The first shock which burst in with a sudden violence upon their happiness was one of a direful nature. Discase, that pale and hungry fiend who haunts alike the abodes of wealth and of penury; who brushes away with his baleful wing the bloom from beauty's cheek, and the balm of slumber from the pillow of age; who troubles the hope of the young mother with dreams of ghastliness and gloom, and fears that come suddenly, she knows not why nor whence; who sheds his poisonous dews alike on the heart that is buoyant and the heart that is broken; this stern and conquering demon scorned not to knock, one summer morning, at the door of Phadrig's cow-house, and to lay his iron fingers upon a fine milch-cow, a sheeted-stripper which constituted (to use his own emphatic phrase) the poor farmer's "substance," and to which he might have applied the well-known lines which run nearly as follows: It would be a cold morning, indeed, that a sight | The harmony in which they dwelt was unbroken of Milly's head would not warm you-and a by any accident for many years. hot fit of anger which a few tones of her kind and wrath-disarming voice would not cool. She dropped, after she had concluded her "cry," a conciliating courtesy to the sullen old lady, took an unobtrusive seat at the foot of the bed, talked of the "notable" qualities of the deceased, and was particularly attentive to the flaxenheaded little Patey, whom she held in her lap during the whole night, cross-examining him in his reading and multiplication, and presenting him, at parting, in token of her satisfaction at his proficiency, with a copy of The Seren Champions of Christendom, with a fine marble cover and pictures. Milly acted in this instance under the advice of a prudent mother, who exhorted her, "whenever she thought o' maken presents, that way, not to be layen her money out in cakes or gingerbread, or things that would be ett off at wanst, an no more about them or the giver-but to give a strong toy, or a book, or somethen that would last, and bring her to mind now and then, so as that when a person 'ud ask where they got that, or who gev it, they'd say, 'from Milly Rue,' or Milly gev it, we're obleest to her,' an be talken an thinken of her when she'd be away." To curb in my tale, which may otherwise become restive and unmanageable-Milly's deep affliction and generous sympathy made a serious impression on the mind of the widower, who more than all was touched by that singularly accidental attachment which she seemed to have conceived for little Patey. Nothing could be farther from his own wishes than any design of a second time changing his condition; but he felt that it would be doing a grievous wrong to the memory of his first wife if he neglected this opportunity of providing her favourite Patey with a protector, so well calculated to supply her place. He demurred a little on the score of true love, and the violence which he was about to do his own constant heart-but like the bluff King Henry, his conscience, "aye-his conscience," touched him, and the issue was, that a roaring wedding shook the walls which had echoed to the wail of death within the few preceding months. Milly Rue not only supplied the place of a mother to young Patey, but presented him in the course of a few years with two merry play fellows, a brother and a sister. To do her handsome justice, too, poor Mauria's anticipa tions were completely disproved by her conduct, and it would have been impossible for a stranger to have detected the stepson of the house from any shade of undue partiality in the mother. "She's straight in her back, and thin in her tail; She's fine in her horn, and good at the pail; She's calm in her eyes, and soft in her skin; She's a grazier's without, and a butcher's within." All the "cures" in the pharmacopoeia of the village apothecary were expended on the poor animal, without any beneficial effect; and Phadrig, after many conscientious qualms about the dying words of his first wife, resolved to have recourse to that infallible refuge in such cases-a fairy doctor. He said nothing to the afflicted Milly about his intention, but slipped out of the cottage in the afternoon, hurried to the Shannon side near Money-point, unmoored his light canvasbuilt canoe, seated himself in the frail vessel. and fixing his paddles on the towl-pin, sped away over the calm face of the waters towards the isle of Scattery, where the renowned Crohoore-na-Oona, or Connor-of-the-Sheep, the Mohammed of the cottages, at this time took up his residence. This mysterious personage. whose prophecies are still commented on among the cottage circles with looks of deep awe and wonder, was much revered by his contempora ries as a man "who had seen a dale;" of wha' nature those sights or visions were was int mated by a mysterious look, and a solemn nod of the head. In a little time Phadrig ran his little canoe aground on the sandy beach of Scattery, and. drawing her above high-water mark, proceeded to the humble dwelling of the gifted Sheep shearer with feelings of profound fear and anxiety. He passed the lofty round tower the ruined grave of St. Senanus, in the centre of the little isle-the mouldering church, on which the eye of the poring antiquary may still discern the sculptured image of the twoheaded monster, with which cottage tradition says the saint sustained so fierce a conflict on landing in the islet-and which the translator of Odranus has vividly described as "a dragon, with his fore-part covered with huge bristles, standing on end like those of a boar; his mouth gaping wide open with a double row of crooked, sharp tusks, and with such openings that his entrails might be seen; his back like a round island, full of scales and shells; his legs short and hairy, with such steely talons, that the pebble-stones, as he ran along them, sparkled -parching the way wherever he went, and making the sea boil about him where he dived -such was his excessive fiery heat." Phadrig's knees shook beneath him when he remembered this awful description-and thought of the legends of Lough Dhoola, on the summit of Mount Callon, to which the hideous animal was banished by the saint, to fast on a trout and a half per diem to the end of time; and where, to this day, the neighbouring fishermen declare that, in dragging the lake with their nets, they find the half trout as regularly divided in the centre as if it were done with a knife and scale. While Phadrig remained with mouth and eyes almost as wide open as those of the sculptured image of the monster which had fascinated him to the spot, a sudden crash among the stones and dock-weed, in an opposite corner of the ruin, made him start and yell as if the original were about to quit Lough Dhoola on parole of honour, and use him as a relish after the trout and a half. The noise was occasioned by a little rotund personage, who had sprung from the mouldering wall, and now stood gazing fixedly on the terrified Phadrig, who continued returning that steady glance with a halffrightened, half-crying face-one hand fast clenched upon his breast, and the other extended, with an action of avoidance and deprecation. The person of the stranger was stout and short, rendered still more so by a stoop, which might almost have been taken for a hump-his arms hung forward from his shoulders, like those of a long-armed ape-his hair was gray and bushy, like that of a wanderooand his sullen gray eye seemed to be inflamed with ill-humour-his feet were bare and as broad as a camel's-and a leathern girdle buckling round his waist secured a tattered gray frieze riding-coat, and held an enormous pair of shears, which might have clipped off a man's head as readily, perhaps, as a lock of wool. This last article of costume afforded a sufficient indication to Phadrig that he stood in the presence of the awful object of his search. "Well! an who are you?" growled the Sheep-shearer, after surveying Phadrig attentively for some moments. The first gruff sound of his voice made the latter renew his start and roar for fright; after which, composing his terrors as well as he might, he replied, in the words of Autolycus"I am only a poor fellow, sir." "Well! an what's your business with me?" "A cure, sir, I wanted for her. A cow o' mine, that's very bad inwardly, an we can do nothen for her; an I thought may be you'd know what is it ail'ded her—an prevail on THEM" [this word was pronounced with an emphasis of deep meaning] "to leave her to uz." "Huth!" the Sheep-shearer thundered out, in a tone that made poor Phadrig jump six feet backwards, with a fresh yell, "do you daare to spake of them before me. Go along! you villyan o' the airth, an wait for me outside the church, an I'll tell you all about it there; but, first-do you think I can get the gentlemen to do any thing for me gratish — without offeren 'em a trate or a haip'orth?" "If their honours wouldn't think two tinpennies and a fi'penny bit too little. It's all I'm worth in the wide world." "Well! we'll see what they'll say to it. Give it here to me. Go now-be off with yourself if you don't want to have 'em all a-top o' you in a minnit." This last hint made our hero scamper over the stones like a startled fawn; nor did he think himself safe until he reached the spot where he had left his canoe, and where he expected the coming of the Sheep-shearer; consciencestruck by the breach of his promise to his dying Mauria, and in a state of agonizing anxiety with respect to the lowing patient in the cow-house. He was soon after rejoined by Connor-of-theSheep. "There is one way," said he, "of saving your cow-but you must lose one of your childer if you wish to save it." "O Heaven presarve uz, sir, how is that, if you plase?" "You must go home," said the Sheep-shearer, "and say nothen to any body, but fix in your mind which o' your three childer you'll give for the cow; an when you do that, look in his eyes, an he'll sneeze, an don't you bless him, for the world. Then look in his eyes again, an he'll sneeze again, an still don't think o' blessen him, be any mains. The third time you'll look in his eyes he'll sneeze a third time -an if you don't bless him the third time, he'll die-but your cow will live." "An this is the only cure you have to gi' me?" exclaimed Phadrig, his indignation at the moment overcoming his natural timidity. "The only cure. It was by a dale to do I could prevail on them to let you make the choice itself." Phadrig declared stoutly against this decree, and even threw out some hints that he would try whether or no Shaun Lauther, or Strong John, a young rival of the sheep-shearing fairy doctor, might be able to make a better bargain for him with the "gentlemen." one. select for the purpose? The choice was a hard There was little Mauria, a fair-haired, blue-eyed little girl-but he could not, for an instant, think of losing her, as she happened to be named after his first wife; her brother, little Shamus, was the least useful of the three, but he was the youngest-"the child of his old age-a little one!" his heart bled at the idea; he would lose the cow, and the pig along with it, before he would harm a hair of the darling infant's head. He thought of Pateyand he shuddered and leaned heavier on his oars, as if to flee away from the horrible doubt which stole into his heart with that name. It must be one of the three, or the cow was lost for ever. The two first-mentioned he certainly would not lose-and Patey-Again he bade the fiend begone, and trembling in every limb, He drew the little vessel ashore, and proceeded towards his cabin. They had been waiting supper for him, and he learned with renewed anxiety that the object of his solicitude, the milch-cow, had rather fallen away than improved in her condition during his absence. He sat down in sorrowful silence with his wife and children, to their humble supper of potatoes and thick milk. "Shaun Lauther!" exclaimed Connor-of-theSheep, in high anger—“Do you compare me to a man that never seen any more than your-made the canoe speed rapidly over the tide in self?-that never saw so much as the skirt of the direction of his home. a dead man's shroud in the moonlight-or heard as much as the moanen of a sowlth in an old graveyard? Do you know me?-Ask them that do-an they'll tell you how often I'm called up in the night, and kep posten over bog an mountain, till I'm ready to drop down with the sleep,-while few voices are heard, I'll be bail, at Shaun Lauther's windey, -an little knollidge given him in his drames. It is then that I get mine. Didn't I say before the King o' France was beheaded that a blow would be struck wit an axe in that place, that the sound of it would be heard all over Europe?-An wasn't it true? Didn't I hear the shots that were fired at Gibaralthur, an tell it over in Dooly's forge, that the place was relieved that day?-an didn't the news come afterwards in a month's time, that I toult nothen but the truth?" Phadrig had nothing to say in answer to this overwhelming list of interrogatories-but to apologize for his want of credulity, and to express himself perfectly satisfied. With a heavy heart he put forth in his canoe upon the water, and prepared to return. It was already twilight, and as he glided along the peaceful shores, he ruminated mournfully within his mind on the course which he should pursue. The loss of the cow would be, he considered, almost equivalent to total ruin --and the loss of any one of his lovely children was a probability which he could hardly bear to dwell on for a moment. Still it behoved him to weigh the matter well. Which of them, now supposing it possible that he could think of sacrificing any-which of them would he 1 Bodiless spirit. He gazed intently on the features of each of the young innocents as they took their places on the suggan chairs that flanked the board. Little Mauria and her brother Shamus looked fresh, mirthful, and blooming, from their noisy play in the adjoining paddock, while their elder brother, who had spent the day at school. wore or seemed, to the distempered mind of his father, to wear a look of sullenness and chagrin. He was thinner too than most boys of his age-a circumstance which Phadrig had never remarked before. It might be the first indications of his poor mother's disease, consumption, that were beginning to declare themselves in his constitution; and if so, his doom was already sealed-and whether the cow died or not, Patey was certain to be lost Still the father could not bring his mind resolve on any settled course, and their mea! proceeded in silence. Suddenly the latch of the door was lifte by some person outside, and a neighbour entere to inform Phadrig that the agent to his landlord had arrived in the adjacent village, fr the purpose of driving matters to extremity against all those tenants who remained in which it was very evident the poor animal glance of mournful reproach. He covered his could never come through in safety. In an agony of distress and horror the distracted father laid his clenched fingers on the table, and looked fixedly in the eyes of the unsuspecting Patcy. The child sneezed, and Phadrig closed his lips hard, for fear a blessing might escape them. The child at the same time, he observed, looked paler than before. Fearful lest the remorse which began to awake within his heart might oversway his resolution, and prevent the accomplishment of his unnatural design, he looked hurriedly, a second time, into the eyes of the little victim. Again the latter sneezed-and again the father, using a violent effort, restrained the blessing which was struggling at his heart. The poor child drooped his head upon his bosom, and letting the untasted food fall from his hand, looked so pale and mournful, as to remind his murderer of the look which his mother wore in dying. It was long-very long-before the heartstruck parent could prevail on himself to complete the sacrifice. The visitor departed; and the first beams of a full moon began to supplant the faint and lingering twilight which was fast fading in the west. The dead of the night drew on before the family rose from their silent and comfortless meal. The agonies of the devoted animal now drew rapidly to a close, and Phadrig still remained tortured by remorse on the one hand, and by selfish anxiety on the other. A sudden sound of anguish from the cowhouse made him start from his seat. A third time he fixed his eyes on those of his child-a third time the boy sneezed-but here the charm was broken. Milly Rue, looking with surprise and tenderness on the fainting boy, said, "Why, then, Heaven bless you, child!—it must be a cold you caught, you're sneezen so often." Immediately the cow sent forth a bellow of deep agony, and expired; and at the same moment a low and plaintive voice outside the door was heard, exclaiming "And Heaven bless you, Milly! and the Almighty bless you, and spare you a long time over your children!" Phadrig staggered back against the wallhis blood froze in his veins-his face grew white as death-his teeth chattered-his eyes stared his hair moved upon his brow, and the chilling damp of terror exuded over all his frame. He recognized the voice of his first wife; and her pale, cold eye met his at that moment, as her shade flitted by the window in the thin moonlight, and darted on him a eyes with his hands, and sunk, senseless, into a chair;- while the affrighted Milly, and Patcy, who at once assumed his glowing health and vigour, hastened to his assistance. They had all heard the voice, but no one saw the shade nor recognized the tone, excepting the conscience-smitten Phadrig. THE DOWIE DENS OF YARROW.1 Late at e'en, drinking the wine, And ere they paid the lawing, They set a combat them between, To fight it in the dawing. "O stay at hame, my noble lord, O stay at hame, my marrow! My cruel brother will you betray On the dowie houms of Yarrow." "O fare ye weel, my ladye gaye! O fare ye weel, my Sarah! For I maun gae, though I ne'er return Frae the dowie banks o' Yarrow." She kissed his cheek, she kaim'd his hair, As he gaed up the Tennies bank,2 "O come ye here. to part your land, 1 This ballad was long a great favourite with the inhabitants of Ettrick Forest, and it is said to be the narrative of actual events. The above is Sir Walter Scott's version of the ballad, and he affirmed that the hero of the song was a knight called Scott who was murdered by the brother of his betrothed bride. "The alleged cause of malice was the lady's father having proposed to endow her with half of his property upon her marriage with a warrior of such renown. The name of the murderer is said to have been Annan, and the place of combat is still called Annan's Treat. It is a low muir on the banks of the Yarrow." The above verses are supposed to have inspired Hamilton of Bangour's ballad of the "Braes of Yarrow," and the scenery of both suggested Wordsworth's poems of "Yarrow Unvisited" and "Yarrow Visited.' " 2 The Tennies is the name of a farm of the Duke of Bucclench's, a little below Yarrow Kirk. "I come not here to part my land, And neither to beg nor borrow; I come to wield my noble brand On the bonnie banks of Yarrow. "If I see all, ye're nine to ane; And that's an unequal marrow; Yet will I fight, while lasts my brand, On the bonnie banks of Yarrow." Four has he hurt, and five has slain, On the bloody braes of Yarrow, Till that stubborn knight came him behind, And ran his body thorough. "Gae hame, gae hame, good-brother1 John, And tell your sister Sarah To come and lift her leafu' lord; "Yestreen I dream'd a dolefu' dream; "O gentle wind, that bloweth south, From where my love repaireth, Convey a kiss from his dear mouth, And tell me how he fareth! "But in the glen strive armed men; They've wrought me dole and sorrow! They've slain-the comeliest knight they've slain He bleeding lies on Yarrow As she sped down yon high high hill She kissed his cheek, she kaim'd his hair, She searched his wounds all thorough, She kiss'd them, till her lips grew red, On the dowie houms of Yarrow. "Now haud your tongue, my daughter dear! For a' this breeds but sorrow; I'll wed ye to a better lord Than him ye lost on Yarrow." "O haud your tongue, my father dear! Ye mind me but of sorrow; A fairer rose did never bloom OLD BALLAD. 1 Good brother-Beau-frere; brother-in-law. ORMONDE CASTLE BY THE AUTHORS OF THE "O'HARA TALES." Upon an October evening, in the year 1394, the castle of Kilkenny, which usually held a strong garrison, had its bastions, towers, and other points of defence almost unmanned; its courts almost silent; and but a few very old or very young domestics sat in its great hall, with arms in their hands, and with doubt and anxiety impressed on their features. The castle had sent forth its last regular soldier, together with all its able-bodied serfs, to support their lord, James, Earl of Ormonde, in a battle against the Desmond, touching the rights and bounds of certain lands; and intelligence of the result of the fray was every moment expected. The lady of the fortress knelt in her private chapel, at "the altar of the holy stone," in fervent, but not faltering, prayer. The pride of name, the pride of feudal animosity, and the love of her martial husband, equally kept her heart unconscious of fear. The utmost condescension of her anxiety was to doubt; but nothing did she, or would she, doubt upon the subject which engrossed her soul, so far as reUneongarded its issue by mortal means. trolled by a superior power, the Botiller, the Ormonde, the lord of her heart and her life, ever commanded success against a Desmond; and she knelt, therefore, only to pray that the will of God might not, on this occasion, fight against her and hers. Her orisons ended, she slowly arose, and after bending her head, and crossing her forehead before the altar, paced along the solitary chapel, and issued from it through a low, arched door. Many flights of narrow stone steps, twining upward from the foundations of the castle, upon a level with which was the chapel floor, conducted her to the suite of small rooms leading into her sleeping chamber; thence she gained a lobby, which gave entrance to what was called The Long Gallery," where, finding herself alone, the lady of Ormonde blew a shrill and loud call upon the little silver whistle which hung from her neck. But no one answered her; and while her brow assumed a severe expression, she was again about to put the whistle to her lips, when the notes of a trumpet, sounding the signal for defence, reached her apparently from the embattled wall which faced and fell down to the Nore, full forty feet, although its top was still much lower than the foundations of |