more in the fulness of forgiveness than of sorrow. But it was little time I had for either reproach or condolence. The prey had been recovered, but not without burning the bawn in which the plunderers had taken shelter. The bawn was the courtyard of the church of Drum, and the hands and face of my husband were black with the smoke of sacrilege, for church and altar had both been reduced to ashes in the fray, and priests as well as laymen, had perished in the flames. The pastures of our retreat were insufficient to graze the recovered herds, and we must prepare to fly that very night into the more extensive fastnesses of Kilultagh. If we were not on the borders of our new place of refuge before sunset, all chance of escape from the multitude, now in pursuit of us, would be cut off. All was confusion and excitement, marshalling the herds and baggage horses; framing new litters for the wounded; packing up household goods, and strapping the children on their mothers' backs for the journey, Hugh had no time for anything but his duties to the kindred. He did not even wait to wash the marks of the conflict from his person. I was lifted into a litter, with my infant in my arms, and it was not till we were half an hour on our march, that he rode up beside me. Overwhelmed, as I was, with grief and astonishment, I could say little he was in deep distress, yet still filled with indignation against the plunderers of the kindred, but he said that, although for my sake it went against his neart to lay the torch to a church door, there were now hundreds depending on him for their very existence, and that, sooner than let one of them suffer an hour's starvation, while the herds of which they had been plundered could be rescued by either fire or sword, he would see all the churches of Ireland in flames over the heads of their enemies. What could I say or do? Reproach was worse than useless. I had gone too far from the first moment I left my home with him, to turn back. I pressed my poor infant to my bosom, and submitted to the evils which I could not redress. Our new retreat was the wildest country I had yet seen. It was a far different home from the lovely valley I had left; but, for a while we had peace among its rocks and marshes, and, during this period of comparative security, I made

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my efforts for Hugh's conversion, and, as I have told you, failed. You may wonder why I have not blamed him more for concealing his heathenish condition from me at first; but, in truth, I well believe his excuse, that, save the marriage ceremony, he knew of little else that I would desire, and knowing that he could, at any time, procure that service by force, as he did, he scarce thought of other obstacles at all. But, as I told you, father, although I might excite his wonder or his curiosity, by telling him of the sacred mysteries of our religion, I could never succeed in gaining from him any further regard for them than he already entertained for the lying legends of bards and rhymers. He offered me, indeed, at whatever risk, to bring a priest, by force, to christen the child, but I viewed the sin of the sacrilege as greater than the danger of the infant's remaining a little longer as he was, and would not consent. Four years passed, and the kindred continued unmolested in their deserts. I had, in a great measure, reconciled myself to the life we led, and would have been quite happy but for the thoughts of our godless estate, which I could never banish from my mind. One of Hugh's fosterers had ventured into the low country, and brought us word that it was given out among my people that I had fallen, by accident, into a pool of the river, and was drowned. This was pleasant news to me, for it had often caused me many a bitter tear to think what a stain it would be upon my kindred, if it were known that I had fled with a pagan, and still more, if it were believed, as I feared it would be, that I was that pagan's paramour. Thus, father, I have brought down my history to the time when I first settled into a reluctant acquiescence in the wretched fate I had brought on myself, and henceforth you are to view me as yielding, day by day, to the confirming power of custom, until I grew at length not only hopeless, but, I blush to say, careless of breaking through it. And now began the hardships and misfortunes which brought the kindred into the troubles that have pursued them without intermission for the last five years. A dry summer forced us to drive our herds to low land for the convenience of water. Some of the cattle strayed down farther, and were not recovered till they

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had got upon the borders of Turlogh Moyle Mac Henry's country. Our fosterers who went after them were known to some of Turlogh's people and they, holding of the prior of Muckamore, pursued them. They escaped by speed of foot, but our retreat was discovered, and in three days after, we were driven back into our old pastures by the church vassals of the valley. Our cattle took a murrain and died upon the mountain, and we were reduced to famine before the little corn we had was ready for the reaping-hook. Then the kindred broke loose from the heart of the hills in despair, and lifted a prey out of the grange lands of Nalteen. But there was no rest for their feet in Moylinny, for the Quins of Edenduffcarrick, and the O'Haras of the Glen, rose upon us, and we were forced back on this side of the Ollarva again. Here we held our own for a winter, and in the spring made good this post upon Benmadigan, which we account the fastest we have ever possessed; but the pasture is scanty, and we have to keep our main herds farther inland. And now, father, my sad history draws to the conclusion. You may be sure that, when the report of our being forced from our mountain retreat went abroad, my brothers were not backward in coming against us with the rest. But Mac Gillmore met them at the fords, where he had overthrown them before, and had the victory a second time, for they were taken by surprise at night, and both Raymond and Alan fell into our hands. I was with the main creaght in the interior, nor did I know that my brothers were prisoners until long after; for they were kept in the caves here under strong ward, and it was not till their ransom had been paid that what I am about now to tell you, happened. My young est child-she was a little girl, father, the only girl we had-she is gone now with the rest, God be good to her innocent soul! for my Harry Dhas is the only one that sickness and hardship have left me-but, father, the child had fallen sick, and the doctor of the clan was with Mac Gillmore on Benmadigan. I would have sent for him, but that I knew he could ill be spared from the attendance of two of the kindred who were lying wounded in the caves. So I determined to take the child to him, myself, and, accordingly, I mounted a litter and came across the hills that

morning, with a guard of four fosterers. I had not been here for more than three months, and I was not expected, so that after passing the outer posts we came down upon the kindred unawares. It was just at the descent over the northern brow of the hill, down which Mac Gillmore brought you yesterday, that we met him and the heads of the clan coming up with two strangers. We met, face to face, on the narrow path, and they were so haggard, from their imprisonment, that at first I did not know my brothers, for they were sorely changed since I had seen them nine years before, in the pride of youth and manly beauty. Both their beards were grown span long, but Alan looked the sterner and paler. The first glance I had of them, and even before I recognized my brothers, I saw that there was something amiss; for Mac Gillmore signed impatiently and fiercely for my escort to turn back-what he had never done before, and I coming to meet him— and seemed to make an effort to withdraw their attention from me. But Raymond, the moment he beheld my face, sprang forward and grasped the reins of the leading horse. I knew him then, and screamed aloud, for he looked at me with a terrible countenance. Depart in peace, Sirs," I then heard Mac Gillmore saying to them; "she is my wife." Then Raymond said he lied, and called me by one viler name than I deserved, and Mac Gillmore struck him a blow with the handle of his dagger in the face, but Alan ran up and held Raymond back, crying that all they wanted was to murder him, and said-words that I remember to this day-"Hold back, Raymond. Do not acknowledge her: she is dead-she is drowned-you know that this is no sister of ours." That may do to tell at Dundonald," Raymond cried, "but if all the kindred stood present, I would not hold my hand from the pagan villain who has brought this blot upon our house," and, at the words, he tore himself out of Alan's grasp, and wrenching a sword from one of the clan, who stood beside, he rushed upon Mac Gillmore, who had barely time to draw his weapon before they were engaged in deadly combat. Alan and our fosterers ran in to part them, but Mac Gillmore cried that he would strike the first man dead who interfered and when I fell among the rocks in

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springing from the litter to rush between them, I could hear him over the clashing of their weapons calling to his people to let the Mac Seneschals go free, come what might; for they had thrown themselves upon Alan, and would have surely slain him had Mac Gillmore fallen. But, alas, alas! how could a worn and broken prisoner stand long before the keenest swordsman in Ulster, fresh from the field, and fighting on his own ground? When I fell, their swords had not crossed ten times, and when I rose, Raymond was a corpse upon the green sward at my feet. The love for my brother that had lain dead in my breast for nine long years was revived. I cast myself down beside him; I kissed his lips, and mourned over him with such a grief as I never felt before, except for my own child. Mac Gillmore stood a moment, and contemplated the work of his hands, then, in a low voice, bad his people form a bier of branches, and bear the dead man to his kindred, who awaited him at the remote outposts; and then, turning to Alan, he said, Dhuine Wasail, depart in peace." "Not as, I will come again," said Alan, and I looked up as he spoke, and oh, father, the glance he cast at me was hard to bear, though he spoke not a word to me, but still addressed himself to Mac Gillmore. Pagan," he said, "when I come again, we will have a fairer field," and turning sullenly away, he strode up the path. I thought he would have spoken to me. I could not let him go thus. I rose and followed him he would not hear me : I clasped his mantle; he turned and pushed me away. I would have again supplicated him to speak to me, though I scarce knew what I could have said to appease him, but Mac Gillmore came up, and lifting me like an infant, bore me back to the litter, where he placed the child in my arms, and I followed him to the cave in silence. From that day I have known no peace. The bleeding images of my brother and father are constantly before my eyes. In my dreams I think I see Alan coming: his words are ever in my ears. It is all the punishment of my sin and folly; but blessed be He who inflicts it, I have learned to bear His judgments with resignation."

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Both sat silent for a few minutes after she had finished her sad narra

tive, the lady awaiting the severe scntence which she felt her faults and errors had deserved, the kindly ecclesiastic pondering the gentlest mode of consolation for one afflicted with such numerous and unexampled misfortunes. Daughter," at length he said, "it is a blessed thing that thou canst suffer so much without repining. I have heard many woeful histories, but thy griefs are without parallel. Yet thy sins have also been great, nor have these calamities fallen on thee unprovoked. Thou hast been in some measure an apostate from the faith, and, notwithstanding the wrongs done thy people by the church, I can call thine abetting of Mac Gillmore's feud little else than sacrilege. Thy marriage, too, was far from such a ceremony as ought to have satisfied a virtuous maiden, yet I would not on that account call thy child altogether illegitimate. But thou must no longer be the mother of a pagan. Bring me thy boy, and under God we will begin the blessed work by christening him.”

The lady's countenance, which had been downcast and troubled as brother Virgil recapitulated the instances of her guilt or disgrace, suddenly grew bright with joyful emotion. May Heaven reward you, holy and blessed man!" she exclaimed, rising with glad looks to seek the boy.

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"Nay, daughter," said brother Virgil, "call me not by these titles, which belong to God's saints alone. I am but a poor servant of the blessed Francis, and such service as I can render thee is to be accounted to his praise and honour, not to mine."

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Glory be to his name," cried the lady, as Harry Oge, whom she had risen to seek, entered at the door, accompanied by his foster-father and tutor, Owen Grumagh.

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Glory be to his name, indeed," ejaculated brother Virgil; "he has sent the boy in good time; come hither, my son: thou art a fair boy, may Heaven bless thee! what is thy name?"

Harry Oge Mac Hugh More Mac Adam, and I am of the clan Gillmore," replied the boy boldly.

"And who gave thee that name, my son?" asked the Franciscan.

"The kindred call me plain Harry ; but the other is my name by right;" was the boy's answer.

"And wouldst thou rather be called by that long name than by plain Harry?" asked brother Virgil.

"No" replied the boy; "but if I were a Tierna More, and had conquered all my enemies, the bards would say, when they were asked who fought the great breach, or who drove the great prey, that it was Harry Oge Mac Hugh More Mac Adam, and then they would all know that I was not bleared Harry Mac Hugh Calvagh, nor limping Harry Mac Hugh Beg."

The good brother smiled, and, patting the boy's dark curly head, exclaimed, "Mayest thou indeed be famous among the bards, my son; but neither for fighting battles nor for driving preys."

"And what else would a man be famous for?" demanded the boy.

"My son," replied the good old monk, some men have been famous for one thing, some for another. Ollav Fola was famous for giving good laws to his people; Cormac Mac Cuillenan gained great honor for piety and holiness. Wouldst thou not rather be famous for doing good, as these renowned princes shall be to the end of time, than be known to the bards, as others are, for nothing but bloodthirstiness, and cruelty, and covetousness? Wouldst thou not rather be Harry Lamh Fosgaltagh, than Harry Lamh Dearg?"

"I would rather be Harry Lamh Laider than either," cried the boy; "for the strong hand rules all."

"Well, so as thou dost rule justly and mercifully, be Harry of the strong hand with God's blessing," cried brother Virgil; and now, bantierna, get me the water in a pure vessel, and we will be his sponsors ourselves for want of better."

“What are you going to do to the Tierna Oge, Gilly Francisagh?" demanded Owen, who had stood by, listening in silent pride to his pupil's ready answers; and now seemed to think it high time to interfere when he saw the monk busied in preparing the consecrated water-"are you going to put incantations on my foster son ?"

The holy man is going to christen my child, son of Rory," said the lady. "What is that?" asked the boy, drawing back.

"My son," said the monk, "didst

thou not tell me that thy mother would never have gone to the wood with Mac Gillmore if they had not been wedded by a lord abbot."

"Ay," said the boy; "and who says that they were not?"

"No one, my brave boy; but just as the bantierna would not have gone with thy father without being wedded; so no lady of the land would go with thee if she knew that thou hadst not been christened by a priest.”

"What is it like?" said the boy, advancing a step, but still holding his foster-father by the hand.

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Nay, Harry," said the lady, "come to the holy man at once; he is only going to pronounce thy name, and give thee his blessing, as the priest did with me when I also was a child."

"And did the priest do it to my father too?" said Harry, still hanging back, although strongly tempted by the advantages held out by brother Virgil.

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No, my child," replied the lady; "your father was not so fortunate; but your grandfather, and all your people down to your grandfather's time, were duly baptized as became a Christian kindred-son of Rory, you know that what I say is true."

"It is true, indeed," said Owen; “I remember Adam Garv saying so himself, and, for a token, he would tell us that they had left his right hand unchristened, that it might hit the harder; but Adam would laugh when he would tell the story; for he was kithogue, and struck sorest with his left."

"But we will christen thee, my son, both right and left, and hand and foot," said brother Virgil, holding out his hand to the boy.

But Harry and his tutor still besitated. "You will put no charm upon me?" asked the one. "What you are going to do will not turn him against the kindred ?" stipulated the other.

"What, son of Rory, think you I would consent to have the Tierna Oge turned against his people?" said the lady, indignantly.

The clansman, awed by an authority which had never been exerted in vain, yielded without dispute: "as the bantierna pleases," he said, leading his foster-son forward, and committing him into the hands of the Franciscan. The boy at first showed a somewhat