Who would "I know you did. doubt that, at any rate?" "Well, before you leave us, be off now, and let the animal out o' the pound." "Is that it? Oh, God help you! what'll you do when you'll be left to yourself, as you will be on Sathurday next? Let her out," says you. Throth, the poor woman had her cow safe and sound at home wid her before she went to bed last night, and her poor childre had her milk to kitchen their praties, the craythurs. Do you think I'd let her stay in till the maggot bit you? Oh, ay, indeed! In the mane time, as soon as you're done breakfast, I want you in the study, to put the bandage on that ould, good-fornothin' leg o' yours; an' mark my words, let there be no shirkin' now, for on it must go, an' will, too. If I see that Hanlon, I'll tell him you want him, Masther Richard; an' now that I'm on it, I had betther say a word to you before I go; bekaise, when I do go, you'll have no one to guide you, God help you, or to set you a Christian patthern. You see that man sittin' there wid that bad leg, stretched out upon the chair ?" "I do, Jemmy-ha, ha, ha! Well, what next?" "That man was the worst patthern ever you had. In one word, don't folly his example in any thing-in any one single thing; an' then there may be some chance o' you still. I'll want you by-an'-bye in the study, I tould you." These last words were addressed to his master, at whom he looked as one might be supposed to do at a man whose case, in a moral sense, was hopeless; after which, having uttered a groan that seemed to intimate the woeful affliction he was doomed, day by day, to suffer, he left the room. It is not our intention, neither is it necessary that we should enter into the particulars of the interview which Hanlon had that morning with young Dick. It is merely sufficient to state that they had a private conversation in the old magistrate's office, at which the female whom Hanlon had visited the night before, was present. When this was concluded, Hanlon walked with her a part of the way, evidently holding serious and interesting discourse touching a subject which we may presume bore upon the extraor dinary proceedings of the previous night. He closed by giving her directions how to proceed on her journey; for it seemed she was not acquainted with the way, being, like himself, but a stranger in the neighbourhood:-" You will go on," said he, "till you reach the height at Aughindrummon; from that you will see the trees at the Rabbit Bank undher you; then keep the road straight till you come to where it crosses the ford of the river: a little on this side, and where the road turns to your right, you will find the Grey Stone, an' jist opposite that you will see the miserable cabin where the Black Prophet lives." "Why do they call him the Black Prophet ?" 66 Partly, they tell me, from his appearance, and partly bekaise he takes delight in prophesyin' evil." "But could he have anything to do wid the murdher?" "I was thinkin' about that," he replied, "and had some talk this mornin' wid a man that's livin' a long time-indeed that was born-a little above the place-and he says, that the Black Prophet, or M'Gowan, did not come to the neighbourhood till afther the murdher. I wasn't myself cool enough last night to ask his daughter many questions about it; an' I was afraid, besides, to appear over anxious in the business. So now that you have your instructions in that and the other matthers, you'll manage everything as well as you can." Hanlon then returned to the Grange, and the female proceeded on her mission to the house, if house it could be called, of the Black Prophet, for the purpose, if possible, of collecting such circumstances as might tend to throw light upon a dark and mysterious murder. When Sarah left her father, after having poulticed his face, to go a kailley, as she said, to a neighbour's house, she crossed the ford of the river, and was proceeding in the same direction that had been taken by Hanlon the preceding night, when she met a strange woman, or rather she found her standing, apparently waiting for herself, at the Grey Stone. From the position of the stone, which was a huge one, under one ledge of which, by the way, there grew a little clump of dwarf elder, it was impossible that Sarah could pass her without coming in tolerably close contact; for the road was an old and narrow one, though perfectly open and without hedge or ditch on either side of it. "Maybe you could tell me, young woman, whereabouts here a man lives that they call Donnel Dhu, or the Black Prophet; his real name is M'Gowan, I think ?" "I ought to be able to tell you at any rate," replied Sarah; "I'm his daughther." The strange woman, on surveying Sarah more closely, looked as if she never intended to remove her eyes from her countenance and figure. She seemed for a moment, as it were, to forget every other object in lifeher previous conversation with Hanlon-the message on which she had been sent and her anxiety to throw light upon the awful crime that had been committed at the spot whereon she stood. At length she sighed deeply and appeared to recover her presence of mind, and to break through the abstraction in which she had been wrapped. "You're his daughter, you say?" "Ay, I do say so." "Then you know a young man by name Pierce-och, what am I sayin'? -by name Charley Hanlon ?" "To be sure I do-I'm not ashamed of knowin' Charley Hanlon." "You have a good opinion of him then ?" "I have a good opinion of him; but not so good as I had though." "Musha why then, might one ax?" "I'm afeard he's a cowardly crathur, and rather unmanly a thrifle. I like a man to be a man, an' not to get as white as a sheet, an' as cowld as a tombstone, bekaise he hears what he thinks to be a groan at night, an' it may be nothin' but an ould cow behind a ditch. Ha ha ha!" "An' where did he hear the groan?" "Why, here where we're standin." Ha ha ha! I was thinkin' of it since, an' I did hear something very like a groan; but what about it? Sich a night as last night would make any one groan that had a groan in them.' "You spoke about ditches, but sure there's no ditches here." "Divil a matther-who cares what it was? What did you want wid my father?" "It was yourself I wanted to see." "I do not; I hardly remimber anything about her. She died when I was a young clip-a mere child, I believe. Still," she proceeded rather slowly, musing and putting her beautiful and taper fingers to her chin_" I think that I do remimber-it's like a dhrame to me though, an' I dunna but it is one-still it's like a dhrame to me, that I was wanst in her arms, that I was cryin', an' that she kissed me -that she kissed me! If she had lived, it's a different life maybe I'd lead, an' a different crature I'd be to-day maybe; but I never had a mother." "Did your father marry a second time?" "He did." "Then you have a stepmother?" "Is she kind to you, an' do you like her?" "Middlin'-she's not so bad-betther than I deserve, I doubt. I'm sorry for what I did to her; but then I have the divil's temper, an' have no guide o' myself when it comes on me. I know whatever she may be to me, I'm not the best stepdaughter to her." The strange female was evidently much struck with the appearance and singularly artless disposition of Sarah, as well as with her extraordinary candour. And, indeed, no wonder; for as this neglected creature spoke, especially with reference to her mother, her eyes flashed and softened with an expression of brilliancy and tenderness that might be said to resemble the sky at night, when the glowing corruscations of the Aurora Borealis sweep over it like expanses of lightning, or fade away into those dim but graceful undulations, which fill the mind with a sense of such softness and beauty. "I don't know," observed her companion, sighing and looking at her affectionately, "how any stepmother could be harsh to you." "Ha, ha, ha! don't you indeed? Faix, then, if you had me, may be you wouldn't think so-I'm nothing but a born divil when the fit's on me.' "Charley Hanlon," proceeded the strange woman, "bid me ax you for the ould tobaccy-box you promised him last night.' " "Well, but he promised me a handkerchy; have you got it?" "I have," replied the other, producing it—" but then, I'm not to give it to you, unless you give me the box for it." "But I haven't the box now," said Sarah, "how-and-ever I'll get it for him." "Are you sure that you can an' will?" enquired the other. "I had it in my hand yesterday," she said, "an' if it's to be had I'll get it." "Well, then," observed the other, mildly, "as soon as you get him the box, he'll give you this handkerchy; but not till then." "Ha!" she exclaimed, kindling, "is that his bargain; does he think I'd thrick him or cheat him?-hand it here." "I can't," replied the other; "I'm only to give it to you when I get the box." "Hand it here, I say," returned Sarah, whose eyes flashed in a moment; "it's Peggy Murray's rag, I suppose-hand it here, I bid you.' The woman shook her head, and replied, "I can't;-not till you get the Box." Sarah replied not a word, but sprang at it, and in a minute had it in her hands. "I would tear it this minute into ribbons," she exclaimed with eyes of fire and glowing cheeks, "and tramp it undher my feet, too; only that I I want it to show her, that I may have the advantage over her." There was a sharp, fierce smile of triumph on her features as she spoke ; and altogether her face sparkled with singular animation and beauty. "God bless me !" said the strange woman, looking at her with a wondering yet serious expression of countenance; "I wanst knew a face like yours, an' a temper the aquil of it—at any rate, my good girl, you don't pay much respect to a stranger. Is your step-mother at home?" "She is not, but my father is ; however, I don't think he'd see you now, My stepmother's gone to Darby Skinadre, the mealmonger's." "I'm goin' there." "An' if you see her," replied the other, "you'll know her by a score on her cheek-ha, ha, ha; an' when you see it, maybe you'll thank God that I'm not your stepdaughter." "Isn't there a family named Sullivan that lives not far from Skinadre's ?" "There is; Jerry Sullivan; it's his daughter that's the beauty-Gra Gal Sullivan. Little she knows what's preparin' for her!" "How am I to go to Skinadre's from this?" asked the woman. "Up by that road there; any one will tell you as you go along.' "Thank you, dear," replied the woman, tenderly; "God bless you; you are a wild girl, sure enough; but, above all things, afore I go, don't forget the box for-for-och, forCharley Hanlon. God bless you a colleen machree, an' make you what you ought to be !" Sarah, during many a long day, hadnot heard herself addressed in an accent of kindness or affection; for it would be wrong to bestow upon the rude attachment which her father entertained for her, or his surly mode of expressing it, any term that could indicate tenderness, even in a remote degree. She looked, therefore, at the woman earnestly, and as she did so her whole manner changed to one of melancholy and kindness. A soft and benign expression came like the dawn of breaking day over her features, her voice fell into natural melody and sweetness, and approaching her companion, she took her hand and exclaimed INDEX TO VOLUME XXVII. Ali Pasha and Eminah, 171. Armagh, John George, Lord Archbishop Beasts, Psychology of, 160. Black Forest, a Stray Leaf from the- Bride, the Irish Rivers, No. II., 31. Burton, J. H., the Life and Correspon- Cælebs in Search of a Bed-a Romance 624. Carleton, William, the Black Prophet, a Tale of Irish Famine. Chap. I.- Omens, 611; Chap. IV.-A Dance Carlyle, Thomas, Oliver Cromwell's Let- Charles IV., Emperor, his Dream, 691. Citizen, the, of Prague, translated by Clairvoyance, Ancient, 166. Clare's (Lord) Funeral-Ireland Sixty Clay, Henry, the Life and Times of, re- Dalkey, the Kingdom of Ireland Sixty Deer-Stalking, a Day's, with the Mark- Falcon Family, the, or Young Ireland, Fete, the, of the Flowers, 460. Fullarton, J., The Wanderer's Return, German Poetry, Stray Leaflets from the Germany, Recollections of the Burschen- Gibs' Parliamentary Privileges-Ireland Gilfillan, George, A Gallery of Literary Golovine, Ivan, a Russian subject, Rus- Grand Jury Laws and County Public Graves, the, of two Sisters, 651. Gunther von Goeckingh-to my Ser- Heidelberg Students, A Peep at the Hood's, Thomas, Poems, reviewed, 563. Instability, from the Spanish, 182. Ireland Sixty Years ago-The Kingdom Ireland, Prosperity of, during the Era Ireland, Grand Jury Laws and County Ireland, Social Condition of-Bryan Irish Rivers, No. II.-The Bride-A Italian Poets, No. VI.-Ariosto, Part Italy, the Insurrections and Insur- gents of, I.-The Republics esta- James, G. P. R. "A Cloud is on the Kenealy, Edward, Scraps from Bral- Keppel, Hon. Captain, The Expedition to Borneo of H.M.S. Dido, for the Lines by "Florence," 104. Mackay, C. Legends of the Isles and Manchester, George, Duke of, The 497. Modena, the Count of, 695. Mozart, Life of, 16. Murray, John Fisher, Spare me yet Mystifications, the, of Mr. Julius Gul- National Club, the 121. Newman on the Development of the Orion, Lines to, 342. Palingenesia, the, 162. Papantzin, Princess, her Ecstacy, 693. Persius's Prologue to his Satires, 575. Schiffer-Soul versus Destiny, 303. Poetry. Sandy Montrose to Nannie |