yed him at once, I took his hand, and led him along,
step by step, to the cabin door.

I had barely time to perceive that all the passengers were habited in
uniform, when one of them called out,--"We don't want the young fellow;
let him go back. Piper, sit down here."

The motion for my exclusion was passed without a negative; and I closed
the door, and sat down by myself among the trunks on deck.

For the remainder of the day I saw nothing of Darby,--the shouts of
laughter and clapping of hands below stairs occasionally informing
me how successful were his efforts to amuse his company; while I had
abundant time to think over my own plans, and make some resolutions for
the future.

CHAPTER VII. KEVIN STREET.

How this long, melancholy day wore on I cannot say. To me it was as
gloomy in revery as in its own dismal aspect; the very sounds of mirth
that issued from the cabin beneath grated harshly on my ear; and the
merry strains of Darby's pipes and the clear notes of his rich voice
seemed like treachery from one who so lately had spoken in terms of
heart-breathing emotion of his countrymen and their wrongs. While,
therefore, my estimation for my companion suffered, my sorrow for the
cause that demanded such sacrifices deepened at every moment, and I
panted with eagerness for the moment when I might take my place among
the bold defenders of my country, and openly dare our oppressors to the
battle. All that M'Keown had told me of English tyranny and oppression
was connected in my mind with the dreadful scene I had so lately been a
witness to, and for the cause of which I looked no further than an act
of simple hospitality. From this I wandered on to the thought of those
brave allies who had deserted their career of Continental glory to share
our almost hopeless fortunes here; and how I burned to know them, and
learn from them something of a soldier's ardor.

Night had fallen when the fitful flashing of lamps between the tall elms
that lined the banks announced our approach to the capital. There is
something dreadfully depressing in the aspect of a large city, to the
poor, unfriended youth, who without house or home is starting upon his
life's journey. The stir, the movement, the onward tide of population,
intent on pleasure or business, are things in which he has no part. The
appearance of wealth humiliates, while the sight of poverty affrights
him; and, while every one is animated by some purpose, he alone seems