a kinder-hearted soul in the world. It is all very well, by Jove, for youngsters to put on airs and refuse to be submissive to control; but let them leave their parents' roof-tree, and go out into the world among strangers, and they will soon learn the mistake they have committed. New friends and acquaintances may be picked up every day, but a father or mother never can be replaced.

Well, I thought myself very badly used, so in an evil hour I made up my mind to run away from home. On this resolution I acted at once. At eleven at night, while the house was sunk in darkness and repose, I packed up a simple change of clothes and stole forth.

Whether or not the noise caused by my tread on the gravel awoke the gardener who lived at the lodge, I know not; but ere I had gained the gate I was arrested by his powerful voice, warning me that if I did not halt he would give me a doze of slugs from his blunderbush, as he called it, while sotto voce he asked some one who accompanied him, but whom I could not see, for both were buried in the thick leaves of a laurel, "whether he had not better, to make all sure, take a shot him."

"No, father," was the response; "not unless he tries to run off."

By the voice I recognised that this kind speech was made by Nancy, a ruddy, stout, good-looking girl, the factotum of her parent, and who accompanied him on all extraordinary occasions, whether it were to fair or market, or to detect boys robbing the orchard.

"No, Nancy; I never ran away from you yet, though often after you, and I am not going to change my ways now," I called out.

"Father, father, it's Master Philip; for the love of heaven, point your musket another way, she's loaded to the muzzle, and might go off at any minute."

But the old man, who was rather deaf, and did not hear my voice, refused to believe his daughter; and out of sheer obstinacy, was about to fire, when the stalwart girl seized the blunderbuss; and in the scuffle, sure enough, it did explode, bringing almost a cart-load of sticks out of a neighbouring tree. Faithful old Robin was now harmless, and apologised most amply for the share he had in my discomfiture, having all along believed that I was one of the thieves who had lately visited the garden.

"But where are you going, Master Philip, at this hour of the night?"

"To shoot rabbits," for I preferred not to make him cognisant of my future movements.

"To shoot rabbits, and that bundle with you; I'm not just so blind as I look. It's from home you are going, and it's many a sore heart you'll leave in the house up there. Go back, young master; what's done in haste is too often repented at leisure. Go back, I say." And to his were joined his daughter's entreaties.

The daughter left us, I thought, to return to the lodge, and the old man walked a short way with me. One moment he regretted he was not young enough to go with me, in the next he importuned me to change my mind. I suppose it ever will be so; but there are few so devoted and sincere as old servants; true, occasionally they may presume, but even when they do so, it is done with a good motive.

After having shaken hands with the old man, and received his blessing, I hurried on my route, but had scarcely gone a hundred yards when I was joined by Nancy-in years gone by, both a companion and confidante. All I could say would not prevent her carrying my bundle for a "bit of the road," as she termed it. With a woman's shrewdness she suspected what was the cause of my departure, but delicately refrained from touching on the subject.

For five long miles that affectionate girl bore my burden. It was ungallant to permit her to do so, but to confess the truth, I knew Nancy's strength, and very much fear if I had attempted to contest the point, I should have got worsted in the battle. We were now half way to the seaport that was my destination. So I insisted on her returning; but, before we parted, something to remember her by was shoved into my hand, with injunctions that the little package was not to be opened till I was far away. When a hundred miles severed us, I did so. It was a sovereign and two half Poor girl, many a day it must have taken her to save so large a sum. It was her all I doubt not, and how freely had she parted with it. Although but a gardener's daughter, one who could but imperfectly read and write, the manner in which she bestowed her offering, was worthy of the best bred dame in the land. I used the money. I had no hesitation in doing so, for I required it; but wrote to my mother the circumstances, and I mistake her loving heart and loving nature if she did not return the amount twofold.

crowns.

Nancy cried when I bid her adieu. I am not certain

that I did not; if I did, by Jove, I could not help it, such a scene was deuced trying. However, of one thing I am certain, that I experienced the first feeling of weight of heart and doubt of the propriety of the course I was taking when I watched her receding figure as she trudged her homeward way. Next day I was en route for Glasgow. I wrote home during the journey, and informed my parents of my resolution, namely, to go abroad for some years and seek a change of scene. My answer was not exactly what I anticipated. Both parents approved the step, more particularly my father, and abundant funds were provided to assist me in carrying it out. At such a course I was rather disgusted, for I had not been allowed to make a martyr of myself as I intended; and, by Jove, it had more to do in curing me of my calf-love than one could well imagine. I could now see the matter in the right light, and again and again I vowed I should never make such a fool of myself again.

What between the fumes of whisky toddy, the numerous and wonderful stories told by the Scotch and Irish drovers, and the smell of the cattle with which the upper deck was crowded, I did not sleep much that night on the Glasgow boat; but when I arose in the morning, I was quite an altered man.

It was not pleasant travelling in such boats, it is true; but, as a nauseous medicine will often effect a cure, so this journey effectually banished all my love-sickness, and I felt quite capable of going out to face the world, and take care of myself while doing so. In course of time I went across the Atlantic, and you remember how we met.

CHAPTER XVI.

A VOYAGE IN THE HULDA SWICH.

JUST as Philip Upton had concluded relating his love adventure with the fair governess, a rap was heard at the door, and on our shouting "Come in," one of the most impudent of the host of impudent Irish waiters entered the room (who ever met a civil Irish waiter in the United States?), bearing in his hand a letter. "If that's the way you tell a man to come into your room after he's civil enough to knock at your door, by jabbers it's manners you want all to be taught," said Pat.

"True for you," said Philip, chaffing him, "if we had only known that it was you, Mike, I should have opened the door myself for you."

"Well, now, that's spoken like a gentleman. The Boss sent me up with this letter, he says it's for one of ye's."

Upton took the letter, read the address, gave a regular fox-hunter hulloo, exclaiming afterwards, "it's from the governor, by Jove it is; excuse me for a moment, till I learn what my venerable parent has to say."

The epistle was not a short one, for it took him some minutes to peruse, when done, he tossed it in the air, and requested us to congratulate him.

"But explain, for what are we to congratulate you?" exclaimed we both, "you have not told us."