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« The villian sentence was passed on heart's up-it's light-arn't you glad?
in his father's eyes an excitement at · Father dear, I'm sorry to see you once dead and wild—a vague fire with- in this state on sich a day—sich a out character, yet stirred by an incom- black day to us. For your sake I am. prehensible energy wholly beyond the What will the world say of it?" usual manifestations of thought or suf · Connor, I'm in great spirits all fering. The son on beholding him out, exceptin' for something that I forshuddered, and not for the first time, get, that—that i-lies heavy upon for he had on one or two occasions That I mayn't sin, but I am-1 before become apprehensive that his am, indeed—for now that we've cotch father's mind might, if strongly pressed, hini, we'll hang the villain up. Ha, ha, be worn down by the singular conflict ha, it's a pleasant sight to see sich a of which it was the scene, to that most fellow danglin' from a rope !" frightful of all maladies_insanity. As “ Father, sit down here, sit down the old man, however, folded him in upon this bad and comfortless bed, and his feeble arms, and attempted to ex- keep yourself quiet for a little. Maybe press what he felt, the unhappy boy you'll be better soon. Oh, why did groaned aloud, and felt even in the you drink, and us in such trouble?" depth of his cell, a blush of momentary " I'll not sit down ; I'm very well shame suffuse his cheek and brow. His able to stand," said he, tottering aer 19 father, notwithstanding the sentence the room. “ The villain thought to that had been so shortly before passed starve me, Connor, but you heard the upon his son—that father, he per- sentence that was passed on him toceived to be absolutely intoxicated, or day. Where's Honour, from me? to use a more appropriate expression, she'll be glad whin—whin she bears it
, decidedly drunk. There was less and my son, Connor, will too_but he's, blame, however, to be attached to Far- he's_where is Connor ?-bring me, dorougha on this occasion, than Con- bring me to Connor. Ah, avourneen, nor imagined. When the old man Honour's beart's breaking for bimswooned in the court-house, he was 'tany rate, the mother's heart-the taken by his neighbours to a public- mother's heart-she's laid low wid an house, where he lay for some minutes achin' sorrowful head for her boy." in a state of insensibility. On his re “ Father, for God's sake, will you covery he was plied with burnt whis. try and rest a little. key, as well to restore his strength and sleep, father dear, if you could sleep." prevent a relapse, as upon the prin “ I'll hang P-e-I'll hang himciple that it would enable him to sus. but if he gives back my money, I'll not tain with more firmness the dreadful touch him. Who are you?" and shocking destiny which awaited “ Father dear, I'm Connor, your
Actuated by motives of mis own son, Connor." taken kindness, they poured between “ I'll marry you and Una, then. I'll two and three glasses of this fiery settle all the villian robbed me of on cordial down his throat, which, as he you, and you'll have every penny had not taken so much during the it afther my death. Don't be keepin' lapse of thirty years before, soon re me up, I can walk very well ; ay, duced the feeble old man to the con an' I'm in right good spirits. Sure
, dition in which we have described him the money's got, Connor-got back when entering the gloomy cell of the every skilleen of it
. Ha, ha, ha, God prison.
be praised ! God be praised ! We've a “ Father,” said Connor, “ in the name right to be thankful the world isn't of heaven above, who or what has put so bad, afther all." you into this dreadful state, especially Father, will you try and rest ?" when we consider the hard, hard fate " It's not bad, afther all - I won't that is over us, and upon us ?"
starve, as I thought I would, now that “ Connor," returned Fardorougha, the arrighad is got back from the not perceiving the drift of his question, villain. Ha, ha, ha, it's great—it's great, “Connor, my son, I'll hang—hang him, Connor, ahagur.” that's one comfort."
“ What is it, father dear?" “ Who are you spaking about ?"
Connor, sing me to-to-day. He'll swing-swing for sing me a song.” the robbery ; Pe will. We got “ If you'll sleep first, father dear." him back out of that nest of robbers, “ The Uligone, Connor, the Isle o' Man-o' Man they call it agra, or the I'rougha-for, avourneen, that he made off to, the villain !" avourneen, there must be sorrow in it,
If you could
a song - my
for my heart's low, and your mother's you—I can't and won't meet her widheart's in sorrow, and she's lyin' far out you. Come, avick, an' you can from us, an' her boy's not near her, sing me the song goin' home-come an' her heart's sore, sore, an' her head wid your own poor ould father, that achin', bekase her boy's far from her, can't live widout you-come, a sullish an' she can't come to him !”
machree, I don't feel right here-we The boy, whose noble fortitude was won't be properly happy, till we go to unsbaken during the formidable trial it your lovin' mother.” had encountered in the course of that Father, father, you don't know what day, now felt overcome by this simple you're making me suffer. What heart, allusion to his mother's love. He blessed heaven, can bear —” threw his arms about his father's neck, The door of his cell here opened, and placing his head upon his bosom, and the turnkey stated that some five wept alond for many, many minutes. or six of his friends were anxious to
“Husth, Connor, husth, asthore—what see him, and, above all things, to take makes you cry ? Sure, all 'ill be right charge of his father to his own home. now that we've got back the money. This was a manifest relief to the young Eh? Ha, ha, ha, it's great luck, Con- man, who then felt more deeply on his nor, isn't it great? An' you'll have it, unhappy father's account than on his you an' Una, afther my death—for I won't starve for e'er a one o' yees.” “ Some foolish friends," said he,
" Father, father, I wish you would “have given my father liquor, an' it has rest."
got into his head-indeed it overcame “Well, I will, avick, I will-bring him the more, as I never remember me to bed—you'll sleep in your own him to taste a drop of spirits during bed to-night. Your poor mother's his life before. I can see nobody now head hasn't been off o'the place where an' him in this state ; but if they wish your own lay, Connor. No, indeed; me well, let them take care of him, and her heart's low-it's breakin', breakin' leave him safe at his own house, and -but she won't let any body make tell them I'll be glad if I can see them your bed but herself. Oh, the mother's lo-morrow, or any other time." love, Connor--that mother's love With considerable difficulty Far. that mother's love_but, Connor dorougha was removed from Connor, “Well, father, dear ?"
whom he clung to with all his strength, " Isn't there something wrong, avick? attempting also to drag him away. He isn't there something not right, some- then wept bitterly, because he declined how?"
to accompany him home, that he might This question occasioned the son to comfort his mother, and enjoy the feel as it his heart would literally burst imagined recovery of his money from to pieces, especially when he consi- P-e, and the conviction which he dered the circumstances under which believed they had just succeeded in the old man put it. Indeed there was getting against that notorious defaulter. something so transcendanıly appalling After they had departed, Connor in his intoxication, and in the wild but sat down upon his hard pallet, and, affecting tone of his conversation, that supporting his head with his hand, saw, when joined to his pallid and spectral for the first time, in all its magnitude appearance, it gave a character, for the and horror, the death to which he time being, of a mood that struck the found himself now doomed. The exheart with an image more frightful than citement occasioned by his trial, and that of madness itself.
his increasing firmness, as it darkened Wrong, father!” he replied, “all's on through all its stages to the final wrong, and I can't understand it. It's sentence, now had in a considerable well for you that you don't know the degree abandoned him, and left his doom that's upon us now, for I feel heart, at present more accessible to natubow it would bring you down, and how ral weakness than it had been, to the it will, too. It will kill you, my father power of his own affections. The
image of his early-loved Una had selConnor, come home, avick, come dom since his arrest been out of his home- I'm tired at any rate--come imagination. Her youth, her beauty, home to your mother come, for her her wild but natural grace, and the sake—I know I'm not at home, an' flashing glances of her dark enthusishe'll not rest till I bring you safe back astic eye, when joined to her tenderto her. Come now, l'il have no putness and boundless affection for himoffs–you must come, I say-I ordher self-all caused his heart to quiver with
-it will kill you."
deadly snguish through every fibre. known, from the moment the know. This produced a transition to Flana- ledge of his sentence had gone abroad gan—the contemplation of whose per- among the people. This was much fidious vengeance made him spring strengthened by that which, whether from his seat in a paroxysm of indig- in man or woman, never fails to create nant but intense hatred, so utterly furi- an amiable prejudice in its favour-I ous that the swelling tempest which it mean youth and personal beauty. His sent through his veins caused him to whole previous character was now canreel with absolute giddiness.
vassed with a mournful lenity that “Great God !” he esclaimed, “you brought out his virtues into beautiful are just, and will this be suffered ?" relief; and the fate of the affectionate
He then thought of his parents, and son was deplored no less than that of the fiery mood of his mind changed to the youthful, but rash and inconsidere one of melancholy and sorrow. He ate lover. Neither was the father looked back upon his aged father's without his share of compassion, for enduring struggle—upon the battle of they could not forget that, despite of all the old man's heart against the accursed his penury and extortion, the old mau's vice which had swayed its impulses so heart had been fixed, with a strong but long-on the protracted conflict be- uncouth affection upon his amiable and tween the two energies, which, like ovly boy. It was, however, when they contending armies in the field, had now thought of his mother, in whose beart left little but ruin and desolation be- of hearts he had been enshrined as the hind them. His heart, when he brought idol of her whole affection, that their all these things near him, expanded, spirits became truly touched. Many a and like a bird, folded its wings about mother assumed in her own person, by the grey haired martyr, to the love he the force of imagination, the sinking bore him. But his mother—the caress- woman's misery, and poured forth, in ing, the proud, the affectionate, whose unavailing tears, the undeniable proof heart, in the vivid tenderness of hope of the sincerity with which she partie for her beloved boy, had shaped out cipated in Honour's bereavement. As his path in life, as that on which she for Flanagan, a deadly weight of odium, could brood with the fondness of a such as is peculiar to the Informer in loving and delighted spirit—that mo- Ireland, fell upon both him and his. ther's image, and the idea of her sor Nor was this all. Aided by that sarows prostrated his whole strength, like gacity which is so conspicuous in Irish. that of a stricken infant, to the earth. men, when a vindictive or hostile feel
“ Mother, mother," he exclaimed, ing is excited among them, they de u when I think of what you reared me picted Flanagan's character with an for, and what I am, this night, how can accuracy and truth astonishingly cormy heart do otherwise than break, as rect and intuitive. Numerous were well on your account as my own, and the instances of cowardice, treachery, for all that love us! Oh! what will and revenge remembered against him, become of you, my blessed mother! by those who bad been his close and Hard does it go with you that you're early companions, not one of which not about your pride, as you used to would have ever occurred to them, were call me, now that I'm in this trouble, it not that their minds had been thrown in this fate that is soon to cut me back upon the scrutiny by the melandown from your loving arms! The choly fate in which he had involved thought of you is dear to my heart, the unhappy Connor O'Donovan. Had dear, dearer, dearer than that of any he been a mere ordinary witness in the than my own Una. What will become matter, he would have experienced of her, too, and the old man? Oh, why, little of this boiling indignation at why is it that the death I am to suffer their hands ; but first to participate is to fall so heavily on them that love in the guilt, and afterwards, for the me best?”
sake of the reward, or from a worse He then returned to his bed, but the and more flagitious motive, to turn cold and dreary images of death and upon him, and become his accuser, even ruin haunted his imagination, until the to the taking away of the young man's night was far spent, when at length he life-to stag against his companion and fell into a deep and dreamless sleep. accomplice this was looked upon as
By the sympathy expressed at his a crime ten thousand times more black trial, our readers may easily conceive and damnable than that for which the the profound sorrow which was felt for unhappy culprit had been consigned to hiin, in the district where he was so shameful a death.
Bat, alas, of what avail was all this unconsciously poured the tea into the sympathy and indignation to the un- slop-bowl. fortunate youth bimself, or to those « Avourneen," said her mother, “ let. most deeply interested in bis fate? John do it; acushla machree, let him Would not the very love and sorrow felt do it." towards her son fall upon his mother's She then rose, and without uttering heart with a heavier weight of bitter a word, passively and silently placed ness and agony ? Would not his Una's herself on her brother's chair--he bavsoul be wounded on that account with ing, at the same time, taken that on a sharper and more deadly pang of which she sat. despair and misery. It would, indeed, “ Una," said her father, taking her be difficult to say whether the house hand, “ you must be a good girl, and of Bodagh Buie or that of Fardo- you must have courage ; and whatever rougha was then in the deeper sorrow. happens, my darling, you'll pluck up On the morning of Connor's trial strength, I hope, and bear it.” Una arose at an earlier bour than usual, “I hope so, father,” said she, “I and it was observed when she sat at hope so." breakfast, that her cheek was at one But, avourneen machree,” said her moment pale as death, and again flushed mother, “I would rather see you cryand feverish. These symptoms were in’ fifty times over, than smilin' the first perceived by her affectionate way you do.” brother, who, on witnessing the mis * Mother,” said she, “my heart is takes she made in pouring out the tea, sore--my heart is sore.” exchanged a glance with his parents, " It is, ahagur machree ; and your and afterwards asked her to allow him band is tremblin' so much that you to take her place. She laid down the can't bring the tay-cup to your mouth ; teapot, and looking him mournfully in but, then, don't smile so sorrowfully, the face, attempted to smile at a re anein machree." quest so unuscal.
“ Why should I cry, mother ?" she “Una dear," said he, “ you must replied ; " I know that Connor is inThere is no necessity for nocent.
If I knew him to be guilty, attempting to conceal what you feel I would weep, and I ought to weep." we all know it--and if we did not, the
“ At all events, Una," said her fact of your having filled the sugar and not us that's prosecuting him.”
father, "you know it's the government, bowl instead of the tea-cup would soon discover it."
To this Una made no reply, but, thrusting away
her She said nothing, but looked at him
cup, she looked
with the same mournful smile from one again, as if she scarcely comprehended
to another of the little circle about her. what he said. A glance, however, at
At length she spoke. the sugar-bowl convinced her that she
Father, I have a request to ask of was incapable of performing the usual duties of the breakfast table. Hitberto
you." she had not raised her eyes to her ling, I'll grant it ; and if it's not, it'll go
“ If it's within my power, Una darfather or mother's face, nor spoken to hard with me but I'll bring it within them as had been her wont, when meeting at that strictly domestic meal. my power. What is it, asthure ma
chree?" The unrestraineil sobbings of the mother now aroused her for the first time, John put off his journey to Maynooth,
“ In case he's found guilty, to let and on looking up, she saw her father and stay with me for some time—it wiping away the big lears from his won't be long I'll keep him.” eyes.
“ If it pleases you, darling, he'll “ Una, avourneen," said the worthy never put his foot into Maynooth man, “ let John make tay for us—for, again." God help you, you can't do it. Don't
No," said the mother, “ dhamnho to fret, achora machree, don't, don't, Una; the step, if you don't wish him.” as God is over me, I'd give all I'm
" Oh, no, no,” said Una, “it's only worth to save him, for your sake.” for a while.”
She looked at her father, and smiled “ Unless she desires it, I will never again ; but that smile cut him to the go,” replied the loving brother ; heart.
will I ever leave you in your sorrow, "I will make the tea myself, father," my beloved and only sister-nevershe replied, “and I won't commit any never-so long as a word from my lips more mistakes ;” and as she spoke she can give you consolation."
The warm tears coursed each other " If any thing happens her," said the down bis cheeks as he spoke, and both mother, I'd never get over it. Oh his parents, on looking at the almost marciful Saviour ! how could we live blighted flower before them, wept as if widout her!” the hand of death had already been “I would rather see her in tears,"
said John_“I would rather see her in “ You, father, and John are going to outrageous grief a thousand times, than his trial," she observed ; “ for me I like in the calm but ghastly resolution with to be alone ;-alone ; but when you re which she is bearing herself up against turn to-night, let John break it to me. the trial of this day. If he's conI'll go now to the garden. I'll walk demned to death, I'm afraid that eitber about to-day-only before you go, John, her bealth or reason will sink under it, I want to speak to you.”
and, in that case, God pity her and us, Calmly and without a tear, she then for how, how, as you say, mother, could left the parlour, and proceeded to the we afford to lose ber? Still let us hope garden, where she began to dress and for the best. Father, it's time to preornament the hive which contained pare ; get the car ready. I am going the swarm that Connor had brought to the garden, to hear what the poor back to her on the day their mutual thing has to say to me, but I will be attachment was first disclosed to each with you soon. other.
Her brother found her, as we have “ Father,” said John, when she was said, engaged calmly, and with a megone, “ I am afraid that Una's heart is lancholy pleasure, in adorning the hive broken, or if not broken, that she won't which, on Connor's account, had be. survive his conviction long-it's break- come her favourite. He was not at all ing fast—for my part, in her present sorry that she had proposed this short state, I neither will nor can leave her.” interview, for as his hopes of Connor's
The affectionate father made no acquittal were but feeble, if, indeed, he reply, but putting his handkerchief to could truly be said to eniertain any, he his eyes, wept, as did ber mother, in resolved by delicately communicating silent but bitter grief.
his apprehensions, to gradually prepare “ I cannot spake about it, nor think her mind for the worst that might of it, John,” said he, after some time, happen, "but we must do what we can for her."
CURIOSITIES OF IRISH LITERATURE.-. 11.
THE MERE IRISH.
“ Ou !” exclaims Cox, when he comes overcome. The natural tendency is to tell of the death of Charles the rather to exaggerate the power and First ; “ Oh, that I could say they were bravery of a vanquished enemy, and 50 Irishmen that did that abominable fact!” exalt ourselves.
Thus, in the miliUntil very recent times, it was merito. tary character of the Irish, given by rious for the Irish to make little of their early conquerors, we hear nothing their own country ; and Cox only likely to detract from the credit of echoes the public sentiment of those subduing them; their military prowess, who spoke the English language in for example, is thus dwelt on by De la Ireland in his day, when he deplores Marque : bis inability to add another reproach “ They assailed us often, both in the van to that mass of contumely which he and rere, casting their darts with such had already accumulated against his might, as no haubergeon or coat of mail countrymen. To trace the origin and were of sufficient proof to resist their progress of this sentiment, and show force, their darts piercing them through the
causes which have led to its decline both sides and they were so nimble and and fall, shall be the object of this swift of foot, that like unto stags, they ran paper.
over mountains and valleys, whereby we The contempt entertained by a con- received great annoy and damage." queror, merely as such, for those whom
It might safely be affirmed that, had he has vanquished, is subject to this the early invaders been strong enough limitation, that no man willingly makes little of the difficulties he has himself island, as their progenitors had done
to make a complete conquest of the