thinks that no one can shoot but himself," sneered Bill
Martin, as he turned to a train of blackguards who were lounging with
him against the pales of the porter's lodge, as I, returned one evening
to my mother's with my gun over my shoulder and a hare and a brace of
pheasants in my hand. "I guess there be others who can shoot hares and
pheasants, without the Squire's leave, as well as he. He fancies himself
quite a gemman, with that fine gun over his shoulder, and the Squire's
licence in his pocket."

These insulting remarks stirred up the evil passions in my breast. My
gun was unloaded, but I pointed it at my tormentor, and told him to be
quiet, or I'd shoot him like a dog. "Shoot and be ---- to you!" says he,
"it's a better death than the gallows, and that's what you'll come to."

This speech was followed by a roar of coarse laughter from his
companions.

"I shall live to see you hung first!" I cried, lowering the gun, while a
sort of prophetic vision of the far-off future swam before my sight.
"The company you keep, and the bad language you use, are certain
indications of the road on which you are travelling. I have too much
self-respect, to associate with a blackguard like you."

"Dirty pride and self-conceit, should be the words you ought to use,"
quoth the impudent fellow. "My comrades are poor, but they arn't
base-born sneaks like you."

With one blow I levelled him to the ground. Just at that moment the
Squire rode up and prevented further mischief. That Bill Martin was born
to be my evil genius. I wished him dead a hundred times a day, and the
thought familiarized my mind to the deed. He was the haunting fiend,
ever at my side to tempt me to commit sin.

CHAPTER XV.

MY FIRST LOVE.

Mere boy as I was, my heart had been deeply moved by the beauty of Miss
Ella Carlos, I often waited upon her all day without feeling the least
fatigue; and at night my dreams were full of her. I don't think that she
was wholly insensible to my devotion, but it seemed a matter of
amusement and curiosity to her.

I remember, one day--Oh, how should I forget it, for it formed a strong
link of evil in my unhappy destiny,--that I was sitting on the bank of
the river, making a cross-bow for my pretty young lady out of a tough
piece of ash, for she wanted to play at shooting at a mark, and she and
Master Walter were sitting beside me watching the progress of my work,
when the latter said--

"I wish I were two years ol