upon her father.

"Oh, Ellen!" he exclaimed, "spare me, spare me--you know I'm in your
power. I neglected your honest and friendly warning, and now it is too
late."

"Poor man!" she replied, "it is not she, but you, that is to be pitied.
No; after this miserable sight, never shall my lips breathe one syllable
of censure against you. Your punishment is too dreadful for that. But
when I look upon her--look upon her now--oh, my God! what is this?"--

"Help the girl," said Mrs. Brown quickly, and with alarm. "Oh, she has
fallen--raise her up, Mr. Folliard. Oh, my God, Mrs. Hastings, what a
scene is this!"

They immediately opened her stays, and conveyed her to another settee,
where she lay for nearly a quarter of an hour in a calm and tranquil
insensibility. With the aid of the usual remedies, however, she was, but
with some difficulty, restored, after which she burst into tears, and
wept for some time bitterly. At length she recovered a certain degree of
composure, and, after settling her dress and luxuriant brown hair, aided
by Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Hastings, she arose, and once more approaching
her lovely, but unconscious, mistress, knelt down, and, clasping her
hands, looked up to heaven, whilst she said:

"Here, I take the Almighty God to witness, that from this moment out I
renounce father and mother, brother and sister, friend and relative,
man and woman, and will abide by my dear unhappy _Cooleen Bawn_--that
blighted flower before us--both by day and by night--through all
seasons--through all places wherever she may go, or be brought, until
it may please God to restore her to reason, or until death may close her
sufferings, should I live so long, and have health and strength to
carry out this solemn oath; so may God hear me, and assist me in my
intention."

She then rose, and, putting her arms around the fair girl, kissed her
lips, and poured forth a copious flood of tears into her bosom.

"I am yours now," she said, caressing her mournfully: "I am yours now,
my ever darling mistress; and from this hour forth nothing but death
will ever separate your own Connor from you."

Well and faithfully did she keep that generous and heroic oath. Ever,
for many a long and hopeless year, was she to be found, both night and
day, by the side of that beautiful but melancholy sufferer. No other
hand ever dressed or undressed her; no other individual ever attended to
her wants, or complied with those little fitful changes and