“'When I owned it,' rejoined I, trying to smile at a sad recollection. “'Then I have a writ against you, sir,' continued he, 'and I'm sorry I must execute it, too.' “'At whose suit, and for what sum?' asked I, trying to be calm and collected. He answered my last question first, by saying it was for an acceptance for twelve hundred and seventy-six pounds odd; and, after a little pressing, added,-- “'At the suit of Joseph Curtis, Esq., of Meagh-valley House.' “'What's to be done?' said I. 'I cannot pay it.' “'Come over to Green Street for the present, anyhow,' said he, civilly; 'there are plenty of houses.' “'No, no; to jail, if I must,' said I, boldly. 'It's not myself I was thinking about.' “Just as day was breaking, I passed into the prison; and when I thought to be looking upon the mountains of the bay slowly fading behind me, I was ushered into the debtors' yard, to wait till my future dwelling-place should be assigned me.” I copy this incident in the very words he himself related it. CHAPTER XXI. AT REST Having already acquainted my reader with the source from which I have derived all these materials of my family history, he will not be surprised to learn that MacNaghten's imprisonment leaves a blank in this part of my narrative. All that I know, indeed, of these early years can be told in a few lines. My mother repaired with me to the cottage in the Killeries, to which also came De Gabriac shortly after, followed by Polly Fagan, whose affection for my mother now exhibited itself most remarkably. Not vainly endeavoring to dam up the current of a grief that would flow on, she tried to interest my mother in ways and by pursuits which were totally new to her, and, consequently, not coupled with painful recollections. She taught her to visit the poor in their cabins; to see them, in the hard struggle of their poverty, stoutly confronting fortune day by day, carrying the weary load of adversity, without one hope as to the time when they might cease to labor and be at rest. These rambles through wild and unvisited tracts rewarded them well in the grand and glorious objects of scenery with which they became acquainted. It was everlasting discovery,--now of some land-locked little bay, half-hid among its cliffs; now some lone island, with its one family for inhabitants; or now some picturesque bit of inland scenery, with wood and mountain and waving grass. Occasionally, too, they ventured out to sea, either to creep along the coast, and peep into the rocky caverns with which it is perforated, or they would set sail for the distant islands of Arran,--bleak and desolate spots on the wide, wild ocean. The charms of landscape in its grandest features were, however, the least of the benefits these excursions conferred, at least on my poor mother. She learned then to see and to feel that the sorrows of life fall uniformly; that few, indeed, are singled out for especial suffering; and that