THE LITTLE CHAPEL AT MONAMULLIN.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XII, Issue 9, 20 June 1884, Page 7

THE LITTLE CHAPEL AT MONAMULLIN.

BY NUGENT BOBINSON.

[From "Abba's Dream and other Stories *': Catholic Publication Society. > " This will never do," said Mr. Brown, gazing ruefully at the several works of art. " What a splendid chance for me ! I shall paint as the old masters did, under direct inspiration. "What a sublime sensation, when my picture shall have been completed, to witness the reverential admiration of the poor devout people here 1 I shall be regarded as a benefactor. Fancy my beiDg a benefactor to anybody or anything ! Heigh-ho !" he sighed, '• what a glorious little Gothic church, a prayer in stone, a portion of the money I so murderously squandered would have built here I—that1 — that four thousand I flung last March into the mire in Paris. Faugh 1" And, dragged back over the waves of Time, he sat down upon one of the wooden benches, overwhelmed by the rush of his own thoughts. Of the length of time he remained thus absorbed, he made no count. The dead leaves of the misspent past rustled drearily around his heart, •weighing him down with a load of inexpressible sadness— a sadness almost amounting to anguish — and two hours had come and gone ere his reverie was broken k Happening to raise his eyes towards the altar, be was startled by perceiving a female form kneeling at the railings, lithe, svelte, and attired in costly and fashionable raiment. As he gazed, the young girl finished her prayers, and, with a deep, reverential' inclination in front of the altar, swept past him with that graceful undulatory motion which which would seem to be the birthright of the daughters of sunny Spiin. She ww tall, elegantly formed, and possessed that air of high breeding, which makes itself felt as a perfume. Her bright chestnut hair was brushed tightly back from an oval face and hung in massive plaits at the back of her head. Her eyes were soft brown, her complexion milk-white. " What a vision, and in this place, too ! This is the best of the Catholic religion. The churches are always open, inviting one to come in and pray. I wonder who she can be ? some tourist. Pshaw! your tourist doesn't trouble this quaver of the globe. To see, to be seen, to dress, and wrangle over tb£/-4>ills at palatial hotels, means touring nowadays. Some county lady over to do a little shopping ; but there are no shops, except that miserable little box opposite, and they apparently sell nothing there but marbles, tobacco-pipes, kites, and corduroy. Ah I I have it ; some inlander coming for a plunge in the Atlantic. I suppose I shall meet her pony phaeton as I pass up through the village. I seriously hope I shall. There is something very fetching about her, and it purifies a fellow to see a girl at prayer." Such were the cogitations of Mr. Brown as he emerged from the dingy little chapel. Brown was not a Catholic. He had been educated at Eton, and, although intended for Cambridge, his guardian took him to Japin when he should have been cramming for his degree. Of the religion as by law established in England, he paid but little attention to the forms, and merely went to church duiiog the season to hear some " swell " preacher, or because Lady Clara Vere de Vere gave him a rendezvous. But, with all his faults and follies, he was never irreverent, and his respect for the things that bebelonged unto God was ever honest, open, and sincere. He was doomed to be disappointed. No pony phaeton disturbed the stillness of the village street. The curd, which had patiently waited for him while he remained in the church, received him with noiseless, but cheery tail- wagging as he came out, and marched at his heels as though he had been their lord and master. The children rushed from cabins and dropped their quaint little curtsies, 'lhe cripples doff-jd their caps, the matrons gazed at him and gossiped ; and, although he lingered to say a few words to a passing fisherman, and somewhat eagerly scanned the surrounding country, no sign could he obtain of the fair young girl -who had flashed upon him like a vision " of the night." *• I shall never see her again," he thought ; " and yet I could draw that face. Such a mouth ! such contour ! I must ask the padre if he knows her, though that is scarcely probable : and yet she is one of his floek — at least, she is a Catholic, so there is some hope," He returned to the cottage, and encountered Father Maurice in the garden. " I did not like to disturb you at your devotions, Mr. Brown," he said, " but I was only going to give you five minutes longer, as the salmon grill will be ready by that time." " How did you ascertain* I was in the church ? " asked Brown, entering the hall and hangiog up his hat. " A beautiful young lady told me." " I saw her ; who is she ? exclaimed the artist, eagerly. " I shall present you to her. Here she is, Mr. Brown, Miss Julia Jyvecote." Father Maurice sped upon his journey to Moynalty Cast!e. The dinner hour was eight o'clock, but he had delayed so long with his guest that it took the little pony her " level best " to do the seven miles within the necessary time. "Ay we wor wanst beya'nt the MouladbßTb berrin' groun' 1 wudn't care a thraneen ; but sorra a step the little pony'll pass it after dark," observed Muity Mullingan, bestowing a "liberal supply of whip upon the astonished nag, whcfe habit it was to proceed upon hsr travels at her own sweet will, innocent of lash, spur, or admonition. •'Tut, tut 1 Nonsense, Murty 1 Push on." " It's truth I'm tellin' yer riverince. We're at it. See that, now— curse of Crummell on her I she won't put wan foot afore the other," adding in a whisper full of consternation : " Mebbe she sees ould Casey, that was berried a Munda. He was a terrible naygur " " Jump down and take her head " said the priest. "Be the powers 1 I'il have to carry her, ay we want to raich the castle to-night. Father Maurice dismounted, as did Murty, and, by coaxing and

blandishment o£ every description, endeavoured to induce the pony to proceed ; but the animal, with its ears cocked, and trembling ia every limb, refused to budge an inch. " Och, wirra, wirra I we're bet entirely. It's Mrs. Delaney he sees, that died ay the horrors this day mouth," growled Mulligan. " Silence, you jackass I " cried Father Maurice, " and help me to blindfold the pony." This ruse eventually succeeded, and they spun merrily along the road, the terrified animal clattering onward at racing speed. " This pace is dangerous Murty," said the priest. " Sorra a lie in it, yer riverince." " Pull in." " I can't hould her. She's me hands cut aff, bad ces* to her ! " " Is the road straight ? " " Barrin' a few turns, it's straight enough, sir." « The words had hardly escaped his lips when the wheel attached to the side of the car upon which the priest was sitting came into contact with a pile of stones, the car was tilted upward and over, Father Maurice shot into a thorn hedge, and Murty Mulligan landed up to his neck in a ditch full of foul and muddy water, while the pony, suddenly freed from its load, and after biting" the dust, quietly turned round to gaze at the havoc it had made. " Axe ye kilt, yer riverince ? For I'm murdhered intirely, an' me illi?ant Sunda' snuit ruined cempletely. Och, wirra, wirra 1 how can I face the castle wud the duds consaled in mud ! How can I uphould Monatnullin, an' me worse nor a scarecrow ? Glory be to God 1 we're safe anyhow, an 1 no bones bruck. Oh. ye varmint 1 " shaking his fist at the unnoncious cause of this disaster, '' it's meself that'll sarve ye out for this. Won't I wallop ye, ye murdherin' thief, whin I catch a hould of ye 1 " '• Hold your nonsense, Murty. How near are we to the castle 1 " " Sorra a know I know yer riverence ; the knowledgeableness i 9 shuk out o' me intirely." " The shafts aie broken," 11 Ay course th' are." " Here, help me to shove the car over to the ditch and pile the cushions under this hedge, God be praised ! neither of us is even scratched." A carriage with blazing lamps came along. " Hi ! hi Ihi 1 " roared Murty, " we're wracked here. Lind us a hand ! We're desthroyed be a villian ay a pony that seen a ghost, an' we goin' to dine at Moynalty Castle." The carriage belonged to Mr. Bodkin, the senior member for the county, who was only too delighted to act the Good Simaritan ; and as he, with his wife and daughter, was bound for the castle, which still lay two miles distant, the meeting proved in every respect a fortunate one. 'Jhe worthy priest was. received by his host and hostess with the most flattering courtesy, and by Miss Julia Jyvecote as though he forme 1 part and parcel of her personal property. He took Mrs. Jyvecote into dinner, and said grace both before and after dinner. Father Maurice was positively startled with the splendor and exquisite taste of the surroundings. The room in which they dined — not the dinuer-room, -but a deligtful little snuggery, where the anecdote was the property of the table, and the mot did riot require to be handed from plate to plate like an entree— was richly decorated ia the Pompsiian style, with walls of a pale gray, while the hangings we of a sort of amber relieved by red brown. The dinner was simply perfect, the entourages in the shape of cut glaas, flowers and fruitveritable p>ems— while the quiet simplicity and easy elegance lent an indescribable charm which fell upon the simple priest like a potent spell. Every effort that good breeding combined with generous hospitality could make was called into requisition in order to render the timid, blushing clergyman perfectly at home ; and ao happily did tbisacjiioi on the part of his entertainers Bucceed that before the lapse of a few moments he felt as though he had lived among' them for yeai-p. Mrs. Jyvecote promised to send him flowers for the altar, and Julia to work an aftar-cloth for him. " I must go over and pay you a visit, Father," she said. "I am one of your parishioners, although Igo to Mass at Thonolag'ueera. 1 ' " I wish you would, my dear child ; but I have no inducements to offer you, although at present perhaps I have." And he narrated the arrival of the guest to whom Mrs. Clancy was playing the role of eliatelaine during his absence. "Why, this is quite a romance, Father Maurice. I must sea your artiht eoute gui conte, and shall drive over next week." But fate determine! that she should drive over the next day. When, upon the following morning, Father Maurice came to examine the condition of his pony, he found both the knees barkei and the luckless animal unfit to travel. " We couldn't walk her home, Murty, could we ?" he asked of his factotum. " Och, the poor crayture couldn't stir a step without tears comia' to her eyes. Me heart is bleed in 1 for her this minnit," replied the wily Mulligan, sagaciously perceiving that co long as the pony lemained at the castle he should abide with her ; and as his reception in the servants' hall had been of the same flattering description as that of his master upstairs, he resolved to continue in such delightful quarters as Ion? as be possibly could. " Poor Rosy 1 ' he cried,- affectionately scratching the pony's forehead, " shure ii's yerself that would dance on yer head for his riverince, ay ye wot able ; but yer bet up, poor little wumman, an 1 it's rest ye want for a cupple o' days, any how." As they jogged along by the sad sea- wave she told him the en« | trancing history of her conversion— of her meeting with Cardinal j Manning at a garden party at Holland House, and of a casual conver- , sation which led to so milch. (To Ye continued.)