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A WEEKLY JOURNAL OF POLITI

VOL, Ak by

**'This is t

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lll

*

rue Liberty, when Erceborn Men, huving to udvise

speak

he Public, may

free.”

CS, LITERATURE AND

*? ane Euripides.

See

{ NO. 15

LITERATURE.

LL

—_——ee

(From Mrs. S. C. Hall*s Sketches of Irish Character.) THE LAST OF THE LINE.

On a tranquil evening, in the summer month of June, @ lady of no ordinary ap- pearance sat at an open casement of many culoured gleee, and overlooked a wild, but singularly beaatiful country. From the window a fight of steep stone steps led to a narrow terrace, that, in former times, had been carefully guarded by high parapets of rudeiy-carved granite; but they had fallen to decay, and lay ia wouldering heaps on the shrabby bank, which ran almost perpendi- cularly to a rapid stream that danced like a sunny spirit through the green meadows, dotted and animated with sheep and their sportive lambs. rugsed mountains towered in native dignity, *‘bigh in air,” their grim and sterile appear-

ance forming an extraordinary, but not un-!

leasing, contrast to the pure and happy- Chins valley at their base, where, however, a few dingy peasant-cottages lay thinly scat- tered, injuring, rather than enlivening, a seene that nature had done much to adorn, and man nothing to preserve. Llalf way up the nearest mountain, a jittle chapel dedi

cated to ** our Lady of Grace,’’ hung, like a|

wren's nest, on what seemed a point of rock ; but even its rustic cross was invisible from the autiqne casement, Often and anxiously did the lady watch the distant figures who trod the hill-side towards the holy place, to perform some act of penance or devution.

It was impossible to |ook on that interest- ing woman without affection ; one might have almost thought her destined—

*« To come like truth, and disappear like dreams.’ Though she was young, there was much of the dignity of silent sorrow in her aspect ; and it was dificult to converse with her, without feeling ber influence,—not to over- mower, but to soften. Her form was slight, but rounded to the most perfect symmetry, and an extraordinary Quantity of hair, black

as the raven’s wing, was braided, somewhat |

after the fashion of other lands, over a high and well-formed brow; although such was the etyle of the time, she wore no head-dress, exeept what nature had bestowed ; « golden | rosary, and cross of antique workmanship; a few of the strings of the harp were broken. | and a pile of richly-bound music gave no token of being often disturbid. Silken Otto mans, gilded vases, fresh-gathered flowers, | and a long embroidered sofa, filled up, almost | to crowding, the smal! apartwent. In a} little recess, opposite the window, a child’s| couch was fitted with much taste and care ; the hangings were of bluedamask, curiously | inwrought with silver, such as the nans in | France and Flanders delight to emboss ; there | was also a louse coverlet of the eame mate- | rial, and a tassled oblong cushion at either | end. I have sard that the |ady was seated at the Casement ; sometimes she pressed her swali | white fingers to her brow, and then passed | them over ite rounded surfece, as if to dis- | pel, by that simple movement, thougits, “ the anbidden guests of anxious hours ;°'— but still it was only for a moment her geze wus turned from her beet treasure, her only ehild; her eye followed it as, in its nurse's arms, it enjoyed the evening breeze that played amid Iight-and-clustering hair; the baby had blac eyes and « fuir skin, and if it) suwetimes, in the infantine seriouspees that passed as airy shadows Sver & emijing land- scape, resembled its mother, now, as it laughed and shouted, ia broken accents ** Mamma! mamma!" she thought how like | its father it spoke and lovked. Clavis Abbey | —as the strange mixture of ancient and mo- dern building, inhabited by the household of Sir Jobn Clavis, was’ cailed—was wisely situated. The monks of old aiways chore happily fomtheir monasteries ; sites of their ruined aisles tell of the gvod taste, as well as good sense of their projectors. Hill, wood, and water, were even in their neighborhood and the red deer and gsimon were always near, to contribute to their repast.

But the fair possessions had, nearly two centuries before our tale commences, passed from the hands of holy Mother Charch. The marvellous tale of ita exclange of masters is still often repeated, and always credited ; it| is said and believed that the stream, which rung through the valley I have described, is,

|

every midsummer-night, of a deep-red hue, |

ip mysterious commemoration of the massacre of the priests of that abbey, which took place as late as the Elizabethan reign. Certain it) is that the projector of such indiscriminate |

slaughter never reaped the rich harvest he |

anticipated ; for, unable from severe iliness

to visit the court of the maiden queen, be |

despatched his sun's tator on the mission, |

In the distance, rude and,

/appear, was of too unremantic a disposition |to remove the young baronet’s indifference

| letters conveyed no intelligence of his mar-

| terer, that the idea of such an event o-cur-

farm; when the domestics received her with |

| conjectures.

| mistress is come to Clavis?’’ said one party

lin the Mediterranean ;

‘declared that she was the most charming

lher, or those at whuse houses she was re- Perfectly unconscious of the rules) in | and etiquette of society iv cur colder regiuns,

send forth subjects submissive to college rule ; and the citizens of Dublin were too often in- sulted and aggrieved by the insolent aristo- cratic airs of unfledged boys, ripe for mis- chief, who, half in earnest, half in jest, sported with their comforts, and often with their lives. Party feeling, also, ran (as un- happily there it always does) to a dreadful height; and the young baronet, whose father had invariably drank ‘The Glorious Me- mory,’’ and ** Protestant Ascendancy,’’ every day after dinner, was frequently called upon to defend or support his party, although he invariably declared thatas yet he was of none —that he must wait to make up bis mind, &e. &e. it must be contessed that this ex- traordinary irresolution, at such a period, was more the effect of constitutional apathy than of reflection ; he bad a good deal of the consciousness of birth and wealth about him, bet he disliked either mental or bodily exer- tion. As an only child, he had suffered no- thing like contradiction ; and bad he horse-. whipped and abused his servants (when at the uge of twelve, he eported two of bis own rucers at the Curragh of Kildare), instead of speaking to them as fellow-creatures in a mild and kindly voice, it would have elicited no rebuke from his father, who secretly re- gretted that the youth was neither likely to hecome a five-huccle man, # staunch Orange- man, nor @ member of Parliament—the only three things he considered worth living for The young baronet never could have re-| ‘solved upon visiting the Continent—an ex- | plot he bad Jong talked of—but that an anti-| | cipated general election frightened him away, | }as he would certainly, if at home, have been | expected to offer himself es a candidate, and |make speeches. He hated trouble, and of | the two exertions chose the least—committed | his affairs, for twelve calendar months, to the | / management of Denny Dacey, his nurse's ton, | who had acted, satisfactorily, as steward, | since the second childhood of the old and | respected man who had for sixty years filled | the situation; aud left the Abbey, attended by only two servants and one travelling-car- | riage. This was a matter of surprise and | conversation to many, more particalarly as) Ser Henry and his neighbour, Mr. Dorneliff, | a Cromwellian settler, bad arranged that} their children should be united, when ol | sufficientage. Miss Dorncliff was handsome, and an beiress, and, it was said, in no degree averse to the union, they bad been com- panions in childhood, but the lady, it would

As his carriage rolled past the avenue that led to her dweiling, he merely leaned for- ward, and cast a fleeting glance towards the house. Where he met, aud to what precise circumstance he owed the possession of so lovely a wife as the lady 1 have endeavoured | to describe, is still a mystery ; his business

riage ; nor was it until the arrival of gay furnitore, from a fashionable Dublin uphols-

red tu the inhabitants of Clavis. When the baronet returned, and announc- ed, as his lady, her who leaned upon his}

° | that warm-hearted and affectionate respect |

for which frish servants are so justly cele-| brated ; and when the rumour went abroad | that Sir John Clavis bad married a Spanish | lady, a Catholic, and ‘tone who bad little more English thaa a Kerry-man,’’ great was the consternation, and many and various the “What will become of the ‘ Protestar.t Ascendancy,” and the * Glorivus und Immortal Memory,’ now that a popish

** Some chance of luck and grace turning to the vuld Abbey, now that the right sort’s in it,’’ observed the other. Not a tew affirmed that the lady had absconded from a convent ; others asserted that she was picked off, with a few other survivors, from a wrecked vessel those who had not seen her whispered that she was no better than she should be; but Miss Dorneliff—| who, at first, perhaps, to show she was heart-whole.and afterwards from real regard, was often Lady Clavis’s guest — generously

woman she had ever met, that she was bighly accomplished, and, although a Catholic and a Spaniard, anything but a bigot.

Her want of knowledge of the language, when she arrived, prevented her joining in conversation either with those who visited

ceived.

she was sure to commit some grievous fault | in the arrangement of her guests, which in- variably threw her husband into an ill tem- per, that, after the honey-moon was over, he | seldom thought it necessary to conceal. Sir John bad shaken off a good deal of his ennuz | by journeying ; and when he came home he

HARLOTTETOWN, PRINCE EDWARD ISLAND, MONDAY, FEBRUARY 19, 1866.

Denny Dacey, who from being what in Eng- others!

1 know that he has had an eye to even that dus

t would rise to heaven’s own | “Och, my grief! does hi

say that?

# honour, the masther, ‘with a quick mail of ice. To all this pelting But no matter, Madam, dear; for the | sterm, these wet und exhausted caat-aways, drift-

land is termed a bailiff to the estate, had risen to the rank of agent, under the title, ue bis correspondents set forth, of ‘* Dionysius Dacey, Esq.,”’ &e., &e. How this person ever acquired the influence possessed over his patron, must now remain a mystery : it is tu be supposed that he insinuated himself into his guod graces, as @ weasel does into # rab- bit-burrow, by various twists and windings of which nobler animals are incapable. Ic was no secret in the country that, although Sir John’s political apathy no longer existed, he had not acquired the active habits that ure 80 espec-ally necessary where a gentle. wan's affairs are embarrassed, and where no- thing but geod sense, and steady economy, can retrieve them. During the young baro- net's residence abroad, Dacey had exceed- ingly prospered; and though one or two shrewd landl-olders suspected he used means, not consistent with his employer's interests, to obtain both influence and wealth, there was so mach plausibility stout the man, that the most watchful cuuld bring nothing home to him; his bearing was blunt and open ; | e affected honesty, but his look belied the utterance of his tongue, for his eye lacked the expression of truth, and, instead of

that property this eight years, bat look— | gate to ask for blessings on bis head ”

sooner than Ae should have it, Pll beg my

, bread—I'll sell the estate to a stranger to | Jobn. | prevent the possibility of Lis ever possessing | ‘You are a fool, my dear!’ both thought Vogl» | neure. Dé. ‘Tonempesm bed lest. beth-oup and

an acre of the land.’’

‘and exclaimed Miss Dorncliff; ‘‘ and | only

| She is an angel after all!’’ thought Sir |

love «’ God, as ye value yer own hunour, aud the ing along the cold waters of the Niagara, with ‘honour of this sweet baby, go!—go, for God's the horrid dread of imminent death to treege their sake!—or you'll be surry fur it,—soark my | bearte within them, wereexposed for three mortal

*+ Please yerself, sir,’’ replied the manager, | wish I were big enough to throw him over jpont manner and gestures, but still she remained

sweeping some of the papers into a wide- the terrace of this old musty place, and |

firm to her purpose. She was suffering

‘mouthed canvass sack which he drew from would soon choose you a husband worthy of | acutely from mental anxiety and bodily exertion:

}under his chair,

j the upholsterer, letter — swears if he’s nos he'll clap on an execution like light-| you, ; it's as good as £2,500 now, with as be cautiously closed the window,resolving

| paid, jing ; | costs.’’

**Here’s Mr. Damask’s, | your love.” “Upon my word, I am much obliged to

Jiss Minx !’’ marmured the baronet

to turn over a new leaf, and station himself, for the remainder of the evening, in his wife's

and as Sir John had continued to treat ber with great kindness, she was anxious to show how willingly she would yield to his wishes—even

.

Lady Clavis was astonished at the girl's vehe-

gloves. His clothing was frezen into the = vt iron armour, and be became incapable of mo- tion except as be slightly swung his arms to them flexible. All that he could do for bi was to shout and ery for belp, which he did | steadily, and with the whole strength of his lungs | forbours, Fortunately, possessed of a magnificent

where they were opposed te her own. But Mary | physique in every respect, his yoice was eapable / was uot to be thus satisfied. She “* hushowed" | of the exertion, Ounce, somewhere in the vicinity her litde charge to sleep, and descended to the lof Lower Black Rock, he received a response

‘+ Fire and fury!" exclaimed the baronet, who, his apathy once shaken off, became | dressing-room.

drive me mad?”’

Mahon’s little letter,’’ continued the man of business, quietly, ‘‘ who writes, that as you've decided ov standing, in opposition to him, he’il trouble you for the money he lent you as good as four years ago, to complete some purchase or other; it ends very civilly though, by saying that it’s only the know- ledge that » gentleman like you will be a formidable adversary, Which obliges him to strain every nerve to make his own step

evep how.

call my life my own—the termagen goodness, | escaped her! my blessing before !’’

\ Iie could not avoid think- terrible in his sivlence ; ‘*do you want © as - penes mete. the winding om her head so as to cateh any sound that might pass and could do nothing. The miserable fool, or

ors and up the staircases, **a very pretty along, having ascertained

Then I'll say nothing of Mr. Barry | wife L should have had, if it had been as my | speaking within. worthy agent seems to think it might be she was led away, Tbe fellow means well, but he is| “natural curivsity,” to draw near—very near ; mistaken ; I should not have been able to Se hear that her ear eovered the key-hole-—and t! Thank | listen— syetematieally listen—to whatever’ con-

1 never valued |

“into corners—with eat like quickness, watch- |

' mere action of the eye, almost without refer- | have, 7 know—means, somehow or other, of

firu.’’ “A blight apon him and bis civility !”’ ‘*Then here is—’’ Mr. Dacey was pre- ing @ fitting opportunity, when those with | vented from finishing his sentence, by Sir whom he conversed were busied about other | Jubn’s striking the table so violently with matters, to scan and observe their counte-| his clenched hand, that the very punch- nances. It has been to me un entertaining, | bowl trembled, and the agent ejaculated, trough often an unpleasing, study, to attend | ** Lord save us !”’ to the varied expressions conveyed by the| ‘+ Look here!’’ said the baronet, ‘* you

}

looking forth siraightly from beneath its pent-house lid, was everlastingly twisting |

ence to the other features; and I would raising money when you like; find me the avoid, as 1 would @ poisoned adder, the per-|sum of ten thousand pounds by this day son whose eye quivers or looks down, | week, and that very estate, 80 covetted by The two friends (such is the usual term | my cousin Corney, shall be yours for ever, given to those who eat meat at the same | at a peppercorn rent, provided the matter be board) were seated at either end of a some- | kept secret; mind, provided it be kept secret, what long table, on which were piled papers | and you bind yourself never to let a twig of of various dates and dimensions; a huge /it into Corney s possession."” bowl of punch had been nearly emptied of} ‘+ It's easy to keep secret # thing that its contents, and the baronet did not appear | never happens,’’ observed Dacey, rolling the particularly fit for business. He leaned list- | cordof the bag between his finger and thumb ; lessly on the table, as if in reverie, and it|‘* is it me get money when [ lke ?—and I was only Dacey’s yoice that roused him from | obliged to go at credit even for these brogues his refleetion. on my feet!’’—and he put fourth a topped ** But, my dear Sir John,”* he commenced, | boot, well- polished and shining, as he spoke.

maid waiting to receive the child.

take Miss Madeline in myself.”’ llow easily can a man make the woman

who truly loves him, happy! 1t was enough

side — enough that he smiled upgn her— enough that he called her ‘darling ;’’ al- though it would have been better for them ‘both, had she possessed the strength of mind | to entitle her to the name of *‘friend,’’ the most sacred, yet the most abused, of all en- dearing terms. Miss Dorncliff exulted in her happiness, though her more cocl and deli>er- ate temperament led her to believe that Sir Jobn’s ‘‘love-fit,’’ as she t-rmed it in her own mind, would net be of long duration. | She little knew the service she had rendered Lady Clavis by ber somewhat intemperate advice; nor the dread of the baronet lest any portion of that advice should be followed by his gentle wife.

As Mary Conway, Madelina’s nurse, de- scended to the vestibule, she heard a voice, whose sound was familiar to her ear, repeat her name two or t:.ree times, and in various

with his peculiar drawl, while his eye was} ‘The Corner estate, aa it is called,’ re- fixed on the punch-ladle; ** My dear Sir! peated Sir John. John, "pon my sow! it weighs upon my con-| **Ata peppercorn rent,”’ pondered Dacey ; science, so it does, to be managing here, and|*if a body could any way wake up the you to the fore, with such a fine head and so | money, I'd do a dale to oblig? you, sir, and, | much cleverness (a shy glance to see how the | though I've neither cross uor coin to bless) flattery took); ‘tis a shame you don’t turn myself with, to be sure | know them that bag, | it to yourself, for by-"n-by you Il, may-be,) who, maybe, fur a valuable consideration, | find things worse nor you think ‘em, as || might—though I don't know—the little es- have told you before, God knows—”’ ' tate—eh !—ten thousand—it’s badly worth *‘And will my looking over these cursed | that, Sir John, unless, indeed, you'd throw papers make things better? It is positively ithe fourteen acres of pasture by the lock enough to set mé mad — just at a time, too, | into it.”’ when our grand county meeting is coming} ‘ Well!’’ exclaimed the indolent baronet, on, and the general election, and so much | though perfeetly conscious that the land was exertion expected from me; and the house | worth double the sum; * we'll talk about will be full of English company from the | that, provided you fasure me the money; eastle, and Lady C. has not an idea how land now gather your parchments,and vanish ; | English people should be entertained.’’ ‘I've bad enough of arithmetic to last me for | ** But sure Miss Dorncliff is coming to stop | 3.me months—and, Dacey !’’ with my lady while they stay.”’ ** Yes, sir.’’ ‘Very true; she is a capital, good-na-| + After the election, I will really look into tured girl, “faith, and much better looking | matters myself; but, at present, whet the

tones ; she lingered for a moment, and then, us if gladly remembering that her infant charge was committed to its parent’s care, turned into an abrupt passage, leading from the great hall to one of the archways, where dews and damps mouldered from day to day upon the massive walls.

‘*What are ye afther wantin’ now, Mister Benjy ?’’ she inquired, as the outline of her lover's (for there’s no use in concealing the fact) figure became visible to her laughing eyes.

“ Nothing particular, that is to say very parti- cular,” replied the youth, who was no other than Dacey's nephew; “only I'm going a journey to- night, and } thought I'd be all the better for youn Gud spoed, or, wiy-be, a bit of prayer to the saints you think so much of.”

“A Journey—where to ?” inquired Mary, with a palpitating heart.

“ Why. thin, just to Dublin, Mary, honey. And it’s glad enough I'd be to get out of this murderin’ grand ould place, only just for one single thing.”

“ And might a body kuow whut that is?” again

than she was eight years ago, when L lett | guod of my country is at stake—when we are [reland. Oh, dear! | wonder you men ol | threatened with invasion from without, and | furtune marry, Dacey !"’ rebellion from within—the man mast be

‘+ Sir John, it is very necessary.” | basely selfish who thinks of self —Oh,Ds2ey!

“Well, well, { suppose it 1s, but say no) did you sve the Madeira salely into the more about it; there are enough of disagree- | cellar? ’ uble subjects on the table already.’? The | ++ Yes, Sir John.” baronet looked upon the pile of papers, and| «Good night, Dacey !—there —good night the agent glanced keenly up, but his eye wa8| —you won't forget—ten thousand—bard | quickly withdrawn, | gold—none of your fliwsy paper—the Cor-

** My lady was in a convent, | believe, Sir | ner estate.”

John?" ** And the pasture.”’

‘Ay; it was a fine exploit to get herout) «There, good might,” repented the baro- of it. Well, poor thing, she trusted to my |net,as the wily agent bowed himself out of lonour, and was not deceived.”’ ; the apartment. Sir John Clavis rose from

‘Of course you were married by a priest?’’ | jis seat, and threw open the window which (This was said cautiously.) was directly under the turret that formed

ingtired the maiden.

“Honour bright, Mary, because T shan’t see yer sweet smilin’ face for many a long day, may- b:; fur uncle says he has a dale uv’ business te transact in Dublin, and that be’ll be wanting me to look after it; indeed, 'm thinkin’ he has a no- tion we're keeping company, and don’t over hke it: though, Mary, darlin’, it’s wore nor he can do to put between us.”

Mary covered ber face with her hand, and, though no sigh or suuud escaped her lips, teare bedewel ber cheeks. She was nothing more ner less than a frank-hearted, good-natured girl, with only three, or, perhaps, four, definite ideas in he pretty round bead—the first of which was decid ed Jove for her mistress, and her mistress's child —a great portion of affection for Benjamin Dacey —and no small regard for finery, in all its

‘+ ‘To be sure we were, and by a jovial fel-| the boudoir of hie Spanish wife ; indeed, it | branches and bearings; she consequently had not

low too; he went with me to the convent-| was the sound of her guitar that had drawa

wall, and performed the ceremony at the foot of a beautiful old cross, by the way-side. as the moon was sailing over our heads, and the orange-trees were showering perfume sround us. Poor Madelina?”’ he continued, almost involuntarily, ‘* | found the withered orange-blossoms, which that night [ boand upon her maiden brow, encased in a casket, with the hair of our child, only this morn- ** You had the ceremony repeated on your arr val in England ?"* inquired Dacey.

Sir John Clavis fixed his eyes upon the reptile, and, in @ sterner tone of voice than was his wont, in his turn became the querist.

** Why do you ask ?”’

‘¢For no reasun, only that if you hada

him to it; and he recognized a favourite seguidilla, to which he had written words; he remembered having taught her to repeat them ; and the full rich voice that had given them so much beauty—if in thas twilight hour it sounded less melodioas—had never fallen upon his ear so full of tenderness ; its simple burden— « Sweet olive-groyves of Spain,”

brought the remembrance of what Madelina was to him, in the days when he playfully chid the mispronunciation of his poetry ; and as the prospect of recciving the ten thousand, and not being plagued about money matters, had somewhat soltened his temper (the idea that he was diminishing his property had no share whatever in his thoughts—possessing,

son it would be well to see that the marriage

with eae of * services an had | nv longer stood on neutral ground, but saf- rendere oi “ i r od od * | fered the excitement of politics to take the o- os T — 'b ane Se oot | place of that which is the accompaniment of wiseccepuetehe te tha . at lela tena! travelling. He “— now discovered that, - . + Hal one) phe honour of the house, it was necessary be

re einen Mode | should adopt bis father’s side of the ques- y . ‘| tion ; and accordingly the gardener was or- 80 far oo ere oe, her disples-| gered to fill the flower-beds with orange sure, and bestowed the fa'r lands of Che mur-! 1146 and the hangings of the spare rooms

dered monks upon Oliver Clavis, the false, but handsome, accessory of the priest-siayer. But no family could take possession of con- secrated ground in Ireland, without falling under the ban of both Church and people ;

were garnished with orange bindings. Un- fortunately, the members of an Orange Lodge | were invited to dine at the Abbey, and Lady Clavis positively refused to wear their color,in any way, Lecause she considered it asthe sym- |

und notwithetanding-the — and en bol of persecution to the Catholic religion, cunduct of the new owner of the estate. then if which she was a devout and faithful mem-

called Clavis Abbey, Oliver lived and died | ber, When her husband: after mach conten. |

was firm and Jegul.’’

‘Thank yon,”’ replied the baronet, drily, ‘* there is not much chance of that being the case ; and if there was—

A long pause followed the last sentence, which neither seemed inclined to disturb. Dacey gathered the papers towards him, and, pulling his spectacles from his forehead to his nose, occupied himself in sorting and placing them in separate piles; every five or ten minutes a heavy sigh escaped from his | lips, the lust of which was so audible, that Sir John exclaimed, ** What the devil, wan alive, do you growl! for in that manner 2 one would think that you expected the ghost of your nocle, the priest, to start forth from the papers, and upbraid you with your apus-

unpopular. Tradition says that none of the | tion,gave up the point, she ordered a green vel- | tacy !””

theirs male of the family ever departed peace-| ..¢ Grogs for the occasion, embroidered with | golden shamrocke ; she did this with a view | therm’ debts, custodiams, thrown-ap leases

lour whieh emblems the beiuty and fertility | on account of the backrent, and the Lord

fully in their beds, and much learned and unlearned lore is still extant upon the |

. to gratify him, never imagining that the co- subject. 4 J &

“ Sorra a ghost at all, then, Sir John among the papers; only the reality of bo-

Somewhat about the year 1782, Sir John | uf Ireland, cou/d be obnoxious to any body | knows what!”

Clavis entered upon bis title and property, i | of Lrishmen.

What, then, was her astonish- |

** And whose fault is it ?°’ replied the gen

as he did, the dangerous—nay, fatal, faculty of looking on/y on to-day), he thought, I say, of his wile, with more complacency than he had done since the affair of the green velvet. He was pleased when he heard Miss Dorncliff (of whose arrival he was unconscivue) urge her to repeat the strain. She commenced, but at a line which be well remembered— “7 know no blesssing but thy smile.”

[ler voice faltered, and the next moment he heard her friend chiding away her tears ; his first impulse was to proceed to her apart- ment, and inquire their cause; but then he hated scenes; and vanity or curiosity, or both, prompted him to remain; and the broken dialogae which followed, happily for the repose of his soul, roused, in his wife’s cause, the best feeling’ of his heart. Many were the affectionate exptessivns lavished by Miss Dornehff on her friend, and wany the entreaties that she would cease to agitate herself upon what, she insisted, was a sur- mise without a foundation.

** You would not say so,” replied Made-

a multiplicity of objects to divide her attention, which was therefore steadily devoted to the ser- vice of her three ot four several propensities. The idea of her lover's being sent away, and to Dub- lin too, overwhlemed her with grief, to which she would have given more audible vent, but that Benjamin had unwittingly observed, his “ uncle didu’t ever like his keeping company with her,’ which aroused the maiden’s pride; she therefore said ‘that, indeed, Mr. Dacey ought to remiw- ber when he once held two or three acres of land under her father,” and that, “though she was at the Avbey, she was far from being a rale sarvaat ; she took care of Miss Maddy more from pure love nor anythirg else. Maybe, it was Mister Benjy himself that wanted tu be off the promise—if so, she was willing and ready,” &c. &c. But, in fact, these lovers’ quarrels are the same in all eases; I could give a recipe by which people might quarrel, agreeably, ten times a week on an average—only, as love would be the principal in- gredient in my prescription, I fear the misunder- standings would be too soon understood for your genuine downright-in earnest qnarrellers. I must

parting scene, but only recount that “ Mary,” as she afterwards expressed it, “got a dale out of Benjy, which no one should be the wiser for; only her heart was fairly crushed — thinkin’ what a

an uncle ;” even this she only communicated to her particular friend and companion, Patty Grace

When the expected company arrived from Dublin—from “the Castle,” as it his been fami- liarly termed for ages — it was evid snt that Sir John had verved his mind to some great under- taking to which he was secretly urged by Dennis Dacey. Indeed, the particular party which had vnee been tea by his tather, were anxious he should (read in the same steps, and they again regretted that his usivn with a Catholic wa- likely to cool his ardour iu “the good cause ;” they, however, did their best to urge him forward —and ‘‘the glorious and immurtal memory’ was drank so often after dianer, that those who sacri- ficed to the sentiment had neither glorious noi inglorious memory left. The hutnble parish priest

for Lady Clavis that her husband was at ber

not tarry with those young people, during their |

misfortune it was to a bey like him to leave such |

lobby that led to her master’s study. She paused for a few moments at the entrance, and inclined

that persous were I cannot avoid lamenting that by what might be called

versation was going on. She might have remain- | ed some fifteen minutes, in no very comfortable ‘attitude, when she suddeuly started up; but bad

He met his child in the lobby, and took | hardly receded three steps trom the door, when

the laughing cherub from the nurse's to his j, was opened, and the reund vulgar face ot own arms. Ashe prepared to enter, “You | Pacey appeared, carefully prying inte the dark- may go down, Mary,’’ he said, seeing the | ness. Mary eaw she could not escape unnoticed, *¢ T will | so, with ready wit, she inguired, “ Oh, Misther

| Dacey, have you seen my lady's Finny? I've

| been huntin’ all the evenin’ after the ugly baste,

and can get neither tale nor tidings of it—Finny! —Finny !—Finny !”

“Can ye see in the dark, like the cats, Miss Mary, with yer fine red topnut?” said Dacey, earnesily.

“Troth you way ask that,” she replied, * for

| my candle went out.”

“ Aud where’s the candlestick, Miss Mary?” persisted the keen querist.

** No wonder ye'd inquire, but sorra one have we been able to lay hands on these three weeks, fur the shoals o’ company, so I just used the same candlestick my father and your father, Misther Dicey, war best acquainted with—my fingers, wiv! Finny !—Fi.ny!—Finny |"

She was receding, calling the dog at the same time; when Dacey, whose ire was roused, fol- lowed her nearly to the end, and said, “ You'd better not turn yer tongue against my family, Miss Impudence, for ye're mighty anxivus to get into it, I'm thiakia’.”

“Not inate your family, Misther Dacey,” re. torted Mary proudly. “Anxious, indved! J don’t deny that Benjy and 1 have been keepia’ company, though my true belief is, he's no newyy of youre. Ye'd think little of adeptin® any man’s child or property eitker.”

“Hah!” he exclaimed, sizing her arm, and pressing it firmly, “is that the news ye're afther? —ye'd be tuer ” but the girl prevented his finishing his threat by screaming “ Murder!" se loudly, that Sr John Clavis rushed out, with a candle in his hand, tv inquire into the nature of the disturbance.

Dacey lovked extremely foolish, while Maury litted her apron to her eyes, and, with well-feigned tears, declared, “ Its a shame —and F'li tell my lady, so I will, that when I was looking for little Finny, be came vut of your henour'’s study to kiss we, yer honor —a dacent girl like me — I'll teli my Jady, so LT wil, Finny! — Finny !— Fiuny!” And off she marched triumphantly, leaving Dacey to explain his equivocal situativi as he aah could.

(To be concluded next No.)

MISCELLANEOUS KEWS, |

GE OLLI ADRIFT ON THE ICE.

| FEARFUL ADVENTURE ON NIAGARA RIVER ONE MAN DROWNED AND TWO WONDERFULLY SAVED—THB SURVIVORS AFLOAT ON CAKES OF ICE FOR THRER HOURS, DRIFTING SEVEN MILES TOWARD THE FACLS.

(From the Buffalo Express, Jan. 16.)

We bave to recount this morning one of the most fearful and extraordinary stories of perilous adventure, death and suffering, that has ever been our lut to make public. Ot the three actors and sufferers in it, one is a prominent and widely- known gentleman of this city, Wiliam A. Thomp aon, Esq., the proprietor and now Vice-President of the new Erie and Niagara Railroad, running from Fort Erie to Niagara. We have obtained our particulars of the story from the lips of Mr. Thompson, who survives to relate such an ex- perience as few men in the world have passed throngh.

It seems that on Saturday afternoon the quan- tity of ice passing down the river Irom the lake caused the ferry-boat plying between Black Rock and Fort Erie to suspend her trips. Mr. Thomp- son, who was on the other side and desired to cross to this, accepted the ofler of a coloured boy named Wilham Bartlett to row him across in a amwali boat, not realizing at the moment the diffi- culty of the passage, occasioned by the movement! of ice. Subsequently he was joined for the trip by a man named Warren, foreman under the contractors of the Erie and Niagara Railroad, who was very anxious to reach this side in time tu take the G p. um. train to Suspension Bridge going home to his family at Prescott,C. W. On reaching the river side Mr. T. saw the hazard of the attempt at crossing, and would have receded, but Mr. Warren preseed him to go on, and he was prevailed upeu by his companion’s anxieties

About half-past 5 o'clock the three pushed out iuto the stream. They found much difficulty in waking their way through the ice, which ran close to shere, and again Mr. Thompson advised a return. But presently getting through the shore pack of ice they found clear water, and went forward confidently, meeting no obstacles util they again neared the shure on the American | side, near the Erie Mills, when the ice preased about them thicker than in the first instance. | Mr. Thompson then gave an imperative order to | the boy to back away and return, but it was too ‘late. They had entered so far that return was impossible. They were caught by theice, wedged fast between its grinding cakes, and could go neither forward nor back. Auother moment, and it had crushed the sides of their boat, so that it | began to fill rapidly and sink,

The three immediately leaped out upan a cake of ice nearest at hand, which proved to be but a awall one, scarcely larger thap a dour, and drew the boat partly uponal after them. Their bope was ia being able to tury the crafl bettom up and j amount its keel, iu which position they might be | loated by it; bul the mass was not large enough

5

j tion, * My Ged! my Gud!"

consequ father, Sit flenry, who was drowned on a}

moosshing night, when the air and the sea) her costame—which occasioned a flood of | property, and why should it not continue so ? were calm, and he was returning from an | ¢ears from one party, and from the other, an | L’m sure L can’t think how the money goes; | held sacred; the little silver shrine that my

excursion to one of those fairy islands that | at once beautify ana render dangerous the |