the rain-drops on its thorns and in its cups; look at their colours, Aileen, they are brighter than the diamonds in papa's jewelled star. I am very happy, Aileen; I think God sent them this morning, all hanging at the ends of the thorns, to teach me what I shall have, Aileen, at the end of this."

"Whisht, my lady, whisht," said the old nurse," ye're young and rich, and may-be ye'll be wearing a coronet some day ye'rself, and the jewels at the top of the spikes, just like the earl's or may-be the young marquis will be asking for you-or may-be"And per

haps Aileen might not have stopped short of royalty itself, but that she saw her mistress's hands had dropped over the sides of the chair, and that she was entirely unconscious of any thing that had been said.

III.

The nurse knew that it was in vain for her to address herself to her mistress any more, so she muttered her opinions to herself, only looking now and then to her charge, to see if she were still asleep. "An faith," said she, "but it was a mighty shame that the earl was so proud that he turned Masther Henry from his door like a dog, and tould him to show his face in Sheskin Park no more. Belike the day will come when he'll be sorry for his black looks and ugly words, and his heart'll be broken like the corn in the mill, and he can never coax the sun to shine upon him agin. An faith, Mister Earl, but it's asier to break hearts than it is to mend them, and where 'll ye be when ye'r oun Miss Mary is under the sod? The sun 'll shine on her grave that 'll never shine on ye'r sowl, and 'tis Aileen O'Connor I'd rather be myself this blessed day, than yerself, with Sheskin, and the mountains, and all ye have. And why should n't Masther Henry have ye'r daughter? where did ye ever see the likes of him at court, or dance, or parlamint, or wake, or fair? isn't his stock as owld as the round tower of Ardmore? and for the look of him, ye might dhrink the light out of his eyes, as the children do the wather out of the holy well; don't the heavens above wondher how they stole the colour out of it? and sorra a rose in ye'r oun great gardhen that was as red as his cheek before ye made it white like the little lily's cups. May-be ye don't know, Mister Earl, that I nursed him, and that now I'm nursin Miss Mary for his sake; for never a day would I stay in the castle if she warn't to the fore to keep away the curse. Och, murdher! and to think of his pride, that no one but a noble should

touch the hand of his daughter, when God lets the poorest pull the roses and lilies, and touch the threasures He has made." And amid these soliloquies the chair passed out of the lane, and the invalid was soon at home.

IV.

Sir Aubrey's quick stride soon brought him to the gates of the cemetery, into which he entered, out of humour with the world, with religion, and himself. For a while he paced the broad gravel walks, as though, by dint of exercise, he would cast out the fever that was consuming him; and then he would stop, and clench his hands, and bite his lips, until the blood almost spirted from them. He was like the maniac who had his dwelling among the tombs; he alone seemed disturbed when all around was peace.

At last he saw a figure kneeling beside a grave that was dressed with flowers; there were two chaplets upon it-one was large, and the other was very small; the larger was composed of blossoms, the smaller of very little buds. The man that knelt was young, and he was so absorbed in his prayer that he did not see that he was watched. It was very strange, whenever he came to pray at that grave he saw two white clouds in the bright sky above his head-one cloud was large, and the other small; he could see many single white clouds over different parts of the cemetery, but over his part alone could he see two; they seemed to him, as they were lit up by the sunbeams, to be like the spirits of the departed, freed from the burden of the flesh, and looking down with joy upon the mourner's love,--such love as outlived the shock of death,—yes, lived with them in the true atmosphere of love-the other life.

At last Sir Aubrey shook the rose-bush behind which he stood, and the mourner saw him and turned round. He was not angry, but looked like Moses when he came down from the Mount,-his face appearing as though it shone. Sir Aubrey wished that he had frowned at him, for he hated all, and desired to be hated himself.

"Good day, sir," said the stranger.

"Good?” replied the other, “to whom? and why ?"

The mourner was surprised, for he saw that his companion's eye had a wild and restless look. At last he recovered himself, and said,

"It is a good day, sir; it is good to me, for I have been communing with the dead, and have outrun the world hither, and been at

peace; it will be good to you, if you can do the same."

The stranger passed on, and Sir Aubrey turned to read the head-stone of the grave; there was on it"Sarah St. O*** Sarah St. O **

died ** ** aged 20 years. * died the same day, aged 2 years."

"Ha!" said Sir Aubrey, "there is room for one more upon the stone; I suppose the fool has left it for himself."

Thus the baronet spent the day; funerals came, and from the distance he could hear the hum of the great city; he thought the sound was like that of a battle, and that these were the wounded or the dead carried off the field. But at length the evening came, and at six o'clock the gates were to be shut. The hour struck-the great bell of the cemetery rangbut Sir Aubrey did not stir; he intended to sleep, if he slept at all, among the dead.

V.

The night closed in over the burying-ground with its many dead,-the Lady Mary was sleeping, watched over by her nurse,―the mourner of the morning was in a lonely room, preparing his humble portion by himself; three portions he prepared, and set them upon the table; he placed a great arm-chair opposite his own, and a small chair by its side; he put plates opposite them-he put food on them; then he sat down, and when his meal was ended, he sent the two portions which were untasted to the poor.

VI.

But fine weatner does not last for ever, and as the sun was setting the wind arose; small black clouds were driven on before it, and sped along like a pack of hungry wolves rushing after their prey. At last the whole heaven became overcast, the lightning flashed, the thunder rolled, and torrents of rain swept through the avenues, and pierced the trees beneath which Sir Aubrey had hoped to find shelter for a while. At length, when it became evident that it must continue thus for a considerable time, at least, he sought shelter in the doorway of the catacombs, where he had seen a funeral in the course of the day; he leant against the door, and it yielded to his weight, for the attendants had forgotten to turn the key and to bolt it fast. But shelter was all that this place could be said to afford; it was cheerless, and dark, and cold, and the wind whistled through its dreary passages with a mournful sound.

The wind is full of mystery, and has many voices, according to the places and circumstances in which we are. To Sir Aubrey it seemed as though a thousand evil spirits were hurrying along, as though there was something to come which was very awful, but which he could not understand. Others, also, heard the wind that stormy night. The Lady Mary fancied in her dreams: at one time she thought her lover's voice was whispering in her ears; then she heard music from what she told Aileen was "her home." And the mourner, as he lay awake, and heard it whistling in the doors and chimneys, and moaning through the deserted street, thought that there were voices singing a requiem for those he loved.

in the

The wind is full of inspiration summer it seems as though it were an invisible being, waving the flowers to and fro, drawing out their perfume-God's messenger tithing the invisible fruit for him; it calls up strange memories of things long past, we hear a voice, and start-but it was "only the wind!"

To-night the hurricane was busy with the subtle inspirations of thought: it swept through the catacombs, and it filled Sir Aubrey's heart with a consciousness of his immortality; it lulled the Lady Mary with the sweet foretastes of paradise; it consoled the mourner by giving him some companionship in his woe; it rushed in through a poor painter's ill-stopped windows, and gave him a conception that made him paint a picture which was the foundation of his fortune; it struck the chord in a poor poet's mind, and he left his scanty morsel to perpetuate a thought that won him deathless fame; and a priest, closeted amid his books, caught from it a thought of the judgment, which, on the morrow, he clothed with fiery eloquence, and, by God's grace, thus saved a soul!

VII.

There was a stone seat at the side of the catacombs, and on it Sir Aubrey sat, exhausted for want of food, and numbed with wet and cold; he would have gladly left his restingplace, if he could; but the storm still raged, and the catacombs were the only place where he could stay.

"It is strange," said he, half aloud; "one would have thought that there was some kind of wisdom in the government of this world of ours; one feels as though there ought to be some ruler of it, but I have been robbed of house and home, and I am a titled beggar, where, a few months ago, I was rich and loved, and a great man-yes!" cried he, with a peal

of unnatural laughter, "a great man!" until the sides of the long passages rang again, and he heard the words echoed a long way off. "Ha! ha!" he cried, "they'll hear that I have been sleeping in the catacombs, and then they'll say, 'Sir Aubrey is a man of fertile wits; when we cast him out from the living he takes up with the dead,'-with old Death himself, if he likes, and then I'll be in the company of the one they hate the most."

But Sir Aubrey was not allowed to laugh long in this uncomely strain.

"There is no one allowed to laugh here," said an old man, touching him from behind; these are catacombs, and the dead are lying all around. The mourners laugh in their handkerchiefs as they parade the street, but they never smile when they chance to come in here. It is not allowed, sir," said the old man; "and when an heir laughed a few days ago, as they pushed his uncle's coffin into yonder niche, he sealed his own death-warrant,-he was buried here to-day.”

The baronet would have given much to have asked who the intruder was, but he felt afraid to know. He stood still, and the old man, who plainly read his thoughts, said, "I am the guardian of these coffins-I am come to count that they are all right, for to-night we make up the muster-roll, and I must know the number exactly; but you disturb me--I cannot count the dead while the living are so ncar."

While this was being said, strange surmises came over Sir Aubrey's mind; he had not heard the stranger's footstep in coming near him, nor was his voice like that of any one that he had heard before; and he said 'we make up the muster-roll'-what could he mean?

At last he made up his mind to ask, for any thing was better than the uncertainty he felt; so, with a subdued tone, he said, "Perhaps my unknown friend will tell me who he means by 'we?'"

"I am not your friend," said the old man, sharply; "keep your hypocritical words for the world; you are now among the dead, and I tell you I am not 'your friend;' I never saw you nor spoke to you until now!"

"Well, then," said the baronet, "good sir-" "Must I correct you again?" said the old man, in a solemn voice. "I tell you, once more, there are no compliments among the dead; keep your titles of courtesy and rank for such as have running blood; when it curdles and dries up they are wanted no more."

"Then tell me," said the baronet, leaving out every prefix which had offended the

Sir Aubrey's heart, stout as it was, failed him at this unexpected meeting with one of whom he had spoken so lightly but a little while before, and his terror was increased as the old man proceeded, in his hollow and sepulchral tone.

"You will not leave this place," said he, "or rather, you cannot do it; your legs are stiff with cold, and the damp has curdled your blood; you shall die, then, while I am accomplishing my task, and to leave for a while the living, whom you seem so much to hate, might make you return to them a wiser and a better

man."

Then the old man passed his hands over Sir Aubrey's cheeks, and they became colourless; his eyes were closed and hard, his nose became sharp and pinched, his lips grew pale and tight; and when he had touched him all over, he laid him out upon the stone scat; then he counted all the coffins, and when he had done, he retreated into some inner recesses of the catacombs,--and the only thing that moved was a shred of velvet on the corner of an old coffin, which the wind flapped to and fro as it swept through the catacombs, becoming colder as it passed over Sir Aubrey's icy face.

IX.

But the baronet was not dead, as men speak of death. Death is unembodied life; and Sir Aubrey now heard and saw as he had never done before. He was in a large chamber with coffins all around-it was large enough to hold hundreds, and it appeared to be lined quite round, so that not a single niche was without its proper occupant. But there was no one in the vault-there were only the bodies lying in their coffins; the wind was howling in through the iron gate, and he thought that it was louder and seemed more awful than before. At length there came a terrible gust -the grated door flew open, and, attended by a great crowd, a fleshless figure, with an earthen crown upon his head, moved into the vault. They all seemed borne in upon the wind-gust, as though it were their chariot, for it ceased when the last figure passed the gate. Then Sir Aubrey saw how Death holds his court.

X.

There was a high seat in the catacombs, and Death-the fleshless figure with the earthen crown-sat down upon it. But this was not the highest seat; there was one higher still, but he dared not sit on that, for it was claimed by one who was ruler over Death himself. They say that Death comes in many shapes to man, and there were many figures there. There was an old man, whose hair was white, and who leaned upon a stick; the stick had a heavy iron ferrule, worn very much, and it had on the top an iron crook. Next to him, there was a young man, hot and angry looking; his eyes were bright, and he seemed restless, as though he would depart, but dared not stir. Then came a maiden, whose cheeks were covered with a damask blush, whose eyes were bright like the evening star, whose gentle tread could scarce be heard, and whose soft touch could scarce be felt. A gloomy-looking man sat next to her; he was rude in his speech, and wore a knife and pistol in his belt, and a thin rope about his neck. Then came a strong, tall woman, dressed in black, and a youth with a silver cup in his hand; and a thousand more, with looks and dresses all varying, yet Sir Aubrey felt that their mission was alike.

XI.

The first voice heard was that of the monarch, as he rose from his throne: "Our trusty friends," said he, "our cousins, yea, our very selves, all know upon what terms we hold our sway; we pay homage as is our wont;"-and then he laid his earthen crown upon the step of the seat upraised above him. All now was silent in the hall, and a hand was put forth, which crowned the king with his diadem of clay again. "And now that we have owned the highest lord, we would hear the numbering of the dead, as touching what we have gained since last we met within these walls."

Then the king beckoned Sir Aubrey to his side, and said, "Thou art my guest to-night; it is thy soul's last chance; be taught by the numbering of the dead."

XII.

The first that stood up was the old man whose hair was so white, and who leaned so heavily upon his staff. Slowly and carefully he unfolded a parchment roll, and, having read from it some fifty names, addressed the monarch in a feeble voice.

"Thy servant," said he hath done but little; much more would he have done, if

more.

more had been put within his power; he hath brought fifty under thy dominion, and he hath inscribed upon this roll the names of fifty Alas! my lord," said he, "thy servant hath but the gleanings of many reapers,-a few scattered stalks which other hands have left after they have passed through the fields, --what can be expected from thy servant, when some here present cut down the stalks while they are yet green? Fifty hath thy servant brought," continued the old man, "and he hath conquered where all else have failed; for some of these stalks are gashed with other sickles, which they withstood, but at last thy servant cut them down; it is, at least, something, that he hath succeeded where all others have failed."

"Are there any notable persons," said the monarch, "amongst those whom thou hast subjected to our sway ?"

"Notable persons there are, O king!" replied the grey-haired old man, reading out some of the names inscribed upon the parchment roll. "There is Crusos, whom I tore away from a golden pillar to which he clung; and Senex, who was held so fast by his children's children, that I thought at one time I must have left him, for I had no power over the young; long, indeed, might he have withstood me, had it not been for Puretos, who drew away the children, and then thy servant was enabled to accomplish his design."

66

'My servants' work is seldom light," responded the king; "and that which seems the easiest to accomplish is often toilsome and very hard."

"It is true, O king," said the old man; "and for many a year have I carried on my labours on these two, whose names have just been read. It was marvellous to see Crusos sitting day by day amid his gold, and sleeping on it at night; and, though I never left him, he never thought that he should die."

"And how was he brought hither at the last?"

"The price of bread rose a trifling coin, and he grudged the loss. For three days he waited for the markets to fall again, and lived on the crumbs which were in his bag; then I had him at a vantage; and, as on the fourth morning he held a coin in his hand and kissed it, before he parted from his store, I found that he was within my grasp, and I stole the light out of his eyes even while they were fixed upon the coin...."

"So please you," interrupted Puretos, “but the work was slowly done."

"It was slowly done," replied the king,

"but it was done surely. But how was it with Senex?"

"Senex!" replied the old man, 66 was at one time easy to be overcome, even before he came to my lot; he waited for me as though I were a friend; so calm and even was he in his spirit, that when Puretos ran upon him, and endeavoured to supplant me, he could have him at no advantage. He often thought that it would be sweet to leave the world, when I called: he said that it was the sunsetting of a fitful day; it was the fruit-gathering of a laden tree; it was peace, and sleep, and rest! Yes!" continued the old man, "but he was like the evening sky, which at times is lit up with second brightness, before it shrouds itself in night: he was like the tree that throws out a second blossom after the fruit has been gathered in; his children had children born to them, and then he became young again, and he thought of me no more. He might not have been in the roll to-day, O king, had it not been that Puretos killed the children, and then I brought away the old man from life. He fell into my arms. The storm that uprooted the little sprouts around the stem also shed the autumn blossoms upon them, and we gained them all at once."

Then the king said, "I will take the roll;" and the old man, with a low obeisance, laid it by his side.

"We will next hear," said the monarch, "what Puretos hath done;" and as quick as thought the young man started to his feet. His hands were dry and burning, and he held nervously in them a roll, much larger than the old man's.

"May it please the king," said the speaker, "there are a thousand names upon this list. I have been driven from the palace, and from the houses of the nobles, but I have found a home where nothing interferes with my daily work. Thrice have I essayed to do something at the court; but, at the mere mention of my name, every precaution was taken that I might be foiled. They knew my mortal enemies, and they called them in to drive me forth. I could not grapple with the light which oppressed me, and the air which chilled me, and the water which deluged every foot-print that I made within its walls; then I retired to where the menials lodged, but even thence I was driven, without having gained one name upon this roll; until, in despair, I took up my home amongst the poor, and from thence I gathered almost all that I have brought. Some names there are of those who have been maddened by speculation; and there are three

VOL. XVI.

priests who have perished amongst the sick; but all the rest are from the poor."

"Thou hast done too much," interrupted the king; "an alarm will be raised, and thou wilt be driven forth ere long."

"Pardon, my lord!" said the young man. "Thou wilt see that all the names are of the poor, and where the poor dwell I am always safe."

"Thou art not safe," said the king, "if the poor dwell near the rich; for, if the stricken poor be near the rich, then the rich, for their own sake, will drive thee from the poor."

"But herein is my stronghold,” replied the young man, "that I am dwelling in alleys and in courts, where no rich men come; the water is measured out, and the light has no entrance; and all that I require is fitted to my hand. If my lord wants proof of my being safe, let it suffice that there are weeks in which I slay the father and the mother, with the children, and no one hears or heeds what I have done. They will not disturb me," said he, with energy, "for, of the thousand upon this roll, five hundred died without a drop of water to quench their burning thirst. I heard them often ask that they might be supplied, but they were answered that their houses had not paid; and then I knew that I was safe."

"Let me see the roll," said the king; and he outstretched his hand, and took it from the young man's burning grasp.

"Who are these? Here are the names of Industria, of Miseria, and Sacerdos. Where are their coffins; are they around us in the hall ?" They are not," said Puretos; "they are in the portion of the cemetery allotted to the poor."

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"Is not Sacerdos here?" said the king.

"Nay," said Puretos; "he had given away all that he possessed; he had not a coin in his possession when he died; and, as no one knew him save the poor, who were unable to help, he was buried amongst those for whom he lived, and no one could tell his grave from theirs."

"We will hear," said the king, "of thy success with these three names."

"Industria," said Puretos quickly, "was the mother of three children. She wrought from morning to night, and almost from night to morning. She had once been rich, but her husband died, and then she had to work for their support. They were a long time before they came within my domain; but, like the moth, when he is doomed for the flame, they came nearer every day. As they lost all their goods, they had to change from house to house,

C