shame and fear, and his experienced counsel, the event came with the suddenness of a thunderclap upon me-upon all! and such was his consummate tact, but that his jealous hatred of Dillon got the better of his discretion when they began to wrestle, I do suppose he would have committed a double perfidy, and quietly seen her imposed on an honest man, and her confinement take place in her own house!! But it was fated to be otherwise,-that heartbreak was spared us!

But once my eyes were opened, I could look back, and understand many things that had puzzled me before. I could account for Mr. Lindon's increasing partiality to our neighbourhood, and his great generosity to us; for his deep dislike of Dillon; for his frequent fits of illness-most of them entirely feigned-and for the mysterious quarrel with Mr. St. George. This last, if I had pressed Mr. St. George home on the evening that it occurred, would have opened my eyes, for it was on account of Grace. He had found them together on his sudden entrance, she sitting beside Lindon, so much at her ease, and his arm so familiarly

encircling her waist-that Mr. St. George, astonished and alarmed, as he had never before seen the least familiarity between them, applied some offensive term to his cousin, which the other indignantly retorted, and hence the quarrel. I well remember Mr. St. George's look and remark when I pressed him that evening not to leave us, and which I now fully understood. I since upbraided Mr. St. George for not speaking out at once; but he reminded me, that it was too delicate a matter to speak of on mere suspicion, and he had no proof; and that Mr. Lindon had resented the insinuation so indignantly, and so solemnly pledged his honour that I was mistaken, "that," continued Mr. St. George, "I could not possibly doubt his word! I could not myself make such a protest in a falsehood, and, therefore, I believed him."

Lindon! what monstrous infatuation to prefer him to Edmond Dillon ! But who can know the human heart? or how its cords are strung? A mighty master has said,—

"The devil has not in all his quiver's choice,
An arrow for the heart like a sweet voice."

And the deep, insinuating tones of the seducer, whispering love into her young ears, and above all, the melting pathos of his voice in singing, won her from virtue, true love, and happiness! Oh, my dear Grace!

I had observed that latterly she would wish to be alone, and that she would weep when Lindon sang. And how often he did sing,

and for whom I now know too well!

But what avails our going over these things! The beautiful girl, only seventeen, our pleasure and our pride, and her babe, are long, long ago in the grave, and he is a rich and respected gentleman. But no! he cannot be respected. The same selfishness and want of principle, that led him to destroy us, must be apparent in all his acts, and however men may pass him without publickly censuring him, believe it he has no heart, no real esteem from any!

I said her misfortune and death severely affected us all. My father became exceedingly ill. Our faithful old housekeeper, the firm friend of her mother, manifestly drooped, and never finally recovered the shock, and

they made me a wanderer from my home and native place for years.

As soon as Mr. St. George saw that all was over, that she was dead, he hurried away to Lindon, and immediately after I could perceive the servants preparing for their departure. O'Carrol told me, that when his master heard of Grace's death, and the other circumstance, he was most dreadfully affected! "He leaped from the bed as if struck with a pistol ball, and that his cry was tremendous ! " Well might conscience smite him! He had committed a double murder! Then taking an obstinate fit, it required all his cousin's entreaties and arguments to induce him to leave the place. But he went, followed by the maledictions of a hundred tongues!

Mr. St. George, ever generous and feeling, remained with us to witness the interment of the poor young victim. And it was well he did so, for I was nearly useless, Dillon not much better, and my father quite incapable. Yet I retained so much of the man, and of recollection, as to refuse every pecuniary favour from either gentleman. A sum was due to us, and

so much I accepted, and no more. All the furniture and valuables remained in our house and probably would have remained but for me. For, as soon as I saw that they were left, intentionally, as I supposed, and as a sort of compensation for what never can be compensated-wounded feelings and broken hearts —I flung them out of the house, one article after another, till the servants removed them to Castle Lindon.

Was I right or wrong in that? The worldly-minded, and of such the world is principally composed, will scorn my decent pride, and say I was foolishly wrong. And perhaps I was. But what lustre or value was in their gold and silver, compared with the beaming eyes, the sweet smile, the affectionate words and acts of fondness I was accustomed to in that then desolate house, and that were lost to me for ever? If there is much of extravagance and folly, there is also much high-minded feeling in the Irish peasant; the young men are particularly jealous of their sisters' behaviour, and feel most acutely their lapse from virtue. From my own experience,