EXORDIU M.

MYSELF. Say, friendly Daïmon, shall I publish

this or no?

DAÏMON. Why ask: breathes it not a tender interest in man?

MYSELF. But man asks it not.

for the spirit, or its concerns?

Who cares

DAÏMON. Is it not better than convulsive ro

mance pandering to appetite, folly, fear?

MYSELF. But man loves what is of earthearthly; not what is of the spirit— spiritual. DAÏMON. Appeal, then, to his better part, thou heart so full of care.

MYSELF.

But he will not hearken.

DAÏMON. Remind him of his immortal por

tion.

MYSELF.

DAÏMON.

He would laugh me to scorn!

Declare thy sacred purpose; the

truths that concern all time.

MYSELF. Are there not books enow-do not myriads ply the spirit's calling? Oh, thou guiding immortal principle, say, do they earn their hire?

DAÏMON. It matters not. A duty omitted, perchance performed, by others, absolves thee

not.

MYSELF. Then be it so.

20

INTRODUCTION.

I AM a doctor. I live in a village on the remote western coast of Ireland, but have travelled somewhat in my time. Having served my country in the humble capacity of surgeon to a ship of war, I enjoy a pension, which, if small, maintains a cheerful log upon my hearth, with viands warm and wholesome on my table. I dabble in matters of philology and antiquity picked up in my rambles. If the weather be fine, a rod and gun beguile the way to my poor patients, whom, in this sequestered region, I am happy to serve without a fee.

The scenery around me, I believe, is accounted fine; and during the season tourists drop in to

B

admire, perchance to sketch, the lofty headlands. For my part, I prefer indoor nature, having already witnessed enough of her ladyship's outward adornments.

I contrive leisure to hammer some classics into the head of a wild youth, my sister's son, and a greater adept at pulling an oar or a trigger than at learning. But he is a good lad withal; and I intend, if spared, that he shall "walk the hospitals," trusting, through favour of old commanders, coupled with my own long services, to procure him an appointment in one of Her Majesty's cruizers.

Somehow, salmon, various game, deer even, with tobacco, brandy, and foreign wines, find their way into my little abode. My fellow, Joe, a disabled marine, whose life I once saved, avers with a wink, the familiarity of an old servant,that they come from the fairies. I fancy, however, though I never see it done, that my patients

are at the bottom of it: indeed their gratitude knows no bounds. "It is scandalous of a queen's officer," I say, and vainly try to frown it down, for I cannot well throw these free gifts into the sea. Besides, when I come in cold and wet a-nights, after visiting some poor creature on the hills, I find slippers and a change close by my study fire. The winds may howl, the waves may roar without, but the bogwood blazes not the less cheerily within; and Joe insists so on it, that a tumbler of brandy-and-water in the old corner will do me good, that I have not the heart to refuse.

The coast-guard captain, and maybe the gauger and supervisor, look in of an evening. They ask where I get my liquors, and swear they will deal at the same shop. I might be embarrassed for a reply, did they wait for one; but they proceed without a moment's delay to enjoy themselves as though they might never do so again.