AN OLD MAN'S STORY. It is now something more than fifty years since I was an undergraduate of Trinity College. I know not why it is that I look back with peculiar fondness to the days that I passed under the fostering wing of Alma Mater, and in the retrospect of three score years and ten, my mind pauses with peculiar regret on the time during which I shared in the frolics, the fun, the studies, and some of the honours, too, that attend a College life. Excuse, gentle reader, an old man's vanity for mentioning the honours, but I could not help just telling you that I was a premium man, and if you will at any time come and pay me a visit in my little study, where I can assure you of a welcome, you will see the little oak bracket, with a neat glass door hung up against the wall, and half a dozen gilded volumes religiously preserved as the memento of my youthful proficiency; the bracket was made by my only brother, who went to sea just as I had taken my degree, and having a very mechanical turn, left this specimen of his handy work as a keepsake to me, and my mother insisted that my College Premiums should be placed in it, and that it should be hung up in the parlour in full view of every visitor, to show off the talents of her two sons. I have never since turned it from its use. My mother has long since paid the debt of nature, and my brother, poor fellow, was shot in the battle of Trafalgar, and so I keep the little book-case and its contents as a memento of old times, and now, as I sit in my own chair, which I have placed so as to have a full view of them: the tears come into my old eyes when I let my mind follow up the associations they excite; but I will not write much if I weep; so, reader, if you will just wait until I wipe my spectacles that are dimmed by the tears that have fallen involuntarily, I will turn my eyes away from the bracket, and will give you an account of what occurred to myself when I was young. An old man has no imagination to draw on, and I wish, just for " auld lang syne," to write something for the Uni versity Magazine; politics I don't trouble myself much with, though I knew enough at the last election to make me give an honest Protestant vote for Mr. Shaw and Mr. Lefroy,) and as to general literature, why I know nothing of it unless from the literary annuals, and God knows, to judge from that specimen, I have no loss in not increasing my acquaintance, so as I must have a paper in the Magazine I must take the only romantic adventure of my life, and if I can just put down upon paper what I saw and heard, without either addition or subtraction, I may make out a story as good as most of those I see in Magazines; at least I will set my reader's sagacity at work, and he will wonder at the whole thing as much as I do myself, that is, if he be possessed of much curiosity, or if he be given to the solving of mysteries, and have a desire for finding out hidden things. It was a lovely evening in the May of the year 17, I had strolled out after my tutor's evening lecture, to enjoy the pleasures of a solitary walk and wandered out of the smoke and noise of the city, to inhale the fresh sea breeze along the shore at Clontarf. I was insensibly led on to prolong my excursion until I found myself at the distance of about three miles from College. I was heated by my walk, and seating myself upon a rock, I amused myself by watching the little waves breaking at my feet, and dashing up the shells and pebbles upon the strand. The last rays of the setting sun were throwing their gold and purple tints upon the hills of Killiney and Howth, and there was a stillness in the air, broken only by the murmuring plash of the waves upon the shores, or the song of the curlew or sea-mew, as they skimmed the edge of the water. I leaned my head upon my hand, and looked across the blue expanse that was spread out before me-I felt something of the poetry of nature in the enchantment of the hour, and taking out my pocket-book and pencil, I attempted to embody my feelings in ver ses-but alas, I could only get as far as the first rhyme-I could not for the life of me make a second, and after having scribbled over an entire page of my pocket-book with λ Φλοίσβοιο θαλασσης and λεύσσων επι οινοπα TOYTOV. I gave up the vain attempt, believing that in these two simple phrases of my favourite bard, there was more genuine poetry than I could infuse into a thousand couplets. But my meditations were soon interrupted in a way that I confess was not very disagreeable. The sound of a light step upon the sand near me attracted my attention, and upon looking up I beheld a lovely female hurriedly passing along. She was alone-as I was partly concealed by the rock behind which I sat, she did not perceive me until she was close to me, and I had a full view of her countenance. Light flaxen ringlets hung upon her neck, and the blue of her eyes was like the softest tint of the sky. She blushed upon perceiving me, but immediately turned away her head and quickened her step-I rose and almost instinctively followed her. I could not tell why; but she was going my way, and the closing shades of evening reminded me it was time to return home. As she walked before me I gazed in admiration on her sylph-like form-and certainly she equalled all of female loveliness that my dreams of beauty ever had pourtrayed. I felt from the first instant I had seen her, sensations such as I had never known before, and such as I could neither account for or define; and I was disappointed and vexed when, after a short time, she turned off the road, and went into a cottage which appeared to be her home. I stood for some minutes gazing after her, and then with a sigh left the place, and walked back to College. Now, reader, I said that mine was a romantic adventure, and to be sure there was nothing very romantic in all this: nothing but what probably has often happened to most young men that they have seen a pretty girl taking her evening walk, felt their heart to beat quicker at the sight of her beauties, followed her home, and then gone away and thought no more of her. This last part of the story is not true, however, in my case-for some days after I could think of nothing else I would take up my books, but my mind wandered back to the lovely stranger. Wherever I went I felt as if I expected to meet her-even at church the next Sunday, my eyes wandered about as if in search of her, and often was my pulse fluttered by imagining that I saw her. In short, I was in love for the first and last time of my life.Some strange impression rested on my soul that she was made for me. It was perhaps a madness; but if all the feelings of our hearts, and actions of our lives, that are tinged with insanity were removed, how small would be the sum of the remainder. Philosophers, I am told, say madness is but a thing of degree-perhaps, philosophers for once are right; and I must admit it was a higher degree of it to feel thus, for one whom I had seen but for a few minutes, and of whose name and character I was ignorant. But there was a something in the single glance she gave towards me that spoke a language of its own. To my heart it told that her destiny and mine were linked together. Is there no other way for spirits to hold communication with spirits than through the dull and shackling medium of verbal intercourse. If I was mad, my madness was the reasoning of the heart. It will be believed that I frequently made Clontarf the direction of my excursions; and it so happened that I never went without meeting her some times alone, generally with an elderly lady, whom I concluded to be her mother, and whenever we met there was an agitation in her manner which convinced me that there was a something of reciprocity in our feelings, but yet I dared not to attempt an expression of my sentiments. I was too much awed by the dignity of purity with which she was invested, in my mind, to presume to offend her delicacy by a rude obtrusion on her notice; and thus I loved-I longed to pour into her ear the avowal of my soul. She, too, as I afterwards discovered, sympathized with my desires; and yet we metwe parted without even a sign of recognition being interchanged. We guessed-we knew each other's feelings, and yet were silent in each other's presence, bound down by the fictitious trammels which society imposed. Accident, at length, brought us together. One evening I watched her in one of her solitary walks, and followed her as if bound by some spell. A crowd of drunken people were returning from a funeral, and their riotous conduct showed that they were not likely to treat an unprotected female with much respect. She was evidently alarmed -I advanced and offered her my protection. She leaned upon my arm, and I accompanied her home. We found her mother walking in the little garden in front of the cottage. Having paid my respects to the old lady, I was about to withdraw, when she invited me to take tea with them. I readily acceded to her invitation, and scarcely could I believe that I was not in a delightful dream, when I found myself seated beside that being who had so long been the phantom of my waking and my sleeping thoughts. claration of my love. She received it as intelligence which was not new to her-she had long since discovered it; but she calmly yet resolutely_rejected the proffer of my affections. I pressed my suit with all the vehemence of love. She burst into tears-she told me to banish her from my thoughts-that her hand never could be mine; and adjuring me solemnly, as I loved her, never more to ask from her a return of more than friendship. I could not understand this-she denied not that she loved me, and even if she had, her faultering tongue and the gaze of affection in which her whole soul seemed, as it were, to hang upon my looks, would have belied her words; and yet she told me that she could not, she dare not, bestow on me her hand. I I soon became a constant visitor at asked her why-but she would not anthe cottage-I was a favourite with swer; and the look of agony that her the mother-with the daughter I flat- countenance assumed, the wildness of tered myself I was more. Those were her glaring eyes, and the throbbing days of entrancement such as I have that seemed almost to burst the swelnever known since on earth-but, alas! ling veins of her forehead prevented they have passed away. I imagined I me ever again repeating the question. had found a companion for life, and now I am a solitary old man, and I have performed life's weary pilgrimage alone, and when in a few short years at most, I shall have reached its close, I do not think there will be one to shed a tear upon my grave, unless, perhaps, my old housekeeper and even her grief will, I think, be lessened by what I have left her in my will. But I must go on with my story-and first, my reader will, perhaps, wish to know the name of this lady whom I have told them of. Her Christian name was Eliza, but as to her surname I cannot satisfy their curiosity. Some of her family are still residing in the neighbourhood of the Cove of Cork, and I would not wish to hurt their feelings by reviving the recollection of circumstances, which long since have been forgotten; and there is, I believe, but one person living who will recognize this narrative; and should these pages meet her eye, she will forgive me if I bring back the remembrance of what may give her pain, while at the same time, she will appreciate the motives which induce me to make no allusion to the scenes in which she herself took a part. Weeks passed on, and my passion acquired intensity by time. I soon ventured to make to Eliza an open de Reader, you shall know all, or almost all, that I know-every thing, indeed, that can throw light upon a matter which to me is still a mystery. Through the intervention of one to whom I have already alluded, I learned something of Eliza's previous history. She had been some years before betrothed to a gentleman whose name I did not then know; but, for causes which remained secret, the match was broken off without any sufficient reason being given on either side, but that it was done with their mutual consent. She looked pale and dejected for a time, but soon recovered her usual health and spirits. This much I was informed by a near relative of her's, who gave me every encouragement in my addresses; but there still was a something untold, which she knew herself rather by conjecture than certainty; and this mysterious secret I never could discover. Before I bring my narration to a conclusion, my readers will probably have formed a guess, how true or not I cannot pretend to say. I can only state the facts from which I have formed my own. Were I prone to superstition the solution would be easy. One day I had walked out from College to her abode. There was at one side of the cottage a little conservatory which opened on the garden, arranged by Eliza's judicious taste, and in this delightful retreat she and I had been in the habit of spending hours together reading from the selected volumes which lay scattered on a table in the centre. I cannot tell why it was that, instead of going into the house by the front door I came to the entrance of the conservatory. The door was open, and Eliza was reading inside, but whatever was the subject of her studies it engaged her attention so earnestly that she did not perceive my approach. Her eye was lit up with a fire whose brilliancy startled me, and her whole features wore a most peculiar expression -of deep, intense, and perhaps painful thought. The volume lay open upon her knee; it was large, and at the head of each page there were illuminated letters. I felt very curious to discover what engaged her so deeply. I went softly up to her; she turned a page, and I saw on the other side a number of curious figures resembling hieroglyphics, but which struck me as presenting an appearance the most singular I had ever seen. "How long," said I, "Eliza, have you devoted your self to the study of hieroglyphics?" She started from her reverie at the sound of my voice, and hastily closing the volume screamed with terror-the blood left her countenance-her lips became of an ashy hue. She stared at me for a few seconds, then with another wild and piercing scream, sunk senseless on the floor. Her mother and sister, for she had a sister some years younger than herself -rushed into the apartment-they found her in my arms. I bore her to the open door, and, after some time, she slowly recovered. Her sister attempted to disengage the volume from her hand, but she held it with a tenacious grasp; and as soon as she had recovered strength, she flew from our inquiries, and begging to be left alone, she shut herself up in her own room. We were all unhappy, and watched in alarm least a return of the fainting fit might surprise her when alone; but in a few minutes she returned to us pale but calm -I asked no questions, her eye never met mine, she appeared to dread encountering my glance. I shortly took my leave, and returned to my apartments perplexed and grieved. I do not see why I should disguise the fact -the volume I had seen in her hand I believed to be a book upon magic.— I had seen volumes exactly its counterpart in the library of the College, which, I was told, were on magic; but then why her alarm at my appearance? I laughed at magic: I knew it was nothing but juggling then why her terror on my discovering her study? The whole scene was unaccountable-what followed was still more so. That night I sat up late, meditating on the events of the day. The college clock, with its deep-toned strokes, had just tolled twelve; the fire was expiring in my grate, and I had just raked up the dying embers and drawn my chair closer to the fire, when a loud knock came to the door. I rose and opened it; a man entered closely muffled in a cloak, and without saying a word, threw off his cloak and exposed to my view features strongly marked, most probably by crime-he had a dagger suspended from his belt. I was alarmed, and moved towards the fireplace, as the poker was the only implement of defence that was at handHe advanced into the middle of the room-I cannot exactly remember what followed; but I have an indistinct recollection of his standing opposite to me and grinning, and the candles burning blue; but this fancy was most probably caused by fright, for I have no recollection at all of his departure; but I found myself shortly after reading a document which he had left upon the table-and, gracious heavens ! its contents were still more startling: it was a solemn charge to me never again to speak to Eliza! It had no signature; but the writer told me that she was another's by ties which neither heaven nor hell could break. I trembled as I read. I paced the narrow limits of my chamber. I read the words again and again, almost distrusting the evidence of my senses. I threw myself at length upon my bed, and sunk into a profound but unrefreshing sleep and what a recollection I had of the whole transaction in the morning! I would have believed that I had fallen asleep over the fire, and that it was all a dream; but then the document remained as evidence of the reality of the scene. I examined it anew by the daylight-the hand was cramped, and it had the appearance of being a long time written. It might, perhaps, be a mere trick of some of my fellow-stu dents, who had discovered my intimacy with Eliza, and wished to enjoy a laugh at my expense. I easily persuaded myself of this, particularly as at the time at which this mysterious visit was paid, no person could have gone out of college. Well pleased with this explanation, I grew ashamed of my weakness the preceding night, and determined to think no more of my nocturnal visitor, whether he were a devil or a college-man, but pay my visit, which latterly had become a daily one, at the cottage. But, alas, this visit was destined to encrease still further my consternation. When I arrived at the well-known'spot I found all the windows with the shutters closed. With a beating heart I knocked at the door; it was opened by a stranger, who told me that the family had gone away not to return, and answered my enquiries as to the place of their abode by slapping the door in my face. And thus had vanished all my hopes and dreams of future happiness. They were gone like the morning mists, and I knew not why. All my earthly anticipations were laid prostrate, and yet I could not see the hand that struck the cruel blow. In a state of mind bordering on distraction I spent the next three weeks in endeavouring to discover some clue by which I might unravel this mystery, but all my efforts were unavailing the cottage continued shut up, and apparently uninhabited-whether it really was so or not, I could not tell. I knocked several times at the door, but never received an answer, and I left the metropolis at the commencement of the long vacation, satisfied that whatever was the place of Eliza's concealment, she was at least far away from Clontarf. I had been accustomed frequently to spend my vacations with an uncle in the town of Youghal, and this summer I had promised to pay my southern relatives a visit. It was during the two months that I spent in Youghal, that an incident occurred, which to me has ever been perfectly unaccountable. 1 am now old enough to have almost forgotten the impressions of my youth, and even the scenes of my first love might by this time have passed from my memory, but the events which I am endeavouring to relate, I never can forget, and though the occurrences VOL. I. of yesterday are but indistinctly recorded in my failing memory, fifty years have taken nothing from the vividness with which every thing connected with Eliza, is present to my mind. The town of Youghal is situated at the mouth of the Blackwater, the only mode of passing to the other side was by a ferry-boat which plyed constantly, and conveyed passengers across at a moderate charge; at times, however, the passage was very rough, particularly during the prevalence of a northwesterly wind, which had full command of the entrance of the bay, and if a strong ebb tide was met by a southwester, the surf ran so high as to render the ferry unsafe. It was about nine o'clock on Sunday evening, in the end of August, that I arrived at the Waterford side of the ferry, after having passed the day with a clergyman who lived about six miles in the interior. The evening had turned out wet, and the rain was accompanied by a fresh gale, which had been gradually increasing as I rode along, and by the time I reached the water's side, it was blowing pretty hard. The boats were tossing very much, and the white waves could be seen raising their foamy crests distinctly through the gathering gloom of the evening. I hailed the ferrymen but was not a little annoyed at being told, that to pass over was impossible. What was I to do? To return to my friend's house at such an hour of the night was almost out of the question. I enquired if there was any accommodation near, the ferryman told me that I might sit by his fire until morning, but that as for the animal, he had no place to put her.-There was a gentleman's house at a little distance who would give me a hearty welcome, and lodging for the night. "But then" added my informant in a lower tone, "he may well be glad to see the face of a traveller, for in troth it's not many that would like to go to him." Why so," enquired I. Why," replied he,"there's more than what's good going on there, if he is'nt greatly belied,"— "What do you mean?" said I impatiently. Why, they say he has things about him that a'nt just of the right sort," he answered with an air of mystery,-"though troth it's myself that shouldn't speak agin him, for he's a mighty nice gintleman, and very cha 66 66 66 4 R |