acquaint you with their history before, but the opportunity never seemed to come till now."

I.

Charles to Ellen.

"Yes, dearest, I have given up the priesthood,

and, with it, priestcraft for ever.

The only

craft I vow submission to, is the craft of your sweet eyes, Ellen-the love-craft of that priceless heart!

66

'Idiot, madman, to think that book-lore could replace the interchange of the affections, or dim phantasmata an ambition fired with loftiest impulses, cravings infinite.

"Away, hypocrisy-deception, with all false tendencies, away! Am I not an Irishman, a man, a denizen of this glorious universe; one of the infinite throng which God hath called into being, that they might rejoice in light, and life, and hope, for ever?

"I could have preached a truthful and merciful Creator, a Being who wills the happiness and advancement of us all; but I could not do homage before the altar of intolerance, could not forswear the dearest privileges of man.

"How could I raise a voice to condemn the pure in practice, albeit the wanderer in belief? To what to sufferings coeternal with existence, during the soul's long morrow-the sacred period of life, and hope, and fruition to come.

"Crucified One, how have they perverted thee! Didst proclaim peace and unity among all men; didst bid all to come and drink of the waters of life freely-to look upon God even as a father and a friend? O Thou, who bespeakest thyself a sufferer with the common family of mankind, neither exalting thyself unduly, nor professing a false abasement, type of excellence, whither art thou fled? Precious, tortured, yet still glorified, would thou wert

again with us, that I too might go out with thee, and with thee proclaim everlasting opposition to the vice, the folly, the deceit, and debasement of the world! Own Ellen, farewell."

II.

"And so I must part with the green land of my birth, you, Ellen, all I hold dear. Still, yet still, shall I walk under God's gracious canopy; still carry with me the one abiding consciousness of your love, your never-ceasing constancy. By the sacred sun of heaven, by the pure light of truth, by all my hopes of bliss, your precious image has never left my heart! Shall I forget the kiss, locked in your arms, the fond confession strained to your bosom? Never!

"But what can I do, my Ellen? Ireland, perforce, must I leave. Among proud aristocrats, aspiring agents, or the poverty-stricken masses,

where were there scope? Shall I pander to the one, so that I may trample on the other? Shall I dole out barren formulæ in place of words of eternal life, or grind with fresh oppression the vitals of the poor ?

"I shall hie me to the capital; there, amid the swarming myriads, your Charles perchance shall find bread. Sturdily shall he labour for the daily pittance. No plodding dray-horse toils more steadily than shall the fiery courser whose proud neck never knew bit or rein. This, and a thousand times this, for Ellen."

III.

"Dearest, I am promised a passage by O'Brien, and have been to arrange matters ere I sail. A sense of oppression comes over me when I think of it, uncertain of the present, though not oblivious of the past.

"Now I have embarked, seen you for the last —no, mercy of heaven, not the last time! The vessel heaves, now settles to the swell; while dimly and yet more dimly fade the mountains which something at times whispers I shall behold no more! No more! Ah, words of solemn import, doubtless inspired by my position, yet possibly true. It might be then I should see no more those grey cliffs, washed by the brine, assailed by the breeze, of many a thousand years. Time was, my Ellen, when I careered past them by dusky morn or twilight grey, as with sharp outline they stood against the sky, or enveloped in haze, dark, ill-defined, motionless.

"What is there in the ceaseless wash of the abysmal sea, so attuned to the soul's deep gloom? Oh, thou dark, restless, melancholy deep, many a secret lies shrouded in thy heaving bosom ; many a sigh has been breathed into thee, seemingly not unsympathising, and tears, briny