opposite side. He shook himself, waved his hand, and galloped off in the direction of the IIall. In a few minutes he approached it sufficiently close to be certain that it had not been set on fire. At the farmyard he dismounted, and sought the front entrance; where he too soon perceived the devastation which had been committed. Tables, couches, and pier-glasses, were mingled with young evergreens, which had been cut and used as the readiest implements of destruction. The court-yardgate had been torn down, and in the court itself, every article of use or ornament which the house contained was indiscriminately scattered. He rushed hastily to the door, but there was no one left to resist him. In the Hall he called aloud, but echo alone returned an answer. He searched every room in the house, as well as the wavering gleams of lightning and moonlight would permit him, but it appeared deserted. He returned

to the Hall, and was about again to renew his search, when he heard a gentle breathing near him, and as a more vivid flash illuminated the court-yard, he saw Jane Ogilvie seated on one side of the lowest step leading to the door. She held her dead father in her arms; his head lay upon her breast; and the blood from his wounds had streamed over her to the ground. Of this, as of every thing else, she appeared unconscious. Her whole attention and strength seemed directed to support her · Parent; and it was indeed a dreadful sight. Life gone from one, and reason from the other; and the same blood which crimsoned the grey hairs of the venerable old man, staining also the soft cheek of youth and beauty. It was a strange sight too; amid the roar of the elements, and the wreck of her Father's mansion, to see her unconscious of wind, or storm, or desolation, to mark how a thing so young and fragile shrank not from the fierce contention of the elements. The rain, which now began to fall in sudden gusts, almost bent her to the earth, but with one hand she wrung it from her long black hair, as composedly as if seated in her dressingroom. Yet did not her face entirely lose its intellectual character. Her beauty was of that description which we are accustomed to call high and commanding; and raven hair and eyes, and a singularly large and fair forehead, gave an expression of something like intrepidity to a face, whose other features were formed in the softest mould of feminine gracefulness; and even now, its expression, although vacant, was not imbecile. Fitzgerald approached her unknown, almost unperceived. He attempted to take the body from her. At first she only resisted him gently, trying with her thin weak fingers to undo his grasp. But as she found him succeeding in getting possession of the corpse, she clung to it with violence; and when by a sudden effort he disengaged it from her embrace, she struggled violently in his arms. Her self-possession seemed partially restored: she knew. Fitzgerald, and the objects around her, and shrieking, called wildly on her Father. "I know he is dead!" said she, "I saw them murder him! but I would not lose him yet." Manus and the servants had by this time arrived at the house; and a chaise was procured from the neighbouring town, in which Miss Ogilvie was conveyed to the Lodge. The Hall was taken possession of by the military;

Magistrates were summoned in all directions; and immediately commenced their examination into a transaction which affected each personally; for neither knew whose turn would come next. But notwithstand

ing the utmost diligence was used, there were few of the real facts discovered. The two male servants, who slept in the house, knew little, Alarmed by the noise they had run down into the hall; had seen a man thrust his pike through their master's breast; and several immediately afterwards discharged their pieces into his body: all whom escaped. The female servants were confined and guarded in one of the rooms until all was over, therefore knew nothing; and a mechanic of the town, who journeying home saw several hundred persons pass him in a species of military array, completed the sum of information. That it was the work of persons influenced by the rebellious feeling, which was known to be abroad, they believed, but the numbers who participated in the deed rendered the discovery of the actual perpetrators almost impossible; and to proceed without some positive intelligence, would have been worse than absurd.

"This were enough to make a man cross the water and sit down for life among the Yankees, if he thought only of himself," said Manus Boyle, the following morning to Fitzgerald, "the last curse of slavery is on us! We have not only lost our liberties; but we do not deserve to regain them. Do you think this was determined on suddenly after we left them last night?"-" No, I observed a man extremely active, whose brother the Colonel arrested at a fair, some time since, and - But you perceive

I cannot now proceed on this journey, even my personal safety requires me to remain. I have sent for a maiden Aunt of Miss Ogilvie's who lives near us, and who will probably remain with her here, and of the future we will speak hereafter."-" Farewell then, but get rid of the girl as soon as possible,-I proceed for Dublin!"

Jane Ogilvie had recovered from the temporary delirium of the night. The native strength of her mind was restored, yet was her grief excessive. Her Father had been most indulgent; she was an only child; the child of his old age; his last stake in existence, and the sole means of perpetuating his blood and his name. He was a man too worthy of being regretted by a stranger. He possessed all the useful virtues of huma nity;-above all, a native cheerfulness and buoyancy of spirit, which made him apparently as young at seventy as fifty. She had never seen him young, and never marked any change. She had grown up in the exercise of those feminine attentions, which the age of a Father requires, almost without a perceptibility of their cause, and the approach of his decease had been as little thought of as her own. The mode of his death too was dreadful. Midnight murder is what all shrink even from the mention of. She had seen it all too, no wonder she grieved, yet she was calm and composed. On one subject alone she was obstinate. On the following night the body was to be placed in the coffin, before which she determined to see it once again. All arguments and entreaties were useless. "I do not wish to trouble my friends," said she, "neither do I

wish to give them reason to accuse me of affectation; but our last parting was sudden, and I must see him again. I would cut off a lock of his hair myself, and kiss his lips once more, although they are cold. Do not fear any clamorous grief. In the first moment of despair and agony, I shrieked and prayed. I prayed to God to save him, as the pike was forced through his body; and I can now pray that his murderer may be pardoned! I will not even shed a tear if I can help it, but I must see him again."

On the following evening, accompanied by her Aunt, she proceeded to the Hall; and as the carriage entered the court-yard surrounded by a crowd of tenants and neighbours, a sealed paper directed" To miss Ogilvie," was thrown in at one of the windows. She immediately took it up, but before she could peruse it, the door opened, and Fitzgerald came to assist her to alight. She still retained it in her hand: and walking steadily through the Hall, paused not until she came to her Father's door. "Is there no one within?" said she to Fitzgerald, who had followed her. He answered in the negative, and she entered. The door had scarcely closed on her, when she shrank back, "Can this be my Father's room?" exclaimed she, as she glanced round the apartment. It had suffered principally on the night of the murder. Every article of furniture had been destroyed; even the walls were partially torn down. A half-broken rack over the fire-place drew her attention. It was accustomed to contain his fire-arms, of whose number and beauty the old man was particularly proud,-it was now empty. Let them go," said she," they were useless when they were most wanted; and the hand that might have grasped them, and the heart that might have impelled that hand, are now equally powerless." She approached the bed upon which the body lay, steadily drew back the curtains, and pulled towards it a small table upon which the candles were placed. There was nothing in the face to shock her; all the expression there, was mild and placid. You might tell death had been there, but he had wrought no violent change. He had "set his seal," but not effaced the likeness. She viewed it fixedly and intently; as if one long look was her only object. She neither wept, nor trembled, but agony was in her soul; and long after she had sunk powerless on the bed, her eyes continued fixed upon her Father's corse. "I must be more firm," she exclaimed, as she stooped to select a lock from the hair which hung over his forehead. The touch shocked her. The icy thrill of death seemed circling through her own frame. The earth appeared to open, the grave to yawn for her! She pressed her hands before her eyes, and fell senseless on the floor! But this state of exhaustion did not long continue. Tears speedily forced their way and relieved her. Then by a strong exertion she obtained the lock; kissed her father's lifeless lips, and was about to leave the room, when the paper which had been thrown into the carriage attracted her attention. She opened it, and with much difficulty perused the following almost illegible letter:

"miss Ogilvie; you Think Young fitzgerald yr. Friend, but there are them That knows better. He is the leader of the men that kilt your Father, he Was not There himself; but he is their captain, and I saw him myself at the Meeting of the white boys The same night. They say you Are to marry him and it is but rite he shude have the Land he sold His soul For. but if you have The nature of a child in you he won't, Dont be doubting this, Because i cant cum to prove it to his face. The whole country wud be up In a day, and all The satisfaction wud be to be murdered ourselves. so no more At present from a friend."

"It is false!" said she aloud, as if to convince herself, but the words had scarcely left her lips, when she recollected some late conversations, whose tenor was calculated to prove at least one part of the awful charge. "I will be convinced," cried she, "and this moment: here in the chamber of death, in the presence of his victim, will I confront him; and if he be guilty, may God forgive him, for he has killed me too!" There was a wild velocity in her movements as she proceeded to the door; and when she had reached it, she again suddenly rushed back to the bed. The sheets had been folded round the neck of the body; she hastily pulled them down and uncovered the gaping wound in his chest. She then opened the door. A number of persons were standing outside, but she singled out Fitzgerald. "I wish to speak with you alone," said she, as she motioned him to enter. She then grasped him firmly by the arm, and led him to the bed-side, silently pointing to the wound, from which he turned away his eyes in horror. "Look at it," said she,"look at it firmly, as I do, and yet I was his daughter!" As she spoke, her eyes flashed fire; she drew herself up to more than her usual height; and there was an energetic sternness in her manner, which at once awed and alarmed him. "Sorrow and fear have disturbed you, Jane; let me lead you from this dreadful scene, and you will be better."-"You are right, sorrow and fear have disturbed, almost distracted me, not for him, but for you. I thought to see guilt, or innocence, in the slightest movement of your face, but my eyes fail, and I cannot now even look at you. Read that, and tell me is it true or false? say but one word, yet how can I know that word to be the truth." "It is false? false as the villain who wrote it is to his oath and his country."—" Is all false then?" said she while an expression of joy and triumph brightened on her face. "All that would implicate me in your Father's death!"—" Fitzgerald!" returned she wildly, "speak the word at once. Are you a rebel? A leader of murderers? Were you at the meeting last night?"-" On these subjects, Jane, I must not speak truth:-I will not speak falshood.""Then my Father's murder shall be avenged, yet no!-you shall not die by me. We should not murder those we have loved. But touch me not, come not near me," shrieked she, as he approached to support her as she fell. Her friends who were outside now hastily entered. Miss Ogilvie was carried to another room; yet it was long ere she manifested any sign of sensation. When recovered she spoke little, except to ex

press her determination to remain at the Hall. Remonstrance was useless, and apartments were quickly prepared for her. Fitzgerald retired amid the confusion; and the following morning left the Lodge for Dublin, on his way to France..

A month passed away, and the friends of Miss Ogilvie became seriously alarmed. She never complained of illness, but her frame was daily becoming weaker. There had never been much colour on her cheeks, but the hue of health was now exchanged for that transparent glassy paleness, so characteristic of premature decay. Change of scene was recommended, and she tacitly acquiesced in a proposal for a removal to Dublin. There the dying, heart-sick girl was dragged about to every spectacle, and scene of amusement it contained; and the flushing hectic of midnight dissipation was mistaken for the returning glow of health. One evening at the Theatre she frequently found herself steadily and anxiously gazed at by a female in the upper boxes; whom, her dress and the part of the house she occupied, denoted to be the child of sin and of misfortune. In spite of repeated resolutions, she often looked up involantarily, and still perceived the same piercing eyes scrutinizing her, but with an expression of compassion; and in descending the stairs she found herself getting weak, and requested the gentleman who accompanied her to get a glass of water. "Go on with her to the hall, and I will bring it to you," said a voice near her. She turned quickly round, and perceived that it came from the same individual. On arriving in the saloon she fainted; and the first object which met her eyes on her recovery was the same female still intently gazing at her. When observed, however, she quickly left the hall; and Miss Ogilvie proceeded home. On the following morning she received a letter, which immediately upon breaking the seal she recognized to be in the same hand-writing as that of the paper so mysteriously conveyed to her on the fatal evening, when she had last seen Fitzgerald. This latter she had preserved in spite of the many reasons which influenced her to destroy it, and she now rapidly compared them. They were in all things alike, except that the style of the present one was less illiterate. After many and repeated attempts she succeeded in perusing it, and at the close sank upon her knees, and thanked God aloud that the man she loved was not the murderer of her Father.

The letter chiefly bore that its writer, Mary Morris, was the daughter of a gentleman's gardener, who resided near Dublin; where her beauty had attracted the notice of Fitzgerald, when on a visit to her father's master, seduced by his promises never to wed another, she had consented to live with him, and was the mother of two children: the removal of which, and his subsequent addresses to Miss Ogilvie, had urged her to this revenge. The letter then concluded:-"In the bitterness of despair I swore to destroy his happiness as he had ruined mine. It was not long before I had an opportunity of keeping my oath, and I did keep it. He often sent persons to offer me money, but I refused it. I left the country and came to Dublin, and you have seen how I live now. I have