rangements for Maria's education and accomplishments were made, and this was true. The prudent but generous and affectionate mother, however, acted in the matter more from the tenderness which she felt for her son, than from free and spontaneous inclination. She would rather, considering all things that ought to be considered, that this union should not take place. Dr. Spillar, however, having represented to her the determination of the son to sell out of the army, and become an unsettled and unhappy wanderer beyond the bounds of Europe itself; and knowing, as she did, the natural vehemence and determination of his character, she became alarmed, and was finally prevailed upon to consent, which she did, as the reader has seen, with a very good grace. Still the character of the high-born and prudent mother peeped out in the shape of the following condition: If, at the expiration, or any time before it, of the term necessary for Maria's complete acquirement of all that a liberal and accomplished education could bestow, her son should, during his intercourse with the world, happen to meet a lady in his own rank of life, whom he might prefer, it was to be understood that Maria should rest satisfied with this change; but that in the meantime Mrs. Clinton would, under these circumstances, support Maria at school until her education should be finished; after which she was to present her with a sum of five hundred pounds, that she might be enabled to settle herself respectably in life. With a feeling of womanly delicacy, however, which certainly did her honour, she told Maria that no person should defray the expenses of her education but herself (Mrs. Clinton) alone. And so she did, from first to last. Under those circumstances, and on those conditions, Dr. Spillar, herself, and Maria proceeded as privately as possible to Dublin, where her outfit-and an elegant one it was-under the care and management of Mrs. Clinton, was duly provided; after which the good old doctor and she set sail for London. Poor Maria felt as in a dream. She could scarcely believe that the incidents of the last few days were real. What was her fate to be? She loved Clinton with a rare and noble affection, but might not his mother's foresight prove correct? and in that case, where was her dream of happiness? Would a young man like him, ardent and susceptible, and mingling with the high-born beauties of aristocratic life, endowed with fortune, education, accomplishments, and honourable connexions, could he, under circumstances of such temptation, possibly stand out against them, and prove himself not only faithful to the obscure object of his first affection, but capable of setting the scorn and censure of the world at defiance? She trembled when she thought of all this, and it required all the kindness and benevolent eloquence of the good old doctor to console and sustain her. In this state of doubt and uncertainty, she and the doctor arrived in London, where, by the direction of Mrs. Clinton, who had given the doctor letters of introduction, the worthy gentleman was enabled, without loss of time, to place Maria in one of the first establish ments in that great metropolis. She entered as a young lady of a respectable but reduced family, whose instructions, in consequence of their decline, had been neglected, but whose prospects in life were such as rendered it necessary that she should receive an accomp'ished education. She was a protégée of an Irish lady of rank and family, who would, through him, punctually and regularly discharge all the necessary expenses, and who wished besides, that none should be spared, nor anything left undone to render the course of her acquirements such as became a lady of the highest fashion. When the doctor was about to take his farewell of her, she became deeply affected, and wept bitterly. "Alas, my dear sir," she said, "I feel, now that you are leaving me, as if I were alone in life. Where is there a man, high and eminent as you are, who could have condescended to take the kind and fatherly interest in the poor humble girl which you have taken? You stand towards me now as an affectionate father, and indeed I love you as such. Now that you leave me, I am friendless here." "No, my dear child," said the doctor, much moved, "you are not friendless here, nor are you, as you know, without friends elsewhere, and loving friends." "But," she added in tears, "if Clinton should forget me?" "He will not forget you, because I know that beautiful, my dear child, as you are, he loves you for better and higher qualities. Do not make yourself unhappy on that account. Improve yourself as rapidly as you can; you will have an opportunity of becoming acquainted with all the modern languages, with music, drawing, deportment-you will find the last an easy task and all the various portions of education which are necessary for the position in life which you will, please God, before long occupy; but before all things, I beg that you will not neglect the study of history; it will soothe and calm your spirits, and render your sleep tranquil and profound. Before I go, however, let me impress one principle of action upon your heart-I speak of religion. Do not neglect its dictates; pray to that God who is about to raise you to a high and honourable station in life, to make you worthy of it; neglect not, above all things, your private devotions, and lastly, place your confidence in God, and he will protect you. We will not neglect to write to you, and we hope both to see by your letters, and to hear from other sources, that your progress in knowledge and improvement, not forgetting history, will be such as we expect." Maria parted from him with a sorrowful heart, and indeed the good old man had proved himself, as she said, not only a friend but a father to her at a time when very few of his rank and position in life would have felt any particular interest in an humble and obscure girl who had no claim upon him but that of Christian duty, a claim too frequently overlooked. "Truth is strange-stranger than fiction." We have placed these words as the motto of our 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 intention to retard or obstruct our narrative by a quotation of the letters which passed between her and her faithful and noble-hearted lover, 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 mutual, was a young lady closely connected by blood to an Irish aristocratic family of high rank. This lady had a cousin, an earl, who 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 have Maria with her when he came; and as the former was about to leave the room at his entrance, both insisted she should remain, assuring her that the visit was merely one of friendship, and that they would absolutely feel quite disappointed if she should go. She was accordingly prevailed upon to stop for a short 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 both 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 pretty presents for the same, After some bantering of this kind, Maria left them and retired to her own room. "Well, my lord," said his cousin, smiling in triumph, "what do 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 from the signboard painting you made of her. Why 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 cousin, for your compliments, but I assure you her beauty is the least of her gifts; she 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 to regret this visit." 66 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 know 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 her 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." 66 Serious, my cousin ?" 66 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. In "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. 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 his very serious admiration of our heroine. Maria, on perceiving this, immediately resolved how to act. "Emily," said she, one day that they were walking in the grounds, "I have 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 turn 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 he." 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 make you an offer 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." "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, ard 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." 6: Favourable opinion, Miss Brindsley !—ah, what a cold term that is to a man who loves you with the tenderest and most inexpressible affection. From the first day-nay, I may say, from the first moment I saw you, my whole heart and affections became yours." "Alas! my lord, why would a nobleman of your rank think of descending to such an humble girl as I 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 rank, but in your presence I feel that I am humble." "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 venture 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 noble 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 and 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 love—” "Then 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 principles which I could give you. I repeat it, that you have my esteem 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 Brindsley, under these circumstances, I cannot think of pressing my humble claim, but you send me away from you a melancholy and an unhappy THE ISLES OF IRELAND. man. I do not think I can or ever will love woman A little before the close of the third year, and when, 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 him; 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 honourable 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 upon 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 seal of it, nor to read it, until the day of my marriage, and after the ceremony. mother up; you will find me in our own room." Go and bring your He went and returned in a few minutes, saying that his mother would be with them immediately. (TO BE CONCLUDED IN OUR NEXT.) [August, THE ISLES OF IRELAND. That, like to rich and various gems, inlay I.—IRELAND'S EY. "PROXIMORUM incuriosi, longinqua sectamur," observed Pliny, in administering a keen rebuke to his 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. censure of neglecting the near for the far our modern To this tourists are likewise amenable, although it must be admitted that they do not altogether possess the faculty of combining business with pleasure which distinguished the togaed and saudaled 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 maxim, Divide et Impera, and so became masters of a dominion stretching from Parthia 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 belongs to no other. Every lordly hill and tranquil valscenery which ley, 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 Than petals from blown roses on the grass, "Softer falls 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 and thus become conversant with the feelings and folklore 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 historic 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 pano rama 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 shriek, 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 feru-plumed crag, amid "Of old, unhappy, far-off things, 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 "Dinuseanchus." 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 final e; for which there is otherwise no authority. Towards the close of the sixth, or early part of the seventh century, three of the seven sons 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, which was stone roofed, |