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self, wag as exqusite as it was new. Turning down the singly is but a criminal. It's only when one can, by his principal street leading to the town gate, they passed be- | example, effect a useful progress-gain a general aim, that Death a scaffolding erected against one of the houses, and any deed of violence can be excused—it were otherwise the boy chancing to raise his head, encountered the ma- but an instance of private vengeance which a man cannot licious glances of a couple of young house-painters engaged | justify even to his own conscience. It were, moreover, in their avocations immediately above him. With a cry | totally useless. It would only embitter the condition of of derision the youths flung down on poor Noah's bright the rest. But what are we talking of?—subjects far benew silk dress and cap as much of their white paint as yond your years, if not beyond your discretion. I wish my their brushes could contain. For the first time that poor Salome had not so set her heart on this dress-ay, it day Pavel saw the meck being wince under hard usage, is a snd thing to be a Jew! You have seen but little to-day and as the boys in the street echoed the hoarse laugh- of the humiliation it is our lot to encounter. I was once ter of those on the scaffolding, two hot tears stole down ) present with some friends, at a grand review in Warsaw, Noah's subdued countenance. Pavel felt his blood boil, || and to command a better sight we got up into a tree. partly for the unmerited aggression, and partly at what Would you believe it?---under pretence of inadvertency, he considered the upmanliness of Noah's resignation. He wo were fired at, and one or two of us dropped to the was on the point of giving utterance to his feelings in ground, more hurt, I will own, by the fall and the shouts gentie expressions, when the Jew, guessing by his heighten- of merr nent with which the incider.t was witnessed by the ing colour and flashing eye what was passing in his mind, || Christian spectators, ay, even by fine ladies in their car. seized him by the arm, and hurried him away; nor did he || riages-than by the shot; but blood flowed, and a limb was loosen hís hold until they had left the town gate bchind broken." them.

I will tell you,” said Pavel, “your chief sin lies in “You mean it well, you mean it kindly, Pavel, I know,'' submitting as you do-it is your tameness that makes you he said, “but you might have brought us to a fearful pass the scorn of the Christians.”' -child that you are ! You know not yet what it is to be “Does the savage vindictiveness of the gipscy, a wanmobbed; you know not what it is to be a Jew! Ah!” derer and an outcast like ourselves, cause him to be rehe added, heaving a deep sigh as ho gazed on his besmeared spected ? An oppressed people who have no hold on the vestment, " it is not for this foolish stuff that I grieve; it athies of the rest of the human race would be misunis for my Salome's vexntion. But what right have we to derstood in their just resentment as they have been in their wear fine, or even clean things? No other joys are per- | resignation.” mitted us but those we conceal. We are obliged to hide · But, then, the peasants complain," said Pavel, " that cur every pleasure, however innocent, and people accuse us you get possession of all their lands, and the workmen of of mystery! They laugh at our innocence, and shudder at the towns that you monopolise all the trade.” cur imagined crimes! Ay, it's a hard lot to bear ; I know “Even that charge I will not deny. No one could buy but of one which at all resembles it-it is that of the or sell there were no traffic in Poland or in Gallacia withTassal."

out our aid—the whole activity of the land is ours. But "But I_I__" said Pavel; he stopped short, his breath- why is it? Because we are more industrious, more active ing became thick, his voice husky, “I-I am no vassal ?" than the people of the soil. Where we have found competi

The inflection of doubt which he gave those words went tion, as in Russia, have we been able to supersede the to Noah's very heart. There were suppressed tears, there natives? No! Besides, are we not also children of the was a poignant anguish, in the tremor of that voice. soil? have we not been born upon it for centuries ? Take

“You, my poor boy,” said Noah, “I know it not for away a heartless prejudice which the pricsthood, in times sure, but have been told so by your cousin--you are re- past, created, and envy has fanned, and have we not a right gistered as such on the estate on which you were born." to call ourselves Poles, and to flourish as part and parcel of

"I may be so inscribed, but I am not !” said the boy, the nation? You know, Pavel, you yourself were delighted proudly.

the other day with the account given us by a learned brother Of that I have not the means of judging," Noah of my creed, of a distant country called America ; well," do replied. “Many a lord's son is his own brother's vassal; you think that the foreign settlers there will not, in fewer many a nephew has mounted behind the carriage in which centuries than we have dwelled in Europe, call that land his aunt sat; it all depends which side the relationship their own, and consider themselves part of the nation? Is comes,"

it not madness to treat us as strangers or mere sojourners "If I thought so, I would run away,” said Pavel. who have, generation after generation, been born on the "You would get no passport.”

land, and have no other to go to? Why should we not be "Can a man, then, be rooted, like a tree, to a particu- Poles or Germans ; because we do not believe in the Divilar spot ?”

nity of Christ ? Are there not thousands of Poles and Ger“Even so."

mans who share that heresy? And if we could be crushed "Then it is his own fault,” said Pavel, with vehemence, into a hopeless poverty-if the laws should increase in seve"if he make not those repent who keep him against his rity, what might not be feared from our numbers and our will!”

despair ?'' "Very true," said Noah ; "but of what use is one man “But you have no wish to return to Jerusalem,” said Pavel, standing forth to revenge the wrongs of the community ? • What should we do there ?" Ho only forfeits his life.''

" That's it," said Pavel ; "the moment you cannot "What's life p" exclaimed Pavel, disdainfully. earn money you will have nothing to say to anything. I'll

"A thing you don't yet know,” said Noah, with a sad | be bound you would not care to enter into paradise if you smile. Besides, that's not the worst. He who rises could not traffic there, and, what's morc-cheat!”


“We are what people have made us,” answered Noah, li selves, or do without. And think you that hate begets darkly. Before casting our sins in our teeth, let them | love-oppression, cheerful acquiescence? Go ask the serf do something towards improving us. No one pays higher | how he feels towards his lord ?” And thus was Pavel taxes to the state; and yet does Government give us taught early to enter upon the most dangerous social quesschools, hospitals, a clergy, asylums, or the benefit of any |tions, and to view them in the darkest light." public institution ? All these we have to provide for our.

(To be continued.)


May joys, both temporal and divine,
For ever and for aye be thine !
May Po’sy's fermentation fierce

Bestir thine inmost soul,
And may thy mental vision pierce

Beyond the starry pole ;
With intellectual strength endow'd,
To revel ’nidst infinitude !

Inert I sat, and stirr'd the fire,

Or listen'd to the billows;
Upon a bracket hung my lyre-

For here there are no willows;
The mermaids and the sea-gulls scream'd,
While listlessly I dozed, and dream'd.
At length a gold-bedizen'd wight

My revery did dispel;
He rush'd up to my gate that night,

And fiercely rung the bell:
Yes, fiercely--for I seldom pay him
And handed in the “ Athenaeum !”
And there I saw thy well-known hand,

To my great delectation !
I caper'd as if Jullien's band

Hlad been in operation.
It was a moving sight to see ;
I drank thy health with three times three!
The blessings of a bookless bard

Descend upon thy head ;
May seraphim keep watch and ward

Where'er thy footsteps tread--

But whilst thro' space thou'rt borne along,

Ah! may'st thou ne'er forget
The simple lay, the lowly song,

The little canzonet,
The ballad--wet with childhood's tear-
And eke my dirge, with heart sincere !
The Muse refines life's fountain-springs

From headlong passion's stains :
Even so immortal Campbell sings,

In never-dying strains.
Then take thy singing-robes and shell-
Become a second L. E. L.


Were yonder line where sea and sky embrace

Men say we live in time, as on the breast
A sweeping are in the perimeter

Of a majestic stream that rolls along
Of the universe, pois'd on its keen edge,

The frail fleet vessels of humanity
What should our struggling vision sec beyond

To the wide waste of the eternal deeps.

Live we not rather in eternity ?
The idealization of the real,

Since time, the subtlest of all entities,
The realization of the ideal,

Was, is, and ever shall be unity:
Is poetry.

Live we not in an everlasting Now,

Th’unepoched life-time of the Deity ?
Whence comes this river; whither does it Now;

That stormless, waveless, tideless, moveless sea,
What great design accomplishes its course?

That hides no bottom, and that laves no shore-
It comes from the paternal occan derps ;

Unbeginning, endless, unadvancing-
Back flow its waters to their primal fount;

Where Past and Future wholly are submerged
Benignant, fertilizing all the vales

In one vast, graspless, Present infinite,
It greeteth in its filial pilgrimage.
So comes the soul from the divine profound,
Meandereth calınly to its patal source,

Yonder is the sea, here a drop of dew,
And spreadeth verdure o'er the plains of life.

Both take and give the vivid beams that ray

From th' effulgent monarch of the heavens.
One summer eve I sat in yon wreathi'd bower,

TR' cternal Son is the great ocean glass,
Engoldened with the west’ring sun that smiled

Meet to receive and radiate Deity.
A bright farewell upon my pallid check,

The good man is the morning's lucid sphere,
Where diamond tears were slowly stealing down,

The mirror-miniature of the Supreme.
Re-raying towards him prismatic hues,

Atop yon gloomy hills, a dull morass,
And speaking something I can ne'er express;

Nor takes nor gives the orbed solar sheen;
Nor pain nor sorrow raised the crystal sluice,

The ill man is that turbid watery plain,
And yet I wept; no thoughts had I, and yet

No trait of God is ever imaged there,
I felt unutterable things. All still

And life's grand final end is frustrated.
And passive lay my soul, melting in sounds
Of sweetest music from the tuned heart,
Exposed, like some wind harp, to the caress

God fills the unwalled amplitude of Space;
Of every air that sighed from Paradise.

God fills Duration's boundless plenitude,
Night, with the voices, fell; lingered the strains

Great attributes of the Universal Mind;
Still in the echoes of the soul, where none

Where, then, amid the thunder-rocked hearers,
Heard their reluctantly-retreating waves,

The wildly fitsul hurricane-vexed air,
Save my own Spirit and the Infinite.

The maniac ocean, and the staggering enrth

Shall tottering mankind find a home more meet
God, Space, Duration, are immutable;

Than the still boson of the Deity!
All else is revolution, flux, and change,

J. B. D.





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The old and widely-diffused belief in ancient books (1 of Benburb, when he was laid with royal honours and loud capable of communicating mysterious powers, but always laments in the ancient monastery of Cavan. In spite of injurious to their readers, has long occupied a prominent

the difference of faith and race, his memory was regarded place among the superstitions of Ulster. Some suppose as that of a patriot in the province, and a series of letters it to have been like most of the inhabitants of Scottish on the political questions of the day, which excited much origin, but the idea is current in the popular faith of all public interest, and some government indignation, were pations, and one of the latest and most curious traditions | published in Belfast under the signature of “ Owen Roe's of the kind, which is still repeated by some lingering branches of a former generation, regards the notable Bishop The authorship of such a work was a matter of no small of Derry, who acted such a conspicuous part at the period peril, and, therefore, of curiosity, also ; but, by common of the Irish Volunteers.

consent of all parties in his neiglıbourhood, it was fixed upon The movements of that memorable time, connected, as Bernard O'Neill, master of English Composition in the they are, by many a link, with those of after rebellion, are High Schoolof Dungannon, and a resident at Castlecaulfield. yet recalled by Ulster hearths and fields more vividly than The village so called is about two Irish miles north of in other portions of the kingdom where their memory has Dungannon, and close on the wild uplands of Pomeroy. been effaced by later agitations; but their province was It resembles the former in age and origin, being situated at once the well-spring and last entrenchment of both, and where once stood the hold of the O'Neills' fosterers, and the people still revert to them with that mixture of intel-takes its name from an old Elizabethan manor-house, ligence and earnestness by which they are distinguished, built there by an ancestor of the Earls of Charlemont, and which gives even to their popular tales, though apt to which was described at the beginning of the seventeenth border on the wild and incredible, a species of admonitory | century as “a fair bawn, having a fortified village hard by interest.

of twenty English families.” In the year 1782, when every parish and every village At the period of our story there were no fortifications in Ulster had its corps of Volunteers, commanded by the there, but many looms, every second man being a linen most influential proprietor, when free trade was the

The families had increased tenfold, and were standing theme, and military maneuvres the eager study | no longer English; and the village was, as it is still, a of every man, from the peer to the peasant, no district | small, industrious, comfortable place, with the manor-house turned out better trained bands, or more ardent leaders, | long in ruins, and a fair every Shrove Tuesday. than those in the immediate neighbourhood of Dungannon. Bernard O'Neill, in the parlance of his people, was a That small town, which stands in the midst of a richly "spoilt priest," and his early career had been like that of cultivated landscape, at the base of a vast expanse of hills, many in his country--the son of an agricultural labourer, six miles west of Lough Neagh, and on the great northern who occupied one of the many cabins that straggle out at highway from Dublin to Londonderry, has acquired a large the end of every Irish village as well as Castlecaulfield. notoriety in Irish history from the meeting of delegates IIis family were Roman Catholics, a faith then almost which took place in its Presbyterian church, and proved confined to the lowest orders of Ulster, and more especially the only sunburst of genuine patriotism which Ireland has so in that Presbyterian district ; and he had been selected son for centuries. But long before it was no less famous out of nine for the office of the priesthood, chiefly by the with the readers of old story, from occupying the very site advice of Father Phelim, their spiritual director, and the of the castle of the O'Neills, where, in Celtic times, reigned recommendations of the helge schoolmaster. the chiefs of Ulster, and from whence the great Earl of All the stratagems of a poor scholar's life were practised Tyrone reconquered the principality of his ancestors, and by Barney O'Neill, as the neighbours called him ; but as coped by turns with the whole power of England and the Carleton has already described them, it would be needless policy of Elizabeth.

to enlarge on how he journeyed from county to county in Every trace of his stronghold has long since disappeared. search of classical learning, with no money, ragged clothes, The town was one of James the First's earliest colonies, and a bag of borrowed books, depending for his subsistence and founded on its ruins, at the great confiscation of Tyr- on teaching the children of small farmers ; how eventually connell and Tyrone.

the means which purchased his first suit, and sent him to The national faith and character of those hardy settlers the Irish college in France, was raised by collections at yet remains impressed on its entire neighbourhood, which sundry chapel doors; and the family rejoiced in the prohas always been energetic and comparatively prosperous, spect of his succeeding Father Phelim ; reviving, in con

many a record of its ancient rulers does the district nection with that subject, a long submerged claim to pubboast also. Remains of churches and monastic edifices, lic respect on the ground of their descent from the chiefs carved stone crosses, and beacon towers, have long attracted of Tyrone, the limits of whose ancient estates they now the antiquary, not to mention the ruined castle and battle- became partial to tracing, and sometimes disputed over field of Benburb, where Owen Roe O'Neill, traditionally with their Protestant neighbours. known as the last warrior of his race, utterly defeated the Many letters and years passed, and Barney, the poor army of Monroe. Owen Roe was one of the greatest gene- scholar, returned to his native village, a tall, handsome rals of that warlike age, and Cromwell's re-conquest of | man, with a rather distinguished air, and most thoughtful Ulster was believed to have been greatly facilitated by his countenance ; a wardrobe that astonished his uncle, the death, which took place about three years after the battle | only tailor in Castlecaulfield ; the degree of master of arts



in his pocket, but no testimonials of divinity—for Bernard || parties looked forward with the most earnest anxiety. The O'Neill had refused to be made a priest. How this revo- Liberals felt that by its consequences they must stand or lution liad been effected was never definitely known. IIis fall. The Government officials knew that their interests, family either could not or would not explain it. Some and perhaps their political existence, were staked upon it. said he had left the Irish college and become a Protestant, || While to neutral minds it presented the probability of an some that he had conversed with the French philosophers impending civil war—the more to be dreaded, because in and had no religion at all, and others—but they only strong contrast to earlier as well as later factions--the whispered—thought it might have somehow regarded his opposition then included much of the rank, the intellicousin, the tailor's daughter, who had died of typhus fevergence, and the talent of the land. It was a time to make a week before his arrival. The former supposition was in thoughtful men ponder deeply on the past and the fatnre ; some degree supported by his appointment to a mastership for the die was about to be cast, and who could tell what in the High School, it was said, through the influence of destinies it carried ? the Bishop of Derry, with whom he had become acquainted Bernard O'Neill sat in his small parlour at the close of in France. The next was countenanced by the fact that a calm but cold twilight, as usual, reading a large book, he attended no place of worship whatever, and, though and opposite him sat that faithful though uncongenial strictly moral and temperate in his habits, avoided all sharer of his home, Maurice Flynn, industriously mending participation in duties of religion. The only evidence that his old coat, as he cxpressed it, “ to keep the loneliness off could be adduced for the last-mentioned was, that imme- him.” The bare white walls, ornamented only with some diately on his return, the twin-brother and confidant of popular prints-Grattan, Curran, George Washington, poor Rose, though brought up to his father's trade, had and the American Congress the carpetless oak floor, abandoned shears and lapboard, and devoted himself en- which Maurice boasted that his hands kept in order, and tirely to Bernard's personal service as his humble com-| the single table, covered with coarse green baize, might panion and man of all work.

have seemed poor and comfortless in eyes familiar with There were some who regarded the man's unhallowed affluence ; but a blazing fire of bogwood filled the ro abstinence as a sacrifice to the prejudices of his relatives, to with a warm and ruddy light, in which both faces looked whom declared Protestantism would have been still more cheerful, and Maurice had fallen into his wonted reverie intolerable. If things were not altogether satisfactory, the touching the grandeur which Master Barney, as he respectawe with which they had learned to look on one so much fully styled his cousin, had attained in comparison with their superior, or Bernard's liberality in pecuniary matters, the accommodations of earlier days, kept them silent ; for his brothers and sisters, besides Maurice resembled his master as little in personal apsundry collateral branches of the family tree, were well pearance as in education and fortunes. He was a short, married, or provided with good service through his means, squat little fellow, who looked as if he had been born old, especially his elder brother Terrence, whom that friendly and though not twenty-five, his motions were so methodiBishop had taken at Bernard's request for his personal cally slow that he might have been taken for an aged attendant. The roof and floor of his parents' cabin were grandfather who had wonderfully retained his faculties. kept dry; they never wanted for peat fuel, a cow, potatoes, “ Thank goodness for it all,” ejaculated he, at length and tobacco, and anything further would have been but an finishing the mental survey. invasion of their comfort.

“For what, Maurice ?" said Bernard, looking up; but Bernard and his trusty servant, Maurice Flynn, occupied the reply was interrupted by a sound of stumbling steps. a small but respectable house at the other end of the vil- Next moment the door was pushed open, and in walked lage. Over its domestic economy Maurice presided without the Bishop's servant. a rival, sometimes admitting an elderly dame who lived "Is't yersilf, Terry?” cried Maurice, springing from his opposite, as he said, to help him. The salary of a teacher seat in joyful welcome ; for between him and Terrence in the High School, which, by the way, was also one of James O'Neill there existed an old but rather jealous intimacy, the First's establishments, was handsome for a resident of on the ground of their mutual relationship to Master an Irish village. Bernard O'Neill's simple habits made it Barney. more than sufficient for his wants. It was shrewdly sus- “ Faith is’t,” responded Terry; "an well for ye its pected that he saved little, but he spared much, and was no worse, afther leavin' the masther's doore open those generally respected for his charity to the poor, and most thrubbled times, when ye don't know what might come gentlemanly manners.

in." Bernard never associated with the class in which he had " We haven't much to lose, brother," said Bernard, been born ; between him and them there was a great shaking him heartily by the hand; “ but come, tako eff gulf, and though a young man, he led a studious and your greatcoat, and tell us how is the Bishop." somewhat solitary life, his chief companions being books, “ He's bravely in Dungannon, yonder at White's Inn, but his politics were known to be those of the Volunteers. wid all his grandure, an packed me off wid this letter to He had made but little public demonstration, yet such was ye,” said Terry, producing the epistle. the prevalent opinion of his talents, that the letters which “Is the Bishop come on the diligation bisness" increated so great a sensation were at once ascribed to him. quired Maurice, who now returned from securing the

Things were in this state, and popular excitement had outer door. risen to its highest pitch in Dungannon and its vicinity, “'Deed is he !" said Terry, “an the whole of us wid when, about the beginning of February, it was known that him--two-and-twinty sarvints, besides the huntsman and the Irish Volunteers had determined to hold a grand con- the chaplain ; but maybe he isn't buildin' the gran' house vention on the 15th, and that town had been chosen for all out, yonder at Derry.” their meeting place on account of its central situation and “ Is't a castle, Terry ?" demanded Maurice, eminent zeal in the cause. To that assembly men of all " Ay, ye may say that. But do ye know where its :


buildin' ? There's nobody here but ourselves," continued possessed of a more than parvenue love of pomp and disTerry, glancing anxiously at Bernard, who seemed absorb.

play. His housekeeping was on a scale of almost regal ed in the letter, which he read, by the light of the bog- splendour and hospitality, and he never travelled without wood fire. “ An'a may as well tell yez a quare story || a train like that of a petty sovereign. His political views about it. The bishop's buildin' his house on the very were in advance of his age; and he merits honourable respot where, they say, the oubl Abbey of Columkill stud membrance for his endeavours to remind the Volunteers for nine hundred years. There's neither stick nor stone of their Catholic countrymen's right to representationof it to be seen there now, bit whin they war diggin' for the denial of which so justly contributed to the ruin of the foundations, wid the bishop lookin' on, I wis prisint

their party. meself beside Jerry Friell, the best digger in the parish, It was probably from these circumstances that there bit all on a sudden he stopped wonderful short. What's originated two prevalent reports, which have long surthe matter wid ye ?' says the bishop, “ Plaze yer rivirince's || vived him. First, that he had secretly adopted the Cathohonour,' says Jerry, ‘me spade his struck agin somethin' || lic creed; and, secondly, that he entertained a visionary bard.' Bring it up,' says the bishop, and he called the design of becoming the independent monarch of Ireland. rest, and they cleared away the clay, an' there wis an The bishop had travelled early, and far. He was believed iron box, as rid as ye like wid rust, an' an ould padlock to be a learned and talented man; but manifested, both on it. It's mighty light to be money ;' says Jerry, as at home and abroad, a curious inclination for the converse he pulled it up. You'll get half of all it contains, my | of charlatans of every description, and made some singufine fellow;' says the bishop, and he knocked off the pad-lar acquaintances for a prelate. lock wid a stone, bit sorra a pinsworthi wis there that we The most substantial monument of this bishop is a cud see, bit a big black book. “A don't want the half beautiful villa, near Derry, built on a Venetian plan, and of that anyway, yir rivirince,' says Jerry. "Where will known as the Cassino. It is also remarkable for standing ke burry it ?'

Why do ye say so, my good fellow?' | on the traditional site of a long demolished abbey, said to says the bishop. •Bekase, says Jerry, ' am thinkin' that's have been founded by Saint Columba, commonly called the ould book that Saint Columb laid by ! • Bring that Saint Columb, whose strangely-worded prophecies are still up to the palące ; it's a great antic,' says the bishop to current among the Irish peasantry. me, pointin' to the box, an' away he walked wid the ould The story which Terrence related that night, regarding book under his arm. By the piper, he'll read it !' says the bishop's discovery, is no less popular ; nor was that Jerry. Ov coorse,' says I, “Well, it's a pity, for he had circumstance ever elucidated. No wonder, then, that it the heart and the hand of a prince, bit there's no help filled the musings of Maurice Flynn, as he sat alone in for hard fortune,' says he. Whin I heerd that, I axed the parlour. Ilis work had been resumed, for it was nehim all about it, an' he tould me there wis an ould story, cessary ; but, like all things under repair, there seemed that Saint Columkill had once been a heathin', an nivir no end to the stitches his coat was found to require. How. read a book but one that cum ont of Egypt, an' it larn't ever, its renovation was at last complete, and Maurice had him all that wis to cum, bit whin he was convarted an' commenced a search for his own walking-stick, when the built the ould abbey, he burried it under the high alther sound of wheels and a loud knock summoned him to the wil his curse, sayin', that whoever opened that book wid || door. It was the bishop's carriage, bringing home his nivir rest agin either here hereafther, for he had read master. bit the half or it, and they wud read the whole.”

“ Now, that's doin' the dacent !" said Maurice, as he " Is there anythin' wrong, Masther Barney ?” cried | ushered him in, candle in hand ; but as the light fell on Maurice, as he caught the troubled and half-terrified lookBernard's face he saw that it seemed pale and careworn, with which Bernard turned from the letter, at these as if the interview had been a trying one. “ A hope his words.

rivirince is well, an' that ye hiv got no bad news, MasNothing at all;” said Bernard, hesitatingly, " but ther Barney," said the anxious attendant. the bishop wishes to see me this night in Dungannon. * None in the world, Jaurice," said Bernard ; "the Rest yourself, Terry, and you and I will take the road. || bishop is quite well, and had only some matters to conGive Terry a glass, Maurice. What sort of a night || verse alvout.” is it?"

“I hiv been thinkin'," continued Maurice, “it was a " Dark an' could as ivir blew,” responded Maurice, quare story that Terry tould about the ould book.” as he produced the then current refreslument, from a cor- “ All nonsense!” said his master, hurriedly, seating ner cupboard. "Couldn't the bishop wait till the mornin',|| himself beside the fire; “ but it is late, Maurice, and you or cum in his own coach, I wondher ?"

were up early--hadn't you better get to bed?” His master made no reply to these observations. Maurice had lived with Bernard as a friend rather than Terry discussed the glass of spirits, and the brothers con- a servant. Ile had not been used to see his master's versed as fainiliarly as relations so dissimilar could. || temper ruffled, or secrets kept from him; but such secmed Then equipped with greatcoat, comforter, and thick walk- now the case, and the spirit of friendship revolted. ing-stick, Bernard set out with his brother ; and Maurice, “Well,” said he, with a vexed look, "it's thrue a wis fhentally resolving to go and meet him on liis return, || carly up, an' may be you could want me company. So seated himself by the solitary fire.

good night!” and Maurice hurried up stairs to his own The singular and imposing figure which “ Frederick | dormitory. Derry," as in clerical fashion he was styled, made, at that Next day they met as usual, but Maurice did not foragitated period, has been remarked on, according to their get. There was a mystery in the business which he could different opinions, by all his literary contemporaries, and not solve, and his curiosity was piqued as well as his left a strange impression on the popular mind of Ulster. friendship. Bernard, too, had grown surldenly reserved

Nobly born, and inheriting princely revenues, he seemed || and thonghtful, as if he had some subject of earnest mental

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