man.

you may guess who Caroline's husband is to be." I guessed it was the mad "And Letitia," she continued, "she is making a match that pleases us all very well: she is to be married to a Sir Harry Disney, a very nice gentleman, who took a fancy to her at her aunt's one of the first families in the county Cork. A title and four thousand a year is beyond what Letitia had a right to expect; but she certainly is a nice girl: is not she, Stevenson?" "And has Letitia consented to this?" I asked, without taking any notice of her concluding question.

"Consented, my dear! what do you mean? Surely the girl is no fool, to refuse such an offer."

*Does she forget Edmund Connor?" I cried, in a burst of passion.

"Faugh!" said my aunt, with a sneer; "if you wish for my favour, Stevenson, never mention that odious fellow's name. I trust," added she, turning up her eyes, "I trust Letitia feels the gratitude that we all owe to Providence for having saved her from ruin."

“Ruin,” said I, in a passion: "there was no ruin in the case. Aunt," I added, "remember that Letitia solemnly pledged herself to Edmund. Edmund is not ruined: you have not that excuse: Edmund is not ruined. Letitia is his wife."

*Oh, Stevenson, my dear, these are the romantic notious of a man of genius. You men of genius are not fit for the world. I assure you Letitia forgets her girlish flirtation already. Come, you will like to have your cousin Lady Disney, and you will spend your vacations at Disney Hall. I am sure you will be as great a favourite with him as you are already with Letitia. Sir Harry is very fond of young men of talent. But I must leave you: the girls are busy choosing their wedding dresses, and I must go help them."

"Romantic notions!-men of genius! -girlish flirtation!" I repeated after her. "And these are the epithets by which you gloss over a false, a wicked, an undisguised violation of a most solemn compact."

As I passed down stairs I heard Letitia's voice, in the gay tones of merriment. She seemed to be coming down after me; but I could not wait to see her: I would as soon have seen the devil. I hated her: I hated

all womankind. As I left the house, I banged the great hall-door after me with a vehemence that made the whole house shake.

But how shall I describe Edmund's feelings-his conduct when I went and communicated to him what I had heard. He would not believe me he said that I was joking with him—that I was trying his temper: he told me I "lied"-this was the very word he used; then he cried out, "Are you sure you heard her voice, as you describe? I believe everything but that; but I will not believe this: no, Letitia, it's a lie-a foul lie."

He said his head was burning. I persuaded him to come out into the open air. We walked on towards the country: we mechanically took the road that led to Rathfarnham. Everything reminded Edmund of past days: but it is in vain to attempt to recall all the wild things he said: who could trace all the passionate ravings of dis appointed love?

We were returning near town, when we perceived a gentleman and lady driving alone in a gig. Gracious Heaven! it was Letitia and-we presumed Sir Harry Disney. The gentleman was altogether occupied with his companion: he was teaching her to drive she had the reins in her hand, and he was guiding her in the use of them. She seemed particularly gay: we could hear her laughing as she passed near us. She saluted me, but took no notice of Edmund.

It seemed, he told me again, as if a cold arrow of ice had been shot through his heart. He stopped, and looked after them, as the gig whirled merrily along. "Go," he cried; "go, and the curse of a broken vow be with you!"

I had never heard him speak with such bitterness before. His lip was curled, and his features wore an expression of malice that was almost frightful. He quoted the words of an old Scotch song, which he had often repeated to Letitia in raillery

am.

He brought out from an inside room all the presents he had intended for her. He stamped upon the work-box, and smashed it into a thousand pieces: he put the pieces into the fire. He searched drawer after drawer, and each memento of her's that he discovered he flung into the flames. At last he took out a lock of bright hair-it was Letitia's: it was bound by a bit of blue ribbon.

He hesitated for a moment; but he flung this, too, into the fire, and, as he did, he muttered, "damn her, damn her," with all the bitterness of fiendish hate.

The white rabbits were all that now remained. He placed the box that contained them on the table. The poor little things came forward to the hand that was wont to feed them: he carried the box to the door of the rooms, and let them run out; he then hunted them down the stairs-they wanted to run back into the rooms which they knew. He then smashed the box, and put it, too, upon the fire. "I had intended," he said, "to have broken their necks, but they looked so innocent so unlike women, that I could not do it."

He then sat down. I never saw such a picture of intense mental suffering as his countenance presented. "Don't you think," he said, “I had a good riddance of her? My being a gambler was all a pretence: it was the title. Ah! had Sir Henry been a gambler-I am glad I am rid of such a devil."

I acquiesced in the sentiment far more cordially than he uttered it.

Poor Nolan," he said, "would be sorry for this. I wish I had not quarrelled with him."

I do not know whether I was right, but I could not help telling him of the interview I had with Nolan. He started. Ah," he cried, "this clears

His fist was clenched. "Come," said he, "I'll sound this. Come-I'll find it out: he, too, is false. Wait here. I have it all. Money again," and he took out the purse, "money will get their secrets, even from a groom porter. Gracious Heaven! what a dupe I have been!"

He begged of me to wait till he came back, and rushed from the room. After some time he returned. "You were right," he cried: "Nolan is a rascal. There were three of them; you remember me telling you of Williams, who vowed vengeance against me: he, Nolan, and another, thought if I married they would lose the rest of my fortunethat I would be reclaimed; and they told her friends I gambled.”

I asked him if he was certain of all this, He assured me that he was. "Williams I do not mind; he gave me warning: but Nolan, the treacherous ruffian! my friend!—but he is dying

I have tracked him to his den-oh, there is another story-he is dying in a garret, and nobody goes near him but bailiffs, and one poor unfortunate girl, whom Nolan seduced from her friends, and then left on the world: she is with him, and has for weeks been supporting him but I have tracked him to his den: he is dying; but I would not for worlds he should die and think that I had not found him out."

:

That evening he insisted on my accompanying him to Nolan's garret. I was unwilling to go, but I could not resist his solemn adjurations— "You are the only human being from whom I will ever ask a favour," he said. I yielded, partly to his intreaties and partly to my desire to prevent him doing anything desperate.

It was now within a few days of Christmas; the December night closed in, dark, cold, and dreary; a cold piercing wind was drifting the thin showers of snow, the flakes of which were falling, not even in the softness of a continuous fall, but coming few and sharp through the keen frosty air. Edmund took me out with him as soon as it was dark. I wrapped myself up warm from the inclemency of the night; but no persuasion could induce

even to put on a great coat. "Ah, no!" he said; "if the cold night cools the fever of my veins, it will do well." Edmund led me through some nasty streets, until we came to a long, dismal alley, called Drury-lane. It was a vile and filthy place, running off the worst end of Exchequer-street. The hard frost had congealed the masses of dirt which almost choked the passage, and the centre of the narrow street was a heap of frozen filth. But our progress was constantly interrupted by the jostling of some wretched looking man, or still more wretched looking woman, who seemed to think even the open air, cold and piercing as it was, less wretched than the destitution of their own miserable abodes. Most of the houses had no doors, and that which should have been the hall, seemed a foul and filthy passage that led backward to dens where human beings dragged on their miserable existence of infamy and vice. Occasionally a hideous scream, or a still more hideous laugh, burst from one of those dark passages, and then some male or female would rush out with some fearful imprecations. Many were the expressions of envy uttered by some shivering wretches at the warm habiliments in which I was arrayed. Some of the houses had shops, and from all the upper windows long poles projected, upon which were hung to dry a collection of nasty rags. Such was the place in which we came to seek a man who had been a scholar and a gentleman. Edmund at last dived into one of those dismal and doorless passages of which I have spoken. He went on fearlessly. I caught his hand, and followed him into darkness in which I could distinguish nothing. At the termination, however, of the passage, I found myself ascending a flight of stairs, and the voice of men and women, and the gleaming of candles, showed me that I was in an inhabited house. Edmund went up another flight of stairs, and then another. With difficulty, and, I believe, not without danger, we made Our way up the last flight, which brought us to the top of this wretched abode. Several times my foot was caught in large holes. A narrow landing-place scarcely separated the top stair from the door that seemed to open on an apartment, out of which VOL. VI.

one or two panels had been knocked. A window was close to us, but not a pane apparently remained whole; some of the places of the shattered panes had been supplied with hay, but through others of them the cold snow was drifting on my cheek.

Through the broken panels of the door we could see a table, upon which stood a teapot and some medicine phials, with a wooden candlestick, from which there gleamed the indistinct light of a farthing candle; and yet it seemed as if the miserable occupant had been obliged to husband even this; for the wick on it was so long as almost to obscure the light; a female form passed across the table, and her voice had that low murmur of anxiety that seemed to mark the attendant upon the sick.

Edmund did not stand upon ceremony; he rudely pushed open the door: it had been fastened on the inside; but the weak fastening gave way against the vigorous push with which he assailed it; and when that door burst open, what a scene presented itself to our view! It was a large and wretched garret; the unplastered slates admitted the snow through their crevices, and the windows had little other protection than what was derived from the hay and straw with which they were stuffed. At one end of this garret there was a fireplace; a few cinders almost extinguished, barely looked red upon the grateless hearth; and close to these cinders, so close as literally to be spread in the ashes, was a miserable pallet, upon which we could barely distinguish an emaciated form. The table I have already described. The female, who seemed almost the only living thing in the solitude-for what lay upon the pallet was more like death than life-was young, and, even amid all the misery that surrounded her, was handsome; her scanty stock of clothing hardly supplied the wants of decency, and even with all her care to make the handkerchief meet, its scanty dimensions exposed a bosom of the most delicate whiteness; her long black hair, which hung down neglected, was almost the only covering of her shoulders and neck. She screamed at the opening of the door; she let fall a cup into which she had been filling some

2 F

tea, and ran towards the pallet as if to defend him who lay upon it. The wretched man seemed just to have strength to raise himself upon his elbow, and in the deathlike features which were then protruded from the blankets, I recognised the remnant of Nolan.

Mary," said he, "be quiet ;" and there seemed a harshness in the tone with which he addressed her. "It is kind of you, gentlemen, to come to see me here."

"You will not take him," she cried out in violent emotion, and looking entreatingly at us-"you will not take him; could he be worse in a gaol ?"

"Quiet, you fool!" said he in a harsher tone. The poor girl obeyed, and sat down upon the pallet.

"Nolan," said Edmund, "I am sorry to see you here; but listen to me I have found you out-you have not

deceived me."

"I never tried," he answered, with an energy that seemed unaccountable. “Yes, Nolan, you did; you have ruined me, while you professed yourself my friend.”

"No," said Nolan; "you have ruined yourself; and if," said he, “you have come to my garret (he laid a bitter emphasis on the word my) but to upbraid me in my misery, leave my house, sir-begone-I will soon be well, and then" and he clenched his fist in a passion-"I shall ask satisfaction for this intrusion."

"Don't talk so loud, Joseph," said the poor girl in agony; "the doctor said it would kill you. Oh!" she added, "you have destroyed me; but don't leave me now a bitter Christmas!"

66

Silence, girl!" cried the sick man, with a voice raised to a feeble and attenuated scream. 66 Begone, wretches -begone;" and he turned to us with a fierceness that his death-like appearance made appalling.

I pulled Edmund to come away; but his passion was roused.

“Have you not betrayed me? have you not ruined me? Yes, you have the blood of my soul upon your head; you have-it is a curse upon you upon that bed."

The sick man shuddered; he screamed convulsively; he no more shook his fist in defiance; it was clenched but with a spasm. "Oh, you will murder

him. Leave us, leave us alone; we were happy, yes, we were happy here; you will kill him; the doctor desired him not to talk. Oh, my God, what will I do!"

Just then the sound of wild laughter came from the room below: it had a fearful effect. Nolan started up. "Ah, there they are; they are laughing. Mary, where is your father? He cursed me. Did you curse me, Mary

"No, no!” cried the poor thingand she stooped down to kiss his pale and worn cheeks; "no, I never cursed you; it was not in my heart to curse you, though you left me to starve in the streets; no, I never cursed you, not even when the baby starved to death."

Her words were daggers to the dying man; for dying it was plain hea was. He started from his pillow-he shook convulsively the arm of the devoted creature who had watched by him: "Did it die-and what are you!! here for? Go-begone-the devils will come-they will nurse it-ay, they will warm it—ah, ah, ah !”

66

Joseph, love," she cried, "you will hurt yourself. Oh, but this is a black Christmas to me! oh, what is all that ever came over me, if I lose you now! I have been glad almost to find you here; when you were well, you did not care for me; but we were happy here. Oh, keep yourself quiet."

Her words fell unheeded on his ears; his eyes were glazed over with a thick film. She took up his handit was cold; she attempted to warm it with her breath. I advanced forward to offer her money to procure any comforts that Nolan might require. I put a guinea into her hand; her eye flashed with delight. "I can get wine; the last bottle is just finished: he should have had another as I got the last; but you do not know what this has saved me from ;" and as she spoke, a deep crimson flush passed hot and burning over her cheek.

Another rude burst of merriment from the room below, started the sick man from the sleep in which he lay. "Ah, there they are laughing again— they will have me--they are there-look at him;" and he pointed his long, emaciated finger at Edmund, who stood with his arms folded at the foot of his pallet.

"Nolan," cried Edmund, "Nolan, it

is I; I forgive you; what can I do for you? can I help you?"

The finger still pointed the same as ever, and the glazed eye was fixed in an immoveable stare. "He is a friend," I whispered; "we are all friends."

"He is a friend,” he screamed--“he! he! he!" and his eye peered along as if watching the movements of some unseen beings." Look there, there, the black man behind Connor. Oh, save, save, save me!"

I looked in the direction he pointed. Edmund had turned deadly pale, and staggered against the wall. I fancied I saw the formless figure of something black in undefined outline behind him. There was something terrible in the thought. I was startled by another sound from the dying man; his hand was now clutching the blankets, and his voice had sunk to a gurgling rattle. "Give me your hand-Ma-Mary: it died; it sta-starved: that was strange."

The poor girl caught his cold and clammy hand, and tried to raise it to her lips; but one wild hiccup, something between a hiccup and a scream, broke from him.

"There, there-ay, he has it; it is a skeleton; I can count its little ribs. Oh, he is dancing it: it is-see, it is a dice-box" his eyes fixed upon the unseen object. For some minutes a quivering shudder ran through all his frame; his hand now feebly clutched the blankets: another hiccup, and he was silent for ever.

There was something terrible to see the last agonies of that departing spirit in the dismal place that was the scene of them. The wind was whistling through the crevices of the roof, and the very ashes were blown once or twice off the grate by a gust; the paneless casement rattled to the bitter blast, and still there were rising from beneath us the sound alternately of altercation and of merriment, that might well have seemed, to the confused senses of the dying man, the voices of fiends. I could hardly shake off the impression myself. I advanced forward after a moment's pause; he was indeed dead: the finger was still protruded in the attitude of pointing to the terrible phantom that had flitted before his dying eye; his eyes, which were swelled to a most unnatural size, were

bursting from their sockets, and his under jaw had fallen down in all the lankness of emaciation, and left his livid tongue protruding between his teeth. The poor girl, the victim of his days of strength, the only tender of his days of sickness and misery, was looking earnestly in his face, as if to ascertain whether he was gone; she breathed upon him, as if to warm the cold cheek from which the vital heat had fled for ever at last the consciousness seemed to burst upon her that he was dead. She looked round with the look of agony and despair; but it was a stern and a changeless look; not a tear, not a word gave vent to the sufferings of her heart. She laid down her head beside that of the corpse; her long, black hair fell over the face of the dead man. She threw her arms round the stiffening form, and then she sobbed as if her heart would break.

:

I leaned over her to close the eyes which were hideously staring. She started--she pushed away my handshe kissed his livid lips. It was terrible to see her, as it were, fondling with the corpse. No, Joseph!" she said, "I will close your eyes; they shall not rob me of that; shall they, dear? No, you will not let them ;" and once more she kissed the dead man's lips. Her hand gently passed down the eyelids, which were already stiffening. But when she had done this, it seemed as if now indeed she felt that she was parted from him, and she burst into a wild and convulsive agony of grief.

Our attention was caught by the gentle sound of footsteps, and a tall, gloomy female figure entered the room, a woman whose circumstances were not, apparently, more comfortable than the state of those she came to visit, seemed to have been brought by this last burst of grief to the apartment.

She seemed, poor woman, to be touched by the scene of sorrow which she witnessed.