exhibition.”

“How little you seem to know of the nature of her whose love you possess,” replied Zabra, in a low, tremulous voice; “no doubt, she would feel gratified at any circumstance which would exalt you in the estimation of your countrymen. The honour you might receive would be her glory as much as yours, and the fame you might obtain would find none more desirous of its security than herself. But it was not for these things that she loved you. Ambition formed no part of the qualities that called into existence her admiration—which, having acquired its full growth, cannot be made more perfect by the greatness you covet; and that admiration must continue as long as the qualities that called it into operation exist. But knowing your desire to acquire renown, and knowing the nature of that feeling is to swallow up all the more amiable aspirations, and being aware that the only way to its acquirement is through a thousand terrible dangers, she cannot help the conviction, that she would rather possess your affection as you were, than live in continual fear, to witness your superiority, as you may be.”

“Let us say no more about it,” said Oriel. “It is very evident that neither can convince the other. I may be positive that I am going right, and you may be positive that I am going wrong; but it is time spent to no purpose, if we cannot be brought to change our opinions.”

“Remember, I am only doing my duty,” replied the youth. “I warn you, because the path you desire to take is surrounded by dangers. If you are determined on going on, I say, go on and prosper; but if you go on, and fail, the bitter disappointment you will experience will not only render yourself miserable, but must make equally unhappy her whose felicity you appear so desirous of creating. If you must go on, Oriel, I say again—go on, and prosper.”

CHAP. III.

OLD ENGLAND.

“We are approaching the British Islands, are we not?” inquired Oriel Porphyry.

“Yes, Sir, the land lies right ahead,” replied the captain.

“There are several of these islands, I believe,” added the young merchant.

“There are a great number on ’em o’ different sorts and sizes,” said Hearty; “but them as is most visited are England and Ireland.”

“What is the meaning of the prefix to the word land in each of these names?” asked Oriel of the professor.

“England or Ingle-land means the land of the fire side,” replied Fortyfolios. “Ingle is an old British word meaning the fire at which the inhabitants of a house warmed themselves or cooked their food. The natives have been from the earliest times, famous for their love of the comforts of this fire, which was usually made of coal dug out of the earth, that made a cheerful blaze in a room, and their attachment to their ingles procured the island the name of Ingle-land, which, in course of time was abbreviated into the name of England.”

“I doubt that very much, don’t you see,” here observed Dr. Tourniquet; “for in my opinion, England has a totally different derivation. The aborigines of the island were principally fishermen, and very appropriately had given to them the name of angle-ers, which means people who fish. Each separate kingdom was called a kingdom of the Angles, from the natives using an angle, and the whole island was called Angle-land, or the land of the angle, which for shortness was soon afterwards called England.”

“’Tis nothing of the kind, Dr. Tourniquet,” rejoined the professor warmly. “I wonder you should have started such an absurd idea.”

“It is quite as reasonable as yours at any rate, don’t you see,” remarked the doctor.

“It has no such pretension,” said the other in a decided manner. “I can prove that the fire or ingle was a national characteristic of the people.”

“And I can prove that fishing or angle-ing was a national characteristic of the people,” added his antagonist.

“Pooh!” exclaimed one, contemptuously.

“Pish!” cried the other.

“Ingle-land,”—resumed the professor.

“Angle-land,”—said the doctor, interrupting him.

“Now, Dr. Tourniquet, I beg I may not be interrupted by your ridiculous blunders,” observed Fortyfolios with considerable asperity, and a look of dignity peculiar to himself.

“The blunder is on your side, don’t you see,” replied the surgeon, with a chuckle of satisfaction exceedingly annoying to his companion.

“Never mind if it be Ingle-land or Angle-land,” exclaimed Oriel Porphyry. “All we know for certain is, that it is now called England. But how do you account for the adoption of the other name?”

“Of the derivation of that word there can be no doubt—it explains itself,” said Fortyfolios. “Ireland means the land of ire. The natives from time immemorial have been known to be excessively irascible. They would quarrel upon the slightest cause, and fight from no cause at all. They would fight when they were hungry, upon which occasion, as was very natural, they fought for a belly-full. They would fight for liquor; they would fight for fun; they would fight for love; they would fight to get drunk, and then fight to get sober. The happiest men among them were those who were most frequently beaten, and such persons were known to be the best friends as were continually trying to knock out each other’s brains. These men consequently got the appropriate name of Ire-ishmen, and the island was called Ire-land.”

“There you’re wrong again, don’t you see,” observed Tourniquet. “The name Ire-land was derived from Higher-land, to express that the country was more elevated in the estimation of the natives than any other part of the globe. They entertained the most preposterous ideas about the importance of their island. They stated that when the rest of the world was sunk in barbarism, their Higher-land was the seat of intelligence, and virtue, and superior bravery. They asserted that their soldiers were the only soldiers that ever existed, and that their agricultural labourers were ‘the finest pisantry in the world.’ But there was certainly something very singular about them; and even their brick-layers’ labourers were odd men. The island was also called by the natives The Emerald Island, I believe because it sometimes produced Irish diamonds. The Green Isle was another of its names—and this was derived from the greenness of the people. The men went by the name of ‘the boys’ long after the age at which other boys became men; and even the oldest of the old men among them, when he breathed his last, was said to die in a green old age.”

“It is extraordinary to me, Dr. Tourniquet, that you will give utterance to such fallacies,” remarked the professor. “The facts are exactly as I have stated them.”

“The facts are exactly as I have stated them,” said the other with marked emphasis.

“Was there not a very celebrated character styled St. Patrick, who flourished at one time among the Irish?” inquired the young merchant.

“Certainly there was,” replied Fortyfolios. “Patrick, Pater Rick—or Rick being the abbreviation of Richard—Father Richard, was a poor monk——”

“That I deny!” eagerly exclaimed the doctor. “For, as it is stated in a very ancient poem I have met with,