another book of "Preludes "* which Mr. Egan has perhaps never seen, or he would hardly have borrowed its name, pretty and suggestive as it is. The English and American "Preludes" have this further point of similarity, that some of their best workmanship has been expended on sonnets. Some one has compared a poet's soul to "un beau vase athénien plein de fleurs de Calvaire." With a Grecian inspiration like Keats', Maurice Egan is as ardent a Christian as the subject of one of his poems-Frederic Ozanam. And, as we cannot say much more about him just at present, we may add, that the very choice of his themes proves the catholicity of his spirit, whether you spell "catholic" with or without a capital. "I'll tell you what you are, if you tell me the company you keep." So the old saying goes, which comes to us from France, and, perhaps, from farther away. This young Irish-American muse consorts with snowdrops, little babes, Theocritus, Fra Angelico, Maurice de Guérin, Daniel O'Connell, Theobald Mathew, human love of a high and holy kind, and many things and names too holy to be linked even with the not unholy persons and things that we have grouped together. To show how carefully we have read those pages which Fagan and Son (very Irish name that also!) have stereotyped faultlessly, we stoop to so very small a bit of faultfinding as to remark that the "who" in the second line of the quaintly characteristic little preface is superfluous. III. Voices from the Heart. Sacred Poems by Sister Mary Alphonsus Downing. New and enlarged edition. Revised by the Right Rev. DR. LEAHY, Bishop of Dromore. (Dublin: M. H. Gill & Son. 1880.) ELLEN DOWNING-for, with all due reverence for St. Alphonsus in heaven and his devoted clients on earth, that is the name by which she is known and ought to be known as a poet-Ellen Downing, even before going to heaven, had long outlived all the yearnings for fame with which her young heart had thrilled. If it were not for this, there would be something melancholy in the fact that this first complete edition of her sacred poems is published more than ten years after her death. The previously-printed collection was hardly brought under the notice of the public till the impression was almost exhausted. It has been for some time out of print, and it did not contain one-half of the poems which are found in the volume before us, the new additions being the most touching and most interesting of all, for reasons that are explained in the very tasteful biographical preface prefixed to the present work. These "Voices from the Heart" will long speak movingly to thousands of pious hearts; for they form a treasury of *We refer to Miss Alice Thompson's exquisite volume, illustrated by her sister, Mrs. Butler, whose wonderful battle-pieces, "The Remnant of an Army," "Inkerman," &c., lately drew admiring crowds to Cranfield's Gallery, in Grafton-street, Dublin. spiritual thought not less remarkable for solidity and unction than for IV. Nitro-Glycerine as a Remedy for Angina Pectoris. By WILLIAM V. Other Recent Publications. We are glad to see "Third Thousand" on the title-page of the New Testament portion of "The Child's Bible History," compiled by the Sisters of Mercy, Downpatrick. (Dublin: M. H. Gill & Son). The child or adult who masters the contents of this compact and closelyprinted little volume will possess a fund of scriptural and religious information. "The Dream Come True: a Whisper to Paddy in a Letter to 'Pat.'" (Dublin: M. H. Gill & Son), being more or less political, does not fall within the limits of our critical jurisdiction. The same observation applies to a well-written pamphlet by Mr. R. Barry O'Brien, a London barrister, on "The Irish Land Question and English Public Opinion;" (Dublin: T. D. Sullivan), which takes as its motto John Bright's saying: "The great evil of Ireland is this, that the Irish people, the Irish nation, are dispossessed of the soil; and what we ought to do is to provide for, and aid in, their restoration to it by all measures of justice." "Primary Instruction in Victoria" is a very forcible "plea for parental rights," by the Rev. Michael Watson, S.J., reprinted from the "Melbourne Review," which is the most important of Australian periodical publications. A review of Father Harper's "Metaphysics of the Schools" will appear in our April number, for which we must also reserve notices of the "Life of Dr. MacDevitt, Bishop of Raphoe," "The Three Roses of the Elect," and of several other works THE WILD BIRDS OF KILLEEVY. A TALE. BY ROSA MULHOLLAND, AUTHOR OF "HESTER'S HISTORY," "THE WICKED WOODS OF TOBEREEVIL," ETO BooK SECOND. CHAPTER XII. UNEXPECTED NEWS. "YOUNG friend, I have met thee before." Fanchea returned the good Quaker's long, steadfast look, with a glance of surprise, never doubting that she was mistaken for some other person. "I do not remember," she said, "and yet I have not seen many people." "It is many years since I met thee," said Rachel, "but thou hast still the same face. Thou wert singing and dancing among gipsies." "Many people saw me then. What a good memory you must have!" "The time is not so long for me as for thee," answered Rachel, smiling. "At my age seven or eight years pass quickly. But let me remove thy wet clothing. Afterwards I shall have something to say that perhaps may concern thee." When, still pondering these words, Fan emerged from the bedroom to which she had been led, she was dressed in a print gown fresh from the ironing-table at which the maids were at work. Her riding habit was hung at the fire, and she was assured it would not be dry for an hour; besides the storm showed no signs of abating. In the parlour she found Mrs. Webb and Captain Rupert awaiting her re-appearance; and tea was spread on a table in the pleasant, old-fashioned sittingroom where the sober drabs and greys of the furniture enhanced the rich colour of the flowers that adorned it. A large china bowl of freshgathered roses perfumed the tea-table; such light as the storm permitted came into the room laden with a cool green tinge from filtering through overhanging leaves that clustered over the windows. Pleasant to Fan's eyes was the whole scene, including Rachel's white muslin cap, placid face, and the white plump hand that moved among the tea-cups. A swift, strange feeling of having been in the place and the circumstances before seized upon her. This woman belonged to her past, would have a hand in her fate. What was it that she was going to tell her? VOL. VIII., No. 82, April, 1880. 14 Thrilling with expectation Fan did not notice the look of admiration which Captain Rupert bestowed upon her, as after the fashion of lovers he reflected that nothing he had ever seen her wear was half so becoming to her as the impromptu raiment from the ironing table. She fixed her eyes on Rachel, eager for her next words, yet finding it impossible to hurry her, or disturb her in her little hospitable courtesies. "Drink thy tea first, my dear," said the good lady; "it will rest thee and do thee good; and then I will say what I have to say to thee.” Fan swallowed her tea, and then sat silently waiting. "It will be nothing after all," she thought, checking her impatience. "Only some foolish story about the gipsies." "Madam," she said at last, "you need not be afraid of frightening me. I am no longer afraid of the gipsies." "She is in safe keeping now, I assure you," said Captain Wilderspin, smiling on her. Mrs. Webb looked from one to the other. "I am glad to know it," she said, "yet I have something to tell thee that does not concern those people. Didst thou know that some one else was seeking thee besides the gipsies?" Fan rose suddenly to her feet. "Yes, I always known it, have always believed it. What have you got to tell me?" "It is seven years since he came here on his way to London looking for thee, and I have not seen him since. I suppose you know of whom I am speaking." "Kevin!" said Fanchea, glowing and trembling. "That was his name. It was so new to me that I could not forget it. He was a simple, noble creature, and his anxiety about thee was great. I told him I had seen thee, and I put him on the track of the gipsies; but when he found them, thou wert gone." "Which way did he go?" said Fan, her head erect, her breath coming short, her whole frame seeming to expand with exultation. She looked as if ready to unfurl a pair of wings and fly along the track so wearily travelled by her friend so many years ago. "To London," said Mrs. Webb. "But calm thyself, my child; I cannot tell thee where he is now. He wrote to me from London many times; he was always searching for thee, and always disappointed. He obtained some employment with a bookseller, and I have had means of learning that he gave himself up to study and developed some unusual talents. A literary gentleman took him up, and they went travelling together, and have never returned." Fan's face had become more and more radiant as the Quakeress went on speaking. The fact that she had caught sight of him only to lose him again could not cloud her delight. Her faith in him had been verified, and at present that was enough. He had really been in search of her; he was educated, talented, and living with people of refinement. What did it signify that they were still to be apart? He lived in the world, and so did she; and with the happy audacity of youthful hope she felt this sufficient guarantee of their ultimate joyful meeting. Glowing with excitement, beaming with triumph and joy, she turned to Captain Rupert who had been a silent witness of this scene; but she met no sympathy from him; he turned away abruptly and looked out of the window with a clouded face. The whirl of her thoughts would not allow her to guess at the cause of his coldness; she only felt him unkind, and remembered with a sort of pity for his want of judgment that he had never been able to believe in Kevin. A little laugh rose in her throat, as the picture of a coarse peasant, with which he had lately succeeded in frightening her, flitted across her mind. "If thou art really anxious to learn something more," said Rachel, who had been watching her with interest, "I will let thee see a young woman who knows more of thy friend than I do. She is the daughter of the bookseller with whom he was employed, and it is possible she may have some later news of him. Her husband and she have recently come to help me with my farm." "Where is she?" cried Fanchea, in a flame of impatience. "Softly, my dear, Thou wouldst tear up time and space into tatters with thy rage. We must wait the natural course of events." At this point Captain Rupert could bear the scene no longer, and went out of the house. Mrs. Webb soon followed to look for the young woman she had spoken of, and Fanchea, left alone, fluttered about the room with her joy like a bird let loose from a cage. After a little her steps took the wreathy measure of the accustomed dance; she waved her arms lightly over her head with the old gleeful snapping of the fingers, and, flitting from wall to wall of the space allotted her, she sang her triumph in a sort of exultant recitative that broke now and then into a little warbling laugh, while the grave gladness in her eyes gave an air of almost solemnity to this childish manifestation of her delight. "Kevin is Kevin," was the burthen of her ditty. "Kevin is himself. And on some beautiful sunshiny day we shall meet!" The door opened, and a buxom young woman appeared holding a little child by the hand. "Bessie!" cried Fanchea in surprise. "Yes," said Bessie, smiling and changing colour nervously. "We have come to live in this part of the country. This is my little boy." "But, Bessie, you cannot be the person of whom Mrs. Webb spoke to me-who can give me information of a long lost friend." "Yes, I am the person. Mr. Kevin was father's assistant, and he was always looking for a little girl that the gipsies had stolen. I |