all the ceremonies by which the Paganism once prevalent in the land had been distinguished, and make them as constant attendants on Sabbath prayer as any of the other pretty girls in the neigh-front. On the morning upon which the event bourhood. It may appear, that, considering the long time that Christianity had now prevailed in the land, it could be no longer necessary to convey any warnings against the superstition it had supplanted, which, though once powerful, must have now ceased to exist. This was not the case. It has been observed by a writer of Irish history, that so powerful has long habit been always in most countries, but espceially in Ireland, that St Patrick found much difficulty in weaning the inhabitants of the "sacred isle" from their old observances, and was compelled so far to compliment the old creed, as to allow them to retain those portions of it which he deemed least reprehensible. Such being the case, it can scarcely be matter for surprise, that in many a lone nook, yet unamalgamated with Christianity, there lingered, hidden by primeval forests, the remains of that superstition which for centuries had overspread the earth, and which was famed alike for the potency and the mysticism of its priests. A few miles distant from the residence of M'Brenayann lived a chieftain, who, agreeable to thefashion of the times, or probably to distinguish him from others of the same name, was generally known as Fethlemid, the son of Chrimthan. This young man was tainted with the suspicion of being yet a secret follower of the Magi, or Druids; and it was more than hinted, that in the neighbourhood of his patrimonial dwelling there lived under his protection an old priest, the last of the Druid hierarchy then existant in Ireland. He made, however, no open profession of the sympathy with which he tegarded the declining superstition; nor was it necessary he should do so, for there was no longer any public evidence of its existence; but, amidst the shades of the deep forests that abounded at that period, it was suspected he attended the cruel mysteries by which this singular faith had been distinguished. To Christianity he lent a cold and passive obedience, but did not in this respect differ much from many wild and careless young men in his vicinity, who, while they expressed a belief in its dogmas, seemed by their lives to refute the assertion. There was, however, sufficient known, or at least suspected, with regard to him, to exclude him from the hospitable hall of M'Brenaynn, who was too sincere a Christian, and too fervid a supporter of it on all occasions, to admit to his presence, or to the society of his daughters, a man to whom such suspicions were attached. One of those casual circumstances that it is impossible to guard against, and that are always unforeseen, occasioned that acquaintance between M'Brenaynn's daughters and Fethlemid that their father was most anxious to prevent, and produced that impression in Fethlemid's favour that M'Brenaynn would have regarded as the greatest calamity could befall him. It was the custom in these remote times, for females, when they travelled abroad, especially to any considerable distance, to make use of a machine that in some degree resembled those used in war by the Greeks and Trojans, and at a still later period by the Britons. It afforded room for two persons to seat themselves behind, while a third guided it in occurred which I am about to record, Deira and Bernicia, accompanied by a driver, to whose care they had sometimes entrusted themselves before, proceeded in this machine to the wedding of a friend, which was to be celebrated at a few miles distance. No danger of any kind was apprehended in doing so. The roads, indeed, were rude at this period; but they had been often traversed before in this manner, and seemed to present no difficulties more formidable than heretofore. The sisters, however, had not advanced far on their way, when their rude machine encountered an eminence one of those steep but not large hills common in some parts of Ireland-which rendered it necessary for them to slacken their speed. This they did: with a slow but painful progress they advanced to the summit of the hill, and were proceeding towards the descent, which was generally esteemed the most dangerous, when the sudden bounding of a deer in the wood which skirted the narrow road in which they were placed, rendered their horse, hitherto quiet, no longer controllable. With a furious spring he bounded forward, where deep beneath lay a declivity many feet in depth. Destruction seemed inevitable. The affrighted driver, anxious to escape the fate that seemed to await all, leaped from his seat, and lay apparently lifeless on the road, too timid to attempt the preservation of the ladies. Just at the critical moment when any human aid would have been soon too late, a powerful arm arrested the progress of the maddened steed, and rendered his advance impossible. The arm that did so was that of Fethlemid: he had been in search of game in the woods, and perceiving through the trees the danger in which the sisters were placed, rushed to their aid in time to preserve them from the danger that menaced. The moment it was passed, and while he yet held by the head the still frenzied horse, he raised his eyes to the chariot in which M'Brenaynn's fair daughters were seated, and beheld, with mingled astonishment and admiration, beauty, which, though existing in his vicinity, he had never seen before, and which seemed to him more fit for heaven than earth. If, however, he felt surprise at the loveliness of those he had accidentally preserved, it was scarcely greater in degree than the surprise with which the daughters of Fergus M'Brennaynn beheld the athletic form of the person to whom they were indebted for preservation under such trying circumstances. Nor were they incapable of observing it was that of a young man who to a graceful form and intelligent countenance added much of the manliness and dignity which characterised the chieftains of that martial age. For a few moments both parties were silent: each seemed to find difficulty in speaking, At length, Deira, though with evident timidity, spoke thus "Stranger, may I ask to whom we are indebted for our preservation ? You have this morning acquired a claim to the fervent thanks of Fergus M Brenaynn, and I should add, of his danghters, for the successful intrepidity you have evinced in their behalf." "Lady," replied Fethlemid, "if you had not asked me to tell, I would willingly depart without divulging to whom you are indebted for the assistance accident enabled me to render you; as, from the disinclination that Fergus M'Brenaynn has always shewn to receive even kindness from Fethlemid, the son of Chrimthan, I fear my name will render disagreeable, not only to him but to you, the accidental aid it has been my happiness to be able to afford you." "I am sorry," returned Deira, "that any circumstance should have hitherto existed to lead you to believe that the assistance you have rendered to the daughters to-day, would be disagreeable to the father. I am, however, unable to gainsay what you assert in that respect; for myself I will say, and also for my sister," (as she spoke, she looked at Bernicia,)" we are sincerely thankful for the timely heroism by which you saved us from destruction." Whether there was something in the tone and manner in which this was delivered, that evinced that Deira, though thankful, could not quite conceal the effects of long-nurtured prejudice, which had taught her to regard Fethlemid as one deformed by evil, or whether it was that Fethlemid himself felt, that, however strongly he might be impelled by politeness or admiration to remain still longer with the daughters of M'Brenaynn, it was possible his motives might be misconstrued, and even any further intimacy he might contemplate retarded by so doing, just as Deira concluded these words, glancing at the vehicle to see that it was in a condition to advance safely, and bowing gracefully to her and her sister, he vanished amid the adjoining trees, almost as rapidly as he had emerged from them. No casualty marked the further progress of the sisters after the daparture of Fethlemid. They arrived at and returned from their friend's wedding, without the occurrence of any other incident worth recording. The paternal abode, however, in which they had long dwelt in quiet, and which had hitherto been to them a scene of happiness, rarely disturbed even with those petty vexations which will sometimes interrupt the bliss of the most fortunate, was no longer to them the blissful home it had been. A new species of uneasiness took possession of their bosoms. They felt an interest with regard to the youthful chieftain, long the bugbear of their imagination, but who had proved their protector in the hour of need, which no other man had ever excited, and which they blamed themselves for cherishing for a moment. Indeed, it seemed to both that they had lately been guilty of a crime-and yet a crime, the recurrence of which they would not be unwilling to experience. And, as they had suppressed from their father's ear the danger in which they had been placed, and the interposition by which they had been rescued, this insincerity added to their unhappiness, and at the same time shewed them there was something unusual in the event that made them guilty of it, for the first time. When, however, they blamed themselves for having been guilty in this point, it seemed to them that they were impelled to it by some secret dread of the consequences that would ensue from revealing the truth-some apprehension of calamity, either to their father or Fethlemid, if they acted otherwise. And then came the question-though fond of their father, why should they feel any interest about Fethlemid, who was not equal in birth or power to many chiefs they had seen, and who was disliked by their father? The answer to this question revealed to both the daughters of M'Brenaynn, that if not in love with the son of Chrimthan, they were not far from being so. A circumstance equally unexpected as the first meeting between Fethlemid and the sisters now occasioned Bernicia to have an opportunity of taking from Deria a lover, for whom both began to feel many of the symptoms of commencing attachment. A relation of Fergus M'Brenaynn's, who was married to a chieftain in a distant part of Leinster, came on a visit to his house, and during her stay there, formed an attachmeut to Bernicia, who, on her return, she begged leave of her father to take home with her for some time. It was not without painful emotion that M'Brenaynn consented to part his youngest daughter even for a few weeks, and as he delivered her up to the care of his relative "Bernicia," said he, "your conduct will, I expect, be as exemplary and as amiable under the care of your relative as it has been under mine, and sooth to say, I believe it will. But one thing I would warn you against-do not form an attachment, of which you may think I could not approve, or which your own heart may tell you should be avoided." Thus speaking, he departed, to hide the emotion of a heart agitated with the pain of parting a beloved daughter for the first time. Alas! for the success of parental warnings!-Bernicia was soon forgetful of this affectionate admonition. The chieftain to whom Bernicia's friend was married, and to whose house she carried her, differed greatly from M'Brenaynn in character. He was a Christian as well as M'Brenaynn, and also possessed considerable power as a chief; but here the similarity between them ended. He had none of the religious fervor of M'Brenaynn, and admitted all his acquatntances, without reserve, to his table, where any of the disguised Pagans yet remaining in the land might easily have found a place. It was, therefore, not extraordinary that, very soon after Bernicia's arrival, Fethlemid also appeared here as a guest. He had been long intimate with O'Neill, (so was the chief named with whom Bernicia resided,) and was not slow to take advantage of that intimacy to improve the acquaintance he had just commenced with Bernicia; and this he did gradually but successfully—none of the difficulties that repelled him at her father's residence existing here. Who that is or has been young does not know the rail-road pace of love, when aided by inclination and opportunity on both sides; or how young hearts that have been severed by unkindly fate, unite, when the barrier that divided them is removed! Nor is it to be wondered at, that when Bernicia met Fethlemid almost every day at her friend's table, and that when the pleasing manners and attractive exterior of the young man-to her the most attached of loverswere aided by the recollection, that she owed her life to his intrepidity that she should feel for him all the tenderness of which her heart was capable. True, she struggled for a while; for a while her father's parting words often sounded in her ears; for a while the prejudices of early youth often recurred to her memory, and, mixed up with occurrences of the day, embittered her dreams: for a while she was undecided and unhappy, and, dreading a sister's and a father's anger, hesitated to admit that she loved him! But when her brow was darkened, Fethlemid came to chase away the clouds-when hope seemed to have fled her bosom, his voice came to recall it, breathing the soft accents of love; and soon to the day-dreams of that love, forgetful of the fears by which she had been once saddened, she gave herself up, without regret, without restraint. It at length reached M'Brenaynn's ears, that his daughter was beset by that danger, from which he had long sought to protect her; and that, if not promptly recalled, an affection would grow up between her and Fethlemid, the consequences of which no one could foresee. Her unhappy parent immediately compelled her return to the parental roof, which she now for the first time entered with a countenance distressed and agitated a heart saddened by conflicting emotions-alternating between affection for a father she respected, and love for an admirer to whom she had become attached. In addition to the wretchedness these circumstances occasioned her, she had the misfortune to find that her sister was estranged from her, and, instigated evidently by jealousy, took every opportunity of wounding her by sarcasm, and of rendering her life irksome, by a system of spiteful but petty annoyance. Only for this, it seems probable, considering the great respect in which she had always held her father, and the pain, the great pain, it would have caused her to persevere in any thing unpleasant to him, though it would of course have occasioned her a struggle to do so, she would have refused to see, perhaps have given up all thoughts of Fethlemid, at least for the present; but when her residence at home was made wretched to her, by the change that every day became more evident in her sister's manner, and when, while this rendered her discontented, emissaries from Fethlemid assured her of his undying affection, and of his anxiety to see her again, her mind took that decided turn in his favour, to which it is vain to offer opposition, insomuch, as woman's resolves in affairs of this kind are generally resolves the most decided and unconquerable. The difficulties that now impeded any interviews between Bernicia and her lover may be easier imagined than described. The anxious care of a parent, and the jealous watchfulness of a sister, united, formed an obstacle not easily eluded. As, however, is frequently the case, the greatness of the difficulties they had to encounter only increased the ingenuity and perseverance of the lovers, which eventually triumphed over every impediinent and though they often suffered days and even weeks to pass without daring to attempt to meet, yet, at the end of this unavoidable abstinence from bliss, came the pleasure of meeting. More than once they met, and met undiscovered. More than once they had those brief but thrilling interviews which form the heaven of young hearts, when severed by the despotism of unpitying fate. More than once, 'neath the pale moonlight, their lips uttered the words of affection, and their eyes looked its language, without deceit, without restraint. At one of those furtive interviews, Fethlemid introduced Bernicia to the ancient Druid, with whom it had long been suspected he continued a correspondence, and, on account of the suspicion, had become obnoxious to M'Brenaynn. He was a venerable old man, of uncommon dignity of aspect, and far beyond the common size. More than ninety winters had blanched his brows, over which the long white hair flowed loosely. Age too had stooped his shoulders and enfeebled his step; yet his eyes retained much of the fire of youth, and, especially when he spoke, kindled with animation. He sat beneath a monarch-oak, which for centuries had spread its shade in the spot where he had looked on it for near one, and where he had often performed the ceremonies of his mystic faith. The hour-it being the twilight of an antumnal eve-the undisturbed solitude of the forest the wan and unearthly aspect of the old man-his floating robes, on which the feeble rays of the moon played fitfully through the deep foliage or the trees-all combined to make a deep impression on the mind of Bernicia; and, as she listened to his energetic address, in which he spoke enthusiastically of the creed of which he was the priest, and invoked hill and stream to bear witness to its past glories, when multitudes, beside immemorial tower or in the midst of extensive plain, acknowledged its high source, or bowed to its behest. As he dwelt on the wonders it had performed, and its bright source, in that luminary to which all are indebted for gladness and life, she felt her faith in her own creed to waver, and overpowered by the solemnity of the scene and the touching pathos of the speaker, who omitted no topic which could render his address affecting-perhaps too, in no slight degree influenced by her affection for Fethlemid, to whom she knew such a change of religion would not be unacceptable-she consented, though not without hesitation, that on the following evening she would become the wife of Fethlemid, and at the same time renounce Christianity. But though she had hitherto eluded the vigilance of her father and sister, she was not destined to be always so fortunate. They suspected she had seen Fethlemid since her return from O'Neill's, though they had been unable to discover when or where; and they determined, by the exercise of more care, and by placing some person as a perpetual spy on her actions, to prevent the recurrence any more of an event, against which they were anxious to guard. For this purpose, M'Brenaynn employed an old domestic, firmly devoted to his family, who, by making inquiries in the neighbourhood, and learning all the particulars he could with regard to Fethlemid, might mar any projects that might be hatching, and prevent any secret interviews between him and Bernicia. This plan proved successful. On the eve of the day previous to the day on which Bernicia intended to meet Fethlemid in the woods, and become his bride in the presence of the old Druid, the old servant M'Brenaynn had employed to watch her divulged to his master her intentions, having, by bribing one of Fethlemid's adherents-too venal to resist the power of gold-learned the time at which the intended nuptials were to be celebrated, and every | that when the possibility of regaining her once particular with regard to them. Once aware of found entrance into his mind, he did not slumber how narrowly he had escaped the loss of his long inactive. Emissaries were despatched by daughter by a marriage to which he would have him in every direction. Friends and adherents infinitely have preferred her death, M'Brenaynn were summoned to consultation from many a lone resolved to adopt a measure which he had for nook: and, notwithstanding the prevalence of some time contemplated, and which he deemed Christianity in the land at the time, and the venewould be effecteal in preventing it. This was by ration with which its establishments were regarded, compelling her to reside in future with the abbess such was the power that Fethlemid possessed as a at Durrow, and, after the completion of her martial chief of considerable fame such was the noviciate, inducing her to take the veil. Accord- popularity of his manners, by which he won many ingly, securing her that night in his own resi- adherents, and the number of the followers who dence, so that escape was out of the question, he were attached to him by relationship and by many set out with her for Durrow the next day, accom- other causes-that, although from the moment he panied by a strong escort. Two days' journey began to collect his martial followers, it was known brought them to that religious abode, even then to all that they were destined for an attack on venerable, where they received a warm welcome Durrow abbey, he found no difficulty whatever in from the abbess, who, as has been already observed, collecting them; and, when he had them collected, since her retirement from the world, showed more in inciting them to rush forward recklessly to the regard from M'Brenaynn than for any of her other intended attack. He represented to them the numerous relations. Arrived here, M'Brenaynn deeds of former times; the many glorious conflicts found no little difficulty in prevailing upon his in which his and their ancestors had fought and daughter to assume those habiliments which bled together then, turning abruptly to the foreshadow the more sombre ones, which indi- cause of the present expedition, he dwelt upon the cate eternal farewell to the world. He would beauty of the lady he had lost, the strength of their willingly have insisted she should do so, no matter attachment, and how she had been remorselessly how obnoxious they might be to her. The abbess, torn from him without cause. He expressed his however, refused to compel her to adopt them willingness to bow to all religious ordinances which against her will, and remonstrated so warmly were not used as a cloak to injustice; but he asked against such a measure, that M'Brenaynn was them, with impassioned energy, was it not cruel compelled to be more moderate, and endeavour to and unfeeling to tear asunder those who were effect the accomplishment of his object, not by joined by mutual attachment, and who were equally force, but entreaty. By frequent use of the latter, noble in lineage? The answer to this speech was he succeeded, after some days, in procuring from conveyed by loud shouts and gestures expressive Bernicia a tardy assent to his wishes; and had of a determination to follow wherever he pleased. the happiness to see her, in the dress of a noviciate, commence those religious duties which he expected would end in her becoming a nun. For his success in this respect, he was in a great degree indebted to the abbess, whose affectionate manner and uniform kindness and amiability won much on Bernicia, and, united with his own entreaties, at length induced her to adopt a step to which she had much disinclination. Having succeeded thus far, M'Brenaynn_determined to leave Durrow, accompanied by Deria, deeming there could be now very little reason to apprehend any disappointment of his wishes, when Bernicia was once placed under the careful superintendence of the abbess, and never for a moment supposing that Fethlemid would attempt to mar his plans in any violent manner. In this respect he erred, as will very shortly appear. Stunned, at first, with the complete prostration of his hopes, which seemed to follow on the discovery to her father of his intended marriage to Bernicia, Fethlemid was unable to form for some days any plan by which he could hope to obtain her; and consequently made no attempt to take her from the escort that conducted her to Durrow. But when he had time to reflect, and when he found it was the intention of her father to hide her from the world in the dark recesses of a convent, he determined, by the employment of any measures he could adopt no matter how violent or indefensible-to prevent him from doing so. Young, reckless, active-rapid in his movements-possessed of many friends-but, above all, devotedly attached to Bernicia it may easily be imagined Bernicia had been only a few weeks in Durrow, when Fethlemid appeared before it with a large force. M'Brenaynn had arrived there before him with an army, which he posted in the neighbourhood of the abbey. It was, however, inferior in numbers to the troops led by Fethlemid, and was under a commander much inferior to him in the rude military art practised at that period. It did not, therefore, seem probable it would offer him any efficient resistance; and the probability that it might, seemed to vanish entirely when it permitted Fethlemid to invest the abbey unopposed, and draw round it a line of circumvallation, which he did, deeming it too strong for assault. Matters remained in this state for some days. One evening, while Fethlemid was examining an outpost, and directing that sentinels should be increased at a spot that had hitherto been neglected, he thought he observed more light than usual within the walls of the abbey. As he looked on, it increased rapidly. At length it became evident that a fire had broken out in it, that raged wider every moment, and baffled all attempts to suppress it. The moment the calamity that had befallen it became evident, all other feelings in the breast of Fethlemid were merged in intense anxiety with regard to Bernicia. He directed that a gangway should be fixed across the fortification, over which he entered with a chosen body of his followers, bearing the appearance of the deepest grief, and not that of an opponent. As they approached the abbey, the scene was grand but awful. Great part of the building, which consisted principally of wood, had already caught the flames, and, though the night was Round it excessively dark, spread a brilliancy around surpassing the glare of the brightest day. were many anxious faces, and frequent was the shriek of agony and the cry of despair from many parts of the falling edifice. In most cases all aid was vain, so rapid was the progress of the flames; but many who could have saved sufferers stood stupidly gazing at a calamity which seemed to have turned them to stone. Fethlemid was distinguished from all by the tearless agony of his countenance, and his indefatigable perseverance in his search for his beloved Bernicia. Many times he thought he heard her cry, as some of the unhappy inmates of the burning cells implored that aid it was impossible to afford them. At length, in a building a little detached from the rest, and which the fire had just reached, he heard a woman's voice imploring aid-yes, he heard the voice of that woman that he loved above all others, and in a moment he was at the spot. A broken ladder, sufficient for his purpose, which chance threw there, soon raised him to a projecting window, from whence he bore in his arms to the earth the half-inanimate form of Bernicia, who, when she had recovered her consciousness, he brought to his camp, and both became partakers of all the happiness lovers should feel under such circumstances. Next day Fethlemid withdrew his forces from Durrow abbey, which was now a pile of ruins; and a few days after his return home he was united to Bernicia in marriage. Chronicles relate, that shortly after the wedding the old Druid died, and that Bernicia, who had been bewildered by the power of his eloquence, the first time they met afterwards, regretted deeply the infirmity of her faith on that occasion, and returned to the religion of Christ with even more fervour than she had felt in early life. They add, that, after a few years, she brought round Fethle mid, who became more sincerely attached to Christianity than he had ever been to the doctrines of the Druid. This event was followed by an immediate reconciliation between him and M'Brenaynn, who from thenceforth bestowed many acts of kindness on him and Bernicia, and was very fond of their children. As to Deria, she went into a convent, and devoted the rest of her life wholly religion. AUTOBULUS, Clara, 20th February, 1843. ARIOSTO. It is related of this extraordinary genius, that his father being one day very angry with him, reprimanded him in the bitterest terms; to which Ludovico not only listened with patience, but with the most respectful attention, not offering a single word in his vindication; but, on the contrary, seeming to wish that the admonitory lecture had continued longer. A friend of his, who was present at this most interesting scene, asked him, after his father was gone, what could be the meaning of his singular behavour? To which Ariosto returned for answer" That he had been for some days at work on a comedy, and on that very morning had been much perplexed how to write a scene of an angry father reprimanding his son; that from the moment his father opened his mouth, it struck him that that was an admirable opportunity to examine his deportment with attention, that so he might paint the picture as closely as possible after nature; and that being thus absorbed in thought, he had only noticed the voice, the face, and the acton of his father, without paying the least attention to the truth of the falsity of the charge." The moon looked o'er a silent city! Some weeks had past since she shone before, And round she went in that silent city, To peep in those garrets three, once more. He was dreaming (no doubt) of maiden pretty. As she lit each room, "Ho! where is the third, who watched of yore ?" The moon looked o'er a silent city! O'er warehouse, and wharf, and river bright, But in vain she sought in that silent city For her who tended her child that night, Till she came where stood the head-stones white, And the church-yard walls all grey and grittyThere a drooping figure met her sight. "Ho!" says the moon, "A common doom, A Mother sits weeping o'er her first-born's tomb !" |