I ever
again face those who had read the terrible narrative of the priest's
letter, and before whom I could only present myself as a cheat and
impostor?

"No," thought I, "my destiny points onward,--and to Blondel; nothing
shall turn me from my path." Less than an hour's walking brought me to
the town, of which I had but time to learn the name,--New Ross. I left
it in a small steamer for Waterford, a little vessel in correspondence
with the mail packet for Milford, and which I learned would sail that
evening at nine.

The same night saw me seated on the deck, bound for England. On the
deck, I say, for I had need to husband my resources, and travel with
every imaginable economy, not only because my resources were small in
themselves, but that, having left all that I possessed of clothes and
baggage at the Rosary, I should be obliged to acquire a complete outfit
on reaching England.

It was a calm night, with a starry sky and a tranquil sea; and, when
the cabin passengers had gone down to their berths, the captain did not
oppose my stealing "aft" to the quarter-deck, where I could separate
myself from the somewhat riotous company of the harvest laborers that
thronged the forepart of the vessel. He saw, with that instinct a sailor
is eminently gifted with, that I was not of that class by which I was
surrounded, and with a ready courtesy he admitted me to the privilege of
isolation.

"You are going to enlist, I 'll be bound," said he, as he passed me in
his short deck walk. "Ain't I right?"

"No," said I; "I'm going to seek my fortune."

"Seek your fortune!" he repeated, with a slighting sort of laugh. "One
used to read about fellows doing that in story books when a child, but
it's rather strange to hear of it nowadays."

"And may I presume to ask why should it be more strange now than
formerly? Is not the world pretty much what it used to be? Is not the
drama of life the same stock piece our forefathers played ages ago? Are
not the actors and the actresses made up of the precise materials their
ancestors were? Can you tell me of a new sentiment, a new emotion, or
even a new crime? Why, therefore, should there be a seeming incongruity
in reviving any feature of the past?"

"Just because it won't do, my good friend," said he, bluntly. "If the
law catches a fellow lounging about the world in these times, it takes
him up for a vagabond."

"And what can be finer, grander, or freer than a vagabond?" I cried,
with e