I stole quietly away from him out of the he think? Would he care? Would he still house, with that fervent benediction lying remember, tenderly, the little Mrs. Haynes fresh and deep upon my childish heart, and of five years ago? threw myself down in the shade of the old orchard trees, and sobbed out the heaviness that pressed upon my spirits. For hours I lay there in the mellow September sunshine, brooding over the little romance that had so silently and strangely grown into the woof of my almost baby life. I wept before my time for the delicious griefs that forever cling to a sweet, conscious womanhood.

When I returned to the house Frank had taken his leave, but in my little work-basket he left a small pearl box, which contained a plain gold ring! Did I wear it? Are you a woman, reader, and ask it?

"Phebe, Phebe! mother says, come downstairs! There is a gentleman in the parlor who wishes to see you.'

The words broke harshly into my pleasant dreams, which I had been weaving all the long golden July afternoon, in the unbroken stillness of my little chamber. At my feet, upon the carpet, with its leaves rumpled and crushed, lay my neglected Virgil in close proximity to a huge Latin dictionary, while upon my lap, in a wrinkled condition, my sewing was lying, with the needle hanging by a long line of thread, nearly to the floor, as if escaped luckily from a round of monotonous hemming, which, as yet, boasted but two or three stitches at its commence

"Who can it be that wishes to see me! I exclaimed, rising hastily and calling after my little six-year-old brother. "Who is it, Charlie ?" "Don't know; it's somebody. says come down."

Mother

"Who can it be?" An hour since I had seen a gentleman with a heavily bearded face come up the walk, but I was too busy with my dreams to notice him very particularly. Still as I recalled his face and figure, and his quick springing step, there seemed something strangely familiar in them. Who could it be? My heart beat rapidly. Surely I had seen that face and form before, and a name that was singularly dear to me trembled upon my lips-" Frank Haynes!"

But I could not go down to meet him, though I was summoned a thousand times. I did not wish to see him; why should I? There was no occasion for it. I was not the foolish little girl of twelve summers that he had left five years ago in short frocks and curls, but a full-grown woman instead. No, I was not the same. I would not go down. Besides, a sudden headache was nearly blinding me. Mother could not ask it of me when I was hardly able to sit up. But what would

Little! I repeated the word as I stood before the long mirror, which gave back to me an accurate picture of myself. A slender, passable form; a dark, clear complexion; large gray eyes; a mouth whose redness seemed to have robbed my cheeks of their color; white teeth; a forehead broad, but not high; large, heavy braids of chestnut-brown hair, was the likeness framed before my eyes. I turned away with a sigh, and glanced down to my hand. Upon the third finger of the left was a plain gold circlet. The hot blood rushed up into my cheeks as I looked at it. I would wear it no longer. He should never know that I had worn it at all. Just then my brother came again to the door of my room, crying out a new message.

"Mother says little Mrs. Haynes is wanted down-stairs."

"I have a terrible headache, Charlie. Please tell mother so;" and I sank down upon a chair close by the window, and leaned my head upon a chair-handle.

“Dear, dear! if they would but forget me!" I murmured to myself, as the hum of their conversation came clearly to my ears. An hour passed away, and I heard a sound of voices in the hall, then steps in the walk below. I did not glance eagerly from the window, or peer carefully from the halfclosed shutters, but clasped my hands tightly over my eyes till the sound of footsteps died away in the distance, then I crept stealthily down-stairs and stepped softly into the silent parlor, where so lately he had been. I was half across the room before I noticed that I was not alone, and then, before I could make a hasty retreat, a glad, merry voice, rich with its golden music, exclaimed: "My own dear little Mrs. Haynes, as I live! How happy I am to see you!" and a hand clasped mine tightly, while a pair of bearded lips were bent down to mine. I drew my head back haughtily. I was a little child no longer. I would not accept, even from him, the caresses that he had bestowed upon me five years before.

"Ah, Mr. Haynes," I said, bowing in a dignified way, "I am pleased to see you."

My manner chilled at once his warm, genial nature. Stepping backward from me and releasing my hand, he said with a curl of his finely cut lips, "Your pardon, Miss Lester, I had quite forgotten that you had grown to be a fine lady!"

I bowed him back a reply, flashing a quick, impetuous glance upon him, as I did so. But there was no pleasantry attempted on his part, and when my mother entered the

room a few moments after, and referred, the world-" He paused, and in a moment laughingly, to our old engagement, he an- more I heard my mother step lightly from swered her in a few evasive words, as though the room. the subject was not an agreeable one to him. "I am not cold, haughty, and proud,” I Affairs had taken an unhappy turn, but it said excitedly, looking up into his face, was too late to remedy them, and day after" and I do like you just as well-as well—” day passed away, leaving Mr. Haynes as cold and distant as he had been from the moment I first repulsed him. I would have given worlds to have recalled my unlucky words, yet, since they were spoken, I would not unbend a moment from my calm, cool dignity, though I was as miserable and wretched as I could well be, and knew that Mr. Haynes shared my wretchedness.

All the time that I could spend in my chamber, without being absolutely rude, was passed there, till my strange, unusual appearance was noticed by my father and mother, and my mood commented freely upon before our guest.

"You appear so strangely, Phebe," said my mother one morning, "I really do not know how to understand you. I'm afraid that Mr. Haynes will think you are not pleased to see him. Every chance that occurs you resolutely avoid him, as though he was the veriest monster, instead of a dear friend. What is the matter?"

"Nothing. The strangeness of my appearance is but a reflection. I cannot help it. Mr. Haynes hates and despises me now," I said, burying my tearful eyes in my hands. "Phebe!

"What, little Phebe ?" he asked, eagerly, a quick expression of joy lighting up his blue eyes.

"As well as ever I did!" I faltered.

"And how well is that? So well that during all these weary years you have not cherished a dream of the future that did not encircle me? So well that every strong, passionate hope of your womanly nature has reached out constantly to me? As well as I have liked, ay, loved you-till every pulse of your heart beats for me? As well as this, Phebe ?"

I covered my face that he might not read the whole expression of my love in my telltale eyes, and be shocked that it had grown to be so near a wild, passionate idolatry.

"Will you become Mrs. Haynes in truth, in earnest, Phebe?" he asked, drawing me to my old seat upon his knee. "Yes!"

"And will at last wear the ring?"

I held up my finger before his eyes.

66

My own darling little wife! at last my little Mrs. Haynes, in good faith!" he exclaimed, covering my lips with kisses.

That night there were sly looks and glances cast towards me at every turn, and at the My mother's voice was stern and reproach-supper-table my father quite forgot himself, ful, but I did not heed it.

"He does hate me, mother! hates me with-"

"Your pardon, little Phebe-Miss Lester, but he does not!" broke in the clear, rich voice of Mr. Haynes. "Of all persons in

and called me "little Mrs. Haynes" again.

Reader, I have been a happy wife for some three blessed, sunshiny years, and, as you may have already conjectured, "my name is Haynes!"

A NOVEL WEATHER INDICATOR.-In sev-ing thing lies on the surface of the water. A eral large farm-houses in Lancashire they use gentleman in this town informs me that he has the following as a weather indicator. A leech tried this for the last seven months, and found is put into a clear glass bottle full of water, the it accurately correct: ten times more so, he says, latter being renewed every second day. If the thing known and used elsewhere? It is, I think, than any glass, patent or otherwise. Is this day is to be wet, the leech lies close at the bot-worth a Note, as I have never heard of such an tom of the bottle; if the day is to be showery, it indicator before. occupies a place about the centre (upward) of Liverpool.

the bottle; but if the day is to be fine, the creep-—Notes and Queries.

S. REDMOND

From the Dublin University Magazine.
THE INFORMER.

CHAPTER I.
PEGGY CROSS.

principal one- -an apartment so low, that you could hardly stand up in it without getting a knock on the head from the roof; but still it formed a comfortable sleeping chamber whether a very wholesome one, we ON the borders of Leitrim stood the cannot presume to say; but the occupant of lonely hamlet of Dring a group of fifteen it was rarely ill-that was certain. This houses lying in a valley overhung by steep house belonged to a woman called Peggy rocks. Picturesque from it extreme wildness, Cross one who had never married, though the surrounding country was bare and uncul- in her youth suitors had not failed to seek her tivated. Here and there goats might be seen hand. She was now between forty and fifty browsing on the rugged heights, or mayhap - very tall and thin; rather plain than a few stunted cows, with rough coats, seeking handsome; with a sallow complexion, small food among the heather, herded by a sun- black eyes, hair still untouched by silver burnt child scarcely past the age of infancy. streaks, and a remarkably acute expression No ornamental seat was within miles of that of face. She had always been a dutiful deserted spot. From no point, however ele daughter, and up to the period of her parents' vated, could the eye detect a single belt- death, had supplied their wants with the proof plantation. The priest's house fay apart ceeds of her industry. Now she was alone, from the hamlet, a long, low, thatched build- but independent, as a lengthened period of ing, standing in a garden, where cabbage and service in farm-houses had given her the potatoes grew, from year to year; and still means of providing comfortably for her adfurther away, on an elevated point, was the vancing years. Peggy had had a sister, rude chapel of the district, remarkable for younger than herself, who was handsome, its slated roof, its large wooden cross in front, and who, like herself, had often been a hired and its isolated aspect. Where the people servant in the houses of strangers. That came from that gathered to that dreary little sister was now dead- a shadow had fallen place of worship, might have puzzled any upon her good name- and no one ever alone to tell; but certain it is, that Sunday af-luded to her in the presence of Peggy. Notter Sunday it was filled to suffocation, while withstanding that she was economical to the crowds of people knelt outside, telling their last degree as regarded expenditure on her beads in agonized devotion, or gazing with reverence at its sacred walls. Like spirits conjured up by the magician's wand, these peasants could be seen each Sabbath morning descending heights, or flocking up from solitary valleys, in great streams; the women clad neatly in garments chiefly of their own manufacture, with snow-white caps, blue or red cloth cloaks, and clean bare feet; while the men rejoiced in shirts of dazzling hue, whose collars touched their ears, comfortable coats, and strong shoes-for though the women might dispense with these latter articles, without any diminution of dignity, no man but of the most abject description, ever appeared without them. People might be dirty and untidy on week days, but none, save the very degraded, were unclean on the Sabbath even silly Pat M'Gaskin, in all his rags, had a white shirt then, for the

own dress and food, Peggy Cross had an open hand for the poor; no beggar was ever turned from her door without a kind word and assistance. Remarkable for possessing a silent tongue, which encouraged many to confide their cares to her, this woman was the possessor of almost as many secrets as the priest himself; of course there were some that disliked, and some that feared her; one or two considered that she had dealings with a certain person that must be nameless; a few were of opinion, that "the sorra bit o' religion the same woman had;" and those who were aware of some passages in her history, now forgotten by the generality of folks at Dring, looked upon her as hard-hearted and cruel. Once Peggy had been a servant in a priest's house in a distant county, and whether she witnessed any scenes there that made her a sceptic, was not known; but certain it "honor o' God." is, that a short time afterwards, she gave up About a quarter of a mile from the ham-attending mass. We will introduce the reader let, far down in a sequestered nook, with to the interior of Peggy's cabin. jagged rocks around it, one of which formed Heavy rain had splashed drearily all the part of its back wall, stood a little cabin, day, and now, when evening set in, it splashlonelier still than any abode we have men- ed as drearily-soaking into the thatch of tioned. A neat dwelling it was, with a well-many an ill-roofed hovel sanded floor, and well-scoured furnituresnowy white the dresser opposite the door; well dusted the rows of little pictures hangon the walls; bright the tins ranged on the shelves. There was an inner room off the

hissing, as it dropped upon smouldering fires-streaming with sooty color down rugged walls. A bright fire blazed in Peggy's kitchen, dry turf and well seasoned lumps of bogwood diffusing light and warmth through the apart

"That's the last o' the cattle, I b'lieve," observed Peggy Cross. "Now, its full certain, that Para has taken some new notion in his head about sellin' off his cows. I warrant he'll be stockin' the farm with a fine kind afore all's over. It isn't want that's makin' him part them anyhow."

“Nobody knows who's in want these times," said Jane Mullins; "the wet harvest 'ill make many a man poor that was rich a year ago." They say there's a power o' stills workin' through the counthry," continued Peggy; "it's poteen they're makin' o' the corn."

ment. Three people, besides the owner, oc-
cupied the room: one was an aged woman,
dressed in garments whose quality and quan-
tity proclaimed her to belong to the class of
wandering beggars, now happily, more rare
in Ireland than they were twenty years ago.
Her head was enveloped in a grey caul, over
which was tied a red cotton handkerchief,
while round her figure was wrapped a yellow
quilt, concealing a vast amount of clothing
beneath it. Very bulky, indeed, did the good
woman look; for along with her other gar-
ments, she carried round her person whatever
bed-clothes she required for her night's rest,
blankets and all. Singularly plain in feature,
this old woman presented an unprepossessing
appearance: her nose was flat and broad, her
brow heavy, her small eyes sunken, her cheeks
large and prominent, and her feet and ankles
of elephantine dimensions. No wonder that
Granny Dunn was the terror of children for
miles around, when she stalked silently into
the kitchens of the peasant and the farmer,
to secure the relief she never had to ask for
in words, and for which she never either
deigned, or was expected, to say, "thank ye."
The other two guests of Peggy Cross, were
a miserably thin little woman, who lived in
the hamlet, and her brother, a remarkably
good-looking young man, named Bat M'Gov-o'
The sister, Jane Mullens, was the wife
of a blacksmith, in poor circumstances and
delicate health, with a family of boys and
girls, not much short of a dozen, though many
had died.

ern.

"An' who'd blame them, Peggy Cross? demanded Mrs. Mullins, energetically; only for poteen there 'id be more people starvin' than anybody can tell, that's what I know. An' maybe the priest wouldn't get his dues, nor the landlord his rent, if the stills quit goin'. People can't live without money, nor die aither, for that matther. Isn't it only the other day that Father Gilligan refused to say a prayer over Jack Connor's gossoon, - Lord rest him, 'till so many shillins was laid on the coffin fornint his eyes?" "Ay, I heerd tell o' that," said Peggy, looking thoughtfully into the fire.

"An' did you hear how the corpse might have gone into the grave without the blessin' God on it, only Para Bawn's daughter kem forrid an' laid silver on the coffin lid?"

At the conclusion of this sentence Bat M'Govern moved his position, — sitting for a moment upright, and then falling back in a rather dejected manner.

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"Weeny's tendher-hearted, no doubt o' that," remarked Peggy, hastily brushing away a tear; "but I wish she was less wild an skittish; she vexes me often the way she goes on, ramblin' about at all hours. I don't b'lieve ex-there's a spot about the place she dosn't know for many's the mile round; she could go over the counthry with her eyes shut."

"Anan!" said Granny, raising her eyes from the wallet, whose contents she was amining.

Peggy repeated the question in a still louder

"Did ever any one see a child less like the father?" said Jane Mullins, after a pause; "he's so plain an' coorse lookin', an' she a'most like a fairy, though I shouldn't say it."

"She's too handsome for a poor girl like her," said Peggy, sighing; "maybe it 'id be betther if she had some of her father's steady ways; for though he's hard and gripin' sometimes, he's an honest man; nobody can say he'd wrong a body ov a penny."

"Para Bawn wouldn't give what 'id dhrop off his finger to a starvin' crature," said old Granny, whose ears, like those of many deaf people, sometimes caught low spoken words not intended for their hearing; " an' maybe he'll be in want and beggary himself yit,— who knows?"

interrupted Peggy, who did not like the gloomy forebodings occasionally indulged in by the "thravellin' woman."

"Never heed the bannock," said Granny, gruffly, as she drew out her pipe; "we're spakin' ov Para Bawn above, the greatest ruffin in Irelan'." ·

Jane Mullins winked at Peggy, and both nodded their heads in silence.

"Ay, an' Miss Weeny, too," continued Granny, fumbling at her pipe; "maybe I could give her a heart-scald, with all her finery an' her beauty; some o' these days she'll know her own place, I warrant!"

"More fool he!" exclaimed Peggy. "I thought he had more sinse."

"Whisht, there she's movin!" whispered Jane, as Granny gave a long-drawn breath, and turned in her sleep.

“Well, ye haven't a grain o' wit," said Peggy; "shure the woman's as deaf as a post.

"Troth she can hear when she likes," persisted Mrs. Mullins.

"Don't be too hard on us, Peggy," said Jane, with a heart-broken air. "If you had seen as many childre as I have, pinin' an' dyin' afore your eyes for the fair hunger, you wouldn't wondher if a body 'id sthrive to keep the life in them that's livin'."

"Well, I wouldn't be engaged in any thraffic that 'id keep me in a fright like that, for For a long while the old woman continued all the goold in the kingdom," declared Peggy. to mutter forth disjointed sentences, all indi-"You'll see there 'ill be ould work with the cative of hostility to Para Bawn; till, having gauger afore long; and finin', and goin' to satisfied herself, she rose, and proceeding to goal; ugh! it isn't worth the trouble!" the dresser, prepared to make a cake with some oatenmeal which she drew from her wallet. Silently and slowly she went about the task, asking no questions, and making use of whatever culinary articles she fancied, without seeking permission from the owner. Soon the process was completed, — baking and all; and then Granny lay down to rest in a remote_corner, for she was to pass that night under Peggy's roof. Coiled up, and looking more like a huge bundle of clothes stowed out of the way than any thing else, she was soon apparently fast asleep, while the rest of the occupants of the room conversed in subdued tones.

"And now, Jane," said Peggy, with an anxious expression of face, "is it thrue that Pether Mullins has takin' to the poteen business?"

Ay, Peggy, it is," replied Jane, a little ashamed; but what could we do? The childre was fairly starvin', an' the bit ov corn we had wasn't fit for any thing in the way of aitin', an' so he thought he'd make something ov it yon way."

Hard!" thought Peggy, looking drearily into the fire; "it isn't for the likes o' me to be hard on anybody!"

For a long time she sat gazing before her with the eyes of a person studying the past.

CHAPTER II.

WEENY.

MRS. MULLINS and her brother had departed from the house, and Peggy was still sitting by the fire, when a gentle knock came to the door.

"Who's there?" asked the woman, starting up.

"It's me, Peggy," answered a low voice. "Musha, Weeny, is it you, at this time o' night?" demanded Peggy, hastening to light candle and open the door.

"An' have you any call to it, Bat?" de-a manded Peggy, turning to M'Govern.

"Oh, don't talk about it to him, Peggy!" exclaimed Jane. "He'd never look at a still, only that Pether isn't able sometimes to go down where they have the fires, an' rather than let me go, Bat takes a run down to it; but he says, he wouldn't touch a farthin' o' the price got for the poteen for all ever he

66

Ay, I'm a bother to ye at all times," was the reply, -half sad, half playful, as a young and fragile girl glided in. She was rather below the middle height, yet taller than at a first glance might have been supposed, as the smallness of her hands and feet, and the delicacy of her form and features, imparted an almost child-like character to her appearance; so tiny had this young creature been in early childhood, that she was given the pet name of Weeny, which still adhered to her. Dressed in the simple garments of her class, her attire was scrupulously neat,perhaps a little coquettish. Her hair, of a light hrown hue, was still permitted to hang round her head unconfined by comb or pin, but it was drawn smoothly behind her ears, so that no stray lock dangled over cheek or brow. Throwing back the hood of her wet