military　sights　and　sounds；　but　this　profession　was　then　closed；　as
  I　have　already　hinted；　and；　as　I　believe；　it　has　since　continued；
  to　those　who；　like　myself；　had　no　better　claims　to　urge　than　the
  services　of　a　father。
  My　father；　who；　for　certain　reasons　of　his　own；　had　no　very　high
  opinion　of　the　advantages　resulting　from　this　career；　would　have
  gladly　seen　me　enter　the　Church。　　His　desire　was；　however；
  considerably　abated　by　one　or　two　passages　of　my　life；　which
  occurred　to　his　recollection。　　He　particularly　dwelt　on　the
  unheard…of　manner　in　which　I　had　picked　up　the　Irish　language；　and
  drew　from　thence　the　conclusion　that　I　was　not　fitted　by　nature　to
  cut　a　respectable　figure　at　an　English　university。　　'He　will　fly
  off　in　a　tangent；'　said　he；　'and；　when　called　upon　to　exhibit　his
  skill　in　Greek；　will　be　found　proficient　in　Irish；　I　have　observed
  the　poor　lad　attentively；　and　really　do　not　know　what　to　make　of
  him；　but　I　am　afraid　he　will　never　make　a　churchman！'　　And　I　have
  no　doubt　that　my　excellent　father　was　right；　both　in　his　premisses
  and　the　conclusion　at　which　he　arrived。　　I　had　undoubtedly；　at　one
  period　of　my　life；　forsaken　Greek　for　Irish；　and　the　instructions
  of　a　learned　Protestant　divine　for　those　of　a　Papist　gossoon；　the
  card…fancying　Murtagh；　and　of　late；　though　I　kept　it　a　strict
  secret；　I　had　abandoned　in　a　great　measure　the　study　of　the
  beautiful　Italian；　and　the　recitation　of　the　sonorous　terzets　of
  the　Divine　Comedy；　in　which　at　one　time　I　took　the　greatest
  delight；　in　order　to　become　acquainted　with　the　broken　speech；　and
  yet　more　broken　songs；　of　certain　houseless　wanderers　whom　I　had
  met　at　a　horse　fair。　　Such　an　erratic　course　was　certainly　by　no
  means　in　consonance　with　the　sober　and　unvarying　routine　of　college
  study。　　And　my　father；　who　was　a　man　of　excellent　common　sense；
  displayed　it　in　not　pressing　me　to　adopt　a　profession　which
  required　qualities　of　mind　which　he　saw　I　did　not　possess。
  Other　professions　were　talked　of；　amongst　which　the　law；　but　now　an
  event　occurred　which　had　nearly　stopped　my　career；　and　merged　all
  minor　points　of　solicitude　in　anxiety　for　my　life。　　My　strength　and
  appetite　suddenly　deserted　me；　and　I　began　to　pine　and　droop。　　Some
  said　that　I　had　overgrown　myself；　and　that　these　were　the　symptoms
  of　a　rapid　decline；　I　grew　worse　and　worse；　and　was　soon　stretched
  upon　my　bed；　from　which　it　seemed　scarcely　probable　that　I　should
  ever　more　rise；　the　physicians　themselves　giving　but　slight　hopes
  of　my　recovery：　　as　for　myself；　I　made　up　my　mind　to　die；　and　felt
  quite　resigned。　　I　was　sadly　ignorant　at　that　time；　and；　when　I
  thought　of　death；　it　appeared　to　me　little　else　than　a　pleasant
  sleep；　and　I　wished　for　sleep；　of　which　I　got　but　little。　　It　was
  well　that　I　did　not　die　that　time；　for　I　repeat　that　I　was　sadly
  ignorant　of　many　important　things。　　I　did　not　die；　for　somebody
  coming　gave　me　a　strange；　bitter　draught；　a　decoction；　I　believe；
  of　a　bitter　root　which　grows　on　commons　and　desolate　places：　　and
  the　person　who　gave　it　me　was　an　ancient　female；　a　kind　of
  doctress；　who　had　been　my　nurse　in　my　infancy；　and　who；　hearing　of
  my　state；　had　come　to　see　me；　so　I　drank　the　draught；　and　became　a
  little　better；　and　I　continued　taking　draughts　made　from　the　bitter
  root　till　I　manifested　symptoms　of　convalescence。
  But　how　much　more　quickly　does　strength　desert　the　human　frame　than
  return　to　it！　　I　had　become　convalescent；　it　is　true；　but　my　state
  of　feebleness　was　truly　pitiable。　　I　believe　it　is　in　that　state
  that　the　most　remarkable　feature　of　human　physiology　frequently
  exhibits　itself。　　Oh；　how　dare　I　mention　the　dark　feeling　of
  mysterious　dread　which　comes　over　the　mind；　and　which　the　lamp　of
  reason；　though　burning　bright　the　while；　is　unable　to　dispel！　　Art
  thou；　as　leeches　say；　the　concomitant　of　disease　…　the　result　of
  shattered　nerves？　　Nay；　rather　the　principle　of　woe　itself；　the
  fountain…head　of　all　sorrow　coexistent　with　man；　whose　influence　he
  feels　when　yet　unborn；　and　whose　workings　he　testifies　with　his
  earliest　cries；　when；　'drowned　in　tears；'　he　first　beholds　the
  light；　for；　as　the　sparks　fly　upward；　so　is　man　born　to　trouble；
  and　woe　doth　he　bring　with　him　into　the　world；　even　thyself；　dark
  one；　terrible　one；　causeless；　unbegotten；　without　a　father。　　Oh；
  how　unfrequently　dost　thou　break　down　the　barriers　which　divide
  thee　from　the　poor　soul　of　man；　and　overcast　its　sunshine　with　thy
  gloomy　shadow。　　In　the　brightest　days　of　prosperity　…　in　the　midst
  of　health　and　wealth　…　how　sentient　is　the　poor　human　creature　of
  thy　neighbourhood！　how　instinctively　aware　that　the　flood…gates　of
  horror　may　be　cast　open；　and　the　dark　stream　engulf　him　for　ever
  and　ever！　　Then　is　it　not　lawful　for　man　to　exclaim；　'Better　that　I
  had　never　been　born！'　　Fool；　for　thyself　thou　wast　not　born；　but　to
  fulfil　the　inscrutable　decrees　of　thy　Creator；　and　how　dost　thou
  know　that　this　dark　principle　is　not；　after　all；　thy　best　friend；
  that　it　is　not　that　which　tempers　the　whole　mass　of　thy　corruption？
  It　may　be；　for　what　thou　knowest；　the　mother　of　wisdom；　and　of
  great　works：　　it　is　the　dread　of　the　horror　of　the　night　that　makes
  the　pilgrim　hasten　on　his　way。　　When　thou　feelest　it　nigh；　let　thy
  safety　word　be　'Onward'；　if　thou　tarry；　thou　art　overwhelmed。
  Courage！　build　great　works　…　'tis　urging　thee　…　it　is　ever　nearest
  the　favourites　of　God　…　the　fool　knows　little　of　it。　　Thou　wouldst
  be　joyous；　wouldst　thou？　then　be　a　fool。　　What　great　work　was　ever
  the　result　of　joy；　the　puny　one？　　Who　have　been　the　wise　ones；　the
  mighty　ones；　the　conquering　ones　of　this　earth？　the　joyous？　　I
  believe　not。　　The　fool　is　happy；　or　comparatively　so　…　certainly
  the　least　sorrowful；　but　he　is　still　a　fool：　　and　whose　notes　are
  sweetest；　those　of　the　nightingale；　or　of　the　silly　lark？
  'What　ails　you；　my　child？'　said　a　mother　to　her　son；　as　he　lay　on　a
  couch　under　the　influence　of　the　dreadful　one；　'what　ails　you？　you
  seem　afraid！'
  BOY。　　And　so　I　am；　a　dreadful　fear　is　upon　me。
  MOTHER。　　But　of　what？　　There　is　no　one　can　harm　you；　of　what　are
  you　apprehensive？
  BOY。　　Of　nothing　that　I　can　express；　I　know　not　what　I　am　afraid
  of；　but　afraid　I　am。
  MOTHER。　　Perhaps　you　see　sights　and　visions；　I　knew　a　lady　once　who
  was　continually　thinking　that　she　saw　an　armed　man　threaten　her；
  but　it　was　only　an　imagination；　a　phantom　of　the　brain。
  BOY。　　No　armed　man　threatens　me；　and　'tis　not　a　thing　like　that
  would　cause　me　any　fear。　　Did　an　armed　man　threaten　me；　I　would　get
  up　and　fight　him；　weak　as　I　am；　I　would　wish　for　nothing　better；
  for　then；　perhaps；　I　should　lose　this　fear；　mine　is　a　dread　of　I
  know　not　what；　and　there　the　horror　lies。
  MOTHER。　　Your　forehead　is　cool；　and　your　speech　collected。　　Do　you
  know　where　you　are？
  BOY。　　I　know　where　I　am；　and　I　see　things　just　as　they　are；　you　are
  beside　me；　and　upon　the　table　there　is　a　book　which　was　written　by
  a　Florentine；　all　this　I　see；　and　that　there　is　no　ground　for　being
  afraid。　　I　am；　moreover；　quite　cool；　and　feel　no　pain　…　but；　but　…
  And　then　there　was　a　burst　of　'gemiti；　sospiri　ed　alti　guai。'
  Alas；　alas；　poor　child　of　clay！　as　the　sparks　fly　upward；　so　wast
  thou　born　to　sorrow　…　Onward！
  CHAPTER　XIX
  Agreeable　delusions　…　Youth　…　A　profession　…　Ab　Gwilym　…　Glorious
  English　law　…　There　they　pass　…　My　dear　old　master　…　The　deal　desk
  …　Language　of　the　tents　…　Where　is　Morfydd？　…　Go　to　…　only　once。
  IT　has　been　said　by　this　or　that　writer；　I　scarcely　know　by　whom；
  that；　in　proportion　as　we　grow　old；　and　our　time　becomes　short；　the
  swifter　does　it　pass；　until　at　last；　as　we　approach　the　borders　of
  the　grave；　it　assumes　all　the　speed　and　impetuosity　of　a　river
  about　to　precipitate　itself　into　an　abyss；　this　is　doubtless　the
  case；　provided　we　can　carry　to　the　grave　those　pleasant　thoughts
  and　delusions；　which　alone　render　life　agreeable；　and　to　which　even
  to　the　very　last　we　would　gladly　cling；　but　what　becomes　of　the
  swiftness　of　time；　when　the　mind　sees　the　vanity　of　human　pursuits？
  which　is　sure　to　be　the　case　when　its　fondest；　dearest　hopes　have
  been　blighted　at　the　very　moment　when　the　harvest　was　deemed
  secure。　　What　becomes　from　that　moment；　I　repeat；　of　the　shortness
  of　time？　　I　put　not　the　question　to　those　who　have　never　known　that
  trial；　they　are　satisfied　with　themselves　and　all　around　them；　with
  what　they　have　done；　and　yet　hope　to　do；　some　carry　their　delusions
  with　them　to　the　borders　of　the　grave；　ay；　to　the　very　moment　when
  they　fall　into　it；　a　beautiful　golden　cloud　surrounds　them　to　the
  last；　and　such　talk　of　the　shortness　of　time：　　through　the　medium
  of　that　cloud　the　world　has　ever　been　a　pleasant　world　to　them；
  their　only　regret　is　that　they　are　so　soon　to　q