son of one of my disinherited convict brothers.

The story, as my mother knew it, was this: Their names were Ambrose
and Eustace: there was very little interval between their births, and
there had been some confusion between them during the first few hours
of their lives, so that the question of seniority was never entirely
clear, though Ambrose was so completely the leader and master that he
was always looked upon as the elder.

In their early youth they were led away by a man of Polish
extraction, though a British subject, one Count Prometesky, who had
thrown himself into every revolutionary movement on the Continent,
had fought under Kosciusko in Poland, joined the Carbonari in Italy,
and at last escaped, with health damaged by a wound, to teach
languages and military drawing in England, and, unhappily, to spread
his principles among his pupils, during the excitement connected with
the Reform Bill. Under his teaching my poor brothers became such
democrats that they actually married the two daughters of a man from
Cumberland named Lewthwayte, whom Lord Erymanth had turned out of one
of his farms for his insolence and radicalism; and not long after
they were engaged in the agricultural riots, drilling the peasants,
making inflammatory speeches, and doing all they could to bring on a
revolution. Dreadful harm was done on the Erymanth estate, and the
farm from which Lewthwayte had been expelled suffered especially, the
whole of the ricks and buildings being burnt down, though the family
of the occupant was saved, partly by Prometesky's exertions.

When the troops came, both he and my brothers were taken with arms in
their hands; they were tried by the special commission and sentenced
to death. Lewthwayte and his son were actually hung; but there was