wer was under repair, and the masons were
drawing up materials in a basket, which, worked by rope and pulley,
swung on a beam protruding from the top of the tower. The basket had
just been lowered for a fresh load of stones, when Letitia exclaimed,
"Wouldn't it be fine fun to get into the basket, and be hauled up to
the top of the tower?--how astonished the workmen would be to see a
lady get out of it!"

"I would be more astonished to see a lady get into it," said a
gentleman present.

"Then here goes to astonish you," said Letitia, laying hold of the rope
and jumping into the basket. In vain did her friends and the workmen
below endeavour to dissuade her; up she would go, and up she did go;
and it was during her ascent that Egan and a friend were riding towards
the church. Their attention was attracted by so strange a sight: and,
spurring onward, Egan exclaimed, "By the powers! 't is Letty Dawson!
Well done, Letty!--you're the right girl for my money! By Jove! if ever
I marry, Letty's the woman." And sure enough she _was_ the woman,
in another month.

Now, Fanny would not have done the basket feat, but she had plenty of
fun in her, notwithstanding; her spirits were light; and though, for
some time, she felt deeply the separation from Edward, she rallied
after a while, felt that unavailing sorrow but impaired the health of
the mind, and, supported by her good sense, she waited in hopefulness
for the time that Edward might claim and win her.

At Merryvale now all was expectation about the anticipated election.
The ladies were making up bows of ribbon for their partizans, and Fanny
had been so employed all the morning alone in the drawing-room; her
pretty fingers pinching, and pressing, and stitching the silken
favours, while now and then her hand wandered to a wicker-basket which
lay beside her, to draw forth a scissors or a needlecase. As she
worked, a shade of thought crossed her sweet face, like a passing cloud
across the sun; the pretty fingers stopped--the work was laid down--and
a small album gently drawn from the neighbouring basket. She opened the
book and read; they were lines of Edward O'Connor's which she drank
into her heart; they were the last he had written, which her brother
had heard him sing and had brought her

THE SNOW

I

An old man sadly said,
"Where's the snow
That fell the year that's fled?--
Where's the snow?"
As fruitless were the task
Of many a jo