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companion; silent and moody, he kept aloof from them all, and scarcely returned their ordinary salutations. He was often absent from the preceptory; but the only companion of his rambles was his negro slave, and with him he conversed in a language known only to themselves. sometimes visited the town, where a new tale respecting the negro had become popular; it was satisfactorily determined that Sir Colman Rashleigh had sold himself to the powers of evil, and that the negro was a fiend sent to watch his motions until the time when Satan should have him altogether.

It was soon observed that, the negro, whenever he came to town, generally hovered around the nunnery, and he was once seen to speak at the grate with one of the inmates; it was said, the same that had been brought to the convent by the pirate Green. These circumstances gave ample room for conjectures; sister Martha was as much disliked by the nuns, as brother Colman by the Templars; and for the same reason, her unsocial qualities and conduct. It was, however, strange that the haughty lord abbot of St. Mary's paid more respect to the gloomy Martha than to all the sisterhood, including even the prioress. No other nun had ever been shrived by him, no other had ever spoken with him in private, or scarcely even received a passing word in public; but Richard Grace, the haughtiest man that ever trode a cloistered aisle, was known to come before a simple nun, and to practise every art to win her favour.

The nuns often puzzled themselves vainly to account for this favour shown to her they deemed their most unworthy member; the aged portress when she overheard them only shook her head, and smiled in that dubious fashion that seems to mock at mirth. Once, and once only, she hinted that she knew more than it would be safe to tell; she spoke of Grace as one whose early youth was little consonant to his holy He had once been a traveller, and a strange tale had been told of his having joined with the pirates of the channel, of his captivity, his liberation by a fair dame, his flight with her to Ireland, her sudden disappearance, and his unexpected entrance into the monastery, of which family connections had made him the head.

It was a stormy day, the bleakest of a

bleak December; the nuns, whose turn it was to go out and tend the beacon fire while they recited prayers for the venturous mariners, declined, as earnestly as they dared, the task of sitting in the lonesome round tower. But the laws of the convent were peremptory, and the two reluctant sisters, whose turn it was, prepared to face the storm, when Martha and the old portress volunteered to go in their stead.

Evening was beginning to close in when a vessel, which from her rigging all guessed to be Green's corsair, was seen making for the harbour; but the tide was running out, and the wind, though not directly off the shore, was so unfavourable that, without the aid of the tide, it was certain that the galley could not get under shelter of the headlands. A knot of the town's people had assembled on the rocks beneath the Light-house; perched on the cliff close to the tower, sate the negro, perfectly motionless, looking over the wide expanse of waters

just such a figure as superstition might imagine to be the demon invoking the storm. When the two nuns approached to take their post, the negro, as if accidentally, walked past them: sister Martha stopped and beckoned him. "Ride," said she, "ride for thy life; tell thy master that the night of vengeance is come, and the pirate may be lured to his doom." The negro hasted past, he was seen to seek the road to Rencrew; and on that night Sir Colman Rashleigh disappeared from the preceptory.

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A part of our tale must now be taken from the narrative of a shipwrecked mariner. He said that the corsair to which he belonged made the harbour of Youghal on a squally evening, and made short tacks at the entrance of the bay, waiting for the turn of the tide to cross the bar. He saw the beacon kindled at the usual hour, its light directed them for several hours, but it was suddenly obscured at the moment when the increasing darkness and rising wind rendered its aid most necessary. When it next appeared they thought that the veɛsel must have drifted very strangely, or that by some miracle the tower had changed its position, for the light seemed in a very different direction from what they had expected. Green, the captain, was completely puzzled; he had been agitated the whole day, especially as some one had casually named the date of the month and year, and it coincided with a day which the sailor

knew that Green had very good, or rather very evil, cause to remember. In his confusion he ordered the pilot to steer by the light as usual, and a few minutes afterwards the galley struck the bar with such violence that her bows were stove in. The sailor, when the rest of the crew had been whelmed in the waves, had the good fortune to grasp a spar, by which he was supported until thrown upon the beach. All his companions had perished. The commentary on his tale was that in the morning the beacon was found extinct, sister Martha and her companion had disappeared, and the remains of a fire were discovered on the top of Claycastle, a hill by the side of the water, which offered every convenience for the display of a false light.

All the authorities investigated the affair; Richard Grace shewed especial anxiety, he interrogated every person that had been on the rocks or near the tower during the eventful evening, and was particularly struck by the account of the negro's presence. A hasty summons was despatched to the preceptory, and the master, attended by the great body of the knights, Sir Colman Rashleigh among the rest, soon arrived in the town. Circumstances transpired which gave room for suspicion. Rashleigh had gone from the preceptory late in the evening, accompanied by his black servant, and had not returned until the following noon; two horsemen very similar to them in appearance had been met by a peasant on the hills north of the town, about two hours before midnight, and several of the knights remembered that Rashleigh had always shown unusual agitation whenever Green's name was mentioned. Poer, however, declared that Rashleigh had been that night employed by him on a mission of peculiar importance in the skirts of the Roches' country, and that he had executed his task, which was of course a proof that on the memorable night he was far from Youghal.

The disappearance of Martha and the portress continued inexplicable. Rigid search was made through the surrounding country, but no trace of the fugitives could be discovered. Large rewards were offered, but not a particle of information was obtained.

Four years passed away; Rashleigh continued to belong to the preceptory, but the

gloom of his disposition seemed aggravated, and his motions more strange. He was frequently absent for days together, the negro being the sole companion of his excursions. Once he went alone; on his return he seemed to be frenzied, and when his slave approached, he felled him to the earth with a violence that seemed to have destroyed life, and rushed to his cell. The negro arose, stunned by the blow: it was some time before he recovered his senses, but when he was able to speak he solicited audience from the master of the preceptory, and was conveyed to his presence.

The nature of the negro's tale may be guessed from its effects; Sir Colman Rashleigh was hurried from his cell to a dungeon and heavily fettered; the alarm bell of the preceptory was rung, the gates closed, the watch doubled. Expresses were sent to the town, to the President of Munster, to the Seneschal of Imokilly, and to the neighbouring garrison of Dungarvan. As night approached, farther precautions were taken; their necessity soon became obvious. The preceptory was suddenly attacked by a body of the wild Irish, who seemed to rise out of the ground by magic; they flung themselves into the ditch, they scaled the ramparts, they hurled their long knives at the soldiers, and raised their wild cry of" Forrah!" "Forrah!" as if assured of victory.

A similar attack had been made on the town, but the garrison, warned of its danger, was on the alert, and the Irish were beaten back from the walls. The preceptory was well defended, the knights clad in impenetrable armour baffled their naked adversaries, but swarm succeeded swarm, and they were beginning to sink from sheer fatigue, when morn dawned on the desperate fight. The light showed them fresh hordes of enemies pouring on, and they beheld a woman on a crag urging their efforts, by reciting the prophecies that foretold Erin's deliverance from the stranger. But day brought them also aid from the town, and Le Poer ordered a charge to open a passage for the succours. The Irish in all their insurrections have ever quailed before a charge of cavalry; when the gates of the preceptory were flung open, and the Master galloped forth attended only by twelve Templars, and they too exhausted by the labours of the night, the insurgent multitude bore back, reeled, and

was in a few moments a helpless mass of confusion.

"Seize the prophetess," shouted Le Poer, and towards her the knights rode with levelled lances, trampling down the naked heroes, who no longer thought of resistance. The heroine vainly strove to cheer the Irish to the fight, by precept and example. Armed with a short sword, she struck the steed of the foremost rider, and horse and horseman rolled on the plain; but she was at the same moment stunned by the blow of a lance, and the soldiers from the town, who had now reached the scene of action, easily made her captive. They recognised in her the fugitive nun.

Several nights after this sudden outbreak, a solemn court was held in the vaults of St. Mary's Abbey. The Lord President of Munster, Richard Grace, and the Master of the Templars, sat as judges; the instruments of torture were before them, and a negro, whose limbs were dislocated by the rack, was obstinate in refusing to answer their interrogatories.

"Bring in Sir Colman Rashleigh," said the Abbot.

He was introduced, heavily fettered.

"Sir Knight," said Grace, "thou art accused of treason to thy King, of falsehood to thy God, of treacherous murder, and dishonourable fraud. What sayest thou to the charge?"

"Lord Abbot," replied the Templar, "I am no traitor. I am a Saxon princeand owe no fealty to the Norman. For my broken vows, the sin be on the head of those who stormed the castle of Fordwych, and led me to believe that my betrothed bride was the victim of their ruffian violence. Richard Grace, thou didst aid the deed, which was planned by the villain Green, now gone to his long account."

"And why didst thou come to raise foul rebellion in this land?" demanded the President.

"I will answer thee, Lord Geraldine,because thou and thy ancestors, the scour

ings of Normandy, have wrested land and title from Saxons and from Irishmen. I could not rouse my own countrymen in Devon and Cornwall, to strike down the Plantagenet. But for my own intemperance, I would have succeeded here. Poor worm!" he continued, turning to the negro, thou, proud of thy secret, dared to breathe unhallowed wishes to the Lady Edith, and to threaten vengeance. I should have slain, and not punished; but thy treason has had its reward, the rack has done its worst."

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"It seems that there is no need of further evidence," said the President. "Give the Templar a short shrift and a long cord. Bring in the woman."

My lord," said the Master of the Tem plars, "hemp must not touch a Knight who has drawn sword in a holy cause, nor must a layman's voice pronounce his doom. A darker and worse fate awaits him and the perjured nun. They must share a living tomb: the vault is already prepared."

The unhappy sister Martha, we should rather say the once renowned Lady Edith, was next brought forward. Death, however, had already placed his signet upon her, and she could scarcely falter a reply to the questions of her judges. In this state she was delivered to a guard, to be carried for trial to her own convent; but it is believed that she did not pass the portals alive, and that the monastic cruelties were exercised on a senseless carcase.

Sir Colman Rashleigh was conveyed to his preceptory, and sentenced to the dreadful penalty of broken vows, to be built up alive into a niche of the vaults beneath the chapel. The executioners of this dread decree heard from him no word of sorrow or complaint. His story was forgotten, until the recent storms laid bare the ancient ruins, and disclosed to the terrified rustics who went to search for imaginary treasures, a skeleton in a nook, covered in with masonry, which had once worn the form of the last representative of the kings of Wessex.

MR. SNIFFTON SNEALY was a little smirking, jerking gentleman, most felicitously endowed with an exceedingly high opinion of himself. Uniform self-complacency like unto his can fall to the lot of but few; but, when attained, is a most valuable endowment, inasmuch as it hath enabled many mediocre persons to bask happily in a sunshine of their own making, when the favouring light of other eyes beamed not towards them.

But Mr. Sniffton Snealy was not a fainéant self-idolater, content to admire himself alone in his dressing-gown and slippers and throughout the toilet phases of the day. No: he had a higher aim than so to hide his talent, as it were, under a bushel. His ambition was to belong, or at least appear to belong, to what he considered the fashionable world; and his ingenious contrivances to obtain cards of invitation and tickets of admission to " at homes," soirées, and private or select concerts, &c. &c. together with the multitudinous disappointments and humiliations consequent thereupon, would fill a volume.

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At length, that is, after several years of perseverance, his object seemed to be attained, as his small figure might often be seen gliding among well-dressed crowds, collected in elegantly furnished apartments. So his face and name gradually became familiar to many, and no inquiry was made concerning his birth, parentage, and education," or by whom he was first introduced into society. And the cause of this omission was simply that no one felt sufficiently interested about him to ask any questions, a fact of which he continued blissfully unsuspicious, in consequence of the excellent terms on which he always was with himself. Thus his time passed pleasantly enough, and he might have continued, till the end of his days, a quiet participator in the gaieties of the town, had it not been that success was, as usual, the precursor of fresh aspirings. It was something certainly to be admitted into circles formerly inaccessible to him, and for a while he plumed himself

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exceedingly, and magnified himself greatly in his own eyes, by talking of charming, delightful parties, at which he had "met' the Duke or Duchess, or Lords or Ladies So-and-so; but-alas! all the steps of ambition's crazy ladder seem to be composed of "buts"-"But," groaned Mr. Sniffton Snealy to himself, on returning home late one morning from a splendid at home""but," sighed he, "it is of no use to conceal the matter from myself-I am merely suffered to make one-merely, as it were, endured. If I could but once get some noble or first-rate family to notice me in public, as young Sir Peter Plus was noticed to-night by her Ladyship's circle, I know then how it would be-the rest would follow. But now, a slight bend of recognition is all I can obtain from those whom I am most anxious to be acquainted with, and frequently that, is accorded without a smile, and sometimes even with a wondering stare, from persons who must have seen me but a night or two before."

With such unsatisfactory reminiscences he sought repose, but lay long awake cogitating upon various modes of breaking through the barrier of "exclusiveness."

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To be noticed by those who were “ the noticed" of all, was thenceforward his great aim, and his demeanour became changed accordingly. Instead of contenting himself with the privilege of looking on and occasionally exchanging a few words with passing acquaintance of the oi Too or ticketed," like himself, he now eagerly watched and hovered about those little circles which are ever contrived for the élite, even in crowded rooms. And there, with cat-like patience, would he watch for the moment to pounce upon a fallen handkerchief or glove, to present to its fair and titled owner, and receive the heart-cheering reward of a gracious smile. Many other little marks of attention and reverence did he by degrees venture to pay to "the noticed." If a lady of that caste was moving, albeit she might have the arm of a peer, he would request gentlemen to make way for

her ladyship; and when a carriage was wanted, the Dutch gentleman with his patent cork leg could not be more perseveringly locomotive than was Mr. Sniffton Snealy.

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The adage says, "perseverance in a good cause is obstinacy in a bad one." Whether our hero's cause was good or bad, we leave with the reader to settle; but persevere he did, and, to his great mortification, with little apparent success, till love, almighty love, which settles most people's affairs in one way or another, caused a young lady to receive his attentions in a manner most gratifying to his feelings. She was one of "the noticed," decidedly beautiful, had a fortune in her own possession, and was the daughter of a Baronet. Moreover, what seemed of greater importance at the moment, her brother, a dashing Major, had just returned home, in consequence of wounds received at the storming of Badajoz, and was, of course, one of the "lions" of the day.

"I thank you for your politeness, Mr. Snealy, and hope to have the pleasure of meeting you again soon," said Lucy Glenfield, as she stepped into her carriage, to which our hero had with tremulous pride handed her, after having been all but asked before he ventured to proffer his arm.

That night he slept but little, and on the following day had many waking dreams. That he was 66 on the wrong side" of thirty he knew; but he felt certain that no one would suppose him to be more than sevenand-twenty, and the lady (he ascertained by the Baronetage) was almost twenty-four. So he took to" castle-building."

"Will you oblige me by an introduction to your friend?" said Major Glenfield, a few nights after, to a gentleman who had just left our hero, and the request was immediately complied with.

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"I am most happy to make your acquaintance, Mr. Snealy," said the Major, "I wished to express how much obliged I feel for your polite attentions to my sister.”

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Pray, Major, don't mention it," stammered Mr. Sniffton Snealy; " I'm sure no gentleman could-"

"Well, well," observed the Major, "we'll say no more about it. The fact is, that I ought to have been in the way, but they detained me at another party; and-you know how it is-there are always plenty of fellows ready whom nobody knows-it's not every one that I should like to be seen

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with Lucy. We are obliged to be a little particular. Have you seen her to-night?" “I have but just arrived," was the reply. "She dined with the Countess, and came here dressed," said the Major; SO I dare say we shall find her in the farther room. Ugh, that leg of mine! I'm almost as useless as my father, who is laid up with the gout. Will you allow me to make use of your arm?”

Though Mr. Sniffton Snealy was no soldier, he walked far more erect than his companion, till they stood, arm in arm, before the noble lady of the mansion, at whose side sat Lucy Glenfield, who welcomed her brother with an approving smile, and then a slight blush was apparent on her cheek as she bent to his supporter. Poor Mr. Snealy's heart thrilled within him, but he said not a word, simply because he could not.

"Your Ladyship will, I trust, permit me to introduce my particular friend, Mr. Sniffton Snealy?" said the Major.

"Don't trouble yourself," replied the Countess, "Mr. Snealy and I are old acquaintance;" and smiling affably, she held out her hand, and, after a moment's pause, absolutely placed it upon that of our little gentleman, who timidly half extended his digits to receive the overwhelming honour, much in the style he might have done if suspicious that a pair of thumb-screws were concealed beneath the delicate white glove."

"Your Ladyship is very ki-hi-hind,” was all he stammered, but he “looked unutterable things," and it seemed unto him as though there was a whirligig in his head.

"I beg your Grace's pardon," exclaimed Major Glenfield, moving aside, and the next moment our hero found himself shoulder to shoulder, or rather shoulder to elbow, with the young Duke of Bettington, to whom the Countess extended her hand with a languid air, widely different from her recent friendly recognition of her old acquaintance.

"Come and sit here, Charles," said Lucy Glenfield, making room for her brother.

"Not now, my dear," replied the Major, "there are fifty people here whom I want to speak to. I'll come to you p presently; but, in the meanwhile, I'm sure our good friend, Mr. Snealy, will be happy to entertain you."

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