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rangements for Maria's education and accomplishments ments in that great metropolis. She entered as a young were made, and this was true.

The prudent but gene- lady of a respectable but reduced family, whose instrucrous and affectionate mother, however, acted in the tions, in consequence of their decline, had been nematter more from the tenderness which sbe felt for her

glected, but whose prospects in life were sach as son, than from free and spontaneous inclination. She rendered it necessary that she should receive an accomwould rather, considering all things that ought to be plished education. She was a prs:égée of an Irish lady considered, that this union should not take place. Dr. of rank and family, who would, through him, punctually Spillar, however, having represented to her the deter- and regularly discharge all the necessary expenses, and mination of the sou to sell out of the army, and become who wished besides, that none should be spared, nor an unsettled and unhappy wanderer beyond the bounds anything left undone to render the course of her acof Europe itself; and knowing, as she did, the natural quirements such as became a lady of the highest fashion. vehemence and determination of his character, she be- When the doctor was about to take his farewell of came alarmed, and was finally prevailed upon to con- her, she became deeply affected, and wept bitterly. sent, which she did, as the reader has seen, with a very Alas, my dear sir,” she said, “I feel, now that you good grace. Still the character of the high-born and are leaving me, as if I were alone in life. Where is prudent mother peeped out in the shape of the following there a man, high and eminent as you are, who could condition : If, at the expiration, or any time before it, have condescended to take the kind and fatherly inteof the term necessary for Maria's complete acquirement rest in the poor humble girl which you have taken? of all that a liberal and accomplished education could You stand towards me now as an affectionate father, bestow, her son should, during his intercourse with the and indeed I love you as such. Now that you leave world, happen to meet a lady in his own rank of life, me, I am friendless here." whom he might prefer, it was to be understood that “No, my dear child," said the doctor, much moved, Maria should rest satisfied with this change ; but that you are not friendless here, nor are you, as you know, in the meantime Mrs. Clinton would, under these cir- without friends elsewhere, and loving friends." cumstances, support Maria at school until her education “But,” she added in tears, “if Clinton should forget should be finished ; after which she was to present her with sum of five hundred pounds, that she might be “ He will not forget you, because I know that beauenabled to settle herself respectably in life. With a tiful, my dear child, as you are, he loves you for better feeling of womanly delicacy, however, which certainly and higher qualities. Do not make yourself anlappy did her honour, she told Maria that no person should on that account. Improve yourself as rapidly as you defray the expenses of her education but herself (Mrs. can; you will have an opportunity of becoming acClinton) alone. And so she did, from first to last. quainted with all the modern languages, with music,

Under those circumstances, and on those conditions, drawing, deportmentyou will find the last an easy Dr. Spillar, herself, and Maria proceeded as privately task--and all the various portions of education which as possible to Dublin, where her outfit--and an elegant are necessary for the position in life which you will, one it was—under the care and management of Mrs. please God, before long occupy ; but before all things, Clinton, was duly provided ; after which the good old I beg that you will not neglect the study of history; it doctor and she set sail for London.

will soothe and calm your spirits, and render your sleep Poor Maria felt as in a dream. She could scarcely tranquil and profound. Before I go, however, let me believe that the incidents of the last few days were impress one principle of action upon your 'heart-I real. What was her fate to be? She loved Clinton speak of religion. Do not neglect its dictates; pray to with a rare and noble affection, but might not his that God who is about to raise you to a high and mother's foresight prove correct? and in that case, honourable station in life, to make you worthy of it; where was her dream of happiness? Would a young neglect not, above all things, your private devotions, man like him, ardent and susceptible, and mingling and lastly, place your confidence in God, and he will with the high-born beauties of aristocratic life, en- protect you. We will not neglect to write to you, and dowed with fortune, education, accomplishments, and we hope both to sce by your letters, and to hear from honourable connexions, could he, under circumstances other sources, that your progress in knowledge and imof such temptation, possibly stand out against them, provement, not forgetting history, will be such as we and prove himself not only faithful to the obscure obo expect." ject of his first affection, but capable of setting the Maria parted from him with a sorrowful heart, and scorn and censure of the world at defiance ? She indeed the good old man had proved himself, as she trembled when she thought of all this, and it required said, not only a friend but a father to her at a time all the kindness and benevolent eloquence of the good when very few of his rank and position in life would old doctor to console and sustain her.

bare felt any particular interest in an humble and obIn this state of doubt and uncertainty, she and the scure girl who had no claim upon him but that of doctor arrived in London, where, by the direction of Christian duty, a claim too frequently overlooked. Mrs. Clinton, who had given the doctor letters of intro

Truth is strange-stranger than fiction.” duction, the worthy gentleman was enabled, without loss of time, to place Maria in one of the first establishi- We have placed these words as the motto of our

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story, and certainly it will be found that their truth in the incidents which are to follow will be strangely corroborated. Of Maria's residence in the establishment selected for her, we have but little to say, except that her progress in the acquisition of knowledge surpassed all the expectations that were formed of her, and the reader knows that those expectations were great. It is not our inten:ion retard or obstruct our narrative by a quotation of the letters which passed between her and her faithful and noble-hearted lyver, his mother, or Dr. Spillar. It is not a very difficult thing, we think, for our readers to imagine them; and to their imaginations, therefore, we beg to leave them.

At the beginning of her third year, however, an incident occurred, which as it had a singular influence on her future destiny, we must be permitted to mention it here. It is scarcely necessary to say, that wherever Maria went or appeared, her beauty excited both admiration and wonder. Her deportment was so fine and striking, and her manners so easy and polished, that, joined now to her extraordinary lovelines?, it is not surprising that her companions on their return home to their respective families during vacation, should make it the subject of frequent conversation. One of those, who was her friend and companion, and who had become very much attached to her, and indeed the attachment was njutual, was a young lady closely connected by blood to an Irish aristocratic family of high rank. Tuis lady had a cousin, an earl, wbo became seized with a strong curiosity to see this celebrated beauty. He accordingly made private arrangements with his fair kinswoman to have this desirable consummation brought about, and accordingly one day, after the hours of instruction, he called to see the companion of our heroine. Of course, from his rank and close relationship with her, he had every reasonable privilege of seeing her. On this occasion she contrived to hive Maria with her when he came; and as the former was about to leave the room at his entrance, both issisted she should remain, assuring her that the visit was merely one of friendship, and that they would absolutely feel quite disappoiut:d if she should go. She was accordingly prevailed upon to stop for a sort time, which she did.without any apparent reluctance. It is unnecessary here to detail the conversation, which was merely commonplace chat, referring, as the young nobleman contrived to turn it, to the woeful hardships and sufferings of boarding-school life, and the absolute necessity of being good girls, which he hoped they bo:h were, and of getting off their tasks in such a way as to have nice letters sent home to their friends, who would, of course, make them pret:y presents for the same, After some bantering of this kind, Maria left them and retired to her own room.

“Well, my lord,” said bis cousin, smiliog iu triumph, “ what du you think now? Have I exaggerated ?"

Exaggerated, Emily! I pledge you my honour, my dear girl, that you are about one of the stupidest daubers I ever met. I should not have known her

om the signboard painting you made of her. Wby the portrait you drew of that divine creature might be hung

up in competition with the sign of the Cat and Fiddle, compared to what she is. Good God! I have never seen anything like her.”

“ Thank you, my noble consin, for your compliments, but I assure you her beauty is the least of her gifts ; s'e is first, and far first here in everything, but above all, in goodnature and kindness to every girl in the school."

“Emily," said he sighing, “ I am afraid I will have occasion 10 regret this visit.”

“ Why so ? are you caught ?"
He shook his head and mused for a time.

“ Emily,” he proceeded, “ will you befriend me with this lovely girl? Will you speak well of me-I kaow you can't speak ill of me—and will

you, besides, ascertain for me what opinion she may have formed of me?"

"That is, provided, my lord, she has formed any."

“Just so; and if she has not, will you try and get ber to form a favourable one?”

Why, you impose this task on me with a very solemn face."

" At least with a very serious heart, Emily.”
“ Serious, my cousin ?”

“Yes, serious, do not mistake me; and indeed, to tell

you the truth, Emily, I think I have neglected you a good deal since I came to London, but I assure you I shall make it up to you. I will not leave you anvisited so long again.”

Emily laughed at this ruse, but his lordship certainly had both a serious and an anxious look, and after some further discourse with his cousin, he took his leave.

“Truth is strange-stranger than fiction." Several other visits took place, nor was their frequency diminished by the fact that Maria had expressed to his cousin a very favourable opinion of him. Iu truth he was an excellent young man, modest, unassuming, and sensible, and Maria candidly said so, because such in truth, were her impressions. This encouraged him until he began by degrees to express by indirect hints bis very serious admiration of our heroine. Maria, ou perceiving this, immediately resolved how to

act.

“Emily," said she, one day that they were walking in the grounds, "I bave observed that whenever your noble cousin visits you here, you contrive to have me present. To this, probably, I should have no objection, were it for the turu which his lordship contrives to give the conversation. I am sure you understand me.” “I do, perfectly, my dear Maria."

Well, under these circumstances you must allow me to say that I shall no longer share his visits with you."

“ Perhaps,” replied the lively girl, laughing, "you wish to have him all to yourself. If so, so far from having any objection, I shall be very glad of it, and I promise you so will be."

Maria smiled. “No," she returned, " what I mean is simply this, that under no circumstances shall I see his lordship again, whenever he happens to come here."

“But suppose he should come to nuke you an offer

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of his hand and title-suppose he should ask you to become a countess, would you not condescend to see him, and to hear him too ? and now, let me tell you Maria, that he is to be here to-morrow for that very purpose, and I think it is due to his rank and his excellent qualities that you should see him.”

“ You are perfectly right, Emily, and I will certainly see him; but neither you nor he must draw any

favourable inference from this. I will see him, because for his own sake, as well as mine, it is better that I should put him out of a state of uncertainty and suspense.”

" You surely don't mean to say that you intend to reject him. Have you no ambition, Maria ?”

• I have but one ambition, Emily, and it is a great one.”

Pray, what is that?” To become wife to the man I love --but as for your cousin, most assuredly I shall decline, but with every feeling of respect and goodwill, the generous offers which you say he intends to make me.”

The next day his lordship presented himself, and Maria received him alone. Whether his fair cousin had given him a hint of the disappointment that awaited him, or whether his own penetration had enabled him to suspect it, we know not, but be this as it may, he appeared in a state of mind evidently disturbed and dejected. The amiable girl at once marked the despondency of this admirable young nobleman, acd actually felt compassion for a heart capable of entertaining an attachment so sincere and generous. She accordingly received him with great sweetness and courtesy, and did everything in her power to make him feel at ease.

“Miss Brindsley,” said he, “ I know not whether my fair cousin has apprised you of my object in paying this visit?”

“She has, my lord, and I feel obliged to her for doing so." "Why, may I ask, Miss Brindsley ?”

Because, my lord, it will be the means of saving your lordship and me a great deal of time and delay in this interview. Don't imagine,” she added, smiling, " that I wish to hurry you away. You are entitled to my esteem and respect, both from what I have seen and heard of you, and to my courtesy and thanks for the favourable opinion which it seems you are kind enough to entertain of me."

* Favourable opinion, Miss Brindsley !-ah, what a cold term that is to a man who loves you with the teuderest and most inexpressible affection. From the first day-Day, I may say, from the first moment I saw you, my whole beart and affections became yours.”

" Alas! my lord, why would a nobleman of your rank think of descending to such an humble girl as I

“I know your natural sincerity too well, my lord, to call this politeness or compliment. I consequently believe that you express with a gentlemanly candour exactly what you feel, and I assure you, my lord, that however flattering are the sentiments which you entertain for me, I am sorry that you ever felt them."

“ Sentiments! Don't, Miss Brindsley, diminish the force or expression of what I feel. Sentiments ! say rather a deep and fervent passion—a passion that comprehends your

whole character. It is true I might have loved you at first for your beauty-and perhaps I did; but I heard and saw so much of your virtues, your admirable qualities, your talents, your rare accomplishments, that I think I may ventura to say that the beauty of your moral attractions constitutes the highest element in the affection which I feel for you.”

“You overrate me, my lord, perhaps unconsciously, for it is probable that you are blinded by your own partiality. All I can say is, that I am proud of holding the place in your opinion which you say I do; and I know not the woman-no matter what her rank may be who ought not to feel proud of your affection. I am conscious, my lord, of your admirable and noblo qualities. I admire your gentleness of character, your good sense, your fine feeling, and your modesty-qualities, let me say, that are unfortunately too rare in men of your rank; but having said this—all of which I sincerely feel—I have said all I can say. My esteem aud respect and honour for your character are with you, my lord, but

my

heart is not."Surely so young a creature as you can have had no previous attachment."

- An attachment, my lord, which extinguishes your hopes.”

* But,” proceeded his lordship, “perhaps it was lightly entered into—not well considered. May I ask, are you engaged? Pardon me if I am impertinent in making the inquiry, and consider how deeply I am interested in it;-you must be engaged.”

“ I am not engaged, my lord, as engagements are usually considered, neither is the man I loveThen you

do love-you admit as much.” The rapid play of her imagination brought her young and truthful lover before her. She bent her face upon her hand for a short time, and on raising it her eyes were filled with tears.

“Yes, my lord,” she replied with a solemnity of expression which startled him, “I love with a spirit which not even the grave will quench. Having admitted this to you, I trust you will be too generous to press me on a subject which must be necessarily painful to us both. This confidence is the greatest proof of my respect for your character and principes which I could give you. I repeat it, that

you

bave and respect and my admiration, but as for my love, it is not mine to give, nor could the throne of a monarch remove it from the object on which it is fixed.”

“Well, Miss Briudsley, under these circumstances, I cannot think of pressing my humble claim, but you send me away from you a melancholy and an uuhappy

my esteem

am."

“I care not about that,” he replied ; "you are not humble. So far from that, I feel that you would ornament any condition of life—whether that condition be the highest or the lowest. I possess rauk, but in your presence I feel that I am humble.”

man,

THE ISLES OF IRELAND.

more,

HISTORIC, LEGENDARY, AND SCENIC.

I do not think I can or ever will love woman

Excuse me if I have given you pain or excited recollections that affect you. It was not, I assure you, my intention to do so. In the meantiine, I wish you and your lover every happiness; he must be worthy of it, when he is worthy of your love." He then shook bands with her, bowed gracefully, and retired. A little before the close of the third

year,

and when, in point of fact, her education was completed, the war in Scinde broke out, and the regiment to which Clinton belonged was ordered to the East. It was now felt necessary that the marriage should take place, and as it was arranged, the worthy doctor was sent to London for the purpose of conducting her to Dublin, where Clinton and his mother were to mect them. There was little time lost in this agreeable trip. The doctor setiled all expenses due, and in a few days they met in Morrison's hotel in Dublin.

And now for a few words with respect to Clinton himself. Here he had undergone an ordeal which lasted for three years, during which period he was necessarily obliged to mingle in the first society, was surrounded and courted by female rank and beauty ; was known to be wealthy too, for which reason many a maternal snare was laid for bim; he was in the very heyday of youth, when the heart is weakest against temptation, and most susceptible of female influence; yet did he, like a man as he was of steadfast and bonourable principle, stand firm and unshaken under all the allurements by which he was beset and surrounded, and never for a moment forgot the allegiance which he felt to be due to the great-minded girl who was willing to sacrifice her love, her hopes, and her happiness for the preservation of his fame and honour in the world. He proved himself then, as he did afterwards, a noble and illustrious standard of human virtue and magnanimity. Whether she, on the other hand, proved herself worthy of him or not, is as well known to the reader as to ourselves,

They were married by special licence in St. Ann's church, and the worthy Dr. Spillar had the pleasure of assisting in the ceremony, and giving away the bride. The marriage was strictly private, and but few persons were asked to the dejeuner, for reasons which we need not state. Immediately before they started opon their country excursion, Maria said to her proud and gratified husband,

Ask your mother to join us in our private room above stairs. I have a certain document to read which I wish her to hear, What it contains I know not, but it is a prophecy written for me, when I was a little girl, by one of the Stuart family, who were said to be remarkable for the truth of their predictions. He imposed an obligation on my mother and me not to break the scal of it, nor to read it, until the day of my marriage, and after the ceremony. Go and bring your mother up; you will find me in our own room.

He went and returned in a few minutes, saying that his mother would be with them immediately.

(TO BE CONCLUDED IN OUR NEXT.)

“ Sea-girt isles That, like to rich and various geros, inlay The unadorned bozom of the deep.”

1.- IRELAND'S EY. “ PROXIMORUM incuriosi, longinqua sectamur," observed Pliny, in administering a keen rebuke to bis countrymen, who, in their pursuit of novelty, were apathetic to the pictorial and historic attractions of their own land, to the preference of those of distant climes. To this censure of neglecting the near for the far our modera tourists are likewise ainenable, although it must be admitted that they do not altogether possess the faculty of combining business with pleasure which distinguished the togaed and sandaled subjects of the great Roman monitor's reproof, seeing that the latter, amidst the most exciting and diverting incidents in their peregrinations, never lost sight of the national masim, Divide el Impera, and so becime masters of a dominion stretching from Partbia to the Hebrides.

“ Know most of the rooms of thy native country, before thou goest over the threshold thereof,” is the sensible advice too of worthy old Fuller; but now-a-days, folks in search of the picturesque unthinkingly rash to the continent of Europe and America, as if their native land had no scenery worthy of their attention, no localities linked with the memories of great achievements or noble aspirations, which, as the homes and haunts of the puissant monarchs, the chivalric chiefs, and the high-born beauties of the long-ago, are undying commentaries on their passions and their lives, where the willing imagination may indulge its reveries unrestrained, until in fancy we people them once more with their former inmates, follow their chequered fortunes, and share their hopes. We have been surfeited with pictures of the Tyrol, Switzerland, and Italy, limned as vividly with the pen as with the pencil, and yet, nowhere, all the world over, can Nature be contemplated in grander or lovelier aspects than in our own green isle. There is, besides, a peculiar charm about home scenery which belongs to no other. Every lordly hill and tranquil valley, every lonely spring on which a stray sunbeam never glints, every river whose silvery ripples, laughing and dimpled, seek the ocean, every mound and cavern, every scarped cliff and quarried stone, is inseparably associated with the memory of a glorious past, and is a prolific source of poetry and romance. They are identified with an era when the chivalry and social history of the Island of the Saints were preserved in the literature of her bards, whose minstrelsy now

- Softer falls
Than petals from blown roses on the grass,
Or night dews on still waters, between walls

Of shadowy granite in a gleaming pass," and anon sweeps onwards with the sonorous march of the “linked legions," whom, under the standard of green, they accompanied to victory, and which will for ever, even from the tomb of nationhood, live like Mem

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non's shattered image, yet a music in the hearts of all. Amidst our native scenic treasures, too, seated by the ingle-nook, or perchance within some fairy-haunted rath, we can listen, in the midnight hour, to

“Old legends of the monkish page,
Traditions

the saint and sage, Tales that have the rime of age, and thus become conversant with the feelings and folkJore of our peasantry, the knowledge so acquired being fraught with a social interest and import underivable from aught we could learn on the banks of the Rhine or the Danube, from either the chansons of German Minnesingers or the wild stories of Wallack and Magyar. Yes ; Ireland is rich in places hallowed by memorials of her ancient nationality, to which we may well delight to make reverent pilgrimage, and to some of these we purpose to guide the footsteps of our friends, seeking amid the beauties of Nature, or the melancholy ruins of the past, information as well as amusement, and carefully avoiding those prejudices and misconceptions which have arisen either from the exaggerations of national vanity or the misrepresentations of foreign criticism.

Diversified and magnificent in the extreme as is the scenery in the vicinity of the Irish metropolis, there is scarcely any locality of similar extent better worth the attention of the artist, antiquary, or botanist than the tiny isle to which we purpose devoting this paper. Alike remarkable for picturesque beauty and bistoric associations of no inconsiderable interest, for those

" In populous city pent, Where houses thick and sewers annoy the air,' it possesses attractions to which few minds can be insensible. From the summit, an elevation of 339 feet, when no mist covers it or shrouds the view, the

panorama within ken is very imposing. Southward, at the distance of somewhat more than a mile, are the bold crags and escarpments of the peninsular Hill of Howth, its harbour, village, and ruined Abbey directly opposite. As the eye travels to the right, the ancestral castle of the St. Lawrence family, overhung by the steep brown cliffs of Carric-more, peeps forth from the midst of its bosky mantle; while, to the left, the precipitous and rugged headland called the Naze* of Howth, scathed by the wear and tear of consuming centuries, breasts the surge. Towards the west and north the shores of the mainland, along which on billowy pinions the whirring sea-gulls sbriek, trend away in the direction of the welldefined outlines of the Mourne Mountains ; and beyond, to the south-east, the graceful waving chain of the Dublin and Wicklow Mountains, their summits towering to the clouds in wild grandeur, gaze proudly downwards on the glancing sails that enliven the bright waters of the Bay of Dublin.

Right pleasant it is on a day in summer, when the sun laughs brightest, and

The birds, that are to air Like song to life, are gaily on the wing," Popularly the Nose of Howth, a corruption of the Norse ness, signifying a neck of land or promontory, so frequently used in modern topographical nomenclature, as Duig-ness, Caith-ness, Inver-ness, Sheer-ness, &c.

to sit one down here, on some fera-plumed crag, amid the fragrance of the heather, fanned by the living sel.. engendered breezes, and muse awhile upon the scroll which chronicles deathless names and deeds of bold em. prize. To learn that here, in days of yore, that famous national force, the “ Fianna Eirionn," when in the noon of their puissance, under the celebrated Fionn-macCumhaill, were wont to keep jealous watch and ward ; that three centuries later, from out yonder hoar and crumbling ruin, now the sport of every prying blast, Christian anthems pealed, and in the gloaming the soft vesper chimes stole tremblingly across the waters; and that again, further down in the stream of time, chasm, and precipice, and rock rang with the battle-shouts of fierce Vikingr, whose deeds were written in blood when their galleys swept the seas like clouds of night, and the green land of Eire paled before their swift glaives and lurid torches, as they made glorious plunder of its beautiful shrines. Many a time here, where “ the long sea-bird wakes its wildest cry," during the ninth and tenth centuries, the raven plumed its wing for flights of pillage and carnage over the broad plains of the Liffey and the Boyne, the spolia opima of which were destined to enrich its bleak ancestral northland; and often the rallying cry of “ Thor and Valhalla” was answered, swift and deep, by “ Earann Abu," as those same largelimbed shrine-destroyers were sent to fill the niches in the Pantheon of their hero-worship, beneath the avenging gleam of Irish battle-axe and skean. Now all is bushed. The trumpet-swell of Odin's ocean-giants,

“Whose distant footsteps echo

Through the corridors of time,” no longer jars on the calm vault above, and of their hosts we have but the memory

"Of old, unhappy, far off things,

And battles long ago.” Ireland's Ey is generally supposed to be the “ Adrideserta” of Ptolemy, “ Andros” of Pliny, and " Adria" of Richard of Cirencester, and in the national annals was originally called " Inis-Ereann," the Island of Eria, which is the name given in the “ Divuseanchus.” Archbishop Usher, in his “Primordia," erroneously translates the modern name of the island oculus (an eye), instead of insula (an island), the Danish version of the etymon, “ Inis-Ereann," ey or ei in the Norse signifying island. In a similar manner the original names of other islands were altered, as Delg-ei-now Dalkey—for the “Deilg-inis” of the Irish, Lamb-ey for " Inis-Reachrain,” &c. This error of the Archbishop originated the present method of writing the name of the island with a finale ; for which there is otherwise no authority. Towards the close of the sixth, or early part of the seventh century, three of the seven sods of St. Nessan, a lineal descendant of the royal house of Lagenia (Leinster), erected a church or oratory here, called “ Cill-mac-Neasain," the Church of the Sons of Nessan, and hence the island is mentioned in the “ Annals of the Four Masters," and other chronicles, as “Inis-mac-Neasain,” the Island of the Sons of Nessan. The dimensions of this edifice, wbich was stone roofed,

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