,.^'. ^^.^a 75 y /^ ^. IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I ■^ ^ |2.? ^ ^i£, 12.0 IS mu< Hiotographic Sciences Corporation *- -.V ^ ||l.25|||..4 ,.6 ^ 6" ► 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14S80 (716)872-4503 4 A ^o mg^ ^ fc ^A CIHM/ICMH Microfiche Series. CIHM/ICIVIH Collection de microfiches. Canadian Institute for Historical IVIicroreproductions / Institut Canadian de microreproductions historiq ues 4 i Technical and Bibliographic Notes/Notes techniques et bibliographiques Tl to The Institute has attempted to obtain the best original copy available for filming. Features of this copy which may be bibliographically unique, which may alter any of the images in the reproduction, or which may significantly change the usual method of filming, are checiced below. D D D D Coloured covers/ Couverture de couleur I I Covers damaged/ Couverture endommagde Covers restored and/or laminated/ Couverture restaurde et/ou pellicul6e Cover title missing/ Le titre de couverture manque Coloured maps/ Cartes gdographiques en couleur Coloured init (i.e. other than blue or black)/ Encre de couleur (i.e. autre que bleue ou noire) Coloured plates and/or illustrations/ Planches et/ou illustrations en couleur D Bound with other material/ Reli6 avec d'autres documents Tight binding may cause shadows or distortion along interior margin/ La re liure serrde peut causer de I'ombre ou de la distortion le long de la marge int6rieure Blank leaves added during restoration may appear within the text. Whenever possible, these have been omitted from filming/ 11 se peut que certaines pages blanches ajout6es lors d'une restauration apparaissent dans le texte, mais, lorsque cela 6tait possible, ces pages n'ont pas 6t6 filmtes. Additional comments:/ Commentaires supplAmentaires; L'Institut a microfilm^ le meilleur exemplaire qu'il lui a 6X6 possible de se procurer. Les details de cet exer iplaire qui sont peut-dtre uniques du point de vue bibliographique, qui peuvent modifier une image reproduite, ou qui peuvent exiger une modification dans la methods normale de filmage sont indiqute ci-dessous. I I Coloured pages/ D Pages de couleur Pages damaged/ Pages endommagdes □ Pages restored and/or laminated/ Pages restaurtes et/ou pelliculdes Pages discoloured, stained or foxed/ Pages dteolortes, tacheties ou piqu6es □ Pages detached/ Pages d^tachtes Showthroughy Transparence Quality of prir Quality in^gale de I'impression includes supplementary materit Comprend du materiel suppl^mentaire Only edition available/ Seuie Edition disponible Tl P o^ fi O b^ th si ol fii si Of ryi Showthrough/ I I Quality of print varies/ I I includes supplementary material/ [~~| Only edition available/ Tl sf Tl w M di er b« "J re Pages wholly or partially obscured by errata slips, tissues, etc., have been refilmed to ensure the best possible image/ Les pages totalement ou partieilement obscurcies par un feuillet d'errata, une pelure, etc., ont M filmtes A nouveau de fapon d obtenir la meilleure image possible. This item is filmed at the reduction ratio checked below/ Ce document est film6 au taux de reduction indiquA ci-dessous 10X 14X 18X 22X 1 26X 30X y 12X 16X 20X 24X 28X 32X lire details jes du modifier |er une filmage The copy filmed here has been reproduced thanks to the generosity of: National Library of Canada The images appearing here are the best quality possible considering the condition and legibility of the original copy and in keeping with the filming contract specifications. Original copies in printed paper covers are filmed beginning with the front cover and ending on the last page with a printed or illustrated impres- sion, or the back cover when appropriate. All other original copies are filmed beginning on the first page with a printed or illustrated impres- sion, and ending on the last page with a printed or illustrated impression. 6es L'exemplaire filmA fut reproduit grdce d la g6n4rosit6 de: Bibliothdque nationale du Canada Les images suivantes ont 6t6 reproduites avec le plus grand soin. compte tenu de la condition et de la nettet6 de rexemplairo filmd, et en conformit6 avec les conditions du contrat de filmage. Les exemplaires originaux dont la couverture en papier est imprimde sont film6s en commenpant par le premier plat et en terminant soit par la derniAre page qui comporte une empreinte d'impression ou d'illustration. soit par le second plat, selon le cas. Tous les autres exemplaires originaux sont film6s en commen^ant par la premidre page qui comporte une empreinte d'impression ou d'illustration et en terminant par la dernidre page qui comporte une telle empreinte. The last recorded frame on each microfiche shall contain the symbol -^^ (meaning "CON- TINUED"), or the symbol V (meaning "END"), whichever applies. Un des symboles suivants apparaitra sur la dernidre image de cheque microfiche, selon le cas: le symbole — ► signifie "A SUIVRE", le symbols V signifie "FIN". 'e Maps, plates, charts, etc.. may be filmed at different reduction ratios. Those too large to be entirely included in one exposure are filmed beginning in the upper left hand corner, left to right and top to bottom, as many frames as required. The following diagrams illustrate the method: Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent dtre filmte A des taux de reduction diff^rents. Lorsque le document est trop grand pour dtre reproduit en un seul clich6, il est film6 A partir de i'angle sup6rieur gauche, de gauche d droite, et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre d'images ndcessaire. Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la mithode. r errata d to It le pelure, ;on d n t *» 2 3 32X 1 2 3 4 5 6 "■«'■ t p • f t f > t .J^^-^ *^. H * # ELINOR PRESTON: «»» Sctnts at %rM ani Jbroab. . MRS. J. SADLIEE, «tt<|8t of BLAKM AMD VLAHIOAXB,* ** OOMnDBUlB 0HIXVTAIH8,** ** HBIf XJOHn,* NEW YORK: D. & J. SADLIER & CO., 81 BARCLAY STREET, OF NOTBS pAMM * Wt. nUUKHB XATSB :4 ^•v. Altered aeeorra,18a. • « ELINOR PRESTON; OB, $ttuB St $0mt ui ^\ixni. ••• CHAPTER I. (iTcn u Elinor Preston*! manoscript fell Into the handi of the anonymooi gentleman who wrote the following Introduction, so did his manuscript fall Into mine, hy an equally fortunate chance ; and, such being the caae, I iMTe great pleasure in giving it to the public Just as I found it.] ,^^f^i^8s!)C- UCH has been siud and written of the pleasure and the profit to be derived from a stroll through a country churchyard, always providing, I should suppose, that the per- son so strolling be capable of enjoying such pleasure, for assuredly to the average run of mortals it is anything but agreeable to come in contact with the dead. ''The dead of other years ! '' solemn and mast beautiful words, little regarded by the chiU dren of the world, the living occupants of this our planet. Much, as I said, has been written on the solemn lessons 10 XLINOR PRESTON. Inculcated by the grassy heaps and neglected monuments of the* graveyard, and this applies to all, for in all does the progress of man^s return to dust go on from day to day in fulfilment of the divine behest. But it is only in Catholic graveyards that real consolation is to bu found, for there we feel that the dead are not wholly sep- arated from those left behind. There the gulf of death is bridged across by the hand of faith. We read the pious inscriptions : " In your charity pray for the soul of ," and though the name on the head- stone or head-board is strange to us, yet we do pray for that soul with a heart full of tender, Christian charity. Over the next grave we read : " Erected to the memory of and by their sorrowing and affection- ate children. They were, indeed. Christian parents. May they rest in peace ! " Does not the " Amen " which one's lips utter, ascend to heaven on the wings of faith and charity ? Over many of the graves is placed only a simple cross of wood or stone, sublimely attest- ing the faith and hope of the Christian who sleeps be- neath its sacred shadow. What monument ever raised by wealth and pride could equal that In grandeur ! " In this sign we conquer ! " whispers the interior voice — the voice of faith. I was forcibly struck with these truths, while ram- bling one summer afternoon through the neatly-kept en- closure of a parish cemetery in Lower Canada, within sight of the blue waters of the St. Lawrence. The names on the simple monuments were nearly all French ; they were Breton and Norman names, transmitted froii: ELINOR PRB8T0V. 11 one generation to another by the brave and hardy col- onists, who also gave intact to their children *' the faith, pure and undefilcd,'* which, in later times, animated the bold peasants of that same Bretagne and that same Normandy to fight as men hardly ever fought in de- fence of their religion. The declining sun shed his slanting beams on the grass-grown graves, flinging the shadow of cross and headstone in broken lines over each ** narrow house of death," and I was thinking of the light of immortality with which those Christian sleepers had been long since vested as with a garment, when my eye chanced to fall on a small headstone, apparently of white marble, stand- ing in a corner close by the little parish church, in the shade of an ancient elm. Attracted from a distance by the picturesque appearance of this little monument, I approached, and, to my surprise, found on it no inscrip- tion — ^nothing but a cross, and a miniature figure of the Blessed Virgin, with her hands outstretched as we see her on the medals of the Immaculate Conception. I looked at the grave : it was that of an adult, judging by its length ; and involuntarily I stopped, and began to think why it was that there was no name on the stone. Many efforts did I make to solve the enigma, but hav- ing no clue to guide me, I was of course lost in the labyrinth of my own thoughts, — and roused myself, after half an hour^s musing, to discover that th# nameless grave, its sheltering elm, and myself, were alike envel- oped in the deep shade of the sacred building, behind which the sun was now setting. 13 XLIKOR PRESTON. f •' Finding that I had lingered in the cemetery much longer than I had intended, I entered the church to say a prayer for the faithful departed, especially those amongst whose mortal remains I had been so long musing, and then hurried to "mine inn" to procure some of those creature-comforts, for which, after all, intellectual or sentimental pleasures are but a sorry substitute. After supper J walked out on the little gallery, or verandah, which ran along the front of the house, and was well pleased to find mine host there be- fore me, in his shirt-sleeves, enjoying his pipe and the delicious coolness of the summer eve, — his dark. Indian- like features shaded by a straw hat of the coarsest tex- ture, plaited by the nut-brown hands of wife or daughter. I was fortunately able to converse with Monsieur Jean Baptiste in his own liquid tongue, on which account he had the greatest possible pleasure in answering any questions I might choose to put. " You have quite a pretty village here," said I, cast- ing my eyes over the picturesque group of quaint, old- fashioned, gaudily-painted houses, shaded here and there with the luxuriant foliage of the maple and the tamarac. " The place is well enough," said mine host, with the careless air of one who was himself perfectly satisfied with his location, and cared little whether others ad- mired it or not. " And ^wr church and presbytery," I said, pointing to the buildings in question, where they stood side by side, their white walls reflecting the rays of the sum- mer moon, as she rose from behind the dark rim of the %• V ' , tr t.# • *#v \ k ELINOR PRESTON. 13 -, v adjacent forest. " How graceful does the pretty cot- , tage nestle close by the church ! — surely, if peace is to be had on earth, it must be in this secluded spot ! " "That is just what Ma'amselle nsed to say when she came first," observed the landlord. " Mademoiselle ! who is she 1 " "Why, Ma'amselle TAnglaise, to be sure," he re- turned, as though I should have known all about her as well as himself. • n , " L' Anglaise ! " I repeated. " So you have a young English lady here 1 " f " No, sir, she is not here now — she is gone to a bet ter place," and he reverently touched his straw hat, and glanced upward to the dark blue sky spangled with its myriad orbs. "Oh! she is dead, then!" Jean Baptiste nodded in in the affirmative, and I involuntarily thought of the nameless grave under the churchyard elm. " Is your demoiselle Anglaise buried below in the churchyard, close by the wall under a large tree ? " Mine host looked surprised ! " Monsieur has seen her grave, then ? " I nodded in my turn. " Yes," he said, " that is where she lies — may she rest in peace ! " I *" What was her name 1 " I asked. " I am sorry I cannot tell you, sir," said the urbane ^^landlord, as he shook the ashes from his pipe, and leis- urely put it in his pocket ; " we always call her Ma'am- selle, because she was a lady, and the only one in the village. I heard Monsieur le Cure sometimes mention her name, for he speaks English as well as can be ^ but 2 \ ! 14 ELIKOR PBBSTON. poor people like us, that don't speak English, can't well remember English names. As I was saying, we always ^! call her Ma'amselle, and she didn't want any other name given her. You see there is none on her head- stone. Well, that was her own wish." " Strange," I said musingly ; " but had she no fHends ? " " Not a soul — at least here. I don't know if she ever had any. I suppose she had in her own country, but she came here all alone, for all the world as though she^ dropped down from heaven to teach our little ones. Where she came from, or who she was, we never knew, because, as Monsieur knows, we couldn't be putting ques- tions to a lady like her. She might have told Monsieur , le Cure something, but if she did he kept it all to him* self" t "So she taught school here?'* *f *' Yee, sir, she taught both French and English. Mon- sieur le Cure said she was very well instructed, and she looked like it. She was pale, and had a spiritual sort of look about her that nobody ever had, I think, but herself — at least there was nobody in these parts a bit like her, not even in Quebec, or Montreal itself, — ^and I have been in both, sir, many a time. I never saw a face like hers — so sad, and yet so sweet. Every body loved her, sir," and the worthy habitan cleared his throat vo- ciferously ; " there's my wife Adele, and I do believe * she could have worked day and night for her, and for th« matter of that, she often did too, after she got sick, for Adele has an excellent heart, sir, and the good Grod gives her the best of health." % ^ ¥ ! XUNOR PRXSTOK. w ».. « * t •i tv«* * # %-■ ir -#^* ** I rejoice to hear it," I said, with becoming gravity, '* but, pray, where did Mademoiselle reside 1 " " Oh I in the school-house yonder," pointing to a long, low, steep-roofed house, with even more than the usual number of Canadian windows, opening on hinges almost to the floor. " She would have been heartily welcome to live with us here, but she thought she'd rather be to herself — so she told my woman; and she took old Mother Longpre and her daughter Laure, to keep her company and mind the house, for it seems she did not know any thing. Pjoor Ma'amselle!" and again the good man cleared his throat, and wiped away a starting tear ! — " Pm sure we'll all pray for her the longest day we have to live ! " ^ ^^ I should like to ask the priest," I said, " whether he knew any thing of her history." " Perhaps Monsieur is from the same country ? " " I hardly think so, friend, as you say the young lady was English. I shall, however, pay a visit to the priest to-morrow, and — ^" " Excuse me, sir," interrupted Jean Baptiste, " but I forgot to tell you that after Ma'amselle's death, old Mother Longpre gave Monsieur le Cure a great bundle of papers that she found in a desk in her own Toom. *You may find some thing in them?'* This made me still more anxious to visit the priest, and so taking my hat I walked down the street in the direction of the presbytery, hoping that some lucky chance would give me an opportunity of gratifying my curiosity. And so, indeed, it happened, for, as I drew '¥: 16 XLIKOR PRESTON. if M near his house, I perceived the good pastor seated under the portico, in a large arm-chair, with his clasped hands resting on his knees, and his eyes fixed with a thoughtful, dreamy look on the silvery track of the moonlight stretch- ing far and away over the broad river. Unwilling to disturb such tranquil repose, I made a turn or two up and down the street in front of the house, making a short pause each time as I passed, and succeeded at last in catching the good priest's eye. He immediately left his seat, and bowed with the easy grace so characteristic of the genuine French Canadian. Having made our- selves mutually acquainted, we were soon engaged in a familiar chat, cosily seated at an open window of the priest's little parlor. Our conversation was in English, which Mr. Lacroix seemed to know very well in theory, though his tongue made sad work of some of its pecu- liar sounds. Still he would persist in speaking it, be- ing glad, as he told me, of the opportunity, " for," said he, '^ English is to me as much a dead language, at the present time, as either Greek or Hebrew. I am glad to speak it with you, sir, for I fear to forget it altogether. I think I could not speak it now, were it not for a young lady who taught my school. She was from Ireland — I suppose Monsieur knows Ireland ? " He paused, and I replied with a smile : *' I should, I think I ought to know it^ inasmuch as it is my own country." " Ah, indeed ! then Monsieur is a compatriot — ^I mean a countryman of my good young friend. Her name was Preston — ^Mademoiselle Elinor Preston." I BLINOR PRESTON. 17 t " Preston ! " I repeated ; " why, there is a noble family of that name in Ireland — and I have never known any of the name who were not of good stan<^ing." " Standing 1 " inquired the priest. " I mean," said I, in explanation, " that it is what we call a respectable name." " Ah ! I understand ; and this young lady — Miss Preston — was most respectable — every way respect- able," pronouncing the adjective with marked emphasis, and in the purest French ; for words like this, which are the same in both languages, are invariably spoken in the mother tongue. " She was an honor to her coun- try, sir ; and her death, which toolc place a year ago, was a great loss to us — a very great loss, I assure you." T then expressed my desire to know something about the young lady, and how it was that she came to settle down in a place so remote, where even her own Ian- guage was not spoken. ** Ah ! " said the good priest, " that is what I hardly know myself: some things she told me, but they are too long to tell, and Monsieur can have the story in her own words. I think it was a childish fancy made her settle here, but I don't know. It is all here, I sup- pose ! " and going to a venerable-looking escrutoire, in a comer of the room, he drew forth a roll of papers al- ready somewhat discolored by the hand of time. This he gave to me, saying : " I have looked them over, and I know there is no family or personal secret in question —60 you may have them to read," 18 ^, ELINOR PRESTON. Thanking the good priest, I asked : " Was the lady young?" ^> *' Not very : she might have been thirty or there- abouts when she came to us, and she was here five years. She looked even older, because of her grave and pensive aspect." Declining the refreshments offered by the priest, not- withstanding the tempting neatness of the aged house- keeper who brought in the tray, I bade good-night to my new acquaintance, and, leaving him to read his Ofiice, hastened to the privacy of my chamber in the little hos- telrie, there to learn the story of the dead from her own simple words, written in that small running hand, easy, light, and graceful, which we somehow connect in oup minds with white taper fingers. €lmx |nst0n* V '-^ " What a strange, weird thing is life ! " began the manuscript ; " who can penetrate its secrets, who unravel its tangled web 1 A solemn fact it is, with the past and the future ever mingling, yet never mingled, and the frail creature suspended by that filmy thread above the unfathomable ocean of eternity !" It has been said that " there is a tide in the affairs of men," and who can doubt it 1 The Christian and the unbeliever are alike hurried on by this resistless tide, towards the goal of death, the only difference being that the latter struggles and plun* ges, and grasps at every twig that may retard his prog- SLINOR PRESTON. 19 »•■%• ress, while the former floats calmly on towards the eter- nal bourne beyond which lies his home in the everlasting mansions. Yet, even to the calm, unworldly Christian nothing fearing, nothing doubting, but leaving all in the hands of divine Providence, this life is full of mystery. Who can account for the train of circumstances that brought me here ? — here, " in the forests of the West," where but few generations have passed away since the Indian built his wigwam and launched his bark canoe, sole master of the land and the mighty river 1 Yet here I am. I — the daughter of a race who were knights and nobles in the Old World, before the veil was uplifted from the New ! Truly the tide aforesaid has been playing strange pranks with Elinor Preston, but it certainly has not led her on to fortune. Fortune, indeed ! — what care I for fortune ? I flung it from me when I had it within my grasp, nor do I now regret it. Much have I lost that I do regret, and shall ever regret while life is left me. A golden circle of loving hearts have I seen shattered*and melted down in the crucible of time. I myself am the only link remaining in this nether world, and my heart is the sole earthly repository of the loves and hopes and fears that made up the lives of all. Here I am, alone : alone in the midst of my fellow- creatures — a mystery to all around me. Lonely I am, but not desolate, for my heart is full of faith in the di- vine promises, and the villagers, among whom my way- ward fate has cast me, are guileless as our first parents in their pristine state, and kind as love and pity could ^ \ 20 v*e' EUNOR PRBSTOK. make them. They do not treat me as a stranger, and / their artless confidence wins my heart. Although dif- fering in almost every thing from my own people, there is still one sacred bond of union between us — one broad platform on which we stand side by side ; it is the bond of &ith, the platform of Catholicity. So I am not a stranger here — be still, sad, yearning heart ! — ^I am not a stranger where I can pray with all the people, and be nourished with the sacraments, whose fruits are visible in the calm bright current of their peaceful life. I, too, have found peace in this secluded spot, peace which I had sought in vain amid the glare and glitter of more polished society. Hiere are moments when I can smile at the contrast be- tween the gay and perhaps brilliant Elinor Preston, a few years since tt -the fayor'd guest In many a lighted hall/' w * . the dispenser of fashion to an admiring circle — and not small — of country elegants, the sun of a nice little solar system. The metamorphosis is complete. The flight of years — few but heavy-laden with sorrow and reverse — has crushed the buoyant spirit and withered the roseate dieek, and dimmed the sparkling eye of the ball-room belle ; and I sit as demurely, day after day, hammering the alphabet into thick little skulls, as though I had been all my life a " school-ma'am," as a female teacher is, oddly-enough, called in the neighboring Republic. But why all this ? why do I find myself, pen in hand, putting my retrospective fancies on paper ? Who shall ELINOR PRESTON. 21 »%> read then, 'l who, in all this vast region, will ever be in- terested in the reminiscences of a being so utterly iso- lated — a branch lopped off from the parent tree, or rather left to mourn its fall, and flung by the capricious wind of fate to the opposite side of the globe 1 No matter, though there be none to read ; it will fill* up many an hour that would hang heavy on my hands, and if, as I sometimes think, the disease that carried off my mother in the bloom of life has already commenced its ravages on my attenuated frame, then this scroll shall remain — sole relic of my thirty years' sojourn in this vale of tejirs. Some wanderer from my own loved land may chance to stumble on my papers when I have passed from this w^orld, even some one who knew me in those early years, now clear and bright before my mental vision as the mountains of green Erin in the morning sun. So with this will-6*'the'Wisp to guide me, I will glance briefly over the past. I am the last of all my family. Parents, and broth- ers, and sisters, nay, even uncles and aunts, have all dis- appeared in the waves of time, — Heaven rest their souls in mercy ! And yet I am not old, that is, not very old, although 1 used to think thirty a good round age, and perhaps it is, too, in the present curtailed duration of human life*. My father was a member of the Irish bar, and, though by no means distinguished in his profession, was, nevertheless, universally respected for honesty and integrity. Strictly honorable in his dealings with all men, and quite willing to assist the needy when he had it in hi* power, he had many friends, and few or no ene- «^^. 22 BLXirOR PBXSTOir. mies. He was, indeed, one of those good, easy men who seem to glide as smoothly through the world as thjugh it had neither roclcs nor shoals. My mother was of a dif- ferent temperament Endowed with very uncommon powers of mind, her sensibility was most acute, and the trials and troubles which passed so lightly over my fa- ther's head, fell on her heart with crushing weight. Her mind was too highly- wrought, her aspirations too lofly, and her standard of excellence too high, for the average run of society, and the consequence was that she invol- untarily shrank from the world,-— and the world soon found that out, and set my dear mother down as a very unsocial sort of person, because, forsooth ! she could not bring herself down to its level, and do and say just what it bade her. There were among our visitors — chiefly my father's professional friends — ^some few who could and did appreciate my mother, and were in turn rever- enced and esteemed by her. One of these was an el- derly gentleman, of large and massive frame, finely- formed head, and a countenance at once expressive of piercing intellect, and keen, shrewd, caustic humor. He had a voice like a stentor, and an eye like a hawk. There was another — the direct opposite of the gentleman just described — who was, like him, a fast and firm friend of my mother's. He was a small man, a very small man, indeed, with a head so much too large for his body that it gave him a dwarfish look. Yet his countenance was one that attracted the beholder, hot from the beauty of feature or color, but because of the fire which darted from his eye, — the fire of genius aM of inspiration. In XLINOR PRK8T09. 23 just id of man, that was by of irted my earlier days these two individuals were on the most friendly terms, but there came a time when they were worse than strangers, so that no one thought of inviting them to the same table. Years and years had they la- bored together in a great work — a work of more than national importance ; but the strife of politics grew up between them, and they were totally estranged. Through all the storm of contention, both the Titans kept up their friendly intercourse with my parents, for my father, though a warm adherent of our large friend, took no prominent part in politico. Our domicile was situated in a professional street, adjoining Rutland Square. We had also a country-house near the Curragh of Kildare, where my father had a small property. Whether in town or country, we were surrounded by every thing gay and cheerful ; and when we had no visitors, which, to say the truth, seldom happened, our own family was in itself a circle large enough for social enjoyment. I had two brothers and two sisters, all older than myself, with the exception of little Carry, my pet sister, the pet of the whole family, the spoiled darling who ruled us all. We had also an ancient aunt, who lived with us, a spinster of much energy and determination of character. And a character she was too, my poor Aunt Kate ! with her tall, stiff, angular form, her long, thin, and very marked features, and her precise, formal manner. She had a vast opinion of her own consequence, together with no small share of family pride, and looked 'do^ from a dignified elevation on my dear mother, whose birth was a shade or two lower than her own ; for she r\ 24 ELINOR PBESTON. r< was my father's sister, and both were come c what is called a good family. They were, indeed, collateral descendants of that Lord Gormanstown who took so prominent a part in the troubles of 1641. Not a soul belonging to them had ever been in business, as far as Aunt Kate's recollection went, and it went back very far, a great way beyond the loyal old Lord of the Pale, the defender of king and country, while my mother\i progenitors were, on the contrary, all business people. ** Shopkeepers, my dear ! " as my Aunt Kate used to say to some confidential friend, with a face expressive of the most sovereign contempt. Yet the dear old lady had her good points, and was, on the whole, any thing but a bad sister-in-law to my poor mother. She had been somewhat of a belle — at least she said so— in her early days, and prided herself still on what she called the gen- tility of her carriage. She was fond of dress, but un- luckily she always managed to wear the most fantastic costume that ever woman wore, at least in this exquisite nineteenth century. Yet, dear Aunt Kate was a special favorite with our most distinguished visitors, to whom her little odd ways were worth gold, while the sterling value of her character commanded their esteem. The barrister to whom I first alluded took special pleasure in practising on my good aunt's simple vanity, and even now, when time and death ha\e made their memories solemn, I can hardly refrain from smiling as I sit in my lonely room and summon from the storehouse of the past the Hogarth-like pictures of many a humorous \ KLIIfOR PRSSTOK. 25 ■cene wherein my ancient relative and the great lawyer were the principal actors. » ' It 80 happened that our friend had a friend who was famous for having the tenderc.sf and most inflammable of hearts where our sex was concerned. To borrow the words of a song more popular than elegant ; , " Red-hot as a ball from a canuon ' ' Waa thk IrishmaD's heart for the ladies." He was a man of some genius, too, having attained some distinction in the world of science — a gentleman by birth and by education ; yet, strange to say, his years were " in the sere and yellow leaf," and he still pining in singled—shall I say blessedness? — ^not so, for honest Tom was not blessed in his singleness, and would hrfve made himself cfo?/i/c if he could. In fact, he was known to have made several fruitless attempts, and had lat- terly desisted in very hopelessness. And yet, he was neither old nor ugly, but somehow that capricious deity Hymen seem to have declared against him. It was, however, well understood among his friends — and, to say the truth, he had very many — that the wearing of petticoats was 7iot the sole qualification he required in the favored she. The possession of youth and beauty was said to be indispaisably necessary. Now all this was well known to the arch wag who was, in fact, Tom's great patron, model, and it might be, master, and good capital he made use of it for the amusement of himself and others. One of these frolics I am tempted to tell, as one of our own family was a party concerned^ N 26 SLIKOR PRESTON. "Tom," said he one day to his devoted follower, " how stands your heart just now ? Engaged, or not engaged, that is the question 1 ** " Disengaged, I pledge you my honor.'* " Well," said the counsellor, assuming a confidential air, and lowering his voice to almost a whisper, " I have a young lady in perspecto^ who will suit you to a T : a bewitching creature, Tom, highly accomplished, and all the rest, every thing, in fact, that a reasonable man could desire. I hope she may not think you too old — that's all." " Me too old ! " cried Tom with a start ; " why surely you jest ! It is not come to that with me yet, I think. But? who is the lady, my dear sir 1 — do I know her ? " ***You shall know her, and that before long. But mind, I manage this 'matter myself. I must manoeuvre a little to bring you together, for the lady has quite a distrust of strangers, especially if they be unmarried gentlemen. You understand 1 " ^ ' ** Oh ! yes, perfectly," said Tom, looking all the time very much puzzled ; " but, I say, my good sir, where's the use in my trying any more ? the fates are against me, I see that clearly." " Pooh ! pooh ! nonsense, man ! Your hour has not come yet. Mi/ lady will, I hope, be the star of your fortune ; so mind you be all ready, * puffed, powdered, and shaved,' when I call for you on Thursday next. We dine at Harry Preston's, and so does your pole-star that is to be. I am anxious to see you settled, Tom ! I am, upon my honor . and will depend on you to turn this SLINOR PRBSTON. 27 opportunity to account. You may never have such another, mind, I tell you." Tom was profuse in his thanks for such fatherly kind* ness, and promised to be very punctual on Thursday : indeed, that was not any great stretch for him, for ho was at all times remarkably punctual to his appoint- ments. This arranged to his satisfaction, as regarded the gen- tleman, he next made it his business to see my aunt, to whom he slily insinuated that a certain friend of his was most anxious to make her acquaintance. '^What his motives are, Miss Preston, it is not for me to say, neither would it be decorous if I did, inasmuch as young gentlemen who desire to make the acquaintance of young ladies, are apt to have peculiar notions of their own." " Oh ! certainly. Counsellor ! certainly," said my aunt, trying hard to bring up a blush, and affecting to be very intent on the workbox, whose contents she was arrang- ing at the moment. " I shall be most happy to meet the gentleman, as you say he is a friend of yours." " A very particular friend, indeed ! ^ Good-morning, Miss Preston, you must excuse the shortness of my visit. I am just on my way to that meeting at the Ro- tunda. I hope you will pay a little extra attention to your toilet on Thursday, for even you, my dear Miss Preston, cannot afford to dispense with the aid of orna- ment. I never could agree with him who said that ' Beauty unadorned is adorned the most.' I know Mrs. Preston is invisible at this hour, but you will have the goodness to tell her that I bring an extra guest on Thur* t • 28 X. ELINOR PRESTON. day. Good-morning once again ! — ^how well that blush becomes you ! " With a hasty shake-hands he slipped through the door, fearful of laughing in the face of the simpering old lady, whose face had no fresher color at the moment than the drab silk dress she wore. * Great and very pleasurable was the excitement of my dear good aimt all that afternoon, and all next day, which was the eve of the great day. It is true she kept the secret to herself, at least she thought so, never once intimating, even to my mother, that she had any particular interest in the expected stranger. To us girls, however, (we were none of us of age yet to be brought into com- pany,) she was a little more communicative, givmg us divers hints of the great conquest she had in view. After a careful and very close examination of her ward- robe, she sallied out on Wednesday morning, alone and on foot, leaving a message for my mother that she was going a-shopping. Shortly after her return, arrived a porter with a rather large parcel ; and my aunt, who was evidently on th% watch, called to the servant from the staircase to bring it at once to her room. '' After tea, we all went to Portobello Gardens to wit- nelfe an exhibition of fire-works, and, on returning home, my parents found some friends who had dropped in to spend the evening. The visitors being very intimate with the family, my sister Emily and I were permitted to remain in the drawing-room, and a merry evening we all had of it. I remember particularly one gentle- man giving us an account of a scene which he had that ♦ !i L. ELINOR FRSSTOir. 39 nt blush ugh the >ring old moment (lent of ixt day, he kept er once rticular )wever, io com- bing us L view, ward- lie and le was ved a 10 was m the ) wit- lome, in to mate itted suing ntle- that day witnessed at the steps of the Bank of Ireland, in which Blind Ousely, the famous fanatic and street- preacher was the principal actor. The story was told with infinite humor. The narrator was gifted with rare imitative powers, did ample justice to the whiping cant of the would-be apostle, and the rich, liquid tones of the Dublin " Jackeens," who cracked their jokes at his ex- pense, and paid back his unctuous exhortations word for word with their local slang. We youngsters en- joyed this amazingly, and even my grave aunt unbent sufficiently to honor the narrator with a patronizing smile. The evening wore on, and one by one our visitors dropped off, when, after sitting a while, talking over the exhibition, and other matters of equal interest to our- selves, Emily and myself were gently reminded by my mother, that late hours were any thing but good cos- mestics for young girls, whereupon we instantly retired, ^ for that dear parent's word was ever law to us. It might have been an hour after, and the house was silent as death, when a wild shriek roused us from our beds. Hurrying out into the lobby, my sister and I were met by my father and mother, who had but lately come up stairs. " What on earth can that be 1" exclaimed my mother, pale as a ghost ; *' one would think the sound came from the drawing-room." "That is impossible, my dear," observed my. father, ** for you know we left it so lately, and Fm positive there wasn't a creature in it then." \ JO ELINOR PRESTON. ■ "Whether or no, father, it's from there the sound comes," said George, my eldest brother, popping out of his room half dressed. " Well ! well ! let us go down at all events," said my mother — so down we all went. Carry clinging to my mother's skirts in mortal terror. On reaching the drawing-room, there was a slight hesitation visible in my father's manner, but unwilling to let it appear, he hastily opened the door, and in we all went with a rush. What a sight met our eyes ! O, for your pencil, Hogarth ! to do justice to the inimitable picture. A bedroom candle flickered on a table, its faint light hardly dispelling the gloom of the spacious apartment, and we had to look very closely before we perceived that any living soul was pres- ent. But sure enough there was, for in a large arm-chair, near the fireplace sat, or rather reclined, my Aunt Kate, # looking more like a spectre than a thing of flesh and blood. She had evidently changed her dress since we saw her an hour or so before, and such a dress as that in which she now appeared no sane mortal ever wore in our generation, at least off the stage. The robe was of some dark, heavy material, literally covered with spangles, especially about the bosom, and the head- dress consisted of a turban-like roll of scarlet gauze, ornamented with short marabout feathers, presenting a woful contrast to the corpse-like countenance of my poor aunt. " Ho ! ho ! Kate, I see how it is," said my father, well pleased to find Ihat nothing serious was the maV> ter. *' You came dow n tc make your toilet at the pier* t SUNOR PRESTON. a^ g]ass : eh, Kate 1 I suppose you meant to dress over night, when you had the room to yourself. " " Be still now, Harry," said my gentle mother, see- ing the real blush that mounted to her sister-in-law's face. " Poor Kate has been taken suddenly ill," at the same time she made a sign to us youngsters to restrain our mirth, for we were actually in fits of laughter. *' I'll tell you all about it another time," whispered my aunt, eagerly laying hold of the smelling-bottle offered by my mother. " What brought you here at all, Kate 1 " persisted my father, in his blunt, good-natured way. " One would think you were playing la sonnambula, and had w^alked forth in the body in a costume from the land of dreams." " You will oblige me, Harry Preston," said my aunt, stiffly rising from her '^.hair, to our increased amuse- ment — " you will obligtj me by keeping such remarks to yourself. I desire that you should remember who I am. I should think a fine dress, even a fancy dress, is nothing new in our family. I am grieved to see you so forget- ful of what is due to your sister, and your children, of course, follow suit. Teresa ! " to my mother, " I'll trouble you to help me up stairs. Thank you," she said, in her most dignified tone to my father, who had offered his arm, and she swept past him with the air of an empress. When my mother had assisted her to re- gain her chamber, she confessed to her that she had been trying on a new purchase, (in what costume-shop she had procured it we never knew,) which she meant to wear at dinner on the following day, and being anxious to see exactly how it fitted, she had, as my father guessed. Nx 32 SLINOB PRESTOlf. gone down to view herself and it in the pier-glass in the drawing-room ; — " but, my dear ! " said she, " the light was so dim, and the room so vast and gloomy reflected in the glass, that when I got a peep at myself I was fright- ened at first, for the figure looked for all the world like the ghost that appears in Trimbleton House. I really was frightened for the moment, and my nerves got such a shock that I couldn't get over it, do as I would. But, Teresa, my dear, not a word of this to any one. Mind, I'll depend on you ! " My mother would only promise to keep the secret on condition that Aunt Kate should give up the notion of appearing next day in her new costume. To this she wil- lingly acceded, " for to tell you the truth, my dear," said she, " I've got a horror of it — I have indeed." So the luckless costume disappeared forever from our gaze, turban and all, and what became of it was for many a day a subject of speculation among us. My father used, once in a while, to give a sly hint con- cerning it, just enough to excite my poor aunt's nervous fears, but a look from my mother would always call him to order just in time to save the delicate secret from vulgar ken. Carry was a much more dangerous indi- vidual, for she would persist in talking, at least in the family circle of Aunt Kate's shining dress, and wonder- ing why she never wore it. Threatening Carry was of no manner of use, but my good aunt tried various other means, chiefly of the appetizing sort. Many a package of choice sugar-plums went to stop her mouth, ^id a rose-bud of a mouth Carry had. But, let us on to the meeting of my aunt and her supposed inamorata. \ ELINOR PRESTON. 33 CHAPTER II. IHB DISCOVERT, AND OTHER MATTERS OF FAMILY HISTORY ^'' N the following day my aunt was dressed for dinner and seated in the drawing-room a full hour before the time. My mother sat near her on the sofa, turning over the pages of Fisher's " Book of Beauty," in real or assumed unconsciousness of the nervous agitation of her sister-in-law. My father was seated in the identical chair which had received Aunt Kate's fainting bulk on the previous evening. His attention was so en- grossed by a parliamentary debate, that he took but little notice at the moment of Kate or any one else. Exactly a quarter before five, a footman's knock echoed through the house. My aunt half started from her seat, sat down again, spread out her garter-blue satin to the best advantage, ran a finger through each of her barrel curls to give it the proper set, and had just completed her preparations by drawing in her lips to smaller di- mensions — for they were rather of the thickest— when n u 1 34 s. XLnVOR PRE8T0V. ♦ - bang open went the door, and in came Mr. — , followed closely by his faithful friend Tom. My aunt received both with a gracious smile, and Tom shook hands all round with a more confident air than usual, but it waa easy to see that both kept watching the door ; each ex- pecting the advent of the promised beau or belle. And the counsellor, though engaged in conversation with my &ther and mother, kept an eye on the pair from under his projecting brows, his face all the time brimful of humor. One or two other guests having arrived, and the hand of the time-piece on the mantel pointing to five o'clock, dinner was announced, and the gentlemen offered their arms to the ladies. " Tom ! " cried his friend, " we leave Miss Preston for you. Being the only young lady present she is yours by right." " Thank you," said Tom, offering his arm to the lady with anything but alacrity. "I am much obliged to you — will you allow me. Miss Preston ? " Miss Preston did allow him, but there was nothing very cordial in the acceptance cf his arm. " You expected some others, did you not ? " said Tom, feeling it necessary to say something, as they followed their leaders down stairs. He also hoped to draw out the name of his expected fair one by this indirect means. "Yes, I believe so," replied the lady rather curtly, thinking of the enamored swain who was to have come but did net. " The counsellor was to have brought a friend of his." *' " Strange," thought Tom, " he must have paired off V. , SLIKOR PREBT09. 35 with my young lady. It is very provoking — very ! " They were just entering the dining-room, and Tom had to seat Miss Preston, though, as he doubtless said ^ himself, he could have seen her at Jericho. During din- ner nothing occurred to enlighten either of the expect- ants. Once my father made my aunt change color by asking my mother, with a sly glance at his sister, " What has become of the lady whom we saw in ethereal gfifiaents last night 1 I thought we should have met her at dinner." Tom looked eager and excited — my aunt nervous and agitated, and the Counsellor (as my aunt called him) eyed the tremor of both with intense satisfaction. My mother looked reproachfully at my father, but her voice when she spoke was calm and soil as usual. ^^ The lady you mean," said she, " left town this morning, and will not return for some time." Tom's countenance fell, and my aunt's rose. At the close of the desert, when my aunt and the other ladies rose from the table, the Counsellor said to aunt as she passed him : " I owe you an apology, Miss Preston, for not having fulfilled my promise — at least to your expectations. I will tell you another time why the gentleman disappointed us, but, you see, I brought a substitute." " Stick to your claret. Counsellor, and don't mind me ! " was my aunt's tart reply as she left the room. The merry laugh that echoed through the dining-room, would have given her mortal offence, but happily the door was closed behind her, and her vanity escaped that severe wound. n- S6 ELINOR PRESTOir, Emily and I were permitted, as a special favor, to ■ appear in the drawing-room that evening, and having } got from my mother a hint of what was going on, we were looking anxiously for the entrance of the gentlemen. They came at last — it was rather early, too, for Mr. — never stayed very long at the dinner-table after the ladies retired ; my aunt was sitting alone on a cushioned seat in one^ the window recesses, when the Counsellor, tuck- ing Tom's arm under his, led him up to her. « • " Miss Preston ! " said he, " I have spared your blushes quite long enough, I think. This is the gentleman to whom I referred in a late conversation. Tom, my good fellow, I think you are already acquainted with Miss Preston !— eh, Tom 1 " " I should think I was," said Tom bluntly, at the same time averting his eyes from the lady's face. " Well, Tom," quoth his friend, with tormenting cool- ness, " I have done my share : I leave you to do the rest." ■" '■• '^ - ■' ' - -^ ■' " I — T beg your pardon, sir ! I fear there is some mistake," stammered Tom. " I — I — I wasn't aware — upon my honor, I wasn't." " Oh ! of course not— -certainly — I understand your feelings — ^but don't be ashamed, man ! it is nothing more than I did myself! I wooed and won a Kate, too ! " he added, witli an almost imperceptible sigh, for he had lost but a few vears before the best and most cherished of wives ; and, as he often said, he was never the same man after. " I should think there is a mistake," said my aunt, \ VLINOR Pll^8TOlr. Vf standing up to the fUll height of her commanding fig ^e, [till she absolutely looked down upon poor Tom, who seemed to cower and wither away beneath her cold, proud glance — " and a very serious mistake, too. One of you, gentlemen, or perhaps both, have forgotten who / am. The descendant of such a house as ours is not to be treated like some silly chit on whom any jackeen may play off his pranks. Have the goodness to let me pass ! " Both gentlemen would have apologized, and my father came forward as a peacemaker, but on him my aunt was doubly severe : " Go, unworthy descendant of a noble line ! " said she, in a theatrical tone ; " if you were what you ought to be, no man would dare to make me a butt for ridicule in your house. I wash my hands of you all ! " So saying, she swam out of the room with the solemn dignity of a tragedy queen. My father burst into a loud laugh, in which the others soon joined ; but my mother, excusing herself for a few moments, hurried up stairs after my aunt in»order to reason her out of her in- dignation. Tom felt anything but comfortable, and told his friend more than once that he didn't expect such treatment from him. " Pd just as soon think of making love to my grand- mother," said he, " if she were still in the land of the living. Now, my dear sir, that wasn't generous — upon my honor it was not ! — what say you, Mr. Preston ? " " Pooh, pooh, man ! what about it 1 — why, it was all a joke. If my sister, old maid like, is a little touchy or so, that's no reason why you should be," 4 N 88 XLINOR PRXBTOV. Tea was now brought in, and my mother in a ftw min- utes returned alone, announcing that Miss Preston had lain down, "just to quiet her nerves," she added with a smile. Man^ a long day passed before my poor aunt could get over the effects of that shock. Encased in the armor of family pride, she had deemed herself invulnerable to the attacks of ridicule or sarcasm ; and now, when she found herself reduced to the level of ordinary mortals, and actually made the subject of a practical joke, her morti- fication was extreme, and her resentment almost as great. That the Counsellor should be a party to the hoax, if not its originator, made the matter tenfold worse. As for Tom, he was too insignificant for any other feeling than contempt. So said Aunt Kate. " I wouldn't feel half so bad about it, my dear," said she to my mother, " only for that Miss Del any, the grocer's daughter, being pres- ent." Now this young lady was the daughter of one of the most eminent merchants in Dublin ; an heiress, too, with a fortune that would buy all our property three times over. My mother smiled, for her father had been a grocer, and a retail grocer, too, at one time. But my aunt had no intention of wounding her at the time, and so she perceived ; she therefore only smiled, and said it was really too bad that any one had been present, " though, after all," said she, " I can't see the matter as you do. What was it but a joke 1 " ** Joke, indeed ! " said my aunt with a toss of her head \ ** they ought to know who they'd joke with." The conversatii n was here interrupted by the entrance ^ 5 • ■•- • It- SLINOR PRESTON. 89 ftw milt. ;ston had )d with a Lint could he armor erable to when she rtaLs, and Br morti- as great, ax, if not As for ling than 'eel half r, " only ng pres- of one heiress, ty three ad been But my ne, and id said jresent, atter as r head j itrance of my father with a gentleman well known in the l?gal profession. He was a sort of a character in his way, too, and rejoiced in the title of attorncy-at-law, which figured in large roman capitals on his door-plate, a little way from us in Dominick street. The compliments of the day being exchanged, my father said, "Teresa, my love, I have been speaking with Mr. O'Shaughnessy here, about taking George. He is now old enough to study for a profession, and the sooner he begins, it is all the better." • " As you please, my dear ! " said my mother in her quiet way ; and before she could say any more, Aunt Kate broke in with — " Harry Preston ! Pm astonished at you." " Indeed, Kate ! — and why, may I ask ? " " Why, surely you wouldn't think of making an at- torney of George ? If you will have him a lawyer, why not make a counsellor of him ? " " Because changes are lightsome, my good sister, and because attorneys now-a-days make rapid fortunes if they only have their wits about them — as I think George has — and a tolerable knowledge of their business." " I'd as soon make him a scavenger ! " said my aunt in her most contemptuous tone, " Who ever heard of a Preston with aitorney-at'law after his name ! Tell me that, now 1" " Why, Kate," said my father, " you surely forget. Don't you know that our great-uncle, Dick Preston, who was land-steward to the Marquis of Wiltshire, was an attorney by profession ? " 40 ELINOR PRESTON. t? " Fie ! fie ! Harry ! why will you talk so ? " cried my aunt, actually red with vexation ; " were it after dinner now, I should say you had taken too much wine. Mr. O'Shauglmessy," turning to the amused lawyer of that name, " my brother talks so fast at times, that he hardly takes time to think what he says. Allow me to cor- rect his statement : the respected relative, to whom he has just referred, was not a land-steward to Lord Wilt- shire (low days with him when he had any thing to do with the descendant of a Cromwellian trooper ! ) — He was his agent, not his land-steward, or any other stew- ard ! " " Land-steward, I maintain ! " said my father posi- tively, whereupon my aunt's color rose, and she was preparing an angry retort, when Mr. O'Shaughnessy, on a signal from my mother, interfered with — • " Well ! well ! Miss Preston, let it pass ! Ladies are always right. Fine blood the Preston's ! remarkably fine ! — we'll make you a present of the honorable gen- tleman, the agent that was. Ahem ! no need to quarrel about him, ahem ! — Mr. Preston ! I've got an appoint- ment at the courts at twelve precisely — another time will do for Master George's aflTair. Ahem ! good-morn- ng, ladies. Business is business, you know ! Coming my way, Preston, eh 1 " " Yes, yes," said my father, with a significant glancG at my mother, " I'll be with you as far as the quay." " How insufferably familiar ! " said my aunt, as tht^y left the room together. " Preston, indeed ! I wonder how Harry can make himself jack-fellow like with such people ! \ ^. ELINOR PRESTON. M ried my r dinner e. Mr. • of that e hardly to COi'. k'hom he •d Wilt- ig to do ! )— He ler stew- ler posi- she was essy, on dies are arkably ble gen- quarrel appoint- ler time d-morn- Coming glancG ay." as thk^y ier how people ! But he never had proper spirit, and never m ill now, I'm afraid." " I fear not, indeed," said my mother, with her win- ning smije ; and then she changed the conversation. That very day George was articled, as the lawyers say, to Mr. O'Shaughnessy, and my poor aunt had to get over her disappointment the best way she could. The next point at issue among the elders of our house was the sending of my younger brother Alfred to col- lege. My father was half inclined to send him to old Trinity, the local Alma Mater ^ as being the craole of Dublin genius. But this was positively objected to by my dear mother, and to do her justice, my aunt, too, declared strenuously against it. "A fig for your Dublin genius," said she, taking the word out of my mother's mouth, " Old Trinity, as vou call it, is no place for Catholics. Unless you want to make a Protestant of Alfred, (as you're making an attorney of poor George,) don't send him there." " Kate is right, Harry," put in my mother. " If he did not come back to us a thorough-going Protestant, you would find him a very bad Catholic, and that, in my opinion, is still worse. Why not send him to Clongowes ? " "Pshaw '."said my father,"! d >n't much like the Jesuits — that's the truth ! " " More shame for you ! " my mother answered, with more asperity than she almost ever showed : " if you were a more practical Catholic, my dear Harry, you would never say so. It is always a bad sign to hear iTT .« ii t:l ■' !.< t § I 42 ELINOR PRESTON. . Catholics saying they don't like Jesuits ; for, after all, what order h^s done more for the advancement of re- ligion ? what order has waged a more vigorous war- Hire against the powers of darkness ? You yere quite willing to send George there, and I should like to know what the Jesuits have done since ? " To this my father could only answer that George had n'»t made such progress as he expected under the fathers ofClongowes. "That was his own fault, not theirs," said my mother, quickly ; " you know — we all know that George is not over studious or attentive. But, to cut the matter short, my dear, I will never give my consent to send Alfred to any Protestant institution while there are others to be had. I should fear the responsibility attached to such a step." " Certainly, Teresa, certainly," put in my aunt again, " it would be a very shocking thing, indeed, if a Preston fell awav from the true faith." " Well, well, ladies ! have it your own way," said my father, in his cheerful, off-hand way ; " I have too much of the old family spirit, Kate, to wage war on the weaker sex. I was only breaking a lance for the sake of amusement : I am quite willing to take Alfred to Clongowes to-mor- row, by way of making amends." My mother said " Not q!'ite so soon," but it was agreed upon that we should make a party on the follow- ing Monday to escort Alfred to Clongowes. The in- tervening days were days of bliss to us youngsters. We had a regular succession of amusements in the » shape