be declared that he was a more skilful artist than his brother.

Instead of wasting his strength at first in violent efforts, he began with remarkable coolness, kept time with the accuracy of an instrument, threw in a surprising and unexpected cut here and there to provoke mirth and keep the game alive, and it was only as each succeeding partner (for he danced down six of them) began to give way that he threw out his vigour and agility. As the dance was drawing to a conclusion his enthusiasm reached the culminating point, and he wound up with an exhibition of frantic energy that produced loud bursts of delight from the spectators, whom he had wrought up to a state of uncontrollable frenzy. Before Teague had finished there was not a brogue in the room that might not have been heard shuffling on the floor.

In the intervals of the dancing, goblets and wooden mugs, charged to the brim with cold punch, were handed round, and the piper, occasionally relieved by the harper, entertained the revellers with some of the plaintive airs of the country. The effect of these pathetic compositions was quite as powerful as that of the riotous jigs; and the audience, who only a moment before had been raised to the top of their animal spirits, were now subdued into silence, and sat listening to the mournful strains with stricken faces and suppressed breath.

Teague, who had not lost sight of the little stratagem he had laid for making a grand illumination down on the rocks in honour of his brother's wedding, took advantage of one of these pauses and stole quietly out of the cottage, leaving the door ajar that he might be able to return without being perceived.

He had not left the house more than a few minutes when the door was slowly moved open, and a stranger, whose person was concealed under a large mantle, advanced into the room. His entrance did not excite much attention at first; but a whisper went round, and in a few minutes all eyes were turned upon him. He stood apart gazing into the group; a slouched hat covered his brows, and threw its broad shadow over the lower part of his face; his glance was quick and intrepid; and he evidently sought out some person, for or against whom he entertained some strong feeling of interest or revenge. There was a profound emotion of some kind visibly labouring in his mind, yet the surface was fixed and resolute.

Nobody present knew him-indeed, if anybody had known him, it would have been difficult to have identified him under the shadow of that huge hat. Great curiosity prevailed amongst them to find out who he could be, and what was his business; but it did not last long; the "barbarous virtue" of hospitality soon swept down all other considerations, and Hugh, as became him, advanced from the side of his bride with a goblet in his hand, and approaching the stranger, bade him welcome. "Welcome, sir," he exclaimed, "whoever you are, welcome to our wedding. It is a rough night out of doors, and you 're welcome to the best we have. I pledge you!" and after putting the goblet to his lips, he handed it to the stranger.

"To the health of the bride," said the stranger, drinking off the contents of the goblet, and directing his eye to where Martha sat, with an expression of mingled sorrow and bitterness. "My service to the bride!" he added, in a tone so husky that it was not easy to determine whether it was choked by suffering or rage.

Martha felt that his eye was upon her. It transfixed her where she

sat. Wonder, consternation, terror, flitted across her face in fluctuating streams of colour which sank as fast as they rose. She grasped the sides of her chair, and leaning forward looked into the face of the stranger, whose eyes never moved from hers. Her eye fell upon his out stretched hand, on one finger of which was a signet-ring. For an instant there was doubt and fear-then conviction-and, as if a paralysis had struck her frame, she fell back without uttering a word.

"She is fainting," cried the stranger, reaching over to her, and, as most of the people thought, very unceremoniously throwing his arm round her to raise her up; but the Irish are a very good-natured people, and are willing to dispense with forms in moments of distress. "She is fainting. Why do you stand looking so helplessly at her," he exclaimed to Hugh; "water, water, man!" and Hugh, perplexed and embarrassed by the suddenness of the scene, rushed out to procure it.

Martha rapidly revived, flurried and bewildered. The stranger raised her to her feet, and as she stood trembling at his side, he placed her head on his shoulder, and murmured in her ear, "Martha-Martha— you know me; Martha-you have not forgotten me !" An agony of tears came to her relief, and she sobbed aloud. "There, there, darling! hush! no tears now;" and then raising his voice, he called to the huddled group who were gazing upon him with intense astonishment, "Air, air, give her air-the heat of the place is too much for her; and then he whispered to her, "On the beach, under the Meeting Rocks, the air is fresh-that will restore you-quick! have no fear-do not look back-I, alone, will follow you!" and so he led her towards the door. "Let her pass, boys-let her pass; see, she is better already -let her pass into the air," and having handed her across the threshold, he suddenly closed the door from within, and placed his back against it.

"Now, then, I'll drink to you. Fill up to the brim, a glass to the health of the bride. He who doesn't drink that toast, why may he never have a bride of his own!"

The guests looked marvellously foolish at this speech, and, there were apparent movements amongst them, as if they thought they ought to do something else under the circumstances than drink the bride's health; but the repeated demands of the stranger, and the tone of determination in which he addressed them, at last produced a clatter of glasses, for they were nothing loth to accept any excuse for a fresh bumper. "You're all strangers to me, and I to you-but I'll drink to our next merry meeting for all that. Now, fill your glasses again, and give us an hurrah! to our next merry meeting!"

The glasses were filled again, and clinked violently in every corner of the room, the blind harper and the little piper especially enjoying their part of the entertainment-but not a word was spoken.

"What! you wont drink my health. Then I suppose you 're tired of my company. That's hard, too, upon a stranger who has travelled a long way on a wet night to see you all. If that's the case, I must leave you as I came, and so my benison upon you!" and turning to open the door with a sudden movement, several of the guests leaped to their feet, and rushed forward with the evident intention of intercepting his retreat.

"Stand back!" he roared in a voice of thunder, and placing his back again against the door, he drew a pistol from his coat which he presented at them. There was a loud shriek amongst the women, and no great

inclination amongst the men to tempt their fate by a closer approach to their desperate antagonist. "Stand back, I tell you. The first man who moves hand or foot to follow me-stand back!-I'll blow his brains out. You understand that language? Give me room-leave my path free" and he opened the door, still presenting the pistol. "I have warned you-and I will do what I say. The first man who stirs out of this door to track my steps, never returns alive!" and then gliding into the darkness, he swiftly closed the door behind him.

VI.

When Terry French (for you know well enough, reader, without being told, that it was the lover of Martha) gained the table-land on the cliffs outside the cottage door, he stood in the shadow for a few seconds to ascertain whether he was pursued, and finding that all was still within the cottage, he looked about for the old track with which he had been familiar many years before, and then flinging himself down by the rocks, he descended from crag to crag, through winding paths, till he reached the strand. A natural cavern flooded by the waters of the bay, formed a shelter for a boat that lay tossing up and down in the darkThe boat was moored to a fragment of rock. It was the work of a moment to loosen the rope, and spring in. A few strokes of the oar carried him up the beach to that point where the Meeting Rocks jutted over the waves. The darkness of the night massed all objects into one vast sheet of gloom; but as Terry neared the rocks, a light figure gradually became visible.

ness.

"Are you alone?" inquired Terry.

"Yes."

"Do not tremble-place your foot upon the oar-and give me your hand." He reached out his hand, and placed an oar from the edge of the boat to the strand. In one moment more the boat was cutting rapidly against the waves.

In the meanwhile the people in the cottage were relieved by the return of Hugh from the discussion of the dilemma which Terry had submitted to their consideration. Upon being informed of what had taken place, which he gathered rather imperfectly from the crude and conflicting statements with which he was stunned on his arrival, his first impulse was to go in quest of Martha, and accordingly, followed by the whole party, he rushed out on the cliffs. Every nook and cranny was explored from the barn to the roof in vain. They stopped and listened at intervals, but could hear nothing except the sullen plashing of the waters, and the distant soughing of the winds. There, collected on the edge of the precipice, peering into the darkness, and hardly daring to breathe to each other the gloomy suspicions that took possession of them, stood the bridegroom and his friends, hoping against hope, and watching for chances that never came.

By the time they were all concentrated on this spot, which looked out over the bay, Teague had succeeded in getting his apparatus ready for firing the heap of combustibles he had prepared half-way down the rocks. On a sudden the whole mass was ignited, and flung its broad red light to a considerable distance over the strand and the waters. Objects, before invisible, now became fitfully apparent; and the gazers on the cliff were enabled to discern a small boat directing its

course across the bay to the opposite coast of Galway. When poor Teague afterwards learned who was in that boat, he was ready to chop off his right hand that set fire to the brands which revealed to his brother the flight of his bride.

The story is a true one-romantic as it may appear. That night Terry and Martha reached Galway in safety, and were married by a priest within a quarter of an hour after they landed. It was no use to dispute the legality of the proceeding, even if the low estate of the chief actors in it had not rendered such a measure impossible. It was a clear case of abduction by consent; and Hugh, who could not bear the spot where he had suffered this grievous humiliation, soon afterwards went out of the country, and left Terry and Martha free to the realization of their dream of early love.

MEMOIRS OF CHATEAUBRIAND.

WRITTEN BY HIMSelf.

"AT Fougères I met with the Marquis de la Rouërie, who was good enough to furnish me with a letter of introduction to General Washington. The marquis, upon whom the name of Colonel Armand had been bestowed by the Americans, had distinguished himself in their great struggle for independence; he afterwards became still more celebrated on account of his mixing himself up in the royalist conspiracy. He was the rival of Lafayette and Lauzun, though he possessed much greater talent than either of them; but he had fought many more duels than the former, and had carried off a great many more actresses from the opera than the latter. His manners were exceedingly elegant, yet he was a fine manly fellow, and very handsome; he resembled strikingly some of the portraits of the young nobles of the League.

When

"On reaching Philadelphia, I found that Washington was not there, and that it would be nearly ten days before he would return. I saw him pass in a carriage and four with outriders, my astonishment was considerable. Washington, according to my ideas, was necessarily a Cincinnatus; now Cincinnatus riding in a carriage rather upset my Roman Republic of the year '96. Was it possible that Washington the president could assume any other character than that of a plain rustic following his plough? When I went to him with my letter of introduction, however, I found all the simplicity of the old Roman. The palace of the President of the United States was only a small house, exactly like those which joined it. There were no guards, not even men-servants, in attendance. The door was opened to me by a young girl, of whom I inquired whether the general was at home, and on her answering in the affirmative, I mentioned that I had a letter which I wished to present to him myself. She asked me for my name, which she found much difficulty in pronouncing, and at length she said very quietly, 'Walk in, sir.' I followed her through one of those narrow passages which are called halls in English houses, and she soon showed me into a parlour, where she begged me to wait while she went to announce me to the general.

"In a few minutes he came into the room. He was very tall, and the expression of his countenance appeared to me cold and stern rather than dignified. I gave him my letter without speaking, and as soon as he had opened it, he turned hastily to the signature, which he read aloud with an exclamation of astonishment, Colonel Armand!' The Marquis de la Rouërie had so signed himself, and Washington always spoke of him by this name. We sat down, and I endeavoured, as far as possible, to explain the object of my voyage to him, he answered me only in French and English monosyllables, and evidently listened to me with considerable astonishment. I soon perceived it, and said to him rather warmly, But it is not so difficult to discover the north-west passage as to form a people such as you have formed.' 'Well, well! young man,' and he held out his hand, and after inviting me to dine with him the next day, we separated.

"I did not fail to keep this engagement. There were only five or six persons at table besides myself, and the conversation turned upon the French Revolution. The general showed us a key which belonged to the Bastille: three years later the President of the United States might have been presented with the bolt which belonged to the prison of the unfortunate monarch who gave liberty to France as well as to America; but if Washington had seen les vainqueurs de la Bastille in the kennels of Paris, he would not have treasured his relic quite so much. I took leave of my host about ten o'clock at night, and I never saw him afterwards: he left the following day, and I too set out on my journey. I travelled in a kind of stage-coach from Philadelphia to New York, a very gay city, which carried on considerable commerce and contained a large population, but which was probably very different to what it is likely to become in a few years, for the United States increase much more rapidly than my memoirs. I made a pilgrimage to Boston, in order to gaze upon the field where the first battle for American liberty was fought. I beheld the fields of Lexington, and sought, as afterwards in Sparta, for the graves of those warriors who died in obeying the sacred laws of their country.' From New York I took the steamer to Albany. On my arrival, I went immediately to a Mr. Swift, to whom I had a letter of introduction. This Mr. Swift traded in furs with those Indian tribes which were included in the territory which England had made over to the United States: for in America both the republican and monarchical civilized powers share without the least ceremony those territories to which they have no manner of claim.

"After Mr. Swift had listened calmly to my plan, he pointed out to me some very reasonable difficulties which there would be in carrying it out. In the first place, he explained to me that it would be quite impossible for me to undertake a scheme of so much importance alone, unsupported by any authority, without even having been recommended to the English, American, and Spanish stations through which I should be compelled to pass; so that, perhaps, after I had successfully journeyed through many vast wildernesses, I should at length come upon frozen regions, and very likely perish with cold and hunger. He advised me first to accustom myself to the climate, and persuaded me to learn the various Indian dialects of the Sioux, the Iroquois, and the Esquimaux, to live among the hunters of the prairies, and with the agents of the Hudson Bay Company. He observed that after I had gained some necessary experience, and made myself acquainted with some few details, I could then, very probably, in about four or