ecution, and all this in a Christian country, where
there are religion and laws--at least, they say so--as for raypart, I
could never discover them. However, it matters not, let us clap a stout
heart to a steep brae, and we may jink them and blink them yet; that's
all.

There was a little bird, a very little bird,
And a very little bird was he;
And he sang his little song all the summer day long,
On a branch of the fair green-wood tree.
Heigh ho!"

This little touch of melody, which he sang to a sweet and plaintive air,
seemed to produce a feeling of mournfulness and sorrow in his spirit,
for although the draught he had taken was progressing fast in its
operations upon his intellect, still it only assumed a new and
more affecting shape, and occasioned that singular form and ease of
expression which may be observed in many under the influence of similar
stimulants.

"Well," he proceeded, "I will soon go home; that is one consolation!
There is a sickness, my friend, whoever you are, at my heart here, and
in what does that sickness consist? I will tell you--in the memory of
some beautiful dreams that I had when a child or little-boy: I remember
something about green fields, groves, dark mountains, and summer rivers
flowing sweetly by. This now, to be sure, is a feeling which but few can
understand. It is called homesickness, and assumes different aspects,
my worthy friend. Sometimes it is a yearning after immortality, which
absorbs and consumes the spirit, and then we die and go to enjoy that
which we have pined for. Now, my worthy mute friend, mark me, in my
case the malady is not so exalted. I only want my green fields, my
dark mountains, my early rivers, with liberty to tread them for a brief
space. There lies over them in my imagination--there does, my worthy and
most taciturn friend, upon my soul there does--a golden light so clear,
so pure, so full of happiness, that I question whether that of heaven
itself will surpass it in radiance. But now I am caged once more, and
will never see anything even like them again."

The poor young man then wept for a couple of minutes, after which he
added, "Yes, sir, this is at once my malady and my hope. You see, then,
I am not worth a plot, nor would it be a high-minded or honorable act
for any gentleman to conspire against one who is nobody's enemy, but
appears to have all the world against him. Yes, and they thought when
I used to get into my silen