benevolence—he anxiously desired that she should go on speaking, and stood in such an attitude of attentive deference as fully marked that wish.

But at this moment lady O'Shane's footman came up with a message from his lady; her ladyship sent to let lady Annaly know that breakfast was ready. Repeating her good wishes to Ormond, she bade him adieu, while he was too much overpowered with his sense of gratitude to return her thanks.

"Since there exists a being, and such a being, interested for me, I must be worth something-and I will make myself worth something more: I will begin from this moment, I am resolved, to improve; and who knows but in the end I may become every thing that is good? I don't want to be great."

Though this resolution was not steadily adhered to, though it was for a time counteracted by circumstances, it was never afterwards entirely forgotten. From this period, in consequence of the great and painful impression which had been suddenly made on his mind, and from a few words of sense and kindness spoken to him at a time when his heart was happily prepared to receive them, we may date the commencement of our hero's reformation and improvement-hero, we say; but certainly never man had more faults than Ormond had to correct, or to be corrected, before he could come up to the received idea of any description of hero. Most heroes are born perfect so at least their biographers, or rather their panegyrists, would have us believe. Our hero is far from this happy lot; the readers of his story are in no danger of being wearied, at first setting out, with the list of his merits and accomplishments; nor will they be awed or discouraged by the exhibition of virtue above the common standard of humanity-be

yond the hope of imitation. On the contrary, most people will comfort and bless themselves with the reflection, that they never were quite so foolish, nor quite so bad, as Harry Ormond.

For the advantage of those who may wish to institute the comparison, his biographer, in writing the life of Ormond, deems it a point of honour to extenuate nothing; but to trace, with an impartial hand, not only every improvement and advance, but every deviation or retrograde movement.

CHAPTER IV.

FULL of sudden zeal for his own improvement, Ormond sat down at the foot of a tree, determined to make a list of all his faults, and of all his good resolutions for the future. He took out his pencil, and began on the back of a letter the following resolutions, in a sad scrawling hand and incorrect style.

HARRY ORMOND'S GOOD RESOLUTIONS. Resolved 1st.-That I will never drink more than (blank number of) glasses.

Resolved 2dly. That I will cure myself of being passionate.

Resolved 3dly.—That I will never keep low company.

Resolved. That I am too fond of flattery-women's, especially, I like most. To cure myself of

that.

Here he was interrupted by the sight of a little gossoon, with a short stick tucked under his arm, who

came pattering on barefoot in a kind of pace indescribable to those who have never seen it—it was something as like walking or running as chanting is to saying or singing.

"The answer I am from the Black Islands, master Harry; and would have been back wid you afore nightfall yesterday, only he-king Corny-was at the fair of Frisky-could not write till this morning any way—but has his service to ye, master Harry, will be in it for ye by half after two with a bed and blanket for Moriarty, he bid me say on account he forgot to put it in the note. In the Sally Cove the

boat will be there abow in the big lough, forenent the spot where the fir dale was cut last seraph by them rogues."

The despatch from the king of the Black Islands was then produced from the messenger's bosom, and it ran as follows:

"Dear Harry. What the mischief has come over cousin Ulick to be banishing you from Castle Hermitage? But since he conformed, he was never the same man, especially since his last mis-marriage. But no use moralising-he was always too much of a courtier for me. Come you to me, my dear boy, who is no courtier, and you'll be received and embraced with open arms-was I Briareus the same way-Bring Moriarty Carroll (if that's his name), the boy you shot, which has given you so much concern which I like you the better-and honour that boy, who, living or dying, forbade to prosecute. Don't be surprised to see the roof the way it is:-since Tuesday I wedged it up bodily without stirring a stick: -you'll see it from the boat, standing three foot

n-for

high above the walls, waiting while I'm building up to it-to get attics-which I shall for next to nothing -by my own contrivance. Meantime, good dry lodging, as usual, for all friends at the palace. He shall be well tended for you by Sheelah Dunshaughlin, the mother of Betty, worth a hundred of her! and we'll soon set him up again with the help of such a nurse, as well as ever, I'll engage; for I'm a bit of a doctor, you know, as well as every thing else. But don't let any other doctor, surgeon, or apothecary, be coming after him for your life-for none ever gets a permit to land, to my knowledge, on the Black Islands-to which I attribute, under Providence, to say nothing of my own skill in practice, the wonderful preservation of my people in health-that, and woodsorrel, and another secret or two not to be committed to paper in a hurry -all which I would not have written to you, but am in the gout since four this morning, held by the foot fast-else I'd not be writing, but would have gone every inch of the way for you myself in style, in lieu of sending, which is all I can now do, my six-oared boat, streamers flying, and piper playing like mad— for I would not have you be coming like a banished man, but in all glory to Cornelius O'Shane, commonly called king Corny-but no king to you, only your hearty old friend."

"Heaven bless Cornelius O'Shane !" said Harry Ormond to himself, as he finished this letter." King or no king, the most warm-hearted man on earth, let the other be who he will."

Then pressing this letter to his heart, he put it up carefully, and rising in haste, he dropped the list of his faults. That train of associations was com

pletely broken, and for the present completely forgotten; nor was it likely to be soon renewed at the Black Islands, especially in the palace, where he was now going to take up his residence. Moriarty was laid on-what he never was laid on before-a featherbed; and was transported, with Ormond, in the sixoared boat, streamers flying, and piper playing, across the lake to the islands. Moriarty's head ached terribly, but he nevertheless enjoyed the playing of the pipes in his ear, because of the air of triumph it gave master Harry, to go away in this grandeur, in the face of the country. King Corny ordered the discharge of twelve guns on his landing, which popped one after another gloriously-the hospitable echoes, as Moriarty called them, repeating the sound. Α horse, decked with ribands, waited on the shore, with king Corny's compliments for prince Harry, as the boy, who held the stirrup for Ormond to mount, said he was instructed to call him, and to proclaim him "Prince Harry" throughout the island, which he did by sound of horn, the whole way they proceeded to the palace—very much to the annoyance of the horse, but all for the greater glory of the prince, who managed his steed to the admiration of the shouting ragged multitude, and of his majesty who sat in state in his gouty chair at the palace door. He had had himself rolled out to welcome the coming guest.

By all that's princely," cried he, "then, that young Harry Ormond was intended for a prince, he sits a horse so like myself; and that horse requires a master hand to manage him."

Ormond alighted.

The gracious, cordial, fatherly welcome, with which he was received, delighted his heart.