like his wife, Philip?'

'I respect her. They came together,--I suppose, because they were near
together, like the two islands, in spite of the rolling waves between.
I would not willingly see the union disturbed. He warms her, and she
houses him. And he has to control the hot blood that does the warming,
and she to moderate the severity of her principles, which are an
essential part of the housing. Oh! shiver politics, Patrice. I wish I
had been bred in France: a couple of years with your Pere Clement, and
I could have met Irishmen and felt to them as an Irishman, whether they
were disaffected or not. I wish I did. When I landed the other day, I
thought myself passably cured, and could have said that rhetoric is
the fire-water of our country, and claptrap the springboard to send
us diving into it. I like my comrades-in-arms, I like the character of
British officers, and the men too--I get on well with them. I declare
to you, Patrice, I burn to live in brotherhood with them, not a rift of
division at heart! I never show them that there is one. But our early
training has us; it comes on us again; three or four days with Con have
stirred me; I don't let him see it, but they always do: these tales of
starvations and shootings, all the old work just as when I left, act on
me like a smell of powder. I was dipped in "Ireland for the Irish"; and
a contented Irishman scarcely seems my countryman.'

'I suppose it 's like what I hear of as digesting with difficulty,'
Patrick referred to the state described by his brother.

'And not the most agreeable of food,' Philip added.

'It would be the secret of our happiness to discover how to make the
best of it, if we had to pay penance for the discovery by living in an
Esquimaux shanty,' said Patrick.

'With a frozen fish of admirable principles for wife,' said Philip.

'Ah, you give me shudders!'

'And it's her guest who talks of her in that style! and I hope to be
thought a gentleman!' Philip pulled himself up. 'We may be all in the
wrong. The way to begin to think so, is to do them an injury and forget
it. The sensation's not unpleasant when it's other than a question of
good taste. But politics to bed, Patrice. My chief is right--soldiers
have nothing to do with them. What are you fiddling at in your coat
there?'

'Something for you, my dear Philip.' Patrick brought out the miniature.
He held it for his brother to look. 'It was the only thing I could get.
Mr. Adister sends