"You're not, take my word for it," replied his father; "what 'ud you go to the priest at this hour for ?"

"Jist to do the bishop's bidding-sorra' a thing else— didn't he tell me to tell Father Neddy, with his compliments, that he'd be with him the morrow?-and-by the powers I clane forgot it!-he said he'd have the pleasure of marrying Mary and Alick, his holy self, the next day."

As he concluded this sentence, there commenced in the cottage a confusion of tongues, and noises not easily described. Mary, who had been exchanging a few parting words with her lover on the narrow step leading to her little chamber, leaned against the rail for support; the only face that beamed unalloyed pleasure, and the perfection of happiness, was Alick's he pressed Mary's hand closely to his heart; and then, with a delicacy of feeling that would add a new grace to any rank, however exalted it might be, beckoned Jessie to assist her to her room; and, giving utterance to the joy and hope which filled his bosom, gently and affectionately bade her good night.

"It's quite an impossibility! Watty, ye'll never come to good for not telling us afore-sure that was the first thing ye should ha' thought of;" said the father of Mary.

"A bishop, body and bones, coming to marry a child o' mine!" exclaimed the mother; and not a thing in the house! -the hens in the laying time-thin as frosty snipeens; and the chickens not as big as larks! Sorra' a grain o' tea have we, nor a drop o' wine-it can't be, that's sartin !"

There was too much anxious conversation going forward in the kitchen, for Jessie to remain long in Mary's room; from which she soon flounced forth, exclaiming, "It's out o' the question; and a dirty turn o' ye, Watty, not to tell it at once, and ye more nor two hours in the house; and not a stitch o' book muslin to be had nearer nor Ballybay, nor so much as a yard o' satin ribbon. Oh, joy be with you, sweet Dublin! -one has only to cross a street, and the most beautifulest o' things for funerals or weddings are to y'er hand.

If y'er pockets are full o' money, sure it's there ye can empty them, and that without ony throuble to signify; while here, one may live for ages, and see nothin' worth dressing fornothin' but the likes o' ye, Watty, and folk too busy in love to think of any but thimselves, and a pack of old fogies that I wouldn't be seen spaking to in darlint Dublin."

“Ye're wrong, Miss Jessie," replied Walter, "in one thing; sorra' o' the likes o' me, here or elsewhere, ye'll ever see. As to Dublin, or any other place, you girls 'ill contrive to spend y'er money, if ye have it; but look-I'll go off in the morning to Ballybay, and bring ye as much finery as ye want and tay, and sugar, and wine, and everything— for a wedding we must have; and now I'm off to the priest's."

The miller accompanied his son; and neither family went to bed that night, so busy were they with preparations for the coming feast for in that light an Irish wedding is always considered. After the seniors had maturely deliberated on the affair, it was an agreed-upon-matter that it was perfectly impossible to put off a priest, much less a bishop; and I confess myself unable to describe the extreme preparations that consequently occupied the next morning, day, and night. Such doings had never been heard of in the country. Literally, the fatted calf was killed; and Walter executed his commissions to the satisfaction of every body, except Jessie, for he brought her white calico instead of muslin—declaring it was worse than mad to pay so much more money for what was no better than a cobweb.

Sweet Mary Sullivan!-she appreciated too highly the affection of Alick, the wild, devoted kindness of poor Walter, and the condescension of the bishop, to urge obstacles which she did not feel ought to exist. The desire of her heart was fulfilled-the affection that had grown with her growth was to flow on undisturbed in its unpolluted course; and she silently thanked God, and prayed that she might continue worthy of Alick's love.

To a delicately-minded woman, the wedding-day is one of mingled mournfulness and hope. To be another's-to resign to another's care her will, her happiness-to think that every feeling must be moulded to please one, who accepts her submission as a duty, not a favour-is a sacrifice, indeed; but the hope, that, in return for the homely comforts, the cheerful acquiescence, the soothing voice, the ready smile, the delightful tranquillity that woman's love sheds over the humblest home, the hope that these tendernesses will be repaid by the wise guidance, the steady counsel, the noble friendship into which the tumultuous feelings of the lover subside, when he is called husband, cheers and supports the most sensitive mind under a change so decided and entire.

Doctor O'Brien was received with slavish obsequiousness by Father Neddy Cormack, and the house was put in especial order for the purpose. He, however, declined accepting the priest's invitation to remain. He was going on to the squire's, he said, to spend the night; but hoped to have the pleasure of meeting his reverence to-morrow at the Bleach House. Father Cormack must see, he added, the necessity of his appearing there; as he had heard on his way that a very dreadful outrage had been committed on the Sullivan family, into which some inquiry must necessarily be made.

I am sorry for it--but the next.day Father Neddy was at the "pint o' death wid the agee, and a smodering about his heart, and a pain in his head, and not able to touch a drop o' liquor"-according to Katty O'Flinn, who smelt the wedding preparations afar off; as did some dozens of variegated beggars, who afterwards, seated on the green sward, enjoyed the remnants of the treat-a peculiar privilege which that class of persons have enjoyed time out of mind; to them a wedding or a funeral are alike signals for feasting; and I have often been amused at the mixture of rags and happiness such gypsy-like groups present.

Need I add that our bride looked lovely-that the bridegroom was grateful for his long-sought treasure-that the

bishop was gracious, and departed with the heartfelt prayers of his people? No!-but I must add that the air of that part of the country disagreed so much with Father Neddy Cormack, he soon found it necessary to "quit," for another province; and that the bishop's nephew was appointed to his parish—a circumstance at which Walter rejoiced exceedingly; the more so, as the young priest good naturedly promised to forego his once-favourite amusement of "shooting wood-queests."

THE

PROPHET OF ST. PAUL'S.

BY LORD NORMANBY.

THAT "all the word's a stage" has become a trite adagethat "each man in his time plays many parts" is not more true, than that every spot of ground has, in the lapse of ages, been in turn the theatre of many a varied act. In the course of the last few centuries, the accompanying scenery and decorations with which the changeful drama of human life is ever repeated, has been often shifted with a pantomimic profusion.

It is but three hundred years ago, and (though a thousand miles from the place where these words now are written), what is more to the purpose, almost on the very spot where they will be published, that the event which I am going to commemorate happened.

So changed since then is everything around, that the local identity seems as impossible, as it used to me, when a boy, to believe that the very boards on which I had seen Siddons" and Sorrow sit," could be the same on which, half an hour afterwards, Grimaldi grinned and tumbled.

Now, on a fine summer evening, at the hour when the sun in vain attempts to force his horizontal rays through the steam of the many thousand kitchens which just then smoke between his western bed and St. Paul's churchyard; the thronged foot pavement, with its mingling myriads in search of business or of pleasure; the discordant shouts of the evening newsmen; the clang of the departing mails; the jostling ranks of drags or of drays, would all offer to