Irish Jesuit Province

On the FellAuthor(s): John AtkinsonSource: The Irish Monthly, Vol. 16, No. 182 (Aug., 1888), p. 498Published by: Irish Jesuit ProvinceStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/20497780 .

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498 The Irish Mfonthly.

" And so we shall. Happily, please God, it won't be long till wo are with them; but we must see Mahon and Minnie settled first."

" Mr. Gower seems to think highly of Mahon," said tho Colonel. 4 Tie says he is wonderfutlly clever; thlat t-here is little doubt about

his beinig a success." I What will he be af ter all but aTn attorney, my dlear ? . 'Tis a

a narrow fieldl for a man's display of talent. I never liked the profes sion, not but Gower is an honest ftallvow, a very honest fellow; but I nevor cared for attorneys, except for hiim."

Poor old gentleman, he had some reason for his instinctive disrelisl of them, for a considerable portion of his debts and difficulties were occasionie(d by law and(i law costs. They continued talking until he fell asleop, andl then Letty lay uipon the sofa as usual; but not as

usual brooding over the bitter past, but thinking how she could naLke her father's life lhappier, and her own soul stronger, to carry tho cross that slie now took willingly from the hand of God. Wienl he awoke, slie hadl thie fire burnint' bri ghtlystill, and a cu p of coffee ready for him.

"Thanik you, my dear," he said, " youa think of everything. It is nlot your fault if I be not comifortable."

Shie lay awalke long- that night, arni wished thee day was conic that she might find a a ouitlet for lher awakened mind in action.

As was naturdl to one of her impulsive teimiperament, she was e,ager to begin the inew life she lhad planned tor herself, with an ardeut faitlh that her efforts would work wonders, and exaggerating her powers of conquering the old despondeney.

(To bw conluiwdet.)

ON THE FELL.

VAR God, how potent is the magic spell Of silent nature, when the drooping, day Shines on the ocean margin far away,

.\ml I stald(l hel-re llpOIn the lonely Fcll

Not lonely, though no spoken word may tell T'lhe peaceful prayers Thou biddest nie to pray Anlidst these pines, as in cathedral gray,

With whispering breezes for the calling, hell.

Ah Tme, if hence my spirit might depart! Ali me, sweet Lord, that I might feel T'hy airms

Abotut my neck, and look Thiee in the face, And lav ray weary hea(l against Thyl heart,

No more to toil amidst this life's alarms, But know that Thou hadst crowned me from the race!

JOHN ATKINSON.

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