sight of his victim. The women stood petrified with horror. I alone, retaining some self-possession, advanced to examine if human aid might yet avail to save the poor youth, who was laid, apparently a corpse, on three chairs, near the door. Comprehending my purpose, the humane tenderness of poor Margaret's nature surmounted her agonized feelings, and she came trembling to assist in the painful examination. The young man's face was turned from us towards the wall, and almost covered by the luxuriant hair (a sailor's pride) which, escaping from the confining ribbon, had fallen in dark wet masses over his cheek and brow. His right hand hung down from his side, and on taking it into mine, I found that it was already cold as marble and that no pulse was perceptible in the artery. Margaret had, as expeditiously as her agitation would permit, unclosed his sailor's jacket, and checked shirt; and though she started and shuddered at the sight of blood thickly congealed over his bosom, she persisted heroically in her trying task. His neck handkerchief had been previously untied, and stuffed down as a temporary pledget into the wounded breast. In remoying it, Margaret's finger became entangled by a black string passed round the youth's neck, to which a small locket was suspended. She was hastily moving it aside, when the light held by one of the sailors fell upon the medallion, (a perforated gold pocket piece), and her eye glancing towards it at the same moment, a half-choaked exclamation burst from her lips, and, looking up, I saw her standing motion less, breathless, her hands clasped together with convulsive energy, and her eyes almost starting from their sockets, in the stare of indescribable horror with which they were rivetted on the suspended token. At last a shriek (such a one as my ears never before heard, the recollection of which still curdles the blood in my veins) burst from her lips, and brought her daughter and husband, even the unfortunate man himself, to the spot where she stood absorbed in that fatal contemplation. She looked up towards her husband, (on whose brow cold drops of agony were thickly gathering, whose white lips quivered with the workings of a tortured spirit)—she gazed up in his face with such a look as I shall never forget. It was one of horrid calmness, more fearful to behold than the wildest expressions of passionate agony, and grasping his fettered hand firmly in one of her's, and with the other pointing to the perforated gold piece, as it lay on the mangled bosom of the dead youth, she said in a slow steady voice, "Look there! Who is that, Richard?" His eyes rivetted themselves with a ghastly stare on the object to which she pointed, then wandered wildly over the lifeless form before him; but the tremulous agitation of his frame ceased, the convulsive workings of the muscles of his face changed into rigid fixedness, and he stood like one petrified in the very burst of despair. Once more she repeated, in the same calm deliberate tone, "Who is that, Richard?" and suddenly leaning forward, dashed aside from the face of the corpse the dark locks that had hitherto concealed it. "There, there!" she shrieked"I knew it was my son !" and bursting into a frenzied laugh, she called out, "Amy! Amy! your brother is come home-come home on his birth-day! Will nobody bid him welcome? Richard, wont you speak to your son, to our dear Maurice? wont you bless him on his birthday?" And snatching her husband's hand, she endeavoured to drag him towards the pale face of the dead. He to whom this heart-rending appeal was addressed, replied only by one deep groan, which seemed to burst up the very fountain of feeling and of life. He staggered back a few paces-his eyes closed-the convulsion of a moment passed over his features, and he fell back as inanimate as the pale corpse that was still clasped with frantic rapture to the heart of the brain-struck mother. K VOL. II. THE LOST FRIEND. Oh, known the earliest, and esteemed the most, Byron. In my younger days I visited the capital of Ireland, in company with a friend, whom I shall call Walsingham -a youth of rare talents, superior acquirements, and generous disposition. We had been associates from infancy; our parents had been on terms of friendship prior to our birth; the same preceptors had superintended our education; and, to crown all, a similarity of pursuit, in riper years, served to bind us more closely together. For my own part, I cherished for Walsingham a regard nothing short of fraternal-a regard which I calculated on his one day claiming as his right, in consequence of an alliance eagerly sought for by him, and anticipated with pleasure by all concerned; and, on his side, it seemed the study of his life to prove the sincerity and strength of his affection for me and mine, Our motives for visiting Ireland, at the period I allude to, were simply those of curiosity. Both had a passion for roaming, in order to gratify which, we had penetrated into the most retired fastnesses of the Scottish Highlands -had visited the barren rocks of Zetland and Orkneyand, latterly, nearly the whole of the Hebrides, from one of which (Islay) we ran across in a fishing skiff to the Irish shore, and after a due examination of the wonders of the Giant's Causeway, proceeded on to Dublin, with the intention of concluding our protracted excursion by a survey of that metropolis. Though we carried introductions to several families in Dublin, and, in consequence, had many pressing invitations to throw ourselves on private hospitality, we uniformly declined civilities that threatened to curtail our liberty. We had entered on the excursion, not for the purpose of hunting out good cheer and frivolous amusement, but to store our minds with information regarding the districts we traversed; therefore, any engagements militating against this pursuit were studiously avoided. True it is, that now and then an evening was devoted to a lively party; but the day was invariably spent in rambling round, or in examining objects worthy of observation within the metropolis. It was the indulgence of these prying, inquisitive habits, which eventually |