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ing to the miser, the prospect of the future was invariably clad in darkness and mist to the eyes of Connor's father. "Honor O'Donovan," says the preface, " is no creature of the imagination; but, on the contrary, a likeness faithful and true to the virtues of thousands whose glowing piety, meek endurance, and unexampled fortitude have risen triumphant on some of the severest trials of domestic life." Many a portrait of such religious fervour-or rather reliance and purity, is to be found under the humble roof of the Irish cottage and the Irish farm-house; for in no country on the earth, or among no class of females, could the eye of an observer discover greater truth, sincerer religion, or firmer principle, than amongst the wives and daughters of the Irish peasantry. Mr. Carleton has a right to be proud of his countrywoman; and ungenerous must the heart of any writer be, who will neglect to record virtues that are so worthy of imitation.

To the inexpressible horror of Fardorougha, the friends, and dependants of the family are invited to partake of a "little treat" to celebrate the birth of the child; and when the description of the jovial party is brought to a conclusion, the author winds up the chapter with the following eloquent sketch of the miser's household :

"How strange is life, and how mysteriously connected is the woe or the weal of a single family with the great mass of human society. We beg the reader to stand with us upon a low sloping hill-a little to the left of Fardorougha's house-and, having solemnized his heart by a glance at the starry gospel of the skies, to cast his eye upon the long whitewashed dwelling, as it shines faintly in the visionary distance of a moonlight night. How full of tranquil beauty is the hour-and how deep the silence, except when it is broken by the loud baying of the watch-dog, as he barks in sullen fierceness at his own echo; or perhaps there is nothing heard but the sugh on the mountain-river, as with booming sound it rises and falls in the distance, filling the ear of midnight with its wild and continuous melody. Look around and observe the spirit of repose which sleeps on the face of nature-think upon the dream of human life-and of all the inexplicable wonders which are read from day to day in that miraculous page-the heart of man. Neither your eye nor imagination need pass beyond that humble roof before you, in which it is easy to perceive by the ights passing at this unusual hour across the windows, that there is something added either to their joy or to their sorrow. There is the mother, in whose heart was accumulated the unwasted tenderness of years, forgetting all the past in the first intoxicating influence of an unknown ecstacy, and looking to the future with the eager aspiration of affection, There is the husband, too, in whose heart the lank devil of the avaricious-the famine struck god of the miser, is even now contending with the almost extinguished love which springs up in a father's bosom on the sight of his first-born!

"Reader, who can tell whether the entrancing visions of the happy mother, or the gloomy anticipations of her apprehensive husband, are more prophetic of the destiny which is before their child? Many, indeed, and various are the hopes and fears felt under that roof, and deeply will their lights and shadows be blended in the life of the being whose claims are so strong upon their love. There, -for some time past the lights in the windows have appeared less frequently, one by one we presume the inmates have gone to repose-not another gleam is visible-the last candle is extinguished, and this humble section of the great family of man is now at rest, with the veil of a dark and fearful future unlifted before them."

Connor grows up to man's estate; and the first incident which appears to bear upon the destinies of his after life, is his acquaintance with a young man of the name of Bartle Flanagan. Old Fardorougha had lent the sum of forty pounds to Bartle's family; and when the promissory note became due, the miser seized the entire property of his debtors to satisfy his claim. The unhappy beings were turned adrift into the wide world-Bartle's sisters were compelled to seek their bread by going out to service; and the young man himself, with a thousand nefarious prospects in view, accepted a menial situation in the household of Fardorougha. Connor had become attached to Una O'Brien, the daughter of a rich farmer in the neighbourhood, and Bartle undertakes the office of messenger between the young lovers. He himself is also deeply attached to Una; and the attainment of the honourable function of go-between was a portion of the system of villainy which he had contemplated on entering the service of Fardorougha O'Donovan. The author thus describes the first meeting between Connor and the lovely Una :

"Oh! that first meeting of pure and youthful affection-with what a glory is it ever even-clad in the memory of the human heart! No matter how long or how melancholy the lapse of time since its past existence may be, still-still is it remembered by our feelings when the recollection of every tie but itself has departed!

"The charm that murmured its many-toned music through the soul of Una O'Brien was not, upon the evening in question, wholly free from a shade of melancholy for which she could not account; and this impression did not result from any previous examination of her love for Connor O'Donovan, though many such she had. She knew that in this the utmost opposition from both her parents must be expected; nor was it the consequence of a consciousness on her part, that in promising him a clandestine meeting, she had taken a step which could not be justified. Of this, too, she had been aware before; but until the hour of appointment drew near, the heaviness which pressed her down was such as caused her to admit that the sensation however painful and gloomy, was new to her, and bore a character distinct from anything that could proceed from the various lights in which she had previously considered her attachment. This was however heightened by the boding aspect of the heavens, and the dead repose of the evening, so unlike anything she had VOL. II. (1839.) NO. IV.

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ever witnessed before. Notwithstanding all this, she was sustained by the eager and impatient buoyancy of first affection, which, when her imagination pictured the handsome form of her young and manly lover, predominated for the time over every reflection and feeling that was opposed to itself. Her mind indeed resembled a fair autumn landscape over which the cloud-shadows may be seen sweeping for a moment, while again the sun comes out and turns all into serenity and light."

A little farther on, at the commencement of the fifth chapter, we find so sweet and pathetic a description of young love, that we cannot do otherwise than digress from-or rather stop the progress of our sketch of the tale, for a moment, in order to lay the paragraph before our readers :

"It is not often that the higher ranks can appreciate the moral beauty of love as it is experienced by those humbler classes to whom they deny the power of feeling it in its most refined and exalted character. For our parts we differ so much from them in this, that if we wanted to give an illustration of that passion in its purest and most delicate state, we would not seek for it in the saloon or the drawing-room-but amongst the green fields and the smiling landscapes of rural life. The simplicity of humble hearts is more accordant with the unity of affection than any mind can be that is distracted by the competition of rival claims upon its gratification. We do not say that the votaries of rank and fashion are insensible to love; because, how much soever they may be conversant with the artificial and unreal, still they are human, and must, to a certain extent, be influenced by a principle that acts wherever it can find a heart on which to operate. We say, however, that their love-when contrasted with that which is felt by the humble peasantry-is languid and sickly; neither so pure, nor so simple, nor so intense. Its associations in high life are unfavourable to the growth of a healthy passion; for what is the glare of a lamp, a twirl through the insipid mazes of the ball-room, or the unnatural distortions of the theatre, when compared to the rising of the summer sun, the singing of birds, the music of the streams, the joyous aspects of the varied landscape, the mountain, the valley, the lake, and a thousand other objects, each of which transmits to the peasant's heart, silently and imperceptibly, that subtle power which at once strengthens and purifies the passion? There is scarcely such a thing as solitude in the upper ranks, nor an opportunity of keeping the feelings unwasted, and the energies of the heart unspent by the many vanities and petty pleasures with which fashion forces a compliance, until the mind falls from its natural dignity into a habit of coldness and aversion to everything but the circle of empty trifles in which it moves so giddily. But the enamoured youth who can retire to the beautiful solitude of the still glen to brood over the image of her he loves, and who probably sits under the very tree where his love was avowed and returned-he, we say, exalted with the fulness of his happiness, feels his heart go abroad in gladness upon the delightful objects that surround him, for everything he looks upon is as a friend; -his happy heart expands over the whole landscape;-his eye glances to the sky;-he thinks of the Almighty Being above him, and though without any capacity to analyze his own feelings-love-the love of some humble, plain, but modest girl, kindles by degrees into the sanctity and rapture of religion."

Such was the affection experienced by the two young lovers-the heroes of our tale! In process of time, Connor unfolded the secret of his heart to his parents; and after numerous consultations, resolutions made and broken, and a thousand plans all tending towards the same grand aim,-viz., that of inducing the Bodagh, as Una's father was called, to consent to the match-it was at length agreed that the old miser himself should seek a personal interview with Mr. O'Brien. The preparations made by Fardorougha, for this important visit, are too remarkable not to be narrated in the author's own words :

"Out of an old strongly-locked chest he brought forth a gala coat, which had been duly aired, but not thrice worn within the last twenty years. The progress of time and fashion had left it so odd, outre, and ridiculous, that Connor, though he laughed, could not help feeling depressed on considering the appearance his father must make when dressed, or rather disfigured, in it. Next came a pair of knee-breeches by the same hand, and which, in compliance with the taste of the age that produced them, were made to button so far down as the calf of the leg. Then appeared a waistcoat, whose long pointed flaps reached nearly to his knees. Last of all was produced a hat not more than three inches deep in the crown, and trimmed so narrowly, that a spectator would almost imagine the leaf had been cut off. Having pranked himself out in these habiliments, contrary to the strongest expostulations of both wife and son, he took his staff and set forth. But lest the reader should expect a more accurate description of his person when dressed, we shall endeavour at all events to present him with a loose outline. In the first place, his head was surmounted with a hat that resembled a flat skillet, wanting the handle; his coat, from which avarice and penury had caused him to shrink away, would have fitted a man twice his size; and as he had become much stooped, its tail-which, at the best, had been preposterously long-now nearly swept the ground. To look at him, behind, in fact, he appeared all body. The flaps of his waistcoat he had pinned up with his own hands, by which piece of exquisite taste he displayed a pair of thighs so thin and disproportioned to his small clothes, that he resembled a boy who happens to wear the breeches of a full-grown man, so that to look at him in front he appeared all legs. A pair of shoes, polished with burned straw and butter-milk, and surmounted by two buckles, scoured away to skeletons, completed his costume. In this garb he set out with a crook-headed staff, into which long use, and the habit of griping fast whatever he got in his hand, had actually worn the marks of his forefinger and thumb."

The interview between the old miser and Una's parents, is ludicrous in the extreme. After a long conversation, which is interrupted by frequent disputes and much wrangling, Una herself is at length consulted, and her brother John O'Brien pleads the cause of his sister with the most affectionate warmth. The Bodagh offers to bestow a farm upon his daughter, and then requests to know what Fardorougha will do in his turn for the " young people." The character of the miser is now sustained with admirable humour. The old man declares that he is poor, and then-while his body writhes in a thousand convulsions-he confesses that his son will inherit all he has: at the same time he refuses to bestow anything upon him at that moment, and begs the Bodagh to conclude the bargain at once without insisting upon any further dower beyond the farm being conferred upon their children. This obstinacy and avarice on the part of O'Donovan put an abrupt end to the interview, and all chances of a happy or speedy union for Connor and Una are destroyed in an instant.

Connor receives the sad news with all the feelings of disappointment and distress attendant upon a sincere affection. At the same time he recollects that "faint heart never won fair lady;" and he despatches his friend Bartle Flanagan to obtain for him an appointment and interview with Una. Bartle's shoes are worn out, and Connor gives him a new pair, the soles of which are protected against a speedy decay, by three rows of large nails. Bartle undertakes the mission, and at the expiration of a short time returns, with the welcome assurance that Una will meet her lover the same night, at twelve o'clock precisely, in a grove contingent to her father's house.

The reader may suppose that Connor is overjoyed at these tidings; his imagination cannot find words to express his thanks to Flanagan. He hastens to unfold the welcome news to his parents, who have now become his confidants as well as Bartle, and announces to them his intention of sleeping with Flanagan that night in the barn, so as not to disturb his father by knocking at the door at a late hour in the night. In the course of the day, Connor discovers that his friend Flanagan is more or less connected with the society of Ribbon-men; and to his grief, he ascertains from that individual, that the Bodagh is a "marked man." He does not however pay much attention to these disclosures at the moment, the approaching interview with Una occupying all his thoughts.

True to his appointment, he sets out, accompanied by Flanagan, at the proper hour, and reaches the trysting place. But Una is not there. He waits and still she comes not. An hour elapses and he is then determined to return home, as it is clear that Una cannot keep her promise-but for what reason, Connor is at a loss to divine. Alas! little does he guess that he is the victim of an infernal scheme of deeply-laid treachery, and that Una has never

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