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home to Ireland till I send her word you are perfect in your
Enclish crammer at least.”. I have my lesson perfect, sir,” said Dominick, taking his grammar up from the floor, “will I say it now?"
“Will I say it now? No, you plockit, no, and I will write your mother word you have proke Priscian's head four times this tay, since her letter came. You Irish plockit !” continued the relentless grammarian, you never learn the tifference between shall and will ? Will I hear the letter, and will I see her once more? What Enclish is this, plockit?”
The Welsh boys all grinned, except Edwards, who hummed, loud enough to be heard, two lines of the good old English song,
" And will I see him once again?
And will I hear him speak ?”
Many of the boys were fortunately too ignorant to feel the force of the quotation ; but Mr. Owen ap Jones understood it, turned upon his heel, and walked off. Soon afterwards he summoned Dominick to his awful desk; and, pointing with his ruler to the following page in Harris's Hermes, bade him “reat it, and understant it, if he could.” Little Dominick read, but could not understand.
“ Then reat it loud, you plockit.”
“ There is nothing appears so clearly an object of the mind or intellect only as the future does, since we can find no place for its existence
where else : not but the same, if we consider, is equally true of the past,"
“Well, co on-What stops the plockit? Can't you reat Enclish now?”
“Yes, sir; but I was trying to understand it.. I was considering, that this is like what they would call an Irish bull, if I had said it.”
Little Dominick could not explain what he meant in English, that Mr. Owen ap Jones would understand ; and, to punish him for his impertinent observation, the boy was doomed to learn all that Harris and Lowth have written to explain the nature of shall and will. The reader, if he be desirous of knowing the full extent of the penance enjoined, may consult Lowth's Grammar, p. 52, ed. 1799, and Harris's Hermes, p. 10, 11, and 12, 4th edition. Undismayed at the length of his task, little Dominick only said, “I hope, if I say it all without missing a
will not give my mother a bad account of
my grimmar studies, sir." “Say it all first, without missing a word, and then I shall see what I shall say,” replied Mr. Owen ap
Even the encouragement of this oracular answer excited the boy's fond hopes so keenly, that he lent his little soul to the task, learned it perfectly, said it at night, without missing one word, to his friend Edwards, and said it the next morning, without missing one word, to his master.
“And now, sir," said the boy, looking up, “will
you write to my mother? And shall I see her? And shall I
home ?" “ Tell me first, whether you understant all this that you have learnt so cliply,” said Mr. Owen
Jones. That was more than his bond. Our hero's countenance fell: and he acknowledged that he did not understand it perfectly. - Then I cannot write a coot account of
and your crammer studies to
; my conscience coes against it,” said the conscientious Mr. Owen
No entreaties could move him. Dominick never saw the letter that was written to his mother; but he felt the consequence. She wrote word this time punctually by return of the post, that she was sorry that she could not send for him home these holydays, as she heard so bad an account from Mr. Jones, &c. and as she thought it her duty not to interrupt the course of his education, especially his grammar studies. Little Dominick heaved many a sigh when he saw the packings up of all his school-fellows, and dropped a few tears as he looked out of the window, and saw them, one after another, get on their Welsh ponies, and gallop off towards their homes.
“ I have no home to go to,” said he.
“ Yes, you have,” cried Edwards; "and our horses are at the door to carry us there.”
" To Ireland ? me! the horses !” said the poor boy, quite bewildered: “and will they bring me to Ireland ? "
“No; the horses cannot carry you to Ireland,"
said Edwards, laughing good-naturedly, “but you have a home now in England. I asked father to let me take
home with me; and he says · Yes,' like a dear good father, and has sent the horses. Come, let's away.
” “ But will Mr. Jones let me go ?”
“ Yes; he dare not refuse ; for my father has a living in his gift that Jones wants, and which he will not have, if he do not change his tune to you."
Little Dominick could not speak one word, his heart was so full. No boy could be happier than he was during these holydays: “the genial current of his soul,” which had been frozen by unkindness, flowed with all its natural freedom and force.
When Dominick returned to school after these holydays were over, Mr. Owen ap Jones, who now found that the Irish boy had an English protector with a living in his gift, changed his tone. He never more complained unjustly that Dominick broke Priscian's head, seldom called him Irish plockit, and once would have flogged a Welsh boy for taking up this cast-off expression of the master's, but the Irish blockhead begged the culprit off.
Little Dominick sprang forward rapidly in his studies : he soon surpassed every boy in the school, his friend Edwards only excepted. In process of time, his guardian removed him to a higher seminary of education. Edwards had a tutor at home. The friends separated. Afterwards they followed different professions in distant parts of the world ; and they neither saw nor heard any more of each other for
many years. From boys they grew into men, and Dominick, now no longer little Dominick, went over to India as private secretary to one of our commanders in chief. How he got into this situation, or by what gradations he rose in the world, we are not exactly informed : we know only that he was the reputed author of a much-admired pamphlet on Indian affairs, that the despatches of the general to whom he was secretary were remarkably well written, and that Dominick O'Reilly, esq. returned to England, after several years' absence, not miraculously rich, but with a fortune equal to his wishes. His wishes were not extravagant: his utmost ambition was to return to his native country with a fortune that should enable him to live independently of all the world, especially of some of his relations, who had not used him well. His mother was no more.
Upon his arrival in London, one of the first things he did was to read the Irish newspapers.—To his inexpressible joy, he saw the estate of Fort-Reilly advertised to be sold—the very estate which had formerly belonged to his own family. Away he posted directly to an attorney's, who was empowered to dispose of the land.
When this attorney produced a map of the wellknown pleasure-ground, and an elevation of that house in which he had spent the happiest hours of his infancy, his heart was so touched, that he was on the point of paying down more for an old ruin than a good new house would cost. The attorney acted honestly by his client, and seized this moment to