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like most of his infatuated countrymen he speculated and in one
unlucky year lost all. Still such was the regard in which he was
held, that it was more than probable that in time and by an or-
dinary share of prudence he might once more have risen
over the ruins of his own imprudence. He was of that
warm and enthusiastic disposition that had there been no suffer-
ers but himself he would have been led to consider his failure in
a much calmer light, but in the silent sorrow of bis faithful wife
and the tearful countenance of his only and beloved daughter,
there was a voiceless and heart rending upbraiding. Nor was their
dejection so much from the mere loss of worldly gear. Much of
his former prosperity had taken its rise froin their undeviating pru-
dence and sober advice. Their tale was but the tale of many; with.
the loss of property died away comforts that in his impoverished
state it was impossible to possess. He was no longer the rich farmer
that could ride to the sessions or fairs on a blood horse, whose
vote was solicited with a bow by the aspirant for parliainentary
honors. Kylie now was obliged to labour even as the humblest cot-
er. These are stories and trials of every day occurrence ; we
hear of such ruins, but from their frequency an apathy steals
over hearts even of a sensitive nature,and our passions deadened
by numerous appeals to commiseration, we at last learn to look
on sorrows with a cold and almost indifferent eye. It is only
when some peculiar case comes under our immediate notice -
and where we are in a manner implicated with the mourners that
our hearts become enlisted in their sorrows. It was perhaps
the sight of Ellen O'Harra's simple yet interesting grief, her soft
and saddened countenance that awoke my selfish sorrow, for. I
had come and mingled heart and soul in all the intoxicating
mirth of boisterous play, and the fascinations of old country
legends and the unburied dead claimed as little if not less
sympathy from me than any of the volatile rustics by whom I
was surrounded ; yet here the irresistible charm of female beauty
acting on a young and romantic heart, had made me already a
devoted admirer. To return to the fate of her father, impove-
rished and depressed Kylie for many months was sunk in a
state of the deepest dejection. Warm and enthusiastic the sud-
den downfall of all the golden visions that illusive hope had
raised, crushed the warm and generous springs of a noble and
open-hearted disposition.

Yet still the desolation of this house was not unvisited, the flower that bloomed mid the loneliness of blighted fortune spread a charm over the gloom of indigence, and Ellen saw in the ardent eyes and manly countenance of Murrough O'Brien, the love that knew no change either from the vissici. tudes of fortune, or the sneers of a cold and heartless world. Yet

the proud disposition of the spirited Kylie forbade the idea of receiving pecuniary aid ; and although in the addresses of Murrough to his child, he gave a warm and sincere concurrence, it was but in the natural wish to see his daughter united to one whose ample means and long attachment had well deserved the meed of her hand. But 'tis too true, as was and ever will be remarked, “ the cause of true love never did run smooth.” Her heart had long been another's and it was with a tearful eye, and a blushing cheek that Ellen faultered forth the fatal truth. She had loved one who had likewise seen the days of more prosperous fortune, from youth they had grown together, the sunrise of childhood slept in the remembrance of both, the years entering on the spring of life had visioned forth a pilgrimage when the star of hope settling o'er the visionary shadow of declining life, pictured calm domestic happiness. But that star was drawn of a luckless horoscope. He was an orphan, and had been the offspring of an old and decayed family, the remnants of which, scattered over the face of the earth sought in foreign shores that home and existence denied them in their own beautiful but luckless country. The fate of Arthur Claney was twined with that of Kylie O'Harra; he had joined him in his speculations with the little le possessed, and both fell.

The knowledge of this ruin pressed heavy on the sensitive heart of Ellen, and doubly dear became that being whose worldly prospects had been blasted by the imprudence of her father. Poverty had now to be their portion, but poverty with him was to her heart, crushed as it was, a silent happiness. They had nothing to lose, and in the calm interchange of unalterable affection, hope looked forth with beaming eyes, the slumbering fire of the great internal volcano of rebellion had burst forth, wounded by the harsh dealings of a world that had dealt so ruinously with him, and infatuated with the idea of imaginary freedom, Kylie was one of the first to join the standard of the Irish Insurgents. Little remains to be told, he was one of the first victims to a justly enraged Government, taken at the strife of the hill of Tarra, his life was declared forfeit to the Crown and an immediate and shameful death was his luckless doom. Long was it ere the unfortunate remnants of his family recovered in some degree the overwhelming effects of the shock, unwearied was the kindness of Murrough O'Brien, but their fears now became more painfully alive from the infatuation of one more dear to them. Tinged with the romantic idea of seeing freedom established on another and different basis of Government he had entered into the wild strife with all the enthusiasm of youth; the burst of the storm was over, yet there still remained in nightly meetings a dreadful surety of the existence of rebellion. So completely had he become wrapped up in the commotions of the period that even the beauty and silent sorrow of Ellen O'Harra sank beneath its predominating sway. It was at one of those wild meetings that being attacked by a part of the military stationed at the neighbouring town to whom intelligence of the proposed assembly had been conveyed, that he met his death, and it was over the one, that the infatuation of a sire had led astray that the tear of beauty fell, and where bowed down and heart-crushed by repeated misfortune the widow of Kylie had gazed on the wreck of youth.

Again the laugh and the song prevailed and the passing commiseration that the widow and her ill fated daughter had elicited died with their departure. Light hearted, the Irish soon forget grief and in a meeting composed of people who mostly came to keep up the country custom of “ waking," little show of sorrow could be expected. The unfortunate person on whose account

the faint semblance of sorrow was assumed had had but one • hope to realize, one ambition to attain, that of calling Ellen

his wife, her heart mid all his reckless folly had been his, and the proud consciousness of that inestimable treasure had often soothed the bed of sickness and the hours of sorrow!

I could not help turning round once more to gaze on the remains of him who had been happy in the love of such a gentle being as had mourned over his bier. He exhibited the remains of what certainly might have been deemed a fine young man, but I could not help reverting to the manly and handsome countenance of Murrough O'Brien. Death however might have effected much change in his appearance and the fair being of his heart's dream seemed just that kind of character that would have formed an attachment more on the virtues than the outward semblance of a lover. Yet in her lover's history there was nothing to recommend him beyond being as he well might be faithful to a lovely and constant girl.

I now no longer felt any interest in the scene and after expressing my thanks to the old farmer who had played my host during the night and whom I found to be a distant relation of the deceased I took my departure. The drifting haze that had enveloped the moon's disk had disappeared, and the Queen of Night shed her broad and beautiful beams on my homeward track. My destination was soon reached, and on my welcome couch vague and wandering dreams of the events of the evening passed in dim array. Methought that I was standing in the antient hall of one of the isolated Towers of the Irish. It stood on a high hill, and overlooked an immense valley where the white tents of a beleaguring army of" the marcher Lords,” lay extended like mounds of snow, the hall was dimly lit by the waning light shed by the moonbeams through the narrow casements, there were spears, battle axes, and bull hide shields with steel knobs hung on the walls, and on a kind of raised bier lay extended the figure of an Irish knight, the face was ghastly pale, (the aspect that the corpse had worn), the head was covered with a close fitting iron skull cap, over the body reaching half way down the thigh, was a shirt of Spanish link mail, the limbs were cased in plate amour, and by his side was laid a heavy two-handed sword. The scene again suddenly changed; a number of bearded men in long ancient fileas or mantles and high conical caps resembling Bishop's Mitres entered bearing pine torches, five or six minstrels habited in long yellow linen robes commenced their, “ Clareschs," a low plaintive funeral dirge, during which a lady in snow-white garments entered, and gliding to the head of the apartment bent over the corse and in the fair and sorrowful countenance of the vision was pictured the resemblance of Ellen O'Harra. But like all incoherent dreams the scene changed and I reverted to the feats of the giants and the magic circles of the less repulsive fairies, until the dawning of the morning light awakened me from my unquiet slumbers and brought back to recollection, the occurrences of the earlier part of the night and the melancholy fate of the O'Harras.

I. K. L.


Go, seek the midnight feast, the revel gay,
Fantastic pleasure's orgies frail and free; --
Go, bow to rank, -and bend the supple knee
At shrines where fashion's slaves their homage pay ;
Go, sun thyself in splendour's glistering ray,--
Mix in the maze where folly weaves her dance,
And drain the wassail-bowl,—and court the glance,
With which proud Woman fascinates her prey !
The bunt, the hall, the banqnet-room all bright,
Where drunken mirth is urged by music's art.
What are they all to him, whose lonely heart
Is as an island without home or light ?
What are they all to him who seeks in vain
A friend, to soothe his saddened spirit's paiu

R. C. C.


Go! thou art free! I give thee back

Thy promise and thy vow;
Love's flowers that sprung across our track

Bear friendship’s fruitage now:
And can this be? Oh! deem not so
Thine was not love for

me ; Friendship on love can never grow,

But, lady, thou art free!

And now I'll bask my withered heart

In every sun that shines,
I'll play the reveller's wildest part,

And search mirth’s deepest mines :
I'll bend my knee at pleasure's shrine

Resigning beads and books
For sparkling eyes and sparkling wine,

Cold liquors, and warm looks !

What tho' the worm be at my breast,

The fire within my brain,The maniac hath his hour of rest,

And hugs his galling chain !
And thou shalt be forgotten, dear!

When I myself forget;
And memory's light, quenched by a tear,

Shall like the bright sun set!

They told me, long ago, that thou

Would'st cease to care for me,
But I believed thein not,- that vow

So holy seemed to be!
Well! be it so—there are sweet flowers,

And smiling scenes around,
And blithe birds sing in peaceful bowers,

Though yet I hear no sound.
But I shall have a merry task

Ere yet my life be o'er;
In every sunny beam I'll bask,

And stray on every shore:
For hearts, they say, are like the wind

That roves from tree to tree,-
And mine a resting place may find,

Though, lady, thou art free!

R. C. C.

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