enough. And she handed the fee to Peg Morrin, and wished her good night, and gave her half-a-dozen blessings, whether the hag liked them or not; stooped low to avoid another slap from the owl's wing, and closing the door hastily, ran down the path without venturing to look at the alder bush, for fear of the black cat. In a minute or two she was at the water's edge, and safe over the side of the cot. In an hour afterwards she was landed on the "quay" of Grange-Mellon, as the little wharf for facilitating the loading and unloading of turfboats and others, was called. Tom Fagan had done all in his power to make the two miles' voyage up the river beside the windings, as cheerful as he could to his passenger. She wished him a safe return home, and a good night's rest, and long life to him; and, in high spirits and hopes, with her hand upon the treasure she carried in her bosom, she soon gained her sleeping place and crept into bed, without ever being missed or inquired for.

The next morning, at sun-rise, Biddy was deeply employed in the business of her dairy. Never did she milk her cows, or set her pans, or prepare her churns, with such alacrity and pleasure. A minute's idleness would have been torture to her: she was afraid of having leisure to think; for in spite of every thing,- Brian Oge's and Tom Fagan's encouragement, Peg Morrin's assurances, and her own bright dreams during the night,-the warning of the miller's wife came across her sometimes,

like a black shadow on a path of sunshine. She kept the gloomy feeling down by the mere force of employment; and she sung as loudly, and apparently as gaily, during her morning's work, as if it was not to be followed by the most important action of her life.

The love-draught was at length prepared. A richlyfrothing bowl of syllabub received the whole contents of Peg Morrin's paper. Biddy never ventured to look on the charm, curious as she felt, as she shook it carefully into the bowl, and conscientiously stirred the whole with her left hand for several minutes. But she had not thus completed her work when she heard the loud music of the hounds, as they left the kennel, and saw Brian Oge and Lanty come riding along, round the offices and orchard.

God bless your work, Biddy!" said old Brian, reining up his horse at the dairy-door,-the common salutation to any one, however employed. Biddy felt her blood curdle at the words, for she did not think the mysterious and underhand work she was about was a holy one: but this was a moment's thought. She threw the empty paper over her left shoulder, and advanced to the door.

"The top o' the mornin' to you, Biddy!" said Lanty, with a sort of half-look of mingled kindness and timidity. 'God save ye kindly, both!" was Biddy's almost inaudible reply; for the faintness of anxiety, the mixture of hope and fear, almost overcame her.

с

"An' what have you for us this mornin', Biddy, machree?" said Brian, looking significantly at the two bowls of syllabub which he saw on the slab of Kilkenny marble, on which the milk-pans were ranged.

Biddy handed him his bowl, at which he smacked his lips; and having carefully added somewhat from his private bottle, he drank off the whole, and said

An'

Lanty, my lad, you

“Why, thin, long life to you, Biddy Keenahan; for it's yourself that's the sowl of a dairy-maid! happy's the b'y that'll get you! can throt afther me an' the dogs, round by the bawn an' across the tin-acre field, an' meet us up at the rath: so don't hurry yourself. May be Biddy has somethin' to say to you. My blessin' on ye both!"

Brian had good reason for this speech, for he had called at Peg Morrin's cabin the previous evening, anxious to have his full share in the business, by warning the fortune-teller of the visit she was to expect, and putting her on the look-out for Biddy as she was to come ferried across the river by Tom Fagan. The sound of the huntsman's horse's feet were still echoing in Biddy's ears when she offered the love-draught to Lanty, with trembling hands and averted face. She would have given the world that Brian had waited, to sanction the deed by his presence. But she felt a sort of comfort in the very noise of the horse's feet, and hastened to present the bowl, ere she was quite alone with Lanty.

We know that a Roman empress gave to her tyrant

husband, a philter to soothe his rage; and that the odious Isabeau of France administered one to her spouse, Charles the Sixth, to attach him to her and her vile purposes. But how much more affecting than all the recorded instances of royal superstition, is the picture of this poor Irish girl, watching, in her simplicity, the effect of her charmed potion, as the thirsty youth drained every drop of the bowl, unconscious of the draught of mutual destruction, so fondly prepared and so unsuspectingly quaffed. Lanty had alighted from his horse ere he drank, intending to act on the old huntsman's hint, and to while away a quarter of an hour with his sweetheart, as was his wont on every possible occasion. He had thrown the bridle over a branch of one of the shrubs that kept the dairy in shade; and he stood at the door as he drank.

Biddy could not resist her desire to mark the progress of her charm. She stole a sidelong glance at Lanty. His first look, as he gave back the bowl, was one of simple satisfaction at the highly-flavoured draught, which, however, the anxious girl did not fail to interpret into an expression of rising love. In a moment more, Lanty stretched forth his hand, placed it on Biddy's shoulder, and tottered towards her. Her heart bounded at these tokens of increasing passion: she looked up again. A wild convulsion passed over the poor lad's face. He stretched forward both his arms; and as Biddy shrunk back with a pang of horror, he fell extended on the floor.

Fixed to the spot, Biddy could not attempt to offer, nor had she the power to call for aid. A few moments of frightful silence ensued, broken only by the shrill voice of Brian leading the hounds, the yelp of some young dog, or the deep tone of an old one which had caught the scent. At these sounds, poor Lanty's horse neighed and pawed the ground. The unfortunate young man, whose senses had been entirely stunned by the first shock of the overcharged draught, but which were now revived by the fierce revulsion of every spring of sensation, bounded upwards from the floor, staggered round in the wild drunkenness of insanity, rushed to the door, passed the poor agent and victim of his ruin, leaped upon his saddle, and clapping spurs into his too ardent steed, set off at full gallop, in the direction of the pack, which had already found a hare, and was now in full cry.

The course of the furious chase which Lanty rode that morning, is still marked out by many a trace. Those who witnessed it, declared that aught so terrible had never met their view. All who had joined the huntsman stopped, in surprise at first, and afterwards in affright, as Lanty drove his steed along, over ditch and wall, his hair flying in the wind, and spurs and whip perpetually urged into the flanks of the half-maddened animal. Brian Oge, almost thunderstruck at what he saw, pulled up his horse, and with clasped hands gazed wildly on, while the unheeded dogs ran far and wide, in all the riot of the chase. At length the gallant hunter that had borne