Obrazy na stronie

a flash ; an' here's the rain beginning, strengthens and purifies the passion? That thunder's dreadful; heaven pre- There is scarcely such a thing as soliserve us! It's an' awful night! Con- tude in the upper ranks, nor an oppornor, you must see me as far as the tunity of keeping the feelings uncorner of the garden ; as for you I wasted, and the energies of the heart wish you were safe at home."

unspent by the many vanities and petty “ Hasten, dear,” said he, “ hasten ; pleasures with which fashion forces a it's no night for you to be out in, now compliance, until the mind falls from that the rain's coming ; as for me, if it its natural dignity, into a habit of coldwas ten times as dreadful I won't feel ness and aversion to everything but it. There's but one thought--one the circle of empty trifles in which it thought in my mind, and that I would moves so giddily. But the enamoured n't part with for the wealth of the uni- youth who can retire to the beautiful verse.

solitude of the still glen to brood over Both then proceeded at a quick the image of her he loves, and who, pace until they reached the corner of probably, sits under the very tree Bodagh's garden, where, with brief where his love was avowed and returnbut earnest reassurances of unalterable ed ; he, we say, exalted with the fullattachment, they took a tender and ness of his happiness, feels his heart affectionate farewell.

go abroad in gladness upon the deIt is not often that the higher ranks lighted objects that surround bim, for can appreciate the moral beauty of everything he looks upon is as a friend; love as it is experienced by those his happy heart expands over the humbler classes to whom they deny whole landscape ; his eye glances to the power of feeling it in its most the sky; he thinks of the Almighty refined and exalted character. For Being above him, and though without our parts we differ so much from them any capacity to analyze his own feelings in this, that if we wanted to give an – love the love of some humble, illustration of that passion in its purest plain but modest girl — kindles by and most delicate state, we would not degrees into the sanctity and rapture seek for it in the saloon, or the draw- of religion. ing-room, but among the green fields Let not our readers of rank, then, and the smiling landscapes of rural if any such may honour our pages life. The simplicity of bumble hearts with a perusal, be at all surprised at is more accordant with the unity of the expression of Connor O'Donovan affection than any mind can be that is when, under the ecstatic power of a distracted by the competition of rival love so pure and artless as that which claims upon its gratification. We do bound his heart and Una’s together, not say that the votaries of rank and he exclaimed, as he did, “ Oh, I could fashion are insensible to love; because pray to God this moment with a purer how much soever they may be conver- heart than I ever had before.” Such a sant with the artificial and unreal, still state of feeling among the people is they are human, and must, to a certain neither rare nor anomalous, for, howextent, be influenced by a principle ever the great ones and the wise ones that acts wherever it can find a heart of the world may be startled at our on which to operate. We say, how- assertion, we beg to assure them that ever, that their love, when contrasted love and religion are more nearly with that which is felt by the humble related to each other than those, who peasantry, is languid and sickly; nei. have never felt either in its truth and ther so pure, nor so simple, nor so in- purity, can imagine. tense. Its associations in high life are As Connor performed his journey unfavourable to the growth of a healthy home, the thunder tempest pealed fear. passion ; for what is the glare of a fully through the sky; and, though the lamp, a twirl through the insipid mazes darkness was deep and unbroken by of the ball-room, or the unnatural dis- anything but the red flashes of lighttortions of the theatre, when compared ning, yet, so strongly absorbed was his to the rising of the summer sun, the heart by the scene we have just related, singing of birds, the music of the that he arrived at his father's house streams, the joyous aspect of the scarcely conscious of the roar of elevaried landscape, the mountain, the ments which surrounded him. valley, the lake, and a thousand other The family had retired to bed when objects, each of which transmits to the he entered, with the exception of his peasant's heart silently and impercepti- parents, who, having felt uneasy at his bly that subtle power which at once disappearance, were anxiously await

ing his return, and entering into fruit- thin, vich no Hoiah, Connor jewel, were less conjectures concerning the cause you out undher this terrible night ?" of an absence so unusual.

“ Connor, avich machree," added “ What,” said the alarmed mother, the father, “ you're lost. My hand to *what in the world wide could keep you, if he's worth three hapuns ; sthrip him so long out, and on sich a tempest an' throw my Cothamore about you, as is in it? God protect my boy from an' draw in to the fire ; you're fairly all harm an' danger, this fearful night! lost.” Oh, Fardorougha, what ’ud become of “ I'm worth two lost people yet," us if anything happened him ? As said Connor smiling ; “mother did for me-my heart's wrapped up in him; you ever see a pleasanter night ?” widout our darlin' it ’ud break, break, Pleasant, Connor, darlin'; oh thin Fardorougha."

it's you may may say so, I'm sure !" * Hut; he's gone to some neigh " Father you're a worthy,—only your bour's, an' can't come out till the storm Cothamore's too scimpit for me. Faith, is over ; he'll soon be here now that mother, although you think I'm jokin', the tundher an' lightnin's past." the divil a one o' me is ; a pleasanter

" But did you never think, Fardo- night—a happier night I never spent. rougha, what 'ud become of you, what Father, you ought to be proud o' me, an’ you'd do, or how you'd live, if any stretch out a bit with the cash ; faith, ihing happened him ; which the Al. I'm nothin' else than a fine handsome mighty forbid this night and for ever; young fellow.” could you live widout him

“ Be my sowl an'he ought to be The old man gazed upon her like proud out of you, Connor, whether one who felt displeasure at having a you're in airnest or not,” observed the contingency so painful forced upon his mother, “ an' to stretch out wid the consideration. Without making any arrighad too if you want it.” reply, however, he looked thoughtfully “ Folly on, Connor, folly on; your into the fire for some time, after which mother 'ill back you, I'll go bail, say he rose up, and, with a querulous and what you will ; but sure you know all impatient voice, said,

I have must be your's yet, acushla.” “ What's the use of thinkin' about Connor now sat down, and his mosich things ? Lose him! why would I ther stirred up the fire, on which she lose him— I could n't lose him-I'd as placed additional fuel. After a little soon lose my own life--I'd rather be time his manner changed, and a shade dead at wanst than lose him."

of deep gloom fell upon his manly * God knows your love for him is a and handsome features. "I don't qnare love, Fardorougha,” rejoined the know," he at length proceeded, that wife ; “ you would n't give him a as we three are here together, I could guinea if it ’ud save his life, or allow do betther than ask your advice upon him even a few shillin's now an' then, what has happened to me to-night." for pocket-money, that he might be “ Why, what has happened you, aquil to other young boys like him." Connor ?" said the mother alarmed ;

** No use, no use in that, except to plase God no harm I hope.” bring him into drink an' other bac? “ Who else," added 'the father, habits; a bad way, Honor, of showin' * would you be guided by, if not by one's love to him. If you had your your mother an' myself ?" will you'd spoil him ; I'm keepin' what “ No harm, mother dear,” said Consomever little shillin's we've scraped nor in reply to her ; " harm! Oh! mo. together to settle him dacently in life; ther, mother, if you knew it; an'as but, indeed, that's time enough yet ; for what you say, father, it's right; he's too young to marry for some years what advice but my mother's an' yours to come, barrin' he got a fortune.” ought I ask?”

“ Well, one thing, Fardorougha, if * An' God's too," added the mother. ever two people wor blessed in a good “ An' my heart was never more ris son, praise be God we are that.” to God than it was, an' is this night,"

“We are, Honor, we are ; there's replied their ingenuous boy. not his aquil in the parish—achora ma “Well, but what has happened, chree that he is. When I'm gone Connor," said his father; “if it's he'll know what I've done for him." any thing where our advice can serve

“ Whin you're gone ; why Saver of you, of coorse we'll advise you for the arth sure you wouldn't keep him out of best.” his -husth !-here he is, God be Connor, then, with a glowing heart, thankied ! poor boy, he's safe. Oh, made them acquainted with the affec

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tion which subsisted between himself • « That won't be needful, Connor ; and Una O'Brien, and ended by in- you may manage them; they won't forming them of the vow of marriage see her want; she's an only daughter; which they had that night solemnly they could n't see her want." pledged to each other.

“ An' is n't he an only son, FardoYou both know her by sight,” he rougha ?" exclaimed the wife ; “an' my added, “an' afther what I've sed, can sowi to happiness but I believe you'd you blame me for sayin' that I found see him want." this a pleasant an' a happy night ?". Any way,” replied her husband, The affectionate mother's eyes filled

“ I'm not for matches aginst the conwith tears of pride and delight, on

sint of paarents ; they're not lucky ; hearing that her handsome son was

or can't you run away wid her, an' loved by the beautiful daughter of then refuse marryin' her except they Bodagh Buie, and she could not help come down wid the cash.” exclaiming, in the enthusiasm of the “Oh, father," exclaimed Connor, moment,

father, father, to become a villain ! “ She's a purty girl—the purtiest

“ Connor," said his mother, rising indeed I ever laid my two livin' eyes up in a spirit of calm and mournful upon, and by all accounts as good as

solemnity, never heed

; go to bed, she's purty ; but I say that, face to face, achora, go to bed.”

· Of coorse I'll never heed, mother," you're as good, agra, ay, an'as handsome, Fardorougha, as she is. God

he replied ;

“but I can't help sayin' bless her, any way, an' mark her to that, happy as I was a while agone, grace and happiness, ma colleen dhas my father is sendin' me to bed with a dhun."

heavy heart.

When I asked your “ He's no match for her,” said the advice, father, litile I thought it would father, who had listened with an ear

be to do --but no matter! I'll never nest face, and compressed lips, to his be guilty of an act that 'ud disgrace son's narrative;" he's no match for her my name.” -by four hundred guineas."

*“ No, avillish,” said his mother,

“you never will; God knows it's as Honour, when he uttered the previ

much an' more than you an'other peoous part of his observation, looked upon him with a flash of indignant as

ple can do, to keep the name we have

in decency." tonishment, but when he had con

It's fine talk," observed Fardocluded, her countenance fell back into rougha, “ but what I advise has been its original expression. It was evident done by hundreds that wor married an that, while she, with the feelings of a woman and a mother, instituted a pa. needn't get into a passion, either of

happy aftherwards ; how-an-iver you rallel between their personal merits alone, the husband viewed their attach- you; I'm not pressin' you, Connor, to ment through that calculating spirit

“ Connor, achree,” said his mother, which had regulated his whole life.

go to bed, an' instead of the advice “ You're thinkin' of her money you got, ax God's ; go, avillish!” now," she added ; “ but remimber,

Connor, without making any further Fardorougha, that it was n't born wid observation, sought his sleeping-room, her. An' I hope, Connor, it's not for where, having recommended himself her money


have any grah for to God, in earnest prayer, he lay reher?"

volving all that had occurred that “ You may swear that, mother ; I night, until the gentle influence of love her little finger betther than all sleep at length drew him into oblithe money in the king's bank.” vion.

“ Connor, avich, your mother has “ Now,” said his mother to Fardomade a fool of you, or you would n't rougha, when Connor had gone, “you spake the nonsense you spoke this must sleep by yourself ; for as for me, minute."

my side I'll not stretch on the same · My word to you, father, I'll take bed wid you to-night.” all the money I'll get ; but what am I “ Very well ; I can't help that," said to do? Bodayh Buie an' his wife will her husband ; "all I can say is this, never consent to allow her to marry that I'm not able to put sinse or prume, I can tell you ; an’if she marries dence into you or Connor ; so since me without their consent, you both you won't be guided by me, take your know I have no way of supportin' her, own coorse. Bodagh Buie's very well except you, father, assist me.”

able to provide for them ; au' if he

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won't do so before they marry, why let · Throth there's one thing myself Connor have nothin' to say to her." wondhersjat more than that.

“I'll tell you what, Fardorougha ; God " What, Biddy? let us hear it." would n't be in heaven, or you'll get a Why that you could be mane an' cut heart yet, either through your son shabby enough to come as a sarvint to or your money ; an' that it may not ate the bread of the man that ruined be through my darlin' boy, oh, grant yees !" sweet Saver o the earth this night! “ Biddy,” replied Flanagan, “ I'm I'm goin' to sleep wid Biddy Casey, glad you've said it ; but do you think an' you'll find a clane night-cap on the that I have so bad a heart as to keep rail o'the bed; an', Fardorougha, afore revinge in against an inimy ; how you put it an, kneel down an' pray to could I go to my knees at night, if I God' to change your heart — for it —no, Biddy, we must be Christians. wants itit wants it.”

Well! let us drop that ; so you tell In Ireland the first object of a ser me the mother an' son are kind to vant-man, after entering the employ. you.” pient of his master, is to put himself “ As good-hearted a pair as ever upon an amicable footing with his lived." fellow-servants of the other sex. Connor, of course, cant but be very Such a step, besides being natural in kind to so good-looking a girl as you itself, is often taken in consequence are, Biddy,” said Bartle, with a knowof the esprit du corps which prevails ing smile. among persons of that class. Bartle Very kind ! good looking ! ay, inFlanagan, although he could not be deed I'm sure o' that, Bartle; behave! said to act from any habit previously an' don't be gettin' an wid any o' your acquired in service, went to work palavers. What 'ud make Connor be with all the tact and adroitness of kind to the likes o' me, that way?" a veteran. The next morning, after I dont see why he oughtn't an' having left the barn where he slept, mightn't-you're as good as him, if it he contrived_to throw himself in goes to that.” the way of Biddy Duggan, a girl, “Oh yis, indeed!” who, though vain and simple, was at Why, you know you're handsome." the same time conscientious and

Handsome,” replied the vain girl, the kitchen, he noticed her returning tightening her apron strings, and asfrom the well with a pitcher of water suming a sly coquettish look ; Bartle, in each band, and as it is considered go an' mind your business, and let me an act of civil attention for the male- bring home my pitchers ; it's time the

breakwist was down. servant, if not otherwise employed, to

Sich nonsense !" assist the female in small matters of • Very well, you're not, thin ; you've the kind, so did Flanagan, in his best a bad leg, a bad figure, an'a bad face, manner and kindest voice, bid her and it would be a terrible thing all out good-morrow, and offer to carry home for Connor O'Donovan to fall in conthe pitchers.

sate wid you." " It's the least I may do,” said he,

“ Well, about Connor I could tell “now that I'm your fellow-servant ; you something ;-me! tut! go to the but before you go farther, lay down sarra ; faix you dont know them that your burden, an' let us chat awhile." Connor's afther, nor the collogin' they

"Indeed," replied Biddy, “it's little all had about it no longer ago than we expected ever to see your father's last night itself. I suppose they thought son goin' to earn his bread undher I was asleep, but it was like the hares, another inan's roof.”

wid my eyes open.” “ Pooh! Biddy! there's greater

“ An' it's a pity, Biddy, ever the same wondhers in the world than that, wo. two eyes should be shut. Begad myman, alive! But tell me-pooh-ay self's beginning to feel quare somehow, is there a thousand quarer things—but when I look at them.” I say, Biddy, how do you like to live A glance of pretended incredulity wid this family ?"

was given in return, after which she " Why, troth indeed, only for the proceededwithered ould leprechaun himself, divil “ Bartle, dont be bringin' yourself to a dacenter people ever broke bread.” the fair wid sich folly. My eyes is

" Yet is n't it a wondher that the jist as God made them ; but I can tell ould fellow is what he is, an' he so full you that before a month o' Sundays o' money?"

passes, I wouldn't be surprised if you



guess ?”

seen Connor married to you wouldn't keeping of the County Treasurer. His

sordid soul was too deeply imbued “ Not I; the divil a hap'orth 1 with the love of money to perceive know about who he's courtin'."

that what he had hitherto looked upon “ No less than our great beauty, as a proof of parental affection and Bodagh Buie's daughter, Una O'Brien. foresight, was nothing more than a Now, Bartle, for goodness sake, don't fallacy by which he was led day after let this crass your lips to livin' mortal. day farther into his prevailing vice. Sure I heard him tellin' all to the In other words, now that love for his father and mother last night-they're son, and the hope of seeing him ocpromised to one another. Eh! blessed cupy a respectable station in society saints, Bartle, what ails you ? you're as ought to have justified the reasoning white as a sheet. What's wrong? and by which he had suffered himself to what did you start for ?"

be guided, it was apparent that the “ Nothin',” replied Flanagan, coolly, prudence which he had still consider“but a stitch in my side. I'm subjected to be his duty as a kind parent, to that-it pains me very much while was nothing else than a mask for his it lasts, and laves my fuce, as you say, owu avarice. The idea, therefore, of the colour of dimity ; but about Con- seeing Connor settled without any aid nor, upon my throth, I'm main proud from himself, filled his whole soul with to hear it ; she's a purty, girl, an' be a wild hard satisfaction, which gave sides he'll have a fortune that'll make a him as much delight as perhaps he was man of him. I am, in throth, heart capable of enjoying. The advice proud to hear it. It's a pity Connor's offered to his son on the preceding father isn't as dacent as himself

. Arrah night appeared to him a matter so reaBiddy, where does the ould codger keep sonable in itself

, and the opportunity his money ?”

offered by Una's attachment so well “ Little of it in the house any way, adapted for making it an instrument to sure whenever he scrapes a guinea to- work upon the affections of her parents, gether he's away wid it to the county that he could not for the life of him

-county-och, that county man perceive why they should entertain that keeps the money for the people.” any rational objection against it.

“The Threasurer; well, much good may The warm-hearted mother particihis thrash do him, Biddy, that's the worst pated so largely in all that affected I wish him. Come now and I'll lave the happiness of her son, that if we your pitchers at home, and remember allow for the difference of sex and you owe me something for this.” position, we might describe their feel“Good will, I hope."

ings as bearing, in the character of their That for one thing," he replied, as simple and vivid enjoyment, a very they went along ; " but we'll talk more remarkable resemblance. This amiable about it when we have time; and I'll woman's affection for Connor was thin tell you the truth about what reflected upon Una O'Brien, whom she brought me to hire wid Fardorougha now most tenderly loved, not because Donovan."

the fair girl was beautiful, but because Having thus excited that most active she had plighted her troth to that son principle called female curiosity, both who had been during his whole life her entered the kitchen, where they found own solace aud delight. Connor and his mother in close and

No sooner was the morning meal apparently confidential conversation-, concluded, and the servants engaged Fardorougha himself having as usual at their respective employments, than been abroad upon bis farm for upwards Honour, actiug probably under Conof an hour before any of them had nor's suggestion, resolved at once to risen.

ascertain whether her husband could The feelings with which they met so far overcome his parsimony as to that morning at breakfast may be casily establish their son and Una in life understood by our readers, without that is, in the event of Una's parents much assistance of ours. On the part opposing their marriage, and declining of Fardorougha there was

to render them any assistance. With selfish sense of exultation, if not of this object in view, she told him as he triumph, at the chance that lay before was throwing his great-coat over his his son of being able to settle himself shoulders, in order to proceed to the independently in life, without the ne- fields, that she wished to speak with cessity of making any demand upon him upon a matter of deep impor. the hundreds which lay so safely in the tance.


a narrow

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