The very author of the war. There lives not on the face
Of earth a man stands so in need of God's forgiving grace:
And-for he was my father's friend, and that white helpless head
Stirs my compassion-though my foe, I would not see him sped
Unshrived to that accounting dread; if yet your pious care,

O Pontiffs, may prevail to bend his stubborn heart to prayer.'" But his heart remained stubborn and unmoved. He died in his pride and hate under the ban of the Church, unshriven and unrepentant.

But God had mercy upon Congal. When the flight began, he had swooned from his hurt, and Bard Ardan caught him up into his car, and the steeds bore him unconscious back into his native vales of Antrim. Then, taken from the car, and laid upon the ground, reviving sense came back, bringing with it but anguish and despair.

But other thoughts, "how sent let faith divine," came upon the unhappy Congal. He thought of his own pride, of his unjust and sacrilegious war against his native land, of all the generous friends who, through him, had perished, and of their bereaved wives and orphans. And tears, repentant tears, "let faith divine their source," burst plentifully forth.

The spot to which, by the care of Providence, he had been borne was close beside a cell of St. Brigid, and, when now calmed by repentance, he was aware of a veiled religious maid coming across the lawn. He knew at once the peerless gesture and indelible grace, but she at first knew him not.

"She, when she saw the wounded man was Congal, stood and prayed A little space, and trembled much then came, and meekly said,

'Sir, thou art wounded; and I come from Brigid's cell hard by

To tend thy wants, if thou wilt brook a sister's charity.'

'And is my aspect also, then, so altered,' Congal cried,

That thou, Lafinda, knowest me not, that shouldst have been my bride?'
'Bride now of Christ,' she answered low; "I know thee but as one
For whom my heavenly Spouse has died.’

And other nuptials none

Desire I for thee now,' he said; for nothing now is mine,

Save the fast-fleeting breath of life I hasten to resign.""

She bound his wounds, gently tended him, and then asked him if his heart had repented of its sins.

"She bound his wounds, and asked him, 'Has thy heart

At all repented of its sins, unhappy that thou art?'

'My sins,' said Congal, and my deeds of strife and bloodshed seem

No longer mine, but as the shapes and shadows of a dream;

And I myself, as one oppressed with sleep's deceptive shows,

Awaking only now to life, when life is at its close."

'Oh, grant,' she cried, with tender joy, Thou, who alone canst save,

That this awaking be to light and life beyond the grave!'

'Twas then the long-corroded link of life's mysterious chain Snapped softly, and his mortal change passed upon Congal Claen."

In the foregoing pages we have sought rather to enlist the reader's interest in the march of the narrative and the picture of ancient Irish manners and ideas which the poem presents, than to direct his attention to its beauties of imagery and diction. But there is one passage which we cannot refrain from extracting, and with which we shall close this article. When Congal was dying, a shape seemed to pass before his eyes, the vision of which affected him as one long pent within doors would be touched at heart by the joy of beholding some incomparable panorama ranging over land and sea, while every sense is fed by pure delights. Something of the same thought is in Gray, but it is far more fully and richly elaborated here and with a masterly pencil, while the thought with which it is concluded the feeling of humility and repentance which the very contemplation of the unsullied glories of the Creator's works brings home to sinful man-is as true as it is beautifully expressed.

"No longer soiled with stain of earth, what seemed his mantle shone
Rich with innumerable hues refulgent, such as one

Beholds, and thankful-hearted he, who casts abroad his gaze
O'er some rich tillage-country-side, when mellow autumn days
Gild all the sheafy foodful stooks; and, broad before him spread,—
He looking landward from the brow of some great sea-cape's head,
Bray or Ben-Edar-sees beneath in silent pageant grand,
Slow fields of sunshine spread o'er fields of rich corn-bearing land;
Red glebe or meadow-margin green commingling to the view
With yellow stubble, browning woods, and upland tracts of blue;—
Then, sated with the pomp of fields, turns, sea-ward, to the verge
Where, mingling with the murmuring wash made by the far-down surge,
Comes up the clangorous song of birds unseen, that low beneath,
Poised off the rock, ply underfoot; and, 'mid the blossoming heath,
And mint-sweet herb that loves the ledge rare-aired, at ease reclined,
Surveys the wide pale-heaving floor crisped by a curling wind;
With all its shifting, shadowy belts, and chasing scopes of green,
Sun-strown, foam-freckled, sail-embossed, and blackening squalls between,
And slant, cerulean-skirted showers that with a drowsy sound,
Heard inward, of ebullient waves, stalk all the horizon round;
And-haply, being a citizen just 'scaped from some disease
That long has held him sick indoors, now, in the brine-fresh breeze,
Health-salted, bathes; and says, the while he breathes reviving bliss,
'I am not good enough, O God, nor pure enough for this!'"

0.

THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF LITTLE SNOWDROP.

BY CLARA MULHOLLAND,

AUTHOR OF NAUGHTY MISS BUNNY," THE LITTLE BOG-TROTTERS," &c.

THE little station of Ballybrack is in commotion. The seven o'clock train from Kingstown is almost due, and people are crowding in on all sides; some to take the train to Bray, where a military band is playing, others to meet friends who may have come from town, or crossed over in the packet from England.

Amongst the most anxious watchers are a little boy of seven, and a tall, pleasant-looking gentleman.

"There is the train, just leaving Dalkey; it will soon be here," cried the child. "But, papa, papa, shall we know Snowdrop when we see her? Wouldn't it be terrible if we took a strange little girl by mistake ?"

"Very terrible, Dermot," said his father, laughing; "but not at all probable. I am not uneasy, dear boy. I have not seen her for two years, but still I am sure I shall have no difficulty in knowing her."

"How do you do, Mr. O'Connor ?" said a gentleman, who came into the station in great haste. "I thought I was late. How excited Master Dermot looks; are you taking him to the band ?"

"No; we are looking out for my little niece, who is coming over from England to stay with us for awhile."

"Ah, poor Elton's child ?"

"Yes; Dermot has taken a sudden panic lest I should pick up the wrong child."

"That would be awkward, certainly," said the gentleman, smiling. "But here comes the train."

At this moment the great engine came steaming into the station, and Mr. O'Connor looked closely into every carriage as it whizzed past him.

"There she is! that fair-faced little creature must be Snowdrop. Certainly the name suits her well," he cried, and taking Dermot by the hand he walked up the platform in search of the traveller.

A young woman lifted a little girl from a first-class carriage, and peered anxiously into every face.

"Are you Snowdrop Elton ?" asked Mr. O'Connor, putting his arm round the child; "I am sure you are!"

"Yes, I am Snowdrop; and this is Polly Green, my nurse."

"That is right," said Mr. O'Connor, kissing her; "I am very glad to see you, Snowdrop: One introduction deserves another: I am your Uncle Jim, and this," drawing Dermot forward, "is your cousin, Master Dermot O'Connor. Come, my man, give the little one a

kiss."

But Dermot hung back with crimson cheeks. He had longed for his cousin to appear; counted the days, hours, and minutes till she should arrive, and now, when he found her before him, he had not a word to say.

“Well, you are a little goose," said his father, "you ought to be ashamed of yourself."

"He is shy, Uncle Jim," said Snowdrop, looking up with a smile : "boys always are."

"Indeed, is that your opinion ?" said her uncle, laughing. "He is shy at present, but I promise you it will not last long. Come, Dermot, be a man; give your cousin your hand, and take her out to the car, whilst I give directions about the luggage. How many trunks have you, Polly ?"

"Two, sir," answered the nurse.

66

Well, come along and show them to me; the children will be quite safe together." And Mr. O'Connor turned and walked across to where the luggage labelled "Ballybrack" had been tumbled out of the train.

As his father disappeared, Dermot put out his hand, and blushing deeply, said: "Come, and I will show you my donkey-carriage."

Snowdrop took his hand with a merry laugh, and, peeping up at the blushing boy, whispered coaxingly: "Don't be shy to me; I am only a little thing, and I want you to be glad to see me."

"I am glad to see you, and I am not one bit shy," and turning away his head he ran quickly out of the station.

An outside car stood at the door; but a little way in front, was a funny little carriage of yellow wood and cushions covered with light coloured cloth. This small conveyance stood about three feet from the ground, and into it was harnessed a quiet-looking donkey, who at this moment was enjoying a peaceful meal of grass by the roadside. "What a dear little carriage," cried Snowdrop. "Oh, Dermot, is that yours ?"

"Yes, it is mine," said Dermot, smiling; "papa gave it to me for my last birthday. Would you like to go up to the castle in it, or on the car with papa ?"

"Oh, I would rather go in the carriage; but would Uncle Jim allow me ?"

"Yes, of course, he would. Jump in. I drive myself, you know; but we must wait till papa is ready."

"Can you really drive yourself? Well, you are a clever boy." "Oh, that's nothing," cried Dermot, his shyness fast disappearing, "I can do far cleverer things than that. But isn't it nice and comfortable ?"

"It's lovely," said Snowdrop, seating herself, and patting the donkey's back; "but, oh, I hope he would never run away."

"Of course, not. Why, I would hold him in if he tried to run; but he wouldn't."

“Well, I am glad he wouldn't. I don't think you could hold him in; you are only a little boy, and your arms are not strong enough." "But I am not so very little; I'm past seven, and my arms are fine and strong, I can tell you. Uncle Tom says I've splendid muscle for my size."

"Ho, ho! so you've got over your shyness, Master Dermot,” said Mr. O'Connor. "And now, Snowdrop, will you trust this young shaver to drive you up the hill? I will walk behind, so you need have no fear."

"I am not afraid, uncle. "I daresay he thinks so;

Dermot says he's a very good driver." but I would not trust him far out of my sight. Dermot, I would not boast so much, if I were you; it looks conceited, my boy."

No, papa, I did not mean to be that."

"I hope not; but that is your rock ahead, my little man, so you must take care and avoid it."

"Yes, papa."

"What is a rock ahead, uncle ?" asked Snowdrop; "the road is very hilly-but I don't see any rocks."

Don't you, my dear? But I did not mean a rock on the road, Snowdrop; I meant a big fault in Dermot's character over which he must take care not to stumble. He is apt to think he can do everything well, and so he often comes to grief; eh, my boy ?"

"Yes, papa, so I do."

"Well, now, away you go. Polly will follow on the car with her parcels, and the trunks can go up on the cart. I shall walk behind you, just to see that Neddy and his master play no tricks. Do not go too fast, Dermot, as I cannot go quickly up the hill."

"No, papa; I shall go at a snail's pace," said the boy, laughing, and gathering up his reins he started off.

"Look, Snowdrop, that is our home," he said, as the donkey plodded slowly up the road; "does it not look lovely from here ?" "Yes, indeed, it does; and, oh, dear, how high it is! How shall we ever get there ?"

"Oh, easily enough; Neddy is accustomed to the hill, and will soon carry us up."

Kilteen Castle stood high above the road, and had a charming view