times dreaded? I cannot perceive its operations. It has no
existence; it is a mere chimera; like many another bugbear, the foul
offspring of credulity and fear on the one side--of superstition and
hypocrisy on the other. No; life is merely a thing of chances, and its
incidents the mere combinations that result from its evolutions, just
like the bits of glass in the kaleidoscope, which, when viewed naked,
have neither order nor beauty, but when seen through our own mistaken
impressions, appear to have properties which they do not possess, and
to produce results that are deceptive, and which would mislead us if
we drew any absolute inference from them. Here the priest advances,
kaleidoscope in hand, and desires you to look at his tinsel and observe
its order. Well, you do so, and imagine that the beauty and order you
see lie in the things themselves, and not in the prism through which
you view them. But you are not satisfied--you must examine. You take the
kaleidoscope to pieces, and where then are the order and beauty to be
found? Away! I am right still. The doctrine of life is a doctrine of
chances; and there is nothing certain but death--death, the gloomy and
terrible uncreator--heigho!"

Whilst the unbelieving baronet was congratulating himself upon the truth
of his principles and the success of his plans, matters were about to
take place that were soon to subject them to a still more efficient test
than the accommodating but deceptive spirit of his own scepticism.
Lord Cullamore's mind was gradually sinking under some secret sorrow or
calamity, which he refused to disclose even to his son or Lady Emily.
M'Bride's visit had produced a most melancholy effect upon him; indeed,
so deeply was he weighed down by it, that he was almost incapable of
seeing any one, with the exception of his daughter, whom he caressed and
wept over as one would over some beloved being whom death was about to
snatch from the heart and eyes forever.

Sir Thomas Gourlay, since the discovery of his son, called every day for
a week, but the reply was, "His lordship is unable to see any one."

One evening, about that time, Ginty Cooper had been to see her brother,
Tom Corbet, at the baronet's, and was on her way home, when she
accidentally spied M'Bride in conversation with Norton, at Lord
Cullamore's hall-door, which, on her way to Sir Thomas's, she
necessarily passed. It was just about dusk, or, as they call it in the
country, between the two l