forgetful of all external things, his low melodious tones would now and then mingle with the sound of the rustling leaves or the insects hum, as in the sonorous accents of some foreign tongue, he gave a voice to the strange aud unfamiliar characters inscribed upon that ancient parchment page.

'As if fascinated by a spell, I drew nearer and nearer; close enough to hear, to see; yet all silent, unobserved, myself. At last the light breeze in lifting my veil, threw its shadow across the page, and raising his head at the interruption, I beheld that expressive countenance, so serene, yet so elevated, still beaming with the legible traces of the sacred study in which he was engaged. But to my heart at that moment, it spoke another language more deeply impressive; that wondering-searching-long-stedfast gaze-kindling up at last into sudden animation, as with a cry of recognition he opened wide his arms and sank back upon the turfy seat, from which in agitation he had vainly attempted to rise.

'And, oh! what a flood of long-forgotten memories then rushed upon my spirits; what sweet, sad, loving tones came floating on my ear; what a throng of indistinct yet precious images crowded quickly on my brain; was it a vision-was it a fantasy-conjured up indeed by some spell? or did the first glance of that speaking countenance restore again the ties that had vanished; unite the broken links that time had severed in its flight Face to face, we thus continued, for a moment that seemed an hour, while, had I yielded to my heart's impulse, I would have thrown myself upon his neck and wept ; at last he spoke, and the first tone of that musical and well-remembered voice, supplied all that was needed, and convinced me indeed that I stood

in the presence of Father Eustace, my own dear mother's earliest and most cherished friend.

'Since that precious mother's death, I had never again beheld him, long, long, weary years ago. She was, as you know, an Italian, to whom my father had become deeply attached during his early travels, and who learned to love him in return so dearly, as to resign for his sake, family, and country, and home. After many difficulties on the part of friends who were reluctant thus to lose her, they were united to each other, in her own fair land, and she returned with him to spend the rest of her too brief existence, in a country whose customs and climate and language must all have been uncongenial to a child of the sunny south: but I never once heard that she complained of the change, or deplored it; love and happiness made perpetual sunshine in her breast, and formed its atmosphere around her, and thus loving and beloved, her spirit never saddened, her wing never drooped, till it soared away to a brighter and eternal home.

'I was very young when she was taken, but still old enough to remember her as something most lovely and most different from all I ever afterwards knew; my father never spoke of her, his first grief was almost madness, even. I can remember its agony, as often when all witnesses were withdrawn, he would take me in his arms and fold me to his convulsed and heaving heart; and it was then, as I have since learned, that that beloved parent first sought to occupy his thoughts with military enterprise, and became deeply involved in those political struggles which have ended in so much ruin. But to return to Father Eustace: it was through him that those dear parents first formed each other's acquaintance; a fellow-countryman and early friend.

of my father's, he had taken holy orders in Italy, and had attached himself to the family of which my mother was a member to her a peculiar tie of sympathy and friendship seemed ever to unite him, and I have heard my aunt O'Donnell say, that when after long years he visited them in our island home, it was as if a gleam of her native sunshine had been restored to her again.

'After that, he remained in Ireland, which as I have said, was his native country, and often made our castle his temporary home, winning respect and admiration wherever he went, by his deep learning and meek unaffected holiness. My mother gradually withdrew from all other spiritual guidance; the local Romish clergy almost universally during King James' last struggle, having deserted or neglected their flocks to join in political cabals, and thus affording her a reason, or at least an excuse for returning to that early influence, which was doubtless dearest to her heart; he was with her when she died, received her last wishes, watched her last look; and then again he wandered forth never more to return, seeking, as it was conjectured, the home of his adoption in that far Italian land.

'Such was the knowledge I had at different times gathered from my aunt, in answer to frequent inquiries `made for one who seemed identified with my lost mother, disappearing when she left us, and mingling with the religious veneration I had learned to attach to her memory. Nurse Norah, during the years I speak of, had been residing at a distance with her husband, and had never seen Father Eustace, or else so casually as not to recognise him under such altered circumstances; but to me, who had in childish years loved him for his own sake, and since then had revered him for the sake of her to whom he seemed to have be

longed; woven as he thus was in the golden thread that coloured my after-life, no change, no time, no subsequent feelings, could efface that impression, or make

my heart insensible to the look, to the tone that now thrilled through every nerve. With a wild cry I named him, and flung myself at his feet; my heart told me I was known, and that all introduction, all explanation was vain,—it is needless to recall the agitating moments that followed; enough to say, that a calmer hour found us mutually in possession of all that had happened to either since we parted; he had been indeed a wanderer, -not alone in sunny Italy, but in other far countries he had sought to scatter the good seed of eternal life; and was now at last returned, as life's sun seemed sinking towards the horizon, to shed its parting rays upon his own poor benighted land.

"I had often," he continued, "turned my thoughts westward to this hermitage, visited in happier hours, and chosen as my final home: it possessed for me many an attraction, and let the time be near or still distant, it is here my pilgrimage shall end. And now, dear child, you alone will know of my existence; with eyes not those of sense, you discovered it, the recognition lay deep within your heart. And Oh, my Father, I thank thee," added he, raising his eyes to heaven with a look of ineffable gratitude, "I thank thee, that even thus thou hast vouchsafed a direct answer to thy unworthy servant's prayer. Yes, my daughter, for many a day, with many a tear have I waited for this hour; had it been much longer delayed, I should at last have sought it myself, but far, far better as it is."

With those words he arose, and entered the little chapel adjoining, where he remained for some moments as I conjectured in fervent prayer; then returning, I

perceived he held a small box or casket in his hand; in silence and with much solemnity he opened it, and drew from thence a book, whose covers were of dark timber, exquisitely carved, emitting a faint peculiar perfume, and clasped with gold: he gazed on it with reverence as he unclasped and opened its leaves, and even while he looked, a bright unheeded tear slowly gathered and fell upon the page: suddenly he raised his head and thus addressed me.

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Daughter, I need not ask whether you are acquainted with this precious volume; your first eager glance has told me that long years have not blotted it from your recollection; and yet, still farther to deepen those early traces, behold,"- -as he spoke he touched a hidden spring in one of the covers, the centre compartment of which flew open, and within, resting on a lining of the softest velvet, I beheld that string of glittering pearls, wreathed in circle after circle round their radiant clasp. My mother's long lost rosary,—that revered and priceless jewel-that had vanished so mysteriously when its owner needed it no more. With a cry of delight I recognized it, and was in the act of stretching forth my hand once more to secure it, when again that rolling tide of memory swept across my soul, and checked its sudden joy; a thousand, lonely, desolate thoughts of all that had betided since last I beheld it; of her who had prized it so dearly; of all her unfulfilled hopes, her wasted wishes for those she had loved and left, rushed upon my heart, but now with a vivid recollection that shewed how entirely the cloud was dispersed, that had rested on my memory a few short hours before.

I saw it all again,-that young fair mother-her dark eyes kindling brightly as she showed her child