Placed as he is now, that would be looking down; and he is so proud that he'll never do that.

But come down, dear, else they'll wonder where we are." Mary Flood Jones was a little girl about twenty years of age, with the softest hair in the world, of a colour varying between brown and auburn,--for sometimes you would swear it was the one and sometimes the other; and she was as pretty as ever she could be.

She was one of those girls, so common in Ireland, whom men, with tastes that way given, feel inclined to take up and devour on the spur of the moment; and when she liked her lion, she had a look about her which seemed to ask to be devoured.

There are girls so cold-looking,--pretty girls, too, ladylike, discreet, and armed with all accomplishments,--whom to attack seems to require the same sort of courage, and the same sort of preparation, as a journey in quest of the north-west passage.

One thinks of a pedestal near the Athenaeum as the most appropriate and most honourable reward of such courage.