all that; and maybe it 'ud be betther for himself
if he had a sharper spice of the dioual in him--but sure the poor boy
hasn't the brain for it. Offence! oh, the dickens may seize the offence
poor Frank will give to man or woman, barrin' he mends his manners, and
gats a little life into him--sure he was a year and a day in the Five
Common Rules, an' three blessed weeks gettin' the Multiplication Table."

Such, in general, was the estimate formed of their respective
characters, by those who, of course, had an opportunity of knowing them
best. Whether the latter were right or wrong will appear in the sequel,
but in the meantime we must protest, even in this early stage of our
narrative, against those popular exhibitions of mistaken sympathy, which
in early life--the most dangerous period too--are felt and expressed
for those who, in association with weak points of character, give strong
indications of talent. This mistaken generosity is pernicious to the
individual, inasmuch as it confirms him in the very errors which he
should correct, and in the process of youthful reasoning, which is
most selfish, induces him not only to doubt the whisperings of his
own conscience, but to substitute in their stead the promptings of the
silliest vanity.

Having thus given a rapid sketch of these two brothers in their
schoolboy life, we now come to that period at which their father thought
proper to apprentice them. The choice of the trade he left to their own
natural judgment, and as Frank was the eldest, he was allowed to choose
first. He immediately selected that of a carpenter, as being clean,
respectable, and within-doors; and, as he added--

"Where the wages is good--and then I'm tould that one can work afther
hours, if they wish."

"Very well," said the father, "now let us hear, Art; come, alanna, what
are you on for?"

"I'll not take any trade," replied Art.

"Not take any trade, Art! why, my goodness, sure you knew all along that
you war for a trade. Don't you know when you and Frank grow up, and, of
course, must take the world on your heads, that it isn't this strip of a
farm that you can depend on."

"That's what I think of," said Frank; "one's not to begin the world wid
empty pockets, or, any way, widout some ground to put one's foot on."

"The world!" rejoined Art; "why, what the sorra puts thoughts o' the
world into your head, Frank? Isn't it time enough for you or me to think
o' the world these ten years to come?