The morning star and Catholic messenger., 1878-05-12
THE MORNMa STAR MESSBN6ER sUNDAY H.

I never able to manage the second dispassionste
| pelusal she in tended. Somehow or other the
| newspaper, however carefully hidden away
| was sure to vanish in the course of the morn
| ing, and did not return to her posses sion TILL
| the paper was in holes and the printing worn
| away by the numerous unfoldiDgs and hand
| lings it bad undergone from those to whom
| Murdock Malacby had not had the heart to
| deny the privilege of looking at Mr.. Connor's
"poetry and music with their own eyes" There
| was, however, N danger Of Anne's forgettip g
| the words; they seemed after that to have
got into the air, and to be always coming back
| to her borne on voices which, If they dikfg'
ured them as to accent, at least gave them em
phasis enough.
Those were the years of O'Connell's trial and
imprisonment, and the verses were of course
patriotic, and such as did not lose any force
| by want Of decision in the eympathies of the
writer.
creditably keeping his terms at Oxford, and
learning" Ellen's letters said, ITO tolerate me
better than he used to do. / rise in bis estlma-
tiop," she wrote, when be brings any OF his
friends home, and & ads that at sight of me
they are not exactly shocked and that even
when do perpetrate bulls and slip ont an
Irish phrase in an Irish accent, they think me
worth talkirg to. Between ourselves this anne
talking is often hard work for me. Pelhams
friends are all cut ont exactly on the model
of himself l am obliged to run away every
now and then to laugh by myself, they do
make such blushing and stammering over a
few soft words such as Darby ORoone would
have turned off his tongue as easily as he
would have said good morning, meaning as
little by them. l get very tired of the talk,
that daren't put any spirit into, from fear of
being misunderstood, bat bear it, for it
brings a little kindness for me into Pelh ham's
eyes, and pleases- poor nnamma.A9h, Anne,
have quite made up my mind that those two
will never approve of me-of my very self
out of their own hearts, 30 try to be content
with little bits of reflected favor when they
catch sight of me in light that ia not bad in
other DeODl6's SOmetil0ea / afraid if
will almost make a hypocrite of me, do strive
30 hard to make people don't care for think
we'll of me, that may wear their good opin-
ions like ornaments round me, and so look a
little less despicsble to those whose approval
| oovet 80 earnestly. 1t is very freezing work.
You see Connor is generally away from home,
and his letters give mamma bad headache,
and papa pockets them, his share and mine,
too, TO take them ont of the way of comments,
and carries them oil to read over and over to
himself or to his friends. Now / come to the
worst of all my com plants. l hardly like to
write it even to you, Anne. We see very little
of papa now, he hardly seems to belong to the
house. There is nothing for him to do in the
dull little houses, where we never stay long
enough to get home-like feeling. OF course
he makes friends wherever 60, but fancy
somehow they are not the sort of people he
cares for mamma and me to be intimate with,
and Pelham looks down upon them, because
you zee they are generally lrish and poor, and
l daresay rather queer, like you and me.
know they would suit me great deal better
sitting prim in the drawing-room, and hear
a loud knock at the front door, rnsh out and
lean over the bsnnisteIs jast to catch the
sound of voices that bring q Whit of home
with them, or to hear laugh or q joking word
that has some heart in it. Then peep and
see papa come out and slip his hand under
some shabbily-coated arm and stroll out of the
open door into the street, talking and laugh
ing, and looking q little bit like his old eelf.
How 1 long to follow him /! / dsresay they are
going to some place that would not suit me,
or he would let me come but, oh my whole
soul goes out in longing for one free day-such
q day as Connor and used to have In plenty
at home. An old man, with very ragged grey
wblskeTs, and wisps of reddish hair round
of me one day. and papa made me come down,
and said who was. He is q doctor bis n anne
is Lynch and, Anne, do believe he is a re-
lation of Peters. He said he lived close to
Good Peoples Hollow in his early days, and
that you were the light of his eyes and the
jewel of his heart; be called me Miss Eileen,
and said was like you. l could have thrown
sf4sss Fe#Rd bis neck and kissed h fst4tli
believe should if Pelham had not coue out
of his study just then, and stood on the land
ing sw cling with disgust at it all. The house
closes behind papa aud his friends. l creep
back to the drawing-room, feeling very guilty,
and mamma turns her sad eyes reproachfully
on me, and fancy she must be reading all the
longings that are in my heart, and hate my
self vehemently for pining after things that
used to pain her. So go up and down. It is
very shadowy bit of road l am walking up
now, aud it is only now and then that can
get fnr-off glimpse of life beyond. The now
and then is generally on Sundays, when man.
ma and l aud Pelham go to church together.
Pelham has decided, as Conpor did when he
went last year to Trinity College, to be con-
frmed in the Eoglish Church; and am very
glad, though it does put another barrier be-
tween them and papa. l never might talk to
you, Anne, about this one ubjeot tnat we care
most about, but will say now that used to
envy you dreadf1lly for going on Sundays
that found it very d,fi3ult sometimes to feel
right in our own church, where there were
only few respectable people, and the going
there seemed chiefly o mark of distinction
between mamma and me. aud our nsighbors.
Here it ia all different, and I am learning to
understand what the teaching of our Church
is, and that its chief merit does not consist in
denying what other people believe. That is
the one bit of light that has come to me here"
ITO be Contnued.)
=,