Tarian Y Gweithiwr

THE COLLEEN BAWN, -0-- CHAPTER V. -0-- How Kyrle Daly Rode Out to Woo, and How- Lowry Looby told him some Stories on the Way. Kyrle Daly had even better grounds than he was willing to insist upon for doubting his success with Anne Chute. He had been introduced to her for the first time in the course of the preceding spring, at an assize ball, and thought her, with justice, the finest; girl in the room. He danced h\"o sets of country-dances (Ah! ces beaux jours!) with her; and was ravished with her manners; he saw her home at night, and left his heart behind him when he bade her fare\veil. The conquest of his affections might not have been so permanent as to disturb his quiet, had it not been quickly followed by that of his reason likewise. His subsequent acquaintance with the young lady produced a confirmation of his first impressions, from which he neither sought nor hoped to be delivered. The approbation of his parents fixed the closing rivet in the chain which bound him. Mrs. Daly loved Anne Chute for her filial tenderness and devotion, and Mr Daly, with whom portionless virtue would have met but a tardy and calm accept- ance, was struck motionless when he heard that she was to have the mansion and demesne of Castle Chute, which he knew had been her father's family at a .4.. pepper-corn rent, insonTJCh that Kyrle might Tiatfe wU(i with Lubin in the F rench corned v. he tienidra qua eife que noons he soyons fuaries ensemble." Nothing, however, in the: demeanour of 'the young lady led him to believe that their acquaintance would be likely to terminate in such a castastrophe. It was true she liked him, for Kyrle was a popular character amongst all his fair acquaintances. He had, in addition to his handsome appear- ance, that frank and cheerful manner, not unmingled with a certain degree of tender- mess and delicacy, which is said to be most successful in opening the female heart. Goad nature spoke in his eyes, in his voice, and in "the laughter of his teeth/' and he carried around him a certain air of ease and freedom, governed by that happy and dis- tinctive discretion which those who affect the quality in vain attempt to exercise, and always overstep. But he could not avoid seeing that it was as a mere acquaintance he ■was esteemed by Miss Chute--an intimate, familiar, and he sometimes flattered him- self, a valued one, but still a mere acquaint- ance. She had even received some of his attentions with a coldness intentionally marked, but as an elegant coldness formed a part of her general manner, the lover, with a lover's willing blindness, would not re-' ceive those intimations as he at first thought they were intended. When the affections are once deeply im- pressed with the image of beauty, everything in nature that is beautiful to the eyes, musical to the ears, or pleasing to any of tha senses, awakens a sympathetic interest within the heart, and strengthens the im- pression under which it languishes. The • Covelinicss of the day, and of the scenes through which he passed, occasioned a deep access of passion in the breast of our fear- ful wooer. The sky was mottled over with I those small bright clouds which sailors, who look on them as ominous of bad weather, term 'mackerel'; large masses of vapour lay piled above the horizon, and the deep blue openings overhead, which were visible at intervals, appeared streaked with a thin and drifted mist, which remained motionless, "while the clouds underneath were driven across by a wind that was yet unfelt on earth. I The wooded pont of land which formed the site of Castle Chute, projected consider- ably into the broad river, at a distance of many miles from the road on which he now travelled, and formed a poinf of view on ,W-hich the eye, after traversing the extent of water which lay between, reposed with tnnch delight. Several small green islands, and rocks, back with sea-weed, and noisy with the unceasing cry of sea-fowl diversified the surface of the stream, while the shores V-are clothed in that graceful variety of shade, and light, and hue, which is peculiar ta the season. As Kyrle, with the fidelity of a lover's eye, fixed his gaze on the point of land above mentioned, and on the tali castle which over-topped the elms, and was reflected in the smooth and shining waters underneath, he saw a white-sailed pleasure- boat glide under its walls, and stand' out again into the bed of the river. A sudden flash shot from her bow, and after the lapse of a few seconds, the report of a gun struck | his ear. At the same moment, the green flag which hung at the peak of the boat was { lowered in token of courtesy, and soon after hoisted again to its former position. Kyrle, Who recognised the Nora £ Ireina, felt a sudden hurry in his spirits at the sight of this telegraphic communication) with the family of his beloved. i #• The figure of Lowry Looby, moving for- ward at a sling trot on the road before him, was the first object that directed his atten- tion frim the last-mentioned incident, and turned his thought into a merrier channel. The Mercury of the cabins, with a hazef stick for his 'herpe.' and a pair of well paved brogues for his 'talaria, fjogged forward at a rate which obliged his master to trot at the summit of his speed to overtake him. He carried the skirts of his great frieze Tidrng- coat" under his arm, and moved!—or, rvre properly, sprang forward, throwing out hlS loose-jointed legs forcibly, and with such a careless freedom that it seemed1, as if when once he lifted hi sfoot from the ground, he could not tell where it would descend! again. His hat hung so far back on his head' that <th,e dusk of the crown was fully visible to feis shoulders, and moved from side toi side tfith such a jaunty air, that? it seemed at iff me s as if the owner had a mind' bo leave if behind: him altogether. In his right hand, fairly balanced in the centre, he field the.. kazel stick before alluded t6,. while ha kaJf- hummed, half sung. sdoud, a verse of ft jjipular ballad; "Bryan O'Lynn had no small-clothes to wear He cut up a sheep-skin to make him a pair, With the shinny side out and the woolly side in— "Tis pleasant and cool/ says Bryan O'Lynn." "Lowry t" shouted Kyrle Daly. "Going, sir!" "Going ? I think you are going, and at a pretty brisk rats, too. You travel merrily, Lowry." "Middlen, sir, middlen—as the world goes. I s' !g for company, ever and; always, when I go a long road by myself, an' I find it a dale pleasanter and lighter on me. Equal to the lark, that the louder he sings the higher he mounts, it's the way with me, an' I travelling'—the lighter my heart the j faster the road slips from under me. "I'm a bold bachelor, airy and free, i Both cities and counties are equal to me; Among the fair females of every degree, j I care n how long I do tarry." "Lowry, what do you think of the day ?" "What do I think of it, sir? I'm thinken 'twill rain,' an' I'm sorry for it, an' the masters hay out yet. There's signs o' wind: an' rain. The forty days arn't out yet, and there was a sight of rain the last Saint Sweeten." And he again resumed his melody, suffering it to sink and swell in a, manner alternately distinct and inarticulate, with a slight mixture of that species of eirnn- elation, which Italians term: the voice of the head— j "X never will marry while youth's at my side, Pot my liieart IB is light and the world ts1 wide; I'll ne'er be a slave to a haughty old bride, To curb me and keep me uneasy." no "And why should last Saint Sweeten have anything to do with this day?" "Gyehj then, sure enough, sir. But they I In tell an ould fable about Saint Sweeten when he was first buried—" If.Why, was he buried: more than once, LoWry ?" "Qyeh, hear to this! Well, well—'tis makin' a hand o' me your honour is, fairly, kind father for you! He was, then, buried more than once, if ye go to that of it. He was a great Saint living, an' had a long 'berrin' when he died; an' when they had the grave dr.1Jg, an' were for puttin' him into: it, the sky opened, an' it kep powerin', powerin' rain for the bare life, an' stopt so for fotrty days an' nights." "And they couldn't bury him?" "An' they couldn't bury him till the forty days were over-" "He had a long wake, Lowry." "Believe it, sir. But ever since that, they remark, whatever way Saint Sweeten's day is, it is the same way for forty days after. You don't believe that, sir, now ?" "Indeed, I am; rather doubtful." "See that, why t Why, then, I seen a school-master westwards, that had as much Latin an' English as if he swallowed: a dictionary, an' he'd outface the world, that it was as true as you're going the road1 this minute. But the 'quollity' dQesrÙ give in to them thing at all. Heaven be with ould times t There is nothin' at all there as it used to bey Master Kyrle. There isn't the same weather there, nor the same peace, nor comfort, nor as miuch money, nor as strong whisky, nor as good 'piatees,' nor the gentlemen isn't so pleasant in themselves, nor the poor peole so quiet, nor the boys so divarting', nor the girls so coaxint, nor nothing, at all is there as it used to be form- < erly. Hardly I think, the sun shines as bright in the day; an' nothin' shows itself now by night, neither spirits nor good11 people. In them days, a man couldn't go a lonsome road at night without meetin' things that would make the hair of his head stiffen equal to bristles. Now you might ride from this to Dingle without seeing any- thing uglier than yourself on the way. But what help for it. "<Once in fair England my Blackbird did flourish, He was the chief flower that in it did spring; Prime ladies of honour his person did nourish, > Because that hie was the true son of a king. But this false fortune,, Which still is uncertain, Has caused this long parting between him and me; I His name I'll advance, Ins Spaihi an' in France, An'seek out my Blackbird, wherever he be." j Ad you wouldn't believe, now, Master Kyrle, that anything does be s ho win.' itself at night at all? Or used to be of ouldl?" 'Tt must be a very long while since, Lowiy." j "Why, then, see this; sir. The whole country will tell you, that after Mr Chrtv, '■ died, the ould man of all, Mr Tom's father —y,ou heerd of him?" a{ recollect to have heard of a fat man, that-" "Fat I" exclaimed Lowry, in a voice of surprise—"you may say fat. There isn't that door on the hinges that he'd, pass in, calkin' with a fair front, widout he turned sideways, or skamed in one way or other. Y—r 2si I, an' anorther along wid us, might bi made out of the one half of him aisy. His body-coat, when he died, med a whole shoot for Dan Da,wley, the steward, besides a jacket for his little boy; an' Dan was no fishing rod that time, I tell you. But any way, fat or lain, he was buried, an' all the WDIH will tell you that he was seen rising a fortnight after by Dan Dawley, in the shapes of a drove o' young pigs." j Ú Â while drove?" I "A whole drove. An' 'tisn't lain, lanky carcaishes o' store pigs either, only fat, fit for bacon. He was passin' the forge, near &e oifld gate, an' the moon shinin* as bright as silver, when se seen him comirl again him on dile road. Sure he isn't the same man etran SMBce." I "T&an Dawley is not easily caught by ap- peajrasiqes, \\That a sharg eye he must have no --u. had, Lowry, ly recognise his master under Ii such a disguise P (To be Continued.) -0:-