My father had taken a great deal of pains to find out where he was residing; but although my uncle was traced to Cork, from that town all clue was lost, but still it was supposed, from inquiries, that he was not very far from thence.

"Now," observed my father, in his letter, "I cannot help surmising, that my brother, in his anxiety to retain the advantages of the title to his own family, has resolved to produce to the world a spurious child as his own, by some contrivance or other.

His wife's health is very bad, and she is not likely to have a large family.

Should the one now expected prove a daughter, there is little chance of his ever having another; and I have no hesitation in declaring my conviction that the measure has been taken with a view of defrauding you of your chance of eventually being called to the House of Lords." I showed this letter to O'Brien, who, after reading it over two or three times, gave his opinion that my father was right in his conjectures "Depend upon it, Peter, there's foul play intended, that is, if foul play is rendered necessary." "But, O'Brien, I cannot imagine why, if my uncle has no son of his own, he should prefer acknowledging a son of any other person's, instead of his own nephew." "But I can, Peter: your uncle is not a man likely to live very long, as you know.

The doctors say that, with his short neck, his life is not worth two years' purchase.