going-going. No wonder you stop, Patsy Burke; sure no girl would hold out a finger to you. Going, going, gone. Here you are, Corney, my boy. I bought it special for you in England, and I hope you'll soon have use for it."

A pretty chess table was next put up. "The most convenient table in the world," said Cheap Jack. "Useful and amusing; any one that doesn't know chess, can play fox and geese on it. Who'll give me a bid for this elegant and entertaining table? Thanks, your reverence. Seven and sixpence for this beautiful table, that one would buy for the sake of the plaid pattern."

The bidding went on, and the table was knocked down to Vincent, who afterwards presented it to Nell.

"Here now is a handy article." Cheap Jack was handed up a double-barrelled gun. "Whoever has it will never want a dinner; it will shoot round a corner almost; who'll give me a bid now? Ten shillings. Very good; any advance after ten shillings? ten shillings for a gun that would stop the song of a sky-lark, or nearly smell a hare. Twelve and sixpence. Stir yourselves, boys. Now is the time to show you are able to handle a gun. Fifteen shillings. Very good; hurry on, boys; show us you aren't afraid of smoke or powder. One pound. Bid away, Willie Ryan; and, when you have it, don't be making game of the girls. One pound. Any advance after one pound?

The bidding went on until the gun was handed to the purchaser, who handled it with great pride, putting it to his eye with the air of a connoisseur, and handing it about for the critical inspection of his friends. The Madam made extensive purchases in ware, trays, brushes, and various odds and ends useful in a country house.

Ethna felt weary of it all; bitter thoughts filled her mind. What would Philip Moore say to an evening spent in such rough company, rude joking, boisterous laughter, and the smell of the frieze coats, that were as often wet as dry, permeating the atmosphere?

"You look tired, Ethna," whispered Vincent, "would you like to come home ?"

"It is very tiresome," she answered; "but what matter? You all seem to enjoy it; don't mind about me

"It is my business to mind you," he said, gently. "The noise

is certainly great; shall I tell the Madam we had better go ?"

"Oh, no, you must not."

Sudden remorse for her ill-humour softened Ethna's voice. "I was in a cross mood, that was all; mother wants to get things; and look at Nora's delight! I would not take her away for anything."

"You sacrifice yourself for others, Eth. I will not allow that when you belong to me."

Ethna laughed. "There is not the least tendency to selfimmolation in my nature," she said. "You won't have much to restrain."

Corney O'Brien and Lizzie Lynch walked home along with their neighbours through the cold blue night, and turned up the lane to the school-master's house.

"Will Mr. Vincent be going in early on Monday, Corney?" asked the girl.

"He desired me to be over at ten," said Corney, “the old master doesn't rightly know whether he'll send me to Dublin or not before the wedding; I'd be better pleased he left me as I am, near home. I'm often lonesome enough in Beltard, Lily."

"Tis those at home that feel the lonesome most," answered the girl.

They stopped at the little stile at the end of the house. The young man took the girl's hand.

""Tis empty and lonesome anywhere in the world without you," he said. "Sure 'tis no wonder we miss each other, for we were never parted since we were weeny children learning out of the one book, sitting on the same form; weren't we always fond of one another, my colleen bawn? The day that told me I wasn't your brother only made me your sweetheart, one that will be faithful to you till my dying day. You won't let Mick Murphy, or anyone else get inside me, Lily?"

"No one will ever get inside you," said the girl.

"I may as well give you the ring to put in keep," continued Corney, "with the blessing of God it will make us man and wife when the time comes; and who knows but good times are in store for Ireland? I wish I could put it on you to-morrow, asthore machree, but sure we are young, we have the true heart for one another, and we can wait. Here 'tis in a bit of paper;

give me one kiss for it, light of my heart; sure no woman will ever get one from me but yourself."

The lovers entered the house and gave Mr. Lynch an account of the evening, with minute details of the cost of everything, and who were the purchasers.

(To be continued).

ATTIE O'BRIEN.

GIVEN BACK.

ALL gifts are Thine, dear Lord, and, yielding back

My treasure unto Thee,

I dared not let my breaking heart repine

At what was Thy decree.

All gifts are Thine, and, falling at Thy feet,

I could but trust and pray

The hand which led my child through death's dim path
Might hold me on my way.

I knelt before Thine altar-throne, O Lord,

And met the angels there

Whose tender hands are raised to lift on high
The lowliness of prayer.

And as I knelt, across the trembling dawn
From that far world above,

I heard amid the sound of pulsing wings
One well known word of love.

Oh, then I knew my darling's white-robed soul
Had left the Distant Land,

To join with mine for one sweet hour within
The hollow of Thy Hand.

And when together we had worshipped there,

No more of life afraid,

I left her in that strong abiding clasp

Where righteous souls are laid.

ALICE M. MORGAN.

TH

FRUITS OF THOUGHT.

HINKING for oneself confers the power to express much in few words: how much and how valuable depends on the knowledge, experience and power of thought of the thinker. Every one thinks one way or another. It is inseparable from, identical with the consciousness of intellectual life. It goes on like breathing, or the circulation of the blood, automatically; but it is much more under our control; hence we are responsible to a great extent for what kind of thinking our "hermit spirits" range through. The thinking which constitutes what is called a thinker, is a power acquired by study and observation and reflecting thereon. It may be possessed in a much higher degree by men of vastly less attainments and mental gifts than by others, who with all their knowledge and ability are not much that way given. To be a thinker, therefore, one must have considerable intelligence, knowledge and experience; he need not be very learned, or otherwise specially endowed; but the more intelligent, learned and experienced he is, the greater thinker he will be, when he gives himself to it.

One of its special fruits is, as has been said, that power of condensing and expressing truth and experience of all kinds briefly, luminously, penetratingly. This power is like, though different too from wit. Like wit it delights by surprising us. Surprise is one of the greatest charms of intellectual pleasure. In the case of wit the surprise is caused by the fusion, or union, of ideas, which are in themselves quite different, opposite, conflicting, but wit discovers some aspect, under which they become united. We are amazed, delighted and irresistibly compelled to manifest our delight by laughter. Laughter is caused by the consciousness of contrasts, that get mixed together. Wit is the expression of the mixture. The surprise caused by compressed and luminous thought is not from the fusion of contrasted ideas. There is no doubt consciousness of contrast, the comprehensive thought, its compressed expression, the few piercing words, that express so much knowledge, so much experience, so much truth. But we do not laugh. We nder, we admire, we are filled with surprise, interest, intellectual

pleasure; we are conscious of gaining possession of rare knowledge, of a share of real wisdom better than material treasure, "for knowledge and wisdom excel in this, that they give life to him, who possesses them: " and all this packed into so small a compass.

Another reason why we delight in few words, which vividly formulate comprehensive thought, is, because this linking, fusing, identifying more and more, what seems at first unrelated, simplifying complicated processes of intellectual working, is the perfection of the acquisition of knowledge. It approaches more and more to unimpeded action of the mind, and "unimpeded action" is the causal definition of pleasure. Unification, simplification in the expression of real variety and complex actuality, is what the mind always instinctively tends towards.

Not only does compact and incisive thought delight and stimulate, but it also solves, or helps to solve, puzzles and difficulties of various kinds. Let us take a few examples. Numbers of people are greatly "exercised" by the way historians and writers about history more or less of set purpose, openly and covertly, by insinuation and suppression, attack and strive to damage every way they can the character and authority of the Catholic Church. A great thinker, and authority on such matters (de Maistre), in a line thus states the facts of the case:— "History, for the last three hundred years, has been a conspiracy against the truth." Such words from such a man are an

immense help to ease minds and stimulate inquirers.

The most important truths are often difficult to attain. It is so, above all, with regard to religious truth and cognate subjects. Pithy sayings of deep thinkers on these matters will always be among the great helps to getting at conviction, getting rid of anxious doubts, attaining peace of mind. Mostly the trouble and disquiet are caused by expecting more light, less unevenness and obscurity, than is reasonable, than the nature of things admits. Some one who has experienced the same kind of anxious suffering, who has power of mind and power of speech, briefly and for ever states how the thing is to be considered. Many are inclined to think that real difficulties make necessary doubt. Cardinal Newman says: "A thousand difficulties need not make a single doubt;" and this short line has been a help to great numbers in mastering the truth, that evidence may prove without solving, directly at least, great difficulties. Pascal in his famous Pensées