"An' welcome, Tom. I like a young man to have a mind of his own, an' to be able to strike out a good plan; an' then, if my experience isn't able to back it up, why I spake plainly an' tell him what I think." "My opinion is, father, that I ought to go away out of this place altogether for a while. You know I am not one that moping about the house and garden would answer at all. I must be out and going about, father, or I'd lose my senses." This was well put, both in matter and manner, and the closing words told with crowning effect. Tom had said nothing but the fact; such were his disposition and habits that he had scarcely exaggerated the effects of a close confinement to the premises, while of sound bodily health. "Begorra, Tom, what you say is the rale thruth; What would you think of going down to your aunt in Armagh for a start?" "No use, father,--no use; I could be no better there than where I am. Dublin, father, or the continent, for a month or six weeks, might do me some good." "Bedads, Tom, that id take a power of money, wouldn't it?" "Whether you might think so or not, father, would depend upon what you thought my health and happiness would be worth; here I cannot and will not stay, that is one sure thing." "Well, Tom, af she doesn't cum round in short, afther her father opens out upon her, we'll talk it over, and see what you would want; but my opinion is, you won't have to make yourself scarce at all--mind my words." Here Tom fell into such a silent train of thought, that all further conversation was brought to an end. Old Mick believed his son to be really unhappy "about that impideut hussey;" and having made one or two ineffectual efforts "to rouse him," he left him to his meditations. At the moment they were fixed upon a few of his father's closing words, "see what you'll want." "Want--want!" he repeated to himself. "A dam' sight more than you'll fork out, old cock." Old Mick busied himself about the house, fidgeting in and out of the room--upstairs and downstairs; while Tom was silently arranging more than one programme of matters which must come off if he would save himself from ruin and disgrace. His father had ceased to come into the room; indeed his step had not been heard through the house or on the stairs for some time, and it was evident he had gone to bed. But Tom sat for a full hour longer, with scarcely a change of position of even hand or foot. At length, with a sudden sort of snorting sigh, he stood up, stretched himself, with a loud and weary moan, and went to his room. [TO BE CONTINUED.] -------- {79} From The Dublin Review. MADAME RÉCAMIER AND HER FRIENDS. _Souvenirs et Correspondance tirés des Papiers de Madame Récamier,_ Paris: Michel Lévy Frères. 1859.