nor, in a sorrowful tone," the least said soonest mended-which it can never be-so there's an end of that; but by all the books that were ever shut and opened-wait till my time's up-"

“ O brother, brother " exclaimed Ally, “ she's a woman, and no O'Gorman ever struck a woman, even when he had too much—”

"I think," he replied, "she is an incarnate devil, that's what I think; and I think his reverence ought to see to it-she's not right, one way or other"

"And yet," said Ally, "they say she can talk the birds off the bushes, as indeed I know, to my cost; and if you knew how, you would not look so could on me; and, brother, I remember onct she chated yourself about the knee-buckles, and in three months after, the riding-whip but to be sure it was your own -not all as one as my fault."

The generous, superstitious, honest, confiding, and yet, on particular subjects, keensighted fellow, kissed his sister affectionately.

I would not have detailed this incident so fully, but that after events proved the truth of the adage the injured may forgive, but the injurer never does. Connor, when requested todoso, forgave, (and he seldom did things by halves,) though he disliked the Griffin, who from her knowledge

of every person and every circumstance, possessed an extraordinary influence over man, woman, and child. Persons of acute observation and strong minds always have large power over their fellow-creatures; but, if they are badly disposed and can stoop to mould weakness and superstition to their own purpose, they become more dangerous to the well-doing of my countrymen, than the serpents St. Patrick got so much credit for banishing from the Emerald Isle.

PART III.

CONNOR O'Gorman had recorded his "obligation" against fighting and whiskey on Midsummer Eve; and, notwithstanding all the provocatives thrown in his way both by friends and foes, he had preserved it inviolate. Midsummer Eve had come again. During the past year he had been so much in the society of Margaret, that, like all men "desperately in love," he had taken the tone of his mind from hers, and every succeeding day revealed in his beloved some new perfection. Margaret was precisely the winning, gracious person calculated to make Connor a loving and useful wife. His fearlessness, generosity, and affection, as opposed to her timidity and retiring habits, made her love him all the more; and she really and rationally had

every reason, not only to hope, but believe, that the wild passions she had feared and warred against in her own sweet way, were now completely under his control. In the face of the whole country he had proved his devotion and allegiance to his liege lady; and she felt, and proudly too, that, in the face of the whole country, he deserved the reward he had coveted in youth and manhood.

No lady at fête or tournament ever felt a greater mingling of love, and joy, and pride, than did the gentle widow, Margaret Lee, when, on one of the most beautiful Midsummer mornings that ever smiled from an Irish sky, Connor O'Gorman knocked at the door of the Bee's Nest before the sun had gilded the timehonoured tower of Blarney Castle. Margaret had slept but little that night; her thoughts were occupied in turning over the sayings and doings of her lover, and she presented him to herself, through evil report and good report, scathless-the early chosen of her heart-the approved of her mature years. The first dawn of day found her praying by the bed-side of her child, and the knock that startled her from her knees, woke her sleeping boy, ruddy with health and beauty. She heard Flora open her lattice and speak to Connor from the window; and

then she heard the rapid canterings of his horse as he took the Cork road, having told Flora he should return to breakfast, and desired her not to disturb her sister, the saucy girl asked him, "if he did not wish her to be disturbed, why he had called at all." And, waving his handkerchief gaily, he exclaimed, "To tell her that Midsummer Eve is come."*

"But not gone yet, not gone yet, Master Connor," replied the laughing girl, as she shut to the lattice, unknowingly quoting the warning of the Roman soothsayer.

Margaret, having listened breathlessly to her lover's voice, while she clasped her beloved child to her bosom, kissed him with more than her usual affection, and again sank upon her knees, repeating her earnest prayer, that the Almighty would strengthen both her and Connor in all good, and instruct her how to fulfil the divided, yet perfect, duty she would have to perform as a wife and mother. She could not restrain her tears; they fell fast upon the rosy cheeks of one of the most beautiful children that ever charmed a mother's heart. No one would have imagined the little rogue had an English mother; his brogue was so droll, that Margaret smiled at

* In Ireland, it is usual to call the whole day preceding Midsummer Day, Midsummer Eve.