The daily phoenix. [volume] (Columbia, S.C.) 1865-1878, 1868-07-24

decreed otherwise.
X Malachi, King of Meath, was o.
brave man; but q King, more power.
fnl than himself, conquered him at
last the King of Terrors. He died
in 1922; and Donough should have
succeeded him to the Kingdom. But
his right was once more opposed.
This time, Donough's heart was in
terested in the conquest, and he
fought like lion for his right. He
was Brian Borohme's heirS"Brian
terrible In battle, wise in counsel" O.
man who had stood head and shoul-
ders above every Irish King that had
been born for centuries. It was the
bitterness of death to him-this de-
deat-for defeat came. He grew
morbid-almost insane under the
blow. Sad and depressed, he walk
ed the solitary rooms of the castle.
unheeding that Ivar sat alone in her
chamber. awaiting the advent of his
child. She heard the sound of his
footsteps tramping the stone floors,
and shuddered to find that even her
tenderness had no balm for his
wounded spirit.
Midnight came. but the unqniet
| soul kept the body restless, and still
the footsteps sounded beneath her.
In that dark hour, her child's brief
life came and went; and its beautiful
mother never saw the light of morn
ing upon the earth.
Fully awakened by his double loss,
the unhappy King resigned himself
to despair. He hung wildly over the
beautiful remains of the mother and
child, perfectly distracted with grief
and anguish. For days he Kept
them from burial, and would not be
persuaded that they could not be
restored to life. At length, when
decay touched the sweet faces with
its effacing finger, he resisted no
longer.
The next day after Tie mournful
burial, he resigned his kingdom, and
went out an exile from the homo of
his fathers, to wander away in foreign
lands. The heaths of Ireland felt
his springing footsteps no more.
Life was hateful to one who had
given up wife, child and kingdom in
a single day. Wandering thus, he
CHANGED to seat himself, one day,
| near the gate of convent. The
cool, grey walls seemed to WOO the
sufferer reposing in their shadow.
Next to death, the convent seemed
to hold n place of rest for the weary:
and he rang the convent bell, and
was admitted. Lonely and silent
never speaking to the brothers, and
holding slight communion with the
head of the monastery, he lived
years in the performance of his
duties as one of the order, yet so
mechanically that one would have
said there was no heart in that thin
body-no central fires in that dumb
soul.
1t was day in summer-so bright,
so beautiful-with the blue sky
bending SO loving above, and the
emerald grass lying so quietly be-
meath, that earth seemed MS lovely
rs Heaven. A quiet graveyard it
was, where the sunshine kissed the
grass, and the shadow of tall trees
lay over an open grave. Presently,
there came down the pathway from
the convent, long procession of
monks, bearing bier.
Suddenly, from the little chapel,
there arose upon the summer air q
chant, SO sweet, yet so beart-break-
ing in its sweetness, that the very
birds flushed their midsummer
carols to listen. Nearer and nearer,
charging the cedars with all mourn
full chords, until the long troop of
mourners stopped beside the still
grave. The bier was lowered, and
the face of the dead cleaned up
white. yet with q Heavenly serenity,
that told of ineffable grace. A
solemn burial service succeeded, and
then arose strain, SO grand, so Joy
ful. so expressive of q sublime hope
and triumph beyond that low grave,
that it seemed almost to be the
departing spirit upon its power and
might. When all was over, and the
procession wound through the over
shadowed pathway, on its way back,
one who stood near asked the grave
digger whom he was interring there.
HE was, lbrother Adrian-God
rest his soul!'~ '~said the old monk, de-
voutly crossing himself.
Did you know his name in the
world?"
"What Matters" rejoined the
monk. II only know that there he