CHAPTER I.

[Illustration: MOLLY'S PEASANTS.]

MOLLY AND KITTY,

OR

PEASANT LIFE IN IRELAND;

WITH

OTHER TALES.

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN,

BY

[Illustration]

Trauermantel.

BOSTON:

CROSBY, NICHOLS, & CO.,

111 Washington Street,

1856.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1855, by

CROSBY, NICHOLS, AND COMPANY,

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of

Massachusetts.

CAMBRIDGE:

METCALF AND COMPANY, STEREOTYPERS AND PRINTERS.

DEDICATION.

MY DEAR ERNEST:--

Although it is highly improbable that your happy and sheltered

childhood and youth will ever be checkered by the struggles with

fortune and the world painted in the following Scenes from Life, yet I

am sure they cannot fail to interest you, increase your sympathy with

all who suffer, and teach you to rejoice in the well-earned triumphs

of uprightness, perseverance, patient study, benevolence, and the

forgiveness of injuries. While reading them, will you not sometimes

bestow a kind remembrance upon your friend and cousin,

THE TRANSLATOR.

CONTENTS.

PAGE

MOLLY AND KITTY, BY OLGA ESCHENBACH 1

THE YOUNG ARTIST, BY MARIA BURG 93

BENEVOLENCE AND GRATITUDE, BY OLGA ESCHENBACH 239

MOLLY AND KITTY,

OR

PEASANT LIFE IN IRELAND.

CHAPTER I.

In one of the most desolate regions of Ireland, scarcely ever visited

even by the most inquisitive traveller or the most eager sportsman,

stood, nearly sixty years ago, a row of low and miserable hovels. They

were formed of rough stones rudely piled together, and, at a little

distance, looked more like the heaps of stones which in ancient times

were thrown together to mark the spot upon which slept the dead, than

houses intended to shelter human beings. Upon a closer examination,

however, an observer might perceive, if the mould, moss, and mud did

not succeed in concealing them from his searching glance, rude doors

made of unplaned boards roughly nailed together, without either latch

or bolt, with little holes irregularly bored through them to admit

the blessed light of heaven, which cheers the poor as well as the

rich, within these dark and miserable walls. Notwithstanding this

proof, he might still continue to gaze on in doubt, asking his sinking

heart if it could be indeed possible that these unformed masses of

stone were really intended for homes for beings endowed with quick

susceptibilities, and the godlike powers of human reason. But as he

inspected the tottering roof, thatched with rushes and covered with

turf, he might observe heavy clouds of thick gray smoke curling and

eddying from a hole in the top; then his last doubt must cease, and,

breathing a deep sigh for the wretchedness surrounding him, he is

forced to confess that nowhere throughout the whole extent of civilized

Europe are such comfortless dwellings for men and women to be found.

Only those who know something of the poverty and misery endured by

the Irish people, even at the present date, when the ardent friends

of humanity have succeeded in winning for this oppressed and injured

race some of the political rights hitherto denied them in consequence

of their obstinate adherence to the faith of their ancestors, can form

any conception of the state of utter destitution in which they formerly

lived.

In one of the hovels which we have just described, and whose interior

is if possible more repulsive than its exterior, two forms present

themselves to our readers. The one is that of a young maiden scarcely

sixteen, who kneels upon the earthen hearth, close beside a suspended

kettle. The glimmering fire, which she now succeeds in stirring into a

bright flame, shows us a slender form, a soft and clear blue eye, long,

fair hair, and a pale, pale face, whose features are rendered strangely

attractive by the deep melancholy imprinted upon their youthful lines.

Her left arm, whose dazzlingly white skin glitters through the holes in

the coarse, dark, worn-out garment, holds a child, who stretches one

of its little meagre hands towards the cheerful blaze, while with the

other it tries to cover its naked knees with its short, torn frock. It

shudders as it finds all its efforts vain. Cowering and sinking upon

the shoulder of the elder, it murmurs,--

"I am so cold, Molly!--oh! so, so cold, Molly! and so, so hungry!"

"Poor little Kitty!" answered the elder maiden, gently, "have patience

only for a few minutes more; the potatoes in the pot are already

beginning to boil, and on Sunday you shall have something more than

potatoes, for father promised to bring a little piece of pork for you

home with him."

"Molly, won't he bring some stuff with him too, to make a new frock for

me, for this one is so short that it won't cover my legs? He promised

me he would, and father has never told a single story to his poor

little blind Kitty."

"We will see about that," answered the sister, soothingly; yet in

every tone which breathed so softly from the quivering lips might be

read the secret of the bitter suffering which she struggled to repress.

"If our father really promised it to you, he will be sure to keep his

word. But don't you remember, as he was going away, he called back to

you through the open door, 'If I can possibly do it, my little Kitty!'"

The child raised her large, sad eyes towards the face of her sister,

while the big tears rolled rapidly over her sunken cheeks; at last she

stammered through her broken sobs,--

"Are we, then, so very poor, Molly?"

"Oh! very, very poor indeed, Kitty."

As if to convince herself of the truth of the words which she had just

uttered, she suffered her eyes to wander through the miserable room

in which she was seated. All they owned in this world stood in this

chamber. One corner of it was separated from the rest by a partition of

boards: the space thus inclosed was intended either for the pig or the

goat of the family. She could scarcely see through the larger apartment

for the thick and blinding clouds of smoke; but she knew where the

coarse pine table stood, and the low wooden stool. She had herself

spread a little moss and a few handfuls of reeds under the wretched

beds, to keep them as much as possible from becoming damp and mouldy on

the earthen floor. There was but little to count. Apparently not much

consoled by the consideration of their possessions, she turned away her

melancholy eyes, and again assumed her first position. But the changing

expression of her face, and the head, sometimes raised as if in eager

expectation, and sometimes sinking as if in despair upon her bosom,

gave sufficient evidence that she was in a state of restless anxiety.

At last she said to her little sister, who, apparently exhausted by her

fit of weeping, was now lying quietly in her arms,--

"Do you hear nothing, Kitty?"

After a short pause, the child answered,--

"No; I hear nothing. Nothing at all!"

"Nor I, Kitty; and yet father should have been back long ago. Often

and often I thought I heard the sound of his footsteps; but I must have

been mistaken, or he would now be here. It seems to be growing dark

already. If you would only promise me not to stir from this spot, not

to move any closer to the fire, I would go a few steps from the door,

and look if I could see him coming. I feel so restless and anxious

to-day. May the Holy Virgin guard us, and keep any new misfortune from

falling upon us!"

"Go, sister," answered the little girl; "you need not feel uneasy about

me, for indeed I will not stir from this spot, in which you have put

me, until you come back. But, Molly, don't stay too long, don't leave

me too long alone, because I am so much afraid when you are not with

me, and when I cannot hear your voice. I think the angels that mother

used to tell us so often about must be just like you, Molly,--so kind

and so good."

Touched by these simple words, Molly bent down, pressed her lips upon

the brow white as marble in its famished pallor, and said softly,--

"God has taken away from us the mother who loved us so dearly, and

made an angel of her, because she was so kind and good. When you are

good, Kitty, she is glad; and in the blessed place in which she now

lives, she feels her happiness redoubled. So you must always be very

good, my little sister. How could it be possible that you would do

anything which would make your mother and sister feel sad? Don't be

afraid if I leave you for a little while. Only think of your dear

mother, that she is always near you, that she takes care of you with

the truest love, although even from the very day upon which you were

born she was so weak and suffered so constantly that she could scarcely

be numbered among the living; and I have often spent whole nights

upon my knees, with the hot tears running down my cheeks, praying the

Merciful One to take the poor sufferer we loved to himself, that she

might rest with Him above. At last, Kitty, He took her to heaven!"

Then Molly again stirred the fire, seated her little sister upon

an old coverlid, the ends of which she tenderly wrapped round the

emaciated, half-naked limbs, and left the hovel. The long autumn

night was already falling upon the earth, and covered the landscape

with its dull, gray veil; the cheerful sky was thickly overcast with

dusky clouds, which, constantly changing their fantastic forms, seemed

hunting each other through the vaulted gloom. A rough north-wind met

poor Molly as she emerged from the hovel, tore the heavy door out

of her slight hand, and blew it with a loud crash against the wall.

She shuddered with fright, but, almost immediately regaining her

self-possession, she attentively examined the door, to ascertain if

any of the boards had been broken in the sudden jar; and having soon

convinced herself that nothing had been injured, with considerable

effort she succeeded in rolling a heavy stone to the door, to prevent

the possibility of the recurrence of a like accident. Then she stooped

to look again at her little sister through one of the holes which

served as windows to the hut. Kitty sat as motionless as she had

promised to do, and Molly, apparently satisfied that she would continue

to do so, hastened forward upon a narrow footpath, so little frequented

that its slight traces were scarcely distinguishable in the increasing

gloom. From time to time she stopped, sometimes to look around her, and

listen anxiously for the desired footsteps, sometimes to get breath,

for a strong and piercing north-wind blew directly in her face, and

greatly increased the difficulty of her lonely search. After she had

struggled on for a considerable distance, she thought she heard the

longed-for sounds; and before she had ventured to give herself fully up

to the hope that the so long expected one was indeed near, a tall form

stood before her, whom with a loud cry of joy she immediately greeted

as "Father!"

But there was no response given to her joyful welcome. In utter

silence, the tall man grasped the slight girl round her slender waist.

Almost carrying her forward, for her feet scarcely even touched the

ground, he reached the entrance of his wretched dwelling. With a

powerful kick, so that it rolled entirely over, he tossed away the

heavy stone from the door, drew, or rather bore, his daughter into the

inside of the now dimly lighted hut, rapidly flung the rope which was

fastened to the door round a post which seemed planted in the floor

for that purpose, and with a few strides stood directly in front of

the fire. He then seized the coarse sack which he had carried upon his

broad shoulders, and threw it upon the ground with such force that the

child who was lying near his feet, and who had probably been asleep,

started up with a loud cry of fright.

"Don't be frightened, Kitty," said Molly, soothingly, as she threw a

handful of shavings into the now sinking fire; "don't be afraid now,

for our dear father is with us; the potatoes are cooked enough, and you

shall no longer be so very, very hungry."

"Is my father indeed here?" said the little girl, at once forgetting

both hunger and cold. "Where are you, father? Just speak one word, that

your poor little blind Kitty may know where to find you. O, you have

been away so long to-day! and yet Molly told me it was not far to the

village to which you were going, and that you had not much to do there."

But no sound escaped the lips of the one so warmly welcomed.

Motionless and with folded arms he still stood before the fire,

darkly gazing into its cheerful glow. His eldest daughter then softly

approached him; by the blaze of a lighted shaving which she held

in her hand, she saw the expressive face of her father, with its

weather-beaten skin and labor-wrinkled brow, and with the deepest

sorrow impressed upon every line of the manly and handsome countenance.

The tears which were hanging upon his long eyelashes, the spasmodic

quivering which wreathed its torture round his mouth, could not

escape her searching glance, rendered keen through the power of love.

Trembling before the recital of some new and dire misfortune, which

she felt he was now about to make to her, she leaned her innocent head

upon the breast of the beloved and true-hearted father, whose life had

been so often and fatally darkened by misfortune. But almost roughly he

pushed her away.

"Child!" he cried, with an expression of the deepest agony in his fine

face, "why do you continue to love a wretch whom the whole world has

forsaken? You, too, had better forsake him! Fly,--fly now,--instantly,

or he will draw you into a far deeper misery,--a suffering for which

there are no words, in comparison with which all you have already

endured will seem to you a lot worthy of envy, a destiny full of

blessings."

Molly fell at his feet, and embraced his knees, while her soft blue

eyes gazed pleadingly into his face.

"You would drive me from you?" she asked, with trembling tones; "you

yourself would rob me of my last hope, my only support? No, father;

you cannot mean it so, you cannot be in earnest! There is no happiness

which I would not willingly resign, unless it were to be shared with

you! All the suffering and agony which God may choose to inflict upon

us will I bear without a murmur, with a firm and unblenching spirit, so

long as He tears me not from your side! Father, drive me not from you!"

Deeply touched, the man gazed upon his fair child.

"So said your mother, also," he murmured in a tone of voice scarcely

audible, "when her stern father renounced her on my account. She

joyfully offered up to me comfort and wealth; through all the bitter

renunciations which our poverty forced upon us, her spirit remained

unbroken; and even when her eye grew dim with the gathering mists of

death, the last breath which escaped from her pale lips was still

fraught with blessings, with consolation, with undying love for me!"

"My mother was, indeed, good and pious," answered Molly, "and her

memory will always be dear to my heart. The heavenly cheerfulness with

which she bore all her sorrows and sufferings will always remain in

my remembrance, and encourage me to imitate it. But you are not less

dear to me than she was. How could my mother find any sacrifice hard

which was to be made for your sake? Her father must have been very

wicked when he would have forced her to marry a man who was generally

despised, only because he was rich, although she frankly confessed to

him that she could never be happy with any one but you. When she told

the man whom her father would have forced upon her that she could not

love him, and when he in consequence ceased to urge his suit, then

her father was so enraged at her candor that he renounced and cursed

his only child. But you remained true; you clasped the disinherited

girl with more love to your bosom than if she had brought you all

the wealth of which her father had deprived her. To render her life

less laborious, you have yourself suffered tortures. You have never

rested night or day, you have shunned no fatigue, you have avoided no

hardships; and when at last she fell sick, and grew weaker and weaker

every day, and in spite of all your weary struggling you could not

procure for her the little comforts which you thought necessary to

lighten her sufferings, then you went secretly and sold your farm for

a third of its value, because upon no less stringent terms would the

heartless purchaser consent to pay you any ready money upon it, and

permit you still to remain in possession of it until the dying wife

should have closed her eyes in death. For the physician had already

said she must soon die, and more significantly than even the prophecy

of the skilful doctor did her always increasing weakness whisper it

to our sinking hearts. You would not suffer the tranquillity of her

rapidly passing hours to be broken, and thus she was never informed

of the heavy sacrifice you had made to insure her comfort. Softly she

slumbered her life away, for she was never tortured by any fears for

the future of her loved ones."

"Why do you stop, Molly?" vividly asked the father, as the daughter

suddenly ceased in her narration. "O, go on! go on! Confess at once

that you have often thought whether your father had not been unwise

thus to sacrifice his little farm, which was all he possessed; whether

he had not been imprudent to give up his only hope of subsistence for

himself and his children, to keep alive, only for a few days longer,

the flickering flame of life in the heart of the wife, who, under all

possible circumstances of alleviation, was doomed soon to die?"

"Is it possible that you can think so meanly of me?" said Molly,

hastily, while the indignant blood rushed to her pale cheek, which

glowed for a moment like the summer rose.

"If a thought so degrading has ever once flitted through my soul, may

God and the Virgin forsake me in my hour of need!"

A loud cry from Kitty now interrupted them. Tired of the long

conversation of which she could understand so little, the child, who

had not before ventured to leave the spot upon which her sister had

seated her, had at last risen, and, in her attempt to approach the

speakers, had fallen over the sack which her father had thrown on the

floor on his entrance.

"Don't cry, darling," said the soft voice of Molly, as she lovingly

caressed the little girl, who was trying to dry the ever-gushing tears

with the corner of her apron. "You have not hurt yourself very much,

have you, Kitty? It don't pain you now, does it, love? Don't cry any

more, and I will tell you what is in the sack over which you fell. May

be we shall find some calico in it to make a little frock for you, or

some wool to knit stockings for you. I will make them long and thick

for you, so that your poor feet will no longer be frozen." So saying,

Molly opened the sack, but she quickly drew her hand out again.

"What is the matter?" asked her father. "Why do you look so

frightened? That which is in the sack cannot possibly hurt you now. I

would willingly have spared you the sight, Molly, but you must know it,

and perhaps it is better you should hear it now than to-morrow, because

you will then have time to make the necessary preparations."

As he spoke, he stooped down and lifted up the sack, which was dotted

over with dark red spots resembling blood. For a moment he stood as if

irresolute, as if his heart failed him; then, with a sudden effort,

he raised from the sack the head of a pig, which looked as if it had

just been cut off, and held it immediately over the flame, so that his

daughter could clearly see it. Molly could not suppress a faint shriek.

"Holy Virgin!" she exclaimed, as she covered her face with both hands,

from which every trace of color now vanished. "What will become of us!

O, I never could have believed it possible that Wilkins would carry

his dreadful threat into execution! I never thought that any man would

be guilty of such a barbarous deed! He has torn the last hope from the

heart of the poor! It is frightful,--horrible,--it must draw down the

wrath of God upon him! O merciful God! what will become of us?"

"I can soon tell you that," replied her father, with assumed

tranquillity. "They will be here early to-morrow to tear all our

remaining property from us. As it will not, however, pay more than half

the debt, they will then drive us all out of the cabin, and--and--that

is all,--that is all, Molly! You can form no idea of what I have lived

through to-day. The blood still boils in my veins as I think of it. I

was on my way home from the village, where I had changed our few spare

potatoes for some other things which we could not do without. I was

only about three hundred steps from our own door, when I heard a gun

fired close by me. I stopped, and looked round in every direction to

see from whence the shot came, when I perceived Wilkins standing in the

neighboring field, who in the same moment recognized me, and burst into

a loud fit of laughter. 'You ragged rascal!' he cried to me, 'just come

a little nearer and look about you, then tell me if I am a bad shot,

for your brute lies stone dead upon my first fire.' With these words,

he gave a kick to something which lay at his feet. I drew nearer to

look at it; it was a pig,--our pig,--the pig which I had intended to

sell this very week, so as to be able to pay the rent now due upon the

hut;--our pig, to which we have so often given our own meals, and have

so often been forced to do without food ourselves that we might fatten

it for sale. I was struck dumb! I could force no words through my

quivering lips. I felt as if some huge hand, which I could not remove,

were grasping my throat, and slowly twisting my neck round. But my

horror, my despair, was only pleasure to this inhuman wretch.

"With his fierce gray eyes sparkling with malice, he said, in a tone

of wild triumph,--'Look now, fellow, didn't I tell before how it would

be? It was only yesterday I said to your daughter, You had better tie

your pig up tight, for if I ever find him in my field I will without

any warning send a ball through his head. And now I have shot it. You

had better look out and get the money to pay your back rent. Ha! ha!

ha! But we will go shares in the carcass of the pig; for I must be paid

for my shot, or else I will have wasted my powder.' 'Halloo, fellows!

come here, will you?' he cried to some of his people who were at work

in the field; then, cutting off the head of the dead brute with his

jackknife, he ordered them to carry the rest of it to his own house.

"Then life and motion at once returned to my paralyzed limbs. Before

he was aware of my intention, I had seized him by the shoulders, lifted

him from the ground, and shaken him violently. He literally foamed with

rage, when he found he could not loose himself from the iron grasp of

my powerful arms. At last I sat him down again, but not very softly,

as you may suppose. No sooner had he felt the ground fairly under his

feet, than he ran off as fast as possible; but when he thought himself

at a sufficient distance from me to be safe, he turned round and

screamed to me,--'Day before yesterday the new landlord arrived here;

he is no such milksop as the old one was; he is determined to have his

rent, and you may be sure that you must either pay it to-morrow or find

another house before night.'

"The last cruel words of this barbarous man died away in the wind. I

put the head of the pig, which he had designated as my half, into the

sack, and then seated myself upon a stone to think how I could tell

all this to you, how I could soften it for you, Molly. I thought it

over and over until it grew dark, for I could not bear to bring such

bad news home, when I remembered that you would be wondering what had

become of me; and I had just set out again on my return when I heard

you cry, 'Father!' God be thanked that you now know all! I breathe

already more freely, for my breast felt as heavy, and my heart as much

crushed, as if the weight of the world had pressed upon them!

"Now, children, let us eat our supper and go to bed; it is, in all

probability, the last night we shall ever spend in this house. However

that may be, He who clothes the lilies and feeds the ravens will not

desert us. Even if men wearing the human form, yet without compassion

for their fellows, should drive us from our only shelter, and force us

to take up our abode with the beasts of the field, or the wild things

of the forest, yet will He find for us a shelter in which we can lay

down our weary heads in safety!"

Molly had listened in utter silence to the sad recital of her father.

She now poured the potatoes out of the pot into a large, black earthen

dish, sprinkled a little salt over them, placed them upon the table,

pushed the two wooden stools close to it, and kindled a thin stick of

pine, which she put into a hole in the wall, that it might throw its

uncertain light over the last meal they were ever to eat together in

their present home. Taking little Kitty upon her lap, she sometimes

helped her father to a potato, sometimes gave one to the hungry child,

but she tasted none herself. Large tears, like pearls, ran unceasingly

down her pale cheeks; but no other trace of suffering betrayed the

bitter emotions which struggled in her soul. The scanty meal was soon

ended; after half an hour had passed, nothing was to be seen in the

dark room, nothing heard save the measured breathing of a sleeping

child, from time to time the gasping of a suppressed sob, or a deep,

yet half-stifled sigh.

CHAPTER II.

THE NEW LANDLORD.

Morning now dawned upon the earth, but no friendly smiles from the

joyous sun announced the birth of the young day. The lonely hills in

the distance were half veiled with thick gray mists, which, tossed and

whirled by the fitful gusts of the dreary autumn wind, looked like

the dim ghosts of the dead giants, driven on to judgment by the fell

spirits of the gloomy air. As far as the eye could reach, no human form

was visible. A flock of sheep were quietly browsing the scanty grass

on the slope of a neighboring hill, while a few ravens fluttered and

cawed above. Everything seemed dead, even in the little row of wretched

hovels which we have described. At last the door of the most miserable

among them, with whose inmates we are already acquainted, opened, and

Molly and her father stepped out in the bleak, raw morning air. At the

same moment, they observed the forms of several men turning into the

little footpath which led by these humble dwellings. From the enormous

strides taken by them, they seemed to be hurrying forward with all

their powers.

"Father, do you know those men who seem to be hastening towards us?"

asked Molly.

"How can you doubt for an instant, my poor child? How fast they hurry

on, as if they feared their human prey might escape them! Can you see

them distinctly? Wilkins is with them. No doubt he is delighted that

he is permitted to take any part in this inhuman act. Look! He has his

two furious bloodhounds with him! It seems he has not forgotten the

scene of yesterday, and has, therefore, deemed it best to bring his

protectors with him. Yes, yes; the very worm will turn when it has been

trodden upon."

The poor man sighed heavily and deeply, and then cast a pleading,

almost a reproachful, glance towards the clouded heavens. He felt his

hand suddenly seized, and a shower of hot, hot tears pour upon it; then

he shook his head almost defiantly, as if ashamed of his momentary

weakness. He pressed his daughter closely to his true heart.

"Courage, courage, my dear child!" he said to her. "To-day you will

need it all! But the just Judge, the Merciful One, will surely aid us,

although no way of safety seems at present open before us."

"O father!" answered Molly, sobbing, "what a terrible day! I never

could live through it were you not near me. Look! Even the bright sun

has wrapped himself in his thickest, darkest veils, that he may not be

forced to gaze upon a scene so full of horror."

She closed her eyes as she rested her head upon his shoulder, but was

soon frightened from her place of refuge by the furious howlings of the

fierce hounds.

"Ha! ha! ha!" cried Wilkins, who now stood within a few steps of the

door, and gazed upon them with an expression of vindictive rage. "Are

you contemplating the charming country which surrounds you? Well, well,

you will certainly have time enough to study nature in the open air,

with no roof between you and the autumn stars. Therefore, perhaps you

had better gaze upon the delights of your castle here, think what a

charming place of residence it has always been for you, and that, if

you really wish to enjoy the luxury of a shelter within its walls, you

must pay immediately the rent which is due upon it; for you are in

arrears seven months and ten days. Ha! ha! how is it? will you answer

me? I must know instantly, O'Neil, whether you are ready to pay me the

ready money, the sum due upon the rent, now, or not?"

O'Neil answered tranquilly, "You know I cannot pay it; and you know,

too, why I cannot; for you yourself robbed me yesterday of the only

means to do it which I possessed in the world."

Wilkins angrily interrupted him, saying, "What nonsensical stuff! What

idle chattering! I know where I am, and what I am doing; and you shall

soon know it too! But if the keen wind should nip the nose of your

dainty daughter, or freeze your own, then remember that it was warmer

in this hut, and that it was no trifle to have handled an honorable

sportsman like myself with your rough hands! Ha! ha! The morning air

is somewhat bleak, but we shall have rain before night! Go ahead! go

ahead, boys! go into the rascal's den, and bring out all you see there.

Ha! ha! ha! No doubt you will find things of enormous value in it, for

the lord tenant carries his head so high he must surely have thousands

at his command!"

The men who were with him approached the door of the hovel, in order

to execute his brutal commands; but Molly rushed on in advance of them

to bring out her little sister, who, utterly unconscious of all the

horrors that surrounded her, was still wrapped in peaceful slumber.

As Molly lifted the scarcely wakened child tenderly in her protecting

arms, she lightly murmured, "O that I, too, were blind! for even to sit

in perpetual darkness must be a lighter affliction than to be forced

to look upon such things as are now occurring, without possessing the

least power to prevent them."

"Do you wish to become blind?" asked Kitty, who, almost as in a

dream, had heard the sad words of her sister. "O, if you only knew

how frightful it is to be blind, you would never, never say such a

dreadful thing! O, what a constant happiness it must be to be able to

see!" added the poor little blind girl, vividly, while her dead eyes

seemed almost to kindle into life as she continued to speak. "Molly, my

Molly, if I could only see you, and my dear father, and the blue sky,

and all the glittering stars, which you have so often told me were so

wonderfully beautiful, then I would willingly endure both hunger and

cold, and I would never complain again, Molly!"

"Alas, my poor little blind one! hunger and cold you must soon endure,

without being able to see the shining stars above, the faces of those

you love, or the blue heaven-tent!" sighed Molly, as the rapid tears

coursed down her cheeks. "O, my heart will surely break if I am to see

my poor little Kitty pine and waste away before my eyes! There is no

deeper anguish in this wretched world than to be forced to gaze upon

the slow agonies of those whom we love and cannot aid. That is the real

torture; that is far worse than death!"

In a few moments the men had succeeded in dragging out all the scanty

furniture of the unhappy family. Wilkins measured it rapidly with his

keen eyes, then turned them away with an expression of the utmost

scorn. He muttered angrily between his teeth: "The whole property is

good for nothing, except to split up and heat the stove. It would never

be worth while to offer such wretched trash for sale, for the whole

sum that could be raised upon it would not be enough to buy the most

wretched goose that ever starved upon the bogs of Ireland."

Then suddenly and angrily turning to O'Neil, who stood, as if turned

to stone, before the door of his hut, he said: "Now, O'Neil, what are

you standing there for? You had better use the time before the arrival

of the landlord, whom I already see in the distance. If you stay here

until he comes, he will probably let you taste the delights of his

hunting-whip, for he is very generous in the lavish use he is in the

habit of making of it."

O'Neil shuddered as if stung by a rattlesnake; his hands were clenched

as if in a convulsion; his eyes started almost out of his head, as if

about to fall from their pained sockets.

"Pitiless! inhuman!" he cried, "what do you require from me? O, if

indeed a human heart beats in your bosom, look upon these poor girls,

and you cannot, I am sure you cannot, re-echo an order so cruel to

their unhappy father! Take all that we possess, we will ask to retain

nothing; but for the love of God, drive us not out naked, without a

shelter, in the freezing autumn blasts! Give me only a respite for

three months, and I will do everything. I will work day and night; I

will never rest until I have gained enough to pay my rent!"

Wilkins looked upon him with a bitter smile, and answered with a harsh

voice: "All this is useless. No delay can possibly be granted to you.

And I advise you, as a friend, that you had better get out of the way

before the new landlord comes."

But O'Neil did not seem to regard this warning.

"O God!" he cried, "where shall I find words to move this heart of

stone?"

Then again turning himself towards his enemy, he plead yet more

earnestly with him.

"Have mercy upon us, Wilkins, I conjure you by all that is holy or dear

in your eyes; by the bones of the mother who loved you, and which are

now mouldering under the sod; by the trembling head and silver hairs

of your aged father; by the Eternal God who rules above the stars, and

who suffers no cruelty to pass unpunished! You had a great deal of

influence with the former landlord, and I have no doubt that a single

word from you would induce the new one to grant me a short delay. Speak

it, Wilkins!"

"Halloo! what's the matter there?" cried a rough, loud voice; and the

speaker, mounted upon a powerful horse, rode towards them.

Wilkins bowed to the very ground. "It is the tenant," said he, "of whom

I spoke to your worship yesterday; he won't leave the hut, and yet I

have already promised it to another."

"He must go, and go immediately. There shall be no delay. Where is the

rascal who dared to lay his insolent hands upon one of my agents."

O'Neil now pressed up to the side of the horse upon which the speaker

was seated, and, throwing himself upon his knees, wringing his hands in

his wild despair, passionately prayed, "Have pity! O, have mercy upon

us! For the sake of the harmless, helpless children!"

"Is the rascal mad?" said the angry landlord; "tear him from under the

feet of my horse, or I'll drive the iron hoofs into his brain. If he

refuses to go away from the cabin willingly, let the bloodhounds loose

upon him, and I'll warrant you they'll soon put an end to his Irish

howls."

Yet again would O'Neil, for the sake of his helpless children, have

tried to touch the heart of the barbarous landlord. Again he raised his

pleading eyes to the hard face; but its fierce expression told him all

hope was vain, and a frightful, shrill cry, almost like a death-shriek,

forced its way from his agonized breast. As if suddenly overcome by

utter despair, he sprang up with a wild movement from the earth upon

which he had thrown himself, took little Kitty in the one arm, while he

threw the other round the half-fainting Molly, lifted her entirely from

the ground, and, as if hunted and pursued by relentless furies, rushed

rapidly away. But scarcely had he lost sight of his wretched hovel,

when he fell, completely exhausted, to the ground.

The poor occupants of the neighboring cabins, who had been silent,

yet indignant, witnesses of the horrible scene which we have just

attempted to portray, now approached with various little offerings

for the banished and homeless family. One brought a cake of oatmeal,

shaped like our pancakes, but as thin as a sheet of paper, and as hard

as a stone; another offered a little bag of potatoes, some salt, and a

small piece of pork; an old woman presented Molly with a yard or two of

coarse linen, and a pair of knit stockings; and a young girl wrapped up

the half-naked Kitty in a large piece of heavy cloth spun from wool.

Each gave what he had to spare, not only food, but some of the most

indispensable utensils for cooking; indeed, many gave more than they

could well spare, and the good people would certainly have taken the

unhappy, homeless family into their own hovels, if they had not stood

in awe of the rage of the landlord, and feared the revenge of his

heartless agent. So true is it that compassion dwells rather in the hut

of the poor than in the palace of the rich.

Silent from excess of feeling, and with many grateful and heartfelt

pressures of the hand, O'Neil parted from his kind neighbors.

Unsteadily and doubtingly he gazed into the distance. As he threw a

despairing glance above, the dark clouds parted; and the bright sun

looked cheerful and glad as the heavy folds of his cloud-veil were

lifted, and joyously he sent his mild rays upon the moist earth.

"This way, this way, dear father. O, let us take this path: it leads

to the hills!" said Molly, pointing to a hill down whose side trickled,

singing, a little stream. The drops of water sparkled like bright tears

as the rays of the sun shone upon them, and the rippling of the brook,

as it kissed the pebbles, was soft and tender as the distant echo of a

cradle-song, chanted by some fond mother to prolong the sleep of her

slumbering child. Silently O'Neil turned into the path which Molly had

begged him to take, holding the poor blind child in his arms, who,

through her unconscious and innocent questions, constantly added to

the tortures of his sick heart. His whole soul was now filled with but

one thought, one wish,--the desire to find before nightfall some cleft

in the rock, some cavern, which might serve as a temporary shelter for

the beings he loved. If he should be able to succeed in gaining any

place of refuge, and what means it would be best to take, in order to

find some spot in which he could leave his children, while he labored

to keep them from dying of hunger, were the questions which filled his

soul, and tasked all the powers of his mind to answer. He struggled

with all his strength to suppress every other thought, to banish every

emotion of anger or hatred from his heart, in order to be able to give

every faculty of his being to the solving of these pressing questions.

Yet, with all his thinking, with all his struggling, with all his

suffering, he could find no egress from the dark labyrinth of cares in

which he was involved, in which he perpetually wandered; for although a

thousand plans passed through his whirling brain, he was always obliged

again to relinquish them, because of some obstacle which rendered their

execution impossible.

If this man, the lineal descendant of the first possessors of green

Erin, now driven about without home, without shelter, to preserve

his own miserable life, or to still the painful cries of a frightful

death from famine, which was already fastening its accursed fangs in

the heart of his children, had been driven in his agony to scorn the

laws made by his oppressors, and, like the wild beast, had sprung from

his inaccessible cleft in the rock, his last refuge from the cruelty

of man, and had carried his booty home to sustain life in his dying

children,--to whom should the crime be justly attributed?

CHAPTER III.

THE STORM.

"He clothes the lilies, and feeds the ravens."

Not far from the sea-coast, in a cavern formed by the fall of

an enormous rock, after a period of about fourteen days from the

occurrences which we have just described, we again find the unfortunate

family of O'Neil. Aided by his herculean strength, he had succeeded,

after the most vigorous efforts, in removing the heavy fragments of

fallen rock from the interior of the cave, and thus gained sufficient

space to shelter himself and his children from the piercing winds and

increasing cold of autumn. The entrance to this subterranean dwelling

was partially hidden by a projection in the wall of rock, and this kind

freak of nature not only secured them from the unwelcome or untimely

gaze of prying eyes, but also gave them some protection against the

wind and rain, which might otherwise have rendered their refuge almost

untenantable. There was a small opening in the vaulted roof of the

cavern, also formed by the hand of nature, which served both as window

and chimney, yet which might be entirely closed by rolling a stone upon

the outside of the cave. The inside of this primitive dwelling was

indeed very far from offering what those accustomed to the slightest

degree of comfort are in the habit of calling the "necessaries of

life"; yet it might be seen, upon the most cursory glance, that

tasteful and industrious hands had labored to remove the most striking

appearances of discomfort, and had skilfully used every available means

to provide for the most pressing wants of the afflicted family. Some

fragments of rock, which they still suffered to remain on the inside,

had had their projecting inequalities carefully hewn away, and were

thus changed into chairs and tables. Two low benches of stone, which

they had found laying along the walls, and which in their long, narrow

form somewhat resembled coffins, had been slightly hollowed out, and,

covered with reeds and soft moss, they answered in place of beds and

bedsteads. A little fire burned in one corner, on a hearth formed of

two flat stones, while Molly, occupied with her sewing, was sitting

near the entrance, apparently with the intention of getting all the

light she could obtain, as it fell but scantily into the interior of

the cavern. Kitty, with her head resting in her sister's lap, was

kneeling at her feet.

"Have you almost finished my little frock, Molly?" asked the blind

child.

"You will soon have it to put on, Kitty; I have only the sleeves left

to finish now!"

"It takes you a great while to make it, Molly."

"That is very true, darling, for the only needle that I have is too

fine to carry the coarse thread; so no matter how much I hurry, the

work progresses very slowly."

"O my good sister Molly! How much care and trouble you have always had

about me! If I could only see, I would work so willingly! but now I can

do nothing, except to pray always to the Blessed Virgin to reward you

for all the care you take of the poor little blind girl. How often and

often you have almost starved yourself, that you might be able to give

me something to eat, trying to conceal from me that you were so hungry

yourself! but you did not always succeed in hiding it from me, Molly.

How lovingly you clasp me in your soft arms, and hold me close to your

bosom, to try and warm me when my limbs are half frozen with cold!--But

hush!--don't you hear something, sister?"

"Nothing, Kitty, but the wind, which howls as it winds through these

desolate cliffs."

"O, how frightful it is here when father is not with us! 'I will not be

back for three days,'--did he not say so, Molly, as he went away?"

"Yes, my darling. 'When the sun for the third time stands midway

in the sky, I will again be with you,' he said, as he kissed us at

parting."

"Then he will be here to-morrow. But do you know where he is gone?"

"He went to seek work in one of the more distant villages. Perhaps some

of the farmers may employ him; he thought he might be able to gain

something by aiding in the labor of harvesting. Although we have been

so very economical in the use of the food which our kind neighbors gave

the morning upon which we were driven from our home, it is already

exhausted. If our father should fail in his efforts to get work, we

must die of hunger, Kitty."

"What do you say? Die of hunger! How horrible! It would have been

better, then, that we had been torn to pieces at once by the furious

bloodhounds which the angry landlord threatened to set upon us, than

to linger on through such a frightful death.--But, Molly, do you hear

nothing? nothing at all?"

"No, little sister; nothing but the raging of the storm and the

surging of the waves as they break upon the coast. You are always

so nervous and excitable when our father is away; but be quiet, for

another Father, far more powerful, and still more kind than our dear

one, is always with us, and watches over us with tender eyes. He will

never forsake us; he will deliver us in the time of need; but we must

do all we can to help ourselves. In the hour of our greatest necessity,

he stands closest to us. He will not suffer us to perish utterly."

"Talk on; talk on, dear Molly," said Kitty, pleadingly; "if I can only

hear your voice, I don't feel so much afraid, it is so soft and sweet!

It is so much like our dear mother's, that I often fancy it she who is

speaking to me.--But you surely hear something now, sister!"

"I hear nothing but the long cries of the sea-gulls, as they flutter

o'er the waves, and their sharp, shrill tones tell us that we will have

more wind and rain."

"It is very strange that you do not hear anything; for it has seemed

to me four or five times as if I heard the death-sobs of some one in

the last agony, and a despairing cry for help has at intervals rung in

my ears! Are you crying, sister? Or what is that hot drop which has

just fallen upon my hand?"

"It is only a drop of blood; I have stuck my finger with this fine

needle. Your anxiety has excited me also, and it seems to me now as if

I too heard long sighs and groans near us. It may, indeed, be possible

that some unhappy creature requires our aid. I will at least look out

and see if I can discover from whence the sounds come. Remain sitting

quite still here, Kitty; your little frock is finished, and as soon as

I come back I will put it on you, darling."

Molly stepped out in front of the cave. She looked eagerly round in

every direction, but she saw nothing save the desolate cliffs, whose

naked sides had bid defiance to the storms of centuries, and piles of

rocks overgrown with moss, like the gravestones used in the times of

the heathens. From one point, where the formation of the hills allowed

the distant scene to be visible through the aperture, she saw far in

the distance the foaming, tossing waves of the white, wide ocean.

[Illustration: MOLLY AND THE STRANGER.]

"O, if the slight and tottering boat of some poor fisher, or if some

richly laden ship, is now tossing about upon the raging waves of this

wild sea, pity those, O thou good and powerful God! who have nothing

but a plank between them and eternity!" prayed Molly, with lifted

hands. Then again she thought she heard a deep sigh very near her,

and at the same moment she stumbled and nearly fell over something

which lay at her feet; and as she stooped down to see what it was, she

discovered with horror that the dark object before her was a human

form, over whose face the fresh blood was streaming, and whose hand

still grasped a gun. It was too dark to be able to see the features of

the man distinctly; but although his clothes were soiled with blood, it

was evident that he belonged to the higher walks of life.

"Holy Virgin! What can--what shall I do?" exclaimed Molly. "The

wounded man is still living; but if I leave him lying here alone,

he must certainly perish; and, poor weak girl that I am, how can I

possibly lift his heavy body and carry it into the cave?"

She raised the head of the wounded stranger, and held it gently in her

arms, so that it might rest more comfortably than upon the hard earth.

At last the thought that it would be possible for her to drag him to

the cavern struck the compassionate girl.

"Perhaps I am strong enough to drag him home; I will at least try it,"

said Molly.

She ran first rapidly back to the cave, in order to remove carefully

all the stones which were to be found upon the way over which she

judged it best to drag the body; then, hastily returning to the wounded

man, she tenderly supported his shoulders, and succeeded in thus

moving him a few steps forward. But she was soon forced to stop to get

breath and collect new strength; yet she did not suffer her courage to

sink, and after many forced stops and many vigorous efforts, she at

last succeeded in dragging the wounded man to the entrance of their

strange place of shelter. She laid him softly down on the outside of

the curtain of rock, ran within, and while she, exhausted and out of

breath, explained to little Kitty that she had found a human being

who sadly needed their help, she hastily carried the moss from the

two coffin-like beds standing against the rocky walls, made a bed of

it by the side of the dying fire, and rested not until she had placed

the wounded man upon it. She then stirred up the fire, to diffuse more

heat as well as to obtain more light, placed shivering little Kitty

somewhat nearer to the genial blaze, and again left the cavern to bring

some fresh, cool water from the spring, which was not far distant. She

was soon back again, and began, as carefully as possible, to wash the

clotted blood away from the face of the wounded man, which was still

flowing from an open gash upon the forehead. But as she continued to

bathe it with the fresh cold water, the blood gradually ceased to

flow, and with the hope of entirely stopping it, she took the only

handkerchief which she possessed from her neck, and bound it round the

wounded head. At last the man opened his eyes. At that moment Molly

recognized him,--and, with a sudden shudder, turned away! It was the

landlord, whose stony heart her father had in vain attempted to move,

before whom he had uselessly humbled himself to the very dust, from

whose mouth the fiercest, the most inhuman threats had proceeded, who

now lay, prostrate and helpless, before her, whom she had taken in her

own arms and painfully brought to their last refuge! But the struggle

did not last long in the depths of Molly's heart. What she ought to

do, what duty and humanity ordained should be done, even for the most

bitter enemy, stood in clear and plain letters before her soul. She

did not repent for a moment of that which she had already done; and

she determined to offer up everything in her power to preserve the

sinking life in the bosom of the barbarous landlord. She knew, by the

wild rolling of his bloodshot eyes, by the feverish color which burned

upon his cheeks, and which had suddenly succeeded to a death-like

pallor, that his life was in danger; but she determined not to tell her

sister what a dreadful guest was indebted to them for their strange

hospitality. It suddenly occurred to her that she had taken all the

moss from the bed of the little girl, and that she must again venture

out to search for more; and she rapidly made ready to seek it in the

neighborhood of the cavern, before it should be too dark to collect it.

When she returned with enough for the little bed, she handed a potato,

which she had just raked from the warm ashes, to her little sister for

supper.

"It is all I can possibly give you, Kitty," she said, in a melancholy

tone. "Even the salt is all out; let us hope that our dear father

will bring some more home with him to-morrow. Before you go to sleep,

darling, pray to the Holy Virgin that she will take care of him, and

that she will lead him back again in safety to our arms!"

She then placed her sister upon her little bed of moss, sang with her

soft young voice a soothing lullaby which she had learned from her

mother, and not until she was convinced, by the sweet and measured

breathing of the blind child, that she was certainly asleep, did

her soothing cradle-hymn cease, or did she leave her side. Then she

hastened to the wounded man, by whom she determined to watch during the

weary hours of the long night.

She found him also sleeping, with his head sunk upon his breast, while

he groaned frequently, as if tortured by some frightful dream. He

still held the gun spasmodically clasped in his clenched hand; Molly

carefully tried to wrest it from his iron grasp. At last she succeeded,

for although he sprang up fiercely and looked wildly around him for a

moment, he again fell back almost immediately, exhausted and without

power. She then took her station near him, that she might watch his

feverish movements; her eyes rested long and searchingly upon his

features, which strangely reminded her of some face familiar to her,

and although she earnestly sought to trace the resemblance, yet she

did not succeed in finding out the person whom the countenance of the

landlord constantly recalled to her uncertain memory.

What a night for the poor maiden! The storm of rain and wind raged

still more furiously than it had done during the day. It broke and

roared through the sharp rocks, while the howling and whistling of the

raging winds sounded like the sobs and sighs of thousands of dying men.

Like continuous peals of distant thunder, as they flung themselves

in their might against the steep and jagged rocks of the cliff, the

breaking of the raging waves might be continually heard. But they only

broke to renew the strife; to collect again vast masses of the maddened

sea to renew the vain attack upon the rock-bound coast.

For a lone and unprotected girl it was also fearful in the inside of

the cave. The wind would not suffer the thick smoke to ascend through

its usual outlet, and it filled the room with its stifling vapor, while

the dying coals glowed upon the hearth like fiery eyes glittering

through the gloom, and the heavy, feverish, spasmodic breathing of

the suffering man rendered it still more dreadful. Molly felt as if

surrounded by the icy air of a charnel-house; as if the cold hands

of the dead grasped her throat and stifled her breath! All her limbs

shivered as if struck by a sudden chill, until she at last conquered

herself sufficiently to be able to leave the spot in which she was

seated. After walking up and down the cave for a short time, she

grew more tranquil; folding her hands, she knelt by the side of her

sleeping sister, and prayed for some time; then she threw some turf

upon the dying fire, and again seated herself beside the stranger.

Pious hymns breathed lightly through her youthful lips; as the simple

but touching words sank deeper into her heart and warmed her soul, her

voice unconsciously swelled louder and fuller. The wounded man awoke.

Scarcely daring to breathe, he listened to the sweet, enchanting tones,

that, like wreaths of early flowers, wound themselves round and into

his rapidly returning senses, melting away the bands of ice which

surrounded his breast, and stealing into the hidden recesses of his

wondering heart.

"Where am I?" he suddenly asked, trying to rise as he spoke, while

he put his hand to his wounded head. "No, no, it is no dream!" he

continued; and then, as if he wished to convince himself that he was

really awake, he said, "And yet it seemed to me that I heard the voice

of Kitty."

When Molly heard him speak, she sprang up, and then knelt down beside

him, to ascertain if he required help. The old man at that moment first

became aware of the maiden's presence. In the dim light which glimmered

from the fire, it would have been difficult to have discerned her

countenance clearly. Yet, as if it were a matter of the greatest moment

to him to be able to see her features distinctly, he leaned forward and

gazed earnestly into her face. Then, as if he feared she might suddenly

escape him, he seized her rapidly with both hands, drew her as close as

possible to him, and looked long and eagerly into her soft blue eyes,

from which so much heavenly sweetness, so much tranquil devotion, shone

upon him. "Kitty!" he exclaimed at last, with a voice of anguish.

"Kitty, my daughter!" he breathed once more in stifled and scarcely

audible tones, and then sank fainting upon the floor.

"Holy Virgin! Help! he is dying!" cried Molly, wringing her hands.

Tortured by the most dreadful fear, she placed her hand upon his heart;

but it seemed to her as if it had already ceased to beat. Then she

held her cheek close to his lips, but no breath gave evidence that

life yet lingered in his breast. In an agony of fright, she sprang up,

seized a bucket, and ran to the entrance of the cave. The morning had

not yet dawned, and the storm was still raging without, yet nothing

could stay her course; neither the furious wind, which, as if armed

with a thousand human hands, seized her upon every side, and with which

she was forced to battle for every step which she gained in advance;

nor the uncertainty and roughness of the way, which it was almost

impossible to find in the heavy gloom. Sometimes she fell down upon

a jagged stone, and rose with the blood streaming from her bruised

knee; sometimes she fell into a great bush of thorns, which tore both

hands and face; but thinking not of her own pain, she rapidly rose

again, and hurried on. She had already filled the bucket three times

at the spring, fortunately guided to it by the noise of the stream

rippling over the stones, and three times she had fallen and spilled

the cool water, but she would not relinquish her attempt. She would not

despair. Again she filled her bucket, and with the greatest efforts,

creeping forward, feeling her way both with her hands and feet, she at

last reached the cave with a sufficient supply of the precious fluid.

She softly approached the old man, who was still lying in the same

situation in which she had left him; she bathed his temples with the

cool spring-water, but as this did not seem to produce the desired

effect, she sprinkled his whole face with the fresh drops, and tried

to make him swallow some,--but it was all in vain! She waited for a

few moments; then she wet the handkerchief bound round his wounded

head; again she bathed his temples, and hope now began at last to

revive for Molly. After she had almost despaired of ever seeing him

restored to life, he opened his firmly closed lips, and a light sigh

breathed through them. The pallor of death vanished by slow degrees

from his face; regular breathings heaved lightly through his breast,

and a healthful and necessary sleep now seized upon all his senses.

After Molly had gazed upon him attentively for a long time, and had

thoroughly convinced herself that the crisis of danger was past,

exhausted by the physical exertions and mental agonies of the trying

night, she, too, fell into a deep slumber. Stretched upon the hard

ground, with her gentle head resting upon its pillow of stone, her

wearied eyelids closed, and she softly floated into the lovely land of

dreams.

It was broad daylight when Molly awoke. From the land of light, of

lovely fantasies and sunny hopes, of happy visions, she returned to

the sad world of reality; and a single glance round the cavern was

sufficient to bring before her memory all the exciting occurrences of

the night just past. The wounded man was still asleep, and she was very

glad that it should be so; she would have given a great deal to have

been certain that his sleep would last until the return of her father,

whose arrival she most ardently longed for.

Kitty had been awake for a long time, had been frightened at not

finding her sister at her side, as she was accustomed to do, had

several times called her name lightly, but, receiving no answer, tried

to calm herself with the thought that her sister had wakened before

her, and had gone to the spring to bring water to prepare their simple

meal. But hearing now the tread of light footsteps, she joyfully

stretched out both arms to greet the coming one.

"It is you, Molly, I know," she cried with a blissful certainty of

tone. "My Molly, my only, my good sister!" said she caressingly to

Molly; and the child whom she had nurtured as tenderly as the truest

mother could have done pressed her closely to her heart, and covered

her with the innocent kisses of childlike love.

"Be quiet, very quiet, my little darling, for you have not forgotten

that we gave shelter last night to a stranger, who requires sleep, and

who may easily be awakened by your pleasant chattering. Your breakfast

is not yet ready; but if you will sit here quite still and silent, you

shall not have to wait for it long."

"Never mind the breakfast," said the child; "indeed I am not very

hungry; and, unless you will eat it, we can keep the little piece of

oatmeal bread, so that our father may have a mouthful of something to

taste when he returns, hungry and tired, home. Indeed I am not hungry,

Molly," asserted Kitty once more, because she supposed, from her

sister's silence, that she did not quite believe her words.

"If you would really make me very happy, sit down close beside me, and

tell me something out of the Bible. Tell me about blind Tobit, whom the

good God made see again as well as anybody else, because he was good,

patient, and pious; or else about Joseph, whom the wicked brothers sold

into Egypt, and yet God made him great and powerful, and he became the

benefactor of thousands in a strange land."

Molly did as the little one requested. She took her upon her lap, and

related to her all that she had asked for. Her words were simple, but

they were colored by the warm, true, and pious feelings of the maiden.

From time to time she rose and slipped to the side of the sick man,

whom, to her delight, she always found asleep.

"Don't you think that father must soon be here?" asked Kitty, after

several hours had thus passed away.

"O, I hope and wish for it so earnestly!" answered Molly.

"While chattering with you, I have quite forgotten to look out and see

what kind of weather it is. It seems to me the storm has raved itself

to rest. Remain here, darling, near the bed of the sick man, and if,

by the lightest change in his breathing, you think that he is awaking,

call my name loudly; I will be at the entrance, and will certainly hear

you."

With these words, Molly placed Kitty at the feet of the sick stranger.

"Do not forget you must sit still, Kitty, and be sure to call me if he

moves," said Molly as she left the cave.

The dear, warm rays of the sun greeted her as she sought the open

air. Only the lightest clouds, finer and softer than any web ever

woven by human hands, flitted over the high arch of the heavens, for

ever changing in form and play of varied light. The air was soft and

mild, which it rarely is in the end of autumn in Ireland, and upon the

glittering surface of the wide sea millions of white and sparkling

waves were dancing, like bright fairies and water-spirits. From the

path which lay stretched at her feet, winding now up, now down the

cliffs, in a hundred serpent-like turns, sounded, sometimes farther,

sometimes nearer, the tones of a single full, clear, and manly voice.

Molly listened attentively, and in her eyes, which reflected back so

truly every thought of her pure soul, glittered a ray of hope.

She was not mistaken; the tones of the dear voice came ever more

distinctly to her ears; she could even distinguish the words which fell

from the lips of the unseen singer, Erin ma Vourneen, Erin go Bragh!

The sounds were close at hand; only a projecting rock hid the coming

form from her searching eyes; another second passed, and, with a loud

cry of joy, she sank upon the breast of her father.

"Father! my dear, dear father!" she cried, almost breathlessly, as she

again and again wound her arms around him.

O'Neil rapidly placed upon the ground a few cooking utensils which he

had brought with him, and a little bag of meal, and then embraced his

daughter with all the marks of the truest affection, asking her as many

tender questions as if years, in place of days, had passed since they

parted.

"But where is my Kitty?" said he, anxiously; "nothing has happened to

my poor blind girl?"

"Nothing, dearest father, nothing! The little one is in the cave; I

have just left her, to look out if I could see you coming."

"Let us go to her immediately!"

"Wait a moment! I am so glad that you are here already; I could

scarcely have believed you would have returned so early. What

unexpected good fortune has brought you back so soon, and so richly

laden, to our arms?"

"I met with a farmer not far from here, tolerably well off, who

required assistance to dig up his potatoes, and who promised me a

little share in the harvest-grain if I would stay and help him. I found

him more humane than I had anticipated in the beginning, and when he

saw that I labored with all my might to help him, he willingly granted

me a day to visit my home, and gave me a share of my wages to bring

with me. But now come to Kitty," said O'Neil, quickly, as he commenced

to make his way to the cave.

"Dear father, yet another word! You will not find Kitty alone!"

"Who is with her, then?" asked O'Neil, astonished.

"An old man whom I found yesterday evening near this place, bleeding

and wounded, who had probably lost his way upon the chase, and injured

himself through some unlucky fall."

"Did you say he was an old man?"

"So he appears to be, for the thin hairs which scantily cover his head

are white as snow; but whether they have whitened by the frost of

years, or through the weight of cares and sorrows, I am not able to

say."

"Have you no suspicion who the stranger may be?"

"Yes, father, I have more than a suspicion; I know it certainly. Like

a flash of lightning, the recognition passed through my soul, when he,

after a long fainting fit, opened his eyes and gazed upon me, although

I have never seen him but once before, and that but for a flying

moment, in the whole course of my life."

"And his name is--"

"I know it not."

"My child, you speak in riddles! You know the stranger; and yet you

cannot tell me his name?"

"And yet I say nothing but the truth, father!" answered the anxious

maiden.

"Lead me, then, rapidly to him, Molly! You fill me with curiosity, less

through your mysterious words than through the strange anxiety that

speaks in your excited voice, and in every line of your quivering face.

You try in vain to conceal your uneasiness from me.--Can it possibly

be," said he, as if suddenly overcome by some dim divination of the

truth,--"Can it be that--Yet no; that would be indeed impossible!"

As he suddenly interrupted himself, he pushed the hair, with a

restless motion, from his high and broad brow.

"What an idea! Only the vain creation of an excited fancy! And yet if

it were he! The mere thought of such a possibility drives all the blood

back from my throbbing heart!"

As he spoke, he covered his eyes with both his hands, as if to exclude

some sight of horror, the view of which would blast his eyes for ever!

Molly softly approached him, and, throwing her arms tenderly round him,

she murmured as lightly as if she feared the sound or meaning of her

own words,--

"My dear father, even suppose it should be the man who drove us

from our wretched hovel,--who took from us the last of our miserable

possessions; suppose it should be the rich landlord, who, in addition

to his barbarous conduct, insulted you with the most shameful, the most

humiliating words; would you,--could you, render evil for evil? Could

you have suffered him to remain exposed to all the horrors of the storm

which raged so pitilessly yesterday, wounded and dying; and would you

have refused him your aid? O my father, to whom I have always looked

up almost as to one of the Holy Ones of heaven, whom in all the trying

circumstances of life I have always seen pursue a course so noble, I

am sure, very sure, if you had been here, you too would have offered

him assistance; and your daughter, in sheltering the unfortunate old

man, in doing everything to alleviate his condition which it was

possible for her to do, has only fulfilled the divine lessons which you

imprinted upon her heart; she was only striving to resemble you; for

you have ever been her fairest, highest model, in the practise of every

self-sacrificing virtue."

For the first time, Molly ventured to look up to the face of her

agitated father. Pale, as if already frozen by the stroke of death, he

leaned against the steep cliff. Motionless, as if becoming part of the

stone itself, his staring eyes moved not in their strained sockets; his

long, flaccid arms hung loosely down at his side; the spirit seemed

about to leave his powerful body for ever!

"Father!" shrieked Molly, in a tone of utter despair.

At the same moment, the soft, sweet voice of a child sounded from the

cave,--"Molly! my Molly!"

"Father!" again repeated Molly, "father! for the love of God, speak!

Speak only one word to your anxious child! Do you hear Kitty call me?

The wounded man is awake; we _must_ see him!"

O'Neil sank, with a spasmodic movement, upon his knees; his soul seemed

to be engaged in a fearful struggle, for the large, cold drops of sweat

covered his broad brow; he shuddered and quivered, as if convulsed by

some dreadful spasm of agonizing pain.

"O thou pure Virgin of heaven, thou holy Mother of the Son of God!"

he prayed, with a loud voice and uplifted hands, "have mercy upon me!

By the bitter pain which pierced thine own tender soul, when thou wert

standing under the dreadful cross, on which they crucified thy Holy

Son; by all the tears of agony which thou must have shed in witnessing

his unmitigated torments, have mercy upon me! Forsake me not! Leave me

not to myself, in this wild struggle of my soul! O Merciful Jesus, who

died to redeem thy enemies, give me the power to forgive the man whose

fell malice deprived my own father of his little all; who has wounded,

in the deepest manner, the holiest feelings of my heart, and who was

the cause of the early and painful death of the being dearer to me far

than my own life,--the beloved wife of my soul! O, enable me not only

to forgive, but also to forget, all the misery this man has brought

upon me!"

The words ceased to sound from the agitated soul of O'Neil; but it

was evident he still prayed, for his lips were quivering with the

holy thoughts. Tears glittered in his upraised eyes, and, as if he

would stifle all the indignant emotions of anger and revenge which

surged through the depths of his tortured being, he pressed his hand

closely against his heart, whose wild beatings were distinctly heard

by poor Molly. But it was now evident that he was gradually becoming

more tranquil. Molly knelt close beside him; her head rested upon his

shoulder; her ardent prayers were united with his, for she now for the

first time fully understood the circumstances in which she had placed

him. It was the stern and cruel father of her mother whom she had

brought into the cave; whom no entreaties would induce to recall the

dreadful curse which he had pronounced upon the innocent head of his

only child, and which, like a blighting worm in the heart of the summer

rose, had fed upon her tender life, and, after a life of hopeless

anguish, laid her in an early grave.

CHAPTER IV.

THE GRANDFATHER.

"Forgive your enemies."

Our prayers to be aided in the fulfilment of the Divine commands are

always heard by the Holy One who gave them.

Molly and her agitated father were still kneeling together at the

entrance of the cave, when Molly felt herself suddenly raised from the

ground, then closely embraced, and, upon looking up, she saw herself in

the arms of her grandfather, who, in the most unexpected manner, had

tottered to the rude door of the cavern.

"O'Neil," said the old man, while his voice trembled audibly,

"O'Neil, I have heard your prayer. I read in your moistened eyes that

you have conquered; and that no feelings of revenge or hatred towards

the man who has been the cause of all your misfortunes still linger

in your soul. I freely acknowledge that I have treated you in the

most shameful manner. The eager thirst for gold, that, like a wicked

demon, possessed my whole being, induced me to betray your father,

whose firmest friend I once was; it enticed me on to wish to sell, for

my pecuniary advantage, my own sweet child. Baffled in this inhuman

desire, I drove her from her home, burdened with my curse. It was

the love of gold which led me on to oppress and abuse my tenants; to

torture and drive them, until I had put into my own coffers all which

they had gained by the bitter sweat of their rugged brows. Nay, it

was indeed sometimes from their very heart's blood that my purse was

filled. Tortured by this insatiable thirst for money, and stimulated

by my cruel agent, Wilkins, whom you, O'Neil, had several times

reproved for his cruelty, and who consequently hated you, I drove you

from your last shelter, without suffering myself to be moved by your

manly prayers; for Wilkins had already found another tenant, who was

willing to pay a higher rent for your wretched hovel. Yet believe,

upon my most solemn word, O'Neil, that I have never truly known you.

A secret and gnawing anguish has tortured me for years, which I have

in vain struggled to suppress. Dreaming and waking was the face of my

poor daughter ever before me; sometimes pale and bloody, sometimes in

the full brilliancy of her youthful bloom and beauty. O, if in that

dreadful morning in which I drove you from your hut I had thrown a

single glance upon the face of the maiden whom you call _your_ child,

and who is the perfect image of _my_ daughter, now sleeping in the

quiet grave, over which you have trained the long moss and planted

the violet, certainly I must have granted your prayers, and all would

have terminated in a different manner. But I do not regret it for my

own sake. I bless my fate which led me to this desolate spot; I bless

the fall from my horse, and the wound which I then received. If it had

not been for these apparent misfortunes, I would never have found the

ministering angel whose sweet compassion was so infinitely grateful to

me, when I lay almost without consciousness before her; whose heavenly

goodness restored me to life, and has given me back a far greater gift

than life,--the possibility to love again!

"O'Neil," continued the old man, while from his eyes, which had long

since almost forgotten to weep, two great tears rolled down and mingled

with his tufted beard of snow;--"O'Neil," he cried, as if from the very

depths of his heart, while he stretched out both his hands entreatingly

towards the man whom he had so deeply injured;--"O'Neil, for the

sake of this angel, forgive the hard father of your Kitty, whom you

so ardently, so truly loved, and whose innocent life he filled with

bitterness. O, forgive him, as she who has long since gone to her home

in heaven forgave the cruel father, upon the very bed of death which he

had prepared for her, for the cruel curses with which he had burdened

her heart!"

Overpowered by a wild rush of alternating feelings, O'Neil fell upon

the breast of the old man.

"My Kitty! my Kitty!" he cried, gazing up to heaven, while the gushing

tears flooded his manly cheeks;--"my Kitty, if you had only lived to

have seen this day! But be witness of all my struggling, yet deep

feelings! Even as you prayed for and blessed your father with the

last gasps of your breath, so will I also forgive him! Now," said he,

heaving a deep sigh, and pressing the trembling hand of the old man to

his heart, "now all is forgiven! all is forgotten!"

The two men clasped each other in a silent embrace, full of holy

emotions. Repentance and forgiveness met, and understood each other!

Full of the highest happiness, Molly went to the cave to bring her

sister out, who, tired of remaining so long alone, had already groped

her way to the entrance.

"Come, Kitty, come," said she joyously, as she took the little one in

her arms, "O, come quickly, for we have found our grandfather!"

"Our grandfather?" answered the astonished child; "you seem so

rejoiced, Molly, that it must be a very pleasant thing to have found

our grandfather!"

"O, very, very pleasant!" answered Molly, and then gave the little

blind girl into the arms of the old man, who pressed her to his heart,

and kissed her. Then he said rapidly: "Now let us all hasten away from

this desolate, frightful place; and it shall henceforth be my only care

to make you forget all the unspeakable misery you have suffered through

my cruelty."

Molly and O'Neil again entered the cave, to bid farewell to their

strange place of refuge. Molly looked gratefully round, as if to thank

it for the shelter it had afforded them.

Soon the whole four were on their happy way together home. Their path

passed by the hovels whose inmates had evinced so much kind feeling

towards the banished family; and they found there a man who, upon a

promise of good pay from the landlord, was willing to take them home in

his little one-horse wagon. Towards evening they reached the handsome

house of the grandfather. The old housekeeper came rushing out to

meet them, perfectly astonished to see her master, whose return she

had awaited with the most dreadful anxiety during the whole of the

stormy night now past, and whom she never thought again to have seen

alive, as his horse, covered with foam and blood, had returned home

without a rider. She was also very much surprised at the little band

of strangers who accompanied the old man. She turned herself right and

left in her confusion, without exactly knowing what kind of welcome she

was to offer the new guests, who, although scarcely covered with their

miserable rags, yet through their noble bearing and appearance inspired

respect. At last the old man said to her, in a more friendly tone than

she had ever before heard from his lips: "Make haste, Mary! Prepare the

very best you have in the house, for I intend to celebrate this evening

the happiest festival of my whole life!"

He then dismounted from the wagon, and placed himself upon the

threshold of his own door, to welcome his new inmates, whom he begged,

individually, upon their entrance, to consider the house and everything

in it as their own.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, as he led them in, and gazed in the soft eyes of

Molly, "how poor was I, until this moment, although surrounded by so

much wealth! and how truly rich have you always been, although in the

midst of such bitter poverty, in the sweetness of your holy love! How

warmly my heart beats to-day! how full it is of happy feelings! Like a

tree blasted by lightning, I have stood stripped and desolate in the

arid desert my own faults had made for me, almost afraid to gaze around

me. But I have grown young again in your embracing arms; for the first

time since I cursed my poor Kitty, does it seem to me a joy to live!"

CHAPTER V.

KITTY.

"Then said Raphael, I know, Tobias, that thy father will open his

eyes."

The old man had spoken truly. A thousand joys of which he had never

thought before, whose delight he had never even divined, bloomed in

his lonely heart. As long as he should live, it was his wish that the

family should continue to reside with him; and Molly was to become the

guardian angel of the neighboring poor. She did not wait until they

begged her assistance; she gave it unasked for to those who required

it. She was a daily visitor in their humble homes, and when want and

necessity were at last banished by her efforts, she taught the poor

economy and neatness, through the beauty of her own example.

Wilkins, the cruel agent, was placed in a situation in which he

could injure no one; but no revenge was wreaked upon him. He was not

punished; he was permitted to retain his house and field, and a great

portion of his former income. But his position as agent was given to

one whom O'Neil had long known as a good, kind, and just man, entirely

incapable of any act of cruelty.

During three peaceful years, the old landlord continued to enjoy

his quiet life of domestic bliss. He died tranquilly in the arms of

his son-in-law, to whom he gave the whole of his estate. O'Neil and

his daughters soon after left this property in the charge of a good

overseer, to whom the strongest commands were given never to drive or

distress any of the tenants on account of their being in arrears for

rent. O'Neil was exceedingly desirous to visit the property which had

been for many, many years in the possession of his own family, where

he had played through the glad days of his happy childhood, and which,

through the wonderful providence of a kind God, he could again call his

own.

A far more lovely landscape surrounded Molly, so susceptible to all the

beauties with which Nature decks the earth. Rich grain-fields waved

around her; fertile meadows, with their deep-green carpets overgrown

with many-colored flowers, lay at her feet; and orchards, in which

the sunny-hued fruit burdened the laden branches until they kissed

the ground, greeted her happy walks. Under the direction of O'Neil, a

row of neat dwelling-houses rose around them, the occupants of which

became far more economical and industrious, when they saw that part

of the fruit of their labors was for themselves and their children,

and that the landlord had no idea of appropriating the whole of their

hard earnings to his own use. How happy was Molly, when she saw these

healthful and powerful men, from whose bronzed faces content and

happiness smiled, and who were now neither wretched nor oppressed,

returning with cheerful songs to their expectant wives and playful

children!

Still a heavy cloud sometimes rested upon her fair young brow. Not

seldom gushed the hot tears down her now rosy cheeks, when she looked

upon Kitty, who, as she grew older, appeared to feel more and more

deeply the many renunciations which the want of sight inflicted upon

her. The melancholy plaints of the little girl pained her affectionate

heart. Nothing could be more touching than to hear Kitty say,--

"O Molly, if I could only see you and my father,--only once! only

once!--I would ask no more! I would gaze upon you until I had imprinted

every line of your face upon my soul, and then I would cheerfully close

my eyes again in their dreary darkness,--close them for ever, Molly,

with your image in my heart!"

One day, when Molly was visiting a school which she had established

for the instruction of the poor in basket-weaving and other light

arts, she heard a beggar, whom she had at various times assisted,

telling many wonderful things about a young physician who had lately

established himself in a neighboring town, and who, according to his

account, had already restored many blind people to sight. She remained

standing by the threshold, absorbed in the deepest attention, as long

as the narration lasted. She then approached him rapidly, and, while

her heart beat high with expectation and new-born hope, she said,--

"Tell me, I beg of you, tell me if what you have been relating is

indeed the truth? If it is really true, if my little sister should

receive her sight, I would never forget that I had first heard of this

happy possibility through you; and, full of gratitude to you, I would

take care of you as long as your life should last."

"Certainly, all I have said is true," answered the old beggar. "I have

seen little Jack sitting at the church door as blind as a post, and now

he sees as bright and clear as anybody who has always had two good,

sound eyes in his head."

Molly ran directly to her father with this joyful news. But her father

shook his head, and said earnestly to her,--

"Do not suffer this sweet hope to take such entire possession of you,

my kind child! Above all, say nothing about it to Kitty; for the poor

little blind girl would suffer tenfold more if she should nourish such

a hope, and be doomed to meet with a bitter disappointment. Yet it is

possible it may succeed! Kitty was not born blind; she was more than a

year old when she lost her sight."

When he saw how deeply Molly was distressed by his want of faith in

the possibility of Kitty's restoration to sight, he tried to calm her

anxiety, and continued,--

"If it should succeed, Molly, who would be happier, who would be more

grateful to the good God above, than myself? I would joyfully give up

the half of my property, nay, the whole of it, Molly, to open again the

sightless eyes of our poor little Kitty! We will set out to-morrow, at

the earliest dawn of day, to seek the physician who has given sight to

the blind!"

The sun had not yet entirely risen, when Molly, after a sleepless

night, was already stirring through the house, making the necessary

preparations for their contemplated journey. She hurried on everything

with as much eagerness as if her life depended upon the loss of a

single hour, and succeeded in stimulating the slow coachman to an

extraordinary rapid gait in comparison with his usually slow pace. The

carriage rolled down the hill upon which the house was built just as

the first glittering rays of the sun filled the valley with their rosy

light. Molly held her little sister in her arms. Sometimes she pressed

her wildly, as if in fear, to her breast; sometimes she looked long and

deeply into her large, sad eyes, as if it would be possible to read in

them the success or failure of the contemplated experiment. Tortured by

the most restless impatience, she asked the old beggar (who had taken

his seat by the coachman to show him the way) every five minutes if

they were not almost there.

"We soon will be! We soon will be!" was his dry answer; but to the

excited Molly, so full of hope and fear, this word "soon" seemed to

cover an eternity. Always so merciful, both to man and beast, she would

not spare a single moment to the poor horses to rest.

"Only drive on!--drive on!" she begged; "the poor, tired horses shall

have a good rest and plenty of food after we are once there!"

In vain Kitty asked where they were going, what was the aim of their

journey, and what made Molly so impatient. "You will soon know all

about it," was the only answer she received. At last--at last--the

travellers stopped before the house pointed out by the beggar!

They found the physician to be a young and amiable man, who, after

a short examination of the sightless eyes, said he felt certain the

operation would succeed, and that it would prove neither difficult nor

dangerous. But he said he would not like to undertake it until Kitty

had been for a few days under his care.

The few days demanded by the young physician were soon over. Resting in

the powerful arms of her father, with Molly standing pale and trembling

by her side, Kitty awaited the eventful operation.

"You need not be afraid, my little angel," said the doctor,

consolingly; "I will not hurt you much."

"Oh! even if it should hurt me very much," answered the gentle

child, "what pain could possibly equal the bliss which I expect to

receive from your skilful hands? To see my father, and my Molly,--my

Molly!--how long have I yearned with a sick heart to see my Molly!"

The physician raised his hand,--touched the darkened eyeballs. A loud

shriek of joy,--another and another,--announced the complete success

of the delicate operation. But Kitty was forced to conquer her wild

longing to gaze on the faces she loved; for after a single fleeting

second, the physician carefully bound a thick band of linen round her

head, that the tender organs might become gradually accustomed to the

light and air.

No pen could describe her rapture, when, after the removal of the

veiling band, she lay for the first time with the full power of sight

in the arms of her loved ones! Tenderly and lovingly, she embraced them

again and again; now she gazed into the joy-raying eyes of her happy

father,--now into the deep, blue, tender eyes of the beloved Molly,--as

if to make up, in the fulness of her bliss, for the long time she had

been deprived of this source of delight. Then she suddenly turned round

to the young physician who was standing behind her, and who had been

deeply touched by this exciting scene.

"How shall I thank you?" she cried, pressing his hand to her innocent

lips, which he vainly struggled to withdraw. "O, let me kiss your

hand," she softly prayed, "let me kiss the dear hand which has enabled

me to see my father and my Molly; and tell us how we can make you

happy! We can offer you no fitting reward; for what price would be

sufficient to pay you for the benefit you have conferred upon us? Only

some pledge of our eternal gratitude, some sign of undying remembrance

from the family whom you have made so blessed, ought we to give you!"

The young man bent down to hide his tears, kissed the grateful

child, and murmured lightly: "Your joy, Kitty, which has rendered

this hour the happiest of my whole life, and whose remembrance will

always be dear to my heart, has already been to me a high and holy

reward! But," he continued, in a voice scarcely audible, and broken by

emotion, "there is a still higher, a still dearer reward, which I would

willingly owe to your prayers for me, Kitty! Ask your dear father to

receive me as his son! Ask the beloved sister if she will trust the

happiness of her life in my hands! Kitty, plead for me!"

He could say no more; he was choked by his emotions. But Molly had

understood his broken words; covered with blushes, she flew to her

father, who took her by the unresisting hand, and tenderly led her to

the young physician.

"You have, indeed, chosen the most precious reward," said O'Neil, "yet

I willingly give it to you, for you seem to me to be a man of noble

character. The manner in which you practise your benevolent art is the

surest proof to me of your kind heart!"

"Dare I hope that your cherished daughter does not withhold her

consent?" asked the young man, with trembling voice, as he pleadingly,

yet tenderly, took the hand of the maiden.

Candid as she always was, Molly answered softly: "In restoring my

little sister to sight, you have made me very happy; yet I must frankly

confess that it is not gratitude alone which binds me to you. Another

voice speaks to me in the depths of my soul,--the voice of affection;

it whispers me that you deserve my confidence. Could you possibly

deceive me?"

Then the young man raised his hand, as if to take a solemn oath.

"Never! never!" with clear and loud, yet solemn and tender tone, he

said. "Nothing shall ever part me from thee, no change in destiny shall

sever me from thy side! I feel within myself the strength to offer

everything up for thee, to conquer all things through my love for thee!

Thy holy confidence in me shall never be deceived! Undying love and

tenderness for thee, my Molly, shall ever fill the heart in which thou

hast trusted!"

* * * * *

He nobly kept his plighted word; and Molly never had any cause to

repent of the confidence which she had reposed in him.

O'Neil lived to attain a great age. He lived to see little Kitty

married to an excellent young man, who managed his estate with the

greatest care, when he grew too old and weak to attend to it himself.

And when at last the death-angel came to call him to a higher life

above, he blessed with his dying voice his sons, his daughters, and his

grandchildren. But the last pressure of the stiffening hand, the last

words from the lips that were to open no more on earth, were for his

own Molly.

"Molly," he painfully sighed, "I can see thy sweet face no longer, for

my eyes are darkened by the night of death, but thy image still floats

before my parting soul. Thou wert my consolation and support when the

hand of the Lord rested heavily upon me. Thy confidence that all would

yet be well never wavered; thy gentleness and thy loveliness touched

and softened the heart of the long defiant one, who had before scorned

all the warnings sent from Heaven, and changed his angry hatred into

wonder and love!

"Next to God, from whom all good gifts come, I thank thee, my dearly

beloved child, that the rough and thorny path of my life was changed

into an earthly paradise, which leads to heaven! Molly! my Molly! may

thy children resemble thee, and make thee as happy as thou hast made

thy father!"

THE YOUNG ARTIST.

CHAPTER I.

THE GUARDIAN ANGEL AND THE SPIRIT OF MUSIC.

"Like rainbows o'er a cataract, Music's tones

Played round the dazzling spirit."

The evening bells were loudly ringing in the little town of Geremberg.

Troops of busy workmen were hastening home from the neighboring fields

and gardens, while children, with merry shouts, were driving herds of

cattle, droves of sheep, and domestic poultry, and their clear and

joyous laughter might be heard far above the lowing of the weary cows,

or the shrill hissing and cackling of the numberless flocks of noisy

ducks and geese. The barking of dogs, with the hoarse oaths and gruff

voices of the drovers, added to the general din. Wagons heavily laden

with provisions; drawn sometimes by four, sometimes by six horses,

rolled wearily along, but the pleasant anticipation of rest at the

neighboring inn, and the recollection of its well-filled crib, urged

the exhausted steeds to new efforts of their almost failing strength.

The lighter farm-carts, full of sweet hay or perfumed clover, upon

which lay the rosy-cheeked farm-boys almost buried in their beds of

fragrance, easily passed these lumbering trains. With his coarse boots

fastened to the dusty wallet which hung upon his back, and his feet

wrapped round with bloody bands of dusty linen, the tired wanderer

limped painfully on, carefully selecting the grass which grew along the

edge of the footpath, because its fresh and dewy growth soothed and

cooled the burning of his blistered and wounded feet.

All were seeking the same goal, all moving towards the little town

from whose glimmering windows the hospitable lights already began to

gleam through the deepening twilight, although a rosy and still glowing

pile of clouds on the verge of the western horizon yet waved a farewell

greeting from the parting sun.

The highways were soon deserted, and the whole neighborhood was

quiet. Only a solitary woman was now to be seen slowly moving along

the pathway; she seemed very much tired, and, seating herself upon the

ground, she took a heavy basket from her back, and carefully unbound

the cloth which was knotted over it. She then looked cautiously around

her in every direction; scarcely breathing, in the earnestness of her

search, no nook or corner escaped the prying eagerness of her gaze.

A dead silence reigned around, only broken by a confused murmur from

the town and the distant barking of dogs. Twilight was entirely over,

and a few stars only twinkled in the skies. The woman then rose from

the ground, carefully hid her basket in a little ditch, after having

taken a thickly veiled object from it, which she carried in her arms

to a thicket of hazel-bushes, which separated a piece of meadow ground

from a field newly ploughed. She laid the veiled object softly down in

the high grass, and was hastening rapidly away, when the screams of a

child were heard proceeding from the hazel-bushes. Without once looking

behind her, the woman continued to hurry on, but the screams of the

child grew louder and louder, and forced her, however reluctant she

might be, to return. With her hand threateningly raised over the child,

and her voice full of stifled rage, she cried,--

"Will you quit screaming instantly, you little screech-owl? If you

don't, I'll whip you soundly!"

"Do--do--take itty boy!" sobbed the lisping accents of a child's voice.

"Be quiet, and don't dare to stir from this spot, and go to sleep

immediately. Do you hear? Or--"

A heavy blow accompanied this threat. The child gave a loud shriek, but

soon suppressed his cries; even his faint sobs grew by degrees less and

less audible, until at last no evidence was given that he still lived.

The woman remained in the bushes, sitting beside the child whom she had

carried from her basket to that secluded spot.

It grew darker and darker, and the timid child anxiously seized the

rough hand which had just beaten him; as he had been told to go to

sleep, he closed his eyes in fear and trembling, and soon sunk to rest.

As he slept tranquilly and soundly, the grasp of the twining fingers

grew looser, the little hand opened, while the woman drew hers from the

clinging clasp, and lightly, gently, and noiselessly slipped away. With

flying feet, she hastened back to the place in which she had left her

basket, fastened it quickly upon her back, and, as if able to pierce

the surrounding gloom, threw a searching glance in every direction, and

then, as if goaded by the fell fiends of a wicked conscience, rapidly

fled along the highway upon which she had first appeared. She soon

vanished in the darkness of night.

The forsaken child slumbered softly on. The bright stars looked

inquiringly through the leaves, and mirrored themselves in the tears

which still hung on the long eyelashes of the little sleeper. A

flashing gleam of white light suddenly broke in through the clustering

leaves of the hazel-bushes.

A glittering form stood at the side of the helpless infant; she spread

her arms over him as if to bless him, and, bending lightly down to him,

she imprinted a long and lingering kiss upon his pale, broad brow. The

child smiled even in his sleep, and longingly stretched out his arms

towards the form of light which still continued to bend fondly o'er

him. She stroked the clustering curls tenderly back from the spot which

she had just touched with her lips, and the pale brow glittered and

gleamed with the bright yet mild radiance, which, like a light seen

through a vase of alabaster, seemed to pervade her own aerial figure.

She shone, as if the holy starlight had been condensed into a human

form to bless and consecrate the helpless innocent. Lightly and gently

she passed her transparent hand over the sleeping child.

Suddenly a mighty angel, with wings of pure and dazzling lustre, stood

at the head of the little sleeper.

"What are you doing here, with the little immortal whom the Holy One

has committed to my care?" said the angel, earnestly, to the spirit,

who glittered as if made of starlight.

"I have consecrated the poor forsaken boy as my high-priest. I have

kissed his pure brow, breathed the joy of art into his young soul, and

thus secured his earthly bliss. Do you not recognize me, holy angel? I

am the Spirit of Music!"

"Yes, I know you well," answered the earnest angel. "But I know, too,

that if your gifts often lead to heaven, they sometimes also lead to

hell! Alas! how many of those whom I once loved are now forced to mourn

that you ever accorded to them your protection, since your gift has

only led them to the home of the fallen angels!"

The starry form reproachfully answered: "Am I, then, justly responsible

for the evils which result from the ruined nature of man? The source of

music springs in heaven! Do not the angels strike the harp, and sing

eternal praises round the high throne of God himself?"

"They do, and I cannot justly complain of you," answered the guardian

angel. "Your gift is indeed a godlike one, but it is also full of

danger. Men are very frail; and pride and vanity are the evil germs

which lie concealed in every human breast. To uproot these dangerous

germs, to guard against their injurious growth, is our never-ending,

yet often thankless, occupation; for the Angel of Darkness works

against us, cultivating and fostering all that we have condemned.

Unfortunately, he often gains the victory; for as the will of man is

free, it depends chiefly upon himself whether he will embrace Light

or Darkness. If the Evil One conquers, veiling our faces in sorrow,

we sadly turn away, and are forced to leave our beloved charge for

ever. What is more calculated to cultivate pride or vanity than any

extraordinary gift which distinguishes man above his fellows? Thus I am

forced to repeat, that your glorious present is still a dangerous one,

which may easily become a stumbling-block, a stone of offence, upon

which the immortal spirit may be wrecked for ever. For man is only too

apt to become vain and presumptuous, to prefer himself to the great

Giver of all faculties and arts, and, in the excess of his arrogance,

to forget the Holy One, to whom all thanks and all honor are justly

due, to whose high service thou, O glittering Spirit of Music! hast

ever been firmly attached! Thou seest now why I tremble for the soul of

this forsaken infant!"

"Thou art his guardian spirit, and it is best it should be so! Guard

him, then, in such a way that he shall not be fed upon vanity, that

he shall early learn to walk in the paths of religion, which also

lead to the highest art. O no! no! Fold thy white and shining wings

closely around him! My kiss will not lead him to destruction; it shall

only brighten the rough and dark path of life for his tender heart!

I have consecrated him to art; do then thy part, and educate him for

heaven! Guard him well, for my kiss has made him sacred! We meet again!

Farewell!"

The star-bright spirit vanished; but the earnest angel knelt in prayer

beside the deserted boy, covering the fragile body, that the baneful

night-dews might not destroy it, with the glittering and snowy, yet

warm and tender, sweep of the drooping, sheltering wings.