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centre of the glory, and in his place there appeared a divine transparency of a brighter and purer light than any part of the illumination that surrounded it. There she saw an inscription, which I'll repeat to you, and which, no doubt whatever, was writ by Johnny's Guardian Angel :

*** For thy true love kneel and pray,

For a twelvemonth and a day,
In Hy Brisail's * sacred isle,
Waits his soul in hope the while,
Till those days of penance o'er,
He shall leave the haunted shore,
On the wings of light and love,

To join the saints and thee above.' "As the beautiful vision faded away into the moonlight, quite overcome with all she saw, she fell back off her knees in a swoon upon the floor, and there she was found with the window still open and the night air blowing upon her, the cowld at her heart, and her limbs like icicles, when the widow came in to look after her and the candle a little before the dawn of the morning.

“Everything that money, and the doctors, and family attention and kindness could do was done for Norah ; but the scene of that night was too much for her nerves, and the fresh cold she caught overcame her constitution. The cough she already had was changed to a church-yard one, and the strength was taken out of her. Her angel spirit still kept on the same to the last; and she counted every day with hope and joy the number of days she had still to live till she was to get away to her Johnny, as the school boys count every morning they get up, coming Christmas, how many days more it is to the holidays. And so, after she knelt and prayed every night, noon, and morning of the time of the spirit's warning, and got a hundred masses, and every month a grand office, chanted for Johnny's soul, she laid herself down to take her last rest. Father Dan O'Hara, the same priest that married ber four years before, gave her the last blessed rites of the Church, and dismissed her to her bright reward. Her virgin spirit flew upwards to join her own dear true love's on high, or to meet it on its way; and her beautiful remains, never so beautiful as in death, were laid in peace and honour in the churchyard near Oughterard; for it was there her people were buried for ages before her. She had a great wake, and the greatest berrin f ever seen

* O'Brazil, or Hy Brisail, the paradise of the ancient Irish, is to be seen on a very fine day—the natives say-from the rocky shore of Arran. Gerald Griffin has the following poetic allusion to it:

"On the ocean that hollows the rocks where you dwell

A shadowy land has appeared, as they tell;
Men thought it a region of sunshine and rest,
And they called it O'Brazill, the isle of the blest.”


in that part of the country from that day to this. There was a mile of jaunting and low-back cars, and a couple more miles of people on foot following her all along the mountain road. Her coffin was carried on their shoulders by the Claddagh boys, and the Claddagh girls threw the sweetest flowers they could gather into her grave upon it, after Father Dan prayed over her and chanted the De Profundis.

“Before I close my story I must tell you that I told it not many years ago to the schoolmaster of Black Ditches, as we sat near the King's Bridge, in the Valley of the Liffey, on a Sunday evening in summer; and that was only a couple of months before he died, poor fellow, of the fever. Whenever he heard anything that took a grasp of his heart, he used to write some wild Irish verses upon it; and these were his sentiments upon my little bit of Love and Murder :



In the flowery month of May
All on our bridal day,
They forced my love away!
Wirasthrue! Wirasthrue!
They forced him o'er the main
To sail for France and Spain;
And I'll see him ne'er again !
Wirasthrue! Wirasthrue!


As I wander by the shore,
I hear the battle's roar;
I see my true love's gore;
Wirasthrue! Wirasthrue!
His comely bosom white,
His smiling face so bright,
Black and bloody from the fight!
Wirasthrue! Wirasthrue!


His livid lips are dumb;
But his sad eyes bid me come;
I'm coming, love, I come!
Wirasthrue! Wirasthrue!
No longer, maidens dear,
Can my spirit linger here:
Strew the lilies on my bier!

Wirastbrue! Wirasthrue! « So the Lord be merciful to us all when that sad time comes, and receive our sowls, like Norah’s and Johnny's, in glory! That, ladies and gentlemen, is my story. I cannot swear to the truth of all the supernatural parts of it. I can only tell you that my mother used to tell it to us children when I was a boy, and that it was told to her by my grandmother afore her.”

His Brother's Keeper.




The good old days in which damsels were wedded at the word of command, or sent to convents until prepared to love, honour, and obey the man of their (parents') choice, have passed away; but means can still be found of bringing about marriages (on earth) between persons one of whom would rather remain single. The good vicar could not order Addy to become Mrs. Norton, but he could, and did, make her existence as Miss Woodburn a very dull one. He could, and did, give up entertaining. He could, and did, put a stop to his daughter's visiting. He could, and did, shake his head at her and sigh, and talk of his advancing years, his declining health, and the anxieties for her future, which were, as he said, hastening him to his grave. He was wise in his generation, and sincere. Harry Norton was an indisputably good match, and he had greatly improved of late—that Addy gladly admitted. He took interest in his estate, did good amongst the poor, had become in the best meaning of the term—respectable. For some time he had left off teasing Addy with his love-making, and that, strange as it may appear, made the wayward girl like him. Gradually they drifted into an understanding, which ripened into an engagement. Addy found that there was no escaping, no resisting the moral pressure that was brought to bear upon her. Her life was woefully dull. The man she loved was dead. The man who loved her had at least won her respect. She was tired of resisting. Harry was very kind and moderate. When she had surrendered, she wondered why she had resisted so long.

Harry had improved wonderfully. At first he worked to stifle the stings of his guilty conscience, and as time robbed these of their power, he worked on because he had become accustomed to an active life, and because it brought him credit. All things went well with him. The coal mine was flourishing; the purchase of his share in the gold mine was faithfully completed. The mortgages were paid off ; the estate improved, and Rosey's fortune put by. He was a greater man than his father had been at quarter sessions, and had a fair chance of representing the county in Parliament at the next general election. His Roc's egg was Addy Woodburn. People had said she jilted him, and that he could not bear. He won even his Roc's egg at last.

And so they married, these two, without a spark of love, or even



passion between them. Mr. Norton lost no opportunity of showing off his beautiful wife, thus confounding the scoffers who had talked of jilting, and Addy was quite satisfied to be so exhibited after the dull life she had led for the last-it seemed to her ten years, but it was only two, since George Sutcliffe was Lost at SEA.

They passed their honeymoon in Italy, spent Easter in Paris, and after a flying visit to Climbury went up to town “for the season." Young Mrs. Norton had had quite enough of the country; besides, she was to be presented at court, and the London house had to be taken and furnished. The London house !she spoke of it during that flying visit with a calm, queenly indifference, as though it were a chest of drawers or a dressing-case, or some other article the necessity of which could not be questioned. The widow shuddered at the idea of a London house. Was she to lose her son after all? She did not like that air of calm, queenly indifference which had settled upon her daughter-in-law's beautiful face. It seemed to her that it would require only a small amount of contradiction to change it into defiance and contempt. And she was right. Addy knew her strength now. The strength of her beauty, and the power of passive resistance which a torpid temperament gave her. As the season drew to an end it began to dawn upon Harry that he was not the star he had fondly imagined himself to be, but a planet shining with borrowed light the light of his beautiful, imperious wife. She had married for a "position," why should not she make the most of it?

“She writes to me as though I were her housekeeper," said the dowager Mrs. Norton to Rosey, with tears in her eyes, one fine August morning. “Get everything ready, as we expect a large party on the 1st. Let her come and get every thing ready herself. I wonder at Harry permitting her to write to me in that strain. I shall just return her letter to Harry and let him know what I think of it.”

“Dear mamma, you don't know how occupied she is,” pleaded Rosey, “I have known her have to write twenty notes after breakfast.”

Rosey had being staying at the London house, and found it very charming. The large party expected on the 1st (St. Partridge) had also a special charm for her.

“Dear Addy has got into a short, quick way of ordering things," continued the fair apologist.

She has no right to order me,” persisted her mother.

Well, I was wrong to say 'ordering,'” said Rosey; " but you see, mamma, dear, she is so beautiful, and so kind; everyone spoils her.”

“So it seems."

“And you need not trouble yourself ; Mrs. Brace and I can do all that is wanted. Let me see the letter," pursued the winsome advocate. “Oh, it's just like Addy-just her royal way. Do you know, mamma, , she once made me write a note for her to the prime minister,-fancy!

She was too tired to write herself, and it was just this : Bring me three orders for the House of Commons, for to-morrow, and get an invitation for Captain Vyner, R.N., to the Queen's ball’-not a ' please,' or a will you ; just do it'-and he did it.”

“Girls did not take such liberties when I was young,” the widow replied, greatly mollified by Rosey's story, which seemed to reflect grandeur upon her son. “Let me see, what does she say? 'Four rooms for married people, three for girls, and five for bachelors.' Good gracious, Rosey, that will be fourteen guests, beside servants ! Well, we must do our best. Do you know who any of these people are ?"

"I know Lord and Lady Willmington are invited, and—and—I think, Captain Vyner.” Rosey's cheeks flushed like a rose as she mentioned that name, but her mother was too busy thinking of how the invading host was to be lodged, to notice her. Poor little Rosey! well might she remember word for word in that curt command of Queen Addy. Well did she remember that royal ball. In the most sacred recess of her desk was the programme of dances marked R. V. in many places, and one little white glove. Where was the other ? Perhaps R. V. knew. R. V. was coming to shoot partridges on the 1st, and you may be sure that his room was not the worst in the bachelors' wing. Nevertheless he was not altogether a welcome guest at Climbury.

The curt note of command which had so offended the dowager Mrs. Norton came from the Highlands of Scotland, where the languid, but imperious, Addy was queening it in quite a new style. Some women think they can win their way with sporting men by joining in their sport. Addy knew better. She took just enough interest in the grouse-shooting, the deer-stalking, and the salmon-fishing to make any one who had had a successful day very proud of being praised by her ; but she never did such a stupid thing as to take a gun or a rod in her hand, and so put herself, for the moment, below the level of the greatest muff in the party. She was very charming in her little Russia-leather shooting-boots, her short plaid dress and Glengarry bonnet, as she tramped over the blooming heather in command of the luncheon; or stood in the mountain pass with eager eyes and breezedishevelled hair, waiting for the drive. Peer and peasant were alike proud when the bonnie, bold Southern lady said, “Well done." Harry, her husband, who was not much of a sportsman, did not win many “well dones," and the conviction that he was only there as an inevitable accompaniment-just a shade more welcome than her maid, or her dog-became more and more clear, and put him into fits of sulks, which rendered his society less sought for than ever. It was a happy day for him when they repassed Carlisle. At Climbury no one could make a cipher of him, and that confounded Gordon of Glenphale would not be hanging about his wife.

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