever come back
again, which, of course, he's too wise for. And where is he now, and
what is he at?"

"You may read this letter, Mr. Lynch," replies my father; "he is one who
can speak for himself." And Lynch reads and sniggers, and reads again.
I see him as plainly as if he were but a yard from me. "I never heard
of this ducal capital before," he begins, "but I suppose it's like the
rest of them,--little obscure dens of pretentious poverty, plenty of
ceremony, and very little to eat. How did he find it out? What brought
him there?"

"You have this letter before you, sir," says my parent, proudly.
"Algernon Sydney is, I imagine, quite competent to explain what relates
to his own affairs."

"Oh, perfectly, perfectly; only that I can't really make out how he
first came to this place, nor what it is that he does there now that
he's in it."

My father hastily snatches the letter from his hands, and runs his eye
rapidly along to catch the passage which shall confute the objector and
cover him with shame and confusion. He cannot find it at once. "It is
this. No, it is on this side. Very strange, very singular indeed; but as
Algernon must have told me--" Alas! no, father, he has not told you, and
for the simple reason that he does not know it himself. For though I
mentioned with becoming pride the prominent stations Irishmen now hold
in most of the great states of Europe, and pointed to O'Donnel in Spain,
MacMahon in France, and the Field-Marshal Nugent in Austria, I utterly
forgot to designate the high post occupied by Potts in the Duchy of
Hesse-Kalbbratonstadt. To determine what this should be was now of
imminent importance, and I gave myself up to the solution with a degree
of intentness and an amount of concentration that set me off sound
asleep.

Yes, benevolent reader, I will confess it, que