CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL
OF
POPULAR
LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART.

THE TWELFTH RIG.

IN SIX CHAPTERS.

CHAPTER I.—THE CHARM SUGGESTED.

In a certain district of Ireland, at the foot of a tallmountain, and well sheltered from the wind, stoodthe comfortable farm-house of Patrick Daly, who,though not much raised above that class, so numerousin Ireland, called small farmers, had by thriftand industry, aided no doubt by good fortune,attained to a position of some consideration, andwas accounted a wealthy man in the neighbourhood.His farm was well stocked and his barnswell filled.

The dwelling was a long low building, substantialand roomy, planted in front with some finetrees, among which the scarlet berries of themountain-ash peeped forth, giving to the placea picturesque as well as comfortable air.

One source of Daly's wealth above others mightperhaps be found in the fact that, beyond adaughter, he had no family. His wife had beendead many years; and this only daughter, nowaged nineteen, ruled all within the house, not exceptingher father. As the farm would be herundivided property, and it was known besidesthat Daly paid occasional visits to a certain bankin the nearest town, she was looked upon as agreat heiress. Be that as it might, she was reckonedthe loveliest girl in that part of the country.

On a mellow October afternoon, Eliza stood inthe garden before her father's house engaged inlopping off branches from the mountain-ash trees.The finest and richest with berries were those sheselected, as if they were destined for some festiveoccasion. The garden still presented a very pleasantappearance, though November was almost athand; but the season had been a particularlymild one, and few signs of winter were yet apparent.

As Eliza stood thus, her head thrown back, thelight straw-hat she wore fallen over her shoulders,and displaying the glossy coils of her raven hair,she made a charming picture. She had placedsome of the crimson berries in her bosom and hair,and they became admirably her rich, sparklingbrunette beauty. Had she arranged them sobewitchingly with any reference to some one whomight chance to pass that way?

'Good-evening, Miss Daly,' said a voice at thegate; but it was the cracked tone of an oldwoman.

Eliza advanced, her

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