re to the beautiful solitude of the still glen to
brood over the image of her he loves, and who, probably, sits under the
very tree where his love was avowed and returned; he, we say, exalted
with the fulness of his happiness, feels his heart go abroad in gladness
upon the delighted objects that surround him, for everything that
he looks upon is as a friend; his happy heart expands over the whole
landscape; his eye glances to the sky; he thinks of the Almighty
Being above him, and though without any capacity to analyze his own
feelings--love--the love of some humble, plain but modest girl--kindles
by degrees into the sanctity and rapture of religion.

Let not our readers of rank, then, if any such may honor our pages with
a perusal, be at all surprised at the expression of Connor O'Donovan
when, under the ecstatic power of a love so pure and artless as that
which bound his heart and Una's together, he exclaimed, as he did,
"Oh! I could pray to God this moment with a purer heart than I ever had
before!" Such a state of feeling among the people is neither rare nor
anomalous; for, however, the great ones and the wise ones of the world
may be startled at our assertion, we beg to assure them that love and
religion are more nearly related to each other than those, who have
never felt either in its truth and purity, can imagine.

As Connor performed his journey home, the thunder tempest passed
fearfully through the sky; and, though the darkness was deep and
unbroken by anything but the red flashes of lightning, yet, so strongly
absorbed was his heart by the scene we have just related, that he
arrived at his father's house scarcely conscious of the roar of elements
which surrounded him.

The family had retired to bed when he entered, with the exception of his
parents, who, having felt uneasy at his disappearance, were anxiously
awaiting his return, and entering into fruitless conjectures concerning
the cause of an absence so unusual.

"What," said the alarmed mother, "what in the wide world could keep him
so long out, and on sich a tempest as is in it? God protect my boy
from all harm an' danger, this fearful night! Oh, Fardorougha, what 'ud
become of us if anything happened him? As for me--my heart's wrapped up
in him; wid--out our darlin' it 'ud break, break, Fardorougha."

"Hut; he's gone to some neighbor's an' can't come out till the storm is
over; he'll soon be here now that the thunder an' lightnin's past."

"But di