you; and if you feel any affection for one person more than another, as you value your own happiness or my friendship, let me know of it at once." He paused, and I was on the point of telling him about Eulalie. But I reflected how absurd he would think my behaviour, and a sense of the silliness of my conduct in being taken with a lady whose face I had never seen, and a dread of forfeit. ing Sir Wilfred's good opinion kept me silent.

"But enough of these recollections," he resumed; "you will return to me when you are tired of travelling. You recall so vividly, when I look on you, the days of my greatest happiness, and the two persons who were dearest to me upon earth-who might have been hap py, and who would have been happy had it not been their own fault that I claim you as if you were Lonsdale restored to me. You will come to me again?"

It was in this way we parted, and I did not see Sir Wilfred again for years.

Paris and all its gaieties, into which I entered with the alacrity to be expected from my years, did not detain me long. I had had my lesson, and was armed against the world. I lounged through Europe, spending a month at a time wherever there was temptation enough to detain me, and lingered on my way at the many delicious towns and villages that presented themselves to me in "the land where the poet's eye and the painter's hand are most divine;" in the only country where mere ex. istence is a positive enjoyment-in the classic land of Italy. At last I made my entrance into Rome. There is no use in any one's attempting to describe it. All civilized people, who have never even moved from home, know its appearance as well as if they had lived in it all their days. They have this advantage, besides, that it appears to their ima ginations clothed in the solemnity of the city of the Scipios and the Cæsars, without the degrading realities which present themselves at every turn, of monks and their fantastic processions-ridiculous relics, and flirting monseignors. A month passed away delightfully in sighing, or attempting to sigh, amid the ruins

of the Coliseum; roaming among the enchanted groves of Tivoli-and all the other amusements which Roman visitors consider indispensable. At last I bethought me of the letter to the father Caroglio, which I had received on my departure from Ellersby. On making enquiries as to his residence, I was directed to the house of Lord Clan-Carrol, with whom he resided, whether in the capacity of friend or confessor my informant could not tell. And thither accordingly I went. On asking for the father, I was shown into a room called the library, which, however, was very scantily furnished with books; and sitting at a table on which was a bottle and a glassthe latter, I must do him the justice to say, was particularly small-I beheld the gentleman of whom I was in search. He was a tall jolly-looking man, with that unmistakeable twinkle of the eye, and curl of the rather prominent lips, which tell to the veriest stranger in a moment, that the possessor of them is an Irishman. This was a surprise to me. However, I presented my letter, and waited quietly till he should have perused it. This, however, he seemed in no hurry to do.

"I just want to know, young gentleman, can't you tell me what's in this letter, and save one all the trouble of reading it. May I ask your name by way of a beginning?" I told him.

When he heard it, he threw the letter on the table, sprang up, and seizing me by both shoulders, gazed earnestly into my face.-" Ould Edward Lonsdale's son of EllersbyOch! by the powers, this is charmin'

I

ye'll take a glass of this cordialwish it were real potheen, but these Romans, poor devils, never heard of such a thing as Inneshown."

"This man," I thought, "a companion of my misanthropic father and the graceful Sir Wilfred! There must surely be some mistake." But Caroglio proceeded.

"Somebody tould me your father was terribly changed, and had grown as sour as a vinegar-cruet. Oh! the fun we three had together, to be sure;-he and I, and your uncle Seymour."

My uncle Seymour, sir?" I cried in astonishment.

"Ay, to be sure-young Wilfred -a pretty fellow, I can tell you, he was in his day; and pretty pickings there would have been in the way of absolutions, if he had belonged to our Church. Misericordia,-amen!" Hereupon the worthy divine sighed, and helped himself to another cordial.

"You talked, sir," I said, "as if you thought Sir Wilfred Seymour were my uncle."

"Did I? Then if he isn't, he ought to have been, for your father should have married his sister; and then, you see, you would have been his nephew, just as I said. But, now that I think about it,-one's mimery begins to fail with so many paternosters-Miss Seymour married my lord's brother. Ah, it's an ould story. I recollect being prodigiously sorry for it at the time. You ought to have been my cousin, you rogue you."

“I am sorry to have missed so great an advantage. But how could that have happened?"

"Why, young Clan-Carrol was my uncle's wife's son. And if you had been the son, as you ought to be, of my aunt's son's wife, the divil's in't if all the genealogers in Munster could make you out to be any thing but my cousin."

"I think, father, you are confusing the pedigrees. I understood you to say, that Miss Seymour, instead of being married to my father, became the wife of your cousin, Lord ClanCarrol."

"Exactly; you have it now. But instead of doing the thing that was right, you see, your father went off in a huff, and married some lady or other in England, who soon died. And Helen also went off in a huff, and married Clan-Carroll, and he soon died. But, before all this dying, there was no end of mischief;-what with fighting jewels, and breaking hearts, and turning hermits, and going into nunneries-Oh! 'twould be a pretty story to cry over. Won't you take just a thimbleful?"

"And did Lord Clan Carrol leave no children?"

"Neither chick nor child, except a daughter, which is as good as nothing, for ye see the title does not go in the female branch-but for all that she's a real Clan-Carrol every inch of her. 'Twould take the Pope

himself and half-a-dozen cardinals to exorcise the divil out of her eyes. But you shall see her-you'll dine with us to-day. I take charge of all this family. Poor Clan-Carrol's a good easy creature, but he knows nothing about the care of his cellars. "You are very kind.",

"I mean to be so, I assure ye. You seem to hesitate as if ye scarcely knew whether I had a right to bid you pull your chair in. Now I'll tell you-I was born-Lord knows when-but it's a good many years ago, and nothing particular that I can think of happened, till I was told one day, when I was about fourand-twenty years of age, that a set of rascals, who had amused themselves by putting little bits of paper into my hand, had taken possession of my estate, and sould all the furniture out of my house; and besides all this, that I owed them money enough to build a pyramid. This was very unpleasant, but there was no help for it,-so, after breaking every bone in our family attorney's skin, I took ship from old Ireland, and made the grand tour of Europe, as in those days it was incumbent on every man of fortune to do. Then it was I became intimate with your father and Sir Wilfredmy Cousin Clan-Carrol was very kind to me-and things were going on most brilliantly, till all that mischief broke out, as I was telling ye, about murders, and love, and a great deal else beside. Then, when ClanCarrol married Miss Seymour, I was more useful than ever-then he died, and left me in his will, with the rest of the property, to his brother; so then, as it was time for us all to turn serious, I became father confessor to the household,and cellar keeper-and major domo

and just by way of pleasing them Romans, poor divils, and getting quit of the correspondence of a set of rapparees that were always writ ing to me about bills and debts, and other sublunary affairs, I made a sort of change upon my name, and called myself Father Theodosius Caroglio, instead of Teddy O'Carrol. So, you see, if you don't come and dine with us to-day, I'll consider it leaze-majesty against the memory of my friendship with your father."

I could no longer resist his press

ing invitation, and accordingly presented myself at dinner-time at the house of Lord Clan-Carrol.

Lord Clan-Carrol and the lady who sat beside him were so excessively like each other, that it was impossible to mistake their relationship. Both were very tall and very thin; and the lady-Lady Lucinda O'Carrol-had that peculiar expression which betrays the victims of deafness, even before you have made experiment of their defect. Father Caroglio introduced me with a long flourish of trumpets; and it was evident from the expressions of his lordship, that I had been the theme of conversation before my arrival. To my amazement, Lord Clan-Carrol thought it necessary to make me a set speech, and tell me that he should never cease to feel grateful to me for being the means of his obtaining the Clan-Carrol title and estates. This I could by no means understand; but, as Lady Lucinda caught some portions of his address, she perceived that I had rendered some wonderful service to the family, and treated me with all the consideration in her power. Unfortunately, her mode of showing this was by bestowing all her conversation upon me. I took her in to dinner; and, when we were just sitting down, there glided noiselessly into the room, and took her place on my other side, a young lady with so much beauty, mingled with so much playful archness in the expression of her face, that I was captivated with her appearance at once. She was never introduced on her entrance, but sat quietly down without saying a word. Caroglio's liveliness seemed exhausted, and he was silent. His lordship, who, to my humble apprehension, seemed little better than an idiot, devoured his food without wasting his breath in any other occupation, and the Lady Lucinda kept on in the same perpetual strain, without either attending to any thing I said, or giving me the opportunity of addressing my neighbour on the other side. If she had been Empress of Rome in the days of the most despotic of the Cæsars, she could not have spoken of the city with a greater appearance of being the proprietor of every part of it.

"And you are delighted, of course, with our cathedral of St Peters-we are quite proud of it here.-You are a Catholic of course ?-ah, so I thought," she said, never minding my denial; "it's the ouldest religion any where to be found, and we of the ould blood ought to encourage it. Was your father a monk, Mr Longkail?-oh, dear me, how shocked I am!-but your mother surely was a nun-ah, that's worse than the other. But there is something, I know, in the history of your parents. Father Theodosius was telling me of it before dinner.-What was it? do tell."

I excused myself from indulging in family gossip as well as I could. "What does he say, Father Ted?" said Lady Lucinda.

"Faith, it's not very easy to make out what he says.-But he wants to know if you've heard lately from Sir Murtagh O'Neill ?"

"Do you know Sir Murtagh, Mr Longtail? charming man, with such a delicious voice."

"I haven't the pleasure of his acquaintance."

"Ah! what does he say, Father Ted?"

"He says that the last time he saw Sir Murtagh was when he was on his way to Gretna Green with the ould grocer's widdy I used to tell you such queer tales about."

This piece of information had the delightful effect of making the old lady silent for a few minutes, which I took advantage of, and addressed myself to my beautiful neighbour.

"Have you heard the adorable Torcelli in the newly licensed opera ?" I said.

"Not I. We hear nothing here. But that isn't the information you want. Aren't you dying to have some one to join you in a hearty laugh at this most absurd company?"

"Hush!"

ingly dismal. Who is your uncle's niece?"

"Meaning me? Oh! that has nothing to do with the ridiculous."

"It has a great deal to do with the interesting. None of them had the good feeling to introduce us.”

"Let us do it now, then," said my companion; "shall I begin? You must know that my name here is Niece O'Carrol, and that I have a right to it-that I have not been here long, and am already heartily tired of it."

Lord Clan Carrol here interrupted our conversation.

"I am not in the habit-am I, Ted?-of making long speeches. In fact, I can't do it-can I, Ted?-at least I don't think I could if I tried. No! short, and straight to the purpose is my way-isn't it, Ted O'Carrol? One thing at a time is my motto. So, you'll observe, I never speak at dinner-time - do I, Teddy? - but after it, I am about to say a few words-but they shall be very few, and clear, and distinct-won't they, Cousin Ted? I've been thinking all the time I was eating that Perigord pie-capital pie, wasn't it, Teddy? -what a confoundedly handsome thing in you it was not to be my brother's son-I should never have forgiven you if you had-should I, Ted O'Carrol, you dumb beast? What an escape I made to be sure! -but as it is all owing to the late Clan-Carrol having a daughter, why, all I can say is, Mr Lonsdale-you have dropt your wine-glass, Niece O'Carrol that I am particularly obliged to you for being the son of your father, and not my elder brother's-am I not, Ted?"

"Ye've great cause to be thankful, my lord," said Father Theodosius," and I'm glad you remember your obligation so correctly. You will be happy to see Mr Lonsdale as often as he will favour us with his company, and treat him in all respects as if he were your nephew, except by giving up the title and estates."

"Oh yes-exactly-won't I, Teddy?"

I bowed, and made all proper acknowledgments for this hospitable offer, and, with a glance to my right hand neighbour, assured his lordship I should be delighted to join his

family party as often as I could-and delighted, to be sure, I was. Day after day found me in the house of Lord Clan-Carrol, by the side of his niece-answering at random the questions of his lady sister, and enchanted beyond every thing with the good fortune which had introduced me to so lovely, and so exquisitely captivating a creature, as had taken up her dwelling among such unheard-of oddities. The playfulness of her manners gradually abateddeep feeling occasionally showed itself on her expressive features-and I sighed passionately for the time that I might be intimate enough to enquire into the cause of her despondency, and, if possible, alleviate it. In Lord Clan-Carrol's family she was evidently neglected-they never even seemed to notice whether she was present or absent, and as to any one paying her particular attention, it never seemed to enter into their imaginations that such a thing was possible. Even Father Caroglio was blind, or affected to be

80.

We were thrown so constantly together, that it is not surprising that a very few weeks saw us attached, devoted, affianced to each other. And all this time what had become of my romantic attachment to the invisible Eulalie? Was she quite forgotten? I sometimes tried to persuade myself she was, but at times the image of her shrouded figure, with the very curious incidents with which her recollection was connected, rose clearly before me, and I thought of her and the Lady Alice more than the Lady Adeline O'Carrol-such was the name of Lord ClanCarrol's niece would altogether have liked. At last I resolved to tell her the whole adventure, but a foolish fear of her ridicule kept me silent till it was too late to make the confession. How much misery has been caused by absurd feelings of that kind!

One day, when I was leaving the house, Father Caroglio beckoned on me to follow him, and led the way into the library. There was something very mysterious on his face, and I prepared for some intelligence extraordinary.

"Well, then, Edward Lonsdale, my young friend," he said, "I think the ould days are returning on us,

and there will be murder at the least, if not worse."

"Worse than murder!" I said, in alarm. "What do you mean?"

"Why, that ye're in love with that very slippery young angel, my lord's niece. Ye needn't deny it."

'Well, sir, why should I deny it?" "No reason in life that I can see. Only, ye see, she's a wild colt, and may trouble ye at the breaking. She does exactly as she likes here; runs hither and thither-sometimes slips out for hours at a time after you leave us and lord only knows what it will all come to."

"I have been foolish," I said. "I ought to have spoken to Lord ClanCarrol before, and told him how we were situated."

"You had better tell the whole matter to me. My lord, poor devil -benedicite! amen! what a habit one gets into among you wild chaps of swearing!-My lord won't be a pin the wiser if you were to tell it him till doomsday and as to Lady Lucinda, you would need to whisper your secret pretty loud before ye made her understand you."

"Well then, will you inform them both in my name, that the Lady Adeline and I are engaged-and that I only wait the permission of my father to carry her home to England ?"

Certainly; with all the pleasure in life-but aren't there others you had better consult-Sir Wilfred Seymour?"

"Sir Wilfred has been kinder to me than a father. I will write and ask his approval this very day."

Well, if ye get his consent, I know no other person that has any right to interfere. So you may consider it a settled thing, and good luck to you," and so we parted.

On reaching home, a note was lying on my table. It was in a strange hand, and I felt a presentiment there was something unusual contained in it. I opened it. It ran in these words

"If Edward Lonsdale would render the heart of a mourner less harrassed with fears and apprehensions, as the time of her leaving the world draws near, he will come to the Ursuline convent to-day at three o'clock, and enquire for the English sister."

I resolved of course to go, and passed the intermediate time in conjecturing who my correspondent could be. My thoughts recurred again and again to the Lady Alice; and Eulalie rose distinctly before me. What could their connexion be with Sir Wilfred Seymour? He had himself given me to understand that he had lost his sister? It might, however, be some distant relation; and at times suspicions would come into my mind that the Lady Alice had in her youth been dearer to him than a sister. But the whole business was covered with uncertainty. And Eulalie, who could she be? And Adeline, so gay, so admirably accomplished-so lovely, and a Protestant? I resolved to banish if possible from my recollection the little girl who, I felt convinced, had only made so lasting an impression by the romantic associations she awakened in my mind.

I presented myself at the appointed place, and was shown into a room very plainly furnished, and so guarded from the sun, as to be almost too dark to see in it distinctly. I threw myself on a chair, and was waiting patiently for the entrance of my unknown correspondent, when close at my side I heard the words, "Signor, I am here."

I turned round-and there, in the same dress as before, in the same meek attitude-stood Eulalie!

"Eulalie!" I said, forgetting all my resolutions of forgetting her. "We have met at last. How anxiously I have looked forward to this meeting."

"Have you, indeed! I am so happy when any one condescends to recollect me."

"Condescends! Ah! my dear Eulalie-you have no idea how often I have thought of you, and pictured to myself how beautiful you must be

for you remember I have never seen your face yet."

"I believe I am not quite frightful. I have been into the world since I last saw you 'tis a heartless place."

"It is, indeed-unless-that in it there are some who have the power of loving-one heart, at least, Eulalie, will be constant to

"How many?”

I let go the hand I had taken when she said this, and wished at that mo