him its association. He reached the avenue gate; as he flung it open, he remembered the last time he passed it, Fanny leaned on his arm, He felt himself so much excited, that, instead of riding up to the house, ne took the private path to the stables, and throwing the reins of his horse to a boy, he turned into a shubbery, and endeavoured to recover his self-command before he should present himself. As he emerged from the sheltered path, and turned into a walk which led to the garden, a small conservatory was opened to his view, awaking fresh sensations. It was in that very place he had first ventured to declare his love to Fanny. There she heard, and frowned not;—there, where nature's choicest sweets were exhaling, he had first pressed her to his heart, and thought the balmy sweetness of her lips beyond them all. He hurried forward in the enthusiasm the recollection recalled, to enter that spot consecrated in his memory; but, on arriving at the door, he suddenly stopped, for he saw Fanny within. She was plucking a geranium— the flower she had been plucking some years before, when Edward said he loved her. She, all that morning, had been under the influence of feelings similar to Edward's; had felt the same yearnings-the same tender doubts-the same fond solicitude that he should be the same Edward from whom she parted. But she thought of more than this; with the exquisitely delicate contrivance belonging to woman's nature, she wished to give him a signal of her fond recollection, and was plucking the flower she gathered, when he declared his love, to place on her bosom when they should meet. Edward felt the meaning of her action, as the graceful hand broke the flower from its stem. He would have rushed towards her at once, but that the deep mourning in which she was arrayed seemed to command a gentler approach; for grief commands respect. He advanced softly—she heard a gentle step behind her, and turned-uttered a faint exclamation of joy, and sank into his arms!

In a few moments she was restored to consciousness, and opening her sweet eyes upon him, breathed softly, "dear Edward!"—and the lips which, in two words, had expressed so much, were impressed with a fervent kiss, in the blessed consciousness of possession, on that very spot where the first timid and doubting word of love had been spoken. In that moment he was rewarded for all his years of absence and anxiety. His heart was satisfied;-he felt he was as dear as ever to the woman he idolized, and the short and hurried beating of both their hearts told more than words could express. Words!-what were words to them?-thought was too swift for their use, and feeling too strong for their utterance; but they drank from each other's eyes large draughts of delight, and, in the silent pressure of each other's welcoming embrace, felt how truly they loved each other.

He led her gently from the conservatory, and they exchanged words of affection "soft and low," as they sauntered through the wooded paths which surrounded the house. That live-long day they wandered up and down together, repeating again and again the anxious yearnings which occupied their years of separation, yet asking each other, was not all more than repaid by the gladness of the present

"Yet how painful has been the past!" exclaimed Edward.

"But now!" said Fanny, with a gentle pressure of her tiny hand on Edward's arm, and looking up to him with her bright eyes-" but now!" "True, darling!" he cried; " 'tis ungrateful to think of the past, while enjoying such a present, and with such a future before me. Bless that cheerful heart, and those hope-inspiring glances! Oh, Fanny! in the wilderness of life there are springs and palm-trees-you are both to me! and Heaven has set its own mark upon you, in those laughing blue eyes, which might set despair at defiance."

"Poetical as ever, Edward!" said Fanny, laughing.

"Sit down, dearest, for a moment, on this old tree, beside me ; 'tis not the first time I have strung rhymes in your presence, and your praise.'

He took a small note-book from his pocket, and Fanny looked on smilingly, as Edward's pencil rapidly ran over the leaf, and traced the lover's tribute to his mistress.

The Sunshine in You.

I.

It is sweet when we look round the wide world's waste,

To know that the desert bestows

The palms where the weary heart may rest,
The spring that in purity flows.

And where have I found

In this wilderness round

That spring and that shelter so true;
Unfailing in need,

And my own, indeed ?

Oh! dearest, I've found it in you!

II.

And, oh when the cloud of some darkening hour
O'ershadows the soul with its gloom,

Then where is the light of the vestal pow'r,
The lamp of pale Hope to illume?
Oh! the light ever lies

In those bright fond eyes,

Where Heaven has impress'd its own blue,

As a seal from the skies;

And my heart relies

On that gift of its sunshine in you!

Fanny liked the lines, of course. "Dearest," she said, " may 1 always prove sunshine to you! Is it not a strange coincidence that these lines exactly fit a little air which occurred to me some time ago?" " "Tis odd," said Edward;-" sing it to me, darling."

Fanny took the verses from his hand, and sung them to her own measure. Oh, happy triumph of the poet !—to hear his verses wedded to sweet sounds, and warbled by the woman he loves!

Edward caught up the strain, and added his voice to hers in harmony, and they sauntered homewards, trolling their ready-made duet together.

There were not two happier hearts in the world that day, than those of Fanny Dawson and Edward O'Connor,

CHAPTER L

RESPECT for the memory of Major Dawson of course prevented the immediate marriage of Edward and Fanny; but the winter months passed cheerfully away in looking forward to the following autumn, which should witness the completion of their happiness. Though Edward was thus tempted by the society of the one he loved best in the world, it did not make him neglect the duties he had undertaken in behalf of Gustavus. Not only did he prosecute his reading with him regularly, but took no small pains in looking after the involved affairs of the family, and strove to make satisfactory arrangements with those whose claims were gnawing away the estate to nothing. Though the years of Gusty's minority were but few, still they would give the estate some breathing time; and creditors, seeing the minor backed by a man of character, and convinced a sincere desire existed to relieve the estate of its encumbrances and pay all just claims, presented a less threatening front than hitherto, and listened readily to such terms of accommodation as were proposed to them. Uncle Robert (for the breaking of whose neck Ratty's pious aspirations had been raised) behaved very well on the occasion. A loan from him, and a partial sale of some of the acres, stopped the mouths of the greedy wolves who fatten on men's ruin, and time and economy were looked forward to for the discharge of all other debts. Uncle Robert, having so far acted the friend, was considered entitled to have a partial voice in the ordering of things at the Hall; and having a notion that an English accent was genteel, he desired that Gusty and Ratty should pass a year under the roof of a clergyman in England, who received a limited number of young gentlemen for the completion of their education. Gustavus would much rather have remained near Edward O'Connor, who had already done so much for him; but Edward, though he regretted parting with Gustavus, recommended him to accede to his uncle's wishes, though he did not see the necessity of an Irish gentleman being ashamed of his accent.

The visit to England, however, was postponed till the spring, and the winter months were used by Gustavus in availing himself as much as he could of Edward's assistance in putting him through his classics, his pride prompting him to present himself creditably to the English clergyman.

It was in vain to plead such pride to Ratty, who paid more attention to shooting than his lessons.

His mother strove to persuade-Ratty was deaf.
His "gran" strove to bribe-Ratty was incorruptible.
Gusty argued-Ratty answered after his own fashion.
Why won't you learn even a little ?"

66

6

"I'm to go to that English fellow' in spring, and I shall have no fun then, so I'm making good use of my time now."

66 5 Do you call it 'good use' to be so dreadfully idle and shamefully ignorant."

"Bother!—the less I know, the more the English fellow will have to teach me, and uncle Bob will have more worth for his money ;" and then Ratty would whistle a jig, fling a fowling-piece over his shoulder, shout" Ponto! Ponto! Ponto!" as he traversed the stable-yard; the delighted pointer would come bounding at the call, and after circling round his young master with agile grace and yelps of glee at the sight of the gun, dash forward to the well-known "bottoms" in eager expectancy of ducks and snipe.

How fared it all this time with the lord of Scatterbrain?

He became established, for the present, in a house that had been a long time to let in the neighbourhood, and his mother was placed at the head of it, and Oonah still remained under his protection, though the daily sight of the girl added to Andy's grief at the desperate plight in which his ill-starred marriage placed him, to say nothing of the constant annoyance of his mother's growling at him for his making "such a judy” of himself; for the dowager lady Scatterbrain could not get rid of her vocabulary at once. Andy's only resource under these circumstances was to mount his horse, and fly.

As for the dowager lady, she had a carriage with " a picture" on it, as she called the coat of arms, and was fond of driving past the houses of people who had been uncivil to her. Against Mrs. Casey (the renowned Matty Dwyer) she entertained an especial spite, in consideration of her treatment of her beautiful boy and her own pair of black eyes; so she determined to pay her off" in her own way, and stopping one day at the hole in the hedge which served for entrance to the estate of the "three-cornered field," she sent the footman in to say the doujer Lady Scatterbreen wanted to speak with "Casey's wife."

When the servant, according to instructions, delivered this message, he was sent back with the answer, that if any lady wanted to see Casey's wife," Casey's wife" was at home.

66

Oh, go back, and tell the poor woman I don't want to bring her to he door of my carriage, if its inconvaynient. I only wished to give her a little help; and tell her if she sends up eggs to the big house, Lady Scatterbreen will pay her for them."

When the servant delivered this message, Matty grew outrageous at the means 66 my lady" took of crowing over her, and rushing to the door, with her face flushed with rage, roared out, “Tell the old baggage I want none of her custom; let her lay eggs for herself!"

The servant staggered back in amaze; and Matty, feeling he would not deliver her message, ran to the hole in the hedge, and repeated her answer to my lady herself, with a great deal more which need not be recorded. Suffice it to say, my lady thought it necessary to pull up

the glass, against which Matty threw a handful of mud; the servant jumped up on his perch behind the carriage, which was rapidly driven away by the coachman, but not so fast that Matty could not, by dint of running, keep it "within range" for some seconds, during which time she contrived to pelt both coachman and footman with mud, and leave her mark on their new livery. This was a salutary warning to the old woman, who was more cautious in her demonstrations of grandeur for

the future.

If she was stinted in the enjoyment of her new-born dignity abroad, she could indulge it at home without let or hindrance, and to this end asked Andy to let her have a hundred pounds, in one pound notes, for a particular purpose. What this purpose was no one was told or could guess, but for a good while after she used to be closeted by herself for several hours during the day.

66

Andy had his hours of retirement also, for with praiseworthy industry he strove hard, poor fellow, to lift himself above the state of ignorance, and had daily attendance from the parish schoolmaster. The mysteries of pothooks and hangers" and A B C weighed heavily on the nobleman's mind, which must have sunk under the burden of scholarship and penmanship, but for the other "ship,"-the horsemanship,-which was Andy's daily self-established reward for his perseverance in his lessons. Besides, he really could ride; and as it was the only accomplishment of which he was master, it was no wonder he enjoyed the display of it; and to say the truth, he did, and that on a first-rate horse too. Having appointed Murtough Murphy his law-agent, he often rode over to the town to talk with him, and as Murtough could have some fun and thirteen and four-pence also per visit, he was always glad to see his "noble friend." The high road did not suit Andy's notion of things; he preferred the variety, shortness, and diversion of going across the country on these occasions; and in one of these excursions, in the most secluded portion of his ride, which unavoidably lay through some quarries and deep broken ground, he met " Ragged Nance," who held up her finger as he approached the gorge of this lonely dell, in token that she would speak with him. Andy pulled up.

66

"Long life to you, my lord," said Nance, dropping a deep curtsey, and sure I always liked you since the night you was so bowld for the sake of the poor girl,—the young lady, I mane, now, God bless her,and I just wish to tell you, my lord, that I think you might as well not be going these lonely ways, for I see them hanging about here betimes, that may be it would not be good for your health to meet; and sure, my lord, it would be a hard case if you were killed now, havin' the luck o' the sick calf that lived all the winther and died in the summer.'

"Is it that big blackguard Shan More you mane ?" said Andy. "No less," said Nance-growing deadly pale as she cast a piercing glance into the dell, and cried in a low hurried tone-" Talk o' the divil—there he is—I see him peep out from behind a rock.” "He's runing this way," said Andy.

"Then you run the other way," said Nance-"look there-I seen him strive to hide a blunderbuss under his coat-gallop off, for the love o' God! or there'll be murther."