id I, eagerly.

"The mortgagee," replied he, sententiously.

"I don't perfectly comprehend."

"Well, well! what I mean is this: suppose, now, you have only a couple
of thousand pounds to leave your son--maybe, you have not more than a
single thousand--now, my advice is, not to squander your fortune in
any such absurdity as a learned profession, a commission in the Line,
or any other miserable existence, but just look about you, in the west
of Ireland, for the fellow that has the best house, the best cellar,
the best cook, and the best stable. He is sure to want money, and will
be delighted to get a loan. Lend it to him: make hard terms, of
course. For this--as you are never to be paid--the obligation of your
forbearance will be the greater. Now, mark me, from the day the deed
is signed, you have snug quarters in Galway, not only in your friend's
house, but among all his relations--Blakes, Burkes, Bodkins, Kirwans,
&c., to no end; you have the run of the whole concern--the best of
living, great drink, and hunting in abundance. You must talk of the
loan now and then, just to jog their memory; but be always 'too much
the gentleman' to ask for your money; and it will even go hard, but
from sheer popularity, they will make you member for the county. This
is the only new thing, in the way of a career, I know of, and I have
great pleasure in throwing out the suggestion for the benefit of
younger sons."

A NUT FOR THE PENAL CODE.

It has often struck me that the monotony of occupation is a heavier
infliction than the monotony of reflection. The same dull round of
duty, which while it demands a certain amount of labour, excludes all
opportunity of thought, making man no better than the piston of a
steam-engine, is a very frightful and debasing process. Whereas,
however much there may be of suffering in solitude, our minds are not
imprisoned; our thoughts, unchained and unfettered, stroll far away to
pleasant pasturages; we cross the broad blue sea, and tread the ferny
mountain-side, and live once more the sunny hours of boyhood; or we
build up in imagination a peaceful and happy future.

That the power of fancy and the play of genius are not interrupted by
the still solitude of the prison, I need only quote Cervantes, whose
immortal work was accomplished during the tedious hours of a
captivity, unrelieved by one office of friendship, uncheered by one
solitary ray of hope.

Taking this view of the matter, it will