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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

her hand, playfully passed it from one to the other in her endeavours to cool it. Whatever her errand was, she did not then explain it, but waited patiently till the last of the potatoes had disappeared; when the father and sons, after crossing themselves devoutly, stood up to return to their daily labour in the neighbouring fields; yet not before Paddy Houghlahan, who was a wag in his way, had a little desultory conversation with Catherine, while his wife was scraping up the remnants of the meal in order to set them before the pigs.

"Now, Misch, if I might make so bowld as to ask, maybe it's yourself that can enlighten me, as to whether the masther has made up his mind to send the black colt to-morrow to the fair? Shure, he'll never have a finer chance of getting his price for it, for it's the talk all round the country and in the sheebeens (publichouses),―saving your presence !-that Squire Lalor has come down wid a bet, that it's himself can bring to the fore, one that will take it out and out; but it's meself and the boys that won't believe a word of that same,no, not if it were there before uz in black and white. For, shure, that would be black trayson to the masther, and go agin our principles intirely."

Then, perceiving that Catherine did not reply to his remarks on that subject, he went on to another, with the most perfect ease.

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Begorra, Misch Kate, and shure it's Masther Otway who is growing an illigent young gintleman! So spurrited like, anyone can see wid half an eye, that he comes from the ould stock,-bones and all. And it's for sartin that he's going to furrin parts to be edicated ?"

"Yes, Pat, the end of next year he will leave us for a school in England. His uncle wishes it, and, as he intends to make him his heir, we must abide by his arrangement, as far as Otway is concerned."

"The main miser! I ask your pardon, Misch, but when I think that he is wallowping in gold and diamonds, and sees his own blud-relations want, and

yet won't as much as stretch out his dirty hand to help them, shure it's meself blushes at the like, that shouldn't, every time I hear his name.”

“Pat, he has surely a right to do what he likes with his own? We have no lawful claims upon him, and are grateful for the notice he takes of the boy, and having him occasionally to stay with him. You know that Mr. Herbert, who is now at the Court, has a better right to his notice than Otway, yet he's not jealous of the preference shown to his little cousin, although were Otway not in existence, he would surely be made the old gentleman's heir, for want of a nearer."

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‘Still, I think it a pity, Misch, that one of the O'Neiles should be sint away among those traytors of 'Lassennachs,' as we have it in Irish; shure it's naughting to be proud of, he'll pick up in their company."

Catherine, drawing herself up with dignity- “An O'Neile, Pat, is invulnerable, where his honour and his country are concerned. We have no fears of his being perverted

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She had scarcely said this, when she stopped abruptly, and a crimson flush overspread her pale face, for she remembered another O'Neile, who was very dear to her, who had not verified her words. Honest Paddy chose, at this moment, to have his attention suddenly attracted by some phenomenon in the air, invisible to other eyes except his own, and only became conscious that Catherine was still addressing him, as, after a little time, she continued

"I should have wished Otway to have studied in his own country, but you know very well, Pat, that beggars cannot always be choosers.'

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Honest Paddy, as he heard these words, reddened to the very roots of his hair; while a sudden flash darted from his eyes, he, in an excited voice, exclaimed

"Oh, Misch Kate, unsay that dirty word! that it should ever have come out of your own purty mouth!

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