The Collegians | Page 4

loved her not as well, he knew and valued her
character still better than her father.
Father Edward however was appointed to a parish, and Eily lost her
instructor. It was for her a severe loss, and most severe in reality when
its effect upon her own spirits began to wear away. For some months
after his departure, she continued to lead the same retired and
unobtrusive life, and no eye, save that of a consummate observer, could
detect the slightest alteration in her sentiments, the least increase of
toleration for the world and worldly amusements. That change however
had been silently effected in her heart. She was now a woman-a lovely,
intelligent, full grown woman-and circumstances obliged her to take a
part in the little social circle which moved around her. Her spirits were
naturally light, and, though long repressed, became readily assimilated
to the buoyant tone of the society in which she happened to be placed.
Her father, who, with a father's venial vanity, was fond of showing his
beautiful child among his neighbours, took her with him one evening to
Owen's garden, at a time when it was unusually gay and crowded, and
from that evening might be dated the commencement of a decided and

visible change in the lovely Eily's character.
As gradual as the approach of a spring morning, was the change from
grave to gay in the costume of this flower of the suburbs. It dawned at
first in a handsome bow-knot upon her headdress, and ended in the full
noontide splendour of flowered muslins, silks, and sashes. It was like
the opening of the rose-bud, which gathers around it the winged wooers
of the summer meadow. "Lads, as brisk as bees," came thronging in her
train, with proffers of "honourable love and rites of marriage;" and
even among the youths of a higher rank, whom the wild levity of Irish
blood and high spirits, sent to mingle in the festivities of Owen's garden,
a jealousy prevailed respecting the favour of the handsome
rope-maker's daughter. It was no wonder that attentions paid by
individuals so much superior to her ordinary admirers, should render
Eily indifferent to the sighs of those plebeian suitors. Dunat O'Leary
the hair-cutter, or Foxy Dunat, as he was named in allusion to his red
head, was cut to the heart by her utter coldness. Myles Murphy,
likewise, a good natured farmer from Killarney, who travelled through
the country selling Kerry ponies, and claiming relationship with every
one he met, claimed kindred in vain with Eily, for his claim was not
allowed. Lowry Looby too, the servant of Mr. Daly, a wealthy
middleman who lived in the neighbourhood, was suspected by many to
entertain delusive hopes of Eily O'Connor's favour-but this report was
improbable enough, for Lowry could not but know that he was a very
ugly man; and if he were as beautiful as Narcissus, Mihil O'Connor
would still have shut the door in his face for being as poor as Timon.
So that though there was no lack of admirers, the lovely Eily, like many
celebrated beauties in a higher rank, ran, after all, a fair chance of
becoming what Lady Mary Montague has elegantly termed "a lay nun."
Even so a bookworm, who will pore over a single volume from
morning till night, if turned loose into a library, wanders from shelf to
shelf, bewildered amid a host of temptations, and unable to make any
election until he is surprised by twilight, and chagrined to find, that
with so much happiness within his grasp, he has spent, nevertheless, an
unprofitable day.
But accident saved Eily from a destiny so deeply dreaded and so often

lamented as that above alluded to,-a condition which people generally
agree to look upon as one of utter desolation, and which,
notwithstanding, is frequently a state of greater happiness than its
opposite. On the even of the seventeenth of March, a day distinguished
in the rope-maker's household, not only as the festival of the national
Saint, but as the birth-day of the young mistress of the establishment;
on this evening, Eily and her father were enjoying their customary
relaxation at Owen's garden. The jolly proprietor was seated as usual,
with his rope-twisting friend, under the yellow osier, while Myles
Murphy, who had brought a number of his wild ponies to be disposed
of at the neighbouring fairs, had taken his place at the end of the table,
and was endeavouring to insinuate a distant relationship between the
Owens of Kilteery, connections of the person whom he addressed, and
the Murphys of Knockfodhra, connections of his own. A party of
young men were playing fives at a ball alley, on the other side of the
green; and another, more numerous, and graced with many female
figures, were