Of the conversation which ensued at the garden gate between Sir Harry West and William Seymour, I shall not stop to give the details. Suffice it that the words of the traveller merely evinced his satisfaction at seeing again one who had been the guide of his youth, under whom he had first tried his arms in Ireland against Tyrone, and who was, moreover, nearly related to him, being his mother's first cousin; while those of Sir Harry West displayed little less pleasure at seeing the boy whom he had educated in the way of honour, than if he had been his only child. Talking over the events of the last eighteen months, and mingling their conversation with many a reference to former years, they passed through the garden and over the terrace into the house. There, over pleasant memories, amidst which there was but little to forget,--for even pains and anxieties, strifes and fatigues, which pass away, gain through the softening glass of memory a rosy hue, mellowed yet warm,--they enjoyed an hour of that sweet intercourse which can only be known to hearts conscious of high and upright purposes; for the things on which remembrance dare not rest, are only follies and vices. All accidental sorrows may be dwelt upon with calmness, or recollected with gratitude to him who sent them; the sorrows that spring from ourselves preserve their unmitigated bitterness. But here there were none such to recal; and, though they spoke of perils, ay, and disasters, of the loss of friends well loved, of bright expectations disappointed, and of aspirations for their country's good unfruitful, yet, in that old hall, no self-reproach mingled with the theme of their discourse; and it was pleasant and soothing both to the young man and the old. There we will leave them for a certain time, to return to them ere long. CHAPTER II.