Some years since circumstances caused me to spend the summer months ina farming district, a few miles from the village of E., and it was thereI met with Terry Dolan. He had a short time previous come over fromIreland, and was engaged as a sort of chore boy by Mr. L., in whosefamily I resided during my stay in the neighborhood. This Terry was theoddest being with whom I ever chanced to meet. Would that I coulddescribe him!--but most of us, I believe, occasionally meet with people,whom we find to be indescribable, and Terry was one of those. He calledhimself sixteen years of age; but, excepting that he was low of stature,you would about as soon have taken him for sixty, as sixteen. Hiscountenance looked anything but youthful, and there was altogether asort of queer, ancient look about him which caused him to appear veryremarkable. When he first came to reside with Mr. L. the boys in theneighborhood nicknamed him "The little Old Man," but they soon learnedby experience that their wisest plan was to place a safe distancebetween Terry and themselves before applying that name to him, for theimplied taunt regarding his peculiar appearance enraged him beyondmeasure. Whenever he entered the room, specially if he ventured aremark--and no matter how serious you might have been a momentbefore--the laugh would come, do your best to repress it. When I firstbecame an inmate with the family, I was too often inclined to laugh atthe oddities of Terry--and I believe a much graver person than I was atthat time would have done the same--but after a time, when I learnedsomething of his past life, I regarded him with a feeling of pity,