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Our party ascended to the top of the promontory,
from whence they descried the gulf below.
It was the very place where Edward had first seen
his beloved as if he had seen a vision of light; and
where, charmed to the spot, he had lingered until
he encountered death, and would have fallen in the
combat, had not the same vision become his guardian
angel, and sent effectual succour to his rescue.

Amidst the reflections which this scene excited,
he was interrupted by Mrs. Brown, who pointed
to an arbour, at some distance, made of the interwoven
branches of willows, round which honeysuckles
exuberantly entwined their tendrills. It
was constructed in the neatest style, consistent
with that rustic simplicity which seemed to have
been studied by its architect. Within its sylvan
walls a semi-circular range of seats were formed
of earth, and covered over with a fragrant bed of
chamomile and thyme. The floor was simply of
nature's making, and the only furniture it appeared
to contain was a small folding table placed in the
centre.

“This is, indeed, a remarkable spot for a

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summer-house; but a very suitable one for an observatory,”
remarked Edward.

“It is not so much used,” said Mrs. Brown, “for
the study of the stars, as for the worship of the
Muses. It has been erected by a young man of
our neighbourhood, who, although he performs the
office of a teacher to the farmers' children, contrives
to find sufficient leisure to study nature,
poetry and taste, in this temple of simplicity.”

“I imagine,” said Edward, “I have already
been delighted with one of the effusions of your
rural bard. Is it so, Miss O'Halloran?” he added.

“Yes, sir,” she replied. “Poor M`Nelvin, as the
old harper called him, the author of the verses to
which you allude, is the possessor of this arbour.”

“Is he unfortunate,” asked Edward, “and can
you tell from what cause?”

“He is unfortunate, and I can tell the cause;
but, alas! it is beyond human power to relieve
him. With one of the best and warmest hearts, he
is a prey to a melancholy disposition, the cause of
which, had he less susceptibility of feeling he
would not permit to make such an impression on
his mind. His body is deformed from an accidental
injury he received when a child; and as the
deformity cramps his personal exertions for eminence
in the world, he permits his feelings of disappointment
and regret, to weigh too heavily on him.
What has lately, I believe, tended to increase his
melancholy is the turn which the political prospects
of the country have taken. Formerly he
was affable and communicative; but, for some
months past, he has become particularly reserved
and averse to society.”

“I should be glad of the acquaintance of this
young man,” said Edward, “and I am sorry that
the necessity of my speedy departure will deprive
me of that pleasure.”

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“You shall have that pleasure in five minutes,”
cried Miss Agnew, “for yonder he is, just appearing
from the side of the hill.”

They all observed him; but it was only for a
moment; for he suddenly turned, and retracing his
steps rather hastily, as if he wished to avoid them,
disappeared.

“Shall I run after him?” said Miss Agnew:
I'll overtake him in a minute.”

“I request,” said Edward, “that you will not
occasion him any pain on my account.”

“I also request,” added Mrs. Brown, “that the
young man may be left to his own inclinations. He
seems desirous to avoid us at present, and we have
no right to force ourselves upon him.”

“Well, well,” returned Miss Agnew gaily, “since
I am not allowed to run after young men, I shall
take care to allow no young man to run after me:
So, if you please, Mr. Middleton, you will either
walk along side of me or before me.”

They now descended the hill on their way to
the castle. On coming to a smooth, gently sloping
lawn of considerable extent, near the bottom,
Ellen stopped suddenly.

“Here is the spot,” said she, “where I felt the
first thrill of patriotism that ever warmed my heart.
Here it was that I first felt devoted to my country's
cause; for here while only in my fourteenth year,
I was present, for the first and the last time, at a
review of a large party of that noble army of patriots,
the Irish Volunteers. To my view, their appearance,
that day, exhibited something more magnificent
and impressive than any thing of which
my young ideas had ever formed a conception. I
rejoiced to see my country's strength displayed in
the unbought energies of her sons. In performing
their evolutions, they appeared as if they were
animated with one soul, and their dress and the

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brilliancy of their arms, displayed the highest
polish of military splendour. I looked upon them
as an irresistible band of heroes; and my heart
throbbed with rapture to think that those heroes
were my acquaintances, my neighbours, my friends,
my protectors; and that if ever their weapons
should be stained with human blood, it should be
the blood of my country's enemies. I saw them,
and became proud of my country; and frequently
to this day, does my imagination present the scene
before me in all its liveliness; but, alas! it is now
only imagination!”

“I delight in your enthusiasm,” said Edward,
“and cannot but heartily condemn the ungenerous
and imprudent policy which occasioned the
disorganization of that gallant association of soldiers.”

“I have seen,” said Mrs. Brown, “various reviews
of military; and I must confess that I never
saw a body of men exhibit a more imposing and
soldier-like appearance, than the Volunteers did on
that day. I do not, indeed, wonder that they
should have made Ellen proud of the country, for
on that day I felt in my own breast, a warmer
pulse of patriotism than I ever experienced before.

“I never again saw them embodied; for a jealous
and ungrateful government, in a short time afterwards,
issued its mandate for their suppression.
Ah! little did I think when, on that day, I heard
the last sound of their martial music, that it was
the funeral knell of my country's liberty and
peace; and little did I think, when I saw the
last glimpse of their standards disappearing beyond
yon hill, that I, for the last time, beheld the only
soldiers whose hearts and hands were alike sincerely
devoted to the salvation of their country!”

“I hope,” remarked Miss Agnew, “we may yet

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see Irish soldiers whom no foreign authority shall
have the power to disband.”

“Much as I dislike the late despotic measures
of the British government,” replied Mrs. Brown,
“I cannot yet bring my mind to consider it a foreign
one. But I acknowledge that the conduct of
its ministers in this country, is every day weakening
that partiality I have hitherto felt for it.”

“It is indeed to be lamented,” said Edward,
“that the interests of the government, and the
wishes of the people are so opposed to each other;
and, believe me, ladies, I feel as acutely as any
Irishman can, for the calamities which such a state
of things forbodes to the country.”

“In reading history,” remarked Ellen, “I have
often wondered at the cruelty of all governments.
They universally seem to delight more in keeping
the people in subjection by terror and punishment,
than in securing their affections by kindness and
benefits. It is surely a strange taste in rulers, and
is to me quite unaccountable, that they should
take pleasure in the misery of their fellow-creatures.
But rulers are generally men; methinks that
our sex would both feel and act more tenderly towards
those in their power.”

As this opinion of the fair Ellen might lead to a
controversy, which would require a more thoroughbred
politician than myself to decide, and as I trust
that my reader is such a one, I will leave it altogether
to his disposal.

Having arrived at the castle, Edward took
O'Halloran aside, and informed him of the necessity
he was under of immediately leaving the country.
O'Halloran startled a little at the intelligence; and,
although it was nothing but what he might have
expected, he appeared very much confused.

At last recovering his self-possession, “Mr. Middleton,”
said he, “I did not calculate on your

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leaving us so soon, at least so suddenly; but if the
cause of your departure be not extremely urgent,
I request that you will not go until to-morrow.”

Edward was himself much inclined to remain
till the next day. A wish to be introduced to the
poet, M`Nelvin, and a desire to spend another
night, under the same roof with his beloved
Ellen, predominated over his prudence; and he
yielded to O'Halloran's request. O'Halloran was
not unacquainted with the danger which threatened
his guest from the violence of Darragh, and
some others of the conspirators; and he began to
suspect that their threats had reached Edward's
ears, and produced his sudden determination to
leave the neighbourhood. He himself had some
doubts whether the secrets of his party with
which this young stranger had involuntarily become
acquainted, were altogether safe in his keeping.
Although he had hitherto resisted the solicitations
of his confederates to prevent his departure,
by securing his person, least he should discover on
them, he began now to have serious doubts as to
the propriety of his so doing. In great agitation
of mind he left Edward, and retired to his library
to reflect on the most proper mode of proceeding.

“Were I alone involved in the dangers of this
young man's discovering upon us, I would then be
justifiable in running the risk;” he thus reasoned
with himself; “but the safety of others is also
concerned; nay, perhaps, the success of all our
plans to emancipate our country may be affected
by either his imprudent communication, or intentional
discovery of what he knows; and it is certain
that he knows sufficient to ruin all. It is enough,
it must be—my mind is resolved—my conscience
may accuse me of perfidy to my guest; but my
duty to the public cause in which I am embarked,
is of infinitely more importance than any personal

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consideration. He must be secured; but his life must
be preserved from all dangers; and he must be so
treated as to have no privation of which to complain,
but the loss of personal liberty.”

Having brought his mind to this conclusion, he
went in search of M`Cauley, and the other leading
conspirators. They soon agreed on a plan for
seizing Edward. “A single hair of his head shall
not fall,” said M`Cauley, in the course of their deliberation,
“if I can prevent it; for, I am myself to
blame for too rashly communicating to him that
information by which he can most seriously injure
us.”

Mr. Samuel Nelson, one of the proprietors of the
Northern Star, a man of great intelligence, and
one of the most influential leaders of the association
in the North, was present at this deliberation.
His opinion coincided with that of M`Cauley and
O'Halloran, that Edward should be well treated,
but strictly guarded. “Such a captive,” he remarked,
“may ultimately be of great service to
us as an hostage for the safety of some of our own
party; besides, as he has not yet manifested any
other hostility towards us, than merely refusing to
join us, it would be unjust as well as impolitic to
exercise any other severity towards him, than may
be absolutely necessary for our own safety.”

It was then unanimously settled that Edward
should be seized that evening, and confined in the
Point Cave, (which was within the mysterious
rock already mentioned,) but that he should be
there treated with every indulgence the circumstances
of the case would admit.

After dinner, the unsuspecting object of these
machinations, paid a visit to William Caldwell's,
to make his acknowledgments for the kindness he
had experienced from his family, and also with the
hope that he might there meet with an opportunity

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of being introduced to M`Nelvin; for he understood
that the poet was on a very intimate footing
with this family. In the latter object of his visit,
he was, however, disappointed. On his return he
met with the Recluse, to whom he reported his
wishes on this subject.

“You wish for a gratification,” said the old man,
“which it will be no easy matter to procure you.
But if it be in the power of any one, I think it is in
mine. You will, no doubt, be surprised when I tell
you that he whose acquaintance you seek, studiously
avoids yours, not from any prejudice he has
imbibed against your person or principles—on the
contrary, I know that he highly respects both; but
he is influenced with regard to you by a delicacy,
perhaps I should rather say, a weakness of feeling
on a tender point. In short, he loves Ellen Hamilton
with a hopeless passion, indulged in secret, and
he has perceived that you are an ardent, and likely
to be a favoured rival. I am the sole confidant of
his sorrows. His passion is involuntarily; but it
is acute; and as it is cherished altogether against
hope, I pity him.”

“Perhaps then,” said Edward, “it is better I
should not see him, for I should feel reluctant to
occasion him the smallest pain.”

“My friend,” replied the hermit, “I should wish
you and him to be acquainted with each other, as I
know it would increase your mutual esteem. His
personal deformity makes him shy with strangers;
and the particular circumstances of which I have
informed you would make him more than usually so
with you. I think, however, that the first interview
would be sufficient to remove this feeling. So, if
you have no objection, we shall proceed to my
cave, where I expect to find him very shortly. It
is to him alone, besides yourself, that I have entrusted
the secret of my inner dwelling; nay, it is

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to him alone, of all my friends in this neighbourhood,
that I have as yet intrusted the story of my
misfortunes, a story concerning which even to you,
I must, for some time yet, take the liberty of preserving
silence.”

Edward acquiesced, and they soon arrived at
the old man's dwelling. They were not long seated
until the secret door in the bureau opened, and
M`Nelvin appeared. He seemed somewhat disconcerted
on seeing Edward, but at the Recluse's
desire he came forward.

“Let me introduce the two most confidential
friends I have in this part of the country to each
other,” said the old man, “and I doubt not that on
further acquaintance, they will both thank me for
doing so.”

Edward approached, and shook the poet's hand
so cordially that his reserve almost instantly vanished;
and during the conversation which ensued,
he became so cheerful and communicative, and
displayed such an extent of information and
strength of intellect, as surprised and delighted his
new acquaintance. When they discoursed on politics,
and M`Nelvin descanted on the natural
rights of man, Edward felt within his breast a new
conviction of the injustice and iniquity of arbitrary
rule; and when he spoke of the benefits arising
from the establishment of known laws for the regulation
of society, and the maintenance of security
and order among mankind, Edward could not
refrain from wishing that the disorganizers of the
age had only an opportunity of hearing such sentiments
so enforced; but when he described and deplored
the accumulating miseries of his country, it
was with a fervour that almost brought tears to his
own eyes, and filled, almost to bursting, the hearts
of his auditors; and Edward could not avoid execrating
that mismanagement, to which these

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measures were so clearly and so feelingly ascribed.
When on the subject of poetry, he enlarged on the
influence of its precepts on the conduct of men, the
power which it often exerts over their dispositions,
and the enjoyment it yields, by its pleasing representations
of virtue and happiness, when it
chooses to display them unalloyed with the sad
realities of life; or, by its delightful delusions
when it carries the enchanted fancy into a species
of transient paradise, where the cares, and pains,
and vexations of the grosser world, are, for a time,
neither felt or remembered—Edward thought that
he had never been before so thoroughly convinced
of the benefits it confers upon mankind.

Thus the man whose poetical talents had excited
his curiosity, and whose misfortunes he was prepared
to pity, he found possessed of dignity which
enforced his respect, and of wisdom which commanded
his admiration; and he never felt so ardent
a desire as on this occasion, to make amends
for the injustice of fortune by some munificent testimony
of his respect for merit. Accordingly, after
M`Nelvin had left the cavern, which he did
early in the evening, he consulted the Recluse as
to the manner in which he could best serve so deserving
an object.

“I know, at present, no other way,” said the
old man, “than by showing him your countenance,
maintaining a correspondence with him, and perhaps,
occasionally administering to his poetical
vanity; for, like all other poets, he is vain of his
profession. Pecuniary assistance must not be mentioned.
In the present state of his feelings, he
would look upon it as a manitestation of your superiority.
His pride would be wounded, and his
reserve towards you might return, never to remove.
The inconveniencies of poverty, I can and shall
prevent.”

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“I envy you,” returned Edward, “the felicity
of being permitted to confer favours on such a
man. I trust the time will come when I shall enjoy
more of both his society and yours, under happier
circumstances.”

He then, after requesting the Recluse to remember
his wishes respecting Ellen, bade him adieu,
and returned to the castle.

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