eyes, in a manner that was both startling and disagreeable, and especially as their motion seemed to occasion the noise.

His appearance upon the present occasion threw a change over the light spirit which had animated the enjoyment of the young folks then assembled on the

common.

"Here is Stuart the dummy; he will tell all our fortunes!" and immediately, as he approached, a crowd of young and eager, but timid faces, gathered about him. Indeed, there is a strange combination in the feelings which are entertained for either man or woman who is supposed to possess the power of raising the veil of futurity. Fear, modified by curiosity, and an anxiety to hear, if possible, what the outlines or leading events of our life may be, constitutes the mood of mind in which we solicit their predictions; and, indeed, we think that were it not for the influence of love and ambitionthe two great principles of life-very few could be found anxious to approach such persons at all, possessed, as they are supposed to be, by a strange and supernatural mystery. At all events, the wild-looking old man was surrounded by the young folk; some of those who possessed least fear and more assurance, approaching boldly, and intimating as well as they could by signs, that they wished him to spae their fortunes; whilst others, more timid and apprehensive, kept aloof, and stood at a cautious distance. The fortune-teller seemed rather displeased, and signified somewhat angrily that he would tell them nothing. In the meantime, he cast his eyes about, and discovering Maria Brindsley, standing with apparent awe and timidity at a distance, he beckoned her to approach him, and after having contemplated her beautiful features and exquisite little figure she was then about twelve-he placed his hand upon her head, with an expression of great benignity, and taking her along with him, proceeded to her mother's cottage. Having arrived there, he shut the door with his own hands, in order to keep out the crowd, who were pressing to follow him into the house. He then made signs to her mother to procure him the materials for writing; and having received them, he once more contemplated the little girl's features for a long time, and with intense earnestness; then examined the palm-lines of her hand with equal attention, and having apparently satisfied himself, he retired into an inner room, fetching the pen, ink, and paper along with him. Here he remained for at least an hour, not, certainly, writing during all that period, as was evident from the noise of his step, as he paced the room. At length there was a silence of about fifteen minutes, during which they took it for granted that he was committing the chief incidents of her future fate and fortures to paper, and in a few minutes they hoped to have the mysterious scroll laid before them.

Maria herself, though young, felt her position a trying one. 'Tis true, her future destiny might be bright, and agreeable, and happy-but what if it should prove to be the reverse of all this? The alternations of hope and fear might be read in the varying expression of her

anxious countenance, which was now pale as death, and anon flushed into the hue of crimson by the trepidation and tumult which agitated her heart. Her mother, all whose hopes of earthly happiness were centred in her sweet and beautiful child, experienced an anxiety so deep, that she regretted her compliance with the wish of the old spaeman.

"I am sorry," she said, addressing her assistants, "that I consented to this piece of folly at all. The man can know nothing of what's to happen to us in the future; and if he foretels evil, it may break down the spirits of my child, and make her miserable and unhappy."

"Not a bit, mother," replied Maria, collecting her energy, "it doesn't matter what he may foretel; because if it happens to be bad, I will do what you always told me to do that is, to trust in God-which I will do, and then if I don't deserve the evil, God won't let it come upon me."

As the noble girl spoke, her cheek mantled, and her eye flashed with resolution and energy, and we may add, too, with early piety.

"No, mother," she added, "I am not afraid now, and don't you, mother, either. What is the whole thing, after all, but a joke?"

Stuart now made his appearance in the kitchen, with a paper folded like a letter in his hand. Mrs. Brindsley signed to him that she wished to see it, but he shook his head forbiddingly, and intimated that he wished to have sealing-wax. This was procured in a few minutes, when, to their utter astonishment, he immediately sealed up the paper, and handed it to her mother, accompanied with an open slip, on which was written the following words :

"I lay it upon you, as a strict and solemn obligation, that this paper is not to be opened or read until your daughter's marriage day-after the ceremony. The disregarding of this obligation is likely to be her ruin ; and if you wish her to avoid evil in many shapes, and most of all from her own heart, you will not attempt to do it. I see what is before her, but it is for her own good that she should not know it until the time I mention. On that day this prophecy of her fortune will be fulfilled. CHARLES STUART."

Maria, on hearing this read, said—

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Very well, mother, sign to him that we will act in obedience to his wishes."

The mother accordingly did so, upon which he once more approached Maria, looked upon her with evident complacency and satisfaction, and taking her hand, he placed it on her own heart, and turning up his eyes, pointed towards heaven.

"He means, darling," observed her mother, "that if you fear God, and put your trust in heaven, there will be no danger. His face, too, seems full of satisfaction, which surely would not be the case if he thought or knew that there was evil before you."

She then put her hand in her pocket, in order to offer him money, but observing her intention, he abruptly, and somewhat angrily, prevented her, and having

raised his hand solemnly to enforce the obligation which he had imposed upon her, he once more pointed to the open paper, lest he might be misunderstood, after which he took his departure, with that slow and solemn pace which was peculiar to him.

This incident created quite a sensation in the little world about them. The neighbours, both young and old, flocked in to hear Maria's fortune, but on finding that it was a sealed document, their curiosity, especially that of the women, was inflamed to such a pitch, that poor Mrs. Brindsley felt herself and her daughter literally in a state of persecution. They were assailed by every variety of logic and eloquence, not to omit piety, friendship, sincere interest for their welfare, and the natural feelings of good neighbourhood; for through all those shapes and disguises did curiosity pass. If curiosity, however, assumed so many aspects, so also did rumour. In the course of a few days the whole neighbourhood seemed to have been made perfectly well acquainted with the full particulars of this most mysterious affair; but as every account of it differed from another, her acquaintances flocked to her for the purpose of hearing the authentic version.

The first that entered was her next-door neighbour, Mrs. Nelson, who, having taken her seat, commenced with all the adroitness of a diplomatist, to insinuate herself into the secret. She drew, however, a very wide circle around the question, but with singular tact contrived to narrow it gradually, and as if without design, until she could get Mrs. Brindsley into what is termed a vicious circle; in other words, a circle from which she could not escape without giving up the information required.

After the usual salutations, Mrs. Nelson introduced that original topic, the weather.

"Well, Mrs. Brindsley, was there ever seen such weather as this, praise be to goodness ?"

"It's blessed weather, Mrs. Nelson."

"It is indeed, and we ought to be thankful for it, which I'm afeared we are not-an' the crap, too, how it promises. We intend to try the new praties on Saturday. Indeed, Billy" (her husband) "says we might 'a done it a fortnight ago, but its betther to wait till they get a bone in them, than to dig them when they're nothin' but blobs of wather."

"True enough, indeed, Mrs. Nelson."

"Ay, and how beautiful the evenins are. Wasn't last Saturday a delightful day? and indeed it's but seldom that Woolty" (William) " Rutledge is at home of a Saturday evenin'-and wasn't it lucky that the youngsters got him for their dance, poor things—sorrow on that spaeman, he knocked it up on them."

"Well, but sure it was their own fault, Mrs. Nelson, and not his. Why didn't they mind their dance, and pay no attention to him ?"

"That's true, indeed; but, still, it's only natural for young people to wish for a knowledge of their fortunes. There's Billy-my husband-that remembers the Peep

* This man and the character who is now speaking lived -he, to reach the age of one hundred and seven, and she,

But, in the mean time," replied Mrs. Brindsley, "there's not a word of truth in it."

"Then what did he tell her, Martha ?" pursued Mrs. Nelson, becoming more familiar and insinuating— "surely he tould her something, eh ?"

"Not a syllable. He wrote her fortune down, and sealed it up, and it's not to be opened until her marriage day, when the ceremony is over."

"And would you submit to sich a piece of villany as that, Martha? Murdher sheery! to keep you and the poor child on the tenther hooks until then! Surely you won't submit to that, any way. Of course you'll open the paper and see what's in it? it may put both your child and yourself upon your guard."

"Indeed, and I will not, Mrs. Nelson. He said if I did that is, he wrote it down-that if I did, it might be the ruin of my child to know it."

"And why should the sinner say sich a thing? Doesn't Maria herself wish to know it?"

"Not a bit, ma'am-the girl has sense beyond her years, and has made up her mind not to read it until that time comes, as I hope it will.”

"Well, all I can say is, that if I was in your place, it wouldn't be long unopened: but, indeed, Maria is a very wise child-too much so, maybe, for her years. Now, do be guided by me, and let us see it. It can do no harm at any rate, and may do a great deal of good."

"No, indeed, Mrs. Nelson, nothing on earth will tempt either of us to break it. We have made our minds up on the subject, so that neither you, nor any one else, need ever urge us to it."

"Well, my dear, I have done my duty-only I wish that you may never sup sorrow for your obstinacythat's all. If you do, remember you were well advised, and that you scorned both the advice and the adviser."

"Don't say scorn, Mrs. Nelson; I'm obliged to you for your good wishes, but once for all, I tell you that my mind's made up on it."

that of one hundred and six. They lived without spot or stain.

Several others came with the same object, by which we mean, a flaming wish to gratify a most prurient curiosity, but all in vain. They were treated with the same civility and firmness of spirit by Mrs. Brindsley, who thanked them for their good wishes, but declined to break the seal, or reveal the secret.

At length a more sober and sanctified form of curiosity made its appearance in the shape of a very pious woman, named Mrs. Gillespie, who came not so much to wheedle and insinuate, as to storm the citadel by Christian rebuke, and no small exhibition of spiritual alarm, for the danger in which this ungodly temporizing with Satan had placed Mrs. Brindsley and her child.

"Neighbour," she began, with clasped hands, a sigh that strongly merged into a groan, and a very devout upturning of the eyes, "a hope am about to spake to a woman that wishes to look Zionwards-a hope so-a do, indeed, ahem!"

"I hope so, too, Mrs. Gillespie," replied her neighbour. "You know," proceeded Mrs. Gillespie," am a plainspoken woman, and am sorry to hear that you're dealin' wi' the canthrips o' Satan, and for that matther, so is Tam sorry. Is it true that this black scrowl is scaled with a cloven foot ?"

"No, indeed," replied Mrs. Brindsley, "he refused to seal it with anything but the child's own thimble.”

"Well," replied Mrs. Gillespie, "all a can say is, that there's no use in keeping the unholy document sealed up. The spaeman himself couldn't nor didn't, keep the secret. I'm informed by Paddy Hannigan that he wrote two copies of it-that he showed him one o' them and that it said the poor lost child is to be married to an Episcopalian bishop, and then a'd be gled to know what's to become of her salvation, poor thing. A'd every bit as soon she'd turn Papish and marry a priest, and so would Tam, because you see there might be some chance of her convartin' the priest, but de'il a Christian alive could hould any hope of convartin' sich a hardened sinner as an Episcopalian bishop."

Mrs. Brindsley could not avoid laughing heartily at the honest Presbyterian zeal of Mrs. Gillespie, and especially, at her pious horror of the Episcopalian Bishop.

"Well, Mrs. Gillespie," she replied, "I don't think there's the slightest chance of her marrying either a Protestant bishop or a Catholic priest. In the mean time, you are all alarmed without any grounds, I trust, about what the spaeman has written."

66

But why don't you open the paper, and read it? They say all the family of those Stuarts tell fortunes only by the black art, and doesn't every one know that the black art can be learned from nobody but Satan himself. Isn't it he that teaches them to read and write, for it's well known that they never went to school for it? A say then, Mrs. Brindsley, that your soul is in a dangerons state, if you don't open that paper and learn— ay, and let your neighbours, too, learn-what is in it. As a Christian woman a came to tell you so, and if you won't be guided by your friends, why, then, the sin and guilt of it must rest upon your own head. So you won't let us see it ?" she added, as a last effort.

"No, ma'am," replied the other, " as I've made my resolution, I will keep it."

"Oh! very well, very well!" replied Mrs. Gillespie. "A fear the temptation of Satan is strong upon you, Mrs. Brindsley, and so does Tam, for he said so."

After a time, however, all this anxiety to know the secret passed away, as everything of the kind does; not, however, until every conceivable conjecture was made as to what it could be.

In the meantime the circumstance invested this most lovely young creature with an interest which, fair as she was, would otherwise never have been attached to her at all. She was now as it were a beautiful myth, and looked upon as one whose fate was involved in a mysterious and forbidden prediction-a prediction, too, which was known to be in existence, and which was to be disclosed only at a particular period.

It is a general opinion throughout the world, but especially among savage and barbarous tribes of people, that those individuals from whom God has withheld the divine faculty of reason, are almost generally endowed with some other gift, which is not conferred upon the rest of their fellow-creatures. In some countries the persons of fools and idiots are held sacred, and are looked upon as possessing the power of raising the veil of futurity. It is pretty well known, if we can depend upon history, that when the Pythoness gave out her revelations, she became so strongly agitated and convulsed, that her spirit was supposed to pass from under the influence of calm and sober reason, and that her divinations were always the result of a high delirious fury, without the influence of which she could utter no prediction. Cassandra, too, the only female prophetess in Troy, was mad, and we have it upon very excellent authority, that the magicians, conjurors, and sorcerers of the dark ages, were never able to reach the objects of their incantations and sorceries with success, until they became convulsed with spasmodic agonies, that reduced them to a state of the most incredible exhaustion and debility. It was, however, whilst in this state that they are said to have received their black inspirations. Upon this principle, we suppose it is, that the common people attribute the privilege of prediction to the deaf and dumb, as a compensation for the want of speech and hearing. Still, with respect to the Stuart family in the north of Ireland, we are of opinion, upon more mature reflection, that they must have been impostors, as it was known that almost every one of them could read and write. Having closed these reflections, we now resume our narrative, and return to our heroine.

CHAPTER II.

MPS. CLINTON'S INTEREST IN MARIA, AND THE CAUSE OF IT— THE VERY CRIGINAL LOVE OF WILLIAM WALLACE, THE YOUNG MINISTER.

THE figure of Maria Brindsley gradually developed itself into all the exquisite proportions of a Grecian statue, with drapery almost as simple. As she grew up, she became not merely the admiration, but the won

der of the neighbourhood. Nor was her beauty confined to that contracted limit. Her light, agile, and graceful step, was a charm even to look at. When playing on the green, her sylph-like motions reminded one of those of the fawn or antelope. She flew rather than ran; and when lit up into the roseate warmth and excitement which resulted from the free and boundless enjoyment of exercise, it was impossible to look at her without feeling one's self literally enchained by a species of enchantment. Yet so full of sweetness and affection was her disposition, that, notwithstanding the wonderful superiority of her beauty and person, she was never known to have an enemy among young persons of her own sex. On the contrary, she was as much the centre of love among them, as she was of admiration.

After she had betaken herself to her mother's business, nothing could surpass her industry or her anxiety to improve in it. When she had reached her sixteenth year, she had gained all the information on the subject which her mother, who was self-taught, and ignorant of the trade as an art, could teach her. 'Tis true her mother, until then, had wrought only for the humbler classes that is to say, from the daughters of the decent farmer down to the humble servant-maid. Now, however, a higher class, attracted by a curiosity which arose from the reputation of her extraordinary beauty, began to call to her mother's house, to ascertain if she could undertake to execute their orders. This, however, she uniformly declined, unless in such plain and simple matters as she felt herself capable of managing with success,

In the meantime, she was frequently receiving advice from the ladies of the neighbourhood, to place her daughter in some respectable establishment, where she could become acquainted with the more refined and elegant operations of that delicate and beautiful art; but, alas! there was no such establishment within her reach, and she could almost as soon part with her life as with her daughter. Several ladies throughout the parish, charmed with the natural grace of her manner and her beauty, offered to get her a place in some of the most fashionable establishments in the metropolis; but to those kind offers the mother never could assent, although she warmly expressed her gratitude for their goodness and generosity in making them. Maria was now past sixteen; and nothing could surpass the propriety and modest grace of her conduct and manner. Nature seemed to have stamped the impress of a lady upon her. Several offers of marriage were now made, both to herself and through her mother, many of them highly advantageous, indeed, such as no girl in her position of life could expect but herself, yet she declined them all very humbly, and with many thanks, assuring the parties that she was too young to entertain any notion of matrimony, and that, besides, she could not for a moment think of leaving her mother, to whom her industry was necessary, and who, besides, had no other child but herself. All this raised her very high in the opinion of every one who heard of her decisions. Her motives were respected, and she was as generally praised as much for her good sense as her beauty.

Indeed, at this period she was subjected to much and incessant temptation. Many young and wealthy profligates laid traps and snares for her, which required a character of singular virtue and extraordinary firmness to escape and resist. Many dishonourable and seduc

tive offers were made to her, which she rejected with indignation and scorn. When at church every eye was upon her; and when in fair or market she was followed by crowds, a circumstance which was peculiar to the public appearance of other rustic beauties, as well as to her. She now came to the resolution of avoiding public places as much as possible, with the exception of church, at which she was a regular attendant, but always accompanied by her mother. Indeed, of late, and ever since those disgraceful importunities had become so frequent, she never went any where unless under her protection, or the escort of some steady friend. The truth is, she led a most uncomfortable aud unpleasant life; and if it had been possible for her mother to leave the neighbourhood altogether, she would have done so. This, however, was out of the question. She could not think for a moment of removing from the reach of those friends, by whose custom and kindness she and her child were supported in the exercise of her humble skill and industry.

About this time an old lady, in a distant part of the parish, who had heard much of her beauty, and of the temptations to which she was in the habit of being subjected, after having made herself well acquainted with the circumstances, drove to Mrs. Brindsley's cottag', and asked to see her.

66 I wish," said she, "to have some private conversation with you; and it is, I think, of importance to yourself."

Mrs. Brindsley was somewhat embarrassed, because the only neat little apartment into which she could have asked her was the parlour, and that was their working room. She soon recovered her presence of mind, however, and requested the work women and her daughter to retire to the garden, until she should send for them. She then brought her yisitor in, and having placed a chair, asked her to sit down. The good lady did so ; and having gazed through the window into the garden, where Maria and the workwomen were walking, she contemplated the former with apparently a deep interest -an interest much deeper than poor Mrs. Brindsley was aware of at the time, but which our readers will very soon understand.

This lady, whom we shall call by the name of Clinton, was a woman of high connections, both by her own family and that of her husband. She was very proud in her own circle, but she was kind, unassuming, and proverbially benevolent out of it. In the ordinary intercourse of life, she was liberal-minded, generous both in her feelings and sentiments, and accomplished as well in her natural intellect as in her education. The aristocratic principle, however, was strong in her, and no woman living ever manifested a prouder disposition to maintain the doctrine of social caste than she did. And yet she was remarkable for an unusual degree of that

artlessness of disposition and simplicity of character, which are uniformly inseparable from a kind and beneficent heart. Altogether, she was the most popular woman in that part of the country. Having given this slight sketch of her, we shall proceed to detail the conversation which took place between her and Mrs. Brindsley.

"That is a beautiful girl of yours, Mrs. Brindsley," said Mrs. Clinton. "What do you intend to do with her? Don't you think it is time she was settled in life ?" "Why, ma'am," replied Mrs. Brindsley, "she is little more than a child yet-only entering her seventeenth year. As for marriage, she has no thoughts of it; and, besides, I can assure you, that no temptation or offer of that kind could ever induce her to leave me. She is the most affectionate and dutiful child that ever drew the breath of life; and, indeed, I scarcely think I could part with her."

"Well, that is but natural, and I am not surprised at it. She is much spoken of."

"How, ma'am?" replied her mother, alarmed-" not to her disadvantage, I trust ?"

"Certainly not, Mrs. Brindsley, but for her good qualities and virtues; but especially for her extraordinary beauty. Now, I am come to speak to you as a friend; and let me tell you, Mrs. Brindsley, that placed as she is, without a father to protect her, beauty is too frequently a fatal gift."

"God forbid," replied her mother, "that it should be so to her!"

"Well, in her case, I do not say it is; and, I trust sincerely, that it will not be so. But, you know yourself, that where such extraordinary beauty and personal perfections as she is possessed of, appear in an humble girl, in a country village surrounded by young gentlemen, possessed all of wealth, some of insinuating manners, handsome in person, and, very probably, profligate in principle; I say, Mrs. Brindsley, that when that beautiful girl of yours is placed, as she is, within a circle of such temptations, at the most dangerous period of life, it is your duty to remove her beyond their reach if you can."

Madam," replied Mrs. Brindsley, with something of the mother's indignant pride, "I am not afraid of my daughter. She has no love but that for me, her mother; and, besides, Mrs. Clinton, young as she is, she lives in the fear of God. I admit that many attempts have been made to lead her from the right path, but they have all failed, and she has made her mother's ear and her mother's heart acquainted with every secret of her life."

"I am glad to hear you confirm what I have heard from other sources, Mrs. Brindsley; but I beg you to reflect that your daughter is very inexperienced, and ignorant of the wiles of men, and that although she may have resisted so far, it is not impossible that the hour and tempter may come, at a moment when her own heart may betray her. Few, indeed, fall in this world under any circumstances, whether in ambition or love, upon a first temptation; but, on the contrary,

we well know that many have maintained long and noble struggles, yet have fallen at last. The great art of prudence, Mrs. Brindsley, is either to remove the temptation, or to avoid it. There is a celebrated author -an Irishman-named Goldsmith, whose advice is, that we ought to have recourse to flight

"And when we cannot conquer, learn to fly." Now, I say, you cannot remove the temptations from your daughter, but you may remove your daughter from the temptations."

"There is a great deal of truth in what you say, madam," replied Mrs. Brindsley, "but I do not like to hear anything that would weaken the trust of a mother in the virtue and purity of her child."

"May God forbid, Mrs. Brindsley, that ever I should do so; but I speak to you as a woman who has had more experience in life, and upon a much larger scale than you could possibly have had. I am, perhaps, better aware of the danger to which your daughter is exposed than you are, or than you can be. My son, the lieutenant, a young man-and a very handsome one, I can assure you-is now at home on leave of absence from his regiment, which is stationed in Kilkenny. Well, he saw your daughter at church, and as you and she came out with the rest of the congregation, I could perceive that he waited until she made her appearance. I saw him look at her; I saw her return his look, and blush deeply at the moment. Now, I wish you to cal her in, and ask her if she can deny it."

"No, madam," replied Mrs. Brindsley, reddening with something like indignation, "I shall not insult my child by complying with such an unfeeling request. Your son may have stared at her in an unbecoming and offensive manner; and if so, it was very natural that either she or any other modest girl should blush with anger at such an improper liberty. Still, from all I ever heard of your son, he has the character of being an honourable and gentlemanly young man, and is well spoken of by every one who knows him, I cannot think. he would stare at her."

"He did not stare at her; his look for I observed them both well-was exceedingly respectful; but yet she blushed when she returned it,"

"Did she return it in an unbecoming manner-in an immodest manner?" asked her mother.

"Certainly not," replied Mrs. Clinton; "it was but a glance; her eyes instantly fell, and immediately her cheeks became crimson."

"Goodness me!" said Mrs. Brindsley, "all this is very natural, and surely has nothing in it discreditable to my child."

"I don't mean to insinuate anything of the kind," replied Mrs. Clinton, "because I don't believe it; but the foolish boy has been talking of nothing else than your daughter for the last month. Unfortunately, he has never been a church-goer, but it happened that upon his return on leave we brought him to church the first Sunday; and whatever may have been the reason of it, he has been a regular attendant ever since-a thing