baffled the eyes of the spectators, and with a perseverance rare even in the land of protracted dance, yet without once stepping off the narrow limits which had been assigned them on the door. When Mary at length ceased dancing, and she was followed to her seat by a chorus of praise, it seemed strange that the belle of the barony should appear wholly indifferent to the compliments that attended her, yet so it was; the momentary excitement of the dance soon died away, and the pensiveness of her fine countenance showed that her thoughts were far from the scene before her. She seemed to take great interest in the number of draughts of usquebaugh, imbibed by a tall, dark-browed, thin, old man, named Martin Morony. If ever there was a countenance which denoted the habitation of evil spirits, it was his. His small, ferret eyes twinkled under his shaggy brows, with stealthy, cunning glances which seemed to avoid the regards of his fellow-creatures; and a peculiarly sinister expression lurked around his thin lips, even when he forced them into a smile. But his cold physiognomy, soon bore evidence to the strength of his potations, and he became deeply inebriated. Some young men, headed by Connor Feeny, soon persuaded Morony and another drunkard to ride a race; both wretches were mounted on a neighbouring ditch, and, in the drunken belief that they were mounted on horseback, each flogged the green sides of the ditch to the great amusement of the spectators. When Mary perceived that her enemy was reduced to a state of unconsciousness, and that others were in a similar predicament, she quickly glided away towards the moonlit bay. Imbued with all the superstitions of her race, Mary summoned up all her courage to risk the encounter with such supernatural beings as were supposed to haunt a lonely midnight walk; and it was with suppressed terror that she descended the cliffs to the shore. A dark figure emerged from the shadow of the Eagle Rock, and passed into the clear moonlight. Mary's heart beat rapidly; but, in a moment, she recognized the object of her search, and sprang forward to meet her brother, Brien. 'Thaw thu luffawr laa na powsenee na Baltha. You are as welcome as the flowers of May,' he exclaimed ; 'I've waited for you long. It's well for me that has one true sister, though every one else shuns me like a mad dog.' 'Heaven knows I may be wrong, Brien, to spake to a turned heretic after all Father Luke said; but sure God and the Holy Virgin can't be very angry wid me for spaking to him that was born and reared wid me; we learnt to walk together: the first words ever we said were Brian and Mary, an' oh, its the heart-crushing thing now that I must turn my back on the brother, that I love the most of all the things within the four walls of the wide world.' 'You prove that, Mary, when you come to see me after Father Luke puttin' out the candle in darkness again' me; but heavy will be yer penance, my poor Mary, if you're seen talkin' to the turncoat, and the neighbours will be passin' to the fire: we must go down on the shore out of their way.' Slowly the brother and sister descended the cliffs, and passed along the strand. The tide was still far out, and they entered St. Michan's cave by a pathway of firm dry sand, and seated themselves upon a ledge of rocks. The parents of Brien had been deeply incensed by his conversion, and had concerted with Father Luke the most stringent measures to prevent the taint spreading through the family. From the moment they became convinced that his apostacy was not the temporary ebullition of youthful fancy, but the deep-rooted result of abiding conviction, from that moment, all conversation between him and his young relatives was peremptorily forbidden by the priest. After their long separation, therefore, Brien and Mary had much to communicate: he eagerly endeavoured to persuade his sister of the truth of his new creed, while she as earnestly sought to win him from paths which led, according to her belief, to everlasting destruction. Two hours elapsed in rapid interchange of sentiment, but they were unconscious of the flight of time, and so absorbed in conversation, that they heard not the murmur of the waves as the returning tide gradually advanced upon the shore. At length the plash of waters within the cave attracted Mary's attention, and she started up, exclaiming, 'We're lost, Brian, we're lost; the tide is on us.' Brian turned pale as the horrors of their situation broke upon him. May be it's not too late after all,' he muttered, as he rushed into the water, and endeavoured to ford the entrance. The shelving sands, however, left him, in a few steps, nearly out of his depth, and Mary in despair, cried out for his return. Brian could not swim, and was obliged to give up the hopeless attempt to ford the pass. Returning to the innermost part of the cave, the imminent danger of his favourite sister overwhelmed him with dismay. He could meet death himself with fortitude, for he knew that his Saviour would bear him conqueror; but Mary, whose false Saviours were numerous, could he bear to see her die, leaning on broken reeds of human righteousness, and trusting in masses for the dead. The agony of a lifetime seemed curdled in one moment. The brother and sister cast themselves on their knees to implore refuge from impending doom. They soon arose, and Brien shouted for relief, in the hope that some fisherman or passenger might be attracted by his call. He paused for a reply. He heard only the soft plashing of the summer sea, as wave after wave coursed each other to the shore. The soft moonlight poured its silver beams over the reposing waters of the bay. The promontory opposite the cave glowed with the red light of the watch-fire, but at so great a distance that the music and mirth of the dancers were inaudible. Once more Brien shouted for aid, the rocks reverberated his call; but their echoes died away unheard by mortal ear. Again the soft murmurs of the advancing waves sounded in the darkness of the cave. Mary fainted. Brien raised her inanimate form upon the highest ledge of rocks, and felt almost thankful that she was spared the misery of watching the slow, insidious approach of death, as well as the consciousness of drowning death agonies. Once. more the cave reverberated with his shouts for relief, but in vain. The waters touched his feet; they continued to rise; Brien resigned the hopes of life, and surrendered himself to prayer. SIDNEY O'Moore. SPIRITS OF THE FRENCH REFORMATION. No. VI. LEFEVRE. "Le vieux docteur s'était animé; ses yeux eteints brillaient, sa voix usée était devenue sonore; on eut dit le vieux Siméon rendant grâces au Seigneur de ce que ses yeux voyaient son salut." "Ce moment où Lefèvre, quittant les merveilleux récits des saints, mit la main sur la parole de Dieu, commence une ère nouvelle en France, et est le principe de la Réformation."-D'AUBIGNE. OH for that glory's matchless ray, The crown of threescore years and ten,* A watchful light mid the sons of men ! Its beams reflecting grace our head! Some exploit † in our leader's name, O'er sin and pain, o'er toil and shame ! A light, but not the noonday light, * Prov. xvi. 31. † Dan. xi. 32. * |