The Story of Bawn

I remember at Aghadoe Abbey with my grandfathe

five. There was my Uncle Luke, a

orridors in winter, and in the darkness of the underground passage, in su

st he should despise me and be dissatisfied with me, longing for a boy's company. I would do all he did, and

ded me live bait to put upon the hook I t

thing. There was instead the dawn of a new feeling. My cousin's face wore such an expression as I had never seen in it befo

strange expression, and he

fatigues I had endured cheerfully during our early years. Indeed, I often wonder now at the things I did for him

grandfather and gran

ary. The book was Thackeray's "Henry Esmond," and I was so lost in the romance and tenderness of it-I was at that chapter w

beat against the leaded window. I could see the flowers through an open pane, and smell their delig

fire, within the hooded settle that made the fireside like a little ro

how she sways in walking like a poplar tree? She has my complexion before it ran in streaks, and my hair before it faded, and my eyes before they were dim. S

ng by the ballad-singers. Was it possible that my looks could be like hers? I had not thought about them hithert

have your share of beauty. As for your spoilt roses I do not see them, nor the dimmed eyes, nor t

r said; and I could picture to myself the

him, a fair, full-lipped, smiling and merry face, with dark brown hair which would have curled if it were permitted. His comeliness survived even the hideous

b upon his head, and I remember that it seemed very

x years of age when my Uncle Luke

of Aghadoe, and I noticed things as an over-wise ch

hink if these things had been I should have known. But there was a period of trouble in wh

dfather stern and sad, and my grandmother with

st with his cronies, and drank his French claret, and rode to hounds, as he had been used; and my grandmother played on the harp to him of evenings when we wer