Seeing another skillet near him, he examined it, and, O, joy! it was half full of tar.

In one minute the bacon and cabbage had vanished down his own throat, and in another the tar was beginning to hiss slightly in the skillet on the fire. Just then, said Brian to Molly, "do n't you think, Molly, agrah, but the cabbage is near bein' warm enough?"

"I think it ought to be now, Brian," said Molly, "will I get a spoon for you?"

"O, no-was n't fingers made before forks."

So out he came, and walking straight up to the fire, sat down on his heels, and flopped down his hand into the now nearly boiling tar, but quickly drew it up, all covered with the horrid stuff, and was hardly able to bear the pain.

"O, the divil carry it away for a skillet! O, Monum un ustha, but my fingers are all destroyed! Oh! oh!-I put down the wrong skillet! Well, I'll not bawl out, I'd waken this honest man, and all the people and they'd only laugh at me; O, voh! what'll I do at all?"

In his agony, he bolted out into the garden, while Mehicle slipped out of the window, shillelah in hand, and though it was dark, saw Mr. Mungavan run to the cabbages, and begin stripping off the leaves, while he rubbed them to his fingers, in his vain attempts to cool his hands, and get the tar off."

"Hallo!-who's this!" said Mehicle, running up with the stick, "who's this?"

And now, many were the explanations on both sides. When they came in, Brian set to work, and called up all that were in the house, as it was now daylight. "And," said he, "here, in the name of all that's good and bad, let's have breakfast, for I'm famished, not to spake of the scaldin' and batin' I got; but sure it's all accidents, and can't be helped."

Breakfast was prepared and finished, and Brian got, gradually however, into better humor. But when that was over, his wife called him aside, and said,

"Now, Brian, all these accidents happened through your own fault; so, by all the books in Connemara, you must take my advice to-day. Have a fine dinner, and make them ate and drink enough; and and if it's Eileen that boy wants, faith, he's a smart young man, and we could n't do better. Say you'll give her a hundred pounds, or two, if one wont satisfy him; but, for goodness sake, give that Mehicle enough to ate."

What a truly sensible speech was this. Here was the proper view of the question. Brian Mungavan overcame himself for once, and was generous. And there was such a dinner! Eileen took good care of that. Turkeys, geese, and all manner of delicacies, graced the board. Take the words of a contemporaneous poet :

"Mutton, and good fat bacon
Was there, like turf in creels."

Ah, ha! I've caught you, have I? I'll let you know who I am. Here, Mr. Mungavan! Mr. Mungavan! quick! come out! jump up! here's a man staylin' your cabbages! Take that, you scoundrel; how dare you come here!" And here Mehicle began whacking him as hard as he could.

"Don't strike me!" said Brian, "dont! I'll do any thing you like. Oh! Oh! do n't! Don't you see it's me that's here?"

"O, I see you well enough! Come out, Mr. Mungavan!" said Mehicle, continuing to beat him.

"There was lashins of beef there,
And stammins of sheep there,
And whiskey came pourin' galore."

And then it was, when all, including Mr. Mungavan, were in that happy state denominated soft, that Mehicle opened his unerring batteries, never yet known to fail.

Let us merely now wish them a happy wedding; but we somehow cannot help thinking there is in this tale a

MORAL.

"O, stop! and God reward you! stop! Sure I'm Mr. Mungavan!"

My wandering feet have trod those paths to-day,
Where I so late with thee in joyance went,
And gladly thitherward my steps I bent,
Turning me from the dust and din away,
And tracing with a quiet joy each spot
Hallowed by some remembrance dear to me,
A smile, a tone that cannot be forgot-

Places whose every charm was won from thee;
And therefore do I love that grassy way,
And every spot which thou hast wandered o'er,
And as a miser counts his secret store
When darkness has obscured the light of day,
So in thy absence, which is my heart's night,
Thy treasured words and smiles tell I with deep delight.

"There's a glory over the face of Youth

And Age as fair a light displays, When beautiful Love and spotless Truth Have guided all her ways!

"But Sin is a hideous thing to see,

His eyes are dulled before his prime, And each year leaveth the mark of three, For he hurries the hand of Time !"?

Thus spake the awaiting Angel Death,
By a way-side beggar-crone,
Who wrestled with the reluctant breath
On a pillow of broken stone!

'T was a fearful sight to see her gasp,
And clutch the air in her sinewy palms
As if forcing from a miser's grasp
The miserable alms!

But a sight to bring the tear-drops down
Was the little maiden pale and thin
Who stood by her side in a tattered gown
Which let the sharp air in!

Hatless and shoeless she stood in the rain,
And shivered like autumn's leaf,
Trembling with very hunger and pain,
And weeping with fear, not grief!

"What ails you, mother?" the maiden cried, "What makes you tremble and stare? Why do you look so angry-eyed

As you strike the empty air?

"I fear you mother! Your angry brow!
Your wild and piercing eye!
Oh, do not, do not hurt me now,

There is no one to see me cry!

"Oh, mother, why do you beat me so?
And why do we walk all day,
And rest at night, if it rain or snow,
In cold, wet beds of hay?

"Oh, why do the village children play
And seem so very glad?

And why are they dressed so clean and gay While I am so meanly clad?

"Do not their parents beat them too, To make them moan and cry?

Or are their mothers weaker than you, And the children stronger than I?

"I've seen the parents kiss and hold Their little ones on the knee!

I, mother, am well nigh ten years old, You never did so with me!

"Why am not I as pretty and good
As the little girls in the town?
Are mine the meaner flesh and blood
Because I am burnt so brown?

"And why do they go with happy looks Up where the chapel stands,

Some with their little shining books
And flowers in their hands?

"Oh, mother, I wish you would take me there! For often as we go by

Their voices come through the happy air
As if from the open sky!

"Oh, mother, I wish I could join the strain,
And learn their beautiful words;

I am sure they do not sing for pain
No more than the little birds!

"You know how once we followed them out To the forest green and gay;

How they danced and sang a song about
The beautiful flowers of May!

"Oh, they seemed like a band of angels, free From hunger, pain and strife;

As a lady once told me I should be
If I lived an honest life!

"Then I wondered if we were to die that night, If we should be angels fair!

But, mother, what makes your cheeks so white, Why, why do you shiver and stare?

"Oh, mother, mother! you have often said
You'd kill me yet in some lonely place

If I did not steal-and did not shed
More tear-streams down my face!
"And when in the prison cell we lay,
Because you took the purse,

I remember how I heard you say
A very dreadful curse!

"How then you threatened to take my life
Because I lied not more!

And I remember still the knife
You said you had used before!

"I fear you, mother! more and more!
You groan and give such fearful starts,,
Ah, spare me now! and at every door
I'll cry till I break all hearts!

"But, mother, see, arise, arise!

A carriage comes up the vale; They cannot, I'm sure, refuse our cries, Now that you look so pale!"

Thus spake the maid-and the carriage came,
And she stood as with hunger wild;
While suddenly burst from the coach a dame
Crying "my child! my child!"

The crone half rose from her dying place, With her mouth and eyes all wide! And she knew the injured mother's face, Then fell on her own and died!

Ir was toward the close of a lovely summer's day, in the eventful year of 1643, that a young cavalier might have been seen riding at a slow pace, and in a somewhat sad and thoughtful mood, through a green and winding lane in the pleasant county of Warwick, not far distant from the pastoral banks of famous Avon.

But though the young man's brow was now overcast and clouded, though his fine gray eye was fixed abstractedly on the mane of his charger, and though a heavy shadow, such as is believed by the superstitious to arise from the prescience of coming fate, gloomed over all his features, it was evident that such an expression was alien to the face, such a mood unusual to the character of the man.

He was as handsome a youth as you might see in a twelvemonth, even in that land, so justly famed for the manly beauty of its sons; tall and well-made, and giving promise of uncommon strength and vigor, when mature manhood should have swelled and hardened his slender form and yet unfurnished muscles. His face was frank and open, with a fair broad forehead, a well-opened, laughing, deep gray eye, and a mouth, the dimpled angles of which could not be divested of their natural tendency to smile, even by the heavy despondency which seemed now to weigh upon his spirit, and alter his whole countenance, even as a sunny landscape is altered by the intervention of a storm-cloud, blotting out all the laughing rays, which gave it mirth and radiance.

He was well-mounted on a horse that seemed adapted, by its mingled blood and bone, to bide the shock of armies, and caparisoned with demipique and holsters, as became the war-steed of an officer. Nor did the rider's dress, though not what we should now call military, contradict the inferences that would be drawn from the charger's make and accoutrements; for in his steeple-crowned slouched beaver he wore a single long black feather, and across the left breast of his velvet jerkin a baldrick of blue silk, sustaining a sword of heavier and more warlike fabric than the court rapiers of the day-the baldric and the feather indicating a partisan of the king, as clearly as the sword and war-horse showed that he was bound on some longer and more perilous adventure than a ride through rich green meadows and among flowery hedge-rows.

He rode quite alone, however, which was at that day something unusual; for the custom of going forth accompanied by several armed servants or retainers, even in times of profound peace, was still prevalent among men of any pretension to gentle birth, and such, unless every indication of natural appearance, gentle bearing, and free demeanor failed, was evidently this young cavalier.

The sun was perhaps still an hour high, and the skies were filled with rich yellow lustre, while all the face of the green country was checkered with bright gleams and massive shadows, according as the level rays streamed gayly over the open fields, or were intercepted by the undulations of the ground, the frequent clumps of trees and patches of dark woodland, or the thick hawthorn hedges which diversified that pleasant landscape, when the lane which the young man followed began to rise rapidly over the eastern slope of a steep hill or down, the summit of which, a bare wild sheep-pasture, cut clear and solid against the rich gleam of the sunset heavens.

Here, for the first time, the youth raised his eyes, and after casting a rapid glance over the evening skies, as if to read the hour in the fading hues of day, checked his horse with the curb, and touching him at the same time lightly with the spur, cantered up the ascent with more animation in his air than he had hitherto displayed, and with a slight gesture of impatience, as if at the unexpected lateness of the hour.

A few minutes rapid riding brought him to the edge of the bare down, which was in fact a mere ridge, with but a few level yards at the summit, beyond these, sinking down almost precipitately into a singular lap or basin of land, nearly circular in form, and about two miles in diameter, walled in as it were from the external world, on every side, by tall, bare, grassy downs, treeless and bleak, without a sign of human habitation or of human culture, and limiting the range of the eye to that narrow and cheerless horizon.

Looking downward into the hollow, the scene was, however, entirely different; for all the bottom of the basin, and all the lower slopes of the hills were covered with dark shadowy woods, the gigantic trees and massive foliage of which bore I witness alike to their great antiquity, and to the

mild and favorable situation, sheltered from every | wind of heaven, which had induced their unusual growth. The hills at this hour intercepted all the light of the setting sun, and the whole space within the valley was filled with a misty purple shadow; through which, from out the glades and skirts of the black woods, the silvery gleam of many clear, still ponds met the eye; and beyond these, nearly in the centre of the landscape, the tall gables and twisted chimneys of an old dark-red Hall, with a solitary column of blue smoke soaring up straight into the cloudless sky, arose the only indication in that wild scene of the vicinity of any human being. But although we have paused a moment on the bare brow of Clavering Edge, to point the reader's eye to this sequestered spot, the youth in whose company we have journeyed hither made no such pause; but, too familiar with the scenery, perhaps too impatient to reach the end of his ride, turned his horse's head short to the left, and trotted, as rapidly as the nature of the ground would permit, along a faintly marked foot-path which traversed the hill-side in a diagonal line, the steepness of the declivity forbidding any more direct progress to the bottom, leading to a narrow gorge which ran half way up the ascent, feathered with rich dark timber. As soon as he reached the covert of the woodland he dismounted, and leading his horse a little way aside from the path, fastened him by the chain of his cavalry head-stall to a tall ash-tree in the centre of a thick coppice. Then, with a rapid step, he hurried down the path, which became every moment more clearly defined, as it followed a clear, rapid brook of slender volume along the gorge, which gradually widened into a beautiful wooded valley. Within ten minutes he came to a tall park paling of solid oaken plank, at least ten feet in height, all overrun with the giant ivy which flourishes so verdantly in such moist situations, affording access to the park within only by a low wooden portal, closed by an antique iron lock of large dimensions.

This formidable barrier was, however, easily passed by the cavalier; the lock giving way readily, and notwithstanding its rusty guise smoothly enough, to a key which he drew from the bosom of his jerkin. Before opening it altogether he paused, however, for a moment, and gazed anxiously through the chink, to see, as it would seem, if there was any one observing him. Then, satisfied that all was safe, he passed in quickly, closing the door with a noiseless hand behind him, but taking especial care not to lock it against his own egress.

Within, the scenery was very beautiful, though still impressed with the same character of loneliness, and almost weighing on the spirits by its unnatural and almost awful silence and repose. The glen expanded rapidly, sloping from the park palings downward toward the mansion, but so thick were the woods on either slope and in the bottom, that nothing could be distinguished in the foreground

but the huge trunks of the giant oaks and beeches, with the tall lady fern growing in rank luxuriance under them, nor any thing in the distance but the twilight foliage of their heads, as they descended rank below rank in the great amphitheatre. Even at this early hour, indeed, that deeply wooded dell would have already been as dark as midnight, save that adown its centre there ran a chain of long, narrow, shallow fish-ponds, each raised by a dam above that next below it, until they reached the level bottomground; all overarched, it is true, with shadowy branches, but all reflecting the last western gleam which stole in through the arch of leaves, dark as the portal of some gothic aisle, through which the eye caught a glimpse of a smooth grassy lawn, glimmering in the dewy twilight.

Between the young man and the head of this chain of ponds there lay a belt of thick alders, with here and there a stunted willow, fringing the margin of the brook which fed them, and separating it from the path which gave access to them from above, and to the lawn below, and thence to the gardens and the Hall.

Along this path he now bounded with a fleet and impatient step, as if anxious to discover something which might be hidden from his eye by its leafy barrier; a few paces brought him to the termination of the brake, and to a large clear tank, immediately beyond it, fed by the brook, and itself the feeder of the calm pools below. It was perhaps three yards in length, by two in breadth, walled on all sides with solid masonry, and partly covered at the head over the inlet of the stream by a groined arch of stone-work; on every side the ground sloped down to it, covered with deep rank grass; and above it six or seven enormous elm trees shadowed it with a constant gloom. The water within was as transparent as glass, showing the sandy bottom in all parts, though of extraordinary depth, with the pure cold springs boiling up from a dozen little whirlpools, and sending their trains of sparkling bubbles, like the tails of so many comets, through the limpid darkness of the pool.

And here, once more, the young man paused, and gazed anxiously about him, and down the walk toward the quiet lawn. Then seeing that he was alone, and that there was no person in sight, even at a distance, he cast himself down on the turf at the foot of one of the great elms, where the shadows would conceal him from any casual observer's glance; crossed his arms on his breast with a sort of impatient resignation, and muttered to himself half angrily

"It is past the hour, and yet she is not here. Oh! if she knew, if she but knew what a hell it enkindles in my heart to be kept waiting, to be set doubting, to be tormented thus. But no!" he added in a moment, as if reproving his own vehemence. "No, no! something has fallen wrong-something has hindered or delayed her. And yet what should it be? Can we have been betrayed, discovered?