“Come, my fine fellow! I know all about it, and may be can do something for you. Wilde told me all about it—your love—and hopes, and disappointments, and everything. Now, I am going to perpetrate a real Irish blunder—going—what do you think—_to sea in your place_, and to let you stay here with this sweet girl—easy—easy, man! steady! so! hear me out. My father is a senator from the state of ——, is a particular friend of the Secretary of War. I have written to him to get our appointments reversed. Hush! hush! no gratitude, my _dear_ fellow, it is all selfishness—_Irish_ selfishness!” and his blue eyes and white teeth shone radiantly in the kind smile he turned upon Gusty, and Gusty, oh! his emotion, his joy, gratitude, and remorse, is _unreportable_!—no, not to be set down against him! At last, to moderate the raptures of his gratitude, blue eyes and white teeth assured him that _he_ wished (blue eyes, &c.,) particularly to visit the port of ——, whither the ship to which Gusty had been appointed, was bound, and that therefore he _had_ a selfish reason for his seeming generosity. Later in the week, Gusty became the repository of a love-confidence from Midshipman Murphy. At the end of the week the appointments were reversed. Mr. Murphy was ordered to the Mediterranean, and Mr. May appointed passed-midshipman of the good ship Rainbow. These orders were received early one morning. In the afternoon Gusty and the young Irishman were on deck together. They were great friends, you may rest assured. The following conversation occurred. Rosalia had just left them. She had been conversing with Gusty with all her usual calm and guileless affection. “It does me good to think that you will remain here with that sweet girl, May.” “You’re a good fellow, Murphy. God bless you.” “And you’re a _happy_ fellow, May. God _has_ blessed you.” “Happy! yes, by Jove! I only wish you knew how devilish ‘happy’ I am,” said Gusty, with a bitter sneer. “Why, what is the matter? jealous again, another rival?” “Oh, no! it is not that.” “What is it then?” Gusty had one great failing, an inability to keep his troubles to himself, a propensity to melt like a snow-drift in the sun at the first sympathy that shone on him. “She is very fond of you,” said Mr. Murphy. “Yes! that is just exactly what troubles me.” “Come! you are very reasonable!” “Oh! for the Lord’s sake don’t make fun of me! _don’t_! It is no jesting matter!” “Poor fellow! how he is to be pitied because a sweet girl annoys him with her love.” “See here! now don’t! I can’t stand it. Love me? _Yes, she does._ She loves her old, poor blind nurse Cumbo—uncle’s Newfoundland dog, Juno, and _me_ about in the same proportion, and in the same manner.” “Whew-ew-w!”