above his class, which were, fortunately, accompanied || knew they were well beloved in a hard working world, by the more rare qualifications of a high, generous and never intruded on their seniors what may be called spirit, and keen feelings on the subject of right and the fuss of courtship. The useful, sensible girl had justice. Brian and the priest were twins; and, in spite neither time nor attraction for rustic beaus, and was, of the difference of education and rank, a peculiarly || therefore, spared the cloud of small vanities that flutter close attachment and confidence continued to subsist about village as well as ball-room belles ; and Brian between them. As usual in such cases, they strongly || resembled each other, and were somewhat different from their fair-faced family, both being tall, dark, and slender, with the fine, though melancholy Milesian countenance of their country's old princes, and with this difference, that Brian's temper was far the fiercest and most determined. There was no less similarity in their respective characters. Any circumstance would have been welcome to Brian which furnished an apology for transferring himself to Mathew's side of the burn, and his sisters long ago began to whisper among themselves that the attraction was Annie M'Laren.

mele's time; bad cess till him," one and all agreed it was the wisest thing they could do, and set about saving potatoes and butter for their journey.

having no rivals to mortify or astonish, got up no quarrels and assumed no airs. Meantime, Mathew's affairs grew worse and worse; he had fallen into arrears of the last two gales, and a third was approaching, of which his utmost efforts could muster only a part. At last the unfortunate man found that to retain his farm on the terms was an impossibility; and the result of sleepless nights' consultation was, that he and Mrs. M'Laren agreed to dispose of their lease to the best advantage, and emigrate with their family to America. There was a time when the prospect of such a step would have seemed terrible to them, but long pressure reconciles us to any alternative. Annie and the boys Strange to say, this discovery was not quite displeas- took to the plan at once; they were young, and wearied ing to the O'Laffertys. The wide difference in their with working to no purpose; and the O'Laffertys, after faith seemed to form no barrier of separation between a loud lamentation over the loss of their kindly neighthem and the M'Larens, their long intimacy with bours, "an' the brave place they wur lavin in ould whom had naturally weakened their prejudices regard-Irelan' where thir people had lived and died since Cruming the exclusive claims of their own church; and, by the way, it is currently believed in Ulster that this is no uncommon effect of having a near relative in the priesthood. Besides, the Catholics of Armagh were accustomed to regard their Presbyterian neighbours as somewhat superior on account of their better education. "Shure Annie won't be stiff," was the parental comfort; and Brian was allowed to cross the burn on all occasions without a remark, except from his merry sisters. There was another cause for Brian's peace on the subject. The priest had quietly advised his parents not to meddle with the boy, assuring Peter and Mary that, if it was the Lord's will, it must happen; an observation which appeared so conclusive to the simple pair, that it wound up all their after consultations. Father Dermot, though a popular and muchrespected priest, was himself remarked by the seniors of his flock as being less hostile to Protestant practices than any of his predecessors; he permitted Catholic servants to attend family worship in Presbyterian houses, was by no means partial to penance, and spoke little in favour of the mass. It was said his bishop had received intelligence of the fact; but as Father Dermot was at once a more learned and temperate man than that worthy prelate, he was in no haste to take public notice of it, and the former lived on quietly in his distant parish, visiting the O'Laffertys regularly at the close of every harvest.

Mathew and his helpmate had a guess how things were going; but while his father was their old neighbour, Brian was their family friend; his helping hand was ever at their service when it was most required, and he was wont to talk confidentially with the McLarens, not only on worldly matters, but those in dispute between their respective churches. From these conversations it was manifest that his convictions were in favour of his neighbour's faith rather than that of his people, which, together with the young man's sound sense and worth, softened, in their eyes, all that was objectionable in his Irish name and lineage. Brian and Annie had long understood each other; there was neither promise nor profession between them, but both

VOL. XVII.-XO. CICLII.

'Lit me go to Amiracay, too, father and mother, dear," said Brian, as soon as the clamour subsided; "there's plinty besides me for the farm, chape as it is, an' yez know what always took me across the burn; that 'ill take me across the say too. Mathew has no son that can help him much, an' I hiv' a notion we wouldn't differ on other things beyant."

As might be expected, a still louder remonstrance followed the request; but Brian was firm, and his reasoning strong. Peter and Mary wavered before it for a few days, when the priest arrived on his annual visit. The brothers walked together long beside the lake that evening, and then Father Dermot, though with a sad and hopeless look, earnestly advised the O'Laffertys to let Brian go. The priest's opinion was always decisive, and now there were weighty arguments in its favour; the change of matters in the farming world was severely felt, even by the O'Laffertys. They had a large family to provide for. North America was known to be a remunerative field for young men of Brian's class, and he would be no stranger there with the M'Larens. Brian and Annie had first discussed the project between themselves; it was their only chance for union, and the friendship subsisting between him and the old people secured their consent; so it was finally arranged that Brian should accompany the M'Larens to America, and, as soon as circumstances permitted, become their son-in-law.

Thus far, all was amicably settled, but unexpected difficulties arose in the proposed sale; land had fallen considerably in popular estimation since the war, and, after repeated advertisements, no bidder could be found for M'Laren's lease. "Its too dear at the rent," was the general observation; and poor Mathew learned, to his consternation, that neither rich nor poor would take his bargain off his hands. In this dilemma his friends advised him to try if his landlord would become the purchaser, naturally supposing that M'Laren's heavy losses and known honesty would weigh with the

C

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eye was upon him; "but as for buying it, I have no money to spare at present, but a deal of business-so I wish you a very good morning;" and the next sound they heard was that of Mr. Fitzsimmonds' horse in full gallop for Newry.

conscience of that gentleman regarding a bargain by which he alone had profited. Mr. Fitzsimmonds had contrived to have most of his property leased on similar terms, in consequence of which his family made a larger display of finery, and gave more frequent entertainments. Their prospective wealth was also latterly in- That evening, Brian and Dermot walked again becreased by expectations from a younger brother of Mr. side the lake; the former had been at Mathew's cottage, Fitzsimmonds', said to have realised a considerable for- and learned the failure of the morning's expedition, tune in the West Indies. Old neighbours knew that, which almost threw the family into despair, as their in his youth, this man had led the life of a country || last hopes were built upon it, and Brian himself was rake, and when his debts and vices no longer admitted wild with wrath and disappointment. of remaining in Ireland, he had sailed for Jamaica, 'Brother, I know not what to advise," said Dermot, where negro slavery then prevailed with all its unques. after a pause, "but there is a queer story running in tioned abuses, and became a planter's overseer. There my memory. When I came first to my parish, a poor the demon of avarice took possession of the spendthrift, widow came to me with a sad complaint of a graceless and for twenty years he gathered money through all Protestant farmer to whom she had lent the price of the dirty and iniquitous ways that lay about his busi- || her cow more than a year before; and, having neither ness; but dim reports at last reached Camlough of in- witness nor acknowledgment, he denied the debt. One temperance and its terrible effects, which had fallen on sultry afternoon, in the previous summer, a man, calling his latter days in that tropical climate; and nobody was himself a tired traveller, asked leave to rest in her surprised when Fitsimmonds announced that his brother cabin. While he sat, they entered into conversation, was coming home to recruit his health and settle with and as it was always uppermost in the poor woman's him in Ireland. mind, she told him the story of the loan. 'Well,' said the man, there is one method in this world to get your debt paid, and it will never fail where there is wrong or injustice in the case. Get a priest any time between midnight aud morning, and mind the nearer midnight the better, to say a mass backwards, keeping the name of God out of it, and you'll have your money within twenty-four hours after; but let me warn you never to get that job done except when no other means will serve;' and almost immediately the traveller took his departure, saying he had far to

Sundry preparations were made for the rich man's arrival; and the family were wondering he did'nt come, when a letter reached them from the captain of the ship in which he sailed from Jamaica. Fitzsimmonds said it gave an account of his sudden death at sea, and he was not sure about the legacy. It was remarked that their mourning was rather shabby; but a seaman of the same vessel who came to visit his friends in Newry solved the mystery by telling that, one dark night, Fitzsimmonds' brother had rushed on deck in a fit of the horrors, with a leathern bag, supposed to congo; and she never saw him again. I thought it a tain his entire fortune, which he had drawn in gold from the Kingston Bank, slung round his neck, and, jumping overboard before he could be prevented, the weight of his twenty years' gathering took him to the bottom.

It was another clear, frosty morning when Mathew, with the same respectable look, though sadly worn and dispirited since the signing of that luckless lease, and accompanied by his grey-haired pastor, waited on Mr. Fitzsimmonds. They were shown into a disorderly back room, which that gentleman dignified with the title of his office, and Fitzsimmonds entered with his wonted noise, and more than his wonted consequence; but both were strangely damped by the calm seriousness of the old Presbyterian minister, who, having a casual acquaintance of the landlord, at once proceeded to declare their mission-setting forth Mathew's utter inability to retain the farm, his proposed plan of emigration, and his present difficulties, concluding with a hope that Mr. Fitsimmonds would himself become the purchaser of his undisposable lease. Mr. Fitzsimmonds felt there were other leases which he might be called upon to purchase if such a precedent were given, and, therefore, answered, confusedly-"I really don't want the farm. Its very odd somebody won't buy it, for it's a snug place, and you musn't leave it, Mat. America is a wild country, you know, full of agues, and mosquittoes, and Red Indians!"

"I wud ne'er gang if I could help it, sir," said Mathew, meekly. "Bit I hae done me best, and can't live the lease is ower dear."

"You should have thought of that in time, my good|| fellow," said his landlord, kindling up, for the minister's

strange superstition, but somehow I couldn't help wondering if there were any truth in it; and one night, having sat up late reading, I was tempted to put it in practice; but, Brian, all I know is, that next day the widow came to me, rejoicing that the farmer had come and paid her; and he has been a quiet man, and a regular church-goer ever since."

The O'Laffertys wondered that night why Brian and Dermot sat so late; but they had always something of their own to speak of, and the family went to sleep, and left them by the fire. The M'Larens, too, sat much later than usual; household casualties occupied their time; but all was over at last, and the juniors had retired, when Mathew, saying he couldn't sleep, and it was long till day, seated himself, by the hearth. 'We'll sit wi' yc, father, dear," said Annie, taking her place at his one side, as Mrs. M'Laren came kindly to the other.

It is a sad power in human cares which banishes sleep even from the couch of labour. Long the three talked over their state and prospects, till Annie inquired if they heard anything; and the next moment a hand outside lifted the latch. The door, which Mathew thought he had barred some hours before, slowly opened, and a dark, strange-looking man, carry. ing a heavy bag, in which they heard coins chink, walked in, and gruffly demanded of Mathew if he had a lease to sell.

"Indeed I hae, sir," said Mathew; "but it's late.” "It's never late with us," interrupted the stranger. "I have travelled far to buy your lease. What's the price of it?"

"Three hunner' wad ne'er pay me, sir, improvements and all considered," said Mathew; "but won't you sit doun ? "

"No," said the stranger, opening his bag; and Annie remarked that it seemed full of guineas. One by one they chinked on the white deal table, as the stranger counted them out like a man accustomed to the work. "There's three hundred," said he at last; "make haste and give me the lease."

"Are there nae papers to sign, sir?" said Mathew, producing the lease from among his family valuables, laid up in a large chest. "Hadn't you better speak to Mr. Fitzsimmonds? "

him out of his rent; and, by way of refutation, he determined to temporarily install his bailiff, known as "Driving Jamie," in Mathew's old cottage.

Driving Jamie, as his sobriquet imported, was by no means a popular character in Camlough. The peasantry accused him of some of the worst abuses of his calling; but before its adoption, in his earlier days, he had attempted by turns sundry less obnoxious trades, none of which he had ever the perseverance to learn, and now added to his general usefulness as a bailiff, a smattering of the mason's, carpenter's, and thatcher's work. True it was that Jamie's performance belonged to a primitive stage of these arts, but Mr. Fitzsimmonds had a liking for jobs that cost him nothing, and, as the weather and desolation had told on M'Laren's cottage, he employed his bailiff to make the necessary repairs, under his own watchful eye.

"I'll settle with him myself," said the stranger, snatching it from his hand. The goodman afterwards said, he had never felt so unwilling to take money; but before he could remonstrate, the stranger stalked out, leaving Annie and Mrs. M'Laren amazed at the Jamie's family consisted of a wife and two grown-up sight of so much gold. They were three hundred real daughters, who were believed to fear nothing, being guineas, for Mathew counted them carefully over; but themselves the terror of at least all their feminine it was a strange hour and a quick sale, and the three neighbours. He and they had exulted over the grand wished for morning. When it came, their first move-house they were to have, and intimated their collecment was to acquaint the O'Laffertys with the fact, tive resolution "not to be thurned out asy," which and much were they amazed, especially Brian and the was of course never imparted to Mr. Fitzsimmonds durpriest; but when they had wondered sufficiently over ing the three days which he and his bailiff had passed, the particulars, it was agreed, by advice of Father Der- almost together, on the premises, as Jamie did not mot, that these being somewhat inexplicable, should be relish working there alone, and Fitzsimmonds could not kept among themselves; and the information of Cam- trust the repairs to his wisdom. These were nearly lough was confined to the fact that Mathew M'Laren completed at the close of the third day but the weahad sold his lease to a strange gentleman, and got a ther, which had been mild and dull, as frequently occurs stocking full of guineas for it. at the commencement of the Irish winter, suddenly changed to a perfect deluge of sleet and rain.

In the succeeding months both families were busy with preparations for the voyage; the M'Larens seemed in wondrous haste to leave their old home, though Mathew declared he never saw or heard aught of the purchaser; Brian, too, seemed anxious to be gone, but there was a wild burst of sorrow at the parting.

"Be kind to my boy, Mat. M'Laren," said Peter, "for the brave years that our people wur neighbours on the ould sod;" "and, Brian avourneen, don't forgit us," said Mary, "whin you and yer own's livin' well and happy, an' no landlords widin miles ov ye." So, with many prayers and promises of letters, they sailed from the port of Newry, by one of the earliest ships of the new year.

Fitzsimmonds had judiciouslykept aloof, hoping, from the unexplained nature of the sale, that it might contain some legal loophole for his interest; but months rolled away; cheering letters came from the emigrants, which told of a pleasant voyage and a new home, found among the corn lands of Tennessee, where the M'Larens' industry had a promise of comparative wealth, and Brian and Annie saw no fears for their future. Still no purchaser made his appearance to claim Mathew's farm; the fields lay waste, and the home silent. Another term was coming on, and the landlord began to think it was too bad that he could get rent from nobody, on which account, either believing the story of the sale to be false, or wishing to prove if it were so, he advertised the place to be let, and busied himself in looking out for tenants. They were hard to find, for strange reports began to be whispered about the solitary house. Neighbours had seen it blazing with light long after nightfall, and heard wild sounds, as if from revellers within. Fitzsimmonds said that these tales were got up by some interested parties, to frighten

They'll be drounded goin' home this night," said Peter O'Lafferty, as he looked from his own door towards his old neighbour's dwelling, through the thickening darkness.

'Maybe they'll stay till it's over," said the priest, who had that day arrived with an American letter in his pocket.

"I wish thim good ov thir shilter," muttered Peter, firmly barring the door; and the old man made no further remark, but took his seat with his household circle round their blazing hearth.

The day's work was over with that easy family, and long they discussed the news from America, till all were startled by a weight falling against the door, with such force that the frail bolt gave way, and a man bounded in, who never stayed his progress till he was firmly ensconced behind Mrs. O'Lafferty, in the chimney corner. The firelight showed the terrified family that it was none other than Driving Jamie, but his eyes seemed starting from their sockets, and his teeth were chattering like a pair of castanets. A few minutes in the warm cottage and a glass of spirits, promptly administered by Peter, restored the bailiff sufficiently to explain the cause of his terror, and the story could never again be extracted from him so fully. "We had finished the work, and wur makin' ourselves comfortable in the kitchen," said Jamie, "whin we heird a quare noise in the parlour. That's somebody trying to frighten you and me, Jamie,' says the masther; but the words wirn't said, till out cum a black schrechin' company on us, an' the ringlader ov thim (as I'm a sinner, it wis Masther George from Jamaickay) run at the masther wid a roar about buyin' M'Laren's lease, that wud frighten the soul out of ye. Neither of us

could stan' that, an' I saw thim chasin' him the strait || tering, familiar manner was gone; but as the tenants, road home." one after another, complained of their exorbitant rents, he lowered them almost without persuasion. Soon

No one ever thought of doubting Jamie's word, except in a court of justice, where it was generally be-afterwards he sold the property to an English gentlelieved he would swear anything; but though he shook man, and removed to Belfast, where he survived but a off the effects of that fright, and returned to his old few years. habits, if possible more recklessly than ever, nothing could ever induce him to approach the cottage, which from that night became uninhabitable, for early in the morning the O'Laffertys discovered that its roof, which seemed so substantial, had fallen in, and nobody cared to rebuild it.

Fitzsimmonds' servants said their master had come home in a strange way, and they heard a great sound of voices with him at the door; they also remarked that no rain ever did him so much harm, as he was ill for weeks after it. When he again came abroad, his blus

Another curious point in the tale is that Father Dermot resigned his parish the same season, and sailed for America, where he became a farmer beside his brother Brian; and by their encouragement the entire family also disposed of their farm, and crossed the Atlantic, when times grew worse in Ireland. By these events the lands of O'Lafferty and M'Laren passed into the hands of strangers, and the ruins of their respective dwellings, now scarcely distinguishable, were long pointed out by the peasantry in attestation of their legend of the "Dear Lease."

A MIDNIGHT REFLECTION.

How noiseless glides the star-gemm'd car of Night
Along the azure pathway of the Heav'ns!
With yon bright lamp, suspended by a hand
Unseen, guiding, like Israel's pillar'd torch,
The unechoing footsteps of her sable steeds,
That, printless, beat the yielding ether road,
And wheel her through the wilderness of worlds.
How sad the sea, the city, and the plains
Under her empire. Ghosts, in twilight shade,
Flit mourning o'er the spectral-vessell'd main;
The rime-like hoar from her pale minister
Winters the roof of house and fane, robing
In dim snow the lone streets: symbolic shroud
To all the silent sleeping multitudes.

The plumed woods seem melancholy mourners,
In misty light, surrounding Nature's tomb.

By J. B. D.

These are thy earth-creations, solemn Night!
That tell of dolor to humanity.

But raise, my thoughts, my vision to thyself,
Serenely journeying 'mong the quiring orbs
That fill the Infinite with endless song.

Oh! beauteous, mystic Night! thee have I lov'd
From fancy's earliest dawn in childhood's morn'-
Fly not so swiftly from my charmed eye,
That drops its curtain on day's garish shows,
But looks unveil'd and loving upon thee.

Stay, oh, Goddess! stay till my enamour'd soul
Drink in thy deepest moon-lit mysteries,

And in exulting inspiration reel

Straight upwards, dreaming, to thy circling throne,
Where, spher'd with thee I'll nightly track the skies,
And commune with the starry universe.

TRANSLATION FROM THE MEMOIRS OF MADAME DE GENLIS.

SECRET sorrow, gloomy cares,

Disgust towards the world and life;

Languid mind, that nothing dares,

But yields, as in unequal strife:

Poison, which an enemy's art
Seems to shed o'er all my heart;
My happiness you have destroy'd,
And left within an aching void.
Illusive hopes of early youth,

Your loss I ever must deplore,
Enchanting dreams dispell'd by truth,
For me ye will revive no more.
There is a time for Wisdom's reign-
That moment when the passions wane
And cease to agitate the soul,

So formed for Wisdom's mild control;

But at that age, when all is fire,

Hope's glowing pencil gilds the scene,
And high the heart throbs with desire
To taste its pictur'd joys, I ween,
In fancy's glass how brightly seen!
Ah! dangerous, then, the wish to know
The secret spring whence pleasures flow,
The dear delusion to destroy
Which gives or promises us joy.
Such is the sad, unhappy cause

Of this disquiet, this secret grief
Which on my bosom preys and gnaws,
Unceasing there without relief.
Yes! sad reflection is my foe,
Myself, the cause of all my woe.

Auchtermairnie.

E. R. L.

WINTER PICTURES FROM THE NORTH OF EUROPE.

BY WILLIAM HURTON.

I.

INTRODUCTORY WORDS.*

I SAID to myself What does the general reader know of Scandinavia, and especially of that portion of it called Denmark?

Why, he has heard of the daring ancient Danish sea-kings invading England, and also of one King Canute, concerning whom an instructive story is told by the old chroniclers in prose, and by William Wordsworth in verse; he has heard of Elsinore, because it is immortalized in Hamlet;|| he has heard of the bombardment of Copenhagen, and of Campbell's glorious ode, "The Battle of the Baltic;" he has heard something about the Great Belt and the Little Belt, the Skagger-Rack or Cattegat, and the Sound, but assuredly has a most confused notion of their whereabouts; he has heard of Thorwaldsen, the greatest sculptor of modern times, and of Hans Christian Andersen, the poet; he has heard of the recent Schleswig-Holstein question, and the heroic battlings of the Daues in their cause of right against might, and that the brother of Prince Albert commanded certain German batteries which sunk their Christian VIII., and captured their Gefion frigate in the Bay of Eckenforde; he has, also, from the days when he pored over "Guy's Geography" at school, had an exceedingly vague idea that Denmark, Sweden, and Norway, are frozen, desolate regions, shut out from the civilised world the greater portion of the year; and as to the actual every-day life, manners, and customs of the people, he knows about as much as he does of those of the dwellers in Terra del Fuego.

Thus I answered the question one dismal afternoon of the present month of November; and the result was, that in less than five minutes I had resolved that at least one general reader (meaning myself) should remain no longer in such a state of ignorance. "I will go," said I, "forthwith, and, what is more, I will give satisfaction unto mine enemy, if I have one, for I will write a book,' by the medium of which my numerous brethren of the great family of general readers may become equally enlightened."

My preparations were soon made. I had only to pen half-a-dozen letters, and pack a few books, linen, and sundries, in the smallest possible space, and I was ready to depart. I am ein wanderande

* I have written, and copied for the press, these "Introductory Words," and all which follows, nearly down to my arrival at Svendborg, on board the little Danish craft conveying me (as hereafter described) from Kiel, in Holstein, to Svendborg, in the island of Funen, in the Baltic Sea. Should I commit geographical, or other inaccuracies, the reader must make some allowance for the situation in which I write, as I have no "library" to refer to, and my only shipmates are two Danish sailors, who, I need hardly say, can give me no assistance.

vogel-a roamer hither and thither, to and fro—
delighting to mix familiarly with people of divers
nations, thereby treasuring up a knowledge of men
and manners which, one day, may be turned to good
account. No bright young eyes were dimmed at
my departure; no snowy arms were flung around
my neck; no fond young heart beat against mine
in a sobbing farewell embrace. Yet, roamer as I
am, blessed be God, I have some devoted friends,
and a loving father and mother, both of whom, I
fervently pray, will live to welcome their own wan-
derande vogel beneath their old roof-tree once more.
At present I sing, with literal truth :—

"When the long dun wolds are ribb'd with snow,
And loud the Norland whirlwinds blow,
Alone I wander to and fro,

Oriana !"

I ought to remark that I have never read any guide-book, or work of travels, or of fiction, relating to the North of Europe. The former, I believe, confine their descriptions principally to the summer season, which is the only time when travellers think of penetrating into the parts in question. || I wish to supply this assumed desideratum. With few exceptions, all that I shall write will be from my own actual observation, or from information personally gathered from reliable sources; and I shall, whenever practicable, scrupulously distinguish the authority on which I make statements requiring confirmation. I am anxious to present a work which shall be as original and trustworthy as possible; and rather than fail to give a vivid idea of the real unvarnished life of the people among whom my lot may be cast, I will risk being thought tediously minute in my jottings of their usages. The mode in which these "Pictures" are taken, viz. to write down my impressions at the moment, and to send them off each month, so as to be presented at once to the English public-has the drawback of precluding me from correcting them by the aid of subsequent knowledge; but that drawback is counterbalanced by the freshness which, I trust, will pervade them. Moreover, I hope there can hardly occur any serious errors where I confine myself to external matters; and I will, at the conclusion of the series, carefully point out any such which have been made. I will give, in the course of my notes, the best information I can to guide any travellers who may be tempted to follow my example. Finally, having thus frankly stated my intentions and hopes, let ine, with sincere humility, add, that I am conscious that my "Pictures" will be, in some shape or other, far short of what I could wish; but in this world; the next best thing to that which never can be attained is, an earnest, painstaking striving towards it. One word more. I propose to visit, in succession, Sweden and Norway, and perhaps also Lapland. In my next month's "Pictures" I shall