and obliged to prostrate herself upon the ground, so as to let the stormy blast pass over her. Mechanically and like one blindfolded she continued her way along the desolate moor, the obscurity of the night preventing her discerning any guiding point with which she was familiar. She knew instinctively that the chapel must be somewhere beyond the dark vista that lay extended before her in the solitude of that fearful night. The storm and the darkness had no terrors for her, and she felt that she could have encountered them for ever, were it only permitted her to reach in time that one little spot of earth which held all her hopes of happiness or despair. Alas! cannot the intensity and agony of such moments as those-moments which overtake us when we are most happy and least prepared for them—make up for hours of neglect and forgetfulness? Poor Kitty! she reached her goal, but only in time to see the first faint streaks of dawn in the east. It was too late! Nevertheless, with this terrible certainty oppressing her, she trimmed and lighted the little lamp just as she had ever been accustomed to do. Strange, incomprehensible mortals are we even to ourselves!-how, in the most critical moments of our existence, we still keep up the formula of what constitutes our daily habits! This young girl, who, regardless of the fury of the elements, had exposed herself to them, and almost hoping against hope, arrived too late for the purpose upon which every feeling of her mind was concentrated; yet the creature of custom (as we all are, though often without being aware of it), she mechanically performed a duty, though a neglected one, as if that moment was to her one of perfect indifference.

Then falling upon her face before the figure of the Virgin, upon whose dim outline were now visible a few pale streaks of light that fell through the open door from the far-off sky, she remained motionless and speechless in acknowledgment of her fault.

A restless feeling once more stealing over her, she rose

and quickly left the chapel, and went on in the direction of the beach, where she wandered about a long time watching the day breaking over the sea, and the advancing tide bringing in its melancholy freight of soulless mortality.

At this sight the apathetic feeling that had fallen upon her gave place to one of horror and remorse, and she fell senseless upon the sands-not far from the ghastly spectacle of the drowned. A short time afterwards she was found there by her friends, who having missed her, had come out to look for her.

From that day a blight fell upon the once happy careless girl, that no medical skill could counteract. All the quacks round about the place were sought for, to administer their united skill, and give concoctions of the most subtle herbs, but all was in vain.

The girl's mother, as a last resource, took her to one of the "holy wells," so celebrated and adored by the lower order in Ireland, as possessing many miraculous and healing virtues.

To one of these the sanguine mother, with her miserable daughter resorted; they remained days and nights on their bare knees, only at intervals stopping to rest from mere exhaustion and physical pain. Beseechingly and fervently they both invoked their patron saint-Saint Patrick-and the blessed Virgin, against whom the superstitious and ignorant girl believed she had committed a deadly sin.

There are certain seasons in the year when these pilgrimages are made, the people often coming from one county to another (distance in their opinion seeming to lend enchantment to their hopes). At such periods, and not far from the scene of this mortification. of the flesh, were to be met with upon the public roads and fields, disease and deformity in all forms and stages, struggling on together as best they could, in order to reach this panacea of health.

For many days after Kitty's pilgrimage to the well,

she was supposed to have rallied a little from the inertness that had fallen upon her. No doubt imagination and national temperament helped to deceive both herself and friends into the belief that the waters of the "holy well" had happily not been sought by her in vain. But as time went on, to the disappointment and grief of her family, the insidious malady returned to her with redoubled rapidity. And, singular to relate, no reasoning could prevail upon her to see her betrothed, who was broken-hearted at the fearful turn affairs had taken. The poor girl looked upon him as the chief cause of her neglected duty. Her dying wish was that she might be interred upon the top of the cliff outside the chapel, as a warning to others, who, like her, in the giddiness of their heart might be tempted to forget what they owed to duty. She firmly believed that her spirit would hover over the spot, and prevent any further mischief to those at sea.

Now, as Catherine looked out upon the spot where the solitary mound of earth marked the penitent girl's last resting-place, a strange supernatural fear crept over her; she thought of that which the girl with her dying breath had prophesied. It seemed to her(of what is not the mind capable in moments of intense fear?)-as if an impalpable form was soaring over the grave. The wind had subsided, while a mysterious. hush appeared to rest upon all around; the very waves of the ocean swept on as gently as clouds; even the leaves of the trees, planted near the chapel, stood motionless. A coldness, as if it were of death and the grave, was creeping over her; with a desperate effort she rose from her knees, and groped her way along the outside of the chapel, till she stood over the mound of earth. She threw herself beside it, till all fear had gradually passed away from her heart. The events of the morning returned to her mind, and she thought of the contents of the paper found by her; she involuntarily began to repeat the words therein written-they had a

strange, soothing influence upon her; then she looked up to the dark clouds, and repeated, half aloud :

"The upward lifting of an eye

When none but God is near."

Day was breaking as she entered the house.

CHAPTER VIII.

"I long to lay this painful head
And aching heart beneath the soil,
To slumber in that dreamless bed
From all my toil.

Hark! a strange sound affrights mine ear,
My pulse, -my brain runs wild.

I rave;

Ah! who art thou whose voice I hear?
'I am The Grave.""

MONTGOMERY.

UPON one of those dull, short days in November, when a thick, soft, almost imperceptible rain was falling, that damps rather than wets one's clothes, and is so frequent in Ireland, that the people there have so far deceived themselves into calling it "feine moist weather" (the correct appellation-a rainy day-is never heard), a young girl might have been seen wending her way in the direction of a long line of little cabins. She was dressed in a dark woollen skirt, looped up, and about her shoulders was wrapt a bright red cloak, the hood of which was drawn over her head, yet partly admitted to view the pale face beneath, with its bright dark eyes, that had now a half frightened and settled purpose in them. There was no genial smile lighting up the parted lips,-in its place sat dull despair.

It was Catherine O'Neile, who, in spite of wind and rain, now hurried on her lonely way, till she stood before the door of one of the afore-mentioned little huts. She

hesitated a moment before raising the latch, hearing voices within; they gradually subsided when she opened the door, and with the usual salutation of high and low in Ireland when entering a house, she said-" God save all here!" There was a general movement at her appearance, and a tall powerful man, in a long blue frieze coat and knee-breeches, with dark blue hose falling about his legs, stood up from a wooden bench, upon which he, his wife, and two sons had been seated partaking of the mid-day meal; this consisted of steaming potatoes turned out upon a rough deal table, a piece of fat bacon placed on a broken saucer was evidently intended as the target of the potatoes, which when stripped of their jackets by the nimble nails of the parties interested in the game, were then aimed without intermission at the tempting bait, which they called "potatoes and point.”

The two boys presented a grotesque appearance with their dishevelled hair, bare feet and tattered garments; yet they looked the picture of health and happiness. The mother was a handsome laughing matron, with a rather large mouth, but with a set of teeth that an empress or an advertising dentist might envy, so beautifully even and brilliantly white were they.

The family all rose as Catherine saluted them, and began wiping their mouths with the backs of their hands. The man answered her greeting with "The top of the morning to you, Misch Kate;" and the woman, who was Catherine's foster-mother, said, as she dusted with her apron the proffered stool

"Honey, won't you be plazed to take a seat? Shure it's glad we are to see your purty face anyhow, and long life to it! And how is the masther, and all the quality up at the Court? finely, I hope! Now you won't be above taking a pratee wid uz?"

At this invitation, Catherine, without any ceremony, and to their great delight, before sitting down, went over to the table and taking one of the hot potatoes in