his removal was the result of dismissal on the part of his master, and sometimes the following up of the notice which he himself had given him to leave his service.  Be this as it may, his temporary absences always involved a trial of strength between the parties, as to which of them should hold out, and put a constraint upon his inclinations the longest; for since the truth must be told of Jemmy, we are bound to say that he could as badly bear to live removed from the society of his master, as the latter could live without him.  For many years of his life, he had been threatening to go to America, or to live with a brother that he had in the Isle of White, as he called it, and on several occasions he had taken formal leave of the whole family, (always in the presence of his master, however,) on his departure for either the one place or the other, while his real abode was a snug old garret, where he was attended and kept in food by the family and his fellow-servants, who were highly amused at the outrageous distress of his master, occasioned sometimes by Jemmy’s obstinate determination to travel, and sometimes by his extreme brotherly affection.

Donnel, having left his son cracking a long whip which he held in his hand, and looking occasionally at the tress of Mave Sullivan’s beautiful hair, approached the hall door, at which he knocked, and on the appearance of a servant, requested to see Mr. Henderson.  The man waived his hand towards the space under the window, meaning that he should take his stand there, and added—­

“If it’s law you want, I’m afeard you’ll get more abuse than justice from him now, since Jemmy’s gone.”

The knowing grin, and the expression of comic sorrow which accompanied the last words, were not lost upon the prophet, who, in common with every one in the neighborhood for a circumference of many miles, was perfectly well aware of the life which master and man both led.

“Is that it?” said the prophet; “however, it can’t be helped.  Clerk, or no clerk, I want to see him on sarious business, tell him; but I’ll wait, of coorse, till he’s at leisure.”

“Tom,” said Henderson from within, “Who’s there?—­is that him?  If it is, tell him, confound him! to come in, and I’ll forgive him.  If he’ll promise to keep a civil tongue in his head, I’ll forget all, say.  Come in, you old scoundrel, I’m not angry with you; I want to speak to you, at all events.”

“It’s not him, sir; it’s only Donnel M’Gowan, the Black Prophet, that wants some law business.”

“Send him to the devil for law business What brings him here now?  Tell him he shall have neither law nor justice from me.  Did you send to his brother-in-law?  May be he’s there?”

“We did, sir.  Sorra one of his seed, breed, or generation but we sent to.  However, it’s no use—­off to America he’s gone, or to the Isle o’ White, at any rate.”

“May the devil sink America and the Isle of White both in the ocean, an’ you, too; you scoundrel, and all of you!  Only for the cursed crew that’s about me, I’d have him here still—­and he the only man that understood my wants and my wishes, and that could keep me comfortable and easy.”