my work completest. I might be beating the air for weeks without thinking of any thing half so wise as I learned in that little retreat of yours."

"My dear child, this is a gentle place, and many a thought that poor mortals never could think visits them that's in it. What was it you learned?-may be I can tell you what it mains."

"It means, mother, the readiest way to remove an obstacle."

"An obstacle!-what's that?-Oh aye, something that stands in your way. An' what is it, my dear, is most in your way ?"

"He that's most in the way of those who sent me. You know too much not to know who he is. What do you think of Sir William Elmere?"

"He's, they say, for I never saw

him or his goodness,-the best friend to the poor in the whole country round."

"And, in being so, the very worst foe to the cause. It is his kindness to the poor that has dragged me to this dd place, where I have nothing to reward me but the sight of you-nothing but faint hearts and forgetting of oaths. Out of the country he must go, or, if he remain

-the cause must not suffer."

He paused a little, as if in thought, and resumed

MARY awoke later than her usual hour of rising, and hastened to try whether the morning air, and the odours and melodies of the garden, would chase away the disagreeable fancies, which thronged to her remembrance, of the night's alarm. Among the means of distraction, she had not computed the gambols, and attempts at speech, of an uncouthlooking boy, who, in his capacity of gardener's apprentice, had sometimes attracted her notice, and experienced her bounty. His attentions were, on this morning, very embarrassing. Mary was of too gentle and benevolent a nature to pain any thing living. She sought rather to escape from the persecution of her follower, than to command him away; but whenever she came within shadow, however remote from the spot where she had left her strange-looking cicerone, she found him busy, apparently, at his garden toils, but ready to start up for her annoyance the moment she approached him. He had repeatedly endeavoured to allure her into conversation on the beautiful flowers which it had been her delight to attend, but had the tact to perceive that his efforts were vain, that he spoke to an occupied mind.

At

length he abandoned all points, and entered on the subject of which, evidently, his mind was full.

"It's very unaisy I am to spake to your ladyship something one bid me to tell you;-an' sure 'twasn't far from being the death o' me when it went be me in the three-the shot I main

just like a knife or a sheers."

Mary started." Were you then in the laurel last night ?-How could you have behaved so ill?"

"Oh, ill or well, there's one that I couldn't say again', desired me to have word wid your own honor last night or this morning, an' not to let mortal living besides yourself know the rights of it. An' I thought I could call you, for I see you at the windy, and when you went away I climbed up on to the three, an' I called you aisy; but I waited-waited on antil I see you coming again to look out

and I was jest going to spake, when I thought it was death was coming over me-there was the beautifullest music ever was heard in the world-didn't you hear it, ma'am ?-it makes me thrimble now to think of it, it was so sweet and sthrange. Well, I begin to say my prayers, an' wid that I hear somebody spaking, an' in a moment afther the shot went off, an' the bullet

grazed be me, cutting thro' the three. Sure enough 'twas time for me to be off."

"But what was it, Reily, you were directed to tell me?"

"Would the Widow Morrison be up at the Court to see your Majesty this morning afore you come out?" "I believe she was, but did not wait for me."

"'Tis what she wants is to get you to see her house-but you aren't to go, at all, at all, by no mains." "Why not go visit my poor nurse, and see to make her comfortable ?" Aye-she'll tell you that she wants you to see how snug she is an' warm-but what do you think she wants wi' you? It's a dhrench she has to give you."

"A what?"

"A dhrench-a dhrench for her son James. He dotes down upon the ground you walk on, an' they went to one that could turn day into night, Vhauria M'Grath, an' she gave 'em a dhrench to give you."

"What for-what is the drench for?"

"It's to make you fall in love with James Morrison-to make you think little of all belonging to you, an' folly him like his shadow (an' a bright shadow you'd be, God bless you), or like that little dog that's jumping on you-Oh, God pity them that gets a dhrench! There was ould Widdy Brown, an' she got what was mixed for her young niece-there wasn't a tooth in her head, an' she shaking with the palsy-but it's little she matthered it, an' off she went to Vhauria M'Grath. What'll I do ?' says Vhauria; will I break the charm, or will I put it on Nolicking Will?' "It never can be broke,' says the widdy, 'without braking my heart' an' she mumbling through her teeth -'here's five golden guineas,' says she, 'an' put the pishague on the boy.' 'It's little I care,' says Vhauria, 'for your money'-an' she taking it, but it wasn't long till Nolicking Will Treacy got the dhrench, an' gave up the niece, an' was living in the widdy's house an' place; an' thrue for her the charm wouldn't be broke, for they say that in spite of all the ill-usage Will gives her-an' it's he thit's no negur at the bating any way-he's the ould widdy's darlint, an' will till he'll be the death of her."

A little after noon, Mary received

a visit from her nurse, and was earnestly invited to the comfortable home which his Honour's goodness had provided for her. It would be unprofitable to report the dialogue, in which, except for a little flutter in the manner of the widow, there appeared no embarrassment on either side. The termination of the conference was too important to be passed over. Nurse had arisen to depart, not quite certain, from the young lady's "fine English," whether her invitation had been accepted or declined, and with somewhat of confusion in her thoughts from her effort rightly to interpret, when, in the steadiest tones, and with an air of perfect intelligence, Mary said "Give me, before you go, the paper you brought from Mrs M'Grath'sVhauria M'Grath's-the drench, you know." As if a supernatural light were suddenly poured upon the covert where an assassin lies in wait, and the villain is terror (or conscience) stricken by the unlooked for exposure, the widow felt her mystery penetrated, and all her resolution forsook her. She sunk at the feet of one whom she now regarded as of power not to be resisted, and, trembling, lifted up her hands and eyes in speechless supplication for pardon. Recalled in some measure to her senses by a renewed demand for the paper, she drew it from her bosom, placed it on a table at her side, and passed a threshold over which, it was her hope, she should never return.

James Morrison scarcely felt a disappointment when he learned the story of his mother's detection; but his despair became more gloomy. The purpose of self-murder very rarely finds admission into the Irish heart, However it is to be explained, suicide is a crime of very rare occurrence in Ireland. The reader is not to look here for explanations of the characteristic, or even conjectures as to the cause of it. In the depth of his misery, it only for a moment presented itself to poor Morrison's mind that life was in his own hands, and in that moment he recoiled from the foul suggestion, as if it had been permitted him to see visibly the dread aspect of the tempter. He would not trust himself longer to the solitude of the narrow glen, where he had lain motionless for

some miserable hours, but rose up and took the path which led towards his mother's house. He had proceeded but a few steps, when a voice of command caused him to turn his head, and look to see, with feelings of anger which desired a vent, who dared to call him. The summons had come from a man of gentlemanly exterior, and was renewed with still more of authority, when, without halting, he had turned round. Imagining that some visitor at the Castle was exercising the privilege of high caste, Morrison was about to return a fierce and contemptuous reply, when, quite suddenly, his manner changed, and, with an air of deference, he approached the object of his late rash indignation. A sign had been exhibited, and a decoration displayed, which taught him that he stood in the presence of one who was devoted to the same cause with himself, and one to whom he owed submission.

"So, Morrison," said the stranger, "you have failed, or rather your mother has failed, in the design to bewitch Miss Elmere. A fellow like you should have recourse to bolder measures than old women's follies and fables."

No words can describe the alarm and astonishment with which this communication was received. The dreadful thought from which the unhappy young man was flying, the suddenness of the stranger's appearance, his unaccountable knowledge, it was not wonderful that James Morrison stood silent for some moments, and, at first, with irresolute and unsteady glances, then, with more fixedness of purpose, and with unshrinking gaze, dwelt upon the face and form confronting him, and that he even looked more than once towards the earth, as if expecting to behold the traditional deformity. He seemed to become reassured by the scrutiny he had courage to make, and had the boldness to demand who

he was who was thus acquainted with his unhappiness. The stranger declined satisfying him. "Who I am," he said, "is of little consequence; it should be sufficient for you to know that I am entitled to claim your obedience. This, however, I tell you, that the best potion to win a lady is the boldness of an enterprising lover. Be guided by me, and take a manly resolution to your heart. I promise you success. I tell you more. She-you know whom I mean when I say she-remembers you; and she desires nothing better than a good excuse for being your wife. Dare you venture for her?"

The dialogue was continued to some length. James Morrison was convinced that he had much to hope. His mother, in whom it was necessary to confide, through the agency of the spell-worker, became, also, persuaded, and preparations were made to carry off, by force, from her father's house, a lady, who could not otherwise, with due decorum, condescend to a disproportioned alliance.

The crime by which that menaced father had provoked the coming vengeance, was the benevolence with which he won the affections and the confidence of his tenantry, and the wisdom with which he watched over their true interests. It was not under such influences conspiracy could flourish. With the cessation of outrage, with the hope of comforts-the new hope-new views of justice and policy were beginning to dawn on minds, from which in former days they had been excluded by sorrows and crimes. This was a perilous state of things, and, at all hazards, it must be interrupted; disunion must be effected between the landlord and the people; he must be driven from the country, or deprived of his influence. His murder might have inconvenient results, and, accordingly, was to be reserved as a last resource.

THE plot was skilfully arranged, and, could it have been put into immediate execution, would have had in the deluded young man a willing

instrument; but, during the brief interval of necessary delay, good feeling resumed its influence over him, and nature, despite of all the wicked

maxims by which he had been abused, asserted its power, and revolted at the baseness of the meditated treachery. At a meeting which was held, for the purpose of completing all the preparations, and determining the moment at which the dreadful blow should be struck, he had so vehemently remonstrated against the black iniquity of recompensing, by a most foul return, the services of one whose generosity should command the gratitude and love of all who lived under his protection, that he was contumeliously removed from the retreat where men more void of prejudice had met for liberal consultation, and having been watched in a path which led to Castle Elmere demesne, he was seized and committed to careful custody, until a vacant hour could be found to decide upon the suspicions of which he now became the object. In the meantime, his mother was given to understand that he was actively employed in hastening on the enterprise, which it was designed should be hazarded at -an earlier moment than that at first appointed.

By those delicate gradations, which suggest to the contemplative mind elevating though undefined thoughts and similitudes, the dimness of the departing summer eve was changed, and raised into solemn splendid moonlight, and James Morrison, regardless of the four armed men who surrounded him, sighed his soul towards Castle Elmere, in total ignorance that the moment which, must decide the fate of its inmates was rapidly approaching. He was but little disposed to take a part in the conversation which his sentinel-companions carried on, although he was frequently addressed by them, and more frequently the subject of their discourse.

66

Why then, blood and ages, man," said one of them, "how often is a boy to spake to you before he can have an answer? If you can't be civil, can't you give us a curse-any thing to be neighbourly. What'll you do with the pretty colleen that's coming to you?" No answer. "Bad look to me, Daniel," said the speaker to a companion of his watch, "but James Morrison flogs the world all out for knowing how to hould his tongue."

"Twould be well for him to know that same," was the reply. "When

a man can't spake the sinse of a child, isn't it a great matther entirely for him to keep all his foolishness to himself? It's myself wishes him joy that he's cuther to-night than he was at the meeting. Who knows but when the thing is done down there, he'll be bright as another, an' have his raison agin? Did you hear the way he was raumashing about the goodness of ould Elmere, an' what a bad return we were giving him? Honour an' dhioul, but I thought it a murdther to see such look before him as he turned into the poor omadthawn without sense or spirit? Phelim, sure you know all about itwho has the rights of Castle Elmere?" "It belongs to the Heffermansan' I'm for letting no one else have it agin."

"What Heffermans? Is it of Derk?" "No, it's the Heffermans of Drumbaun.-Ould Will Hefferman will tell you all about the way his grandfather was robbed out of it be the thieves' breed that come in his place. He says it goes agin him to curse 'em afther what they done for him; an' he says if the Castle isn't throubled for a year an' a day, he'll lave off praying for revenge of 'em."

Faix then, Phelim, there's little chance of his laving it off yet a while there'll mony a curse be said yet, an' he'll know that soon."

66 Ob, but that's not the throuble ould Will talks of. They say that his grandfather's ouldest son walks there four nights in the year-that's the son that done the murdther entirely. He an' the father were tuk prisoners-an' they say that the sodiers got the boy in licker, an' they bewildthred him with this an' that, an' fun, an' games, until, when he com to himself, he found that his sowl was gone, for he was turned Protestan, an' that there was a paper agin him with his name put in it, an' another selling the whole place for a thousand pound that he hadn't a pinny of in his pocket, but lost it all, they tould him, playing cards or dice. Well-he an' the father said they'd have law-an' they went to look for it; but in them times it was as aisy for a sodier or a judge to have an inimy's life, as it is now for them that's in the right-an' so, tale or tidings was not heard of 'em until they were found dead in a ditch

an' ever since, they say the boy ap

pears four times in the year-that's the night he was christen'd, the night he turned Protestan in his licker, the night he was murdthered, an' the night that the Protestans came first to get possession of his place. Will, that's ould Will, says if he doesn't walk this year-an' he didn't, he says, the first night-he'll not be praying for revenge any more. Any way-Will itself has more sinse than the poor innocent here to the fore, that says we ought to fight for them that tuk our right, and is keeping it from us. That's the iligant law, to be sure. A fellow comes into your place, an' kills your father, an' takes your cows an' your sheep an' your land-an' if he does not take the life o' you entirely, but lets you have a pratee, an' maybe a grain of salt, for your hard work, up early an' down late-an' if he doesn't look at you as if you war a worm that ought to be trud into the airth, you're to go on your marrow-bones an' pray for him, or throw up your ould hat, and cry, Long life to your honour, for a fine, brave, tender-hearted gentleman."

"Too good work for you," rejoined Phelim, with a chuckle something like a laugh. "If the gintlemen would take patthern by them that could tache 'em well, it's little time to pray or cry they'd lave the likes of you. Isn't Elmere better to us than Brennan an' his gang was to the man they stopped the other day? Says he to 'em-an' he handing his purse an' twenty golden guineas in it says he to 'em, quite polite an' respectful, Gintlemen,' says he, 'I have a journey afore me, an' I haven't one hapenny more to jingle on another-would you be pleased,' says he, to gi' me a little change back agin, jest to pay a night's lodging for me towards my journey's end?' But-well becomes Brennan with his joke Boys,' says he, 'do ye hear the thief of the world? he wants to rob us on the king's highway. That's the lad can larn ye manners, ye spal peens.' Who knows but James Morrison got a lesson from him, or maybe tuk a start with him, an' larned to be so humble an' condescending to the gintlemen."

These last words were spoken in rather a low tone, as if intended only for the ear to which they were addressed. The subject of the sneer, however, seemed to have been heed

less of it. His attention had been for a few moments strained, and his eyes earnestly directed towards his mother's habitation. In the bright moonlight it was distinctly visible. At this moment it would have been equally so had the heavens been dark.

"My jewel you wer," cried Phelim, "an' isn't that a fine sight for one that has neither house or home to sit in?" Thus he saluted a volume of flame that rose over the Widow Morrison's cabin, and replied to the sounds of bustle and the shrieks that reached the hill-side. "It's aisy to see that Mr Morrison is going to live in a coort, an' it's quare enough be what a light he finds his way there. They say that Buck Annerville in the ould times used to light a banknote to look for a lady's thimblebut the devil a one of him is equal to Morrison, that sets his house afire to light him to the Castle, an' it in the moonshine too, that"-and he sung a line from a popular song"Wants no light at all, as you all may remark.'

An' look how contented he isthat's the pleasant fire surely."

James Morrison was any thing but contented. He appeared at first in a state of the most painful agitation-then, by strong effort, overmastering himself, and assuming a semblance of calm, he stood for a moment motionless, and, the instant he thought the attention of his guard turned from him, sprang forward to escape them. The man behind him uttered a cry, and the advanced sentinel, by an involuntary effort, struck him a heavy blow on the head with the but-end of his musket. Morrison staggered a little, but before the blow could be repeated, started forward again, and was beyond the sweep of the second blow aimed at him.

Phelim, who seemed to be in authority, struck down a presented gun. "The echoes," said he, "the echoes-they'd warn the Castle agin the boys-throw down your gunslet Daniel stay here, and watch 'em. We're three to one, and if after the salute he got we can't come up with him-on boys, on, on, to the glen, to the glen-don't let him double us-but stay close."

The flames which had thus broken up the mountain party, were not unobserved or unregarded at the