Erin was spelling out his sorrow to the darkness with that profound and garrulous eloquence which is in the character of my people.
"Wirra, wirra! Sorrow the day I would be leaving Ireland against my own will and intention, and may the rocks go out to meet the lugger that brought me here! It 's beginning to rain, too! Sure it never rains like this in Ireland! And me without a brass penny to buy a bed! If the Saints save me from England, 't is al"
"Come out of that, now!" said I.
The monologue ceased; there was a quick silence.
Then the voice, much altered, said: "Who calls? 'T is may be an Irish voice!"
"It is," said I. "I 've swallowed as much peat smoke as any man of my years. Come out of that now, and let me have a look at you."
He came trustfully enough, knowing me to be Irish, and I examined him as well as I was able in the darkness. He was what I expected, a bedraggled vagabond with tear-stains on his dirty cheeks and a vast shock of hair which I well knew would look, in daylight, like a burning haycock. And as I examined him he just as carefully examined me. I could see his shrewd blue eyes twinkling.
"You are a red man," said I. "I know the strain; 't is better than some. Your family must have been very inhospitable people." And then, thinking that I had spent enough time, I was about to give the fellow some coin and send him away. But here a mad project came into my empty head. I had ever been the victim of my powerful impulses, which surge up within me and sway me until I can only gasp at my own con-
