“‘Come away, Ned, to the —–­ lake, with me,’ said he; ’I am weary of my life, and I want a change.’

“‘Shall we take the fishing-tackle?’ says I.  ’The black bass are in prime season, and F—–­ will lend us the old canoe.  He’s got some capital rum up from Kingston.  We’ll fish all day, and have a spree at night.’

“‘It’s not to fish I’m going,’ says he.

“‘To shoot, then?  I’ve bought Rockwood’s new rifle.’

“’It’s neither to fish nor to shoot, Ned:  it’s a new game I’m going to try; so come along.’

“Well, to the —–­ lake we went.  The day was very hot, and our path lay through the woods, and over those scorching plains, for eight long miles.  I thought I should have dropped by the way; but during our long walk my companion never opened his lips.  He strode on before me, at a half-run, never once turning his head.

“‘The man must be the devil!’ says I, ’and accustomed to a warmer place, or he must feel this.  Hollo, Brian!  Stop there!  Do you mean to kill me?’

“‘Take it easy,’ says he; ’you’ll see another day arter this—­I’ve business on hand, and cannot wait.’

“Well, on we went, at the same awful rate, and it was mid-day when we got to the little tavern on the lake shore, kept by one F—–­, who had a boat for the convenience of strangers who came to visit the place.  Here we got our dinner, and a glass of rum to wash it down.  But Brian was moody, and to all my jokes he only returned a sort of grunt; and while I was talking with F—–­, he steps out, and a few minutes arter we saw him crossing the lake in the old canoe.

“‘What’s the matter with Brian?’ says F—–­; ’all does not seem right with him, Ned.  You had better take the boat, and look arter him.’

“‘Pooh!’ says I; ’he’s often so, and grows so glum nowadays that I will cut his acquaintance altogether if he does not improve.’

“‘He drinks awful hard,’ says F—–­; ’may be he’s got a fit of the delirium-tremulous.  There is no telling what he may be up to at this minute.’

“My mind misgave me, too, so I e’en takes the oars, and pushes out, right upon Brian’s track; and, by the Lord Harry! if I did not find him, upon my landing on the opposite shore, lying wallowing in his blood with his throat cut.  ‘Is that you, Brian?’ says I, giving him a kick with my foot, to see if he was alive or dead.  ’What on earth tempted you to play me and F—–­ such a dirty, mean trick, as to go and stick yourself like a pig, bringing such a discredit upon the house?—­and you so far from home and those who should nurse you?’

“I was so mad with him, that (saving your presence, ma’am) I swore awfully, and called him names that would be ondacent to repeat here; but he only answered with groans and a horrid gurgling in his throat.  ‘It’s a choking you are,’ said I, ’but you shan’t have your own way, and die so easily, either, if I can punish you by keeping you alive.’  So I just turned him upon his stomach, with his head down the steep bank; but he still kept choking and growing black in the face.”