'Tis in tempests and storms; in that terrible hour Fear not-though the sun hath gone down on thy sadness, THE EXILE'S RETURN. Mr. Keily had every right to worship Fortune : "She rais'd him from a coachman's fate, To govern men and guide the state." THE night on which the second the patriots had just concluded an reading of the Union Bill was debated animated appeal, sufficient almost to in the Irish Parliament, presented rouse "the very stones to mutiny," scenes which can never be effaced and a friend of the minister rose to from the memory of those by whom reply. they were witnessed. The terrors occasioned by the late rebellion had not yet subsided; those Protestants who wished to preserve the legislative independence of their country, hesitated to unite with their Catholic brethren, whom they had for centuries viewed with suspicion; the Catholics, dispirited and hopeless, dreaded to renew civil dissensions, which had already produced so much bloodshed and desolation; the lower ranks, crushed and broken down by the suppression of the late insurrection, looked on with smothered indignation, dreading lest their murmurs should be punished as treason. The sullen silence without doors was powerfully contrasted with the energies displayed within; the supporters of the Union were assailed with torrents of invective, sarcasm, and elo quence, such as were never before poured forth in any deliberative as sembly; while the advocates of the measure spoke as if they were unconvinced by their own arguments, seeming, and very probably feeling, heartily ashamed of the business in which they were engaged. The ministry and their friends justly dreaded the excitement which the orations of the popular advocates were so likely to produce; they trembled at every whisper, lest it might announce the beginning of some fierce commotion; they watched every opening of the door, lest it might admit some terrified herald of an approaching mob, or perhaps an irritated multitude prepared for bloody vengeance. One of It were long to tell the process by which this worshipful member had transferred himself from the box to the inside of the carriage; enough to say that such a change had been effected; but the circumstances by which he obtained a lovely partner to share his seat in the vehicle cannot be dismissed so briefly. One of the modes adopted by the English government for the extirpation of Popery, was a law, enacting, that if the son of any Papist possessing property should come over to the established church, he should be at once secured the inhe ritance of all his father's possessions, to the complete exclusion of the rest of the family. For the honour of human nature be it recorded, that very few availed themselves of this detestable enactment, and those who did found themselves shunned by all the gentry of the country, whether Protestant or Catholic. Crosby Moore, the fifth son of a respectable Catholic, had, by a course of degrading vice, provoked the resentment of his father, a gentleman of the old school; and, finding that his calls for money were disregarded, he took the advice of the degraded woman whom he had married, read his recantation, and became, at the same moment, an orthodox Protestant and a wealthy heir. His parents died of broken hearts, his brothers and sisters were thrown helpless on the world, but he had lands and money, it was long before the restoratives and his mean soul desired no other consolation. He was soon, however, forced to endure some bitter mortifications; the gentry of the country refused to hold social intercourse with such a wretch; the peasants muttered curses as they passed him; his amplest alms could scarcely wring from the most wretched beggar a reluctant blessing. He had an only daughter, and being unable to match her with any of the gentry, he gave her to John Keily, Esq. late coachman to the Earl of Clontarf, but now, by virtue of money acquired by unknown chances, M.P. for the independent borough of Dromore, containing three voters, viz. the said John Keily, his butler, and his groom, and one of his majesty's justices of the peace for the county of Tipperary. After this piece of private history, the reader is fully prepared to appreciate this worthy's oration, from which we have too long digressed. After a long and laboured eulogium on the wisdom of government, Mr. Keily proceeded to a topic almost exhaustless with persons of his class, abuse of the country that gave him birth. In the midst of the stale and hackneyed vulgarisms which he was inflicting on the patience of the honourable house, a groan, then a smothered, though indignant, exclamation, was heard from the gallery, and produced not a little confusion. The cries of order were deafening; the speaker's voice, heard high over the tumult, ordered that the rioter should be brought to the bar; the military supporters of the ministry put their hands to the spot where their swords ought to be; the bribed civilians commenced to secure their pockets. After a few minutes the sergeant-atarms appeared at the bar, and said that it was only a young gentleman who had been suddenly seized with a fit, and that measures had been taken for his removal to his lodgings. The debate was then resumed, and the interruption speedily forgotten. The young gentleman whose indisposition had been so ill-timed was borne to the lobby of the house, and was that were applied could bring him to his senses. On his recovery he gave his name to one of the messengers who attended him by order of the speaker, Moore O'Hara, No. 9, Trinity College, and departed. Now as we hate all mysteries, we shall take the trouble of explaining the causes of O'Hara's agitation. When Edward Moore, the elder brother of Crosby, found himself robbed of his property, by the iniquity of the law and the perfidy of his brother, he retired to America, and there married the daughter of Mr. O'Hara, whom similar events had previously driven from his country. Detesting a name which his brother had disgraced, he took that of his father-in-law, and, for a long time, concealed from his children the real origin of his family. At the commencement of the American war, he had four sons grown up to man's estate, who all joined Washington's army, and fell in defence of American independence. The youngest killed in storming the redoubt that protected the English lines at York Town, and he left behind him a boy three months old, the Moore O'Hara of our history. After the restoration of peace, Edward Moore returned to Ireland with his grandson, having sold all the property he possessed in the States; his altered name, his changed fortunes, and, more than all, the ravages which time and sorrows had made in his countenance, precluded all possibility of recognition; and when Keily gave Mr. O'Hara a lease of the ruins of Moore Hall, he little dreamed that he was letting it to the rightful owner. Brought up in solitude with his grandfather, young Moore O'Hara indulged all the reveries which youthful sensibility and bright fancy inspire in one of his sporting excursions he was alarmed by a shriek of terror, as he was just about pulling the trigger at a partridge; he threw down the gun, and hastened to console the trembler, whom he found to be a young and lovely female. Before he took the gun again he discovered that the lady was Miss Keily, and he was instantly struck with intense admiration of her beauty, which was not long in kindling into love. The object of this ardent passion did not, I am sorry to say, merit his pure affections; she was a coquette of the highest head; nay, people do assert that the whole scene of starting and terror had been purposely contrived to attract the attention of the agile sportsman whose figure looked so graceful at a distance. Still the noble feelings and glowing love which dictated the ardent vows that Moore O'Hara at every opportunity poured into her ear might have warmed the coldest heart, had not circumstances occurred which diminished their intercourse. During the fearful year of 1798, Mr. Keily was what people then called "an active magistrate;" meaning thereby, one ready to exercise any act of severity and oppression against such as were the objects of suspicion. Tales of bitter wrong were frequently narrated in the old hall, for to old O'Hara the peasantry had been taught, by his uniform kindness, to look up as a protector. It was with some surprise that the old gentleman saw his grandson, on such occasions, attempt to palliate, and even excuse, some of Keily's outrages: a little inquiry made him acquainted with the cause, and he instantly resolved to send his beloved boy to college; a step which unwillingness to part with the last representative of his once numerous family had long delayed. He made no mention of the cause to his grandson, but before his departure he revealed to him the entire history of his family, and saw with strong presentiments of hope the uncontrolfable emotion produced by the nar ration. Furnished by his grandfather with letters of introduction to the leading patriots of the day, Moore O'Hara became soon an enthusiast in politics. His attachment to Ireland absorbed all other feelings; even love was for a time subdued by patriotism, and the image of his mistress became less vivid in his heart as the desire to serve his country increased. Perhaps the evident coldness with which he was treated by her when they casually met in Dublin, contributed in some degree JAN. 1831. to effect this change; perhaps—but let us throw speculation aside, and confine ourselves to the simple factthe lover was for some time lost in the patriot. O'Hara's career in the University was brilliant in the extreme, and his contributions to the Dublin periodicals attracted notice even at the castle. The minister, anxious to get some person on his side who could speak in the house, applied to Keily, as an agent to negociate for the purchase of O'Hara's conscience at any price. Keily applied to his daughter, and with unfeigned pleasure learned the influence that she possessed over the young man. Moore O'Hara was soon a favoured guest at the housepraised, flattered, honoured, and followed. In such intoxication the death of his grandfather was an almost unheeded event; perhaps there was even a lurking feeling of pleasure, that his dissent could not be expressed against a union which he certainly would never have approved. At length, O'Hara mustered courage to venture on a direct proposal to the young lady, and was told that supporting the political principles of the father would probably ensure the hand of the daughter. With a heavy heart O'Hara left the room; on that evening he went into the gallery of the House of Commons, and the consequences have been already recorded. Though a rigid Catholic, old O'Hara had educated his grandson as a Protestant, at the request of the boy's mother; when, therefore, he heard Keily denounce as bigots and traitors all who professed the religion of Rome, his heart revolted at the insult offered to a creed, one of whose most zealous professors had so long, by his actions, given the lie to such an atrocious calumny, by unwearied benevolence and kindness to himself. After leaving the house, our hero returned to college, and was informed by the porter that an aged gentleman had been inquiring for him, and had been admitted, on his urgent request, to wait for him in his chambers. O'Hara hastened across the courts, and found in his rooms a tall bony figure, wrapped in a military cloak, with a broad brimmed hat, by which C the features were completely shaded. After his entrance, there was a long interval of silence. At length O'Hara requested his visitor to be seated: the stranger silently took off his hat, and showed a countenance sufficiently remarkable, but which O'Hara could not remember to have seen before; and yet there was some reminiscence, like the fading recollections of a dream, that acted powerfully on the young man's imagination. O'Hara repeated his request: the stranger replied "Before doing so, I must know whether Moore O'Hara has yet consummated his treason-" "How, sir? do you dare to couple the name of O'Hara with treachery? do you, a stranger, dare to insult me in my own rooms?" "A stranger! what, then, have you never seen me before?" "Never, sir; that is" again made an effort, but the complicated and confused. sir, that I remember." Memory result was Never, "But you have seen ine, Moore O'Hara ; before, however, we interchange another word, I must know whether you have become a traitor to your country, and the hireling slave of a detestable faction?" "Neither, by mine honour!" said O'Hara, warmly. “I have been triedI have been tempted; but my part is henceforth taken; I fling love to the winds, and clasp my country to my heart; I will never support the enemies of Ireland, so help me God!" "Heaven register the oath!" said the stranger; now I recognize my brother's heir. Yes, Moore; you were but a child when I returned from Spain, and found my brother an alien in the house of his fathers, educating you in the hated faith of our persecutors. My dirk was bared against your life-I see that your memory recalls the circumstance. My brother and I parted as deadly enemies. When, in a distant land, I heard that my country was in arms against her oppressors, I returned to share in her fortunes; but before I landed the insurrection was quelled, for the dastard cowards were readier to murder their brethren in cold blood than to meet their enemies in the field. Time and travel taught me to disregard those differences of opinion in religion, hatred of which had once almost led me into crime. I sought my brother, found him on his death-bed, and promised to observe his last com mands, which were to watch over your safety. I now present to you three letters; their perusal will complete your cure." O'Hara started-they were in the well-known hand of his mistress-he took them, saw that they were directed to one of her father's old servantsthey proved, beyond possibility of doubt, that she was dishonoured and depraved. Early on the following morning, O'Hara and his relative passed from the college gates in a chaise, and went no one knew whither. Twenty-five years after the occurrences we have just detailed, a stranger arrived in the village of Dromore, accompanied by his two sons, and astounded the landlord by the knowledge of the country which he displayed in all his inquiries. He learned, without surprise, that John Keily, sen. slept with his fathers, (if he ever had any,) and that John the second, a chip of the old block, or rather, as the negro said, "all block himself," reigned in his stead. Of Miss Keily, the intelligence given was, that she had been married to a wealthy East Indian, had been detected in an intrigue with her own servants, had been driven out by her husband, and not received by her brother, and was now, probably, dead, or a beggar. Moore O'Hara, for he was the stranger, heard the fate of her whom he had loved so fondly with bitter anguish ; but not without some joy at his own escape. He purchased the estate of his ancestors from John the second, whose extravagance seemed likely to bestow on Beelzebub the wealth which Mammon had given to John the first, and is now one of the most respectable country gentlemen in Ireland. A few months after he had taken up his residence at Moore Hall,. he received a message requesting him to visit a poor woman at the point of death. He was conducted to a wretched cabin, and there, stretched on mouldy straw, half covered by a torn rug, beheld the form of her whom he had so madly loved. We will not record her tale of sin and sufferingbitterly indeed had her crime been ex piated. But Moore O'Hara took care to lessen the agonies of her last moments, which were rapidly approaching, by every attention which a gene rous soul could bestow; and this was the only circumstance that saddened THE EXILE's Return. ELLA. A FRAGMENT. BY W. MINOT, JUN. ESQ. THE clouds of night had pass'd away, And Earth reflected back the joy ! It was the morning of the day Which usher'd in the carnival; In hopes to reach the glitt'ring scene A bliss too deep for words to tell! And o'er it hung his raven hair In locks that made that brow more fair. His was a form which could not pass Unnotic'd, e'en the vulgar gaze, And to the scrutinizing eye Virtue was mirror'd in his face |