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THE L1DRAKY









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LONDON:
LONGMAN, BROWN, GREEN, AND LONGMANS.
MDCCCXtVIII-


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LONDON:
COOK AND CO., PRINTERS, 76, FLEET STREET.
-A




INTRODUCTION.
ow fertile of Thought are the Fairy
Legends of Ireland; full of natural
poetry, and seldom without a moral!
That upon which this Tale is founded
is, I believe, common to all parts
of the Island; although I have,
perhaps, committed a practical ana-
chronism in bringing 'the Kelpies'
of the North into the South.
It is believed that a child
whose father has died before its
birth is placed by Nature under
the peculiar guardianship of the
Fairies; and that, if born on
Midsummer Eve, it becomes
their rightful property.
This introduction will suffice
to explain the machinery by
which I have endeavoured to trace the progress of a young
K
e
#^
64C975


INTRODUCTION.
girl's mind from infancy to womanhood; the Good and Evil
Influences to which it is subjected; and the Trials inseparable
from a contest with the World.
I express my earnest thanks for the powerful assistance my
story has received from many distinguished Artists; to whose
genius I am largely indebted for the effective manner in which
it is placed before the Public.
Since its appearance in detached parts, in "The Art-
Union Journal"—I have carefully revised it; the addition of
several new and more important engravings will, I trust, give to
the Tale an increased interest and value, and justify its publica-
tion in a more complete form than it could receive in the
pages of a Periodical Work.
A. M. H.
The Ro8ery,
Old Bbompton.



D. Maclibe, R.A. . . . Frontispiece to Part VI.
C. Stanfield, R.A. . . . Frontispiece to Part IX.
T. Creswick, A.R.A. . . Frontispiece to Part VIII.
E. M. Ward, A.R.A. . . Pages 173, 239.
A. Elmore, A.R.A. . . . Page 202.
W. E. Frost, A.R.A. . Frontispiece to Part II.
J. Noel Paton, R. S. A. . Pages 1, 2, 3, 5, 7, 9, 10, 11, 15, 17, 19, 20,21,
23, 25, 36, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 46, 48, 58,
65, 71, 72, 86, 89, 96, 107, 150, 151, 155,
162, 207, and Frontispieces to Part V.,
X., and XI.
Frederick Goodall . . Pages 88, 91, 113, 119, 161, 178, 195, 196, 204,
255, 256, 263.
Thomas Landseer . . . Page 92, 133, 222.
E. H. Wehnert . . . Frontispiece to Part III.
R. Huskisson Pages 84, 103, 115, 159, 197, 203, 249, 254, and
Frontispieces to Parts I. and VII.
F. W. Topham .... Pages 62, 146, 209.
Kenny Meadows . . . Pages 1, 24, 25, 60, 51, 58, 60, 67, 76, 77,
81, 104, 106, 126, 152, 153, 167, 176,
177, 189, 198, 199, 224, 225, 250, 261,
252, 259, 270.
'


ILLUSTRATIONS.
F. W. Fairholt .... Pages 25, 59, 114, 184; Frontispiece to the Volume.
J. Franklin Pages 33, 34, 55, 73, 82, 106, 108, 112, 139, 165.
J. H. Weir Pages 85, 98, 144, 164, 194, 205, 243, 244.
F. W. Hulme Pages 4, 8, 12, 16, 18, 26, 27, 31, 44, 47, 52, 57,
63, 69, 79, 87, 97, 101, 121, 122, 127,128,
129, 147, 154, 158, 160, 166, 167, 179,
180, 183, 187, 188, 191, 193, 200, 206,
214, 215, 220, 228, 230, 257, 267, and
Frontispiece to Part IV.
J. Lecurieux The Title Page.
The Engravings by W. T. Green, G. and E. Dalziel, J. Bastin, J. Williams,
H. Linton, G. Measom, \V. Measom, A. J. Mason, &c. &c.
The Initial Letters Designed by T. R. Macquoid.
The Cover Designed by J. Marchant.
The Volume Bound by Bone and Son.






Dra-m by H. HuekieBtm.
Engraved by W. T. Gre«n.
THE MOTHER'S BLESSING.



PART THE FIRST.
T was as bleak and chill a Midsummer
Eve as the oldest dweller in the Lake-
country of KlLLARNEY COuld call tO
mind. The wind, although it did not
absolutely roar through the Gap of Dunloe,
or round and about the Purple Mountain,
and 'lofty Mangerton of the Hoary Head,' disturbed
by its harsh murmurings and audible discontent
the young trees and lowly shrubs that grow beneath
the shadows of the evergreen woods. All know that
$ unearthly spirits hold their revels on Midsummer Eve;
it is their fete-night: when they show the elements, of
the past and future, that a power mightier than theirs
can rule them. The wind knew this well; yet, on this
evening, was neither entirely submissive nor absolutely rebel-
lious. At times, it started from its dull quiet and prowled
abroad; fretting everything it touched; shaking the light branches of the
silver birch and drooping willow, ruffling the narrow forms of the slim
laburnum, wrestling roughly with the stout holly, and scattering the deli-
cate arbutus, whose leaves, fruit, and flowers are as fair and bright amid
December's snow, as in the sunshine of July. The wind was not only out


MIDSUMMER EVE:
of season, but unnatural; it brought the chill of winter into the very midst
of summer. It was, in truth, a sharp-toothed and biting wind; forcing
its way into ill-built cottages—through broken windows and shrunken doors,
where poverty sought warmth from peat-smoke rather than fire; piercing
through every hole in the torn blanket or tattered cloak; whistling in
bitter mockery of the poor man's moan; stirring the flax upon the rock
which the feeble fingers of age, or the firmer ones of youth, twisted into

threads; causing the lamb to nestle closely into its mother's wool, and the
foolish calf to low complainingly at its chilling howl, as it passed through
the half-roofless out-house. Anon, it pelted the ivyed ruins of old Mucross,
terrifying the very owls, who hooted it onwards, without stirring from their
hermit-cells ; and scourged the angry bats who ventured forth on their wonted
errands. The Beings who held sway over earth that night were so bent on
mischief that they exerted their utmost skill to rouse the Storm Kino from


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVF..
uneasy repose, as he pillowed his head beside the Daemon punch-bowl—
set like the eye of a cyclops in the rough brow of Mangerton; but the old
fellow wh6 was still too wearied by the exertions of the long past winter
to attend their summons, grumbled his displeasure in a tone which the
echoes of Glena repeated in thunder. Compelled to be content with the
efforts of his sharp and bitter satellite, they sought, so aided, to accomplish
great things before the last hour of midnight—scudding with it bravely and
boldly through the open country : at length it grew conscious of-impotence,
and retreated to narrow defiles and crowded inclosures—like those who,
lacking power to disturb the world, delight in the minor evils of inflicting
misery in their neighbourhoods and homes; but when, after ruffling the

waters of the Flesk, it sprang upon the bridge of many arches, it gave a
wild howl of delight to see old Doctor Magrath bowed to the neck of
his grey pony. "At him—at him—keep him back—keep him back,"
muttered a thousand voices to the wind; and surely there must have been
some mysterious understanding between them, for right glad did it seem of
encouragement to worry the old man, as he had never before been worried;
his hat and wig flew over the bridge, and his poor bare head was buffeted
as by a forest of shillelas; but while he moaned and murmured at the
rough handling of the elements, two stout fellows followed to see that he
neither tarried nor turned back; and who, having neither hat nor wig to


6 MIDSUMMER EVE:
Lower Lake—except on their own 'Eve,' that they may have a chance
of adopting some new-born child of earth into their community—a chance
which seldom becomes a reality—although it is theirs by royal charter—
the charter of the Prince O'Donoghue, lord of a thousand palaces that lie
fathoms deep beneath the surface of Loch Lene. Kitty's grandmother
had seen the Kelpie Queen in all her magnificence, arise on one of these
festive occasions, from her water-palace, on the back of a huge frog, who
seemed proud of his burden, and carried her with the air and bearing of
a race-horse, while her dark air streamed on either side her sallow face,
and her attendant court were endeavouring to press into their service
everything they could take—from a tadpole to a water-rat; she had often
recounted this to Kitty, in her childhood; and Kitty, even at that early
period, affected to doubt a tale, which, despite her seeming, crept through
her bones, and made her very heart freeze within her bosom. She would
now have given all she possessed in the world, to have had any one with
her beside her sick lady; she started at every noise.
A certain wise man—known as Randy the Woodcutter—had been
sent off for the Doctor; and while she waited his return, she had,
she thought, frequently heard him 'whisperin and cosherin at the door ;'
and yet he came not. At length, however, his well-known step was
distinctly audible.
"Is all right, Randy ?" she asked, from within.
"All will be right when I knock," he answered, "and then open
quickly."
"Is he on the road?" inquired the Nurse, heedless of the warning;
but before he could reply, a sharp blast rushed inward, and extinguished
the flickering light of the lean candle she held with a trembling hand.
"A cross and a blessing about us, Kitty Kelly!" exclaimed Randy,
falling on his knees. "God, he knows I couldn't help it. Why did
you open the door before I knocked? I done all for the best, as the
end will prove. Oh, murther! Why don't you shut the door, instead
of standing there like a rock in the lake — there's something more
than the wind pass'd in now!—bless yourself, woman, dear! Oh, then,
sure it's impossible to tell what would be on the wings of the wind this
Midsummer Eve!"


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.

"Nothing worse than yourself," stammered the Nurse, bravely,
though she perceived, at once, that the horse shoe was gone, and even
fancied she saw 'something' flying off
with it. Turning eagerly to Randy,
who, pale and shivering, was gazing on
the kitchen rafters — "Is the doctor
coming!" she exclaimed.
"'Deed is he; and for fear he'd stop
or turn back from his duty, on account
of the hardness of the night, I set my
two cousins to keep the road after him.
He'll be here soon. Oh, sure it was only my duty I did, madam."
"Is the man mad to madam me!" exclaimed Kitty. "Stand on yer
legs, and shut the door, and put the chair against it, and don't keep
staring and bowing to the rafters; dear me, but it is a blast; and I didn't
think there was more than a whisper going."
"Kitty Kelly, you're not altogether of this country," exclaimed Randy,
in a low tone: "you've only been two hundred years in it—for you came
in with ould Oliver Crommell; so give way to your prayers—it's no wind
that we're trembling in: of the three we're watching, one came in with
me—the mistress will thank me for that; there was a second—and there
will be a third. You may strive against them; I dare not!"
"I dare!" replied Kitty, whose courage had in part returned—and
then she started, for she fancied she heard shouts of ironical laughter;
but, little daunted, she attempted to close the door violently. In this,
however, she did not succeed; the wind pushed against her, and not only
had the best of it, but flung her to the other end of the kitchen.
"Make the blessed sign," said Randy, yet without moving to her
assistance.
"I can't," she replied; "my hand's weighed down by a ton weight."
She had hardly uttered the words, when a gust of wind, freighted with most
extraordinary noises—sighs, and snatches of music, atoms of laughter,
and fragments of old songs, mingled with the sound of rushing waters—
entered the cottage, and filled it as with an atmosphere.
'"It will shut asy enough now," observed the Woodcutter, rising from


MIDSUMMER EVE:
his knees, and wiping his brow. "Air, Earth, and Water! Oh, I'm
not afraid to say my say about the good people, day or night; they
never did me an ill-turn, and never will; quiet, and kindly, and good
they are, and mane nothing but good to the dear lady ;" and his huge
head nodded, and his long limbs bent and twisted, in a peculiar sort of
homage to something invisible to all eyes but his own. The Nurse
thought it probable that Randy made the speech and performed his
gesticulations, in the hope of propitiating the good offices of the company
whom she now knew had come to the birth. It was currently believed
that he could see and understand more than beseemed an honest man;
and yet Randy was an honest man, and had the unbought happiness of
being more loved than feared. Still, the all-powerful 'they,' whispered
he, was a 'fairy man;' and, as such, he was consulted by many who
would scruple to confess they
had any faith or trust in the
existence of the 'good people.'
This opinion had strengthened
wonderfully during the last few
months; indeed, ever since the
young widow had given promise
that the child of a dead father
was to visit a care-full world, his
hours had been spent, even more
than usual, beside the Fairies'
Oak—a withered and time hol-
lowed tree, which hung its decayed
branches over the sedges that
skirted the base of the far-famed
'Eagle's Nest' (the most won-
derful of the lake's many won-
ders); and he had been more than
ever attentive to keep free from
pebbles and worm-heaps, 'the
ring,' which tradition and his own
knowledge assigned as the favourite trysting-place of the 'good people.'


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
The door was now easily closed, and the candle relit at the kitchen
fire; the Woodcutter threw upon it an additional heap of bog-fir: the old
cat's hair stood out like porcupines' quills; every now and then she
opened her mouth to hiss, but closed it again without a sound ; she would
lift a paw, and stretch it forth, bristling with claws—then draw it back
again, each claw returning to its downy sheath.
"Sit down, Randy, and don't be showldering the chimney, as if
there wasn't a chair in the place," said the Nurse, through her chattering
teeth.
"I know better manners than to disturb any one from their sate," he
answered, bowing round, respectfully.
The Nurse crossed herself with the thumb of her right hand, and
retreated to the bed-room of her mistress. The fire burned brightly—yet
the cat took no pleasure in its blaze, but kept moving, uneasily, from one
side to the other,—' wrinkling' up
her coat, as if water had been thrown
upon it — her tail twitching and
bristling in restless discomfort.
"It's hard on you, pusheen gra!"
said Randy, addressing the cat; "but
you can't help yourself. They'll
neither hurt nor harm you, pusheen."
"They've got possession now, and
they'll keep it," he thought to
himself.
"They will!" whispered a soft voice
in his ear.
Randy caught hold of the fore-lock of his hair, pulled it, and jerked
his head rapidly forward. "And for good," he said aloud, wishing to
compliment Nightstar, the Queen of the Fairies of the Air,
whose voice he knew, and whom he had often seen descend to earth with
her train of attendants shining in the distance, like a silver halo in the
moonlight.
And many a time, in the cool of a Midsummer night, when the
grateful flowers drank in refreshing dews poured into their bosoms by


10
MIDSUMMER EVE:

considerate clouds, had he seen
HONEYBELL, QuEEN OF Earth's
Faires, pass on her favourite hum-
ble-bee, whose flight was guided by
her page; while Nightstar descended
with her train of attendant sprites,
simply by the action of her own will. "And
for good!" he repeated.
Don't speak," replied the fairy, in a dignified tone; "there is no
necessity; we see your thoughts as they are formed,
and notice them if we please."
"The dickens a doubt I doubt ye," thought the
Woodcutter; for, despite his caution, thoughts
would come.
"Now, don't swear, Randy; it's vulgar."
The Woodcutter could not prevent himself from
thinking an earnest prayer, that power might not
be given them to change the child, at its birth, for
one of their c wn.
"And why not?" was the inquiry, in a low and gentle
tone—the very shadow of a sound. "Why not 1 Are
your world's children so free from care, and all the
sorrows and troubles of life—that tug at your hearts,
furrow your brows, weigh you down before your time—
spectres leading you to graves—are they so very happy,
that you do not wish them to be with us, who, you know,
spend our lives in enjoyment?"
"From sunset to sunrise," thought Randy, "no mortal
ever knew what you do be doing when the sun shines."
"Even so," replied Nightstar, whom, on turning round,
he saw seated in the very centre of a cobweb, while


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE. 11
her page was engaged in combat with the dispossessed spider, who,
dangling by his thread, endeavoured to defend himself against the well-
poised spear of the active elf. "From sunset to sunrise," she repeated,
rocking herself backward and forward on her seat; "even so; and surely
that is better than spending it as you and the rest of you spend it—in
heavy sleep or midnight brawling."
"You never could lay that last to me, or to any of the Kerry boys,"
replied Randy, speaking out boldly; for he believed Ireland the finest
country in the world, and Killarney the greenest spot in the Emerald Isle.
He had no sooner spoken than he heard a loud clapping of hands, and
little cries of "Bravo!" and, fully aware of the
compliment, he gave another pull at his head-tuft,
and, to his great astonishment, found, on opening
it, that he had caught a fairy in his hand.
"Why didn't you hold me when you had me,"
exclaimed the creature, springing on a moonbeam
that had just entered the window; "and then I
would have told you of hidden treasure, as well as
the Leprehawn you are so fond of hunting."
"Sure, it's not misdoubting your honour's generosity I'd be," replied
the Woodcutter. "You can give me the information, or the gould, which
ever your honour plases, all the same;" and then there were shouts of
merry laughter; and it seemed to the enlightened eyes of the bewildered
man, that a multitude of the fairies of the three elements completely
occupied the kitchen—twirling round the rafters, and filling every crevice
and corner—some even clinging to the feathers of the cock's tail. The
earthly good people were far more slow and heavy in their movements
than those who appertained to the purer element; they ate and drank
whatever they could find, and fought sham fights with each other—and
real ones with the Kelpies or water fairies. The Woodcutter's unsealed
eyes had no difficulty in distinguishing the three distinct races, who had
attended their liege ladies to be present at the birth of the fatherless, on
Midsummer Eve: he knew that the change of the earthly for the unearthly
child, would belong of right to whichever of the three had first entered
the house, and he congratulated himself on having so managed that


12
MIDSUMMER EVE:
Nightstar and her court had been the earliest arrivals. Honeybell, Queen
of the Earthly Spirits, would, he thought, yield honourably to the claims
of her royal sister; but he had no such faith in the Queen of the Kelpies.
She was a yellow, damp, distorted, little creature, who diverted herself in
a huge tub, by causing the elves who make up, what may be called 'the
people' of the other tribes, to be ducked whenever they were caught by
her frog-like subjects. Randy had his own purposes to work out, and he
dreaded the Kelpies' influence: his mind filled with hope when he
contemplated the gentle dignity and kindly expression of Nightstar, her
attendants floating around her with ineffable grace—many of them perfectly
transparent, their bosoms illumined from within, by a little spark of light
like that which flashes from a diamond. He looked upon the Queen
reclining on the cobweb with as much ease as an Eastern lady in a palan-
quin, and having attracted her attention by what he intended to be a gentle
sigh, but which shook the web, so that her majesty caught hold of the
banner of her standard-bearer for support, he composed his thoughts.
"You might have conveyed to us your desire to think, without blowing
a hurricane," said Nightstar; "but you mortals are so very boisterous.
Yet I must forgive you, Randy; you are an honest fellow, and I don't
think I ever yet found a black ugly thought at nurse in your mind: evil
gets there, to be sure, sometimes; but it does not stay; it meets
with no entertainment; you are an innocent soul, Randy, and we love
you much; otherwise, we should have granted you no such royal
privileges as you possess. You have a great regard for this poor
lady, I know: she will have a daughter, I can tell you that. And
now what is to be
done with the little
maid who is to be with
us in a few minutes?"
"She'll come to the

from her father's grave,'
poor mother, plase
your gracious majesty,
like a beautiful sum-
mer butterfly rising
thought the Woodcutter.


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE. 13
The Queen nodded twice, and smiled. "If she is not very, very
pretty, Randy, I think I shall give her up to my royal sister, Honeybell."
"You're a mother, yourself, I'll go bail, my lady," thought Randy,
"though you are so very small and young."
"Oh, yes! I was a mother more than two hundred years ago,"
answered the Queen.
"What a little darling of a beauty she is," thought the Woodcutter, and
the fairy smiled her pleasure at the compliment. "And looks as fresh as
the first drop of May-dew," so ran his thoughts. The fairy smiled againi
and drew herself up with gentle pride. "She's every inch a queen,"
thought Randy, as her own particular court gathered about her. "If she
was six feet high in her stocking vamps, she could not be more stately."
Queen Nightstar had certainly much of mortal woman about her; she was
lovely—witty—kind—and generous; but very, very small—even for a
fairy; and yet the little creature prided herself upon her stateliness, upon
her dignity, and queenly presence. She had never been so well pleased
with Randy, though she had patronised him for years; she had hitherto
thought him a good-natured creature; now, she fancied him endowed with
exceeding penetration. "You're mighty fond of the young prences and
prencesses, I'll go bail," thought Randy.
"I am, of course," she replied.
"Might I make bould to ask how many your majesty has?"
"About three dozen," was the gracious reply.
"And you couldn't fix upon one you'd like to part with?"
"Part with!" she exclaimed—" I would yield my life rather than one
of my children! Man—man—do you think I could have a choice !—My
dear, dear children!—a mother's heart is large enough for all. I could
love ten times as many, and yet one does not rob another of a hair's
breadth of love."
"Why, then, if you are so fond of the whole three dozen, won't
you allow that it's hard to take an only child from its mother—and she
a widow?"
"You are very provoking, Randy," said her majesty, in answer to his
thoughts—" and cunning in reasoning; but we merely exchange—we leave
her one of ours."


14 MIDSUMMEK EVE:
"One of the ne'er-do-wells—that she'll see pine and die (to all
appearance) before her eyes, at the end of three months: the grass isn't
green yet over poor Mary Mackay, who fretted the life out of herself, after
one of your changelings."
"Not one of mine—one of Honeybell's," replied Nightstar, thought-
fully.
"The baby will be all in the world left to comfort her; and sure
there's plenty of children born in Killarney this holy night, by twos and
threes—not wanted; where there's no house to hold, nor clothes to cover
them: wouldn't one of them do for you?"
"I don't like low-born children," answered Nightstar, with a toss of
her lovely little head.
"The highest born may have the lowest bed, when all is over; any
way, your majesty could make them what you plase; and it's yourself
that knows that many a fine brave spirit rises from under the cabin
roof; but no matter what they are; you could give them the gifts that
would make them great people—and beautiful women, like yourself—
my lady!"
"I'm sure I don't want to take the mortal's only little one, if she thinks
so much about it: no doubt she will be very fond of it," sighed the
Queen. "Honeybell is in such a sweet temper—so well-pleased with the
cream and cakes, that she would, I daresay, instead of changing the child,
help me to endow it. But there are the Kelpies; and you know their
Queen is no friend of ours. Air has the first right of choice, Earth the
second, and Water the third. She won't give it up, I am certain, even if
Honeybell did."
A sudden thought crossed Randy's brain.
"I see, I see!—do it, do it," continued Nightstar, as rapidly as the
thought was formed in Randy's mind; and, suddenly turning round, she
addressed an observation to one of her courtiers, while the Woodcutter
seized a little platter of blessed salt, and tossed it into the tub where the
Kelpies were sporting. It was quickly and cleverly done; instantly the
hands of Randy hung as awkwardly as usual by his sides; but great was
the consternation that followed; such splashing of water and whistling
of wind: the Kelpies rushed out of the house in the wake of their


A FAIRY TALK OF LOVE.
15
insulted Queen, threatening revenge on the fairies of earth, by whom
they imagined the trick had
been played them. Randy
quickly shut-to the door, and
could not help admiring the
dignified self - possession of
Nightstar, who called to Honey-
bell that the time was come.
Immediately the court attend-
ants prepared to follow their
royal mistresses, but Nightstar
expressed a wish that they
should ENTER THE CHAMBER
alone; and it was a beautiful
sight to see them floating on-
ward, Honeybell holding in her
hand her sceptre of fairy fox-
glove, and wearing a necklace
of diamonds that circled her
throat with a wreath of light;
eclipsed, however, by the star
that glittered above the head of her sister queen. They moved on, hand-
in-hand to the birth-chamber; while poor Randy, bewildered by the
perfume of dews and flowers, and the gentle music, that whispered all
around him, sunk upon his knees.
"Remember, gracious Queen," he thought; "remember, every crow
thinks its own bird the whitest." In a little time, a low wail and bitter
cry told him that a struggle had commenced between a living spirit and a
bitter world.
His entreaty, addressed to the Fairies, did not, however, content the
Woodcutter; the attitude he had assumed suggested another — a higher
and holier petition; he prayed with all the fervency of his warm and
honest heart, that the dear young lady might be saved in her hour of
trial, and that her baby might be spared to her, to be the blessing and
the hope of after years. Prayer gives strength to the feeble and invi-


16
MIDSUMMER EVE!
gorates the strong. He arose much comforted, and looked round with
a smile of satisfaction upon the tiny court, who, freed from the restraint
which the august presence of their
Queens imposed, unbent their spirits,
and played such-madcap pranks, that
Randy could not but feel his freedom
of sight a rare privilege; it amused
him greatly to contrast the buoyant
and thoughtless energy and activity of
the younger members of the two regal
courts, with the bearing, impressive
even to solemnity, of the high official
personages who, upon occasions such
as this, were always in close attend-
ance upon their sovereigns. Randy
watched them with more than com-
mon interest, for he knew they would
soon be summoned to council. This
man, though cast in so rough a mould,
was gentle and gracious in heart and
mind. He had been known for years
to the good people, and they delighted
to do him kindnesses. They led
him to where the red deer shed
their horns—and brought him the
richest and earliest of the Wood
Strawberries. When the sky looked
blue above, and the summer breath
stirred the trees — so that all said, 'the fair weather is with us now;'
they showed him where the little cloud was rising, herald of the Storm
King; they taught him to dye wood, so that common fir could not be
known from the arbutus or the charmed yew, so prized by strangers;
they gave him knowledge of the virtues which dwell in herbs and flowers
— of palmistry — of murrain stones and fairy strokes — and filled his
mind with fables and old tales. Had he lived in earlier times, Randy


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
17
would have suffered wizard's martyrdom. As it was, he was as often
called 'Randy, the Fairy Man,' as 'Randy, the Woodcutter,'—and he
had certainly imbibed some of the spirit-feeling with the spirit-repute:
he was keenly alive to the beauties of Nature; heard sweet music in the
murmurs of brooks, and tuneful melodies from the leaves of trees. He
could tell, it was said, what the south breeze whispered to the west, and
gather the birds of the air around him—be they ever so wild. He wore a
four-leaved shamrock in his bosom, and a wreath of mountain-ash circled
his conical hat. The wildest deer on Glena would neither harm him, nor
fly from him. Whenever he passed through a village, or rested himself

beneath a tree, children would crowd about him; and if he gave them
but the blossom of a daisy, they would think themselves happy. His


18 MIDSUMMER EVE:
only enemies were the eagles; the echo of their screams, or the shadow of
their wings, were the only natural sights or sounds that damped his spirits.
His haunts were the ancient hollow oak and the green grass slopes whereon
grew the foxglove—flower chiefest in favour with the Beings of whom
Randy did not scruple to own himself the faithful and fond ally.

He would have enjoyed the pranks and oddities of the fairy tribes
much longer, but that his attention was aroused by a smart tap on the cheek
from the wand of the chancellor. "I am commanded by his lordship,"
said a dapper little official, his secretary, in a dark cobweb robe, and a
wig composed of the down of the wild rush, "to tell you to do something
rational for his amusement; we have taken much pains with your
education, Randy," he added, "and would fain see its fruits."
"Would his honour like a story grave or gay—of his own, or of our
people?" Having obtained leave to use his own discretion, Randy
bethought him once or twice, and then, with a low bow to the great
dignitary of fairy-land, he said:—" Flowers, my lord, are very beautiful
to look at, and very sweet to smell; but if you were much among the
tip-tops of the family, you would be surprised at the odd ways some of
them have, and the airs they give themselves. Well, those I am talking
about had been used to a deal of tenderness, and were brought up under
the warm shade of a fine glass-house; and the beautiful lady that tended
them said, one day, 'The roses in the flower-knot last twice as long, and
are much sweeter.' Well! yer Honour never heard anything like the
rustling of leaves the flowers got on with, when they understood what the
lady said; being brought up lonely and grand, and looking out on the


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE. 19

world through glass windows, they thought everything in a garden must be
low and common. Yer Honour, they looked down on the flowers of the
garden, just as much, or may be more, than the flowers of the garden look
down on the flowers of the field—instead of looking up to the Great
Cause of all the sweetness and
beauty they possess — who knows
that if fine flowers are the most
admired, the flowers of the field
make glad the hearts of the greatest
number of innocent children, who
enjoy a heaven of happiness in
gathering the cowslip, the wild violet,
and the star-eyed daisy: to say
nothing, yer Honour, of the favour your people show—in preference to
all the flowers that ever grew in a garden—for the banks of thyme, the
blue-bells, the silver cuckoo blossom, and the purple foxglove."
This procured Randy a round of applause.
"To go back, my lord, to the pampered flowers; some change of
fortune coming on the lady, she was obliged to leave her palace of a house,
and take shelter beneath the roof of a cottage—' There's some of my dear
flowers,' said the sweet lady, 'able to bear removal as well as myself, and
who knows but we may be all the stronger and better for it; I hope we
are not too far gone in luxury to prevent our enjoying comfort.' So she
placed them in her cottage-garden; her favourite white rose folded the
protecting moss closely over her bosom, lest she should catch cold, and—a
—I forget the name of it—shut itself as safe up in its leaves as if it was
going a journey of a thousand miles; and looked with a wave of contempt
upon the manner in which the garden flowers strove, out of civility, to
make room for it; while one or two grave blossoms—of the sage class—
knew they should get stronger and better from being in the fresh pure air
of heaven, and admitted that their new neighbour—the rose of the garden
—was in every respect as much the lady as the rose of the glass-house;
in the morning, the garden rose unfolded to welcome the sun, and
to hear the early hymn of the birds, and to see how her buds were
growing; and as the dew-drops, one by one, ascended to the clouds that
y


20
MIDSUMMER EVE:
had left them during night, for her refreshment, she perfumed them for
their journey, and graciously thanked them for their care: but the
pampered flowers bent beneath the dew, and complained of the damp and
chill; and the delicate rose said that her dress was tossicated, and shook
off the dew-drops so roughly in her pet, that the tender things broke into
atoms, and the proud flower desired they should visit her no more, as she
was too high-born to be treated like a common flower; and needed
no help from common things; what was a refreshing blessing to others,
her refined ignorance—"
"She should have learned of us," interrupted the chancellor: "we
know how to bring refreshment to, and
take refreshment from, every flower that
grows in garden or in field: they are our
drinking cups, a thousand times richer than
the things made of the world's dross, which
you earth-worms call 'precious gems.'
Your rose should have learned of us."
"She learned of Nature, my lord, at
last," continued Randy, "for the next
V-rv\ night not a sparkle from any cloud
visited her leaves, and she saw the
fleecy moisture enveloping the other flowers,
and felt that the Nature she had scorned,
was comforting her children, and whispering to them to
be of good cheer, for that next year their blossoms should
be fairer and wax stronger: and the gentle loving dews
clustered upon the buds and leaflets; and at last, as morning
drew near, a sharp dry air made the most impertinent
inquiries concerning her quarrel with the dew-drops, and
whistled spitefully in her face, and ruffled her leaves, so
that, the next day, the hot sunbeams entered into her heart;
and in the deepest humility she petitioned to be treated as a common
flower, convinced that—"
The moral of Randy's tale was scared from his lips by a message
from Queen Nightstar to the chancellor, and by the noise made by


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
21
Honeybell's page in rousing his lordship from the heavy slumber into
which he had fallen.
"Keep up, mistress," said the Nurse to the widowed mother:
"The jewel it is! — so like it's father. A girl's born lucky that's
like it's father! What do you say ?—' it has no father V It has two,
lady dear: one in heaven, and one over—about—around us all!—the very
King of Heaven is the Father of the earthly fatherless!—may He mark
it to grace! Think of the comfort she'll be to you—to be your own;
the weight of the world isn't half weight to the young mother who
looks at her dawshy babby. 'You want to see it 1' I'm sure you do;
but wait till Nurse puts on its pretty cap, and makes it sit up like a
lady. I tell you, dear, it's the very moral of its father."
"His child!—his child!—his own child! To smile like him—to
speak like him! Are you sure, Nurse, nothing will happen it—nothing
take it from me? I have a strange feeling, as if my child were in
danger. But what danger ? — there is
nothing could have the heart to take
my baby from its lone mother."
Randy felt the tears gathering in his
eyes, but they were quickly changed to
tears of joy—for he saw the writhing,
misshapen shadow, that was to have
been substituted for Geraldine's infant,
forced by a number of the attendants
to leave the cottage. He then thought
he would peep into the interior. There was no doubt about it; Queen
Honeybell looked sulky; but the lamp in Nightstar's bosom shone more
brightly than ever, and her words fell on his ear more full of music
than the robin's winter song.
"Let us endow her for the world, and against the world; it is some
time since we have permitted the child of our choice to remain exposed
to the temptations and imperfections of mortality: let us guard her,
and yet leave her with her mother." What music and tenderness
were in Nightstar's words, as she continued—" I am looking at this
moment into that young mother's heart: I see how new feelings stimulate


MIDSUMMER EVE:
its pulsations: I see it expanding — welling forth its very essence into
the new life which, though mysteriously parted from it, is dearer to it
than ever; there is a whole universe of love—pure, unselfish, spotless
love—love without limit, boundless as ocean, and deeper than its deepest
caves — in that sweet mother's heart, towards the little lump of half-
animated clay that is her child. Oh, sister! if it were given you to
see the future that whirls through her brain! The great Power of all
has poured into her a new nature—a stronger motive and firmer prin-
ciple of life: her very heart is enlarged.
"A child deprived of its father, and born on Midsummer Eve, is by
right our own," said Honeybell, pouting; but you have always some
whimsey in your head about these creatures of earth. I do not envy you
your power of seeing thoughts and hearts, believe me!"
"Let it be ours," persisted Nightstar; "let us pour into its heart and
mind whatever of good we can; but let us not take it from its mother."
The Queen of Earth's fairies bent her head in no very cordial acqui-
escence; and the aerial troop, seeing that their Queen had vanquished,
were mightily pleased thereat, and played sundry fantastic tricks; now
opening the baby's sleepy eyes, to ascertain their colour, sleeking its small
quantity of downy mole-like hair with their tiny hands, endeavouring to
straighten its little wrinkled fingers, and sadly retarding the Nurse in its
adornment, by untying the strings as fast as she tied them.
"Sister," persisted Nightstar, "help me to endow my favourite."
"We never agree on educational matters," answered Honeybell:
"you are too ideal for me—better have her all to yourself."
"You do yourself injustice, sister. Let us wave our wands, and
show the young mother, as in a dream, what may be the future qualities
of her soul's idol: let us bestow on the fairest of earth's blossoms the
most precious of all gifts that woman can receive or bestow: let us gift
her with Love."
"Love! rubbish!" answered Honeybell, pettishly—" the source of
woman's misery."
"And happiness!"
"I would gift her with beauty, wealth, and spirit; the world's trea-
sures: that she may subdue the world."


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
23
"Let her mother determine," said Nightstar; "let her mother
determine. Do you offer your gifts, and I will offer mine!"
The pallid mother trembled in every limb while the Queens performed
their spells above her couch. At first, her vision was perplexed: she saw,
floating around her, those animated atoms of the mysterious world that
have so much power over our destinies—without recognising what or who
they were. At length she singled out the two Queens—Nightstar, as a
living thing of light—Honeybell, as only a creature, beautiful and minute.
The Nurse saw that Geraldine's eyes were fixed, and that she seemed
entranced; this, she fancied, was but a wile to get her to take her eyes off
the child. Presently, her lady's lips moved, and she spoke softly and
slowly, as if she were replying to certain questions, which the Nurse did
not hear. "Whatever will give her most happiness, and make her most
beloved—no woman was ever happy who was not beloved," she said.
There was a pause after she had spoken these disjointed words; and the
Nurse observed that her soft eyes wandered first to one side, then to
another. She tried to call Randy, but her tongue refused its office;

she clutched the infant firmly in her arms, and kept her eye steadily
upon it. Again words came faint and wearily from the mother's lips.
"Thank you, thank you — if you cannot prevent the world from
assailing her — it is well to teach her to endure — we must all do


24
MIDSUMMER EVE:
that—the more love, the more endurance—riches, honours, and beauty,
are fine things — but Love is the perfume of life!" There was
another pause, and the young mother's eyes were illumined by an
expression of tenderness, resignation, and joy, such as had never
gladdened them since her widowhood. Her lips quivered, and after a
time, large tears welled forth, but disappeared before they reached her
cheek — removed by some invisible agency. "There is good to be
gathered from both such sponsors," she said again; "but you think my
thoughts—to be loving and beloved. So let it be!"
A soft mild light shone through the chamber—the atmosphere was
filled with most sweet fragrance, and music soft and low. The Nurse
urged by an irresistible influence, arose, and placed the infant on the
mother's bosom. And as it drank its first draught of love, it became
imbued by that regenerating essence which cheers us from the cradle to
the grave!






Drawn ty V.'. E. ¥ n«t, A. R. A.
Engraved by O. Dalzitl.
THE FAIRY RING.



PART THE SECOND.

he kitchen at 'Dovecote,' as Mrs. Raymond, in
happier days, had named her cottage, was a long
rambling room; dried hams and fish, intermingled
with bunches of herbs, were suspended from the
rafters; and in a division, ' hurdled' off for
the purpose, the Nurse's favourite poultry,
and, occasionally, a weakly lamb, or a brood
of tender turkeys, while their red heads were
progressing, found a well-warmed shelter. It was sufficiently confused
and straggling
to be styled
'picturesque,'
and as uncom-
fortable as pic-
turesque inte-
riors generally
are; there was
a more than
usual quantity
of piggins and
noggins, and
very fine old chairs—some gaunt and high-backed, others grotesque


26
MIDSUMMER EVE I
and clumsy; it contained a dresser, garnished by more 'crockery'
and pewter than 'Nurse Kitty' cared to keep in order; a settle, a
losset, and wheels for spinning both flax and wool; and a deep
chimney—a perfect cavern of blackness, even when the fire burned
brightest—made mirthful in winter by the merriest of crickets. A door,
it will be remembered, opened from the kitchen into the chamber where
the sweet subject of Fairy contest and Fairy care had drawn her first
breath of life. In a small parlour at the opposite end of the dwelling
she received the name of 'Eva.' Before I tell how swiftly time flew—
what it created and destroyed—what it mended and tattered—I must
describe, briefly, the up-and-down, half-rustic, half-ornee, habitation,
where her childhood was passing. Dovecote certainly did not turn

'its silver lining to the crowd ;' the road view of the cottage was scarcely
more than a mass of white wall and brown thatch; but those who were
admitted within, and inhaled the perfume of its delicious garden,
wondered what magic had been exercised to make so humble a place


A FAIRY TAt.F. OF LOVK.
.27
a very paradise of beauty. There was a strange mingling of architectural
incongruities about it. The window of the sitting-room might have been
called an oriel; it was laced with stained glass, and overhung by woodbine
and clematis, where the butterfly, and that gigantic beauty of Kerry—the
great dragon fly—sported from sunrise to sunset. Next to this, a little
square lattice peeped forth, plain and unadorned, save by the white curtain
within; and beyond that was a porch—a perfect bower of climbing roses.
At the other end, was the ordinary kitchen-window, beside which Randy
was generally found seated—so much did he delight in watching the spray
of the Torc waterfall, that gleamed above the trees. Opening, as this
window did, upon the bend of the lawn, shaded by a sturdy rowan tree,
and canopied by magnolia and variegated holly, it was in itself a study
for a painter. A long grass bench, tufted with wild flowers, stretched
nearly the length of the cottage, and then terminated abruptly at the
porch, where the forest of roses rambled out and about, giving shelter
to wrens, tits, and robins, half-way to the top of the pointed gable
which rose above it. Such a magazine of animated nature as both
porch and gable had become!—the dear old gable!—which people said
had been a tower, a castle, or something of an abbey—once. It was
truly a most beautiful half-saved ruin! Its
projecting stones covered with moss a foot
deep—the green triumphant ivy trailing around
what had been a buttress — the wall-flower
and snap-dragon nodding to each other from
their several nooks; the lichens and maiden
hair, and golden-cupped flowers, with broad
shining leaves, and the delightful tone of the
sage-green moss, that clings closely to old
stones, so lovingly anxious for their preserva-
tion, adding by contrast to the natural har-
mony of the whole—overgrowing the nest of
the restless martin; while, a little higher up,
the swallow — his toilsome journey over —
knew that his home was ready. In a small niche-like nook an aged
owl had dwelt for more than half a century; for men as old remembered

s


28 MIDSUMMER EVE:
him so long, looking out at twilight, with the same air and manner—if
not wise, at least contemplative and sedate. But, after all, the glory
of the old gable was the weathercock; there were old, very old, people,
in Cloghreen, who remembered when the weathercock was not there,
but none who could tell when it was put up, or by whom; in short, there
was a mystery — a story about it that was growing into a legend to try
faith 'hereafter.' Everybody said the weathercock was too large for
the gable—too heavy for the old wall; but the wall bore up bravely;
gloried in the distinction; and did not at all mind the long massive
bar of iron that was passed through it, but seemed rather proud than
otherwise of the curiously-wrought cross that stood out so clearly against
the sky. Surmounting the whole, beneath this symbol of Faith, were
crossed arrows, depending from either end of which originally hung
the iron letters that designate the four points of the compass; one of
these had been removed, and a hand—'the forefinger only extended—
occupied its place. The cross was regarded with much veneration by
the peasantry, and they failed not to draw omens from the birds that
rested thereon. When the winds were wild, and contended madly
together, the weathercock groaned sadly, and the old gable, with
generous sympathy, echoed its complaints; but, generally, it performed
its duty silently—perhaps we may add—sullenly.
The garden of Dovecote had a charm, which neither pen nor pencil
can convey; it was evident that the presiding mind was of no common
order; one that understood where every flower might be not only seen
to the best advantage, but be so placed as to augment the beauty of
its neighbours. Such fuschias! such myrtles! such verbenas! as flou-
rished there, were never seen elsewhere in the open air, even in Kerry;
it was a well-arranged community of flowers and shrubs, grouped in
most charming harmony — of trees bending gracefully over the green
turf, where the rich-toned crocus, and the delicate snow-drop, blos-
somed long before they peeped forth in less sheltered parterres; every-
thing, indeed, was trained, as though nothing had been in training; so
ordered, that disorder seemed impossible.
In this happy retirement, the young widow and her child were passing
their lives: the first years of infancy had vanished, as Geraldine thought,


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
H'J
without any danger having threatened her little Eva; but Randy was
by no means of her opinion: he knew full well that the Kelpie Queen
—who considered herself cheated of her right—had been watching for
means to taint the mind and harm the heart of the young girl; and
during the week that preceded her birth-day, he took little food or
repose, but wandered unceasingly about the cottage, seeking and working
charms. Always on her birth-days, it had certainly been evident to her
mother that her temper became fitful; there seemed a contest in her little
bosom between the spirit of evil and the spirit of good. She was
restless — her eyes wandered — and she had said, more than once, she
heard music when her mother sung not, and a louder rush of water
than the fall of the waters of the Torc. The mystery that hovered
around her made her an object of the deepest and tenderest interest to
all by whom she was beloved.
Abundantly was the promise of her birth fulfilled. Richly indeed
was this lovely child endowed with the purest and holiest affections
of our nature. Her little life had been spent in discharging the offices
of kindly love to all living things that came within her sphere. Inanimate
nature shared her tenderness; not a drooping flower that she would not
seek to revive, nor a bruised bough that she would not bind. This,
to her, was neither care nor labour; on the contrary, it was her joy—
her very life. She acquired music without an effort: loving it so
dearly, that the complications of the science made her pastime: and
whenever she wearied of her other studies, her mother had but to
say, "If you loved me, you would learn," to urge her to increased
exertion. If ever child was ruled and guided by the Law of Love, it was
Eva Raymond! Even when guilty of faults which, though common
to most children were uncommon in her, a word or two of tender
reproach, rather than reproof, would at once cast her weeping on her
mother's bosom. The purest passion sent from Heaven upon this
sin-stained world is the love a mother bears her child! Enduring,
faithful, and intense, — a perpetual sacrifice of self at the shrine of
Nature, — a deep mystery, which, when fathomed, causes the world to
wonder at its depth and purity. And Geraldine watched over Eva with a
mother's tenderness, and much of a father's wisdom. Her whole life was


30 MIDSUMMER EVE:
a mingling of hope and fear—not for herself, but for her child. Eva's
appearance in the village was a jubilee; parents pointed her out to their
children, and children looked upon her with delight; while her mother's
friends vied with each other in returning her considerate, and yet childish,
love. One she would greet with garden—another with wild—flowers;
to a third she would present fruit gathered by her own hand: for, though
her mother was not rich, save in the possession of such a child, she
managed to have something always ready to lessen the wants of those
who needed ;—;:nd surely, like the widow's cruise, the generous hand is
replenished by Him who loveth a cheerful giver. Eva was liberal in
giving: she was more—she was generous to forbear. She could over-
come any desire of her own, by the stronger desire of gratifying another;
and this in childhood is perhaps the greatest of all proofs of love; for then
the will is strong—the reason weak. As she advanced in years, her
temper, at times, became more easily excited than was seemly, and she
was strongly inclined to jealousy—not envious—there was no envy
in her nature—but jealous if she were not loved. She would praise
and caress a playfellow, and tell over to her mother all the child's
good deeds, and do all she could to create in her an affection for the
child; and yet if her mother manifested much tenderness towards her
companion, she would shed abundant tears—tears without words or
murmurs. And this often troubled the gentle widow, made her thought-
ful to call some other great feeling into action, and sometimes to doubt
if her choice, at the child's birth, had been the safest and wisest; for
if love, the pure love of her innocent heart, brought its ecstacy of
happiness, it also conveyed its poignancy of pain: and then she re-
membered that none born into life can be separated from its sorrows—
that the best lesson we can learn is to endure them—that the sweetest
softener of our own griefs, is the privilege of soothing the griefs of
others.
Time was passing; year added unto year its gatherings of knowledge
and affection, and also its strength of will;—another and another birth-
day went by, unmarked by any obvious danger. Child though she
was—a very frolic, a toy, a delight, a sunbeam, a comforter—as far
as love went, a friend—still she had hours of deep thoughtfulness,


A FAIRY TAI.E OF I.OVE.
31
mingled with tears—unaccountable tears—and fits, not of sullenness, but
of silence. Her seventh birth-day had now arrived, and her mother
considered it as the passing away of childhood, for, in most things, the
child had wisdom beyond her years. Day broke with even more
than the loveliness of that lovely season; Randy arose with the sun
from the green bench whereon he had passed the night, and pro-
ceeded to sort the herbs he had collected in the moonlight.

They were the wild herbs that had
grown upon the banks of the
rapid Laune—where the grass is ever young and always green;
for the fairies love the moist place, and keep its verdure fresh and
sweet at all seasons: in winter the frost comes not here; in summer
no arid heat parches up the blades that are full of generous life. The
village children are happy when their plays are on this pleasant sward.
He was not long alone, for the Nurse soon joined him with a cor-
dial greeting and a cheerful 'good morrow.' "Seven, Randy—seven
to-day! and she looked wise enough last night for double that: if
ever there was a born sunbeam it is that little darling."
"Ay," added Randy, "whose skin is as white as the blossom of
the cuckoo sorrel; whose eyes are as blue as the flower of the flax;
her lips red as the berry of the wood-strawberry that grows on steep
Glena; her hair black as the raven's wing;—isn't that poetry, Kitty!"


32 MIDSUMMER EVE!
"Poethry!" repeated the Nurse, contemptuously. "I 'd thank you
not to be drawin' comparasons of her beauty from such wild unnatural
things as ravens' wings."
"True for ye," he answered; "and I wonder any mortal has the
daring to lift up his voice when such as that is looking at him!" and
Randy reverendly uncovered his head to the sun, which had just risen
from behind the mountains—a huge eye of glowing fire, whose rays
penetrated the deepest and darkest forests of the beautiful glen.
"The birds don't mind it," said Kitty; "you hear them singing."
"Hymns!" replied the Woodcutter. "Hymns, and bits of praise
and thankfulness: the flowers, poor things, open their leaves to the
same tune; every blade of grass lifts itself up in gratitude at sunrise.
Sure, I heard the unfledged birds learning their matins from their parents
an hour ago in the old gable. Such a twittering!—and now, hark how
they sing out!"
"I think," continued the Nurse, after a pause, more in compliment to
Randy's feelings than to her own: "I think I never saw so round a ring
as that down yonder on the grass; there 's twice as much dew on it as
on any other part of the lawn. What made it, Randy?"
"Agh!" was the only answer to this leading question.
"Well," she continued, "I never thought you a bit like yourself
since the night she was born. Seven years this blessed Midsummer night
—and what a night that was!"
"It's yourself and the ould pusheen cat that's alive still — 'tis you both
might say that, if you had any knowledge," replied the Woodcutter.
"I—and the cat! the ould grey pusheen that sleeps the four quarters
round, barring Midsummer?"
"That's it!" explained Randy: "that cat will never sleep another
Midsummer night after what she went through: she always looks ould
at Midsummer. A dale that ould pusheen might tell the world of what
she sees and thinks; but she 's wise and—silent. There's more than one
might learn a lesson from a silent cat."
"You know all about herbs and cats, Randy; but you never say how
I look," said the nurse.
"Indeed, then," he replied, mingling his observations with comments


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE. 33
upon his herb-gatherings: "I think you always look the same: the elder's
a fine thing, and so is the ash; and the hazel, and liverwort, and ragweed,
so are they—fine things ;—I don't see any change for the better on ye these
twenty years. Camomile, it's bitter but true—the herb for you; and
the sweet of the violet—the colour of her own eyes. There's an ould
rhyme that was ould when my grandfather was young: something about
'The rose is red, the violet's blue,
Carnation's sweet, and so are you:'
but there's no flower of the garden sweet enough or beautiful enough to go
alone upon her birth-day. But what's here," he exclaimed, hastily; "I
never could have gathered the wild rue, nor the wet dogweed, nor the
water nettle! Was I mad, or are they put here for a warning?"
"He it mad, and he always was mad," said poor Kitty, " and knows
more, I fear, than a Christian man should; and yet sees nothing hardly
worth seing around him! Lord help us! Why
doesn't he catch the ould Cluricaun, that does
be mending his brogues, night and day, under
the shadow of the cow-thistle? Why does'nt he
lay hould of him and make him give up the purse
o'goold he carries, ever and always, in his pocket.
A fairy man! enagh! and can't catch the only
fairy worth catching—the ould cobbler that would
make the little mistress as rich as she is beau-
tiful! a fairy man!" and the Nurse retired to
her own territory to prepare the several 'treats'
her best skill could devise, in the forms of Sally-Lnn and Slim-cake, for
her darling. But Kitty was not allowed to remain long at her occupation.
She had enough to do to answer the taps at the door, and receive the
various little tokens by which high and low, rich and poor, sought to testify
their affection for Eva Raymond. Long before she unclosed her eyes, her
mother was praying by her bedside—praying earnestly to the Author of all
good to protect her child through time and for eternity. The mother, so
fair and young, seemed like a sister bending over a sister's couch; but no
sister ever framed such prayers—no sister ever felt such love! It increased


S4
MIDSUMMER EVE:
the more for that she saw the child's face grow troubled, while slowly, from
between her closed lids, large tears came forth, flooding her glowing
cheeks, and her head moved so restlessly on her pillow, that Geraldine

awoke her, and while folding her to her bosom, murmured forth blessings
and caressing words, such as have their source only in a mother's heart.
"I think I have dreamed such dreams before, mamma. I think I
have, but I am not sure; now that I see you and the sun, 1 am again quite
happy; but it was so damp and cold."
"What, my child?"
"The water, mother! but now it is all gone!" And then the Nurse
came in, bearing a full basket of gifts; presently the shadow of Randy was
outside her window; and in the happy elasticity of childhood forgetting all
troubles, she bounded forth upon the lawn in the fresh air and bright sun
of morning, as a young roe from a thicket on the wild-wood sward.
"Hark, mamma! how sweetly the birds sing! and listen! there is the


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
.",.-,
wood-quest. I do so love the coo of that dear bird: and here is Randy.
Am I to wear that nosegay of curious herbs all day, Randy. Oh! I will;
you gave me the same last year. I am quite, quite happy now—quite
happy, and thankful, and will be so good. Look, look, how brightly plays
the waterfall! Look! I never saw the spray so high above the trees."
Her gaze was again turned towards the waterfall, and again she expressed
a wish to watch the play of its gems in the sunlight, exclaiming, with
more than her usual eagerness, " Oh, mamma! how I do long to bathe in
it: to feel it fall among my hair, and grasp its jewels in my hands."
"Not fresh and fasting—go not near water at all, this day," replied
the Woodcutter; "oh! darling, be led and said by me, the whole of
this blessed day. Listen, avourneen :.—A pair of thrushes, dear, built
their nest in a beautiful bower, and an ould wood-quest had a grate love
for them, and used to sit and watch, and think how happy they were, and
pray that they might be always so: but the male bird said to his mate,
"it's a poor country, and I must go into another, and gather food against
the young ones come out in the nest we have made, and cry for food;
and we have none to give them.' And the poor mate said, 'Don't go,
avourneen deelish, for when the time comes- we shall not want food; there
has been a hard winter, and the sunbeam always comes out when the
cloud is gone; so you see, there will be plenty of red-worms in spring,
and ripe berries in summer; and He who sends both will take good
care that we want neither: go not from me, for life as it is, is all too short
to enjoy your song:' but he would go; and the fowler spied the brave
free bird as he winged his way, his heart full of the memory of his own
nest: and his eyes full of the image of the patient loving mate, who
would have stayed his going; and the cruel fowler aimed at his true
heart, and his aim was steady, and the bird returned no more."
"Hush," whispered Eva; "hush, Randy! look at mamma?" and
then in a loud voice she added, "I do not want to hear any more about
the old thrush birds, Master Woodcutter; but I do want to hear about the
young thrush-bird and the old quest; that's yourself and me, Master
Randy. Ah! I've found you out, and I'll finish your fable: — the
young thrush-bird was a wild, wilful, naughty, little bird, that would fly
hither and thither, no matter how the old wood-quest croaked."


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
37
"They danced on it all last night," said the Woodcutter, "it was a
great sight; a sight you could never forget, lady; a lovely night too, and
the small stars dreaming their way through the heavens; and they all
dressed so beautiful; but I'm sure things are not going on in all parts
as they like: for many of them had bows and arrows, and long spears,
and that's a sign of warfare; but you'll watch her lady, you'll let me
watch her all day, and don't let her go near water. They throw that spray
ten times higher than ever, just to dazzle her," he said, pointing to the
boiling waters of the Torc; "they swarm about it like bees. I wish the
waters were chained jn the bowels of the earth. I had a father and four
brothers drowned at sea!"
Mrs. Raymond never contradicted the Woodcutter! she promised that
Eva should only move in his shadow, and invited him to enter the cottage
with them; but Randy said she was safe beneath the shelter of her own
roof, and while she was with her mother he would rather watch the
waterfall. He rambled over the lawn and among the flowers, gazing
every moment upon the bounding river, that, through a passage of jagged
rocks, finds a peaceful path in the valley. At last, wearied by watching
and the excitement of his own thoughts, he sat down beneath the shade of
an evergreen oak, where not a movement of the half-sportive, half-angry
waters could escape his observation. He began to think of himself, and
how much more knowledge he had than other people; his confidence in
his own powers increased, and a boastful spirit warred with his better
nature; he said: "lam of myself strong; I am brave; I care not who
helps me; I can save her! Ay! dance away imps of the dark waters.
I, Randy, the Woodcutter, defy ye all!" Eva's silvery laugh fell upon
his ear, and he would, if he could, have recalled the presumptuous words,
"I care not who helps me;" but his gaze was fascinated by the spray;
and he lolled lazily upon the sward, questioning almost if he was quite
himself; he might be O'Donoghue of the Lakes—so uplifted did he feel
—and why? In a little time longer he ceased to ask why; once he caught
the stony eyes of a large yellow frog fixed upon him with a sort of
cunning inquiry; but what cared he for either the Kelpie Queen, or her
steed! How the foam and spatter of the waters dazzled and made him
wink! and then he felt hot and thirsty, and at the moment, a grotesque


38
MIDSUMMER EVE I
and distorted dwarf, carrying in both hands a huge china bowl, stood
by his side, and on tip-toe offered him to drink: at first Randy motioned

him away; but there arose from the
bowl a very fragrant steam; and the
dwarf asked if he feared to drink to his
young lady's health, of the mountain dew,
sweetened with the richest honey of the
wild bee—' mountain dew '—name which
libels the purest and holiest draught that
Nature sends to Earth from Heaven!
And as the Woodcutter's good spirit
had been half vanquished by the spirit
of evil that taught him to overvalue
his own strength, and the enemy had
power over him—he drank—and slept.
The day was passing rapidly, and though Geraldine missed the



A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
39
Woodcutter, she never doubted that he was active in his self-imposed
duty. She had many cares to think of, and when Eva, after bestowing
the flowers she had gathered in the morning, asked permission to go into
the garden, she gave it, adding, "Remember, Eva, you are not to go
near water. Nay, my child, I am quite serious; if there were no
other cause, you must not give pain to our old friend Randy. You
must promise."
"I do, mamma, I do; I shall find the Woodcutter in the garden, and
keep with him; he said he would to-day tell me the tale of the weather-
cock." And away she went, full of life, singing along the alleys, and
bounding over the lawn, calling
loudly on him who heard not: and
.vfevV - Mj-g--jgfcl whom, at last, she found sleeping
soundly. The child turned away
not to disturb him, and as she did
SO, SHE CAUGHT SIGHT OF THE TORC
waterfall. Never, she thought,
till that moment, had aught so beau-
tiful appeared before her; she clapt
her hands and sprang onward with
joy. Resting on the very crest of
the waterfall was a perfect and en-
tire rainbow; myriads of tinted stars
dropped from its arch, without in-
juring its brilliancy or form—mingling with, and yet apart from, the snow-
white foam. If all the jewels of the east had been flung into the mist, they
could not have produced a more dazzling effect, than did those which
Nature lavished upon the sportive waters. The fascinated and bewildered
child, though she had stolen away on tiptoe from where Randy slept, now
called impatiently to him to accompany her; once, twice, thrice—each
time she was farther from him; but he, the true and faithful hearted, when
not under the influence of the evil-spirit spell, heard her not. Her pro-
mise to her mother was forgotten. Oh! wayward, unthinking child! the
sin of the Garden of Eden was with you while the sun shone, soft music
sought to win you to the banks of the wildest thyme; huge humble

s


40
MIDSUMMER EVE:
bees invited you to their cells, and offered you the rich banquet of their
honey; voices whispered from out the virgin lilies, and rustled the leaves
of the bright rose; if the Kelpie Queen had
spread snares and painted shows to lure you
to her waters, the votaries of the spirits ot
earth and air were watching, like true sub-
jects, in the absence of their Queens, to frus-
trate her evil courses.
But in her green and slimy palace the
Kelpie worked, and sent forth her people to do
her bidding. She could weave spells in her
dark cell beneath the waters the length of a
Midsummer day. Nightstar trusted to a
mortal; the Kelpie discovered that mortal's
weakness. Alas! the child heard the warnings
but heeded them not; their unaided power
was too weak—Nightstar was above, waiting
to descend on the gray vapour which suc-
ceeds the last beam of the setting sun. On went the child, and as she
passed, she heard behind her sighs and sobs of sorrow; her favourite
flowers drooped their heads—they could not look upon her—they would
have warned her, had they the power; the lark hovered above her
head—his delicious song gushing forth at intervals, as he rose and fell,
but the child heard not — heeded not; the robin crossed her path, and
looked with his large lustrous eyes into her face; but her eyes were
dazzled—her better self was overpowered. On she went; the pre-
cincts of her own garden were over-stepped; and the mocking fiend that
had tempted him, now roused the Woodcutter with snarling laughter.
He awoke, and his permitted eyes saw at once the danger.
"Rouse up, proud Randy, and save her now!"
The bewildered man, who had quaffed the poison, arose; he staggered
from side to side; he had deprived himself of power over the members
of his own body. He would have called, but his swollen tongue refused
obedience to his will; conscious of his own impotence—he saw the peril
he could not avert.


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
•11
She stood below the second fall, her arms extended towards the
magic rainbow; the water was welling up to kiss her feet; beneath it
the face and form of the Kelpie Queen, veiled by her flowing hair,
was dimly visible. If he had been him-
self, a few bounds of Randy's active
limbs could have placed him by her
side; but self-betrayed—self-abandoned
—he gazed without a move. The waters
were rising around her—another minute
and she would be lost to earth and sky
for ever. He knew—he understood —
but he could neither cry out nor

press forward! and still the fiend
crackled in his ears, "Great
Randy, save her!" His blood
whirled madly through his veins, and then came a shriek — a woman's
shriek of warning and of agony. The child looked back—and saw her
mother! She sprang from the fatal bank into her arms.
"Why did you scream, mamma," said Eva. "The waters were so
calm, and you frightened away the rainbow."
"There was no rainbow," answered her mother. "The Fall has
been more than usually dark to-day; but you broke your word, Eva; you
have made me unhappy."
The child had forgotten her pledge until that moment, and shame and
sorrow came to her young bosom. She would have knelt for forgiveness,


42
MIDSUMMER EVE:
but it was sweeter to hang about her mother's neck, hear the pardon
uttered before it was asked, and have her tears kissed away.
The day seemed to have fleeted strangely and rapidly; the long,
long twilight of Midsummer was approaching — when the evening and
morning meet together upon the hills, and rejoice that no cold and
shivering night divides them from each other. Though unconscious of
the danger she had escaped—shame at her broken promise, and sorrow
at her mother's displeasure, kept Eva silent and sad. But she soon
regained her elasticity, and pointed with earnest delight to a tall tree
whereon a wood-pigeon sat cooing to her young on the topmost bough : the
bird bent downward its loving eyes, and the child gazed upward with a
gesture of delight. Her little heart bounded with affection towards the
bird; but, as she looked, suddenly
a hawk darted upon it. The next
moment, Eva was pressing the
dove to her bosom, to which it
had flown for shelter, while the
fierce bird, disappointed of its
prey, wheeled above her head,
evidently pondering whether he
might not strike the child and
come off" victor. Although her
cheeks were flushed, her little foot
stood firmly forward; her arm was
stretched in an attitude of defiance
towards the pirate of the air; her
lips were open, and her head was
thrown back, while her mother
stood astounded at the boldness of
the hawk, and the courage of a
timid and tender girl, who would
tremble at the falling of a leaf,
and shrink from a shadow—now
strengthened by Love to brave the anger of the feathered assassin,
whose scream sounded like a curse from his purple beak, while his

-


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE. 43
distended talons were drawn closely upon his mottled breast; and yet
she quailed not; her little hand continued uplifted to save the thing
that trusted her; and then came a flash — a report — the murderer in
his turn reeled, and a cloud of feathers floated to the sward; the hawk
wheeled in a broken circle once round, then, with wavering motion,
disappeared among the trees.
"I'm enough myself to do that, anyhow," quoth the Woodcutter;
"praise be to the author of the strength, as well as the will, for such a
service," and then he crouched forward like an animal that deserved and
expected chastisement; while Eva exclaimed—" It is saved! it is saved!
—but I will not let it go yet: look how still it is: it shall soon return to
its young; it will coo in its own woods; but it will still be my own darling
wood-quest, that I saved." Oh what a happy birthday, to have found
something that trusted me !—something new to love!" The child stood
at her mother's knee; she held the wood-quest to her heart, and,
though smiles were playing on her face, her eyes were brimming over
with tears. "I am not crying, dear mamma; I hear its young calling
it! I hope I am not selfish, but I do not want it to fly away too soon."
"My own sweet Eva," replied her mother, with a troubled counte-
nance; "that bird will never fly away."
"Oh yes, it will," answered the child, in full confidence of the power
of affection; "it would not leave its youngs—it would not of its ownself
remain with me for ever."
"Nothing," answered her mother; "nothing, however much we love
it, Eva, remains with us, for ever. My dear — dear child, the poor
bird is dead!"
"Oh, no! she replied, in a tone of anguish. "Oh, no! it cannot be;
I felt its heart beat against mine when it came first; and then it laid
its head just there. It cannot be; I do not think the hawk touched it;
iloath cannot come so soon. If you take it from me, mamma, take care
it does not fly away too quickly."
"I will take it as tenderly as you can, dearest. See how its head
hangs; and though its young call it in such plaintive tones it heeds them
not; its tender eyes are already dim; your own bosom, Eva, is stained by
its blood. My poor child, this sudden and violent death is new to you;


44
MIDSUMMER EVE i
the cruel hawk struck too surely—although it escaped to die at peace
upon your innocent heart."
Eva enveloped herself in the folds of her mother's dress, and her sobs
were loud and bitter.
"May all springs and sweet waters dry around them!" exclaimed
Randy; "and neither thorn, nor rush, nor the sting of the poisonous nettle
move in their defence, but leave them unarmed to the sharp bill of the
merciless heron and the vengeance of the king-fisher. May the broad-
backed frog refuse to do their bidding, and the great Lake King forbid
them his hunting grounds! I know their dark den by the old Weir Bridge:
I know it well; the
water under its one
arch is as black as
their own hearts,
and rushes along
like the fury of
their own wicked
wishes. May the
sunlight never come
there; —. may no
moonlight shine on
the path or brighten the way of those that put this
sorrow on her, this blessed day." The Woodcutter
paused for breath. "Fool that I was—fool—fool; and
now to strike her through her feelings. Oh! won't
there be murder when the moon rises? and how
will I ever face Nightstar? Oh, fool! The viper-
black-water sarpint! She worked me cruel usage, and my heart will
tremble with the torture it went through to the day of my death. If that
had been a right bird, it would have been lying upon the grass. Augh! I
know her better than ever now; in league with hawks and eagles, is she!
and wanting such as that blessed angel to sit in the slime, and twine her
hair with the shells of the stripey snail and the rattling pearls of fishes'
eyes ;—her face, the glass to train her beauty, too, to be the lamp and
the music of her dripping palace." And so the Woodcutter vented his


-the toad — the


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE. 45
anger both on himself and the Kelpie, in words not loud but deep; yet
neither mother nor child heard him; the child continued weeping bitterly,
and her mother would have carried the bird away, but Eva entreated her
to leave it a little longer.
"Let me keep it a little longer, mamma—just half an hour; I will
give it up in half-an-hour. Do, mamma—dear mamma! I will not idle
nor play with it; I will only keep it until I understand what death is."
"My child feels it a bitter knowledge; I felt its bitterness long since,"
sighed her mother.
"I know—I know," she said quickly; that was when papa died; but
do let me keep it. It was so alive when it flew to me such a little time
ago, and seemed so happy. I loved it in a moment, and could have died
to save it!" and then her tears flowed afresh. "You tell me to pray
when I want good gifts from heaven: is to understand death a good gift?
May I pray for it, mamma?"
"It is, indeed, right to pray for understanding," she replied. "You
now see that the life which moved its wings, and gave it power to go hither
and thither, taught it to rear its young, and caused its pretty cooing to
sound in the woods—is gone!"
"Where ?" inquired the child. "And did it go out of this deep red
wound?"
"It is not given me to know where it is gone; but it is gone: and wise
as we think ourselves, we have no power to call it back. But you must
remember, that if it will have no more pleasure here, it will have no more
pain."
The child shook her head, and, taking the bird in her hand, passed into
her chamber, laid it down on her little bed, and then knelt by its side. She
uttered no sound, though her lips moved, and ever and anon, tears fell
silently on her clasped hands, and she would fondle the bird, and resume
her thoughts and prayer. Who can tell what feelings were shadowed forth
at that solemn moment to that deep-hearted child! More than once she
pushed back the hair that clustered over her brow, and pressed her hands
upon its rounded surface; her eyes, so blue, so expressive, radiated with
new emotions—beaming with elevated sensations; her mind expanded,
and palpitated with increased knowledge; she seemed entering on a new


46
MIDSUMMER EVE:
existence; she prayed earnestly, not taught words, but framing her simple
petition in her own language. How earnestly she desired goodness and
patience; that sudden death might be kept away from all she loved; that
she might become wise, and that many might love her, and that she might
love all the world and comfort the poor; she felt both resigned and
elevated by this humble sacrifice; more than once her mother entered,
unperceived, and unwilling to disturb her, silently withdrew.
A bright light, as of the glory of the setting sun, entered; and knowing
that the sun had set long before, and the grey clouds were descending over
earth, the child was astonished; and at the same moment she started, for
she thought she heard the rustling of wings, and flushed with the hope that
the bird had revived, she touched it, but it had grown so stiff and cold that
her fingers were involuntarily drawn back; and she forgot she had learned
nothing of the mighty mystery concerning
which she would have inquired; but an in-
crease of hope, and faith, and love, seemed
infused into her nature. She had become
tranquil, and returned to her mother with a
quiet smile; then placing the bird in her hands,
she said, "Let us bury it: it will not be naughty
to love it in its grave." And as they carried
the dead bird to the foot of a hawthorn bush,
where the grass was greenest, and the earliest
beams of the sun shed their light and warmth,
they heard the bereaved birds lamenting their
loss, and they saw the wood-
pigeon's mate comforting and feed-
ing them—calling on her he should
never see again, with a loud and
peculiarly sorrowful cry.
Randy dug the grave and covered
it over, and walked silently back
to the cottage; there, casting him-
self along the green bench, he
waited the summons he knew he should receive from Nightstar.


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
47
Bonfires blazed from every hill, and the happy children of the village
raised a tremendous one, in honour both of Midsummer and the birth-night
of Eva Raymond. They looked well, through the trees, and recalled to
those who mingle the past with the present, the Baal fires of old. The
Woodcutter never moved from his post; it would be impossible to record
his thankfulness for the child's preservation, or his contempt for his own
unworthiness. He resolved humbly to submit to any punishment his royal
mistress might inflict. He saw the distant fires die away, one by one,
upon the hills—the voices of the children ceased altogether—then from

the cottage he heard the night hymns of praise and prayer arise—the do"
took his last round in the garden, and licked the Woodcutter's hand as he
passed—and the lights that threw such shadows on the lawn were extin-
guished—a discontented grasshopper once or twice moved its restless wings
beneath a broad dock-leaf, and the corn-crake in the distance seemed at
last to have the world to herself—so silent had everything become.
Suddenly there appeared glimmering lights among the trees, and the
soft low note of the fairy bagpipe struck upon Randy's ear. "I had


-18
MIDSUMMER EVE:
nothing to be ashamed of this time last year," he said; "but surely my
repentance, and the bullet I shot, will plead in my favour :— and there is
no harm done," whispered self-justification; but Randy courageously put
aside so dangerous an ally, and resolved to say nothing for himself. But
the Woodcutter could not see them distinctly, as he had done in former
times: there seemed a mist—a veil—between them and him: he heard the
music and the booming hum of Queen Honeybell's great bee; while the
lights of Nightstar's fairy host glittered brightly, and the twanging of her
minstrel harps sounded clearly enough; but he could hardly trace the
outline of the fairy Queens, as they took their seats upon the ' hillock,' in
the very midst of the ring. Instead of dancing, as usual, the Queens con-
tinued in grave consultation, attended by their ministers of state. Randy
could see them come and go—pass and repass; and suddenly there arose
a great tumult, and the music (to which they had paid no attention)
ceased; and Randy himself was called forth and confronted with the dis-
torted sprite that had tempted him to neglect of duty. Nightstar addressed
the huge and trembling mortal in a voice of tender displeasure, that
wounded him more severely than if she had reproved him in an angry
tone. She told him that all was known to her: but now she only asked
if that thing which some of her people had secured, while he was seeking
to escape from her dominions, was the spirit that had tampered with her
sentinel. Randy identified him at once, and, without farther question, she
^ t decreed that he should be given over,
within five minutes, to the bees of
Honeybell's court, whose honey he
had so often plundered — to work
their pleasure with him until sun-
rise. It would seem that this was
considered a hard sentence, though it
afforded infinite delight to the great
bee, who advanced at once to take
the imp into custody. He was a bee
of most savage aspect, and the cowardly cup-bearer shrunk before the
sword-like sting, and rough, hairy, arms he extended towards the slimy
page of the Kelpie Queen. Randy felt that his turn must come next,


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE. 49
for both Queens regarded him silently for some moments; but, as they did,
his eyes became clearer, and he saw more distinctly—and they whispered
together. That was a good sign. The Woodcutter knew his thoughts were
penitent, and his sorrow sincere; but Honeybell looked sulky, and Night-
star sad—and tears gathered in the poor fellow's eyes. But as he stood,
there arose a tumult among the outposts of the ring, which suddenly
gave way, and the Kelpie Queen, her dark hair streaming like a death-
pennon behind her, her eyes glittering like rubies, cantered into the
assembly; and then, springing on the grass, demanded her place by the
side of her royal sisters. The Queens arose, and descending, hand in
hand, into the arena, declared they would rather resign their throne than
share it with her, and dared her to mount it alone. Dark faces showed
more dark amid the troops of light, and there was a breathless silence,
broken only once by a shriek from the Kelpie page.
"Who dares to punish my subject?" demanded the fierce Queen.
"I dare," answered Nightstar, with dignity; "how dared you send
him to tamper with my people?"
"He gave the oaf to drink when he was athirst; and, like all mor-
tals, he knew not when to stop."
"This double dealing is unworthy of royalty—even royalty such as
yours"—replied Nightstar. "You gave him (for yonder imp is your
familiar) of the poisoned drink, heated at your own furnace. You gave it
him that you might lure my charge into your power to be your slave; and
not content with that, what you could not vanquish, you persecuted, and
mingled so many tears with her young cup of life, that the hardness of
premature wisdom has chilled her interest in existence. Shame upon you,
there is nothing lovely that you would not either enslave or destroy!"
"The child is mine," said the Kelpie, daringly. "The child is mine:
your jugglery cheated me of my right. Did not you refuse her?" she
continued, addressing Honeybell.
"I gave her to Nightstar," replied the heavy-lidded Queen.
"Hear this, lords and ladies of all courts," exclaimed the subtle
Kelpie. She having no right but to choose, does not choose, but gives
what of right was mine—the infant rejected by Nightstar and by herself."
"She was not rejected by me," interrupted Nightstar.


50
MIDSUMMER EVE:
"Then why is she not here? I see changelings in both your courts,
but not the prize—the orphan Raymond," rejoined the Kelpie.
"Because I choose her to remain with her earthly mother. She being
mine I leave her where I will. I appeal to no lords and ladies; such is
my will; and I maintain it, as befits my state," quoth Nightstar. "I say
this to you, dark reveller of the lake."
The Kelpie started, awed by the brightness and boldness that animated
the fragile form of the Air Queen, and the dark faces of her troop, drew
back. "Give me my page," she said.
"Go ask him of the Bees," replied the haughty Nightstar. "You
have made our revels dark by your presence. We would be rid of
both: at the crow of cock you can send for your base satellite."
"The craythur only did his duty in obeying his Queen," thought
Randy.
Nightstar applauded with a smile. "Nay, release him," she con-
tinued, "the victim of his treachery suggests to us, that he only did his
duty in obeying his Queen."
At that moment the cock crew, and the Woodcutter, rubbing his eyes,
looked into the soft haze of a Midsummer Morning.






Drawn by Webnert.
Engraved by E. DalzicL
THE DISCOMFITURE OF THE KELHES.



PART THE THIRD.

n the spacious and lofty hall of an ancient
castle near Killarney, adorned after the fashion
of old, rather than of modern, times, two
youths, apparently about the same age, were
occupied—-each according to his taste; it was
evident that, however close their connection,
their pursuits were opposite; one was seated
in the deep recess of a window, that overhung
a clear and rapid river; beside him were
scattered various implements of the chase; a long fowling-piece rested
against the seat, and he was eagerly engaged in fitting a string to a good
yew bow; his brown hair clustered around his head so thickly, that it
was difficult to ascertain its form; the brow was full, the eyes grey and
sparkling; the nose straight and delicate; the mouth large, but the
mould was so perfect, and the lips were so sharply chiseled and rich
in colour—so fertile of smiles—that Cormac's admirers called it beautiful;
yet, even when in repose, its expression was unpleasing and often painful.
The other youth was seated also, but at another window. It would have
been difficult to guess which was the elder and which the younger of the
two: brothers they might be—relatives they certainly were; their hair


5'Z
MIDSUMMER EVE I
and eyes were of the same colour; the brow of Sidney was more full,
his eyebrows were better arched; but the great distinction was in the
lower portion of the face; whether in action or repose, Sidney's mouth
expressed the firmness and decision of character that usually determine
a man's fortune; the chin was finely modeled, sufficiently large, but free
from every taint of sensuality; when he smiled, it was with the eyes
rather than the lips; sometimes, indeed, they parted, and then his
eloquent countenance was lit up by the sunshine of an elevated and
''-'V -'-- :v V-'-J-i^S,?

most happy nature. He had been drawing—for an open sketch-book
lay upon a table that stood in front of the richly-carved chair whereon
he sat; nor was that the only indication of his taste—a half-finished
map was kept open by a box of water-colours, and a French horn and
a fishing-rod rested on the deep stone sill of the open window. Every-
thing in the room appeared in keeping with its ancient state: even the
youths had that aristocratic bearing which indicates the consciousness
of rank.
-


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE. 53
"What are you thinking of, Sidney?" inquired Cormac, having, after
many efforts, tightened the cord to his pleasure. "What are you thinking
of? that shake of the head is no reply. / was thinking how opposite
we are in habits, and yet how united in affection; you are so contem-
plative; so fond of books; your heart is so tender, and yet you are so
firm; so deep a lover of music; so cautious; so serious! a Man at
eighteen; / am thoughtless, changeable, impetuous." He waited, as
people, young and old, often do, when they enumerate their faults, in
the hope of contradiction; but Sidney made no attempt to stay his words.
"I have a bitter will, and a hard heart," he added, at length.
"You have not a hard heart, Cormac," said Sidney; "I know not
what you mean by a 'bitter will,' but you have the impetuous will of
a Talbot." Cormac smiled, and looked rather pleased than otherwise.
"How are you going to spend the remainder of the day?" added
Sidney, while arranging his sketches, so as to leave all things in
order.
"I hardly know; my mother is so unreasonable. Women never
judge rightly about their sons. If I take up a gun, she thinks I must
be shot; if I go on the lake or river, she trembles lest I should be
drowned; if I ride, she fears I shall break my neck;—I wish my father
had lived."
"How unfortunate! to have a mother who loves you, an old inherit-
ance, and an ancient name; to be the person in your own home considered
above all others!"
"You should not say that, Sidney," replied his cousin, "for I think
my mother loves you quite as much as she loves me—and no wonder!"
"She has indeed proved how she loved her husband by being a child
to his parents, and a parent to his brother's children. My father says
his children have two mothers," replied Sidney, in a voice trembling
with emotion—an emotion proceeding from the knowledge that his
aunt considered him necessary to his cousin, but had never loved him.
"And there it is again," said Cormac; "I never had a brother;
though to be sure you are the same thing, Sidney. But, if I had half
a score of brothers and sisters, like other fellows, I might do as I like.
My mother could not have watched them all as she watches me."


54 MIDSUMMER EVE!
"We have been at Eton so long, Cormac; and she is so delighted
to have you home," suggested his cousin; "and so proud of you."
"And yet, Sidney, I am not as much beloved as you are," said
Cormac, in a discontented tone. "Wherever we are, dogs and children
find you out; when we returned home together only last week, many
of the old men in the crowd who welcomed me back, kept saying, "That
is the young master in the blue cap; %e should know him anywhere,
by his smiling eyes and sweet face ;" my cap was scarlet; and yet I bowed
and smiled twice as much as you."
"That was but a mistake made by half-blind age."
"Not at all; you have the luck! Your shilling always does as much
good as my guinea. But let us think of something else. You deserve
the popularity and have it—I deserve—but no matter. I wonder would
the arrow carry this strip of crimson to the top bough of yonder ash.
Come, take your bugle, and when you sound, I shoot."
The youths stood together at the window; the one with the bow drawn
to its full extent; the other, his head a little thrown back, and the bugle
ready to sound its ti-ri-la in honour of the shot. Born within the same
week, they were nearly the same height: but Cormac was more athletic
than his cousin, Sidney more lythe and graceful than Cormac. The arrow,
bearing its thread of crimson, sped its way, and the echoes of the narrow
pass over which the castle hung took up the blast of the horn; now
whispering, now ringing forth the long-drawn note in many varied tones
—tones, so varied, that both youths held their breath, less they should
miss the slightest sound.
"Well blown! well shot!" said Cormac, after the last intonation
had died upon the air. "By my word, it leads me to believe the
strange stories of our Lake Region, when such a note is repeated in so
many modulations. My arrow may have struck some Dryad to a tree;
it passed the ash."
"It would be sure to do so," said Sidney; "the ash is a charmed
tree."
"And you to tell me that with a grave face," answered Cormac.
"You, so wise! you to have faith in old wives' tales! I remember
the pleasure you took, long ago, in hearing about Lake horses and


A FAIRY TALE OP LOVB
SB
Phookas, and 'Our Cousin O'Donoohue,' as my stately mother calls
him—O'Donoghue, who, every May morning, rises from his palace,
a thousand fathoms deep, and rides over the Lake, attended by bevies
of sylphs and fairies. I never could listen with patience to such legends,
much less believe them."

"Nor I, exactly; but we hear much we do not believe, that, neverthe-
less, has for us a strange interest."
"Well, that is true. I am sure I remember the wild story that went
through the country about little Eva Raymond. Was she not the child
of one of your father's brother officers, Sidney."
"She was."
"I dare say," continued the loquacious Cormac, "she is not as pretty
a child as she was."
"Child!" echoed Sidney, "she is fourteen this very Midsummer
Eve."


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
.57
to his cousin's happiness, and Lady Elizabeth permitted no one to thwart
Cormac but herself. The beauty of Eva Raymond was rendered still
more dangerous by the mystery believed to hover round her; but Lady
Elizabeth held herself and all hers above such influences, and in the
centre of the Lake country, while rowing upon its waters, beneath the
very shadow of Ross Castle, on the lonely shore of Innisfallen, or passing
through the deepest defiles of the savagely wild Gap of Dunloe, she
mm

delighted to express her disbelief in fairy lore and legend—to say, what,
even in my Saxon dwelling, as an ally of the 'good people,' I should not
care to repeat. The effects of this imprudence were manifest in the
nightly disturbance of her household; strange noises rattled through
Ard-Flesk; sleep became a stranger to the inhabitants of certain
portions of the castle; the dairymaid complained that the cream was


58
MIDSUMMER EVE:

'broken,' and not a tythe of the butter yielded; the coachman, that his
horses fell lame; the henwife, that
the eggs were sucked; the butler
vowed that 'something' not only
drank the wine, but left it running,
as through a pin-hole; and once he
staggered from the dim and vaulted
cellar, pale as a ghost, and said that
his candle had been blown out as he
unlocked the door, but that he had
seen anumber of quaint little creatures
no longer than his thumb, dressed in the strangest fashion; some wearing
cocked hats and square-cut coats, running along the moonbeams that
slanted upon a huge pipe of claret—some with flagons, others with
outlandish bottles, others bearing vessels full of wine on their heads
—all detected in the very act of robbing the cellar; the lady's maid,
whose little malignant person was so stiffened out that she suggested the
idea of having been dipped in a bowl of starch and hung in the sun to
dry, complained most
bitterly that whenever
she was going to sleep
something tickled the
sharp point of her nose
with a nettle, and that,
consequently, she had
not closed her eyes for
a fortnight; and what
made this fact the more
extraordinary was, that
a simple country girl
who slept with her, and
whom she unmercifully
fagged during the day,
rested soundly and
Cormac's favourite hunter

sweetly, despite the efforts to awaken her.


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
59
had been nearly ridden to death by the Phooka the night before he
wanted it for the field, and more than once the powder in his flask had
been found wet when he knew he had left it dry. Sidney had nothing
to complain of; on the contrary, his pony, from having been a vicious,
ill-tempered beast, had become gentle as a lamb, and endowed with
the affection and intelligence of a dog; his fly was sure to hook the
finest salmon in lake or river, and the tenderest echoes repeated every
note of his bugle. But Cormac and his mother, instead of endeavouring
to propitiate the good people, who were justly offended with much,
both said and done to their annoyance, accounted for everything in a
mode so matter-of-fact, that they irritated the Fairies, as much by their
obstinacy as by their contempt.
Lady Elizabeth was very particular and formal in all things connected
with her toilet; draperies of the finest muslin, starred with gold, descended
from her inlaid looking-glass; a cheval-glass stood at the right angle
of her dressing-table to give effect to the profile and the figure, and
cosmetics were carefully enshrined
in boxes of filagree silver. She
always dismissed her maid when
her lappets were pinned on, and
completed her adornments in soli-
tude ; — I should write 'repairs,'
rather than ' adornments;'—the tint
for the cheek, the pencil for the
eyebrow, the pearl powder for the
throat, were used in secret; but,
of late, the stately lady has been
so bewildered, that she had more
than once applied the rouge to
her eyebrows, and the black po-
made of Ispahan to her cheeks!
—she did it more than once, and
yet she knew it not, until the
faithful mirror of the drawing-room undeceived her.
Lady Elizabeth felt that her dignity was invaded by some malign


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE. 61
be punished, not protected, and was sorely displeased with the steward;
but he was an old servant, and feared not to speak his mind. He said
the man had been seized in the night by ' the sickness,' and repeated that,
even if he could, he would not move, lest others might suffer by his
visitation. Lady Elizabeth said she supposed he was a poacher, or some
fellow of bad character, to be in her wood at night, but that he must go
home, or to prison. The youths looked at each other, and Cormac did
say it was hard to send a poor fellow to jail for having a fever. "He
is no poacher, my Lady," added the steward; "and, indeed, I may say
he is at home; for his life is spent, innocent-like, among the woods and
hills; he has winter shelter, in a summer-house, a kind lady gave him
to live in, but the creature's prayer is that she may not hear he is sick,
for fear she should come and see him; and so, maybe, get 'the sickness'
herself: oh! but his moans are woful. I hope your honour's Ladyship
will not go against the custom of the country, but give him shelter, for
the love of God."
"I am sure it is Randy, the Woodcutter!" exclaimed Sidney; "do,
dear aunt, let me entreat, with old Matthew, that he may be sheltered;
he saved my Jife once from a red-deer on Glena—a brave old fellow:
the deer followed me furiously, but when Randy appeared, went away
as gentle as a lamb. We both remember him, Cormac." The young
men united their entreaties, but Lady Elizabeth continued inexorable;
she talked a great deal, declared her belief that illness, particularly fever,
and more particularly than all, Irish fever, was sent as a punishment to
the poor for being idle; consequently only the idle got the fever. She
showed, to her own satisfaction, that industrious folk were always healthy;
she had examined the state of the country, during her visits of a month
at a time, every five or six years, and taken great pains to point out to
them what they ought to do to improve their minds and clothe their
bodies; and their declaring they had no means to do as she bade them
was the consequence of laziness; she considered, indeed, as do other
people, equally wise, that sickness was a shame and poverty a sin,
while doctors were abundant and food was plentiful.
"What a fool I was to tell her anything about it," said old Matthew,
after he left the room; "I'd as soon lose my life as try to move him


62
MIDSUMMER EVE:
against his will; and he'll perish where he is. Oh, then, what business
at all have those in Ireland who have no heart for the sick and poor!"

In less than half-an-hour after this little scene, the cousins left the hall,
Cormac carrying his gun, and warm as the weather was, Sidney threw his
cloak over his arm: it was as fragrant, as glowing, and as balmy an
evening as ever Midsummer brought upon its wings; every bird, and
bee, and flower, rejoiced; the refreshing dews still hovered over the earth
they would bless with a long draught of love before the morning came;
at times, the lads encountered a current of air so laden with heat, that they
said it might rain and thunder ere the next day's noon; and then they
hurried on, with lightsome steps, and, after a time, with lighter hearts, for
Lady Elizabeth's harshness was painful to think upon, and Sidney loved
her so well, that he could not bear to believe her guilty of unworthy
actions; and he continually repeated to himself, "she is afraid of fever
on our accounts—that is all—that must be all; she has been so very kind
to me;" and as he thought this grateful thought, all things around him,
all things he looked upon, increased sevenfold in beauty. Away they
went, and soon their jests and merry laughter set the echoes dancing
above them; the shadows of the trees crossed into a most fantastic
pavement the grass upon which they trod; and once, as Cormac raised
his gun to bring down a golden-billed blackbird, that was seated just
-


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
as
above his brown mate in a hawthorn bush, the bird broke into such a gush
of music, that he let his piece fall, and met Sidney's earnest look with a
smile as bright as the blackbird's whistle was loud. "It would," he
exclaimed, " it would have been downright murder—it was so like saying,
'could you do it!'" On they went; how the rabbits scudded before
them; the hare started from her form; the burley cockchafer struck
against their hats, and their faces were netted by the tracery of the
gossamer spider; while at intervals the belling of the red-deer sounded
far, far away.
"Are you sure we have got on the right track," he said, at last.
"Yes," replied Sidney, " I have noted every tree and turn as the
Steward told me« I really think, Cormac, you had better come no farther,
for here is what they call the
^EB

'Weary Well,' and this turn to
the right will bring us to the
river — look — there is the
bridge. With me it is a part
of duty to see the poor fellow;
he never did for you—what
he did for me." They pro-
ceeded onwards, however, and
at the next turn, before either
spoke again, they stopped in-
voluntarily, for two overhang-
ing trees formed a frame-work,
into which a most exquisite
bit of lake and mountain was
set as in a picture-frame. The
most luxuriant foliage dipped
into the water; fold upon fold
of trees of various hues, of.
which they saw but the topmost branches, made the mountain base appear
a continuation of gigantic garlands, while towards the summit, one pile
of rocks against another stood out against the sky. The youths knew
the islands underneath by name, and whispered them to each other; for


CM-
MIDSUMMER EVE:
the scene was so still and lovely that they did not dare disturb it by the
sound of even low voices. At length they turned away.
"How can my aunt leave a scene like this, for the pent-up life of a
crowded city?" asked Sidney.
"It is certainly beautiful," replied Cormac; "but the misery of the
people is its blight!"
"It would vanish as it does elsewhere, if you were always at home,"
said Sidney; "but look—here is the tree. Now, Cormac, go no farther.
If you were to take this fever I should never forgive myself: back,
dear Cormac."
"I will not go back," replied Cormac. "If my mother will not,
it is my duty to protect him." And, despite his cousin's entreaties, he
continued to walk by his side, until their progress was arrested by the
sound of voices in conversation. "Hush!" exclaimed Sidney, and his
countenance changed from its usually calm expression to one of trembling
eagerness and joy. "Hush! she is here—she has found him!" Cormac
followed silently, until Sidney paused.
The Woodcutter supported himself on his elbow, beneath the shade
of one of those gigantic laurels that grow only in the Lake country, and
mingled the most earnest entreaties, that Eva would leave him, with
prophetic warnings as to the care she ought to take of herself, while,
little heeding his words, having drawn a large branch to the ground, and
secured it by a long sash, she draped a shawl so as to protect him from the
night-dew. No description could convey an idea of the ease and buoy-
ancy of her movements, or the gracious and tender expressions by which
she entreated the poor sufferer to lie down upon the pillow of heather
she had heaped for his relief. Exercise and anxiety had imparted a glow
to her usually pale complexion; and, though her words were full of
cheerfulness and hope, her eyes frequently overflowed with tears, and
her voice was broken like that of a nightingale when it laments the passing
away of spring.
I'm safe enough, darling of your mother's heart! jewel of the moun-
tains! and the only fear I have—mavourneen deelish !—is that you'll come
to harm through the sickness that is over me. Oh, then, how did you
hear it at all?"


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
65
"I missed you in the morning, and my mother thought you were long
coming. I asked of all I met if they had seen you; and when I heard

where you were, I came at once. Do not fear for me. I have sat from
night till morn, watching by the side of poor fever-stricken people, and
never felt an ache; never has weariness been upon my eyelids. Now I
will go; but will return ere the moon rises."
"Stop!" exclaimed the Woodcutter; "stop! as you value my ever-
lasting rest—as you value your mother's love—as you value your own
life—come not back to me to-night! Don't you remember this time
seven years—don't you mind since! But you don't—you don't! The
knowledge and the trials are on me; you can't see them—so best. They
hunted me with the fever-hound — the fleshless yellow dog with the
open mouth—swift of foot, with hot blighting breath, that preys on
fresh graves, and carries the pestilence through sleeping towns into the


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
07
his hands. "Away," he added, "and at once ;—I don't want cloak or
cover ;—faith in her safety will be my saving :—away!" Well the Wood-
cutter knew that he was not left without protection: one of the most skilful
herbalists of Fairy Land was
left to guard him; and, lest he
should grow sleepy with long
watching, a gentle and loving
fay was ordered to attend and
keep him to his duty. Sidney,
who, when Eva was in sight,
lacked the courage to address
her, the moment she was
gone, felt the most intense de-
sire to follow. He had not
confided to his cousin that many
times since their return he had
watched and waited to see her
curtain withdrawn at daybreak
by her small white hand—to
hear her voice answer the birds in their matin song—to gather the rose
leaves that fell from the flowers she had touched—to feel the ecstacy of
breathing the air she breathed—to teach his pen her name, until, if it did
not obstinately refuse to write aught else, it would run on with such wild
words, harmonising so together, and expressing thoughts, and hopes, and
fears he never dared to frame upon his lips, that, at last, the silent, feeble
instrument — the poor feather of a bird!—became his confidant, his
cherished friend. He needed no second bidding from the Woodcutter.
Cormac thought he was wild, and called to him for explanation, but
received no reply; and, half-annoyed, he followed along the path, musing
on the vision of beauty he had seen,—as he had never mused before; a
sharp and bitter pang shot through his frame, when he remembered that
Sidney had the privilege of looking upon Eva whenever he wished; that
he had enjoyed such privilege without communicating it to him: he felt
offended; angry and harsh thoughts arose in his mind against his cousin:
in all the endowments bestowed by Nature upon her favourites, he knew


ns
MIDSUMMER EVE:
Sidney was his superior; and until then his easy nature had been content
to admit such superiority; but now—even already—he valued his own
position and wealth as nothing worth compared with the advantages
possessed by his cousin. His ears, unaccustomed to the tones and
dialect of his native country, had not caught the meaning of the Wood-
cutter's half-muttered words; yet, suddenly, the idea flashed upon him
that Sidney had followed Eva, and he hastened his footsteps, hoping
to overtake him. Urged by mysterious whisperings, his rapidity in-
creased, until he rushed forward, careless of huge drops of rain that
struck upon his brow, and the sudden gathering of a storm, which in
the Lake country descends almost before its darkly spreading pall en-
shrouds the heavens. In a mere span of time, Nature had so completely
changed her aspect, that the scene could only be recognised by its mighty
landmarks; the lakes were a mass of heaving and leaden-coloured waters;
fierce gusts of wind dashed down the ravines, like wild-horses, confessing
no master; the forest moaned heavily as their crowned heads bowed to
their King of Terrors; the sharp pinnacles of the mountains speared the
clouds which hung in fantastic forms around brows that would not be
capped by a perishing vapour; the sheet-lightning, at one moment,
descended as a broad and shining pennon upon the waters; the next,
the sublimely awful instrument of Almighty vengeance darted from
the seething clouds, ere the deep and heavy thunder lumbered forth
the slow announcement that it was about to run its course. There was
something so startling in the sudden outbreak that Cormac paused, and
viewed the scene in wonder at its singular magnificence; the pent-up
rain had not yet mingled with the lightning; its violence was suspended
over the earth, upon which the surcharged clouds prepared to fall in
overwhelming force. Suddenly he heard a scream—a shriek — so sharp
as to seem supernatural; and, looking up, he saw an eagle floating
amid the storm, as if its delight was in the elemental war that filled all
other created things with terror. Beneath where the bird now rose—now
descended-—-Cormac perceived that a gully, half-river, half-lake, was
crossed by a fragile plank, rendered almost unnecessary in dry weather,
by the huge stepping-stones which broke the water into a thousand
dimpling eddies; the recent summer rains had filled the channel to


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
69
overflowing, and as it was within a few yards of the Lake, it tumbled
violently over every obstacle, and uplifted its waters against the little
bridge, that showed like a thread over the whirling cauldron. An artist

would have deemed its white
foam a graceful foreground to the
purple hue of the mountain that
rose beyond the dark lake to which
the narrow but impetuous torrent
was hastening; and while something
of the same idea passed through Cormac's
mind, he saw Eva Raymond move from the shelter of
the overhanging bank, and step with modest fearlessness
upon the plank, — intending to reach Dovecote by the pass of the Plank-
bridge,—the very bridge of which the Woodcutter had warned Sidney.
To his unspeakable horror, Connac distinctly saw the plank raised, by


70 MIDSUMMER EVE:
the force of the waters; yet still she moved as calmly on, as if walking
on her mother's lawn. He was a long way above her, yet he shouted
to her of peril;—in reply, he heard again the scream of the eagle: and
felt that no voice could reach her ear. At once, he dashed down the path
that commanded a view of the perilous pass; suddenly, he saw Sidney
risking his life on the fragile plank; and, though convinced that the
maiden's chance of safety was increased tenfold, it was like a blast of
the lightning on his brow, to note him there. Sidney stretched his arms
imploringly towards her, and she, half-turning, waved her hand to him,
as regardless of danger as if unconscious of its existence: one huge swell,
yellow and frothy, curled around the plank ;.—the fragile bridge heaved
in the air, and in an instant—almost as rapidly as thought—both, both
so full of life, had disappeared! How the elements warred above them,
and how the cruel waters hurried them towards the lake; but Sidney
struggled bravely, for he struggled for more than his own life! He gained
a rock!—he stood upon it in safety—he was saved! but it was only
to gaze into the waters, and then dive into their depths for the treasure
they held back. Cormac remained powerless upon the bank that overhung
the fatal spot where both had disappeared:—there was no vestige of the
plank, no indication even of where it had rested; but the river boiled
over at his feet. Suddenly, he heard his name called; it was Sidney's
voice! he sprang in half-delirious ecstasy to the place from whence it
came; and there, battling the strong and angry current, he saw his
cousin, one arm wreathed round Eva, while, with the other, he clutched
the strong bough of a tree which overhung the stream. It seemed from
the moment Sidney grasped it, that the torrent played less fiercely round
them; or it might be that his strength had returned, for, almost without
Cormac's assistance, he drew the delicate form of the fair girl upon
the bank.
"Your old luck, Sidney," whispered Cormac, as he bent over her.
"She recovers."
Eva Raymond was restored to consciousness much more rapidly than
they could have expected; the cousins seemed unable to render her any
assistance, though both were filled with the deepest anxiety; so intense
was their watching, that the tempest subsided without their observing how


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
71
rapidly it ceased in the valleys and how swiftly it passed from the
mountain tops. As she returned, in her dripping garments, to Dovecote,
the trees were laden with rain-drops, and the fragrant thyme sent up its

perfume as incense to her footsteps; night forhore to perplex her with
its shadows; and the very air vibrated with joy at her preservation; the
lakes had resumed their tranquillity; and Nature seemed again at peace.
Cormac endeavoured to entertain her with Eton jests, and the pleasures
of a city life: and talked lightly, as youths of small sympathies often do.
Sidney spoke little; his care being to remove every burr and bramble from
her path. She replied to Cormac, but thanked Sidney by looks rather
than words, until after a few minutes' shelter in her fond mother's arms,
amid tears and blushes, she presented him as her preserver.
Meanwhile, Randy remained on his heather couch, incapable of


72
MIDSUMMER EVE
rendering assistance to himself or others. The rain did not penetrate the
shelter which the forest leaves afforded; he muttered to himself fables
and scraps of old songs, until at last he slept. As the night waned, the
Woodcutter was shown the murkiness and despair that reigned in the
Kelpie's palace beneath the waters of the Upper Lake. He saw the
Queen cast herself upon the steps of her throne, and, for a time, none
of the dwellers of that dark region dared to offer her consolation; at last
her favourite lizard presumed to lick her hand, and the most musical of
her frogs croaked forth a song of solace on his reedy harp. But this,
instead of soothing, seemed to drive her to desperation; she vowed never
again to meet the Queens in amity—she entreated all bad spirits to join
her in luring the Child of Earth to her destruction. The distorted
creatures of her court trembled
as her fiery eyes rested upon
them, for well they knew she
would soon devote them to
the vengeance that demanded
sacrifice. The turmoil was
terrible; a fierce war between
THE IMPS, HER PAGES, AND
THE FROGS, HER STEEDS,
restored her to partial self-
command; and after having
bathed her swollen eyes in a
decoction of the poisonous mandrake, she gave ear to the councils of her
Nurse, who had rare experience in all wicked mysteries, having been
created of the slime of the waters of the Nile, as it lay upon the land
of Egypt; she blamed her darling for periling her liberty against a whim.
But while she grimaced and gesticulated the vision became confused; the
Woodcutter's sight was disturbed by the flapping of the wings of monstrous
bats, and the spectre dance of marrowless bones that had lain beneath
the old Weir Bridge, and in the chamels of Mucross and Aghadoe for
centuries; the roar of cataracts was in his ears, and he felt himself hurled
forward into the depths of O'Sullivan's cascade; and then he called on
Nightstar, and asked why she had deserted him? And the sound of


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
73

the oozing waters melted away, and the forms of the Kelpies became dim
and pale, until a vapour, formed of fading rainbows, where all the hues
were blended into one another, in most delicate harmony, shut out the
evil sights of evil spirits: and a strain of melancholy music encircled him
on every side, so unlike the usual music of Fairy Land, that he hardly
recognised its source, until—not commanding the revels, as in past times—
not bandying repartee with Honeybell—nor enjoying the frolics of Puck—
nor leading the mystic dance of
Midsummer—nor excited to laugh-
ter or mirth—he saw the Queens
DESCENDING ON THE WINGS OE A
bat, and when they had stepped
upon earth, he recognised Night-
star absolutely weeping, as she
reproached Honeybell for her care-
lessness of Eva at that eventful
time. Honeybell seemed intent on extracting the one drop of sweetness
from the trumpet-like tube of the woodbine, and then cast the half-crushed
blossom to the great bee, who turned it over with his trunk, and thought
how very wasteful great ladies were of the good things that fell to them.
She listened with more than her usual pout to the remonstrances of
Nightstar; whose words fell as sadly as softly from her lips. "I do
not think," she said, "of the misery yonder fiend of the waters has cost
me. I know her enmity, and can meet and overcome it. She has cast
my trusty servant upon a bed of sickness; it shall be the renewal of his
youth. She endangered the liberty and life of my well-beloved; it will
end in her own banishment and slavery; but you, Honeybell, to tamper
with Eva—you to thwart me thus! What should the child know of the
love that frivolous mortals dally with—the very scum of the passion of
noble souls?"
"You live so much in the upper air, sister," replied Honeybell,
peevishly, "that you lose all sympathies with the beings of earth."
"Not so; I seek their elevation. I honour love from its first
dawning upon the world to the very last, when it triumphs over all perish-
able things. Had I not deemed it the worthiest of all boons, would


7't MIDSUMMER EVE I
I have endowed her with it? But the bud should not be forced to
blossom before its time: the hearts as well as the heads of these poor
mortals need ripening. Troubled as I am with many cares for the good
of others"
"That makes you so exciteable, my dear Queen," interrupted Honey-
bell. "I remember when you enjoyed your existence as much as I
do mine."
"I enjoy it more than ever now," replied Nightstar; "we, my royal
sister, have higher motives than sipping sweets from flowers, or passing
time in mere idle frolics in the moonlight. I notice my anxieties but
to excuse my frequent absence from Eva's pillow. I have been passing
from one country to another, but would not have consigned to your care
either my adopted child or my faithful partisan, had I thought you would
have deserted the one, or played with the feelings of the other; not only
have you whispered follies into Eva's ear, but you have perverted, by your
worldliness, her mother's nature. See I not at this very moment, when
her child is sleeping under the influence of my surest spells, that she
is weighing the merits of the brave, the true, the earnest, the faithful
youth, who, poor though she believes him, has that within him which
never failed to achieve the highest honours your earthly world can give;
yet she—a mother—a good and tender one—with the face of her precious
child lighting up her darkness—even she rates these high qualities at
scarce a feather's weight, and absolutely, though unconsciously, regrets
that her child's life was not saved by the sensual Cormac, rather than the
high-hearted Sidney!—Now, mark you, Honeybell, it is not because the
red fluid runs in unequal currents through their young veins, for Sidney
has as many far-off ancestors as Cormac; but this usually wise and good,
and always devoted mother, bends to the worn out coronet that glitters
on the cramped and narrow brow of an earl's daughter! This is your
teaching, Honeybell."
"I respect the aristocracy," she exclaimed.
"And so do I," replied Nightstar; "many of my greatest favourites
are numbered among its daughters—I have scores under my protection
who have never heard my name, whom I shield from worldly influences
and their contaminations—and who are pure as they are beautiful."


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE. 75
Honeybell felt inclined to sneer; but the earnestness of her royal sister
was so lofty and true, that she turned away her face.
"But Nature," continued Nightstar, "has its nobles as well as antiquity
and rank. I honour the self-created glories of mind: I venerate those
who achieve greatness by labour — endurance — patience — and the high
purposes that exist only with high souls!"
"I know all that, my dear sister," again interposed Honeybell; "and
so do we all—at least it has become the fashion of late to say so; but
instead of finding fault with me, as you have done, I expected a public
vote of thanks for my good management. Two lovers secured to a little
village damsel—and two such lovers! either sufficient, in four or five
of our hours—which they call years—to set a palace in a ferment!—What
do you want for your adopted? A young girl's heart vibrating between
lovers is pretty sport to me; but if you look angry and come to that,
I think I have as good a right as you have to suggest what I please to
Eva. Disturbances seem rife in Fairy-land about this young mortal!
She is mine as well as yours."
"Honeybell!" exclaimed Nightstar, reproachfully, "do you not
remember you generously gave her up to me?"
"Well, perhaps I did," replied the vacillating Queen; "and a trouble-
some gift she is likely to prove—particularly when in love."
"In love!" repeated Nightstar. "Really, Queen, I did not think
you could have used a phrase so vulgar. Oh, sister, sister! see you
not the difference between loving and being (as gross mortals call it)
in love?"
"You are too refined for me!" exclaimed her sister, impatiently;
"and I am so weary, and the night is so fine, that really all I can
do is to consign her at once to your superior management! Cannot you
render her and hers oblivious of the past, and my elves shall unite with
yours in driving the Talbots out of the country."
"The high-born and wealthy are far too ready to leave it," replied
Nightstar; "and you know I have no power to erase a blot from the
living heart—to render an immortal mind oblivious! But my poor Wood-
cutter at this moment is thinking a fable that may teach even me how
dark buds become bright blossoms—and—"





A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
79
strength of an independent and manly nature. Nothing could be more
soothing than the calmness and stillness which prevailed over the sleeping
world—yet he was insensible to its influence—his young mind was a chaos
—his brain refused its office to calm the beatings of his heart; and at
length his head sunk upon his arm, and he entreated aid and direction
from the Power that is never appealed to in vain: supplicating Him who
listeneth in darkness as well as in
light, and whose ear is never deaf
when sorrow and trouble speak
rightly! Comforted in spirit, his
thoughts arranged themselves har-
moniously; hope, with its train of
blessings, re-entered his mind,
and, looking upwards, he wondered
if one he loved watched the stars
as he did—at that hour—when
Nature was most tranquil and
most pure. Suddenly the Wood-
cutter laid his hand upon the
window whereby Sidney stood;
but the youth had grown so accus-
tomed to his appearance at all
times and places, that he had
ceased to be surprised—meet him
where he would.
"I heard every word you said,
Master Sidney, dear," said the
poor fellow; "and much good has it done us both, sir. It's a fine thing
to open the heart and let out all the bad and take in the good that's sure
to come at our bidding. A shut heart is neither for God nor man! But
wicked things are always busy about, sir: only they may be overcome;
and I'll tell you a story about that. I saw a mighty purty sight once,
Master Sidney. You know I can't abide the eagles in the air: thieving
robbers they ever and always were, and cruel; if people knew as much
about them as I do, they'd change their mind, and not call them royal birds


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
81
the other, and at last clasped the cage with his long legs; but could
not move it; so he went to the other side, and found two bars open.
'Oh, oh!' he said; 'oh, oh! now I can get in and feast,' and in he
went, and when he was safe, down
went the bars, and the butter-
fly BORE HIM AWAY IN TRIUMPH,
to wait the judgment which all
impure doers must meet sooner
or later.
"I think more about such things
since the last sickness I had; only
the cares of the good people that
depend so much on me, and Miss
Eva, and yourself, come across
me—and that bothered and bother-
ing ould creature, Kitty Kelly,
she sets me foaming — she's so
worldly-minded! Oh, then, isn't
a worldly-minded woman a woful
thing! You remember the flowers
you gave Miss Eva? The darling
settled them in her own chaney
bowl, and I watched her looking at and trimming them with her heart in
her eye. 'Is there any new kind of flower among them, miss
darling?' I said to her, pretending innocence, as she kept taking them
in and out of the water. 'No, Randy,' she answers, 'none.' 'Because
you're such a while giving them the last touch,' I said again. She never
turned round to smile at me, as she often does, but carried them away,
and I couldn't help thinking how much fairer the living flowers of the
Almighty's garden are than all the flowers of the field. Now, sir, would
you believe it, but the minute Kitty Kelly got Miss Eva's back turned,
she threw them all out, and filled the bowl full of the fruit Master
Cormac had brought her!"
"And what did she?" inquired the almost breathless Sidney.
"She cast them out, sir—flung them over the lawn. I wish you


82
MIDSUMMER EVE!
had only seen what I saw," continued the Woodcutter, as, seized by
one of his fits of sudden wildness, he clapped his hands; "there they
went! hurroo! rolling past Kitty's window. She could not see what
I saw; and thinking they kept going on of themselves, cried out to know
'what ailed them, hopping in the grass?' Well they might hop!—well
they might roll! three little fellows kicking one apple! Hurroo!—two
at a strawberry! How pleased they were to see the rich fruit scorned,

because of the rich giver—that was sport! How they danced !—you'll
hardly believe it; but it's as true as that the moon is shining. I've
seen the Queen herself sitting like a star on Miss Eva's forehead, and
she never a bit the wiser! but," he added, sorrowfully, "there must
have been talk about it; for an hour after I heard the jewel sobbing
in her little chamber, and the mistress had a troubled look: but keep
a good heart, Master Sidney — it's grate fortune is before you, sir —
grate luck! Sure there isn't one about the place this minute that doesn't
love you before any other—"
"That's not 'luck,' either to them or to me," interrupted Sidney—
"And only wishes you were in it, instead of them that are—."
"God forbid," said the youth; "and you must not say this — nor
think it. My cousin will be a blessing to you all hereafter, when I shall
be far—far away,—perhaps to return to you no more."
"Whisht! whisht!" exclaimed the Woodcutter, "and don't be
doubting that way! I've seen all about it, as if it was in a book; but


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
S5
'Then I'll stay where I am,' says the gallant cock; 'I'm not going to
lave all my little chickens and their mothers, and my hatching hens, to the
mercy of a cowld starving world, with no one to take care of them or
purtect them. I should be ashamed to crow if I was guilty of such mane-
ness.' 'Well, bring 'em,' said the Kelpie, spitefully. The cock looked

up at the horse, where it was snorting and blowing, and clapt his wings.
'No,' he answered, ' we'll stay where we are; no good comes from those
who tempt us to forget the duties we are all hatched to perform. I'm
grately obleeged; but I'll have nothing to do with you; so the sooner you
are off the better.'"
"Can you read the planets," inquired Sidney, abstractedly.
"Not as well as I do palms; but there's grate reading in Nature,
Master Sidney: what do you think of the story I told you?"
"Truly, Randy, I did not hear it."
"I thought as much," replied the Woodcutter; " it's wonderful, when
the heart talks aloud, how deaf the ears grow to every thing else!"
The Woodcutter wended his way towards the cottage, and Sidney
threw himself on his bed, to dream what dreams he could.
After the events of that day, Cormac and Sidney avoided each other,
by unspoken, but mutual, consent; and the Lady Elizabeth grew towards
her nephew first cold, and then bitter; it was hard to bear, and harder
still, when Sidney implored her to tell him in what he had offended;


86
MIDSUMMER EVE
to hear words drop like icicles from her lips—words which carried con-
viction that the affection she had once borne him had departed. He
wrote to his father: the reply attributed blame, and advised concilia-
tion. It was only when wandering around Dovecote, when hearing Eva's
voice, when assisting in her missions of charity, when singing the same
song, or reading the same book with her, that he was happy; and

^:>-^r-<. -^*——^-f^
yet 'happy' is but a cold word to express his emotions—the emotions of
his deep, earnest, engrossing love. It was his life—more, far more than
his life; a ministering angel she was of all the holy offices that create
blessings here and hereafter. Cormac, too, often brought to the Dovecote
the passions of his ardent and stormy nature; he was Sidney's cousin,
and, therefore, was for a time welcomed by Eva; he was Lady Elizabeth's
son—the heir of Ard-Flesk—that secured a welcome from her mother.
It had chanced that on the Midsummer Eve which followed the rescue
of Eva from the waters, Lady Elizabeth arose in an angry humour; it was
true her little starched maid had been with her the previous night, until
the matin crow of the early cock; it is true that her ladyship had been
tart and snappish to Cormac during the previous week; that she had
hinted 'that sons had their own purposes to serve when they remained
with mothers;' that she had read a homily to both young men on the
evils of low connections; that she had spent half the day in studying


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
87
Rochefoucault, and the other half in repeating his maxims; that her mind
was filled with an extraordinary 'something' that would not be content
quietly to subside into nothing, as was the case usually; both the youths
felt that some event must happen, but there was between them no confi-
dence as of old, and they could but resolve their own thoughts; Cormac
glared fiercely upon Sidney, who met the glare with the calm light of
eyes so full of truth and power, that his cousin for an instant turned
inquiry into himself—rapidly, but not satisfactorily.
"It's little use I'm to Miss Eva," mused the Woodcutter, as he traced
the progress of Sidney through the dew of the meadow that led to
Dovecote: "it's little use I'm to Miss Eva now; and that brave young
heart afoot before the sun at Midsummer:
and Master Cormac will be here, before
noon, only he comes a visiting on a high-
trotting horse, decked with whip and spur,
and a gay green riding-coat; and the chil-
dren salute him, and stand still as he rides
by, and say to each other, 'that's the
young lord of Ard-Flesk;' but they bless
Master Sidney when he goes along, and
they dance before him in his path. How
Nightstar scorns the gay youth on the fine
horse, who brings gifts to the mother—and
distress to the child!" Thus Randy thought,
before Lady Elizabeth had arisen
from her bed, and commanded that
four horses should be harnessed
to the family coach, and the new
liveries which had never been
worn since a royal duchess looked
at the 'fittings' of her London
drawing-rooms, and deigned to observe that they were very well—' for
her!' Her ladyship ordered forth the new liveries, and commanded her
little maid to array her in the costly folds of a scarlet cashmere, while a
plume of white feathers descended over her left shoulder ; and as she


88
MIDSUMMER EVE:
stood on the stone steps of the ancient house, the butler and porter
bowed behind her, and the footmen, with dress bouquets, bowed before,

and waited her ladyship's ascent to her carriage; yet none of them had
the remotest idea as to where her ladyship was going; if the little lady's-
maid knew, she kept her secret well.
"Where to, my lady?" inquired the head footman, while the coachman
bent down his head to listen; and the porter and butler extended their
necks, and the other footman, although he looked indifferent, opened his
ears, and Cormac's bloodhound, Keeldar, rose up from his lair, and after
peering from beneath his eyes, and shaking, growled; and her ladyship's
own old spaniel wheezed to be taken up; and the footman, after a long
pause, repeated the question, "Where to, my lady?"
"Drive on!" replied Lady Elizabeth; "and drive fast, particularly
through the village: I cannot endure the sight of misery."


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
89
"She can't abide the sight of misery," repeated the porter to the
butler; "I wonder she doesn't put them out of it!"
"It's against law to make a fire and burn the poor," said the butler,
as he kicked the spaniel his mistress had committed to his tender care.
"A little would do it!" continued the porter, musingly; "a little
goes a great way in charity; anyhow, the people who give are of that
opinion; but a little would do it here; and sure she'd not be troubled
with such pains about her heart, or such meagrims and things in her head
.—if she'd try: just relieve one or two families as an experiment. Randy
has a fable about that—of how a fine sick lady grew better as her purse
grew lighter; and whenever she gave a guinea she lost an ache! Well, it's
a curious world, and I will always
say so," he continued, as he sunk
gradually into his chair: "a very
curious world, and of all places I
was in, this is the strangest and
most unnatural. I never get
through a quiet night's rest, and I
don't know one that does."
When the carriage and horses of
Lady Elizabeth Talbot stood at
the road entrance to Dovecote,
it was nearly as long as the cottage
itself. Numbers gazed upon it,
in the distance, speculating upon
the visit, and fearing that, having
her beauty, the 'proud lady' was going
Eva away—just as beautiful damsels of
'lifted ' by enchantment. The old weather-
ind creaked so audibly, that the coachman
directed his eyes upward, while the startled inhabitants
of the old tower, in their turn, fixed theirs on him, until
every leaf seemed instinct with life. The horses reared
and snorted, and in one of the ruined windows of the tower, Randy's
head was set as in a frame-work of knotted ivy.

turned


90 MIDSUMMER EVE:
It was in vain the coachman shook his whip, and the footmen ex-
tended their gold-headed canes towards him; he continued muttering
and gesticulating, until, as some of his expressions reached their ears,
they were awed into silence by the 'Fairy Man.'
The majestic lady entered as Eva, more in sadness than in joy,
was drawing up the strings of her harp. Lady Elizabeth had a keen per-
ception of the beautiful and her taste had been rendered fastidious by a
long acquaintance with the best models of classic beauty; she brought
all living creatures to the test of the Grecian statue; and, consequently,
refused to be satisfied with much that less fastidious critics called
'perfection.' But when she passed within the sanctuary of that humble
cottage, and met the beaming eyes of the young girl, who received
her with a heightened colour, but with no more confusion of manner
than youth and modesty rendered graceful, the lady forgot for a few brief
moments the object of her mission—completely overpowered by the love-
liness she could scarcely believe was real; after gazing on her silently,
until Eva turned from her high-bred stare, "I wished," she said, "to
see your mother, young lady. I do not desire to give you pain."
"Nor her!" exclaimed Eva — the expression of her face changing
to one of deep anxiety. "You cannot surely wish to give my mother
pain? If it must be—let me suffer instead: Lady, we are one in heart
and soul—we have no secrets from each other. Oh, do not give her pain!"
Lady Elizabeth gazed upon that form, trembling with emotion;
many thoughts crowded her mind, jostling each other with fearful rapidity;
but one prevailed above the rest: all her arts, all her indulgence—her
wealth, her rank—all she had in the emptiness of her hollow soul, most
coveted—all she had lavishly bestowed — all had failed to procure her
a tithe of such love! Whence came it 1 "Do you then love your
mother so very dearly 1" she inquired, taking her hand, and looking
earnestly and inquiringly into Eva's faultless face.
"Love my mother!" repeated Eva, almost unconsciously; "surely
every child loves its mother."
"Yes," replied Lady Elizabeth, " in a degree; but you look so much
love. Love such as / have met with, has its own purposes to work out;
have you no purpose in this love 1"


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
91
"Oh, yes, lady! a great—great—purpose; the purpose of deserving
and keeping hers."
"Now tell me truly, young lady, have you no secret hid away from
your mother in some
dark corner of your
heart?"
"None!" she said,
and the light of truth
shone in her eyes;
"none!"
"You are born to be
believed," answered
Lady Elizabeth, un-
consciously dropping
the hand, "do you
not know me?"
"I know to what
house this noble dog
belongs!" answered
Eva, laying her hand
on the bloodhound,
who had preceded his
mistress; the dog turned, and placed his head under the hand that offered
the caress.
"You must know Keeldar well: he would hardly do so much to me;
and they say his race never caress those who are not of gentle blood."
"He does not lose caste by caressing a Raymond!" was Eva's reply
.—proud in words, but not in tone; it sounded a truth — not a boast;
"I know him well, Lady Elizabeth; he always accompanies his master."
"Then you admit that Mr. Talbot is a visitor here?" inquired the
lady, unable to repress her astonishment at finding Eva so self-possessed
on a subject upon which her own anxiety made it difficult to enter.
"We see him occasionally, and I am always pleased when he brings
Keeldar; the dog is so noble and so true."
"Do you then prefer the dog to the master?"

S-


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE. 93
"And you like him better than his master," repeated Lady Elizabeth,
fixing her penetrating eyes upon the fair face which beamed upon her.
"Mr. Talbot is your son, Lady Elizabeth," replied Eva, " and intends
us all kindness; but—I am very, very fond of Keeldar."
"Mr. Talbot would appreciate the compliment," said the lady,
proudly; "yet," she added, thinking as wordlings do, that truth is but
seeming, and finding it impossible to believe that Eva could be really
indifferent to her son and heir; "yet, by your own admission, he has
been here without my knowledge. Is it not so?"
A hue of deep indignant crimson flushed Eva's cheek. "Without your
knowledge, lady! Why without your knowledge 1" The girl looked
timidly, and yet, frankly, towards the imperious woman.
"I will not talk with her," she murmured; "there is a spell about her:
I pray you," she said aloud, "send your mother hither."
"Lady Elizabeth, I entreat!" exclaimed Eva, advancing.
"I will not speak with you again!" she said, hastily turning away
from the eloquence of her beseeching look. "I seek audience of your
mother." "She would honour the choice of an emperor," was the thought
that rushed through her mind, as Eva disappeared; nor had she arranged
her plans when Mrs. Raymond entered the room. The greeting was
brief; and the lady-mother, in a few short, hard, hurried words, re-
proached Geraldine with laying a snare in her daughter's beauty to entrap
the heir of a noble house. Geraldine's nature revolted at the idea of her
child's name being so used. It is not to be questioned that she had built,
as mothers often will, a lofty palace, wherein her soul's idol might reign
a triple queen—of riches, love, and beauty; but Eva herself had over-
thrown the structure; and the mother was roused into forgetfulness of
all save that she had a child to justify and to protect.
"I do not think," she said, and her voice rang upon the lady's ear,
like an echo of the one she had heard a few moments before ; "I do
not think your ladyship's rank or wealth entitle you to enter a house,
however humble, and insult its mistress. I do not deny that your son
has spoken to me of his affection for my child; but as it was not
returned; there was no need to trumpet to his mother the fact of his
rejection. I confess I should have rejoiced had he been older, and had


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE. 95
"You wrong all high-born maidens, lady, in supposing them guilty of
so mean a craft; if they loved him indeed!" she continued, blushing as
she spoke; "but, even then, they would surely wait to be wooed, and not
permit wooing either, unless feeling that love could be given in return."
"And did you thus?"
"Truly, lady, I hardly know. I hope I did—I think I did; for,
from the first evening, when—when his cousin saved my life—he com-
plained of my coldness."
"Who? Sidney!"
The tell-tale blood, summoned by the sound that was music in her ears
—a name that nestled in her pure young heart—rushed in a glowing
current from its citadel, and steeped brow, cheek, and bosom, in the deep
roseate hue of love. "He saved my life," she murmured: "poor as it is,
it is my mother's world. He saved my life."
If any of the harsh thoughts, which had been her counsellors during
the pompous progress of Lady Elizabeth to the Dovecote, had time to
whisper her who often gave them scope and entertainment, they would
have recalled to her memory, much that Eva's few simple words and
maidenly emotion had obliterated. She stood mortified and abashed
in the presence of a girl, blushing and trembling, on the threshold of a new
sensation, which, according to her destiny, was to guide her from her
cradle to her grave. Lady Elizabeth would have gloried in her power
to tear asunder two young loving hearts, casting the tenderest to perish—a
trophy of the power of her house; but now that Eva had put away
Cormac's love, as a tlling of no value—and, as she saw, cherished another
affection in its stead, she would have sacrificed many of her diamond heir-
looms to have been her arbiter of fate. She expected a triumph—she ex-
perienced a defeat; and, angered but not humbled—she still clasped Eva's
hands in hers, while the girl again murmured, "he saved my life!"
Strange to say, no rejoicing came over the spirit of Lady Elizabeth that
her son was safe from the snare she considered to have been spread for
him; but every feeling merged into one of indignation, that a Talbot—
and her son — should have subjected himself to rejection by a simple
cottage girl—" and the growth (as her heart in its contraction designated
her nephew), the growth of her charity substituted in his place." As she
f


9G
MIDSUMMER EVE:
withdrew from the most unsatisfactory visit she had ever made, was
it her irritated nerves that conjured up the sound, or did peal after
peal of low musical and yet ironical laughter ring amid the leaves that
tangled on the walls of the old tower? And why did the swallow
stoop so low in its wheeling flight that the ruffle of its wings agitated
the feathers which drooped upon the proud lady's shoulders; and Eva's
robins rush into the martins' nests that clustered beneath the thatch;
and the two old fleshy-faced bats, who were never seen but after
sunset, peer down from their grey stones, and scream, and squeak like
monkeys; while the white-eared owl who had followed the weather-
cock from whence it came, and mused beneath its sheltered base, in
half-sleepy silence on atmospheric changes, why did he brave the
sun, and, with winking eyes, hoot like a maniac? The very atmosphere
became uncomfortable to Lady Elizabeth, for she could hardly breathe.
Little knew the proud lady that her discomfiture at the Dovecote had
been reported—long before she had
passed its threshold — to Eva's
guardian. Randy had descended
from the tower, and taken
his seat on the centre of
a mound, underneath the

old gable, beside which the lady must pass ere she issued from the


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
97
gate; while, peering from a broken window, Kitty Kelly also watched
—with different feelings and opposite conclusions. The countenance
of the Woodcutter was expressive of sly triumph; there was a volume
of quaint joy in his rough face, as the news was brought to him by
a troop of tiny beings, invisible to all but him; who, though they spoke
no word, indicated by a thousand merry antics, that a great victory had
been achieved. They vanished as they came; and the next moment
Randy stood beside the garish footmen, hat in hand.
"Glad to see your ladyship abroad to hear the blessings of the
poor, and to thank you myself for the fine shelter your honour put
over me when I was down in the sickness in your ladyship's wood," and
he bowed with uncouth solemnity.
"He speaks of sickness!" said the lady to the footmen: "I never
remember relieving him."
"Maybe your ladyship hasn't the best of memories — I have,"
observed the Woodcutter, still with seeming respect. "Do you ever
think of Dives and Lazarus?" he questioned; and in an instant his
manner changed, his eyes rolled and sparkled, and the terrified lady
shrunk into a corner of the carriage. "Stand back," he continued,
addressing the servants who would have removed him—" and let the
coachman get his horses to stir if he can! — My lady, the brightness
of your diamonds will not light you to
glory — nor gold, that never brought sun-
shine to a poor man's house, make soft
your bed in heaven! There isn't a poor
half-starved colleen that gathers wild straw-
berries on Glena would take your place
and your trouble along with it. Whisper—
you wanted a daughter as well as a son, but
she's not for you," he said, pointing his
finger derisively; "she's for your betters."
"Take me home !" exclaimed Lady Eliza-
beth.
"Take her," said the Woodcutter, with in-
creasing wildness of manner, "to where the body we pamper must go to,

f


98
MIDSUMMER EVE:
whatever becomes of the rest—to the little cold wet grave, that all the
violets in the world can't sweeten! Go to Mucross, my lady, and learn
your lesson there. The thigh-bones of strong men, that carried them
through the wars of life—now white and powdery; the bare empty skulls
of proud and beautiful ladies, with hairy worms for ringlets—are there.
Drive her to Mucross ! — Hurroo!"
The horses, frightened by the yell, set off at full gallop; but when the
carriage arrived at Ard-Flesk, Lady Elizabeth was so overcome by terror,
that she was carried by her servants to her dressing-room.

"And, mother," questioned Eva, on the evening of that day, as she
sat on a low stool at her mother's feet, in the depth of their oriel window,
"were the ladies of rank whom you met before you married, and of whom
you tell me so little, were they like that proud unhappy lady who grieved
us so much this morning?"
"Not many like her, dearest; but some, whose heads are not suffi-
ciently strong for the giddy height on which they stand,—certainly a little
like her."
*' Poor thing!" she exclaimed; "now it is all over, and I look back
upon her and her words, I am so thankful that my lot is not cast in the
A


A FAIRY TAIE OF LOVE. 99
noisy world. I feel as if I never could be happy there: it must be
so like struggling in a torrent," and she shuddered at the remembrance.
"You cannot live always here, my child! you must not."
"Why, mother?"
"Your education will need perfecting."
"Nay, mother! are you not my teacher?"
"There is much I do not know—much that you must learn; besides
women have a destiny of usefulness and knowledge to fulfil; a part to act,
not in the torrent of life, but in its under current: they must not live only
for birds, and flowers, and trees."
"The poor !—my mother!"
"One great duty, but not the only one; you must learn, Eva, to
live in the world, to love the world, to serve the world, yet to withstand
the world—a time may come — must come — when I shall not be with
you, when you must think and act for yourself; when—"
"Mother, you are not ill!" interrupted Eva, starting in sudden appre-
hension at the thought of separation.
"Thank God, no, dearest; but well or ill, a mother must prepare her
child for the future; you must, despite yourself, bear in mind, that the
practical wisdom of manhood is often oblivious of youth's first love."
"Nay, mother!"
"You must hear me; there are few things more brittle than man's
love; few things of which the world so speedily makes shipwreck. Man
must enter that world; and necessity compels woman to enter it also,
though by a narrower path, or she can never be a help-meet for him.
Alas, my child! if his father remembered our old friendship; if his aunt
forgot her pride; if he were of a proper age; even if the love that
shares your love for me in your young heart, should hold its faith, and
Sidney hold his with you, you will have to endure—"
Eva did not now look up; she hid her face in her mother's lap,
and replied—" Nothing."
"Nothing!" repeated Geraldine.
"Nothing, dearest mother, with you and with him."
"One little word—Poverty."
"We are not poor," replied Eva.


100 MIDSUMMER EVE I
And thus it is, thought Geraldine, that young hearts feel, and think,
and love, and hope! What a vision is their life! Sleeping in faith and
trustfulness, and dreaming dreams that make an earthly heaven! then
waking to the chill and cold of universal and particular change! She
has slept and dreamed too long!—yet let me wake her tenderly, if wake
she must, in a degree; is not such a dream better than being learned in
the tricks and petty toils of a single day (for such is life), rather than
bearing onward bravely to attain the perfecting which leads to immor-
tality ?" My darling child!" she said, as she covered her brow with
kisses, "I have been vain and foolish. I thought you could have loved
Cormac, and I knew his mother's leave would follow his desire if she
once saw you; there would have been wealth, position, power,"
"Stay mother," interrupted Eva, "was it for these you wed my
father's fortunes, saying, as I have heard, when his cousin, the great judge,
would have wooed you from him, that you would rather carry a knapsack
for Edward, than sit on the woolsack with Horace. Ah, mother!" she
continued, half-rising, and flinging her arms round her neck, "I have
found you out!"
"And would you, Eva, do as I did," replied Geraldine, struggling
with her tears—" would you be the millstone round the neck of a brave
spirit, which, but for you, could run its course, untrammelled, to all the
honourable distinctions that men so largely covet?"
"No," she answered; "I would run it with him, run it at his feet, run
it through poverty, through sorrow, sickness, misery, shame!—no, not
through shame—shame could never mate with him—and at the last,
guided by him, would find strength to mount with him—bright in his
glory! Oh, mother," and Eva sank at her mother's feet, "teach me how
to do this; take me anywhere to make me worthy a destiny so high;
strengthen my exertions, elevate my mind, and I will be to you the truest,
dearest child, that ever knelt for blessings at a mother's knee!"
What a sweet time it was! and how sweetly mother and child mingled
together their tears and blessings; they were friends — friends in the
highest and holiest meaning of that noble word—each full of love and
admiration of the other; and how the mother advised, and the child
listened with meek ears; still thinking that worldly wisdom was hard,


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
101
and wondering why it should be needed; but yielding in the fulness of
love and duty to one who must know better than herself; relieved too,
by the certainty that in future she should hear no more of Cormac.
Geraldine spoke of leaving Dovecote for a time; and this she heard
with tears, and listened for words to come that would tell of their return;
and then she thought of Randy! What would become of him while they
were gone! and so the evening passed in smiles, and tears, and counsel,
and sweet confidence; the evening of a day that added years to Eva's
store of knowledge of herself and of the world; and though no farther
mention was made of Sidney, yet Eva saw that her mother, however

indistinctly, kept him
in view; at last,
calmly and sweetly
her arm hung round
her mother's neck, her head resting
on her mother's shoulder, she slept
half-dreamily, for the bright spirit
of her birth was with her then, soothing her with sweetest music, until the
various passages of her destiny were faintly shadowed forth by sound.
First, the spirits of childhood's favourite flowers raised their small voices;
they came from the shady nooks of deep valleys and overhanging
r


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
103
At times, sighs mingled with hymns of praise; and as the rout passed on,
the shriek of the murderous mandrake rose above the voice of the spirit of
the rose; and though gloomy forms appeared in the distance, half-shrouded
by the branches of the yew and the cypress, moaning forth such strains as

are heard only echoing from tombs, still the chant, the happy chant, that
had accompanied her life gained strength; and as the shadows of noisome
trees and heavy-leaved flowers became so dark and mournful that Eva felt
her strength exhausted, her mind obscured, and life struggling through the


104 MIDSUMMER EVE.
last pulses of existence, she was suddenly revived by a burst of purest
harmony, and a light softer than the setting sun, and free from the coldness
which the silent and mysterious moon casts with her beams upon the earth;
and looking upwards, she saw the si>irit of the rose beaming with
a glory all its own; and then she knew it for the spirit of universal love,
and in an ecstacy of renewed existence, she held forth her arms towards
it; and as she did so, a voice called "Eva!" and she knew the voice
of Sidney. On the instant all around her became confused, the
beauty of the season faded, heavy clouds, stained and murky, gathered
around her, and shut out Nightstar from her sight. Again the voice
called "Eva!" and starting from her troubled slumbers she awoke, not
knowing which was the real, and which the world of dreams.





--.if.0 l\JC,'

PART THE FIFTH.

ONEYBELL Was
enjoy
ing to the full the
luxury of a Midsummer Night, couching
t upon roses—while her husband —(husbands
are always lovers in Fairy Land,) poured
the richest gifts into her lap, and the sweetest
flattery into her ear; troops of her attendants were
disporting around her; some engaged in hunting
the gossamer spider; others in extracting nectar
from the flowers; others, again, blowing bubbles and debating
whether the dew gathered from the rose produced a colour
different from that shaken off the petals of the lily. Honey-
bell smiled at the somewhat angry discussion of her courtiers,
and, with half-shut eyes, indulged her mood of most luxurious laziness,
from which the voice of Nightstar hardly aroused her, as, swifter and
brighter than lightning, she stood before her sister Queen — the wand
with which she had wrought out Eva's vision still trembling in her hand.
"Uprouse ye!" she said—" uprouse ye, and come with me! ere
the flowers we both love are polluted by human blood; — up, fair
Honeybell!—there is only time to act—none to think ;—but now, as
I passed the bank whereon my subjects were sporting, I saw a hideous


106
MIDSUMMER EVE I
Banshee glide over earth." I know that it bodes evil to those we
love and protect. Uprouse ye then; and come with me!"

"Eva is always in some fresh trouble," said Honeybell—" I thought
you told me I should have nothing more to do with her; yet, methinks
my counsel would serve her better far than your's; your gifts are always
leading her into a maze of anxieties; while mine would give her freedom,
joy, and love—if you would but let them work."
"It is for Sidney I most fear," answered the Queen.
Honeybell was roused in a moment. "He is worthy a throne in
Fairy Land!" she replied; "evil to him! up spirits of mine, up,
and
arm ye
"With all good thoughts and honest spells," interposed Nightstar.
"With weapons of all kinds," interrupted Honeybell; "a victory
prepared for, is half gained before a battle is fought."
"Follow in the best order you can, only follow!" exclaimed Night-
star; and as she spoke she rose into the air, glittering like a meteor.
Quicker than mortal thought ever travelled through mortal brain did
the benevolent Fairy speed to avert mischief: and, alighting on a dove,
that surmounted a half-ruined pavilion, which terminated the south end
of the terrace at Ard-Flesk, she paused to arrange her thoughts; it was
not without dismay she beheld troops of dark spirits congregated below,
crowding, and crushing, and exulting; her arrival had not been noted
by the ill-favoured crew; and upon looking back, she beheld with


108
MIDSUMMER EVE!
"Honest!" sneered Cormac—how the fiends exulted at the sneer—
and how they deepened its effect!
"Heed it not! " whispered Nightstar to Sidney—" high souls care not
for taunts unmerited."
"Are you a man to bear it!" croaked the councillors of Evil.
"Honest!" echoed Sidney. "Cormac, you know I am honest; though
you scowl on me, yon
know in your secret heart
that I am honest; that,
even in this course of
love, I have never worked
darkly to win—"
"What you cannot,
dare not, wear," inter-
rupted Cormac, fiercely
—"even you would hard-
ly tempt Eva forth upon
the world to share a
beggar's portion."

In the very torrent and whirlwind of strong passion, which tempted
Cormac to utter these words, he felt his heart stung by sudden pain, and
he would gladly have recalled them.
"Be calm and triumph," whispered Nightstar, on one side.
"Are you a man to bear it," suggested a fiend, on the other.
"I am no beggar, Cormac," replied Sidney; "and ere our lives draw
to a close, my name may fill as full, as bright, as honoured a page as


110 MIDSUMMER EVE
"Stand back!" said Sidney; "this is child's play."
"It is man's vengeance," exclaimed Cormac, striking, with sudden
fury, at his cousin; but a power stronger than his own hung upon his
arm, and, missing his aim, he stumbled forward. As Sidney passed the
threshold, Cormac raised his voice in a curse of such deadly import, that
it was echoed by a shriek which trembled amid the trees; and then he
called his cousin the name that brands a man's brow, and sinks into his
heart—he called him 'Coward!' The youth turned; and, as he paused
beneath the full beams of the queenly moon, he looked more noble
than the finest Apollo that ever endowed creative sculptor with im-
mortality.
"I go hence," he said, " wronged and insulted in many ways; but I
will not go until you retract that last dark word. This scar upon my arm,
won in defending you, now three years past, proves me no coward; other
things recalled might be my witnesses. I am neither coward in act nor
word; had you not been filled with sudden passion, you had not dared
to lift your finger against me. Am I a coward, Cormac?" Both now
stood in the open air, both in the beauty of manhood's youth; Sidney,
with folded arms, remained firm and motionless; "Am I a coward,
Cormac?" he repeated; and his cousin shunned the light of his clear,
well-opened eyes.
"No !" was the brief reply; "I wronged you there: for that—that
only—I ask forgiveness."
Eagerly the frank and generous heart threw wide its portals at the
words; before another could be spoken, he grasped Cormac's hand in
his; then casting it from him as suddenly as if it had been a serpent-sting,
he exclaimed, "You struck at me with that, Cormac !"—and he pointed
to where a tell-tale beam of light showed the blade of a foreign dagger,
which Sidney had withdrawn from his grasp, and cast upon the ground.
"You struck at me with the dagger my father gave us when we acted
plays together! It is indeed time I left this house!"
"Sidney, Sidney!" shouted Cormac, when many minutes had dropped
into the passing hour, and the woods loomed between him and the moon,
so that he thought he was alone with darkness; "Sidney!—but it is
better he should go. Always the advantage," he muttered; "no wonder


112
MIDSUMMER EVE
Nightstar, seriously, " when we can be the monitors of men—the guardians
of women."
answered the blooming Queen, as she stepped
gracefully between the wings of her
"As you please,"

attendant bat. "We will not forget
your injunctions, and for all our
lightness, will fulfil them to the
best of our ability."
Nightstar hung for a little about the
pavilion, and seeing that none awoke
to convey Cormac in his state of
utter helplessness to the shelter of
the house, she aroused his mother;
nor did the gentle-hearted Queen speed away from Ard-Flesk until
its heir rested on his own bed, over which Lady Elizabeth hung in most
eloquent sorrow, while the Fairy's invisible agent soothed the ravings
of his fever.
The night was nearly spent when Sidney paused at the garden gate
of the Dovecote, where Randy waited his arrival.
"You are surely not going away, Master Sidney," said the poor
fellow; "all the things you told me about are up yonder—all but this
great book. Oh, Master Sidney, don't lave us for the wicked world
beyond these mountains !—don't lave us !—trouble is everywhere. I
can't tell what ails Miss Eva, but she has been sitting all night at the
window, and sits there still. Oh! to think of sorrow coming here,
when there's so much of it due to those who never felt its chill about
their hearts. Shall I tap at the window and tell Miss Eva you are here,
Master Sidney?"
"Not for the world, Randy. What I have to say to her must be said in
the bright light of morning. Hope comes with its breezes and its beams!
We must think and speak now as man and woman, not as girl and boy."
"Why, then, the Lord look down on the both of ye, Master Sidney,
dear! Sure its wonderful how you've grown up from babbies under my
very eyes, jewel!—I thought you said you'd wait till morning, sir, to
speak to her."


114
MIDSUMMER EVE!
books—that's the rocks; and then the thought came into her head that

the green moss, with its little blossoms of white pearl, told her a dale of
the vanities as well as the freshness of youth; and the grey old moss
preached her a regular sermon of wisdom, telling her tales of what it
had seen, and how God's sunshine mingled with the billows of the lake,
even in the stormiest weather; and how, bare as the rock was, it gave
the old moss enough to live on, which the grass of the beautiful meadows
would hardly believe possible; and, by'n-by, the little starry-eyed snails
—tiny striped things—said how pleasantly they lived within them grate
books: many a time, by the same token, have I seen them snails when
they weren't altogether so comfortable; when the good people would be
teasing them out of their life, of a moonshiney morning, keeping them
from their drop of dew. And little wriggling worms, with tasselled horns,
spoke to the lady in praise of the barren rocks; and the little fishes, and
curious crawling things, boasted of the shelter and purtection they afforded
them; and while all this knowledge, and a dale more that I can't think
of, was coming to her as sweet as music on the wind, who should rise up


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE. 115
on the head of the waters but O'Donoghue himself, and putting a quiet
smile on his grand ould face,—' And what are you going to pay me,'

he says, 'for reading my books,' he says. 'Oh, grate king!' makes an-
swer the lady, 'I have never read a line in them, but I should like
to, very much.' 'Nonsense,' he says, 'begging your beauty's pardon,
but you have been reading them these two hours. Havn't you been
larning of the grey and green moss, and of the starry-eyed snail, and
the tasselled-horned worm, and of all the small and great creeping things,
what you never knew before; turning over page after page of the book
of Nature, the finest, grandest, ancientest book that ever was shut or
opened,' says the king; and the lady bowed her head and thanked the
king and owned the pleasantest reading ever she had was in O'Donoghue's
Library! He minds me," murmured Randy, when his tale was ended,
"no more than a plover's whistle," — and the poor fellow laid down at
his feet, and fell asleep.
The prospect of exerting mind and energy roused the best feelings in
the heart of the noble and enterprising youth. He must, he knew,
consult his father, and though he feared he had neither money nor influ-
ence to push his fortunes, yet he could reckon upon his wisdom and
affection; and, above all—what sons do not always meet from fathers—
sympathy. He well knew he would approve his leaving a home to which
he was no longer welcome. Sidney loved his aunt more than she was
ever loved before, and panted for the time, which, with the hopefulness of
the young, he believed could not be far distant, when he should revive


116 MIDSUMMER EVE;
her affection for him. He had abundant plans for the future. His
drawings had been frequently termed ' masterpieces of art;' and he cer-
tainly cultivated such enthusiastic acquaintance with Nature, that it added
freshness and truth to his vigorous pencil, which might win him fame and
gold hereafter. Love had taught him poetry; and could he doubt the
excellence of his verses, when Eva wept at their pathos and exulted in
their heroism. What most boys encountered as difficulties he had con-
sidered enjoyments; his mind like an alembic, distilled perfumes from
that which others thought sapless leaves; and few men at five-and-twenty
had minds more fully stored than Sidney at nineteen. These varied and
enviable acquirements gave him self-reliance rather than self-confidence;
and—as all do, before experience teaches knowledge—he fancied the
world would receive him with open arms, and help him to independence
and fame. His thoughts and ambitions—exalted and purified by the love
which in its purity purifies all the aspirations of man—rose far above the
lofty mountains that shut in the fair valley; and, confused as they were,
still certain hopes and feelings were clearly defined, though arising out of
the chaos of the future. How proud he should be of Eva; No puny-
freckled jealousy suggested that he should shut her within the casket of
selfish love. How he should glory in the admiration she excited, knowing
that the high treasure of her heart was all his own! If dark thoughts of
Cormac crossed this vision, he set them aside in the belief that some
sudden madness had stirred within him; and then he longed for morning
to tell her how bright (poor youth!) his future was!—how they should
write each other brief chronicles of each day's love and labour. And at
last the morning broke — it did not come tardily — what Midsummer
morning ever did 1—but he thought so, and eluded its delay, as the
vapours climbed the hills, resting like loitering travellers on the way—now
hanging on a pinnacle, and then creeping into some damp cave, until
driven forth by those arrows of light, which the sun casts forth at his first
rising. At last, from within Eva's chamber, he heard her voice, warbling
Handel's hymn—
"How cheerful along the gay mead."
The voice was feeble: it came forth like a sigh—as if her heart went not
with it. Strange, that at the sound of that subdued tone his sensitive spirit


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE. 117
fainted— it brought to him a sense of unworthiness—a lack of strength
to work out the lofty purposes wherein, but a few moments before, he
triumphed; and he longed for her to come forth, as was her custom, to
meet the morning as it descended from the mountain tops.
"Eva! Eva!" he exclaimed at length, impatiently; "Eva! all night
I have watched here. I would not disturb you, though I have much
to say, and little time to tarry—Eva!"
She came to the summons, not blushingly, but with a sober step
and heavy anxious eyes; yet her chill and trembling hand met his with
as fond a pressure as it had ever done. "I slept last evening," she
said, "on my mother's shoulder, and saw such Midsummer visions!
And then I heard your voice through the burley that succeeded; — it
called 'Eva,' Sidney—just as you called me now. I have read and
prayed, and read again: but I have never slept or slumbered since. I
know that something has happened. What of Lady Elizabeth?"
"I have left her for ever."
"And that!" exclaimed Eva, bursting into tears; "that is my
fault."
"No, Eva; nor mine. The links dropped away one by one, and
at the last a single shudder set the poor captive free. I must leave you
now for a brief time," he continued, speaking rapidly; "first go to my
father, and counsel with him; then, out into the world. A Talbot cannot
lack station! And I will make the wealth I covet—but for you; and
then, oh, Eva, we shall be so happy!"
"When you have made the wealth?" she inquired — her woman's
clear-sightedness seeing beyond the extended boundary of his hopes.
"Yes, when I have made the wealth! And have we not read
together of many brave adventurers on whom it poured in golden showers
—of some, lacking even the advantages I possess—of name and edu-
cation?"
"Yes," she said; "we have read of its being achieved—when the
head, prematurely whitened, was seeking a cold green pillow for its rest.
And we have seen pictures—you yourself drew one—of Fame blowing
its trump above the tombs."
"Eva, this is not like you; you are not yourself this morning.


118 MIDSUMMER EVE:
Look out into the light, dearest! Look on the fair earth — the fairer
sky; listen to the music of your own birds; they are giving you welcome.
The old surly weathercock — our iron sentinel—has not creaked once!
look —"
"At your bright hopeful face, Sidney, better than all my premature
wisdom, as my mother sometimes calls it," she continued, smiling her
own sweet smile; "it is going fast; it is seldom more than a shadow,
except," she added, turning away her face, "when you talk of leaving
this!"
"And yet it must be," he replied; and then he spoke without reserve,
as men speak to those they love and trust; and Eva, recovered from her
dreams, suppressed her own regrets, and strengthened his right resolves;
not, however, heightening his hopes—for her mother had told her many
tales of blight and sorrow, so that, even hoping with him, she feared to
hope too much; until after some gentle reasoning, in which the timidity
of the girl blended with the forethought of the woman, warmed by his
enthusiasm, and believing in him so truly that, yielding to the delightful
thought that the world must do so too, their young hearts beat in unison,
and spoke out in the sunny air, as though the future was eager to do their
bidding.
Sidney opened the great book Randy had carried, and enjoyed Eva's
delight, as she turned over the sketches and finished drawings which had
tempted him to think the world of art almost at his control.
"How glorious it will be," she said, smiling amid the tears that
would flow at intervals, "if your father sanctions your choice, and you
really become like the great painter, to whom princes and kings rendered
homage! I wonder if his early drawings were as beautiful as these!—
and never to tell me, Sidney, how hard you worked, and how many
you had done."
"At first," he said, "it was only my amusement; but of late I have
looked to Art as a means of life and fame! And now what think you
of this?" he added, drawing forth a portrait.
Eva bent over it in astonishment. "As like," she said, "as what my
mirror gives—but far more lovely; is it for me?"
"No, Eva, I cannot part with both—but this is for you. I meant to


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
119
have left it by your harp, to remind you when I am gone of one who
goes forth to win what he thinks will be granted more to your prayers than
to his deserts."

She took the sketch he had made of himself.
"Do you not like it?" he said, seeing she looked upon it doubtingly.
"How kind—how good of you to do it for me; but it is hardly like
you, dear Sidney—it has not your bright, happy, animated, yet sensitive
expression; the eyes are not so full of light."
"Exactly what 1 think of your's, beloved Eva; it is so spiritless
when you are by—so quite unworthy of you; and yet—why it is but
canvas, after all ! — the shadow of the substance — the memory of the
reality; something to recall the words that passed between these lips; the
dove-like sweetness of those eyes. Let us'put them both away now."
"Nay, give me mine!" she exclaimed. "I can speak to it when
you are gone— tell it my thoughts, bid it good night, and then again good


120 MIDSUMMER EVE:
morning. I shall lock it up, Sidney, and only let my mother look at it
sometimes. There, stand away; ah! now it is more like—oh, yes!—
your lofty brow and richly curling hair. But it will not smile upon me! I
wish you had painted the smile! You leave others to do you justice!"
"I shall be jealous of my own canvas," said the young lover; "and
yet joy to think it your companion when I am gone."
Sidney tarried at the Dovecote till the day was nearly done, hearing
much of what Eva's mother considered worldly wisdom; though it may
be doubtful whether Geraldine had ever practised one of the sage maxims
she so zealously endeavoured to impress upon his mind. Anxious as
she had been to secure Cormac the rich jewel of her daughter's love,
the conduct of Lady Elizabeth, her stern bearing and determined pride,
had roused her; and during that day she felt a secret pleasure in her
child's love for one who had the courage to preserve his own dignity
by quitting his rich and powerful relatives and looking fortune boldly in
the face. The very fact that such a course received her approbation
proved how little she had in common with the wordly wise. She enter-
tained a high opinion of Sidney's talents; and her ductile nature—to the
full as loving and gentle as was that of Eva, but without the higher
qualities which her child inherited from her father—was not calculated
to withstand the influence which their hopes and aspirations exercised,
while full of youth and loveliness, they sat side by side, thinking hours
minutes, and wondering how time could pass so swiftly. At length,
farewells were taken; and even after the very last, Eva accompanied
Sidney down the garden path, to the little gate leading on the meadows,
beyond which sported the waters of the Torc.
"I ask yer pardons, darlings of my heart," said Randy, advancing
to where they lingered, finding it almost impossible to separate; "I ask
yer pardons; but you don't mind the ould Woodcutter any more than you
would a sod o' turf—or anything dead, or senseless at yer feet—only,
I want ye to part here, just in this gap, where the swallows meet when
they're gathered from the four winds of heaven, to build their nests and
rear their young in our own land; there's a rowan tree over yer heads
to keep ye from harm; and that little stream at yer feet—small as it'is—
is constant in its track; it's a fine thing to see the constancy of them



122
MIDSUMMER EVE:
over the stone — the stone the White Doe rests at, once in every year,
when she visits the Whitestone Well — and God go with the one,
and God be with the other!"
Prompted by a delicacy, which
all the conventionalities of the
world can never teach, the poor
fellow wiped the tears from his
eyes with his rough hand, and
walked on.
The fragile girl, all trembling
as she was, had more command
over words than had her young
lover. "Go," she said, "go,
Sidney, I will not say do not
think of me -—. for I hope that
would be impossible! but I say,
do think of me! and thus—to
press forward in all things that
will tend to your own honour:
for in that only can I rejoice.
Yet do not;" and here her
voice, but not her purpose, fal-
tered—" do not waste time in writing much—a line will do, to say you
are well; but let me have that line; and do not work too hard, what-
ever it may be you work at; we are both young, and years hence will
be time enough—" she would have said "to be united ;" but the words
would not come—she hung her head, repeating, "time enough; and so,
the blessing of God be upon all your labours!"
"We part in perfect faith, and truth, and love, one to the other,"
murmured Sidney—" I full of hope—" but his voice sounded so like its
knell, that she said, "Not in that tone—yet full of hope—of certainty!"
As she spoke—it was a trifle, a thing of nought; but when the feelings
are excited, straws, shreds, perfumes, a sound, a fancy even, sweeping
through the brain so rapidly that its course cannot be noted, will be
read as an omen, either for good or evil—and so it chanced, that a

X


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE. 123
single feather from the wing of an eagle, which silently and unperceived
had floated above their heads, dropped at Sidney's feet.
"There," she exclaimed, pointing to the royal bird, which, for the
first time in her life, she looked upon with pleasure. "There at your
feet is an omen of success; and see, he pilots the path you are going!
follow, Sidney, and so high and so glorious will be your destiny, even in
the full light of a glowing world!"
When Eva returned to the Dovecote, she found the bloodhound,
who had so often accompanied both Corrnac and Sidney, seated
at the door, with that grave, sad, expression of countenance which so
peculiarly distinguishes the race. He rose silently, followed her into
her chamber, and half-curled round her feet, casting stealthy glances
towards her weeping face.
"Poor Keeldar!" she said, patting his head, "you never did this
before: poor Keeldar!" and the noble fellow shook his flapping ears,
and replied with a low whine—then curled himself up again, seeming
determined not to be driven away. At night, he was turned into the
lawn; but the next morning found him on the grass-bench beneath Eva's
window—her self-elected guardian.
Four days had passed—and the interest Eva evinced in the movements
of the little ragged Killarney post-boy, 'who travelled,' as he called it,
into 'the town'—and then back to the village with 'the news'—at what-
ever hour suited him best—was something new and extraordinary; and
many turns, upside down, did he give the letter, which, on the afternoon
of the fourth day, he presented to her. "I'm sure I'd ha' brought it
yesterday, miss, if I'd thought you cared about it; for I forgot it on the
counter of Bill Henesy's shop—an' I half-way home; and minded to turn
back; but I didn't."
The emotions excited by a first love-letter are better either imagined
or recalled, than described. Into the deepest shadow of the deepest
arbour of the garden, did Eva rush to read — what for the truth, the
earnestness, the heroism, and, withal, the delicacy, of its passion
might have been proclaimed from the house-top, without bringing the
faintest increase of colour to her cheek. No fairer lady's bower could
be imagined than that she had chosen; the shadows of the trees crossing


124
MIDSUMMER EVE:

each other fantastically around Iter; the music of the wild bird lending
melody to the scene, and her thoughts, half-real, half-romance,
deepening into the enchantment which
belongs to the dreams of early love,—
when she was abruptly summoned by
Kitty to the cottage, to meet Lady
Elizabeth Talbot.
The great lady came not in the pomp
of equipage and dress, as before; her
toilet was suited to the chamber of sick-
ness, rather than her gilded state; her
looks, haggard even to wildness; her
natural energies stretched to their utmost
tension; and when Eva entered, timidly,
her mother seemed almost as much dis-
tressed as their visitor. . " I cannot expect
sympathy from either!" were the proud
lady's first words—" and yet you are both women—you, a mother! and
you so young! how stern and cold you look!"
"I!" exclaimed Eva, "I, lady?"
"Ay—you! and no great wonder; I suppose Sidney has told you
something which causes you to regard my son as little short of a—" she
shuddered, and examined Eva's countenance with more than her usual
scrutiny, adding, "is it not so?"
"Whatever may have passed between your nephew and your son
to still more determine Sidney to seek his own fortune, lady, we know
not. We saw he had been deeply wounded," said Geraldine, "but he
would not speak of it; it was among the past and painful things of which
even his young life has had so many: he has set his heart and strength
against the future—and so best."
Lady Elizabeth breathed more freely; there was in Eva the same
open, frank look that accompanied her mother's words. She read human
nature with a keen, clear eye; and it was but the effect of the excitement
and anxiety she had undergone, and the half-ravings of her son, which
had made her a false interpreter of both looks and words. "Let all such


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE. 125
things be past," she said; "I come to you as a suppliant. You little
know the depth and strength of the love you have cast from you. My
son is writhing in all the agony of fever; night and day he calls upon
your name; entreats me to bring you to him, that he may see you
once more. The physicians tell me that his very life depends on his
seeing you—on hearing your voice. Young lady, I am told that you
have frequently braved the pestilence whose very name I shrink from;
that you are often found in cabins, by the pallet of disease and death!
Is this so?"
"Lady, it is! I fear no sickness, and think of death only as of the
uprising of life. Why should I fear?"
"How strange!" murmured the lady; "such faith and firmness
dwelling in a form so fragile! I hardly know how to frame such a
request," she continued, turning to Geraldine; "but if you will permit
your daughter to see Cormac — to speak a few words to him — the
physicians say the effect may be so tranquilising, that the only child
will be spared to the widowed mother!"
How strange are the contradictions of the human mind! No matter
what a mother's own experience may have been; no matter how clear
are her views of happiness, of love, of duty,—still she is seldom, if
ever, proof against the glittering chance of a wealthy union for her
daughter. Geraldine would not have sanctioned a dishonourable word
or thought in Eva; and yet she thought, 'How sad it was she could
not love Cormac!—but who knows, who knows V
Lady Elizabeth interpreted the silence of both mother and child
disadvantageously to her entreaty. "I pledge myself," she said, "that
no tie shall bind you; that if he is happily soothed by the interview,
you shall return with blessings—blessings such as mothers only can
give—blessings on the goodness that permitted you to yield to my
earnest prayer. I, an aged, widowed mother, could kneel at your feet—
could implore for him what I would not do to save my own life! My
only child is struggling against death; the light that is my light
is even now flickering; mysterious forms contend over his wasting and
sinking form. It may be, that the little reason left will be gone before
I return—that you may come when it is too late to recall him to himself:


126
MIDSUMMER EVE I
but make the trial, I implore you!—and may you"—and she turned to
Geraldine—" may you never know the terror of being a childless parent!"
"If," said Eva, "my mother does
not disapprove, we will be at
Ard-Flesk within an hour." Lady
Elizabeth knew how to accept a
favour gracefully — a rare know-
ledge in a proud woman.
Before Eva went, she wrote a few
hurried lines to Sidney. "Have you told
him where we are going?" inquired her
mother.
"Certainly, dearest mother," was the reply.
"Will it not make him anxious and un-
happy?" suggested Geraldine.
Her daughter's bright face beamed upon
her. "Oh, no!" she answered, "he will
be glad; it is what he would have wished.
Surely, we can trust each other!"
Their's were the mutual confidence and trust, that are as force-full
in absence as in the daily watching of suspicious care; feelings that
keep even a stricter guard in solitude than amid a crowd; which no
cankering jealousy can ever taint; and, as they have their source in
truth, their aim and end are virtue!
How still and dark looked the old house at Ard-Flesk!—while,
as if aware of the necessity for silence, Keeldar lifted his feet stealthily,
as he followed his adopted mistress through the hall, and up the carved
stairs, into the dimly-lighted drawing-room. How magnificent it seemed
to both its visitors! Eva had never seen anything so grand. The
servant advanced, and drew up the blind of the centre window.
Geraldine glanced upon the velvet hangings and the richly-gilded fur-
niture, and thought how perfectly her daughter's figure was reflected
in the various mirrors.
"All this could have been yours!" she whispered in her ear. Eva
started indignantly; but, self-reproved, she pointed to the window, where


12S
MIDSUMMER EVE.
through another window that commanded a view of the distant town,
skirted by the bountiful river Flesk, she pointed to the human habitations,
containing inmates to whom Nature had given the high privilege of enjoy-
ing her works as freely as to the young lord of the domain, who shared,
in common with the lowliest kerne, the evils incident to humanity.

It was a fair scene—a scene of surpassing beauty—outspread before
them; the river flowing through a most fertile valley, and rushing into
the Lake—to which even liberal Fame has been a niggard, when compared
with the lavish bounty it derives from Nature. Beautiful Killarney!
Large is thy endowment of loveliness! Great is thy store of hallowed
memories! Glorious are thy associations with the past! What a world
of wealth art thou to Poet and to Painter!
Before Geraldine had time to reply, Lady Elizabeth was in the room.
Fixing her eyes, as before, upon Eva, she said, "You are a glorious
creature! and may God bless you for the sacrifice!" She understood
her at that moment better than her own mother.
How awfully through the deep hangings, the silence and darkness
of that chamber, came the ravings, and strained, unnatural murmurs,
of the youth, whose burning brow could find no rest upon its pillow.
Lady Elizabeth's fantastic airs were overwhelmed by a mother's agony.
Sometimes she would press her hands to her ears, to shut out his


130 MIDSUMMER EVE.
obligation — a feeling too frequently mistaken for generosity—and she
pressed a jewel of large value upon Eva.
"Forgive me !" said the young girl; "forgive me the plainness of my
words, lady! I intend no discourtesy; but I cannot be paid for an act
of mere humanity."
Again Lady Elizabeth would have forced her to accept the gift, but
Eva, standing by her mother's side, seemed to increase in stature as
she again refused it.
"You are too proud, young lady," said Lady Elizabeth, in an
offended tone, as she placed the jewel on the table; "a princess might
accept it."
"I can accept nothing from Lady Elizabeth Talbot," she answered,
gently, though her words were stern; "but I will pray humbly that her
son may be restored."
"How changed she has become," thought her mother, as with the
dignity of a youthful queen, Eva passed from the second chamber.
,r"


/



i by Dan. Macliaa, R.A.
Enferaved by W. T. Green.
THE VISION OP THE WOODCUTTER.



PART THE SIXTH.

any and great changes had taken place ere
another Midsummer reminded Eva that she
had added another year to her life. Cormac
recovered slowly, and had sought, with his mother,
the relief it is believed change of air and scene
can, in certain cases, alone supply. Ard-Flesk
was again left, like so many of the aristocratic
'homes' of Ireland, to the care of aged servitors;
and rumour described the young heir as gathering strength
rapidly when freed from the spells that hovered around 'the
Lake country.' Randy wandered about more than usual;
some thought he became wiser as he grew older; but, in truth, it was
sadness, and not wisdom, that made him silent. Usually, when evening
was drawing on, he would start suddenly from his musings, rush back
to the Dovecote, and pass the night under the shelter of the old gable.
Nothing could have more astonished a stranger, unacquainted with the
Woodcutter's habits, than to see him seated on the bank, looking into
the deep waters of the Lake; his hands folded on his bosom,
grasping a rugged and mis-shapen staff; his battered hat, garlanded
with wild trailing plants, bent over his brows, and yet not con-
cealing the fervent expression of his eyes, while he watched every


132
MIDSUMMER EVE:
ripple on the surface, every bubble that rose and floated, listening
for voices only heard by him, and bending to the breeze, as if

in homage. But Eva perceived no alteration in the fidelity and attach-
ment of her guardian, although he had more than once complained that
'a shadow was over him.' He seemed to have an instinctive knowledge
of what she wished him to do; and with the zeal of true affection, his
act followed her desire so rapidly, that she hardly needed words to tell
her wants.
He comprehended the vacuum caused by the absence of Sidney;
he brought her a young fawn, and by constant and judicious training,
established so good an understanding between it and Keeldar, that the
dog took Eva's new favourite under its protection; and if any one
observed how watchfully he guarded it, he would skulk away, hiding


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
133
himself in the bushes, as if ashamed of being caught in so foolish and
undignified an act as protecting, or playing with, the fawn of a red-deer.

So well could Randy divine Eva's thoughts, that if the expected letter
had not arrived in due time, he would stride to meet 'the post,' and
without heeding the little lad's remonstrance, seize the post-bag, and
convey it forthwith to be plundered in the Dovecote; indeed, -his eccen-
tricities and earnestness wiled away many a moment that had been
otherwise heavy with care. Sweetly though her mother's voice sounded
in the duet, there was another wanted to perfect its harmony. Geraldine
and Eva read from the same book, yet neither tale, poem, or history,
were quite what they used to be, when one read and two listened; and
well as Geraldine walked, she could not mount the hills with Eva as she
used to do; and her cheek became pale, not flushed, by exercise; some-
times Eva observed this; but her mother smiled away all anxieties that had
birth in herself.


134 MIDSUMMER EVE:
Eva's beauty attracted as much attention, and was as much noised
abroad as the fame of the lovely district in which she dwelt. Many
watchers waited her passing through the village, or her entrance to the
village church, that they might be assured if she really were as fascinating
as report represented her to be; rude men gazed, yet turned away with
reverence and respect, mingled with admiration; youths and maidens
alike followed her with affection; in all things she comported herself
as became one betrothed to an absent lover, and consequently bound to
be circumspect in her most trivial ways; not that Eva studied this; she
acted as she felt, not altogether because she reasoned thereupon, but
because of the divine instinct of right that stirred within her. She was
alike devoid of prudery and affectation, and while she returned with
cordial frankness the greetings of fair rich gentlemen, who would have
periled their lives to win her smile, they felt that not for them was the
smallest particle of that pure heart's love—such love as lovers ask for.
Everything that moved loved her! and yet how sadly would her young
life have passed, but for letters—not what are called 'love-letters,' and
yet letters of earnest love—letters that told Sidney's history, brief as
it had been. He had found his father older by five counted years than
when he had last seen him, but looking older by twenty—struggling
through the 'fag-end of life,' with a proud spirit and impoverished
means; but, never having been either servile or insensible, still rich
in the respect of all who knew him. So much Sidney said, but he did
not add, that two days in the threadbare home of a half-pay officer with
five children, of whom he was the eldest, convinced him he had nothing
to expect from his parents but their love, advice, and blessing. His
mother, with a heart sick from sorrow, saw him depart, with three letters
of introduction and an ill-filled purse, while his father retreated into the
privacy of a little room, to which a few bookshelves imparted the title of
'Library,' and there on his knees, offered up prayers, steeped in many
tears, for the noble and brave, the eldest born of a late marriage. Upon
the faded cloth of that table he found a letter from Sidney, recording the
simple story of his love. He could not speak of this deep passion; but to
conceal it was impossible. The letter was refolded with a sigh, followed
by a murmur—" Poor boy! he has enough to encounter without this."


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
135
If Sidney's first letters were a little tinged by melancholy, Eva thought
it was only natural they should be so; then came the energies and
breathings of hope; then wonder !—wonder that London should seem
so altogether different now from what it did when he spent the holidays
with Lady Elizabeth in Cavendish Square—wonder, but no mistrust! He
had delivered his introductions, and been hospitably received, that is, he
had been invited to dinner by all, and had good council from one, an old
brother officer of his father's, and a brave man, still in the prime of life,

by whose side Eva's father fell.
It was pleasant to visit the
maimed, but handsome veteran,
in his retirement near the pic-
turesque bridge at Chelsea—
where the trees that have been
'venerable' for more than half
a century, shadow 'Cheyne Walk ' and its numberless associations of the
olden time. Here, by the help of a stout crutch, he used to halt along
1-I .
- .:


136 MIDSUMMER EVE:
beneath the shade of lime-trees, that lent a pleasing shelter and a delicious
fragrance to the little damp plot of ground he was pleased to call
his garden; it was pleasant to see how he had turned his sword into a
pruning knife, and trimmed the beautiful jasmine that would tangle
over the windows, and amusing to hear him express displeasure at the
invasion of his neighbours' chickens, who would step out of the ranks,
and pick up his seeds; and above all, it delighted Sidney to hear the
praises of Eva's father and his own father—the praises of the Raymond
and the Talbot mingled.
There are few things so gratifying to age as the attention paid by
youth to their 'thrice-told tales ;' sympathy evinced by the young in the
few amusements of the old, is certain to double the remaining pulsations
of life within their rigid veins; it is the most delightful revival of their
own early days—it brings back the hilarity and cheerfulness of bygone
times without their attendant bitterness—for every personal pleasure has
its pain! And many a twilight hour did the young man gratify the
maimed officer by listening to his tales of past repulse and victory. He
was a charming study in every respect for the young painter, there was a
breezy freshness in his voice—an intelligent sparkle in his eyes—a firm-
ness on his lips—a dignity in his broad and lofty-brow—a spirit-moving
energy in his thoughts, given with so much genuine kindness, as if they
were mounting guard over his young friend; and, while they feared
urging him forward too much, dreaded still more retarding him in the
glorious race he was self-appointed to fulfil. Eva knew all about
the old soldier, and about Sidney's fellow students, and about the
subjects he originated, and the subjects he copied; she wondered in
her own mind why he had 'fellow students —' or what he went to the
Royal Academy to learn; she thought all he did perfection, and could not
understand why he copied anything; she thought nothing but his natural
modesty prevented his repeating to her the fine compliments he must ere
then have received; and she built his castle so high, that at last it became
cloud-capt, and losing it altogether, she would descend to earth, and
wonder, if surrounded by bright lords and beautiful ladies, as he must
be, would he keep true to the village maiden of Cloghreen! Poor
Eva! she little knew that Sidney's 'studio' was indeed a lofty chamber,



A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE. 137
for the time being, and for the sake of cheapness, near the bridge at
Battersea, in a tall, red brick, quaint house, such as we now see in pictures;

that there he laboured with the unabated enthusiasm of one who has
a noble end in view. He had shown his drawings to judges, who regarded
them with astonishment, and told him he only needed study to set his
name on high; but that study must be continued—must be persisted
in—and his right spirit shrunk from appealing to his father for aid to
continue in the course he had chosen; he laboured, day by day, to achieve
the knowledge he knew he needed; and at night, his candle wasted long
past midnight to complete the drawing which, disposed of for a tythe
of its value, was to provide him food and raiment; this he was able
to accomplish, and experience had already taught him he was far more
fortunate than scores of others who were climbing the same hill; his
noble mind never contrasted this life of labour and privation with that
of the luxury and ease he had hitherto led; the independence of his
nature strengthened it; and when he heard of distinctions conferred
upon some prosperous Academician, and the prices he received for his
pictures, it sent a thrill of hope and pleasure through his frame; he
remembered that this great person once toiled as he was toiling, perhaps
more severely, and under even greater disadvantages, and that the reward
would come to him, as it had done to others; thus, his nature was saved
by the elements of its own generosity, from the wasting and baneful


138 MIDSUMMER EVE:
poison of envy; and, of himself, he created nothing to distract his
course; sometimes, indeed, when the body would faint beneath the
fatigue and pressure of actual labour and anxiety, or he was stricken down
by some unexpected disappointment, he would rest his head upon his
hands, and recall the vision of her he loved, to revive his fainting spirits.
Happy, happy, was it for Sidney that his trials came in the strength and
spring-tide of his youth!
Time had flown upon its swiftest wings, and Sidney still toiled on;
his genius had attracted the notice of the masters of our only school,
and he had been rewarded; Eva joyed because he joyed at this; but
she could hardly conceive it a distinction proportionate to his deserts.
Eva had passed another birth-day, her mother spoke less frequently
than she had done about leaving Dovecote; and yet there was a perpetual
restlessness about her that perplexed and grieved her daughter, who,
nevertheless, rejoiced at whatever assured her a lengthened sojourn at
Killarney. The year was rushing on with its usual velocity, when the
stillness of the country was somewhat moved by the account of Lady
Elizabeth Talbot's death; there were no tears shed to her memory at
Ard-Flesk; no 'Ullagawn!' raised its appealing sorrows to the mountains;
no prayers wafted their petitions for her repose to that mysterious home
from which no traveller returns. In due time, a stately monument recorded
her many ' virtues,' and when they were read over to Randy, he turned
away, saying, "It's the first we ever heard of them!" In the solitude
of his studio, Sidney earnestly and bitterly wept her loss.
Eva's birth-days were not as troubled as of yore; yet they were times
of contending feelings and emotions; she had grown to an age when the
past had its retrospect, the future its anxieties; the wordly and unworldly,
it might be, sometimes contended even in her bosom. The Kelpie's power
was enchained—the strength in virtue gained by Eva would almost have
effected this, without the interposition of other influences; yet, what she
could not destroy she troubled; and Honeybell and Nightstar entertained
such opposite opinions, that Eva sometimes found it difficult for a few
moments to decide between the whispers of their invisible agencies;
but Nightstar always triumphed in the end, and soothed by dreams
what had been disturbed by day; often did the bright Queen shadow


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
139
forth to the sleeping girl the anxieties and toils of her lover; but her
truth was always lighted by hope; look as you would into the dark

pit, the star was at the bottom; the great attribute of the most royal
fairy was her faith in futurity; however she might sorrow with, and
for, the present, she looked beyond it; and while Eva inspired others
with love, the Fairy failed not to mingle hope with the love of Sidney
and the deepest pity for Cormac; a woman is seldom at ease in the
society of a rejected lover; but his memory is a perpetual sacrifice to
the self-love which is never absent from our nature, and he has always an
interest in her good wishes; thus, she thought with generous tenderness
of the loss of his mother, which, in her simplicity, she believed Cormac
could not fail to deplore—and wondered how he endured it.
The evening that Randy had repeated the words that were graven on
the fine monument, that looked, as he said, so "unnatural in the ancient
ould abbey, where the O's of ould Ireland lived and reigned — grey
/


140 MIDSUMMER EVE:
and grand — and could not feel kindly towards interlopers in white
marble," Eva was pondering on Lady Elizabeth's death, and all the
uncertainties of life. Her eyes were fixed upon her mother; the light
of their evening lamp was shining full on her head; and as she looked,
the thought her changed, grown thin, her eyes large—much larger than
usual — and her cheeks sunk. Geraldine was copying music, singing
now and then the note she wrote; but after she had lent it sound, she
would sigh, as if breathing the melody gave her pain. Eva watched
her for some time, and as she did so, the idea grew upon her, to perfect
agony, that her mother was ill; she felt the blood rush to and from her
heart with suffocating rapidity, and at last, unable to endure it longer,
she sought Kitty, and startled her from her wheel, by asking suddenly
if she thought anything was the matter with her mother.
"Is it with the mistress?" inquired the maid; adding, " there's some-
thing the matter with yourself, angel dear! its the fault of that half-
wild craythur the Woodcutter; he's been crooning over his sooperstitions,
as he always does when Midsummer is drawing on—that's it!"
Eva repeated her question — Kitty turned away her head; but Eva
was not to be beguiled from her inquiry, and rinding that Kitty still
averted her face, she turned it gently round with her hands, and looking
steadfastly upon her, saw that the faithful creature's eyes were filled
with tears.
"It's only the wakeness that's in them, dear!" she exclaimed, re-
moving the tears with her apron; "it's nothing but the wakeness!"
She was not a good actress, and Eva felt assured that her mother was
ill, that Kitty knew it, and that efforts had been made to keep the sad
knowledge from her; for some time she was bewildered, her brain
reeled, she could hardly stand, and the Nurse, with an exclamation of
terror, placed her on a chair. "Your heart's not beating the way her's
do be, I hope, darling?" she inquired. "Oh, sure, the life would lave
me, without a warning, if both of ye got that way. Oh, a cushla
machree! what would I give to put the remains of life that's in me
into her. Oh, if we could only strengthen the strong in heart, with
the strength that goes astray in many a bad body, the times would mend,
jewel! with the world, and all in it!"
-v


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE. 141
That night, unable to repose, Eva roused Kitty from her slumbers, to
learn, as she said, the worst, and listened with breathless anxiety for her
words: all that Kitty had to tell was, that the mistress slept badly; that
she had wasted to a skeleton, and never seemed quiet or contented, as
she used to be; that old Doctor Magrath—but to be sure there was no
good in him—no use in minding what he said! She knew that Miss Eva
did not know he had been often to the Dovecote; the mistress always
hail him when Miss Eva was away for a few hours with her friends,
or attending to the poor; and twice he brought a great doctor with
him from Tralee, and Doctor Magrath said he thought Miss Eva ought
to know it, but the mistress would not hear of it, and after all, maybe,
it was only Doctor Magrath making much of his own opinion; but he
said the other doctor thought what he thought."
"And what was that?" inquired Eva.
"Oh, then, how could I tell! who ever in the world found out what a
doctor thought; they bid her take nourishment, and keep her mind asy,
and not walk or fret; they always bid one not to fret. I've nothing more
to tell you, miss, darling; I wish I had."
"And what do you think, Kitty?"
"Oh, then I don't know, dear!—she's young, not quite nineteen years
older than yourself; and sure the Lord will spare her, for you are two
birds alone in the wide world — 1 may say two birds quite alone — for
Master Sidney's a long time away. Ah, Mister Cormac was a fine
young gentleman: there I see the colour changing in your face; I'm
always saying what I ought not to say, dear; and the mistress will
never forgive me for telling you how bad she is; I wonder you never
saw it before; I used often to tremble for fear you'd ask me."
Eva pressed her hands on her heart to still its beating. She crept into
her mother's room so noiselessly that, though Geraldine was awake, she
would not have heard her, but that her shadow crossed the moonlight that
rested on the floor.
"Why is this, my child—who told you I was waking?" she inquired.
"I came to see," was the reply, as she knelt beside her couch; "I
fancied you looked ill last night, and I questioned Kitty. Oh, mother,
mother, why did you deceive me?"


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE. 143
flourish, that will mount and triumph, when all that we cling to here shall
vanish, like the vapours before the sun, whose rising we have so often
watched together; this is the best hope—the hope, my blessed child!
which I have sought to nourish—even with your bright eyes upon me,
Eva. Often, often! during the watches of the night, do I pray for you,
and yet pray not to let my ever-living, ever-renewing, love for you, come
between me and Him—the giver of our spirit's immortality. I am
excited, Eva! I must strike a light and take the lulling poison that
procures me the only feverish rest I have known for months." And
when Eva saw her trembling hand, and noted how the beatings of her
heart agitated her night-dress, and marked the clammy hair matting
upon her forehead, she understood why it was that of late her mother
had forbidden her entering her chamber at night. Faint and sick with
sorrow, she left her, at her entreaty, to the stupor which followed the
draught; and no pen could tell, no commonly afflicted heart conceive,
the anguish she experienced in the solitude of her little chamber.
Death was almost as great a mystery to her then as when she knelt
and prayed beside the stricken woodpigeon. She thought she knew it:—
she thought, because she ministered so often beside the deathbeds of the
poor, that she could question the grave as to its victory, and remain firm
to the faith that there was no sting in death! Oh! how she longed for
morning; it was a positive relief to her when, with the greyest, earliest,
light, she heard Randy's voice in reply to Keeldar's whine—speaking
as though the poultry and pigeons — even the young lambs and calves
— understood his words. She was determined in her purpose; and
the rising sun saw her cantering her pony over the Flesk bridge, followed
closely by Keeldar, who never turned his head towards the ivyed chimneys
of Ard-Flesk, as they towered above the distant wood. Surely the
spirits of the morning hovered around her and invigorated the old pony
to do its best, for the usually wilful animal needed no reminder, but went
as joyously forward as though only five—not fifteen—years had dappled
his coat with grey.'
On she went. "The blessing of the morning, and every morning she
rises, be about her," exclaimed an old woman, tottering beneath the creel
of turf that was strapped across her shoulders; "but I can't tell what's


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
145
but it was easy to imply as much. She could not trust herself to speak;
and the doctor promised to see her mother on the following day. She
urged her pony to its utmost swiftness: how could she now endure to be
away from her whose very hours were numbered.
Doctor Magrath was punctual to his appointment. He brought with
him the doctor who had previously visited Geraldine. He told Eva
that the disease had been stealing on for years, and that he was only
astonished how her mother could have borne up so long against it. "I
saw," he said, "that her desire to spare you pain was keeping her
up in a way impossible to all but woman's love: we can do nothing
more, young lady; nothing, but recommend you to be patient, and
trust in Him!"
"He could save her!" interrupted Eva. "He could save her. Oh,
because of my importunity, she may be saved! May she not? Oh, say
she may!"
"With Him, dear young lady, all things are possible; but I, as a.
physician, see no mortal path to permament recovery."
Eva struggled for composure—for words—for breath; and when
struggles for all these were vain, she would have fallen to the ground, but
for the supporting arm of the physician.
"You have tried her too much," said old Doctor Magrath. "Nothing
that I could have stated would have afflicted her thus; but in you she
had great hope!"
"And therefore was I truthful," he replied. "Of all cruelties there
is no cruelty equal to that of permitting death to rush unexpected into
a sick chamber."
Randy had never passed such a Midsummer Eve as the one that
rapidly followed the physician's visit—never since he was stricken by
fever in the forest! If sympathy could have alleviated Eva's distress,
she would have been comforted; but she was completely overwhelmed
in spirit, though her natural strength of mind supported her, and amid
this great trial she trusted.
The Woodcutter, in whose mind and heart there was a strange
mingling of piety and superstition, after having offered to Eva a few
brief but earnest words of consolation, departed from the Dovecote


146
MIDSUMMER EVE:
to visit a well of peculiar sanctity—the Holy Well of Lochfort; and
here he passed many hours in sad communion with his own thoughts.
The few wayfarers who were bending there, glided noiselessly away
when they noted the more than usually mournful countenance of the
Fairy Man: and knew that no common event could have called him
into that mountain solitude, and amid objects where the 'good people'
were rarely or never found.

"It is your birthday, my own Eva," said Geraldine, as she rose on
her pillow to embrace her; "and I am most grateful to the great power
that I am spared to wish you the joy I shall not be here to wish you
another year. I have always prayed to pass away when the earth was
in its beauty—to mount heavenward with the incense of the teeming
world — to leave you amid the consolations of summer, rather than
among the cold winds or bitter snows. There are people all around
us, dearest, who care for us, and will doubly care for you when I am
gone. I had angel whisperings during the night, and whatever of doubt
or fear I felt for you, my own beloved, has past quite—quite away! I
know you will be protected! I know that your progress even through
the thorns and briars, and beside the pitfalls, of the world, will be joyful.
I know where you have rested your heart."
"On you, mother, on you!" interrupted Eva, as she covered her
white-worn hand with kisses.
"God is good !" said Geraldine. "He never takes from us one stay
without giving another. As the blossom fall the buds expand; I wish


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
147
you this very hour to write and tell Sidney I pray to see him once more;
you will find a present home with the vicar's wife. Eva! Eva!" she
continued, in a reproachful tone, "I had expected more firmness; you
tend me day and night; you are as unwearied in your watchings as in
your love; but your self-command would rejoice me more than all. My
fair sweet child, we must call on faith to aid us in the trials of life. I
will write Sidney myself. I suffer no pain. I feel as though I could rise
from this bed—not with these remnants of earth around me!" she added,
looking at her wasted arms; "but leaving them as the spirit leaves the
tomb—up, up, and away. My own love, I feel I could do this, but for
you—whose loving eyes, and plenteous tears, and deep, deep prayers,
keep me from the home that waits me there! Oh, beauteous sun!" she
exclaimed, clasping her hands in sudden ecstasy, while a deep flush
of crimson burned beneath the intense brightness of her large dark eyes;
and she looked through the open window upon the little paradise her
taste had created, where every leaf bent beneath the refreshing dews,
•

of which the glowing orb already demanded tribute; and saw far off
the peaceful glen between the mountains, over which the morning was
breaking in mellowed glory: "Oh, beauteous, sun! and thou sweet
balmy air! birds who have dwelt with me in safety! the grass green


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
149
been about this long time. I fling sticks at her on the sly; they pass
right through her, but she moves on all the same. I don't like her, nor
does Keeldar—he bays her as he would the moon; but she steals on—
the way death to be doing — stealing without word, and often without
warning, the warm soft breath from the withered lips of age, or the rosy
ones of youth—it's all one to her."
"Don't speak so loud, Randy, she is sleeping!"
"If she dreams by daylight," he continued, lowerfhg his voice into
a whisper; "If she dreams by daylight, she'll win brightness without
waiting. Oh, avourneen deelish! don't take on so—sure it's all ms doing!
The little golden-wren one day sat at her hall-door: 'and if I was the
eagle,' she said, 'nature would take better care of me, and I shouldn't
have to toil the way I do, to provide for them little golden-bills within
there;' and the eagle sat on his rock—'and if I was the sun,' he says,
'I'd have grate divershun, hunting the clouds about the heavens, and not
have the trouble of thinking how to feed my royal prince and princess,
that want as much food as if they had not the king of the birds for
a father; how I wish I was the sun!' 'Ah! ah,' laughs the sun, and
he up bright and strong in his glory; 'you're all a thankless set of
cratures, from the little wren up to your kingly self; you provide for
your children! you are only the means,' says the sun; 'they'd be all
badly off if they were left to you; wrens, robins, and eagles, the huge
king of the waters, princes, people, all, are fed by a greater than you;
let Nature withdraw her care, and see where you'll be then! The nature
that can exalt the lowly, feed the hungry, take care of the nestlings when
the hunter's arrow has struck down the father; that it is that feeds, and
cares, and clothes—a pretty set you are to talk of providing? Ah! ah!'
And the sun rolled on, and the wren and the eagle both remembered his
words. Look up, jewel!" added the Woodcutter. "Look up, darling,
yours is heart trouble—only believe this—it's for the best! She'll meet
him she loved before you were born; and many a young fawn, and young
lamb we've seen deserted on the hills; and yet somehow hands were
always found to foster even them wild things; it's another angel in heaven
will be watching you, dear! Sure the prayers of the whole country will
make soft her bed in that blessed place: the prayers of the poor, the
r


150
MIDSUMMER EVE I
fatherless and the widow; there's nothing but grace and glory before you,
Miss Eva; them that knows best shows me as much. I'll go now, dear;
but just take a turn in the summer air, and think of the happiness that's
coming to her, and think of what an ancient ould woman I once knew was
always saying, ' there's a silver lining to every cloud!'"
The whole of that day Geraldine enjoyed life in the prospect of death,
as she had never enjoyed life before. She spoke of, and prayed much for,
Sidney; but did'not repeat her wish to see him; the future was already
with her; her hopes seemed perfected; she had arranged, what the
weak-minded dread to think of, long previously. She was perfectly free
from pain, even the violent beatings of her heart were stilled, and at her
request Eva sung to her one of her favourite hymns, in which at intervals
her own voice joined so clearly that hope swelled in her child's bosom.
She was so grateful that Eva's birth-
day had been such a day of happiness.
Evening lowered its mantle over
earth; but all was so serene, and
calm, and clear, that the watchers
within and without said there was no
night. The earth slept beneath a
grey, soft, twilight; no one thought
of shutting out the warm sweet
breeze that did not ruffle a rose-leaf;
and the shadows on the grass told
Randy it was past midnight. As he
lay in his usual place he became
sensible of the presence of the sister
Queens, floating in a circle around
the open window.
After moving round and about,
Honey bell, and the few attendants
who were with her, disappeared; and
Nightstar, with a timid and crouch-
ing air, as if fearful of intruding,
slipped into the chalice of a sleeping lily, that rested its stem against




A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
151
the trellice. Randy's thoughts questioned of Nightstar, if there was no
spell to stay Geraldine's departure.
"We know our place," she answered, in a faint low tone; "we seek
to make life happy; but meddle not with death! Even I dare not enter
the chamber; Honeybell's more worldly spirit could not linger here; but
I can comfort Eva, can again whisper what I have whispered long. The
day of her birth has gone without being a day of death, and now her
mother sleeps; I can see the breath passing sweetly from between those
lips that shall utter words no more. Now, Eva holds her hand! Oh,
how she looks into her face, hand still locked in hand; and now, assured
of her slumbers, her worn-out head droops on her mother's pillow—now!"
said Nightstar, not in the gentle tone that sounded like a silver joy-bell,
but solemnly, as the wind that sighs through the spires of some ancient
iii^X -:*Y

cypress; and rising half out of the flower, she waved her wand, and
created a soothing vision in the mind of her endowed child; slowly the
suggester of sweet dreams went round, shimmering in the darkness—an


152 MIDSUMMER EVE.
undulating ray of light; but suddenly its motion ceased, and she crouched
into the flower, drawing her tresses around her like a mantle—and then
a Presence, a dim and shadowy outline, not horrible, but dark and
untransparent, came—who can tell from whence? All nature shrunk
and shivered as it passed; it seemed to fill all space, yet entered the
trelliced window! the awful herald of the grave! silently it passed,
without disturbing a dew-drop, though ushering a mortal to immortality!
Such was the faith of the departing soul, that it left no sigh upon the lips,
nor did hand press hand in token of farewell.
The stars were bright as ever in the deep blue sky, and still Eva slept
—the living pillowed with the dead—a sweet, calm, dream-like sleep, and
when the stars went out, the warm rays of the sun awoke her; she
loosened her fingers from the still gentle clasp, and gazed upon the white
face, smiling her old sweet loving smile; and then something terrible
crept through her veins; she put her lips close, closer, to her mother's
—there was no breath! Eva was indeed an orphan!

-.•v.'--.-
--:-






Drawn W K. Hueltieenn.
Engraved by W. T. Greun,
THE FAIRY GATHERING.



PART THE SEVENTH.

ell might Nightstar triumph in her pupil;
well might she exclaim to Honeybell, "See—
behold! this is my work; could all your
worldly wisdom have achieved an end so
high 1 The maiden's influence has extended
even below the waters of her native lakes;
and, bowing to the power with which I en-
dowed her, rather than to the justice that
sought to wake him from his heavy slumbers,
O'Donoghue has banished from his realm the Kelpie and her court.
She has strength no longer to work Eva harm—so long as she treads the
land of the Shamrock and the Harp."
"Go on," said Honeybell.
"In childhood, she was the idol of the poor; now those who pride
themselves on the ten or twelve descents they number — sands that
sparkle in their fleeting centuries — vie with each other to tempt the
maiden of the cottage to their halls; they send gay equipages to wile her
from her sadness; and speak of her beauty, and her song—as if no one
had ever beauty or song like hers. These children of earth cannot


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE. 155
I saw the frightful Phooca, the enemy of all good, riding in triumph over
the scenes we love so well; and which she, the mortal we protect, still

hallows by her presence. We must be astir, my fair sister, for danger
threatens her this day—not her heart! not her mind!—they will be firm,
amid all trials, all perils, all temptations; firmer than the cromleach that
has stood for ages in Dunloe, which a touch can move, but an earthquake
cannot shake from the base that props it. Knowing Eva, as you do,"
continued the Air-Queen, "I am astonished you could so completely
misunderstand her nature, as to suppose her capable of change. I saw
the renewal of her faith, as the grass grew green over her mother's grave,
for though Sidney came not, yet there was no wavering in her love—
no changing in her faith; that faith is her happiness; she values what you
value, as I do^as nought. Honeybell, you are not listening."
"I am, indeed; only tell me something new," replied the heedless
Fairy.
"Am I not telling you—here, beneath the moonbeams—of mortal
constancy," quoth Nightstar. "Now, do attend my story for a moment.
One who is good as well as great, suddenly sent Sidney to where, long
ago, we flourished, till driven thence by superstition and its train of crimes
—to fair and fervent Italy—to catch still more the painter's inspiration;


156 MIDSUMMER EVE!
a most noble art—for so men call it; lauding thus, the Natcre, in which
we move; for Art is only perfect when it copies Nature most."
"Nightstar," quoth Honeybell, gravely; "can we not decoy one of
these painters to our court 1"
"May the moon shine on ye more brightly, my sweetest sister! Why,
they know every nook of Fairy Land; they copy us on their canvas: it
is by their genius the herd of common mortals know us so well. They
sweep away the mists from history, and illumine truth; they give life,
for all the purposes of life, to heroes of old times; they make the present
of the past, and foredoom the future; they set high deeds on high—
of freedom, virtue, charity, patriotism, loyalty; they preach great sermons
without words; they are mighty teachers of the multitude—for the eye
of man accepts what the ear refuses; they make the common rugged
surface whereon they work, to discourse of powers that have moved the
world; they bring gay foreign lands into the compass of a narrow
room; they move a forest; the green verdant lawns—the flowery meads
—the vistas—the blue hills and babbling brooks—they carry them into
the very hearts of crowded cities, so that poor panting, care-worn,
mortals look upon them, and renew their youth."
"Do they build temples for these men?" inquired Honeybell, who
was a great lover of justice.
"Neither for them, nor to them," replied Nightstar; "they seem to
care but little how they live, knowing they prepare a noble mausoleum to
their own names, to which, when they are dead, all men bow down in
worship. Do you listen? Sidney departed suddenly—he, not receiving
Geraldine's last letter, knew nothing of Eva's loss, until another letter
followed him to Rome, in fond reply to one he wrote to her. In the
brightness of her pure, unselfish love, she bade him not to think of her,
but journey on—gathering health and knowledge in that bright-skyed
country: that she was not alone, but would wait his return, remaining
lady of the Dovecote until then."
"How many moons since?"
"Seven, or nine, I know not which; I cannot lear n their count of time."
"And you say all the attention lavished upon her, by those who
journey miles to pay it, has moved her to no new fantasy!"


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
157
"To nothing I could blame, where she the spirit of a star!"
"It is curious—very curious," mused the Queen; "and she not rich,
yet with refinement, and a zeal for good."
"Good is ever done by rich and poor, if there be the will," replied
Nightstar; "few things have ever joyed me more than the perfectness of
this creature—so truly high, and yet so lowly-minded."
"Well, well," said Honeybell: "one wearies of perfection, as one
does of moonshine. I am sometimes so glad when the broad-faced moon
stares herself to death, and goes right out; the dancing, trembling,
winking stars, that sparkle in heaven's high arch, delight me most. I
hardly see the same two following nights; and if I do, I know them
not. I love to watch them shooting to the earth, and fly to see where they
have fallen. If a maiden catches a falling star, and keeps it, she is
sure of her lover's faith! Know you that, sister?"
Nightstar smiled, but there was sadness in her smile.
"You were triumphing just now," observed Honeybell; "and now
you do not heed our sportive elves. Look at yonder imps of mine;
they are mimicking the
loves of earth's poor
children: wooing, where
there is no heavier trouble
than the dew-drop that
weighs down the petals
of the sheltering rose.
Your favourite, Randy,
is watching them from
*P*3)k , his old quarters in the
garden, thinking himself
asleep: how you have
endowed that mortal. I
suppose you will take him
altogether to Fairy Land
ere long; but you are
not heeding; you are gazing into futurity—what see you there?"
"A trial—hard to endure for her I guard," replied Nightstar; "it


158
MIDSUMMER EVE:
approaches from a far-land—a speck, an atom, the veriest shadow! but it
will gain strength and power as it comes on—still," she added, with an
air of triumph, "I nothing fear; nothing can change her now, 'stablished,
as she is, in virtue! Our next great festival—our Midsummer—will be
with us soon; for the tender leaves, so lightly tinged with colour, as they
burst through the pale-brown shelter of their parent twigs, are grown
into a hardy green; the hawthorn buds are swelling; the swallows of
the old gable have long since come; and the feathered choir are there,
in fullest tune; there are nests in every bush and tree; and as I peeped
at a green-finch, I saw she had hatched her young; the wheat grows
tall and strong, and the oat and the
barley put forth their spiral leaves;
the blossom of the nut is dropping
off, leaving the germ it sheltered to
grow and ripen; the insects stir in
the long grass; and"
"Enough!" said Honeybell; "my
bees have been busy gathering honey
all day, and labour renders them lazy
steeds by night. We must away,
good sister, to our nests in the flowers
and the hollow trees, or to the
disguises that perplex the minds of
mortals. Where shall we meet
again? When the weather was chill
and the nights were dark we had
light and music of our own in the
halls of Ard-Flesk, and in many
time-honoured but deserted mansions; but when summer is with us, I'm
for the green-wood—the arched bays where the silver sands glisten, and
the waters carry our songs to bards of other lands. We must away;
for the morning light is breaking over lofty Curran Tuel."
"Aye, look!" exclaimed Nightstar; "look at yon red streak,
heralding the sun: we must indeed, away; my eyes ache with the rapid
brightness which floods the sky. The busy hum of earth is beginning


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
159
about us; and as the earliest herald of evils that come with day, look at
yonder wasp so soon astir for mischief—awake to disturb in others
the repose he cannot himself enjoy. He will not be the only one,
ere Midsummer passes, to feel a sting sharper than his own."

"'T was as fine a sight as ever I saw," quoth Randy, as, waking, he
stretched himself and looked towards the scene of fairy meeting. "'T was
a mighty fine gathering intirely, as I could wish to see: people talk of
having grate imagination and fancy, but they never could fancy those
things, rushing like the four winds, from—who knows where !—aye, that's
it. Where do they come from? Where do they go? If their home
was in the stars, they'd be far too happy up there, sparkling in the deep
blue sky, that has neither beginning nor end—to come down to this
troublesome pilgrimage of a world, where smiles are finished with tears,
and the dance ends in the coffin! Oh, wirah, wirah! the longer we live
the more we see of it; and yet we don't wish to lave it: that's just for
want of faith in where we're to go to! I've hunted ruins, and mosses,
and in old trees, and deep caves—over and through the Holy Island
of Innisfallen, down in the mines of Ross, high and low—in flower-bells
and under broad leaves, in mountains, and beside the streams that make
music on their way, but I never could make out one of the good people
in the daylight—in the night they give me no rest; it is Randy here,


160
MIDSUMMER EVE:
and Randy there, and Randy everywhere witli them; and sometime
or other they'll end by taking Randy altogether; and I didn't care, for
if it wasn't for the child-stealing, there's no harm in the craythurs.
I thought awhile ago, how much I'd like to be with them, and go share
in their little innocent ways, drinking dew out of flowers, playing at
hide and seek with the moonbeams, and making love in roses! I see
it all! and yet there's some poor unenlightened creatures who would
as good as tell me I had not the sight of my own eyes; they would
swear all I saw and heard over there was only a drame, or think me
bewitched or crazy! They say if the good people were always about

Miss Eva she'd see them. Why, so she does, many a time. She looks
Nightstar full in the face, and does not know it!" and then he
walked carefully from one flower-pot to another, delighting in keeping
everything in other as it was when (to use his own expression) "the poor
misthress went away." "There's twice as many daffodils this spring as
there was last, miss, dear," he had said, when Eva was about to visit the
vicarage; and the snowdrops are as thick as hail—a lucky sign, agra!


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
161
and I never saw the earth so tangled with violets—white and blue! You
could be lost in them, dear; and a wonderful promise of cherries and
roses. I wish all them fine ladies and gentlemen wouldn't keep you away
from the Dovecote: and though Keeldar's very civil when you're in it,
he's too proud to stay with the likes of me, when you're wanting; and,
jewel, you're not half as rosy or as happy-looking as you used to be. Ah,

avourneen deelish, you go too often to the churchyard, mourning over
the one grave—where the sweetest herbs and flowers of spring and
summer always grow. Now, don't be angry with your poor Randy—
don't, dear! only where's the good of it? She'd hear you just as ready
from this, as to sit there on the grass that's long now. Cry as loud as
we will, dear, there's no answer from the grave; none that we can hear
with our ears, though there is a voice comes to our heart, after much
weeping, to comfort us!" and then, seeing Eva in tears, he would
reproach himself bitterly, and, to change the subject, speak of Sidney;
that would produce almost as much emotion, until, in despair, he would
overwhelm her with accounts of a new brood of chickens, or amuse
her with stories of the wonderful sagacity of a calf Kitty was rearing,
or tell her of the steadiness with which every child in the village attended
school, 'because they knew she would like it.' Eva never considered


162
MIDSUMMER EVE:
anything 'trivial' that proved how much she was beloved; and when
she left the cottage which she could not bear to resign, and yet could
not endure to remain in—recalling, as it did, during the long solitary hours,
all the happiness she had enjoyed therein—she told Randy she would
return before her next birthday.
Midsummer was at hand—the Woodcutter appeared to have forgotten
all things connected with it—save that it was her birth-day; while Kitty
wept unceasingly that the anniversary of her dear lady's death was so
near. No one ever thought of calling Eva 'the young mistress;' her
authority was altogether of a different kind from that which the term
implies: she was, in the poetic feeling and phraseology of the country,
'the world's darling,' the Flower of the Lakes,' 'the Rose of Mucross,'

'the heart's delight,' 'the pulse of the heart,' 'the world's cush la
machree'— to all within her sphere; and if they loved her before 'her


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
163
trouble,'—with the warm instinct of Irish nature, they idolized her after
it. 'Midsummer,' then, was at hand; Randy roused himself from
his world of dreams, to gather Eva's favourite flowers, to garland the
porch, to trim the roses, to deck the fawn—now grown into a doe—
with ribbands; and at last, unable to shake off the heaviness that weighed
upon his spirits, he sat down upon the old grass bench and sobbed like
a child. "Get up!" exclaimed Kitty, "here's the world's darling in
sight, and two ladies riding home with her; you ought to be ashamed
of yourself, to meet her this way, and she coming from a raal gentleman's
house to stay with us. Make yourself up, like a proper servant; and
when you open the hall-door, don't begin blessing her, but stand straight,
and bow—while I curtsey behind—and say—' Miss, here's the gardener!
he would open the door for joy, miss! all the other servants would do the
same. We must keep up her consequence, Randy—we must keep up
her consequence."
"She likes things as they are," replied Randy—nevertheless making
an attempt to shake down his shaggy hair, and dry his eyes—" she likes
things as they are, and no show, Kitty; she'd give me her hand friendly
before the Queen, if she was to the fore; she has no half-lady pride in
her—not she."
"But we must keep up her consequence, Randy," persisted Kitty—.
smoothing down her white apron over her black dress; "I have laid
everything out to the best advantage; and, oh, Randy! if you had but
a frill to your shirt, you'd look so nice."
"I'm very well to have a shirt, let alone a frill—as the plain sweet
pea said to the feathered columbine; frill! enagh," repeated Randy,
in a tone of contempt.
"Randy," whispered Kitty, "I shouldn't mind, for once, lending you
one of my caps to pin inside; just to keep up her consequence."
Randy did not deign a reply to this considerate suggestion, but cast
a look of reproach at Kitty.
"Do, Randy, be said and led—for once."
"I'm ashamed "of ye, so I am, to think of her consequence. Her
consequence," repeated the Woodcutter, emphatically, "to be kept up by
the ould frill of a yallow nightcap!"


164
MIDSUMMER EVE:
"The ignorant nagur," muttered Kitty, as she rushed to the door,
"the poor dark craythur!" Proud was Kitty of the fine horses, and the
fine servants, and the beautiful young
ladies who brought Miss Eva home, and
were delighted with the Dovecote, and
gave Kitty a golden guinea; and Kitty
had sufficient of bad taste to fancy, that
if Miss Eva were dressed like them, she
would look better than in the plain high
robe of black silk, 'without a bit of
anything on it but crape ;' and though
these young ladies were but new ac-
I <
I
-

quaintances whom Eva had met at the Vicar's, they deeply regretted
parting from her, and embraced her again and again, extorting a promise
that she would soon permit them to withdraw her from her solitude
once more.
"Paler every time she comes home," sighed Randy; "and a weight's
about my heart, as if I was going to lose her altogether. I'm here, miss,
darling," he said, gently putting his head into the window. "Your poor


166
MIDSUMMER EVE:
the greenest clover; the head and foot-stones were garlanded with the
flowers Geraldine loved best; if there had been no other cause for tears,
Eva would have wept at this delicate mark of the Woodcutter's tender
thoughtfulness. He had fed the robins there; and as she sat in silent
commune with the dead, the large-eyed birds came about her, looking
mutely into her face—not chirping, but gazing with their soft dark eyes
as if in sympathy. She could hear the murmurs of the Lake-waters,
as the currents rushed from one to the other, through the 'long range;'
and the full choir of distant birds filled the air with music. She could see
the proud tomb of Lady Elizabeth at the end of one of the long aisles;

perched upon the armorial blazonry that surmounted the stately pile, was
a raven—an ominous and unclean bird. She could not but contrast its
uncared-for loneliness and neglect, with the simple but endearing tokens of
affection that blossomed on her mother's humble grave. At last, she
wandered homeward and turned into the bower, which arose on a mound


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
1G7
above the Whitestone Well: it was only a seat, overshadowed by a
luxuriant growth of bending trees; interlaced by wild roses and
climbers of various kinds—a pretty rustic spot, whose beauty no art
could imitate."
The day had passed
through its fainting hours
—sighing for the cool of
evening: it had been one
of the most feverish days
of a feverish summer.
Randy's care had kept
the flowers moist and the
grass green; but the water
had to be looked for in
the Whitestone Well—so
low had it fallen; the
cattle lowed plaintively
over the dried-up and
scorched marshes; and
the waters of the lakes
seemed to recede farther and farther from their
sedgy margins—now, indeed, no longer sedgy,
for the green rush had become a brown,
sapless, coarse-grained straw; and the broad
leaves of the water-lily were drawn up by
the scorching heat into crumpled heaps, where nothing, not even a tiny
snail, obtained food; the very woodpaths were thick with dust, and the
bounding river reduced to a peevish brook—as if it were itself thirsty—
crawled, where it had so often triumphed, amid huge stones and rocks. The
day was, in truth, not only sultry but feverish; and Eva felt the enervating
effects of such oppressive weather: it increased the weariness that weighed
her spirits down. She knew she must use some exertion for her future
maintenance, for her mother's store must, sooner or later, be exhausted.
She was too proud, too right-minded, for a moment to endure dependence.
She felt bewildered and sorrow-stricken; kind as were all ito her, she

A


168 MIDSUMMER EVE I
had no heart-friend — no one to whom she could open her mind. She
knew none who really sympathised with her spirit's yearning for activity.
She felt as all feel, in a degree, who have been used to the companion-
ship of souls. At last Keeldar, who had watched her, came and laid his
head on her lap, and, not receiving the attention he expected, placed
himself at her feet. He had not rested long, however, when his flap ears
moved; he arched them upwards, leaving more space for sound to enter;
and then his tail stiffened, and he moved his nostrils, rose up, turned
round, and stood in an attitude peculiar to his race, when expecting an
intruder. A shadow rested on the grass—a lengthened shadow; and,
before Eva could rise from her seat, a stranger, for she knew him not,
stood before her. He removed his hat, and she saw at once that his
hair was dark—it was not the nut-brown hair of Sidney.
"Do you not know me, Eva?—not know me! Am I cither so changed
or so forgotten that you do not remember Cormac Talbot?"
"Cormac!" repeated Eva, in a tone of the deepest disappointment;
for she only thought of one, and though she had no reason to expect
him, the very shadow on the grass suggested the possibility of his
presence.
"Yes—Cormac! Will you not speak to me? I who have returned
solely to see you; whose life has been cheered by the hope that you would
hail my return as the return of a friend! Surely in nothing have I
forfeited my right to that title, Eva!"
She extended her hand, and felt that his was chill and damp.
"Will you not speak to me, Eva?" he repeated.
"I am so astonished," she said, while endeavouring to withdraw the
hand he still clasped; I could not have thought of seeing you."
"And why not? Did you think I could forget you? Did you
fancy my love was written as on sand? But I respected your sorrow,
and would not suddenly intrude upon it."
"You have suffered also," she said, endeavouring to guide the con-
versation to another theme.
"My poor mother—yes—but that was long expected. She was never
to me what your mother was to you, Eva."
"No !" she replied, shocked at the implied fault-finding; "there were


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE. 169
few like mine; but she loved you. You should not efface such memories,
sir; those who do so trample upon graves!"
"It may be," he said, carelessly: "but I came not from the sunny
south to talk of sorrow, though 1 respected yours. I have journeyed
night and day to meet you here to-night. Why even your dog will hardly
give me welcome!" he added, in a tone of disappointment.
"We ought," said Eva, after the lapse of a few moments, "we
ought, indeed, to welcome back its gentry to this poor country. I am
sure that all the people will shout a welcome when they hear of your
return."
"I would rather you would whisper yours," he replied, attempting to
regain the hand she had withdrawn.
"I speak it without a whisper," answered Eva, her self-possession
fully restored: "it would be strange if I did not welcome back the
cousin of Sidney Talbot to his native land."
"On no such plea will I owe my welcome here," he replied. "Listen
Eva; not when I offered my young unpractised heart for your acceptance,
beneath the sanctuary of that roof, and with the entire approval of your
mother, did I love you with a tithe of the love with which I now woo you
to be mine. Eva, you shall hear me!"
She would have retired, but he prevented her.
"I am in nothing changed—no more than you," she answered.
"Still you must hear me," he repeated. "Hear me once more; you
have lately seen a shadowing forth of the power and luxury that wealth
supplies. You have seen every eye turn in admiration of your beauty,
and heard high-born lips sound your praises. You have witnessed the
strength of position, and looked upon the wide-spread tables that wealth
surrounds with grateful guests; but think, Eva—think! When in addition
to your beauty—to the fascination which encompasses you, as with a spell
— think, if in addition to all these, you had the wealth — the station
— which Cormac Talbot's wife must have — think — think what you
would be!"
"A self-degraded, self-condemned woman, ashamed to look into my
own heart, lest it should rise in judgment against me!"
"You cannot scorn such power for such good!"


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE. 171
"And bade you tell me so," said Eva, in a tone that made Cormac
start. "Can you not add that to the false tale you have invented."
"Now, by every sacred tie, in heaven and earth !" exclaimed Cormac,
"you do me wrong; I have invented nothing. Every artist in Rome has
been speaking of the failure of his task as a thing certain. Had he
been less ambitious, he might have been more successful. He has no more
chance of becoming a great artist, so to say, than yonder dog of becoming
a lion." He turned to look at Keeldar, but he was gone.
"Or than you, his cousin, have of partaking his noble nature, you
might add," said Eva, in the same tone which had before called forth
such strange sensations. Cormac drew back and paused.
"I can endure anything from you, and nothing you can say shall move
me from my purpose. I will endure anything to save you from yourself,
from the deep and bitter poverty in which you would plunge—not alone,
but with him whose love for you has cooled, though his honour may be
firm, poor and feeble as he is; with him, whom you would drag still more
deeply into a fathomless abyss of want and misery! Ask yourself if this
be just? Ask yourself if any woman has a right to immolate that which
she professes to love?"
"I have heard you patiently, sir," said Eva, " and will hear you to
the end: have you finished?"
"No," he replied; "not finished, until, on my knees, I again offer
you the passionate love of a passionate nature. Eva, you love your
country; I will minister to its prosperity, and never leave its shores;
you love the people—you shall remain their guardian angel. You shall
realize the dream of your childhood, and pour consolation and bestow
comfort upon the hundreds whose breath lingers, not lives, within their
feeble frames! Does not the very fact of your not hearing from my
cousin argue his change? Write and ask him if he will not gladly resign
the contract that clogs, not clings, about his heart. Oh, Eva! does not
my constancy deserve some word? fair forms and bright eyes crossed my
path, and sought to win my love—but it was yours! Your image lay
as an amulet upon my heart, and shielded me from sin. Still cold and
silent? Eva, speak to me; have you no word for me? I offer you
wealth, love, honour, faithfulness—all that the fairest and richest covet.


172 MIDSUMMER EVE:
Even were Sidney not poor and discomfited, you cannot cling to the
tattered fragment of a travelled artist's worn-out fondness, feeding upon
voluptuous forms, conniving at impurities I dare not name to you, until
his sense sickens, and his"
"Now I have words !" interrupted Eva. "I heard you patiently, though
my pulses quickened and my heart beat high; though I disbelieved in all
but your tale of Sidney's poverty—still I heard you. What should I care
for the love of one who could not penetrate the heavy shadows, that press
upon the noblest natures like realities, even on their very eve of triumph?
What should my heart, were it as free as the fleetest roe that bounds to
meet the sun-beams on Glena, care for him whose mean soul makes poverty
a reproach, and thinks a true and earnest woman's love could be aught but
a shield and a staff for protection and support! What should I care for the
patriotism that may be bought and paid by heartless smiles? You know
the breath lingers, not lives, within the frames of those God sent you into
the world to sustain; and yet you bargain, in your selfishness, for a heartless
hand as a price of your return to those you never should have abandoned;
and for whose souls and bodies, hereafter, if not here, you will be as
surely called to account as you now stand before me—rich and powerful in
this world's gifts, though unchanged in the nature which made me shrink
even from your boyish kindness. Sir, were the grass as green over the
grave of Sidney Talbot as it is where I have been to-day, and where I
would I were even now, I would die above it rather than be your wife."
As she spoke, and before Cormac could give utterance to the violent
words that twined like serpents round his tongue, even as he grasped her
arm within his hand, Keeldar burst upon them with a loud cry of joy;
there was a rustling among the trees, a parting of the branches, and in
an instant Eva fell upon Sidney's bosom. Cormac stood unmoved; his
lip curled in proud defiance; he saw that she had fainted, and it was
not until Sidney bore her into the open air, that her face, upturned to
her native heaven, astonished him by the high-souled expression that
elevated its matchless beauty, as the moonlight shone upon it—inspiring
him with reverence, as though he gazed upon the face of an angel.
"Do not go, exclaimed Sidney—" do not go—I too hastened to be
here on Eva's birthday; I heard your protestations, and while you


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
173
urged her not to sink me into poverty, I loathed myself for seeking
her as my bride, when I had nothing but poverty to offer her. In
bitter self-reproach and agony, I turned to leave this hallowed spot—when
her priceless pleading, her knowledge of the shadow which wrestled with
me, when weakened by imagination and excess of labour, I felt myself a
doomed man, encoffined by my own trembling hand -— the shadow which
made me doubt the power—the immortal power—that has conquered!
Look up and hear that, Eva, my own Eva; though poor and penniless, I
achieved my purpose; and those of whom he truly spoke as doubting,
have followed me with generous acclamation; your image, your faith,
your hope, your love! by some mysterious spiriting, though far away,
tk

infused themselves into my nature, and I became, though poorly lodged
and poorly clad—I became the art-wonder of immortal Rome! no letter


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
175
wanted means to purchase; where I have passed hours offering up
thanksgiving that you were here, in your own native home, loving and
beloved, by nature and natural hearts."
"That was when the shadows of which we spoke so thickened round
you," murmured Eva; "I do not tremble at such poverty! being passed,
'tis but another theme for thankfulness."
"It may return!" said Sidney; "I would not deceive you — not
for the price of your own priceless self. The reputation I achieved in
Rome, came like electricity on me and all beside; it may follow me to
England; but compliments are tardy servitors to stern necessity; and
success may never come."
Cormac fixed his eyes upon Eva while Sidney was speaking; but the
expression of his features was that of perfect hopelessness; he turned
away, but listened still.
"Think of nothing for my sake," she again murmured.
"But," he added, "even if the ringing music of silver and of gold,
chime in this city home, / still am doomed to toil all day. I cannot
walk with you abroad, for every moment's light is precious wealth to
the poor artist; the sun—his taskmaster—is too fitful in these climes
to brook delay; and you will miss the service and devoir, which are of
right your own; and, oh! you know not how hard it is to climb the
prickly hills that lead by toilsome and extended paths—by pitfall and
morass—to fortune. I often think my very nature changed. As he has
truly said, I am dark and fitful."
"You are a slanderer, Sidney," she exclaimed, timidly ; but slightly
veiling the deep, earnest, struggling love, which taught her eloquence and
banished fear—" I am not a child to take fright at shadows which com-
panion loneliness, yet fade, like our hill-vapours, in the sun. I know your
spirit hopeful, but easily depressed; and I mind the time when you said
(the words are yours), that Eva's voice and Eva's look, could" — the
woman triumphed over the heroine, and, unable to repress her tears, she
sought to hide them within the cottage.
Cormac, affecting a spirit that was not in him, cast his light cloak over
his shoulder, and, addressing Sidney, spoke,—as though he felt not: "In
love and war they say all things are fair;" he could no more in that


176 MIDSUMMER EVE.
strain, and his voice changed; "I could not have believed that such
fidelity dwelt in the heart of woman; this truth puts all the schools'
philosophy to flight—had I won her, I would have borne her beauty in
triumph through the world !—you, if steeped to the very lips in poverty,
will know a happiness that I shall never taste. She is too high above
the earth and earthly things for me; fare-ye-well, cousin—cousins are
crosses in most families, and mine is no exception. I would have wronged
you if I could; but you'll forgive me cousin—you'll forgive me."
He walked bravely across the lawn, and passed the bower of the
Whitestone Well; then turned, and seeing that Sidney had entered the
Dovecote, sought beneath the shadow of the weeping ash a rose which
had fallen from Eva's hand, and, placing it in his bosom, separated the
branches that shielded the seat from the east wind, and fled across the
meadows, as if he thought that speed might relieve his heated and
throbbing brain."
IU
mM p

. r v






PART THE EIGHTH.

andy, good luck to ye, Randy," was the saluta-
tion of one of the Killarney strawberry girls
to the Woodcutter, as from the Lake shore
he watched the progress of a boat towards the
fair island of Innisfallen.
"Good luck to ye, kindly, Mary," he replied.
"Good luck to you, and all the sun and moon
shine on, by day or night."
"Thank ye, Randy; will you have a noggin of sweet milk?
or a leaf of strawberries? you're kindly welcome to any or
all. It's heart-broken you look; sure you never would hear
tell of any one thinking of the Rose of Kerry but Master
Sidney; and now he's come for her, and she's going, you're not satisfied."
"Because she's going," sighed Randy!" that's just it. No, Mary,
thank you all the same, I'll have nothing. And sure it's giving you straw-
berries and milk I ought to be, and you having no one belonging to ye."
"'Deed, I have," replied the girl, cheerfully; "I have plenty to
care for me, and, though I havn't a shoe to my foot, I've a light heart,
and pleasant times," she added, with a sigh—" in summer, anyway."
2 A


178
MIDSUMMER EVE I
"Winter and summer will be all alike to me when she's gone,"
continued Randy, in a subdued voice; "as long as she was on the sod I
was content; though I could not hear the voice, I knew it was somewhere
on Ireland's breeze; and though I did not see her smile, I knew it was
brightening some Irish sunbeam. Do ye think that's a safe boat they're
pleasuring in, Mary?"

- EBbgf
"To be sure it's safe—Randy, man, what ails ye intirely? Listen!
that's Spillane's bugle. Why, that last blast of music ought to rouse your
heart; and there's Keeldar's answer to it! Miss Eva visits every spot
before the time conies for her to leave them."
"Isn't there rough water round the island?" interrupted Randy.
"It's as smooth as glass, Randy; the rough water's in your own eyes,"
replied the girl.
"The boat's empty now; and yet I don't see them on the beautiful
island. Oh, may the blessed sod that was trod by hundreds of holy men
in the day's of Ireland's glory, send an incense into their young hearts!"


A FAIRY TAI.E OF LOVE.
179
"They say Miss Eva might have married the young Lord of Ard-
Flesk?"
"Or any one she chose," answered Randy; his faith in Sidney
only wavering when he thought of Eva's leaving the Dovecote; "any
one she chose—I hope he'll always think of it—to her."
"Do you think them islands as handsome as the strangers do?"
inquired the strawberry girl.
"You've no knowledge, Mary; you'd see more beauty in a little dirty
bonnet-shop above in the town, than in that—Paradise," replied the
Woodcutter, angry at their beauty being questioned. And well did the
broken mountain, and dark
deep wood, and fair expanse
of water, spangled with is-
lands, deserve the term.
The ruined castle of Ross,
the smooth lawns and state-
ly trees of Innisfallen—
rich alike in the beauties

of nature, and the memories ot ancient learning; the tiny islets,
varied by every tint of verdure and of foliage; the bold sharp-rocky
promontories, each having its own legend—well did they all merit the
Woodcutter's enthusiasm; and when the wild clear notes of the magic
bugle poured forth one of the melodies identified with the scene, Randy


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE. 181
his side was a white butterfly, sitting with folded wings on the petals of a
pale wild rose.
"Why is it?" resumed the voice which endowed the insect for a time;
"why is it that the sound of the bells of the old gable were no more
to you than to other mortals; that you, so long favoured, heard nothing
but the tinkling 1—only because faith fainted in your bosom; even now
your eyes are sealed, and, though you see the boat upon the lake, you see
not that which guides and guards it. Unhappy mortals! the purest
spiritings are clogged in the mire of your unrefined natures. Have I not,
from her entering on this scene of mingled smiles and tears, been with her,
and averted what she could not avoid? Why should you doubt me now,
and chill the air with tears?"
"It's asy talking with you, my lady," thought the Woodcutter; "you
who can be with her whenever you like; and though only allowed your
own form, from sunset to sunrise, can whip up any shape that's plasing
to you to sport round the world in, and the owner never the worse or the
wiser of it. If / could do it, it's not murning I'd be."
"Randy," replied the voice, "do not attempt to deceive me; I see
the thoughts that wrestle with, and supplant, each other in your feeble
heart; because Eva cannot go hence with gay and gaudy trappings you
think she cannot be happy—you forget that she herself is happiness!
Ordinary mortals derive their happiness from external objects: Eva is en-
dowed to give, and by giving, to receive; but you do not understand me."
"I'm trying, madam."
"People are not satisfied to let their fellow-creatures be happy after
their own fashion; they want them to be happy after theirs. It the hawk
said to the woodpigeon, you shall share my prey; I will divide with you
the singing lark and the blue titmouse, and you shall fare better than ever
you did before, the woodpigeon would say, 'No—that is not my habit;
I cannot live on such cruel fare; give me the full-eared grain and the
water of the pure spring."
"True, for you, my lady; everything according to its kind."
"Exactly so; and if our love is to be a benefit, and not a curse, we
must forget what would make us happy, and study to comprehend what
will make happy those we love. Everything according to its kind."


182 MIDSUMMER EVE I
"And will she be very happy, my lady ?" questioned Randy.
"She will, indeed! for the cankers and cares that disturb the minds
and destroy the happiness of so many mortals will but show her forth
the brighter; she will suffer much—but unhappy she will not be."
"If it's plasing to you, my lady," thought the Woodcutter; "I wish
you'd be so good as put every spark of suffering away from her intirely.
I heard once of a rich gentleman who paid a poor man to fret for him.
Now, if there must be suffering, can't your majesty put it upon me—
not upon her? and I'll bear it—better than ever I bore a load of wood
up the highest mountain in Kerry. Oh, avourneen, lady dear! do put
it on me. I'll wait content and asy for the grandeur to come to her; and
never turn my tongue to so much as ask for it, if I can be sure she'll be
without the suffering. How can she be happy and suffer?"
"Do you not say, foolish mortal, that you could be happy, suffering
for her sake?"
"Oh, joyfully!" he exclaimed, so loudly that the butterfly's wings
vibrated, and she fixed her feet firmly upon the rose.
"And do you not think the love she bears Sidney will make her joy-
fully endure suffering for his sake?"
"Oh, my lady ! can't you settle it so ?" persisted Randy, " that they'd
have no suffering at all; they're young now—but life is short; and when
it gets cut and crushed in the bud, there's never much good in the blossom."
"There's a care over both bud and blossom, Randy," said the voice;
"and surely the Power that has guarded the past may be trusted for the
future: the bud shall not be crushed; and I think, Randy, when you see
the blossom (and you shall see it) your race here will be pretty well run,
and you'd better come to my country; you would meet many there you
have heard of long ago, and have pleasant times."
"I wonder," thought the Woodcutter, slowly, "is Oliver Crummel
among them; for if he was in it I'd rather stay where I am."
A little laugh rung in his ears; but before there was a reply to his
question his heart beat with sudden delight at the promise that he
should see the 'blossom!' his faith returned; he felt his heart expand
within his bosom as the blessed influence infused its essence into his
nature; his interest in Eva continued undiminished, but his anxiety was


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
183
gone; the petals of the rose fell in a perfumed shower on the grass,
while a dove of snowy plumage, whose glancing wings shone like silver
in the sun, flew so close to his cheek that its feathers almost touched him;
he knew the butterfly had changed its seeming, and watched the dove as it
crossed the lake, until it was no larger than the smallest swallow that
skimmed the waters; he saw that it hovered around the boat, which
soon diminished to a white speck, as it passed into the wilder scenery
k>j-
^-i

of the Upper Lake, among the mountains, spanned by a beautiful and
auspicious rainbow. Insensibly the Woodcutter sank into a deep slumber
upon the bank. He was awakened by Keeldar licking his face; and
when he fairly opened his eyes, he saw those he dearly loved looking
upon him; for a moment he fancied they were returned in what he
would have called 'great glory,' to their own land; but a second glance
told him the reality, and that he should see thein no more, for a while, after
'to-morrow '—to morrow, the goal and the grave of so much hope.
The Woodcutter had, however, many resources within his mind; and


186 MIDSUMMER EVE:
it away about its legs, it striped it in bands round its body, singing all the
time how it was making itself as handsome as a wasp; and if the creature
had taken half the pains to gather honey, it would have carried home
a rare store; but it nothing heeded but to paint itself in a way that nature
never intended; and how it marched up and down the pointed leaf of a
sweet lily, and flew to the Whitestone Well, balancing its body over the
water in foolish admiration of the falsehood it was putting on the world,
and the insult it was offering to the great Nature that made it. Well,
after a little, it boomed here, and it boomed there, whizzing and fuzzing,
until at last it lit upon a fruit-tree, thinking to rest itself. 'Ah, ah!' said
the gardener, 'there is a wasp—I must kill it.' 'Father,' answered the
gardener's son; 'Father, it has the head of a bee.' 'No child; it is a
wasp,' persisted the gardener; 'look at the yellow bars about its body.
If it was a bee it should suffer no harm. It is a wasp, and must die.'
And the vain bee was crushed in a moment."
"Aye, aye," he repeated; "everything according to its kind!"
Eva leaned fondly on Sidney's arm; her new-made friends had met
her on her landing, resolved to be her bridemaids, and render their last
homage, for a time, to her worth and beauty. "It is only for a time we
shall lose her," they said to each other; young, guileless girls, knowing
nothing of the world and its trials, and believing all the anxiety their
parents expressed for Eva's future prospects were little more than tales
to fright away love, could not look upon them both without admiration and
affection—both so glorious in their beauty; so high-souled, so richly
endowed with the exact talents that best befit the man and woman. They
had adorned the Dovecote during her absence, so that it seemed an
entire bower, clustered and crowned with flowers; and had placed their
varied gifts within her room, which glittered like the enchanted chambers
of old romance. They wished to surprise her on her return from her fare-
well visit to the lakes, and playfully insisted she should be led blindfold
into the Dovecote. Keeldar did not like his mistress to be thus treated,
and showed his teeth more than once to the sportive bridemaids; while
Randy carefully laid a crossed stick on the threshold, which Eva stept
over without disturbing—a sure sign, thought Randy, she will overcome
the crosses of the world.


A FAIRY TALE OF I.OVE.
187
Eva had enough of the superstition of her country to beautify, but not
encrust, her nature; and she knew it would give pain to those who loved
her if she knelt beside her mother's grave after sunrise on the morning
of her bridal; she arose, therefore, while the mists lingered on the

mountains, just as the grey dawn was stealing into the valleys, and passed
beneath the arched entrance to the abbey, resolved to regain her chamber
before her bridemaids awoke. Early as it was there were pilgrims there
before her; but with natural delicacy they quitted its precincts at her
approach, and left her to the solitude of the time-honoured ruin. She
knelt beside her mother's grave, on the spot consecrated by much loving
service. Her hands were clasped in prayer. "Oh, my mother!" she
exclaimed; "if it be possible, look down and bless your child, with the
full earnest blessing which you, and you only, of all the world, know how
to bestow. Oh, mother mine! mine in heaven as well as upon earth,
counsel me for good—so that I may not be unworthy to meet your pure
spirit in heaven !—Oh, that I could have but a sign, a token that you hear
me; that you are near me—happy I know you are—Oh, that you had


188
MIDSUMMER EVE I
but lived to bless me on this morning!" She bent her head until her
long hair falling upon the violets whereon she knelt, was gemmed with
dew; there was something ineffably sweet and harmonious in the scene,
the deep grey shadows of the Abbey, the funeral pyramids of ivy, the

hardly-heard moaning of the old trees, felt rather than heard—the balmy
air—the solemn silence, as yet unbroken by the song of the earliest bird;
the hares, as they returned to their forms in the undisturbed pastures,
hardly paused to listen to Eva's murmured words, falling as gently as her
tears, while she repeated, "Oh, mother!—my mother!—be with me on
my entrance into this new existence; teach me, counsel me, that I may
be to him 1 have chosen, all that you were to my father; my mother!
could you but hear me, you would give me a sign; I ask it not from the
cold grave, the chill, dark cell that holds the shrine from which the spirit
has departed; I ask it not from you, green-coated mound! but from
on high—where the emancipated live in infinite variety of holiest love,


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
189
and purest joy, and in the everlasting brightness which dazzles not their
eyes—mother,—oh, mother! is there no sign?"
Like all high-hearted creatures, Eva never questioned in her most
secret mind, the lightness, or abiding, of her lover's faith; if he could
have been harsh or false, she would have thought she had given him cause;
her only fear was of her own unworthiness—nothing but that! She had
made ready all of value in money she possessed, and which, in her want
of knowledge, she considered a large store—more than two hundred
pounds—and her mothers jewels, the rather valuable for that they had
been hers; these she had placed in a small casket, as a gift to Sidney,
all she considered she had to bestow, thinking herself as little worthy
of account. She had not told him of this store, but left it ready to place
within his hands, an hour before they commenced their journey; she

thought how astonished he would be at its magnitude, and had it been
thousands it would have been all the same—her hand was as generous
as her heart was pure; she remembered how her mother had given all she
had to her father, and that they had but one heart and mind between them
in all things; and as she knelt by that green grave, she recalled all her
mother's love and tenderness, and her tears flowed, as she repeated,
"Mother—oh, mother! must the sun arise without a sign from thee?"
She was not long alone—stimulated by the same spirit, Sidney sought


192 MIDSUMMER EVE
world, my own Eva; we do not look enough upon nature, either human
or divine; we keep too much within the darkness of our cells—unlike the
bees, who, though they work and store at home, go forth into the natural
world, among its hills, and heaths, and sunlight, to procure their honey—
singing while they are learning what is best and wisest! Are these strange
bridal thoughts ?" he added, looking doatingly upon her.
"No," she replied; "I love to hear you, Sidney, for your soul is
neither limited nor confined, but fresh, and full of the pure freedom, which
is one of man's best birthrights; it will joy me so much hereafter to know
that all the homage you receive will not clog your high thoughts, nor damp
your love for nature, nor your veneration for its holy cause."
"The homage I receive!" he repeated, fondly pressing her hand to
his heart; "nothing can I tell you, dearest, of the battle we must fight;
nothing of coldness, or wrong, or unrequited labour, or jealousy, or strife;
nothing seems to stand between you and the vision you have created of the
—homage I receive!"
"Which proves my faith as true as the reality," she answered. "Oh
Sidney! in what should we have faith, next to our creed, if not in a spirit,
like yours, that can will—in genius, like yours, that inspires"
"And in love and trust like yours!" he added; "the torch of the
modern hymen is lit amid the bakes and broils, the savoury stews and
fumes of the kitchen fire! ours has been kindled in Arcadia!"
Eva laughed! "He does not dream," she thought—"he does not
dream of my golden store—of the surprise of my rich casket;" so little
was her earnest bright nature accustomed to concealment, that she had
watched her words, so that she might not betray her secret; it had at one
time appeared to her a mine of wealth; but even the little she had learned
of the world at the vicar's, combined with the memory of her mother's
estimate of household expenses, pruned the wings of her imagination; still,
she was not quite portionless, and the casket:—the richly carved and inlaid
casket—the jewel-box of some ancestor—Sidney, she was certain, would
put it in a picture some day, it was so beautiful! Thinking of the
surprise she intended for her bridegroom, restored her mind to its
elasticity; and when Sidney bade her adieu for a brief space at the
garden-gate, she entered the Dovecote without one feeling of fear for


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE. 193
the future; her whole being was trust and love; she wondered why her
bridemaids had risen so early, and arranged her simple tiring with so much
taste, and placed the pearl chain ready—which surely she had never told
them she should wear, although she had resolved to do so only the night
before. And whence came the perfumes that enriched her chamber; and
whence the flowers! Such flowers as never grew within the compass
of her garden; and what multitudes of bees were booming about her
window, fuzzing in and out, some lighting on her very lips, as if to gather
honey, and then away again; she feared them not, for from her childhood
up the bees had been her friends, and never suffered wasp or hornet to

remain near the Dovecote; surely, never was bridal chamber so magically
decked, and a bouquet of real fragrant orange blossoms seemed powdered
with diamonds; she sat like the lady in the enchanted chair—her casket—
Sidney's casket—was covered with flowers, and the bees kept such a buz-
zing about it, that Eva fancied they danced and shook their wings to
some wild minstrelsy. No fear of the future clouded her happiness;
hope shone forth in her eyes; and still the fervent womanly prayer, 'to
make her worthy of his love,' if it did not find words, arose again and
again from her heart, pure and undefiled, to the high throne of Heaven.
When her bridemaids entered to deck her for the altar, they were
so full of words—of joy—of sorrow; so full of the contradictions of
2 0


194
MIDSUMMER EVE:
affection—so devoted to the tiring and adorning of the fair bride, and
yet so loth to part with her; that she neglected to solve the mystery of
the pearl chain; and passed to the little stone-roofed church amid the
blessings of the people—without even thinking of her perplexity.

Before the ceremony began, she had turned to look for Randy
amid the crowd; and when exchanging her snowy robes for a plain
travelling dress, she inquired of the weeping Kitty if she had seen him.
"Just one sight I got of him, miss—oh, then it's ma'am I mane—at
the brake of day, and he not a morsel like himself—only clane, and shaved,
and dacent, looking out of the tower windy, and a bran new shillela in
his hand, stiff and tidy, as if he was going a journey. 'Come down,
you unnatural wild baste,' I says to him, quite mannerly; 'come down
and wish her joy ;' and he made no answer, only pointing with his stick
over the mountains towards the sea. I shouldn't wonder, darlin', if they
gave him the shape of a gull, or a heron, or a phillipaweeken, or some-
thing of that sort, and sent him over the wide ocean with you; not that


196
MIDSUMMER EVE I
prayers find their way up to the coorts above, mine and those of the
people will be in the heavens this blessed day, gaining strength long before
you, for your honour and glory—standing between you and harm, now and
for evermore." The faithful creature prostrated herself in continued
and earnest prayer; and the crowd without, actuated by the same
feeling, waiting to catch a last sight of her they had loved since her birth,
knelt as by one common impulse, to invoke blessings upon her as
she passed—now totally unable to control her tears —to the carriage that
waited to convey Sidney and his bride to the place of embarkation.
"Oh, lanna machree! won't you take this blessed cross, that my
mother prayed to all her life?" said one ; while another exclaimed, "Here's
a root of the hare's foot fern,
and the house has never
burned that gave it shelter;"
another, " Here's a raal four-
leaved shamrock, lady dear;

my brother was on the seas with it all his life, and never got hurt or harm:
it's the raal thing, jewel, and you'll never be sunk in the waters, if you
wear it on your heart." Those who had nothing else to give flung heather
and flowers at her feet, exclaiming, " From the wild Gap of Dunloe "—


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
197
"From the top of the Toomies"—" The sweet strawberries from Glena,
lady"—" The real arbutus, lady, that grows nowhere out of Killarney"—
"This handkerchief, dear, was steeped in May-dew, maybe you'd keep
for Mary Maley's sake "—" along with a sprig of the real witch elm,"
said another. Keeldar never had been so caressed; the children hung
about his neck; and seeing how completely Eva was overcome by this,
Sidney entreated the people to spare her farther leave-taking.
"The sun has not shone since she has been a bride, nor the rain
rained," suggested a woman.
"But it won't be so!" said another.
"The shower is hanging in the clouds, and when that is over, see
if we don't have the sun," quoth the beggarman, as he waved his tattered
hat to the carriage, and turned to his more serious companions; while one
more serious than the rest looked upwards, and murmured something

about a storm gathering in the sky, adding, that the 'Fairy man' had
seen the good people "last night, hiding themselves behind rose-leaves, a
sure sign that the fierce wind was coming."


198
MIDSUMMER EVE.
"The blessing and the prayer are both with her, now and for
evermore," murmured the people.
"With them both," said poor Kitty, wringing her hands.
"To be sure; and that's quare; this morning they were two—a few
holy words, and they are one—for time and for eternity," he added,
lifting his hat—" to live together, to rise together, at the last day, no
matter where they're buried, they'll rise together at the last!"
Kitty continued to talk disjointedly, for her sobs prevented her finishing
a sentence; and long after the crowd had dispersed, and she was alone,
she fancied she heard the chiming of bells and whispers among the trees,
and voices repeating,—" The Dovecote will be blooming then ; "—while
others murmured, "When?" Kitty would have closed out the sounds
by drawing the curtain of the lonely room; but she saw there was
a 'braugh' about the moon; and again the chimes struck up in
the old gable; and the weathercock creaked and moaned in the
changing wind.

"






Drawn ty C SUcflald. R.A.
Kngraved by W. T. Qreen.
THE WRECK OF THE SWIFT.



PART THE NINTH.
ow lovely was the morning—the early
morning! the vessels that found shelter
and repose in one of the loveliest of the many
rivers—the river Lee—that, content with the
mere manifestation of beauty, wander through
the most fertile and most inactive island of the
world—gave no signs of being freighted
with life, or endowed with the power of
motion. The ships at the quays were
scarcely moved by the barely perceptible heaving of
the waters; while others nearer ocean, rose and fell
gently under its influence: the villas, that lined the
banks, or crowned the heights, peeping from amid thick foliage,
sent forth no curling smoke; the cattle were half-slumbering in
the pastures: no flies danced on the surface of the pools; no
rising lark sung out to the corn-fields or the waving grass.
There was a total absence of movement, where, in an hour
or two, there would be so much. The vapours seemed to linger over
the lonely scene as if with feelings of affection for the objects they
had enwreathed at night—imparting even a fantastic character to the


200
A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
shipping, twining round the rigging and capping the masts, rising and
descending, until, like the memory of a dream, they vanished altogether,
leaving clear vistas, with "the blue above and the blue below," while
beyond, in the dim distance, were mingled tall vessels and green lawns,
the shores at one point seeming to touch each other, at another melting
away into the softest haze. In the opposite direction, far from ships
and their traffic, the lovely Lee wandered "at its own sweet will" through
green meadows of the richest grass; passing beside rugged ruins, with
their records of past feuds and legends of departed grandeur—ancient

abbeys converted into broken tombs—rising upon the placid and flowery
banks, a cottage or two clinging to the base, like barnacles on some mighty
rock; then away again, a clear, strong, fertilizing river, singing to the
heavens or murmuring to the earth—seldom spanned by a bridge, never
disturbed by a water-wheel—and at that early hour, when all things are
undefined, reflecting nothing but the soft grey tone of the morning


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE. 203
The worn-out wayfarer looked for them, as, chased by the morning,
they were disappearing frorri his gaze.
"They are all going to their homes!" he exclaimed, in his
simplicity, "and she that was my home will be on the seas before
the next sun goes down." And wildly he talked, while the generous
Lee rippled soothingly over his feet, until at last his bushy head
sank upon his chest, and he half-slumbered — starting at intervals;
for though his rest was brief, it was troubled by 'thick coming fancies,'
and he could hardly be said to sleep—speaking, as he did, his visions—"I
tell you," he murmured, as if addressing some one in the air, "they are
passing under the waters this very minute: don't I know their dark forms
and faces, rushing on, rushing here—and there 1 yes, and I hear their
voices; they are passing to the sea; they will rouse its waves—yet you
thought them banished—oh, my grief!—they were banished from the
lake to the rivers! Sure, I see one of the worst of them floating this

very minute out to sea—evil be to him that evil brings! Oh! can't you
keep her with us," he continued, clasping his hands in wild entreaty; then
after musing a few moments, he added, "shine the brighter! Oh, isn't
she the brightness of the country? what need of more than that! they
are rushing on still, some to get before, others behind, the ship; but they
can't get above it, you say; yes—I know that; you are great in your
own land; but when I look at ye, how can I think you'd ride over a sea
tempest! I'm struck with blindness !" he exclaimed, suddenly and loudly,


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
205
all been a dream; and after a time he fancied something—it might be the
light of morning—passed over his eyes, and sitting up, he saw the blue
and green dragon-fly darting hither and thither in the morning light, and
heard the buzzing of bees, and the distant croaking of the ill-omened frog,
and the lowing of kine, mingled with the bleating of lambs, and the

trumpet-like neigh of the free-limbed horse, as he joyed in the invigorating
air, and with flowing mane and distended nostril bounded round and round
the enclosure, which he could have cleared without an effort; then arched
his neck, and stood a model of strength and beauty, gazing with gentle,
yet fearless eye, upon the landscape—every fence of which he had taken
when a-field with his companions. Yet, early as it was—for no human
foot-print had marked the sappy dew that clustered the luscious clover
into a matted carpet-—early as it was, an aged woman stood beside the
Woodcutter, and questioned him as to where he was going.
With pleasure as intense as had been his agony, Randy looked upon
her withered features; even in his boyhood days, when, like all of his
country, he evinced the most extraordinary aptitude to 'fall in love' with
every pretty face—never, even in those days, had he felt greater delight in
the fresh beauty of seventeen, than in the clearness of vision which enabled
him to count the wrinkles in the crone's face!


206
MIDSUMMER EVE!
"I'm not blind !" he exclaimed, exultingly.
"Many a one's dark, good man, that has the sight of his eyes; but
what ails ye to be here, like an eel in the grass?"
"Tell me this?" quoth Randy, looking at her; "why is a sarpint
treated with all manner of respect, when an eel, his own blood-relation,
is considered only fit to be skinned?"
"Because," replied the woman, "the one has power and the other
none; power to defend itself—power to punish an aggTessor."
"I see now you have understanding," said the Woodcutter, "and so,
maybe you'll tell me the road to Cork."
"I'll guide ye that far, and welcome," she answered.
Randy looked perplexed. "I'd not like to be troubling an ancient
lady like yourself."

"You're fearful I can't walk as fast as you, maybe; but if I can't,
"


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
207
why leave me behind, that's all." The little old woman trudged on
towards the city dimly visible in the distance; and, though the Wood-
cutter plied his stick as a help to his speed, yet she, without any assistance,
kept before him, leading him, not by the high road, but over hedges and
through bog and morass, stopping at nothing—not even a park wall, which
Randy scrambled at, but could not conquer.
"Where are ye?" she screamed from the other side.
"I'll go no farther in your track," he replied; "you're something not
right! I'll go back to the high road."

"Then you won't reach Cork in time," she answered, "and the ship
will have sailed, for the wind is changing and the tide is fair; but take
hold of this—
'Shred of flax that ne'er was spun.'
There, now—you're over; but walking is weary work," she continued.


208 MIDSUMMER EVE:
"It's not much trouble to you," muttered the panting Woodcutter.
"Oh, yes, it is a great deal of trouble. When I travel generally, I
manage differently."
"You can't go faster, I'll go bail," hinted Randy.
"But my horses can, and my will can."
"Oh, never a doubt have I of the will, ma'am, whatever I might have
of the horses. By all accounts a woman's will would beat the Kerry
coach with four."
"The Kerry coach," she repeated, contemptuously; "why, look at it
there, crawling like a snail on a sunny wall! while we—keep the line of
flax in your hand, and see how we go!"
Then Randy knew how it was, but thought it more prudent to ask no
more questions; he had even an idea of making an apology, touching his
want of faith; but he could not.
"The mind is a wonderful thing, Randy, and when you see her—as
you will very soon, for there are the steeples—Saint Barry's—and Peter's
—and Shandon, that one of our own poets tells you
"—shines so grand on
The river Lee!"
and now you can hear the hum of far-off voices, and the turmoil and din
of a city—which I hate."
"I believe it's a wicked place, sure enough," suggested Randy.
"The Lord be praised, its little I know of it."
"Wicked, only because wherever there are many, there must be much
bad, as well as much good," she answered; "but the one draws out the
other, and though they work one against the other, still it steadies the
balance—it steadies the balance," she repeated. "The world is not
so bad a world, after all, if one knew how to use it—and to be useful in it;
those who serve it least complain of it the most."
"There's a terrible deal of poverty in it," said Randy, shuddering;
for the interiors of the suburban huts they passed, however rapidly, were
now exposed to view, and there, squalor and misery, starvation and
disease, contended and struggled with one wretched human frame after
another, prostrating the strong and crushing the weak; and that within


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
209
ear-shot of traffic and its wealth, and while car and carriage rolled on
in comfort and luxury. "It's happier on Glena—brighter among the

Toomies—oh, if the breath of this pestilence should reach her," thought
the Woodcutter; and the little old woman turned back and scowled on
him. Randy jostled against one person and ran against another, yet
nobody seemed to notice him. At last, he began to think he was invisible,
and then remembered that he still held in his hand the
"Shred of flax that ne'er was spun;"
the identical shred of Fairy flax with which he had been drawn over
the wall. This, of course, he regarded as a great treasure, knowing that by
its power he could see all things—yet not be seen. Had not his mind
been so full of Eva, it would have delighted him to prove this power; but
his guide hurried on so as to give him not a moment to indulge even
a fleeting propensity to see the wonders of the ' beautiful city,' as mortal
-i i


210 MIDSUMMER EVE:
eyes had never seen them before: and he found himself on the quay, now
bustling with life, and opposite the ship in which Eva and Sidney were
about to sail, standing beside the fleet-footed old woman who, not in
the least wearied, was folded in her cloak, while he, from fatigue,
could hardly stand. Earnestly he gazed on the ship whose pennon floated
gaily on the wind, and earnestly on another that was moving slowly out to
permit the one in which Eva was to embark to near the quay; this
ship was newly painted, and prepared for a long voyage—an emigrant
ship—and a man close to Randy was extolling her fleetness and safety, to
a group of those who were about to seek in a far-off country the
advantages which a miserable and selfish policy denied them in their own;
for what can the emigrant find—or rather seek—but the land !—waste, yet
craving labour for cultivation—which he leaves idle and useless by his
own cabin door at home! What, indeed, is Ireland—and what are its
people—but lands wanting hands and hands wanting lands?
"Fleet and safe!" repeated the Woodcutter, in a loud voice, as he
looked upon the vessel; "why she is riddled by rats; there is not a sound
timber in her; she is patched and painted like an ould beauty to hide
decay. Never set foot in her, if you value your lives. Oh, the wicked-
ness of risking life in such a thing as that!"
No one could tell who spoke, for Randy still held the shred of flax,
and the iniquitous man who was deluding the poor people stood chafing
and trembling with rage and terror at the unknown voice that had trum-
peted the truth, while each asked another who had told—who had spoken?
The Woodcutter felt relieved when he saw how sound the English
packet was, and how nobly she sat the waters, like a thing of life—steady
and willing to obey her helmsman; he rejoiced at this, and only regretted
that she was so soon to set her sails for the other land. He stood gazing
at her, forgetful of all things else, until his eyes filled with tears; he
neither heeded the rushing to and fro of the people who had nothing to do
but to impede those who had work to accomplish, nor the cries of the
sailors as they heaved in the luggage or tugged at the ropes; nor the
quarreling of the car-boys; nor the importunity of the beggars; neither
did he think of the presence or absence of his guide, nor remember, when
he brushed away his tears, the stem of fairy flax which he must have


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
213
Woodcutter under the shadow of his roof. And as to clothes, Master
Sidney, sure you set me up for ever with the clothes. I've so much
of them that it's a throuble to count them; so take it sir—my little
gatherings ever since she was born, sir; odd bits of money—I hid them
for her in a hole in the ould gable. I never thought them mine to use
—sure 1 haven't the sense to know what to do with money. Oh, Master
Sidney, it isn't the pride that makes you turn from poor Randy's offering!
Sure, when I'd get a tester or a tenpenny, all the joy I'd have would
be, like an ould magpie, letting it drop into the hole and hearing it
chink — thinking that as she grew oulder she'd have the sense to use
it. Och, machree! when the earth is dry, it drinks the drop of dew
as eagerly as the shower! Look, if ye won't have it I'll fling it into
the sea—I'll never carry it back to its ould place. Oh, if I have been
true and faithful, lighten my heart, avourneen, and don't kill it with
cowldness!"
Randy's plainness and earnestness wrung Sidney's heart; he took
the extraordinary-looking receptacle of his wealth, determining to appro-
priate it for his benefit, for he knew the tenderness and generosity of
the poor fellow's nature. The Woodcutter little thought, that out of
her small store, Eva had left a provision for him, in case of his illness
or destitution, to the almonry of the parish priest.
And now the packet left the quay, amid the smiles and tears of those
on shore and those on board, threading her way, amid the pathless
windings of the glorious Lee, that by a royal lavishing of Nature's
bounties, perplexes the stranger-ships that seek her harbour, to judge
which of her many beauties is to be admired the most; while those
whose sails are set for foreign ports, go forth with the knowledge that,
steer where they may, they can see nothing amid the nations of the world
surpassing in loveliness the loveliness they leave behind. Randy still
stood upon the deck, for the captain had said, "Let him go as far
as Cove, young lady; the poor fellow looks like a follower of the family,
and can as quickly find his way back from Cove as from Cork."
Randy could not speak his thanks, only again and again entreated
Eva to tell him what he could do for her; being near her, hearing her
voice, and crouching in her shadow, had dispelled all the fancies that


216 MIDSUMMER EVE I
lip, as he watched the light feathery clouds, tinged with the deepest
rose colour, that scudded over the heavens, until the whole expanse was
flooded with vapour, which, as the hues faded, seemed to cling together
closely and more close; how Sidney joyed in the effects—the light and
shade—the gorgeous colouring — canopying the deep-toned waters —
sketching with a clear eye and truthful hand the outlines of the clouds,
rapidly changing as they were, comparing them to sights he had seen
abroad, and pouring with right enthusiasm into the ears of his fair bride
tales of the wonders that Nature teaches her true worshippers. She
heard not the wind that followed fast, nor noted how the ship's speed
increased, nor how the captain stood as if the sea world was his home,
triumphing in the ease with which his vessel rose and glided into the
deeps of waters now heaving themselves into waves. Nothing in sea-
craft could be more perfect than the graceful motion of the ship; every
portion working together in the stiffening breeze, as if courtesy, not
necessity, bowed her over the billows.
"It is magnificent!" said Eva, as she turned once more to gaze
upon the heavens.
"And you fear nothing?" inquired the captain.
"Nothing."
"By Jove!" said the good sailor, when he returned from the cabin,
"that lady's smile would quell a tempest." As the night advanced, the
storm gathered down upon the waters, but not so fiercely as to cause any
alarm for the safety of the ship, while the good seamanship of her com-
mander, and the steadiness of his crew, convinced Sidney, that, despite
the increasing gale, they could weather it bravely—if they kept the open
sea; and when he assured Eva ' all would be right,' she but smiled at his
supposing she entertained a doubt. Her fellow-passengers already looked
to her for hope: at first, whenever the ship laboured in the trough of a
heavy sea, they screamed violently; but Eva's self-possession by degrees
communicated itself to them, and they were tranquillized—talking in
whispers; but when, at intervals, the pale lightning flickered through
the cabin, they crowded closely together, like affrighted sheep, while
Keeldar vented his apprehensions in low moanings. Sometimes a lull
would come, and it was hoped the storm was passing off; but after one
X


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE. 217
of those 'lulls' it increased so as to make stout hearts quake with fear.
The impending clouds were so highly charged with the electric fluid, that
wreaths of Are sported around the gallant ship, which, nothing daunted,
maintained its power, and rode upon the waves like a war-horse over
a field of battle. The scene became too awful to excite so tranquil a
feeling as admiration; but, at the moment when the captain exulted in
the strength and bearing of his vessel, and congratulated himself on the
good seamanship that had so ably and quickly prepared for the rattling
gale, the lightning struck the heel of the main-topmast, and from thence
rushed like a fiery serpent down the body of the mast, which it crushed
and shivered into splinters, shattering the stout iron hoops, into small
pieces, which, driven fore and aft, sprang into the foaming surge.
The scene was awful beyond description; nothing pictured or imagined
could equal its reality; amid the elemental strife the stricken ship, heaving
in its agony, showed like a pyramid of fire, as though some bright volcano
had been cast forth from the dungeons of these dark yawning waves to
affright the ocean and the heavens. Every object, every straining cord
and madly flapping sail, the very features of the terror-stricken crew,
transfixed in various attitudes, were visible each to the other; the thunder
rolled away in triumph; the darkness that succeeded, awful as it was,
was a positive relief; men could not breathe till then; the vessel reeled
violently, then shivered like a living thing in a paroxysm of ague. There
was a lull—a pause—a fearful moment of silent horror; so long—it
seemed an eternity concentrated into an instant.
"Now, God protect us, we are struck by lightning! struck—but not
crushed!" This was whispered in the darkness of that terrible moment.
Who but Eva thought of consolation then?
"We are lost!" exclaimed a voice, loud and distinct in its terror.
"He who said so, deserves to be so," shouted the captain. "Cut
away the wreck of the mast; there is stout life in the good ship yet."
"The fireball has gone right through her, sir," exclaimed the mate,
as another flash of lightning showed his ghastly face to his officer.
"Well, sir," was the cool reply, "and what of that? I have had
a ball through my body, and yet—I am here."
"Brave heart!" exclaimed Sidney; "we shall be saved!"
_


218 MIDSUMMER EVE:
"I will not cling to you or impede your movements," said Eva to her
husband; "but will go anywhere, or do anything you tell me."
The pitching and rolling of the ship prevented her words from being
heard; but Sidney saw her face, pale yet calm, and could trust her then,
when death with life was struggling for the mastery. No time was lost;
each hand was ready, each heart true; what men could do was done; the
deck was cleared, the pumps were rigged and got to work, and several
of the people were left between decks, to hoist up and heave overboard
whatever they could manage. Had 'The Swift' not been struck, she
would have had little difficulty in weathering the gale; but her main-mast
gone, the water gaining in the hold, despite all efforts at the pumps—
one of which had become disabled—she was left completely at the mercy
of a heavy sea; and though the thunder had ceased, and the lightning
no longer, with bitter mockery, exhibited their danger in its varied and
lurid lights, they looked in vain for a break in the black and stormy clouds
that poured upon them, and seemed to some as if collected to hide their
perils from the compassionate eye of Providence. Sidney was prompt
to assist and prudent to advise. Eva's influence increased with the peril;
"God," she said, " was with them," and so great was her command over
the feelings inseparable from a woman's nature, that the captain did not
hesitate to tell her their only chance now was to run for land.
"We shall lose our all," said Sidney; "but we may save our lives—
your casket, dearest?"—
"It is gone," she answered, calmly; "I heard them say the passengers'
luggage was overboard."
Sidney could be of little further service; he twined his arms round
Eva, and felt that her heart did not beat more quickly than usual: half
an hour of intense anxiety, crowded as it was by the past and future,
crushed years into moments. "It cannot be," he said, "that God will
cut off our young lives thus in the summer of the year and of our age!"
"And if it were, dear heart!" she answered, "what do we fear?
a plunge into that gulf to wake in heaven! But, Sidney, trust me,
we shall have a far longer struggle with life, nor know the perfecting
of immortal love so soon!" It seemed, as she spoke, that there was
a lessening of the storm; but in the distance they saw the fatal foam


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVR.
219
wreath, telling of rocks and shoals that guard the land. The captain
ordered the boats to be lowered, and said how thankful they ought to be
that the drenching rain had extinguished the fire, which otherwise must
have destroyed them in their sudden terror; the jolly boat was hoisted
on the lee side, and afterwards the other boats on the booms were got into
the water; but the sea ran so high that it was with difficulty they were
prevented from being stove alongside, and one was instantly drawn under
and sunk; this too with the water gaining fearfully and the ship tumbling
on towards the shore; the captain gazed on the fearful breakers and
endeavoured to change the course of the doomed ship, so as to turn
a point and run her for a bay where there might be comparatively still
water, and safety obtained on a rock, which was never covered even at high
tides; breathless anxiety stilled every lip; while the breakers foamed and
frothed around the spiral rocks that stood up dark and frightful in the grey
light, which a dense haze prevented from brightening into morning; the
faithful vessel worked strongly in the current, zealous to serve her
commander's will to the last. How the poor thing laboured! a wreck
of the noble craft that had queened it over the sunny waters of the
previous morning; how heavily she rose and fell, now drifting helpless,
then, by an effort, still struggling to obey the helm that creaked and groaned
like the weathercock in the old gable. "One more such plunge," mut-
tered Sidney, "and we are in still water;" what a moment it was; men
bent and laboured for their lives; others seemed transfixed, paralysed,
as they shrunk from the fierce dark crags which overhung their course.
On a sudden, a sunk rock that projected under water, considerably below
the limits of the visible point, struck the bow of the ship; instantly,
she swung round—her head cleared, but her stern coming on the rock,
struck repeatedly, and the sea being very heavy, her rudder broke away,
and all her works aloft were shivered; for a moment, helpless as she was,
she forged off, but at the same instant ran upon another rock, the sea
breaking over her; a half-suffocated cry of despair arose from the deck;
several persons were washed overboard; the confusion of a death-struggle
succeeded; but the captain never for an instant lost his presence of mind;
some cried, "the boats—the boats," and seemed about to rush into them,
as they tossed about half-full of water, knowing that the ship could not


220
MIDSUMMER EVE:
long hold together; if there were any means of getting on the reef, the
captain knew there was still water on the other side; but the breakers

lashed the ship furiously, and dashed in a fearful gully between it and the
reef; it was impossible, the most daring thought, to attempt, short as it
was, to cross it; no one for an instant supposed they who had been
washed overboard could clamber the precipice; the fog was evidently
clearing off, the light increasing, and the ship did not pitch as unceasingly,
shaking rather when the surge dashed over her; at last, they heard a hail
from the reef, and, much to their astonishment, they saw the figure of one
of their crew—he was saved! he made signs to them to throw him a rope
lower down, and descended with an ease which proved him unhurt to
a point where a rope might be secured; every moment increased the
danger of those who clung to the ship; if she got off the 'spike,' upon
which she was as it were impaled, she must instantly settle and sink:
every effort was made to fling a rope across, but in vain—one bold-hearted
fellow offered to carry it through the surge. A plunge, and he struggled


222
MIDSUMMER EVE:
the movements of his head, as he struggled onwards. Again Eva en-
couraged him, and all felt the influence of her voice. Eagerly at last
the sailor grasped the rope, and waved his arm in triumph; but the dog
would not yield up his charge.
"It is the glove he wants," exclaimed Eva, in agony.
The captain put his trumpet to his mouth. "Give him the glove."
There had been a fierce and determined wrestling between the man and

the dog; but it ceased at once. The sailor clambered to the nearest
ledge, the rope coiled round his arm, while Keeldar, unable to shake the
water from his coat, shut his teeth firmly on the glove. Still the waves
rolled on, though the gale abated. The sailor on the reef made fast his
rope; but it had been injured in its progress, and was unequal to much
weight. Doing as he was ordered, the little cabin boy coiled one of great


224
MIDSUMMER EVE.
safely lodged in the few cabins that skirted the coast, Eva, still the guardian
angel of those whose weakness required encouragement and aid, and
Sidney active everywhere to remedy in part the misfortunes of the night.
"You have not lost your sketch-book," said Eva; "some day you
will immortalise the clouds that last night beguiled us by their beauty!"
"My own dearest," he replied, looking mournfully upon her; "that
and poor Randy's purse are all our wealth."
"Sidney, the mine is not exhausted so long as the ore is there!"
"But the means may be wanted to work it."
"Never, while the will and health remain! I could chide you,
dearest, for a distrustful word or look, living as we are, memorials of
God's mercy. I did hope to have eased your toil by the contents of that
casket, which now, perhaps, the fishes look upon with wondering eyes: but
it was not to be; it is I who should grieve, seeing that I come a burden to
you; and yet I do not! This is indeed a new world, but none the
less to be desired. I have still some few jewels, and one above them
all, that never tines—Hope! faith in the future—born of the past!"

'






tj «J. Nnel I'-atna, R.S A.
EngriveJ by H. Ltiataa.
THE STRUGGLE FOH LIKE.




PART THE TENTH.
ll like a dream it is," said Eva to her husband,
as, 'the daylight done,' in London, they sat
at the open window of their apartment, looking
to where they knew the sun had set, without
fei: discovering a lingering tint of colour on the
dense atmosphere—thick and grey from the
V vapours of congregated multitudes: "all like a
. dream, it is," she repeated; "the brief, yet
eventful, past of our young lives—the fearful
wreck—the most merciful preservation—the loss of our little store; and
yet this later darkness serves but to render still more bright the tender
help, the affectionate interest, shown and expressed towards us. What is
so dear as human sympathy!"
"True," answered Sidney; but the word came coldly from his lips.
"And," she added, "the prosperity that will be sure to follow!"
Sidney neither spoke nor sighed, but he shuddered, or made some
movement, which caused Eva to pause; and while pushing back the
abundant hair that clustered on her husband's brow, she whispered,
"Dearest, you are fevered with over work."
"I am not working now, sweet Eva."
2 a


2 26 MIDSUMMER EVE:
"Nay, but you are; it is not only while you hold the pencil, giving
palpable existence to the creations of your mind—it is not only then you
labour. I know you better, my own dear one! You look, even at me,
with a vacant eye! Seeing beyond, or turning in your gaze to what
is spread so richly on the broad table-land of your great heart."
"It is the only table I have to spread," he answered, smiling bitterly.
"That table will supply others in good time," was the bright reply;
"and even if it did not—if still the furnishing of our earthly feastings
and trappings be as scanty as—as—it must be—for awhile — I could
welcome its continuance, with you, for the immortality you must win—
hereafter! I could not have knit my heart to a reputation that would have
crept into its grave—nothing doing—nothing done! Had you inherited
a fortune, your course, as well as your duties, would have been different;
then, as now, having the great power to will—which is, indeed, the right
to conquer. But, Sidney," she continued, in a voice of reproving tender-
ness, "all my eloquence is thrown away upon you. Come, we will go on
a voyage of discovery, and meet our old companions—air and freedom—
amid trees which the late showers have enriched with verdure."
"No, not this evening," he answered; "there is something I want to
sketch, and you have been out to-day."
"But not Keeldar—Keeldar has not been out; not had his walk—
poor Keeldar!" And the dog aroused himself with a shake from beside
the easel, looking more wearied than he would have done after a day's
hunting on Glena; the deep-toned grey about his muzzle and ears had
become lighter; he seemed dusty, and his eyes were heavy. "Keeldar
wants a walk," continued his mistress; and the dog again shook himself,
and gave a low hollow bark; then standing on his hind legs, sniffed out
of the open window, gazing with a haughty air at the chimney-pots.
"They are not trees, old friend. Do come, Sidney!"
The artist answered only by a kiss, and prepared to do as Eva
requested. It was a very delight to see how quickly she prepared for the
purposed walk. How, with playful earnestness, she smoothed with her
soft hand the ruffled silk of her husband's hat, and drew forth the fingers
of his gloves. "There never was a better valet!" she observed, pulling
down a wrinkle in the carefully kept coat—" this temporary discomfort,


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
227
Sidney, has increased my knowledge; our single room is as well ordered
as though attended by a dozen Kittys. I can clean a palette! mix a
salad! pleat a frill! my hands are all the stronger for the exercise; and
when I get a harp, I shall ring out right bravely those chords, which, if
you remember, baffled my fingers so provokingly once."
"Nothing baffles you," replied Sidney; but his voice was sad—
"nothing! you look poverty in the face, and bid it welcome with a smile."
"And did it ever vanish at a frown? Is there not a scripture—I read
it this very morning—which says—I forget the exact words, but their
spirit ran, ' Shall we receive good from his hand, and shall we not receive
evil also!' Hope is the birthright of immortality. Surely, even the
murky world wherein we now exist was never made for misery; if we
think it so, we make it so! the harder the struggle, the greater the given
strength. One moment more—I will set our little supper ready against
our return; the radishes look so bright in this glass of sparkling water;
and you praised my choice of this cheese a week ago; now, Master
Sidney, am I not worthy to be an artist's wife 1 does not that little
round table, with its snow-white cloth, relieved by the green leaves and
glowing red, make a charming foreground to that lovely picture on the
easel, and the deep back-ground of two old chairs, and the worm-eaten
cabinet—which Kitty would call a kitchen press ?—the poor lay figure
looks sulky in the corner, ever since I took its place; but it adds to the
picturesque of our little scene; and so does your dusky painting-gown,
and that maroon curtain—not to catalogue the odds and ends of armour,
and much pictorial rubbish! Now, let us go, dearest, or Keeldar will
begin to bay; he has been up and down stairs already, and may disturb
that sick lady on the second floor below us, whom no one ever sees."
"I saw her once," replied Sidney—" I forgot to tell you; it was
while you were repeating poetry—(for, as yet, your memory is our only
book, save one)—when you sat to me yesterday. She came up the stairs,
opened the sliding window just outside the door, and then half-entered,
listening while you spoke, shaking her finger at me, to keep me silent."
"How strange!" said Eva, rejoicing within herself, as they de-
scended the tedious stairs, that his mind was somewhat diverted from its
melancholy.


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE. 229
"Are you sure you want it for food 1" inquired Sidney, as his fingers
wandered amongst the few 'halfpence' that were in his pocket—hard
to find! The man muttered no thanks, but pointing to where the spirit
Pest-house displayed its coloured poisons through panes of costly glass,
waved the coin in exultation as he dashed into the door, exclaiming,
"Now I shall have gin!" A young fragile woman, lingering on the
threshold, staggered to Eva, and gazing in her face, whispered—" You
give to bold beggars like him, while you, lady, and such as you shrink
from such as I; and yet a kind word would have saved me once. God
bless you!" she continued, following a little behind, and not heeding
Keeldar's growl; "I think you would help me now, if you could—I am
not drunk, nor am I starving; but I am heart-broken." Eva gave her
the smallest of silver coins, and while she clung more closely to Sidney's
protecting arm, she spoke a few words of mingled counsel and kindness,
which left the unfortunate flooded in tears. "It's long since I heard
such music as that voice," she muttered to herself, as they passed on;
"and I'll keep this for a token; it may do me good."
"If our natures were such that we could distil happiness from the
comparative misery of our fellow creatures," said Sidney, as they enjoyed
the twilight beneath the noble trees of Hyde-Park, "we ought to be
happy, for we see many to whom our position would be positive
prosperity; and yet we do not know all their trials."
"Nor their consolations," added Eva—" when we lost all except poor
Randy's treasure, and were shivering among the rocks of a stranger land,
how deserted and desolate must we have appeared; and yet what a world
of happiness existed within ourselves!"
"That is quite true," replied Sidney; "we did enjoy a world of
happiness; we were so full of hope; but ever since our arrival here, one
disappointment has followed another; I do not know that circumstances
are worse than before I went to Rome, but I had just cause to expect
they would be better; and then I suffered alone and did not feel it so
bitterly—my greatest trial, dearest, is knowing what you endure."
"You exaggerate that endurance; truly, I suffer nothing, except from
the shadows of those clouds that pass at intervals over your spirit, and
which time will soon dispel; you have lost your best friend by death, not


282 A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
periled neither by poverty nor prosperity; if Sidney could have been
happy in a desert, she could have been happy with him—he was her
universe. Faith, which is the stronghold of hope, never forsook her, not
even when she thought that Sidney grew thin and worn, and—worse than
both—restless and uncommunicative. She spoke to him of this during
their homeward walk, and chid so gently, that reproof struck upon his ear
like praise; and he promised to amend, and cast his moodiness away;
and his spirits were refreshed, simply by the communion of her gladsome
nature. They agreed they would endure patiently, and labour together
hopefully—she, with the ready thought and willing hands that work with
circumstances, not against them—he, in his noble calling, promising her
again and again, that never more would he lock up his feelings from her
inspection. Nothing during their walk had changed their condition, and
yet his sorrows were half gone; he sprang up the attic stairs, feeling a
load removed from his crushed heart, simply by her words and sweet
companionship. Silence is the canker of sorrow, and once the prescribed
subject had been entered on, he wondered why he had not poured forth
his thoughts long before; he could hardly account for his revived spirits.
"After all," said Eva, when they had returned, "there is a magic in the
name of home; if the room were half its size, I should cling to it as a
sanctuary; it has a fine clear north light—the painter's delight."
"And see, Eva," added Sidney, while she sought the materials for
striking a light; "there is a veritable moonbeam; it seems astray here,
not knowing where to rest; and at this moment there is a fine effect of
shadow."
"Yes," she answered, smiling, though in darkness; "cast by that tall
chimney-pot; fancy it our dear old gable; and that cat, whose eyes are
glittering upon us from those tiles, the ancient owl Down, Keeldar;
did you never see a cat before, that you set your bristles at it."
The candle was lit, and its inmates formed a strange contrast to the
odd, yet picturesque, appearance of the chamber; the light gave an
unearthly, yet most angelic, effect to Eva's beauty. "I wish I could
fasten that expression on your picture, dearest," he said, turning to the
easel, where he had placed a small portrait he had taken a fancy to paint:
the easel was there—the portrait gone! Sidney uttered a loud excla-


234 MIDSUMMER EVE:
him. 'Send that,' he says, when he was straggling back again; 'send
that little history to the darlint in London, who fed me and mine many a
day; send her that,' says he, 'to rise her heart!' and these were his
words: — * Some of the flowers of the trees thought they'd petition the
snow not to fall upon them in winter, but come in the summer, when it
would melt while falling. 'You keep us back,' said the flowers, ' wrap-
ping the earth in your cold shroud; come in the summer, and you will then
refresh, and not blight, us.' 'Foolish things!" answered a snow-flake
that trembled like a feather on the impatient bud of a white-thorn tree.
'It is I who protect you from the bitter cold of winter, and who give you
strength to enjoy the beautiful summer: all things in season are best.'
So when the weeks danced into the months, and the sun sent his heat into
the flowers, and the shadows fainted upon the grass, the blossom of the
white-thorn tree reproached a sunbeam that trembled on its leaves.
1 Where were you in the keen cold weather, when you were wanted 1' it
questioned; 'where?' 'What matters that to you,' answered the sun-
beam; 'if I told you where I was you would be none the wiser. I am
here now. Was not the tree, you grow out of, once a small seed ; and has
it not increased and prospered, been heated and cooled by the power that
sends me, in due season, a messenger of heat and brightness into your
very heart? The snow told me of your murmurings last winter, and now
I shall have to tell the snow of your murmurings this summer: a
pretty world we should have of it if every flower chose its own season?'
'I shall drop before my time,' sighed the blossom, 'That is impossible,'
answered the sunbeam; "poor silly thing! can't you understand that the
snow and I could not meet together. I should destroy its usefulness,
and it would destroy mine; each in its turn; and that's the way of Nature!
—each in its turn, and all for good !'"
"Each in its turn," repeated Eva in her own mind: "each in its
turn—joy and sorrow—and sorow and joy; I had a vision of them once,
chasing each other round the globe, as it turned, while the stars twinkled
in the firmament; first the one and then the other paused for a moment
before me, and methought the tears of sorrow expanded my heart more
than the smiles of joy. Beautiful both—and wisdom-giving! The cricket
sung a true song: each in its season—and all for good!"


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE. 235
Well and earnestly did Sidney labour; and some of the very happiest
hours of Eva's life were spent in watching how his mind enriched the
canvas — calling into existence the noblest forms, and adding to their
development, by each touch of his vigorous pencil, some new beauty or
stronger character. It was wonderful how every creature in that house of
many inhabitants loved her: the lame child of the widow, to whom it
belonged, would climb up the stairs, and, knocking against the door with
its lean fingers, entreat to be allowed to do something for her. Careful
she was, even of a flower, tending the fading plants of her poor landlady
so diligently, that the old leaves regained their colour, and the young ones
sprouted forth all fresh and green beneath her charge. The lark, whose
dingy cage had cracked beneath the sun, renewed its life under the shadow
of the leaves she spread around it: and enjoying, poor thing! the freshness
of the sod her charity bestowed, sung until tears quivered upon Eva's
cheek. She sought out misery, and prayed within walls that had never
before heard the voice of prayer! Her step was the music of many a
sick-room; and never was her birth-gift more palpable than during this
time of bitter trial. She was still 'loving and being beloved.' Some-
times (but that must have been pure imagination) she heard the murmur
of bees, and scented the perfume of flowers, as if borne by a passing
breeze across her brow; and in her absence small household duties would
be performed, as if by invisible hands; and, in winter, when flowers
become the luxuries of the wealthy, who would hardly notice them in the
time of their abundance, she would find some beside her work; and
Sidney often perceived his palette set and his brushes washed when Eva
declared she had neither touched the one nor the other. How did these
things come about? Perhaps Randy could have told.
But Eva had stern realities to deal with. Like all persons of great
talent, Sidney was discontented with his own labours. He had 'looked'
at the old mighty ones—not to imitate, but to emulate; and it might be,
that their strength was beyond his grasp, though not beyond his aim. This
frequently dispirited the artist; and so intent was he on bringing up his
picture to the ideal of his conception that he would destroy the labour of a
week, if any new thought—or a thought fresh set—suggested a better
working out of his subject. As the spring advanced, Sidney became more


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
237
and while he moved noiselessly in the darkness, fearing to awake her who
watched his motions through the dim, dim twilight of the little chamber,
filling the atmosphere with the most earnest prayer-breathings that ever
passed from the depths of woman's love to the throne of Him who
hears unspoken emotions, as though a trumpet told them to the heavens,
the devotional feeling, inseparable from truly great minds, by degrees
softened and soothed his disturbed nature, until unconsciously they prayed
together—each for the other—in silence and in darkness; and Eva would
hear him listening lest she were disturbed by those half-breathed prayers.
A little longer, and their necessities had grown so urgent that every
trinket—every small luxury—had disappeared; but Eva did not murmur,
for Sidney never missed them. Sometimes he would talk wildly about
his hopes; at others, sink down beside his easel in a sleep so un-
refreshing and disturbed that his wife would abridge it. The picture was
his great stimulus, and he revived to fresh exertion. At length it was
sent to the Academy—not finished as he intended it should have been, for
painting in and painting out retarded his great purpose. But Eva thought,
notwithstanding, that it would attract the world. Poverty in England was
then denied all access to high works of art; but she would look at the
pictures in the shop-windows, and return with increased faith in the
greatness of her husband's conceptions. A long period of uncertainty
and suspense elapses between the reception of the works at the Academy
and their exhibition, during which the painters have no means of knowing
their fate—whether they will be received or rejected it is not in their
power to ascertain. The sufferings of the artist at this period can better
be imagined than described. His struggle was great and unconquerable;
he had resolved what to do if this effort failed, and if his health were not
shattered in the contest; a fear, too, would sometimes come with others
that trooped through the throbbings of his brain—a fear that his thoughts
too often did battle with circumstances rather than with himself; for he
was a just man—just and true, or Eva could not have loved him. When
we consider these things, and how his frame was worn by sickness, there
was a noble greatness in his silence. Things of love and tenderness
grow tenfold in the imagination; and so do things of terror. Sidney would
have given much to recall the picture, to satisfy himself upon particular


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
239
suddenly folded her in his arms, exclaiming, "Eva, Eva! what is to
become of you!" She soothed him with the gentlest words and holiest
hopes; and at last he slept. When assured of this, she propped up a box
upon their two remaining chairs, and commenced writing to one whose
sympathy with suffering was known to her. A terrible feeling urged her
to this. If her husband died from false pride, should she not be his
murderer? She wrote on rapidly, until the last, and then she questioned

how she could sign their name—his name to such a document. His name,
which in less than two short weeks (so ran her thoughts) would be


240 MIDSUMMER EVE:
blazoned to the world as that of the 'Great Artist.' She paused—
would not a feigned name answer? "I cannot write a lie nor shame
his name," she murmured. She gazed hopelessly round the room—she
knew there was nothing disposable within the box, yet she raised its
cover; it fell from her fingers—the hollow sound told of its emptiness,
and with a shudder she looked towards the mattrass on which Sidney lay,
fearing he had awoke;—not so; he slept soundly. She pressed her
head within her hands, tightly—and sinking gradually on her knees, her
long hair covering her, as with a shroud, she prayed, though no sound
escaped from her heaving bosom, no sighs accompanied her abundant
tears ;—she prayed the strengthening and refreshing prayer of an earnest
and pure heart; then rising, she tore the note into the smallest fragments,
which fell like snow upon the dark boards. Again she wrote—necessity
conquering pride, but not stooping to beggary. It was to the old officer—
a little — a very little she required for the present, just to give them
food, and procure him medical advice—that was all. The first day's
exhibition over, and immortality was sure to follow. This was finished,
and she thought she would take it to the post and return before Sidney
awoke. As she descended—outside the old woman's door a glittering
guinea, dropped on the stairs, arrested her attention. Never before had
gold shone so brightly in her eyes; never before had such a grim host
of skeletons floated around her; never before had such whisperings—
tales of those who had died of hunger—not in the wilderness, but amid
the busy traffic of the city's life—suggested the duties owed by self to
self, to her throbbing ears. She pushed the coin away with her foot;
it rang out—what awful music to the famishing is the sound of gold! She
picked it up; it felt like molten lead. What was it that quivered in her
bosom — that made her shut her hand close, close upon it, when the
lame child's footstep sounded in the passage, three stories down? She
knocked at the old woman's door, it was instantly opened; there was
a brightness about the beldam's face, almost unnatural; her eyes shone
like stars beneath her wrinkled brows. "Is this yours?" inquired Eva.
The old creature pointed, with averted face and quivering finger, to a
table on which there were several of the same glowing coin. Eva laid
it down mechanically, and turned away with a relieved heart, and yet


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE. 241
hungry and penniless. That had been a heavy day! Keeldar—the noble
brute—disdained to ask for food, but laid apart, rugged and scraggy, with
half-shut eyes. As the evening advanced, Sidney became much worse.
Passing down the stairs, Eva asked the old woman to watch for a little by
his side. She walked rapidly from street to street, until she arrived at
the door of a well-known physician. She knocked—he was not at home.
She said she must see him, and would wait. The servant showed her
in as if she were a duchess, and a lovely child, who had seen her cross
the hall, immediately entered, creepingly, and, climbing upon her lap,
insisted on sharing its cake with its new friend. The physician soon
followed—a man of few words and grave; and when the door was closed
—" Sir," said Eva, "I am come to ask you to visit my husband, who is,
I fear, very ill,—but stay, sir; we are too poor to pay you now; will you
trust a stranger's honesty to do so hereafter?"
The good man rang the bell, ordered back the carriage he had just
quitted, and drove her home.
The old woman had been faithful to her trust; more than faithful,
for a judicious supply of refreshment was on the table. Eva turned to
thank her; she had disappeared.
The physician said but little —" Quiet of mind and body, perfect
repose—nothing to agitate or disturb."
"You hear, dearest," whispered Eva, as she bent over his pillow.
"I will try," he replied; and the tone of his voice was greatly calmed;
he looked into her eyes with his old look of tranquil love.
"He is already better," she murmured.
"I will come again to-morrow," said the doctor; "and you must not
be too proud to borrow more than advice from your physician." He
inquired his patient's name?
"Sidney Herbert."
"Herbert!" repeated the good doctor. "Herbert! the Herberts
are curious in christian names. I wrote a -prescription for one poor
fellow to-day—a hopeless case. How unequally the world's goods are
divided!"
Eva was, indeed, the physician's debtor for more than advice; and
though, for some time, a low wasting fever had ascendancy over Sidney,
2i


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
243
"And perhaps get you a harp," suggested Sidney, obeying the sugges-
tion of his taste rather than his judgment.
"And our dear physician; only see all the good we have learned of
human nature in our poverty. But you must sleep now, my own dear
one," and kneeling devoutly, side by side, they prayed together, the same
thoughts, the same words, and slept. Only once when Eva awoke she
fancied she heard her aged neighbour again sobbing bitterly.
"Did any one ever see a lady so beautiful as our lady, mother?"
inquired the lame boy," as he gazed after Eva the next morning. Sidney
fancied she was leaning on his arm, but truly she managed to sup-
port him, as pale, and bent, and feeble, he, notwithstanding, walked
rapidly on.

Eva and Sidney walked quickly along Oxtord Street, but were obliged
to pause at the crossing to let a pompous funeral go past. It moved


244
MIDSUMMER EVE:
slowly; the hearse heavy with plumes; the mourners in trappings of the
deepest woe—all, except their features! they expressed no sadness! the
eloquence of death made no impression on them; they kept time to the
horses' tread, and that was all. Some private and mourning carriages
followed.
"We shall not be among the first," exclaimed the impatient Sidney;
they crossed; another mourning carriage was passing; they were recog-
nised by one of its inmates—it was the physician; he thrust his arm out
of the window. "God bless you," he said, and every feature of his kind
face was lit up with pleasure; "I give you joy, with all my heart."
"I daresay," whispered Eva to her husband—" I daresay he has heard
the picture is well hung."
"You speak, dearest, as if you were certain it was admitted."
A light, light laugh, such a one as had often echoed through the Dove-
cote, followed this observation. On they went.

"You are looking pale, dearest," said Eva; "shall we call a
coach?"


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE. 24-5
"You require it more than I do, my own kind love;" he answered;
"but I fear we cannot spare so much."
"I have three shillings."
"The admission two, and the catalogue one."
"But you will get in free—have your card for the season, Sidney."
He beckoned to a passing carriage, and the manner in which he threw
his wearied frame upon the cushions proved how much he needed rest.
They alighted in the Strand; crowds of persons were hurrying for-
ward; the joy-bells of the churches were ringing merrily; every person
seemed to them in holiday dress. Together they passed beneath the
portal of the once palace of the proud Somerset; pausing for a moment
and looking at each other. Eva fancied Sidney became paler than usual;
but she could not be certain; her head swam round, and motes—strange
tiny forms—floated between her and him. She could not have defined
her feelings; they were already of mingled hope and despair. She saw
clearly enough that the 'elect' walked confidently in, knowing they were
'well hung'—they had touched upon their pictures, a grace only accorded
to those whose station and knowledge in art ought not to require such a
privilege. She rejoiced in the happiness of others; but she wished that
Sidney had the same certainty! she pressed bis arm more closely to her
side; he did not tremble, but she felt that he breathed earnestly, as if
nerved for trial, and she dared not look at him again. Numbers who
pressed forward were haggard and care-worn; brows of noble mould,
wrinkled by anxiety, not age, contracted over eyes filled with fire—blazing
it out in discontent; some, again, with compressed mouth, so rarely
defeated—men who shape their own fortunes; others whose frank features
were changed into recklessness by disappointment; numbers, bitter
thinkers, who mistook a desire to paint for the power to do so; all these
mingled with the visitors, some loving art for its holy self; others for its
fashion; others, again, because the exhibition passed away time—that
great material of the skilful workman!
Sidney asked for a catalogue; the good-natured porter (one who was a
truer friend and worthier patron of artists than many a high-born lord)
expressed his regret that all he had were sold; he would have a fresh
supply in a few minutes. Eva suggested they should not wait—they would


24G MIDSUMMER EVE I
be sure to see it. They ascended the steep stairs, Sidney paler than ever,
and suffering much fatigue from the ascent. Some whom he had known
met him; but so changed did he seem to them that they did not speak,
wondering if it really were Sidney, and where he had found that lovely
wife, who seemed unconscious of the admiration she excited.
At any other moment Sidney and Eva would have hung over the
beauties that were illumined by the matchless pencil of Lawrence; they
would have appreciated the creations of Wilkie; the magnificence —
Nature's true magnificence of Turner; but, to Eva, all appeared a mass
of gilding and colour, with no more distinctness than a child's hand gives
to the transient forms of the kaleidoscope — the one picture was stamped
upon her mind: it was not there!
None could picture her feelings—more vivid, but hardly as intense as
those of her husband: his bitter disappointment burned into her brain; the
insult offered, as she at that moment believed—premeditatedly—roused
her indignation. She then remembered the promises she had made to
those who had entreated for the little she owed them; they struck upon
her heart, with the dull monotonous clamour of a funeral bell. Sidney, in
whose name she had promised, would be considered an untrue man!
Could he survive such an imputation! Sidney! Sidney to be deemed
faithless to his word. She felt that her powers of sustaining such a trial
were passing away. In a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, she talked,
hardly knowing what she said. She sprang to the next flight of stairs
after her husband; but, eager as she was, she could not equal the rapidity
of his movements. "You see, you see; it is not here—nor here!"
he repeated. Then in a hoarse voice he added, "let us go down for a
catalogue." Eva followed him breathlessly, but she felt as if her heart
was breaking. When they were opposite the principal rooms he paused,
drew her hand beneath his arm, and bending down, whispered, "Do not
sink now, my own heroic wife; you have sustained me through much
worse than this—when all earthly friendship was far from us: it is not so
now. I am, you see, calm—calm! there may be some mistake,—bear
up, Eva. He who gave me such a treasure, will give me strength to keep
it!—bear up, my darling—you always hoped more from this picture than I
did !—bear up!"


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
247
Gaining strength from his, Eva muffled her face in her veil, and,
clinging to his arm, they descended.
"A shilling," said the porter, as he handed the catalogue.
Sidney could not say he had it not; but he turned away.
"Pay me next time," added the man—whose generous heart was in
his kindly countenance. How their fingers trembled among the leaves,
as a bird rustles amid the foliage that surrounds its rifled nest; eagerly
they glanced over it.
« H—H—H—No Sidney Herbert!"
"Sad want of room, sir; some of the very finest pictures rejected for
want of room. A fine exhibition could be made of the rejected pictures,"
explained the kind porter, who comprehended the scene at once.
Sidney returned the catalogue.
"The gentleman looks tired," persisted the man; "better go and sit
down in the sculpture-room."
Neither replied; but Eva's look thanked him.
"There it is again," he muttered, looking after them. "I often won-
der how I have stood it so long—poor things!"
"You hear, Sidney; some of the finest pictures have been rejected
for want of room," said Eva.
Oh, what agony was in the answering smile; what power — what
eloquence — what anguish! too earnest, too intense for words. Heart
understood heart. Never—never—never! in their long course of love,
had each loved the other with such entireness of devotion as at that
moment.
"My Eva!" he said. She felt him tremble; she hurried him to the
open door. There, rushing forward, came the physician. Although the
mourning crape was still on his hat, his face was charged with tidings of
great good. He was too full of it to impute their changed looks to more
than ordinary fatigue. "I am delighted to have found you," he exclaimed;
"such true homage as you have received!" Before the sentence was
concluded Sidney fell on his shoulder—to all appearance lifeless.
"I knew it would kill him," said Eva, as she wildly flung herself
beside her husband. "And you knew it also, doctor; you have met him
dressed for the funeral—dressed for the funeral," she repeated, utterly


248 MIDSUMMER EVE:
unconscious of her words and actions, or of the people who gathered
round her.
"It has struck her more deeply than it has him,." said the kind man;
"and that at such a time!"
There was solemn music, that night, in the woods of Ard-Flesk ; some-
times a hollow rushing sound would pass above and around the castle; the
mightiest trees of the forest bowed to it, and the young saplings trembled;
but the sky was clear, and the stars were bright—the meekest daisy could
look up to them without closing a petal—there was something so sweet
and full of charity in their gentle aspect. Sometimes, the music assumed
a tone of tender melody, trembling amid the leaves, and issuing from the
flowers; but never once was there a strain that could be called mirthful;
the waters of the beautiful river Flesk were troubled, but not disturbed,
and moaning sounds arose therefrom, as though they repeated, "She was
ours—she was ours."—If there had been any to look into the deeps of
the rapid river, they might have seen creatures shrouded in the long green
weeds that tangle the limbs of the drowning, and net them to their fate!
In what was called 'my lady's flower-garden,' beneath the great drawing-
room of Ard-Flesk, and the window where, together, Eva and her mother
once stood, during Cormac's illness, there is a lawn of exceeding beauty
and verdure; and reposing as it does in a valley, old Doctor Magrath
(who was accounted a philosopher as well as a physician) had said the
lights that danced on it were phosphoric—how Randy tossed his arms and
laughed aloud at his wisdom! Randy knew that on that same night the
fairy courts held solemn meeting on the very spot. They were there now
— when the fair valley, as well as the crowded city, was shrouded in
darkness—all were there — all, but Queen Nightstar — the light, the
purity, the chief grace of the Fairy courts was wanting. Honeybell, as
usual, pouted, and declared that two kingdoms were more than she could
manage; that she should rejoice when Nightstar's caprice for mortal life
was ended. "She had reasons," she added, with the increased dignity of
mystery, "to declare it might be possible for the Queen of Air to appear
before them very soon." This announcement was received with so much
movement and acclamation by the fairy troops, that if old Doctor Magrath
had been near them, he would have been blinded by ' phosphoric light.'


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
249
The compliment paid to their favourite Queen, Honeybell received as a
tribute to herself, and bowed and smiled graciously. At that moment the
hollow rushing sound increased; as it approached, it changed into a uni-
versal wail. Sighs seemed heaved from the very bowels of the earth ; the
old halls sent forth groans piteous to hear ; the affrighted spirits of the woods

and flowers sought refuge amid the leaves and blossoms of the earth—as
the Banshee floated onwards to Mucross! How the deep mysterious spirit
lingered about the Old Abbey—how its transparent outline mingled with
the shadows of the material world! the owl ceased to hoot, and the bat to
2k


250
MIDSUMMER EVE.
flap its heavy path through the murky air; the beetle folded his armour
over his filmy wings, and the death's-head moth trembled on the broad-
leaved ivy. What had called her forth, and why did she circle round one
particular spot? Why, descending slowly upon earth, did she clap her
hands at intervals, and, though she cried not loudly, sob and moan that one
so young should mate with the red earth worm, and be closed up—until
the appointed time—in the damp and lonely grave!
Those who watched—if there were any brave enough to do so—might
have seen the awful shadow pausing, for a brief moment, upon one of the
two mounds — of earth and stone—raised above the other graves in
gloomy Mucross!


**te.

Dr««O lv J. Nu t !>«..„!„ LI A.
ELgravbd wy J. W
THE WOODCUTTER'S VISIT.


252
MIDSUMMER EVE:
objects, so varied and so apart, seemed concentrated by some magic
power; while the Dovecote, crouching amid trees, sparkled like one
huge diamond, illumined from within and without—every pane of its
latticed windows, every moss and stone of the old gable, distinctly
visible; the very Doe appeared transfixed and motionless, as if listening
for some expected sound; at intervals, the crags of the Reeks, touched
by light, shone out against the soft grey sky; suddenly, stars of all colours
sparkled among the foliage, then glittered upon the long grass, and vanished;
the bells of the old gable chimed the sweetest and wildest music
that ever floated through Clo-
ghreen; every flower poured
forth a melody, so calm and
soft—the very echo of a sound;
and still the fairy hosts aug-
mented—those of the earth and
air mingling in sweetest amity.
There was much state in Queen
Honeybell's court; all her
officers, and ladies, and knights,
and pages, were cognizant of
some great ceremony, at which
the attendant troops could only
guess: her bees were in per-
petual motion; while she her-
self was decked more gaudily
than is warranted by good
taste, and, more than once, she
chid her husband's mirthful
laughter.
"Our sister, Nightstar," she
said, "has been sojourning in
the land of state-form, and
has, no doubt, made herself mistress of court etiquette! I would be in
no way behind her in knowledge. Our poor sister is full of theories
for mortals' purification; and, therefore, will the more rejoice that

V_


254
MIDSUMMER EVE I
Land; but as she turned towards the east, she espied the heralds of
Mornikg, proclaiming its presence on the hills.

"Behold!" she exclaimed, pointing to the fast-coming influences;
"the hour is at hand: but to night, friends, true and faithful—to-night!
we will again make populous these glades and halls—-to-night!—and for
a purpose."
Where went they 1—fanning the air with unseen wings, leaving the
trail of their brightness above the dark morass—while in a moment,
oblivious of the past, the cleft-crown of Mangerton and the crags of ' the
Reeks'—mingled in dim obscurity with the lingering clouds. The time-
honoured arch of Mucross cast its shadow lightly over Cormac's new-made
grave, spanning it as with a blessing! It swelled beside his mother's
stately tomb, marked by a simple urn—recording, in compliance with his


256
MIDSUMMER ETE
been troubled; the features disturbed; the lines of age and suffering
broken by the tremulousness of a wandering yet tender nature. So aged,
within a score of months, had he become, that twenty tranquil years would
not have left such records on the lofty brow—a very tower of dreams—that
rose above his closed lips! The peasants—his near neighbours and dear
friends, had said—' the Woodcutter's heart was breaking ever since Miss
Eva went:' and Kitty, putting in for a word of sympathy on her own
account, declared * that her's was the same, only she did not show
it so much.'
On the Midsummer morning, when Sidney was to return as Lord of
Ard-Flesk—on that morning, when the cup of Randy's happiness was
full to overflowing, no one who had not seen him for a time could have
recognised the guardian of Eva Raymond. He had changed into an
almost spirit-likeness of his former self: the earthiness of his nature had
gradually disappeared; the once
stalwart Woodcutter was but the
shadow of his manly frame; he
wandered around his early haunts
almost unconsciously, gathering
herbs, caressing children, succour-
ing the unfledged birds if they
tumbled from their nests, visiting
Geraldine's grave, and forgetting
how minutes passed into hours,
when he folded his arms, and
mused upon some passage in
Eva's simple life, beside the
Whitestone Well, or in the depths
of the forest glades; he prayed
much, but not where the peasants
of the vale and mountain prayed together—not by carved cross or in
consecrated aisle; he would climb the mountain to meet the rising sun,
and offer his matins on its highest peak, his face turned towards England—
kneeling alone, above his fellow-beings, with outstretched arms and floating
hair; the shepherd boys beneath, among the crags, crouching together—in


A FAIRY TALE OF I.OVE.
257
awe not fear—wondering if, in his dreariness, he sought that spot to be the
nearer God! That wild prayer finished, he would hood his eyes with his
hand, and bend a never-satisfied gaze towards the English coast, fancying
he saw the sea and ships, created by his own imaginings; his thoughts—
no matter what he did—were there. His kind friend, even in her darkest
hours, wrote to him regularly a few kindly words; and he would ponder
over the letters he could not read, with eyes full of unshed tears!

When Cormac s funeral passed to its resting place, anticipated by the
joyful intelligence which the good doctor had so panted to communicate
2 h


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
259
wild bursts of excitement in which he had formerly indulged. Kitty said
she could not bear to look at him, he was so unlike himself.
The lark had finished her song and disappeared before Randy awoke;
and he might have slept longer but for Kitty, who had beeen sitting,
dressed in 'her best,' in the kitchen of the Dovecote; the old cat—old,
although a daughter of our ancient friend—purring at her feet. After
enjoying awhile, in silence, the luxury of coming dignity—as housekeeper
at Ard-Flesk—she arose and paced slowly forth to join the Woodcutter.

"Are you going to stay there all day, Randy, astore!" she said,
touching him with the black oak staff she had found, ot late, a wonderful
aid in the collecting of stray chickens, and a needful support to tottering


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
2C1
commenced licking his hands, pausing occasionally to look into his face,
with its deep, soft, hazel eyes. Randy enfolded her neck with his arm,
and pressed her head to his bosom, and talked to her as though she
understood his words. "She's coming, avourneen deelish; she's coming!
as a grand lady, they say. They think she 'll roll down the grate avenue
to the shouts of the people and the noise of loud music, and bow to many
a high head that will bend low to her for the first time; but they 're
wrong, bright eyes! they don't know her as we do. She'll come first to
the Dovecote. She 'll enter it, as she always did, like a sunbeam. She 'll
press the ould Bible to her heart, and bend her knees beside her mother's
bed—don't I know her! The devotion is in her; but not for what the
world worships. She 'll rise as pure out of prosperity as she did out of
the black trouble. I'll not forget it to poor Kitty, that she said I had
a right to the first look; and you, my dappled darling, you'll miss your
Randy soon; but I 'll have my turn with the rest, and spend many a
moonlight in the ould places: pleasant times we 'll have of it! And yet
I 'd rather stay as I am a little longer, only for the weight of clay that's
round me!" And so he continued until the afternoon, talking in-
coherently to every familiar bush and flower, apostrophising the old gable,
and reproving the weathercock for creaking at such a time; taking no note
of the sounds of music and laughter with which every breeze was
freighted: nor heeding the boat-race, nor contributing a single stick to the
bonfires which that night were to blaze a welcome upon every hill. "All
is decked in Mucross," he muttered to himself; "I did that yesterday."
The intense heat of the day was passed, and Randy, becoming more
and more restless, stood on the mound above the Whitestone Well; he
commanded a view of the avenue of Ard-Flesk; he saw the flags floating,
and the noisy music jarred upon his ear. Suddenly there was a heaving of
the multitude; the great gates, heavy with garlands, were thrown open;
the servants marshalled on the steps and along the hall, under the able
direction of the late Lady Elizabeth's old butler; a carriage and four
entered; the echoes of the Eagle's nest took up the shouts, and sent
them round the lakes. The carriage proceeded slowly up the avenue.
Randy covered his face with his hands as he descended, so that he
could not see that the carriage only contained two gentlemen—the


262 MIDSUMMER EVE:
London physician and the old officer; while Sidney's father, who had been
waiting at the entrance, turned away with an air of disappointment.
Randy sat on the grass bench, his fingers pressed upon his eyes, but not
so closely that tears did not stream through them. Had he been mistaken!
Had she really gone first to Ard-Flesk? No, no—two rough paws were
on his shoulders, and Keeldar's hot tongue and panting breath upon his
cheek. Clutching the dog to his heart, he looked in at the window—there
was Eva! her lips upon her mother's Bible, kneeling beside her mother's
bed! Sidney, too, was there; pale, almost as a spectre, but with promises
of health in his bright eye and erect carriage. A few moments more, and
the Woodcutter had his reward.
"Why Randy—dear Randy—is it you; can it be possible—is it you?"
"As much as there's left of me, darling," was the plaintive reply; and
then quite unable to control his feelings, he bent his head over Keeldar,
and wept aloud.
"You will soon be quite well again, now we are returned, dear old
friend," said Sidney; "and we shall have gay times at Ard-Flesk. You
shall be my prime minister, and take the same care of "and Sidney
whispered some words into the old man's ear. They failed to produce
a smile.
"She's under God's care, and needs no care of mine now, sir," he
said, conquering his tears. "I knew she'd come first to the Dovecote. I
did not tell them, and if I had, they would not have believed me." And
then he advanced, and with his fingers traced Eva's features. "It can't
be a wholesome place that England," he said, shaking his head; "and
there's been heaviness on that brow, and tears in those eyes—often;
but it's over—it's ended; prosperity and peace are met, and will remain
with them!"
"Keeldar's bloodshot eyes rolled with sullen distaste upon the Doe;
he did not like her to share his lady's caresses; but he treated her rather
with contempt than with ill-temper, and she did not seem inclined to renew
her acquaintance with him.
As the little party quitted the cottage to proceed by the woodpath
to Ard-Flesk, Eva paused to gaze upon it again. "Shall I continue as
happy in that lordly place," she said, "as I have been here?"


264 MIDSUMMER EVE:
No sound is more magnificent than the swell of a multitude of voices
sending its shout aloft, impregnating the air with the enthusiasms of the
earth, until the cry is echoed through the blue vault of heaven; the people
shouted, but far more touching than the shouts were the sobs, and prayers,
and blessings, of Eva's humble friends. She made grievous mistakes
in her recognitions, speaking to the juniors as if they were the elders
of a family, so that, at last, Kitty, 'seeing,' as she said, ' there was no good
in Randy,' identified them with her staff. But Eva was quickly over-
powered by the scene; Sidney supported her into the great oak-paneled
dining-room; it was one of those rooms of sombre magnificence which
are delightful to write about—to walk through—to paint—but not to live
in. The paneling shone like a succession of darkened mirrors, with here
and there a grim family portrait; the carvings were heavy, the enrichments
of the ceiling faded, and the Turkey carpet seemed as if it had gathered
itself up from the polished boards; but the windows looked into the
woods—the deep, deep musical woods, with their eloquent leaves and
waving boughs; and the atmosphere was cool and pleasant. Eva's eyes
wandered from one to another of the paintings; no matter how poor,
or dull, or quaint, a picture may be, it suggests something; but Sidney,
whose eyes were fixed on her, could not help smiling, thinking, as he did,
that though she looked she saw nothing. He was mistaken. "Sidney!"
she exclaimed, springing forward, " Sidney—look!"
He was as much astonished as she was; for there, upon the walls, set
in all the splendour of new gilding, hung his own picture—the picture
concerning which he had never inquired since the day of his fearful
disappointment in London; there it hung. He walked towards it,
followed by the physician.
"Full of great faults," muttered the artist; "and yet for a rejected
picture, not so very bad! How came it here?"
The Woodcutter's wild laugh made Eva start.
"Poor Randy loses his wits at times, and finds them again. The
daisy looks the sun in the face; a whisper came to me over the sea, and
said—one told him—he's in the churchyard now; and were you to sit
by his side the length of a summer day, he would tell you nothing."
"We must watch our old friend," said Eva, in a whisper to her


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE. 265
husband; "it breaks my heart to see him thus — how wild and strange
he seems." Again she looked at the picture. "How it joys me
to see it."
Sidney and Eva gazed at each other for a moment—steadfastly.
"What a monitor it will be!" he said. "While I was painting in that
drapery"
"Which is as light as though a full-drawn sigh would waft it from the
canvas," exclaimed Eva, triumphantly.
"Well, while I was painting that, my arms aching from weakness, so
that I could hardly hold the pencil, you sat beside me, converting the
wire of an old bird-cage into chain-armour, which we were too poor
to hire, to deck my hero in; you did your work, dearest, though your
fingers bled!"
"And these plumes, these golden goblets—an artist's gold—all on his
canvas; that boy holding up the grapes, so ripe and luscious—we never
knew who sent us those ripe grapes!"
Another wild laugh from Randy again startled them both.
"We toiled to seek a fitting model for that boy among the active-
earning faces of the city children; there was none whose brow was free
from thought—not one who smiled unconsciously! What a record it is!"
persisted Sidney. "What a lesson it must ever be to me! Where the
brightest inspirations were shrivelled by the beggar's want; and you,
bright angel, shining, as angels do, more brightly in the dark! companioned
.—counselled—bore with—prayed for—me I Of all the gifts that Corniac
lavished on me, I ought to value that picture most. If pride—or arrogance
—enter my bosom, that should drive them hence; if genius needs protec-
tion, that recalls to me, its sufferings, and my duty."
"Poor Randy," whispered the Woodcutter, "he will soon be going;
but if the Lady Eva were to ask her with the bright star to let him stay
another year, she would."
"You shall stay many years, dear old friend; do not look so wildly
into the woods, Randy; you shall tell me all your dreams again, and how
you did battle with the Kelpies for my sake."
"They're gone !" he exclaimed, eagerly; "gone—not one in the whole
country! Sail away, Queen of the Lakes! there's nothing to trouble the


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE.
267
stand her words, but kneeling before her, as a child kneels at its
mother's knee, entreated her pardon. "I might have minded better,

darling, and kept more trouble from you. Yet,
I'd have died, any hour of the day or night, to
serve you, or the mistress, or Master Sidney; and
grand as you are now, you'll not forget the pleasant
times of childhood; their innocence will come back to you, and light the
dark path you'll have to take one day or other—You'll think of the
pleasant times when I brought you the wood-strawberries, and the young
birds, and the flowers; and hunted the children to get their learning; and
nursed the fawn. You'll think of the good and forget the bad. Hush!"


268
MIDSUMMER EVE:
he exclaimed, half-rising. "Hush! did you hear that? the first blast of
the royal bugle! and now the trumpet! Hush! never did such a note as
that rouse the old stag on Glena! there's not a lord about the place who
dare ring out such a call as that!"
"See how he listens, as though the echoes were reverberating in the
distance," said Sidney.
"Hush! don't speak—only look! It's no wonder I'm going blind
with their brightness," he continued. "Ay, in with you to the Dovecote,
and light it up; there's nothing to scare ye there! The first bit of the
butter is on the doorpost, the crickets are fed, and the sweet mead is
ready in the chiny .bowl! Look, they are chaining the weathercock,
and putting their spells round the old gable."
"His wits have quite left him," whispered Eva, as she clung
to her husband. "Our good physician must see to him. And now
he bends low to the fancied multitude, peopling the scene with his
imaginings."
"Salute them! salute them!" he exclaimed to Eva, who saw that his
excitement was increasing. "It is their welcome to the lady of Ard-
Flesk! From the four corners of the winds—-from earth and air they
gather — ah, ah! The great bee who punished the Kelpie page—
isn't he grate! Whisht! how he booms! Hornet and wasp! hang-
ing spider! leaf-rolling worm! sly field mouse! and matted mildew!—
have at them all, my brave ones with the golden banners! Ay, ay, I
forgot—it's love, not war, you're bent on now: bow to them, lady; bow
when I do! It's grate honor they pay you, mavourneen deelish—grate
honour intirely."
Eva, to humour him, did as he desired, and the old man's face became
flushed with intense delight. He moved restlessly about, bowing and
pushing back the hair from his fevered brow; — then, addressing the
invisible world, he exclaimed—
"See, fair Nightstar, she bends to your goodness! bright Honeybell!
there's a welcome for you, as well as for her; don't be jealous, sweet
Honeybell! Look! there is a ring on the earth, and a ring in the air!
they are above us—around us; the Queens bow to the lady—the lady
to the Queens!" For an instant he looked into Eva's face. "What


A FAIRY TALE OF LOVE. 269
large pearls are on your cheek, darlint. It isn't tears they'd be—what
should tears do there now? What call have you to tears?" Eva could
not control her emotion. Randy wandered again. "They are going! it
was well done—it was well done! Yes—you see I must follow. If you
had asked another year when she looked at you; but it's too late now—
—there's nothing for us to do when love is prosperous; nothing to do
then !—you don't want prayer or blessing now from the poor Woodcutter.
Don't you hear them calling me? Not that—that's the wind! but now—
Ay, ay ;" and, bending reverently, he at first went slowly on, and then
rushed into the thicket.
"Follow him, Sidney," said Eva. "Poor faithful creature! his mind
is a ruin so thickly overgrown with such sweet fancies, that to restore the
one you destroy the beauty of the others. He is out of sight."
"I might as easily follow the track of the red-deer," replied Sidney:
"we will send after him. You are almost fainting, my own dear one; I
should not have suffered this."
"We shall see him no more," sobbed Eva. "The moment I saw him
to-day, I felt that he had but tarried to welcome our return. We shall
never see our faithful Randy more!"
The next day, and the next, witnessed troops of eager visitors
crowding to Ard-Flesk; but they could not divert Eva from her anxiety
respecting her old friend. He was sought for in wood, in river, on
mountain, and in valley; but in vain; and evening after evening the
sweet lady of Ard-Flesk wept as she said, " We shall see him no more!"
and the echoes caught the sound, and repeated "no more," in saddest
cadence, from the Eagle's Nest to the Purple Mountain.
The Dovecote was preserved as a temple for repose and thought-
fulness—a place of self-questioning and sacred communion with all the
memories of their lives—a place wherein to keep the heart's true jubilee—
holding the feasts of childhood and of age upon its lawns—distributing alms
within its porch; all living things therein tasting repose and liberty.
Once in the deepening twilight of her birthday, Eva, her first-born
sleeping on her bosom, fancied she saw the Woodcutter pass and repass
her window; and, once—on a Midsummer Eve—the child to whom
Keeldar had transferred all the attention his extreme age permitted


270
MIDSUMMER EVE.
him to pay, told his mother that a very old man, with flowing white hair,
had met him in the wood, and looked at him so long, that though he
was not afraid, he was glad to return to her.
The peasants speak of Randy, even now, as present at times—
not in the flesh, but in the spirit; a sort of moving shadow, yet
shadowless; they tell the children going to the mountain, that, if they
are good, the Woodcutter will take care that no harm shall come to
them, on hill or glen—by water or wild. They say he hides the
tender fawns from the foxes, and saves the young trees from the
fury of the east wind; they tell of his wondrous knowledge, of the
dangers which surrounded Eva's childhood, and of his prophecies
concerning her, whose nature, impressed by the Divinity, imbibed the
great and useful knowledge, that woman's true happiness — the only
happiness her pure soul can taste of, unalloyed—consists in

LOVING AND BEING BELOVED.
Cook and Co. Printers,
7t>, Fleet Street, I.onilon.