The Liverpool Standard and General Commercial Advertiser.
Liverpool, Merseyside, England, 1845-04-01 00:00:00

,7) tteraturr.

soul of the departed. `There, father!' said he, as he THE PUBLISHING SEASON.—So dull a publishing sea-
arose at last, and in a voice as if addressing a living per- son has been rarely seen as is the present. Since our last,
son at his side; ' there, father : the Lord, he knows my but one work of importance has issued from the press,
heart inside me; and if walking the world barefoot would and there is little of importance to look forward to. We
give ye peace or ease, I'd do it, for you were a kind man much fear, indeed, that cheap reprints are producing the
and good father to me.' He kissed the coffin as he spoke, effect of banishing original works ; for books that must
and stood silently gazing on it. remunerate an author cannot possibly compete in price
" Arousing himself with a kind of struggle, he untied with such as have no copyright, and cost nothing but print
the cords, and lifted the coffin from the cart. For some and paper; and, unhappily, the public appears to estimate
seconds he busied himself in arranging the ropes beneath cheapness above all other attractions. Thus the diffusion
it, and then ceased suddenly, on remembering that he of knowledge, as it is termed, has its evils as well as its
could not lower it into the gr ve unassisted. advantages. But it is done, and our booksellers should
" ' I'll have to go down the road for some one,' mut- now consider how the evils may best be remedied, and
tered he to himself ; :but as he said this, he perceived at whether it be not practicable to obtain for original works
some distance off in the churchyard the figure of a man, some of the patronage now lavished on reprints, by pub-
as if kneeling over a grave. ' The Lord help him, he has fishing them at prices equally low, relying on extent of
his grief too !' ejaculated Owen, as he moved towards circulation to compensate for the lesser price.—The Critic.
him. On coming nearer he perceived that the grave was CHINESE BOTANY.—Letters have been received from
newly made, and from its size evidently that of a child. Mr. Fortune (the botanist) dated the 16th December.
"'1 ax your pardon,' said Os-en, in a timid voice, He was then at Hong Kong, arranging fur the shipment
after waiting for several minutes in the vain expectation of his collections to Europe. They occupied many chests,
that the man would look up ; 'I ax your pardon for di,- and were about to be dispatched as fast as opportunity
turbing you, but maybe you'll be kind enough to help me occurred. Mr. Fortune
had met with many very beauti-
to lay this coffin in the ground. 1 have nobody with me ful shrubs, and it is hoped that a large part of them will
but a child.'
prove hardy, or nearly so. Viburourns, with heads of
" The man started and looker, round. Their eyes met ; large flowers, like a hydrangea ; moutans in great variety ;
it was Phil Joyce and Owen who now confronted each peaches, apricots, roses, handsome creepers, azaleas, daph-
other. But how unlike were both to what they were at ries, both sorts of the curious hexangular carneilia—a
their last parting ! Then, vindictive passion, outraged great desideratum, for it must be most beautiful of the
Pride, and vengeance, swelled every feature and tingled varieties; others from Fokien ; hydrangeas, a very fine
in every fibre of their frames. Now each stood pale, care- double white gardenia, with flowers as large as a camellia ;
worn, and dispirited, wearied out by sorrow, arid almost I a curious chrysanthemum, named as a perfect gem; new
brokenl-hearted. Owen was the first to speak. I pines, honeysuckles, and plums, are among the rareties
and I ex
axedagain now your pardon before I saw you. Phil Joyce, mentioned as being actually on their way to England.
it , for disturbing you, .:rid I want to We learn from other sources that Mr. Fortune has been
put my poor father's body in the grave.' consulted by the Governor of Hong Kong as to the prat-
"' I didn't know he was dead,' said Phil, in a hollow ticability of planting the bare hills of that island, which
voice, like one speaking to himself. ' This was poor little at present consist more of buildings than vegetation. In
Billy here,' and he pointed to the mound at his feet. , the former respect, the place was making extraordinary
" ' The heavens he his bed this night!' said Owen, I progress, a large town having already started up. The
piously ; ' Good night !' and he turned to go away ; then ' panic as to unhealthiness was wearing off; good hospitals
etopping suddenly, he added, ' Maybe, after all, you'll and barracks for the troops were rapidly erecting; the
not refuse me, and the Lord might be more merciful to , rest of the inhabitants were already well provided for,
us both, than if we were to part like enemies. I and the ships in the harbour were perfectly healthy.—
"' Owen Connor, I ask your forgiveness,' said Phil, i Gardener's Chronicle.
stretching forth his hand, while his voice trembled like a I
ae has hitherto shone. "S. Pa- i sick child's. ' I didn't think the day would come I'd ever 1 THE REvoLuTiON OF 1688.—Without undervaluing the
effects of the Revolution of 1688, without discrediting the
_a weetrative of the Idoit ; but my heart is humble enough now, and maybe
social w.. - ' 'twill be lower soon. Will you take my hand?y o the patriots w o com me to s a e o
motivesl of man f' h b. d h. kff
acters ate " ' Will I. Phil? will I, is it? ay, and however ye may . •
the oppressive tyranny and Romish bigotry of James 11.,
very stirrine change to me after this night, I'll never forget this.' And iit may be safely affirmed, that it was George 111., Lord
Bute, and Mr. Pitt, who put the British constitution upon
wonted spirit a.... he grasped the cold fingers in both hands, and pre-sed I its right,* and the only durable and beneficial basis, and
-onveyed is one which, them ardently, and the two men fell into each other's , worke out the Revolution itself to its appropriate and be-
nder unnecessary any arms and wept.
I neficent effects. This is the great and important moral of
e them, by Land "Isit a proud or a humiliating confession for hamanity I English history during the eighteenth century ; this is the
-tore peace and —assuredly it is a true one—that the finest and best traits ' conclusion forced on the mind by the perusal of Walpole's
eted land of of our nature are elicited in our troubles, and not in our I Ilemolrs, and his vehement abuse of Lord Bute arid Geo.
:
however, joys? that we come out purer through trials than pros-
-1 ill,l for their dismissal of the` higs from power. Doubt-
'is not 1 perity ? Does the chastisement of heaven teach us better less, they acted from selfish motives in doing so. The
aor, I than the blessings lavished upon t- ? or are these gifts ! king wanted to regain his prerogative, the minister to se-.
1 the compensation sent us for our afflictions, that when ' '
, cure his power ; but still it was, on the part of both, a step
poorest before man we should be richest before God ? , tit the right direction.. But for the resolute stand which
Few hearts there are whit h sorrow makes not wiser— they made against the Whig oligarchy—but for their wis-
none which are not better for it. So it way here. These I
tom in throwing themselves ou the property of the nation
-
iption, with the passages which. e men, in the continuance of good f inune, had been ,to withstand its debasement, a domineering party would
enable our readers to form a correct enemies for life ; natural hatred had grown up between ' have been irrecoverably plunged in the slough of corrup-
the story and incidents. The " first them, so that each yearned for vengeance on the other ;ii tion, and the liberties of England lost for according
fight, of the story, Owen Connor, and now they walked like brothers, only seeking forgive- , all former experience,in 'firmly-established ever,g
, to
ight, his opponent of the hostile ness of each other, and asking pardon for the past." tisrn consequent on a successful revolution. George 111.
, „he brother of the girl of his love. The third era exhibits Owe,' Connor driven out, a I
said, on the first decisiveparliamentary divisionwhich
gave
oe saves the life of his landlord's son, hunted and desperate man, from his small holding ; the 1 • •
I a majority to the Tories in 1761—" At length then, we
_AI gets severely beaten; for which he sub- agent for young Leslie, who, on the death of his father, , have a glen oh the throne in England." Posterity' will
as intimated to him by Mr. Leslie, sen., that ; has succeeded to the property, having demanded the ap- ! add—at length the foundations
ofaf
Fee constitution were
strip of moorland will for the future be I parent arrear of six years' rent due from him. He is I laid on a durable andb
practicable basis.—Blackwood.
" second era" exhibits Owen somewhat i only rescued from becoming the murderer of the agent 1
wetter off in the world, yet still unsuccessful in his wish !by the timely intervention of remorse for the meditated I EFFECT OF THE WINDOW DUTIES ON ARCHITECTURE.
to become an aeovre. suitor of the sister of Phil Joyce. I deed, arid the arrival of the young landlord himself, by —The youthful architect goes abroad for models, and has
The following attempt to gain her ear, and that of her i whom justice is done to his past oeservings. also his own native ideas of beauty. When lie comes to
brother, will shew the strength of the enmity existing The work is beautifully gut up in the style of Dickens' practice, however, he must not omit the window duties
between the two factions : " Christmas Ca, ol" end " The Chimes." from his rules of taste. Should he fancy those long trans-
THE PILGRIMAGE. parent suites of rooms, of which our French neighbours
" Owen's heart beat almost to bursting, as be found
The 0' Donoghue, No. 4. By Harry Lorrequer. Dublin : are so fond, and which certainly would not be wholly un-
Curry and Co. suitable to our climate, the taxgatherer forbids. A series
himself so close to Mary ; all his former impatience to
justify himself, and to speak to her, fled in the happiness
The interest of this serial goes on increasing. The of narrow windows in the Lombard style would be pic-
'
number before us contains some excellent and racy Muse , turesque—but ruinously expensive. A library, or a vi-
be now enjoyed. No devotee ever regarded the relic of
a Saint with more trembling extacy than he the folds of
trations of Irish manners and prejudices. The scene be- I levy for paintings or sculpture, might be conveniently and
that heavy mantle that fell at his knees : he touched it as tweet' Sir Marmaduke and his tenantry is especially rich. I elegantly lighted by a continuous range of small apertures,
men would do a sacred thing. The live-long day he fo turn each shrine and holy spot ,at a considerable elevation. But a dozen such apertures
lowed her, visiting inl.-
Abbotsford Waverley, No. 77. would cost five or six pounds a •year. It is found that
;
and ever, as he was re idy to steak to her, some fear that The present number carries us through some of the last glass domes, and other central lanterns, contribute to
,
by a word, he might dispel the dream of bliss he revelled chapters of Quentin Dinward. The illustrations and ge- economy both in material and space, and not less to
in, stopped him, and be was silent. neral getting-up of the work contniue of the first order. wholesomeness end beauty. We must leave that luxury
"It was as the evening drew near, and the Pilgrims --ws- to millionaires and the London clubs. Lancet windows
were turning towards the lake, beside which, at a small INDUCEMENTS TO SANATORY IMPROVEMENTS.—Are end numerous turret-lights are necessary to gothic archi-
thorn tree, the la-t " station" of all was performed, that Iwe grieved at the premature loss of relatives and friends ? , tecture, but virtually prohibited by law. Lighted closets
an old beggar, whose importunity suffered none to escape, Let us then bestir ourselves to save others from a simil r I
are convenient additions to drawing-rooms and bed-rooms,
blocked up the path, and prevented Mary from proceeding sorrow. Do we forget that already in England the value and, at least in any of the ancient styles, very ornamental.
until she had given him something. All her money had (or probable duration) of the life of a new-born child ex- Boudoirs, however, find no favour with Parliament. A
been long since bestow- d ; and she said so, hurriedly, and ceeds by six years the value of a similar life at Ostend ; century since, people used often to light a passage hall
endeavoured to move forward. that in cases of childbirth, one out of every 15 mothers , with two narrow windows,—one on each side of the en-
'• ' Let Owen Connor behind you give it, acushla ! Ile's died at Paris so late as 1780, and that now in the healthiest
l trance door. The window-tax has transformed them into
tow, and can well afford it,' " said the cripple. rural districts of England, one in every 1,205 cases appears a small semicircular aperture over the entrance, or made
,he turned round at the words ; the action was in- to be the proportion ; or that, to follow a little further the us content with a little stray light from the window of
Wary, and their eyes met. There are glances which history of the new inhabitants of the globe, that even the first or second landing of the stairs. A light on every
.1 the whole secret of a lifetime; there are looks within the last 10 years, the mere circumstance that vac- story of a staircase is desirable ; but the law- makes it
which dwell in the heart longer and deeper than words, cination has been enforced by law has reduced the 10,434 economical to substitute the uncouth contrivance of a
Their eyes met toe merely a few seconds ; and while in deaths by smallpox of 1840, to 6,368 deaths in 1841 ; or long narrow light, cut in two by the floor. Lastly, many
her face offended pride was depicted, poor Owen's sorrow- lastly, that the entire population of England, notwith- people fancy the old arrangement for an oreinary parlour
Struck' and broken aspect spoke of long suffering and standing the intensity and number of the injurious physical of two windows with a pier between them, The window-
grief so powerfully, that, ere she turned away, her heart and mental influences that act upon large portions of it, is tax has in nine cases out of ten abolished that pier, and
had half forgiven him. known now to live longer by 169 weeks than the higher or given us instead a single window, approaching sometimes
" ' You —one, me hardly, Mary,' said he, in a low, most favourably situated classes alone of England did be- too near the legal allowance of 4 feet 9 inches to be con-
as the train moved on. ' The Lord, he tweets the years 1693 and 1715.—Douglas Jerrold's sistent with perfect beauty. On bow windows arid octa-
Art this blessed day ! Pater noster, qui es i Shilling 111a2azine. gonal windows, and other architectural vagaries, of course
_ . added be, louder, as he perceived that his im- POPE.—Pope had a gentleness of spirit, which showed we cannot es, pert the Legislature to have mercy ; yet it is
mediate to find taste and ingenuity crippled in every di-
mediate follower had ceased his prayer to listen to him. itself in his filial offices to his father and mother—to her
'He knows that I'd rather live and die the poorest— the most, in the prolonged wearing out of a beloved life. Ti
rection. mes.
Beueficat mum nomen l' cried he, louder. And then, It appears in kindly relations to his friends, in
charities,
NAPOLEON CROSSING MOUNT ST. BERNARD.—He
turning abruptly said :in the scheme of his life—contentedness in a bounded, ( a-as accompanied by Duroc, his aide-de-camp, and De
"' Ay it's plazing to you, sir, don't he trampin' on my quiet existence, a seclusion among books, and trees, and Bourrienne, his secretary. Artists have delineat- d him
heels. I can't mind my devotions, an' one so near me.' flowers. His life flowed on peaceably and eently, like crossing the Alpine heights, mounted on a fiery steed.
" ' It's not so unconvaynient, maybe, when they're the noble river upon which his modest dwelling looked. The plain truth is, that he ascended the St. Bernard in
afore you,' muttered the old fellow with a grin of sly 11l health, as we said, often dedicates a student. The that gray surtout which he usually wore, upon a mule, led
malice. And though Owen overheard the taunt, he felt constitutional feebleness from which he suffered, might by a guide belonging to the country, evincing, even in the
no inclination to notice it. doubly favour his mind; as often the more delicate frame difficult passes, the abstraction of a mind occupied else-
" ' Four long years I've loved ye, Mary Joyce; and the harbours the greater spirit ; and as inaptitude for active where, conversing with the officers scattered on the load,
sorra more encouragement I ever got nor the smile ye and rough sports, throws the solitary boy upon the com- and then, at intervals, questioning the guide who attended
used to give me. And if ye take that from me, now— panionship of books, and upon the energies, avocations, him, making him relate the particulars of his life, his
Are ye listening to me, Mary ?do you hear me, asthore ? and pleasures of his own intelligence and fancy. The little pleasures, his pains, like an idle traveller, who has nothing
—Bad scran to ye, ye ould varmint! why won't ye keep poem of his boyhood, and the first of his manhood, pro- better to do. This guide, who was quite •young, gave him
behind ? How is a man to save his sowl, an' you making phesv his tenor of life, and his literary career. A corn- a simple recital of the details of his obscure existence,
him blaspheme every eninit?' raanding power, a predominant star in English literature and especially the vexation he felt, because. for the want
"' I was only listenin' to that elegant prayer ye were you might say that the last century belonged to him. of a little money, he could not marry one of the girls of
saying,' said the old fellow, drily. Dryden reigned over his contemporaries. Pope, succeed- his valley. The First Consul, sometimes listening, some-
" ' 'Tis betther you'd mind your own, then,' said Owen, ing, took dominion over his own time and the following. times questioning the passengers with whom the mountain
fiercely ; 'or by the blessed day, I'll teach ye a new pen- The pupil of Dryden, and gratefully proud to proclaim the was covered, arrived at the hospice, where the worthy
once ye never heerd of afore!' greatness of his master, and to own all obligations, he monks gave him a warm reception. No sooner had he
" The man dropped back, frightened at the sudden de- moulded himself nevertheless upon a type in his own mind. alighted from his mule than he wrote a note, which he
termination these words were uttered in ; and Owen re- In the school of Dryden be is an original master. Din den handed to his guide, desiring him to be sure and deliver
sumed his place.
is, properly speaking, without imitators. His manner lit to the quarter-master of the army, who had been left on
" I may never see ye again, :Nlary, 'Tis the last time proceeds from his own genius, and baffles transcribers. I the other side of the St. Bernard. In the evening, the
you'll hear me spike to you. I'll lave the ould man. But Pope completed an art which could be learned, and I young man, on returning to St. Pierre, learned with sur-
God look to him ! I'll lave him now, and go be a sodger. he left a world full of copyists.—Blackwood. prise what powerful traveller it was whom he had guided
Here we are now, coming to this holy well • and I'll swear
NELSON'S PINION OF IMSELF.— a all my ac.
0 H H din the morning, and that General Bonaparte had ordered
an oath before the Queen of Heaven, that before this time
that a house and a piece of ground should be given to
tions, my dearest Fanny (Lady Nelson) been gazetted, not
to-morrow —"
one fortnight would have passed during the whole war him immediately, and that he should be supplied, in short,
without a letter from me : one day or other I will have a with the means requisite for marrying and for realising all
long gazette of myself; I feel that such an opportunity will the dreams of his modest ambition. This mountaineer
died not long since, in his own country, the owner of the
be given me. I cannot, if lam in the field of glory, be I
land given to him by the ruler of the world. This singu-
bykept out of sight. Probably my services may be forgotten'
the great by the time I get home; but my mind will lar act of beneficence, at a moment when his mind was
not forget, nor cease to feel, a degree of consolation and engaged with such mighty interests, is worthy of attention.
of applause superior to undeserved rewards. Wherever If there was nothing in it but a mere conqueror's caprice,
there is anything to be done, there Providence is sure to I
dispensing at random good or evil, alternately overthrow-
direct my steps. Credit must be given me in spite of ing empires or rearing a cottage, it may be useful to record
envy. Even the French respect me : their minister at such caprices, if only to tempt the masters of the earth to
imitation ; but such an act reveals something more. The
Genoa, in answering a note of mine when returning some
h wearing apparel that had been taken, said, " Your nation, human soul, in those moments when it is filled with ardent
sir, and mine are made to show examples of generosity as ;desires, is disposed to kindness ; it does good by way of
well as of valour to all the people of the earth." The meriting that which it is soliciting of Providence.—
following is a copy of the note I had sent him. I will I Thiers' Consulate and Empire of France.
also relate another anecdote, all vanity to myself, but you 1 CHILDREN. —ln Blackwood for the past month there
will partake of it. A person sent me a letter, and directed is a splendid sequel to the well-known " Confessions of
as follows, " Horatio Nelson, Genoa." On being asked an English Opium Eater," from which we subjoin an
how he could direct in such a manner, his answer, in a extract. The author has been speaking of his childish
large party, was, " Sir, there is but one Horatio Nelson i grief at the death of a beloved sister, and its effects upon
in the world." The letter certainly came immediately. I him then and in after life, and concludes with the follow-
At Genoa, where I have stopped all their trade, I am be- I ing passages :—" God, be assured, takes care for the re-
loved and respected both by the Senate and lower order. I ligion of children wheresoever his Christianity exists.
If any man is fearful of his vessel being stopped, he comes I Wheresoever there is a national church established, to
and asks me ; if I give him a paper, or say " All is right," I which a child sees his friends resorting ; wheresoever he
kin he is contor stateented.
where nay w forgotten. This 1 fore those illimitable heavens which fill to overflowing his
is my gazette.—The Nelson Despotches. 1 young adoring heart ; wheresoever he sees the sleep of
EFFECTS OF THE CONFISCATION or CHURCH PRO- death falling at intervals upon men and women whom he
PERTY AT THE II EFORMATION.—AIthough no rational knows, depth as confounding to the plummet of his mind
man who knows the human heart will ever express a wish as those heavens ascend beyond his power to pursue—
to see entire religious unity prevail in a state, yet there can I there take you no thought for the religion of a child, any
be no question, that the prodigious multiplication of sects ! more than for the lilies how they shall be arrayed, or for
in Britain, which strikes foreigners with such astonish- the ravens how they shall feed their young. God speaks
:merit, is mainly to be ascribed, as well as the immense to children also in dreams, and by the oracles that lurk
mass of civilised heathenism which, through the whole of in darkness. But in solitude, above all things, when
'the eighteenth century, was growing up in the island, to made vocal by the truths and services of a national church,
,the iniquitous confiscation of the property of the church God holds ' communion undisturbed' with children. So-
which took place at the Reformation. It is well known litude, though silent as light, is, like light, the mightiest
I that the proportion of the tithes of England which belongs of agencies • for solitude is essential to man. All men
Ito lay improprietors, is more considerable than that which come into this' world alone—all leave it alone. Even a
is still in the hands of the church ; and if to them is added little child has a dread, whispering consciousness, that if
the abbey and monastery lands, they would by this time he should be summoned to travel into God's presence,
have amounted to a very large annual sum, probably not no gentle nurse will be allowed to lead him by the hand,
less than six or seven millions a-year. In Scotland, it is nor mother to carry him in her arms, nor little sister to
well known, the church lands at the Reformation were share his trepidations. King and priest, warrior and
about a third of the whole landed property. They would maiden, philosopher and child, all must walk those mighty
now, therefore, have produced £1,700,000 a-year, as the galleries alone. The solitude, therefote, which in this
entire rental is somewhat above five millions. What a world appals or fascinates a chill's heart, is but the echo
noble fund here existed, formed and set apart by the piety of a far deeper solitude through which already he has
and charity of former ages, for the service of the altar and passed, and of another solitude deeper still, through
of the poor—two causes which God bath joined, and no which he has to pass : reflex of one solitude—prefigura-
man should put asunder! What incalculable good would tion of another. Oh, burthen of solitude, that cleavest
it have done, if it had been preserved sacred for its proper to man through every stage of his being—in his birth,
destination—sacred from the corruptions, mummery, and which has been—in his life, which is—in his death, which
despotism of the Romish church, but preserved inviolate shall be—mighty and essential solitude ! that west, and
for the support of religion, the relief of suffering, the art, and art to be; thou broodest, like the spirit of God
spread of education ! What is it which blights and pare- moving upon the surface of the deeps, over every heart
lyres all the efforts now made, whether by individuals, vo- that sleeps in the nurseries of Christendom. Like the
luntary association?, or the state, for the attaniment of vast laboratory of the air, which, seeming to be nothing,
those truly godlike objects ? Is it not ever one thing—the or less than the shadow of a shade, hides within itself the
practical impossibility of finding the requisite funds to principles of all things, solitude for a child is the Agrip-
support the institutions necessary to grapple with the evils, pa's mirror of the unseen universe. Deep is the solitude
on a scale at all commensurate to their magnitude? The i in life of millions upon millions who, with hearts welling
Established Church could not spread for want of funds to forth love, have none to love them. Deep is the solitude
erect and endow churches; meanwhile the population in of those who, with secret griefs, have none to pity them,
the manufacturing districts and great towns was rapidly Deep is the solitude of those who, fighting with doubts cr
increasing, and, in consequence, part of the people took darkness, have none to counsel them. But deeper than
refuge in the divisions of dissent, part in the oblivion of the deepest of these solitudes is that which broods over
practical heathenism. Thence the multiplication of sects, childhood, bringing before it at intervals the final solitude
the spread of pauperism, the growth of civilised heathen- which watches for it, and is waiting for it within the gates
ism in the state. The poor-laws dated from the dissolu- of death. Reader, I tell you a truth, and hereafter 1 will
tion of the monasteries; the forty-second of Elizabeth convince you of this truth, that for a Grecian child soli-
stands a durable record of the real origin of that burden- tude was nothing, but for a Christian child it has become
some tax. It was the appropriation of the funds of reli- the power of God and the mystery of God. Oh, mighty
gion and charity to the gratification of secular rapacity, and essential solitude, that west, and art, and art to be—
which has been the cause of the chief religious and social thou, kindling under the torch of Christian revelations,
evils under which Great Britain has ever since laboured ; art now transfigured for ever, and hest passed from a
and it is it which still presents an invincible obstacle to blank negation into a secret hieroglyphic from God, sha-
all the efforts which are made for their removal.—Black- dowing in the hearts of infancy the very dimmest of his
wood's Magazine. truths!"

POETRY

-lERN L

Dublin L.

s ascend,

II arches bend

m star to star,

rthly sphere—

s, a glory streams
ded land,

aved by an angel's hand

that seldom give

mg time,

ay im,,g

on faint

aven-lit rays

St. Pair

trick's E

effects u

followe

the best spe

cabin and
-free. Th

broken

in ceplis

" How is one to mind their prayers at all, Owen Con-
nor, if ye be talking to yourself, so loud ?' said Mary, in
a whisper, but oce which lost not a syllable, as it fell on
Owen's heart.
" ' My own sweet darling, the light of my eyes, ye are !'
cried he, as with clasped hands he muttered blessings upon
her head ; and with such vehemence of gesture, and such
unfeigned signs of rapture, as to evoke remarks from
some beggars near, highly laudatory of his zeal.
" Look at the fine young man there, prayin' wid all
Ayeh, the Saints give ye the benefit of your

Pilgrimage

" Musha! but ye'r a credit to the station ; ye put yer
cowl in it, anyhow !' said an old Jezebel, whose hard fea.
tures seemed to defy emotion.

" Owen looked up ; and directly in front of him, with
his back against a tree, and his arms crossed on his
breast, stood Phil Joyce his brow was dark with pas-
sion, and his eyes glared like those of a maniac. A cold
thrill ran through Owen's heart, lest the anger thus dis-
played should fall on Mary : for he well knew with what
tyranny the poor girl was treated. He therefore took the
moment of the pilgrims' approach to the holy tree, to
move from his place. and, by a slightly circuitous route,
came up to where Joyce was standing.
I've a word for you, Phil Joyce," said he in a low
voice, where every trace of emotionwas carefully subdued.
Can I spake it to you here ?'

Owen's wan and sickly aspect, if it did not shock, it at
least astonished Joyce, for be looked at him for some
seconds without speaking ; then said, half rudely :
" ' Ay, here will do as well as any where, since ye didn't
like to say it yesterday.'
" There was no mistaking this taunt ; the sneer on
Owen's want of courage was too plain to be miscon-
strued; and although for a moment he looked as if dis-
posed to resent it, he merely shook his head mournfully,
and replied : • It is not about that 1 came to speak ; it's
about your sister, Mary Joyce.'

" Phil turned upon him a stare of amazement, as quickly
followed by a laugh, whose insulting mockery made Owen's
cheek crimson with shame.

" True enough, Phil Joyce; I know your meanin'
well,' said he, with an immense effort to subdue his pas-
sion. ' I'm a poor cottier, wid a hit of mountain-land—
sorra more—and has no right to look up to one like her.
But listen to me Phil !' and here he grasped his arm, and
spoke with a thick guttural accent : Listen to me ! At
the girl wasn't what she is, but only your sister, I'd scorn
her as I do yourself ;' and with that, he pushed him from
him with a force that made him stagger. Before he had
well recovered, Owen was again at his side, and continued :
And now, one word more, and all's ended between us.
For you, and your likings or mislikings, I never cared a
rush : but 'tis Mary herself refused me, so there's no
more about it ; only don't be wreaking your temper on
her, for she has no fault in it.'
" Av a sister of mine ever bestowed a thought on the
likes 0' ye, I'd give her the outside of the door this night,'
said Joyce, whose courage now rose from seeing several of
his faction attracted to the spot, by observing that he and
Connor were conversing "Tis a disgrace—divil a less
thanadisgrace to spake of it.'

Well, we won't do so any more, plaze God said
wen, with a smile of very fearful meaning. It will be
another little matter we'll have to settle when we meet
There's a score there, not paid off yet :' and at the
word he lifted his hat, and disclosed the deep mark of the
-lased gash on his forehead : ' and so, good bye to

scarce-