children?” I am resolute. “Jack, I can’t drink--out of sorts, my boy so mind yourself, you and Peter.--Now, Conshy,” says I, “where are you now, my boy?” But just at this instant, jack strikes out, with “Cringle, order me a tumbler--something hot--I don’t care what it is.”--“Ditto,” quoth Peter; and down crumbles all my fine fabric of resolutions, only to be rebuilt tomorrow, before breakfast again, or at any odd moment, when one’s flesh is somewhat fishified. Another instance. “I say, Tom,” says Conshy, “do give over looking at that smart girl tripping it along t’other side of the street.”--“Presently, my dear little man,” says I. “Tight little woman that, Conshy; handsome bows; good bearings forward; tumbles home sweetly about the waist, and tumbles out well above the hips; what a beautiful run! and spars clean and tight; back-stays well set up.”--“Now, Tom, you vagabond, give over. Have you not a wife of your own?”--“To be sure I have, Conshy, my darling; but toujours per” “Have done, now, you are going too far,” says Conshy.--“Oh, you be--“. “Thomas,” cries a still stern voice, from the very inmost recesses of my heart. Wee Conshy holds up his finger, and pricks his ear. “Do you hear him?” says he.--“I hear,” says I, “I hear and tremble.” Now, to apply. Conshy has been nudging me for this half hour to hold my tongue regarding Aaron Bang’s sea-sickness.--“It is absolutely indecent,” quoth he. “Can’t help it, Conshy; no more than the extra tumbler; those who are delicate need not read it; those who are indelicate won’t be the worse of it.”--“But,” persists Conshy--“I have other hairs in your neck, Master Tommy--you are growing a bit of a buffoon on us, and sorry am I to say it, sometimes not altogether, as a man with a rank imagination may construe you, a very decent one. Now, my good boy, I would have you to remember that what you write is condemned in the pages of Old Christopher to an amber immortalization,” (Ohon for the Provost!) “nay, don’t perk and smile, I mean no compliment, for you are but the straw in the amber, Tom, and the only wonder is, how the deuce you got there.” “But, my dear Conshy” “Hold your tongue, Tom--let me say out my say, and finish my advice--and how will you answer to my father, in your old age, when youth, and health, and wealth, may have flown, if you find any thing in this your Log calculated to bring a blush on an innocent cheek, Tom, when the time shall have for ever passed away wherein you could have remedied the injury? For Conscience will speak to you then, not as I do now, in friendly confidence, and impelled by a sincere regard for you, you right hearted, but thoughtless, slapdash vagabond.” There must have been a great deal of absurd perplexity in my visage, as I sat receiving my rebuke, for I noticed Conshy smile, which gave me courage. “I will reform, Conshy, and that immediately; but my moral is good, man.” “Well, well, Tom, I will take you at your word, so set about it, set about it.”