THE 1 ETSTOEY OF AN OLD FRIEND. 195 



CHAPTER XIII. 



THE HISTORY OF AH OLD FKIBND. 



" The poor make no new friends, 

 But they love the better far 

 The few their Father sends." 



THE night had drawn its curtains when we reached 

 our bivouac, but the fire made it day between the two 

 white tents, where our supper was spread, and where, 

 when supper was done, we stretched ourselves in dreamy 

 mood, watching the embers glow and listening to the 

 tale go round. It was my turn to tell a story, but being 

 of a philosophical frame of mind I narrated a history, and 

 being of a modest nature was about to preface it with a 

 few deprecatory remarks when one of my auditors rudely 

 cut me short by saying : 



" Bang away ; never mind the priming." 



And the following was the tale I told. It is the history 

 of one of my old friends : 



There are some persons in this world of ours that are 

 very incorrectly estimated. They are not the talking 

 people that boast themselves into our notice, nor the 

 silent people that, with an air of abstract profundity, im- 

 press us with their powers, while they repress all of ours. 



