Arrah-Na-Pogue; Arrah-of-the-Kiss. Or, the Wicklow wedding [A tale. By Henry Llewellyn Williams.] Founded on the same incidents as the celebrated drama by Dion Bourcicault, etc

Front matter

s^s^s^sJ«^s^s^s^s^s^s^s^sjs^Ms^s^s^s^s^s^»»»»»»»»»»»»»»».a.».».».».».»l»»»»».»— i 11 BIWyai [ CompleU mber 48,] ARRAH-jN A-POCRJE ; (ARRA H-0 F-T H E-K I S S.) THE WICKLOW WEDDING FOUNDED ON THE SAME INCIDENTS AS THE CELEBRATED DRAMA, BY DION BOURCICAULT, NOW BEING PLAYED WITH IMMENSE SUCCESS. NEW-YORK : ROBERT M DE WITT. PUBLISHER, NO 33 ROSE STREET. ' De Witt's Twenty-Five Cent Novels. No. i. HARDSCRABBLE. No. 2. THE BEAUTIFUL HALF-BREED No. 3. THE WHITE CHIEF'S BRIDE. No. 4. FRANK RIVERS. No. 5. THE BEAUTIFUL CIGAR GIRL, No. 6. FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK. No. 7. NEW-YORK BY GAS-LIGHT. No. 8. A MAN IN SEARCH OF A WIFE No. 9. THE LIME-KILN MAN. No. 10. THE BANKER'S VICTIM. No. 11. FEMALE DEPRAVITY. No. II. THE FAIR QUAKERESS. Ne. 13. THE MUTINEER. No. 14. THE MODERN OTHELLO. No. 15. THE SOLITARY HUNTER.

No. 16. THE HUNTERS OF THE WEST. No. 17. ROB ROY OF THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS. No. 18. THE DUKE'S MOTTO. No. 19. FORTUNE WILDRED, THE FOUND LING. No. 20. KATE PENROSE. No. 21. JESSE CAMERON. No. 22. R1VINGSTONE. No. 23. THE MOUNTED RIFLEMAN. No. 24. THE BLACK RANGER. No. 25. MARION AND HIS MEN. No. 26. THE PALACE OF INFAMY. No. 27. MASAN1ELL0. No. 28. THE WEDDING DRESS. No. 29. THE THREE STRONG MEN. No. 30. CAMILLE. No. 31. THE CREOLE WsFE. No. 32. ANTOINE. THE DWARF. No. 33. MONTFORT, THE ROUE. No. 34. JULIA BICKNELL. No. 35. JACK CADE. No. 36- THE UNFORTUNATE MAID. Nt>. 37. THE BARONET'S BRIDE. No. 38. THE PLEDGE. No. 39. THE BOTTLE. No. 40. TEMPTATIONS AND TRIALS. No. 41. MAUD, THE MANIAC. No. 42. THE HEIR-AT-LAW. No. 43. THE GAMBLER'S LEAGUE. No. 44. THE HAUNTED CASTLE. No. 45. THE MYSTERIOUS FOUNDLING.

No. 46. THE FLOWER OF THE FOREST. No. 47. THE RIVAL LOVERS. No. 48. ARRAH-na POGUE. No. 49. SHAMUS O'BRIEN. No. 50. WILL TERRILL. No. 51. THE FENIAN CHIEF. No. 52. THE POISONED LETTER. From the above list may be selected books to please and delight any and every reader — no matter what shape and hue his taste may assume. Each book is first-class of itt kind. Whether that kind is a tale of the vast and bounding sea—the dim solitudes of the primeval forest — the haunted ivy-vested tower— the gold and art decorated salons of Parisian fashion — the bumble thatched cot of the Irish peasant— or the battle-fields of the revolution. These books have been most judiciously selected from thousands of similar works. They abound with truthful scenes of real life ; aud where the magic brush of Romance is used, the colors are the strongest and most briliant that Fancy ever mixed upon the palette of Reality.

Chapter I. The Lonely Lake

In the heart of Wicklow is a lonely lake known as Glendalough. Placidly riYre the moonbeams over its silver depths as they bathe in a flood of argent s|> endour the ruins of St. Kevin's Abbey, which stand out in melancholy gran d ur : the link that binds the present to the past, the relic of a bygone age. Dear is the County Wicklow to every patriotic heart ; sweet are its sacri nV is, and sacred the blood thar, its sons have shed in a holy cause. A little better than half a century ago, Ireland was convulsed to her very c -litre. Castlereagh, who, perhaps, in a fit of remorse for his political crimes and I> 'unders. cut his throat, had roused the dormant spirit of all the sons of Erin. Wicklow partook of the general excitement, and its patriotic sons rallied 1 round the green flag. But what chance had they against solid phalanxes of regular troops 1 Beamish M'Coul, a landowner and a true son of the soil, endeavored to oranize an insurrection against the English.

The county was in the hands of the enemy, and, while admitting its folly, he v /as compelled to abandon his attempt. With the deepest regret he ordered his tenantry to lay down their arms, and .ubmit as best they could to the new rule. The consequences of his rash enterprize did not end here, however. The M'Coul was outlawed and compelled to find a refuge where he best mu\&. Sometimes he slept in trees, sometimes in barns, and for short periods of time, some one of his faithful tenantry gave him shelter. His property was confiscated, and a Government agent collected the rents. All this was very trying to him ; but the spark of patriotism was not extin guished. The M'Coul bided his time and waited his opportunity. One night, when his fortunes were at their lowest ebb, he received information that a low, pettifogging lawyer, who was a spy and an informer, would pass by the lonely lake of Glendalough with a large sum of money which he had collected on the M'Coul estate, in his pocket.

Arrah-na-Pogue, ( Arrah-of-the-Kiss) ; 4 solved to intercept the scoundrel and ease him of his ill-gotten plunder, for the collection of which there was little doubt that the Government paid him well. The collector's name was Michael Feeny, and he was universally disliked all through the County Wicklow. The M'Coul left his hiding-place and went to the shore of the lonely lake, accompanied by one or two followers, who were on the look-out to inform him when danger, in the form of the patrol, was nigh. The entire county was in the possession of the English, and all the roads were strongly guarded, so that it was morally impossible for any one to go h:ilf-a-dozen miles without a pass, and those who were unprovided with the magical bit of paper were looked upon as traitors and treated accordingly.

The M'Coul paced the floor with impatient footsteps. " How hard is my fate," he said, soliloquizing. " For no fault of my own am I hunted down like a wild beast. The hated English thirst for my blood, and the scaffold looms in the distance. Is it a crime for a man to love his country and to wish to rid it of a detested thraldom which is altogether foreign to the genius of the people f As he spoke, his scouts entered from a defile, and told him that Michael Feeuy was advancing from Glendalough. The M'Coul pulled up his coat-collar, and slouched his hat over his eyes, so that he might not be recognised by the rent collector, and put himself in a good position for attack. He was dressed in a shabby manner, but his long, white coat, concealed his form, which it thoroughly enveloped. Michael Feeny wore a swallow-tail coat, and tight-fitting black continuations; he was thin and spare, his stature was not large — his dimensions were contemptible, and he would have done excellently well for a scarecrow.

Jle came along in high glee, talking and jabbering to himself, perhaps to keep his courage up, for the passes about Glendalough had a bad name, and Michael Feeny knew that he had an evil reputation ; he had brought more than one man to the foot of the gallows, and there were those near and dear to the dead men who cried out for vengeance, and openly said, " that nothing but the blood of the informer would satisfy them." Michael had good cause for fear. Beamish M'Coul stood in the shadow cast by the rock ; his tall figure was exaggerated by the misty light. He looked like an avenging spirit. The moon cast her palid beams to earth, as if unconscious of the deed of violence that was soon to be committed under her assisting radiance. When Miphael Feeny had advanced to within a few paces of the M'Coul, tha latter stepped forward, and said, in a sepulchral voice — " Halt !"

Michael Feeny brought himself to an abrupt stop. His limbs trembled, and his knees knocked together, while his coward heart pulsed with a violence that threatened to annihilate him. He did not recognise the M'Coul, but thought he was the prey of some lawless depredator, who was about to take advantage of the disturbed state of the country, to commit a highway robbery, which he hoped would not be aggravat ed by personal violence. " Oh ! by tho five crasses, and what would you do wid me ?" he cried, in an agony of terror. " You have just been collecting the M'Coul's rents," replied Beamish, calmly. " Shure and " " Don't interrupt me ! You have a large sum of money in your pocket, which I will thank you instantly to hand over, to me !" " Is it money, misthre robber, dear V " Yes, money ; give it me at once."

"At wanst?" " Without any delay !" Michael Feeny's complexion was never anything to boast of but when he saw that the robber was determined to ease him of the money he carried, he turned the color of a duck egg, and his face became a bad mongrel blue. " Divil a halfpenny," began Michael Feeny. The M'Coul cut him short by producing a pistol, which he held at his head. saying — " Come, no palavering !" " If I have any money it's only a trifle." " You lying thief, I wonder the lie doesn't choke you ; out with the canvas bag. Quick ! or I pull the trigger, and you will be lying at the bottom of the lake with a stone to your heels." " Plaise your honour, it's here ;" said Michael Feeny, producing the bag in which the money was securely tied up. The M'Coul took the bag, examined it, and put it in his pocket.

While he was thus engaged, Feeny endeavoured to get away, saying to him self— " I'm off in three skips of a Scotch Grey. He would not have robbed me if he had not been such a big bosthoon of a giant ; but men of that kidney always overreach themselves. He had no pass, and he will be caught by the patrol before long. Thrath, and I'll give evidence against him, which will be fully ayquil to a conviction." When the M'Coul saw that the informer was stealing away, he cried, « Michael Feeny !" " Saints defend us ! he knows my name," exclaimed Feeny, in astonishment. " Come back." " What is it, captin dear ?" * I want you." " Banath lalth !" (My blessing with you !) said Feeny. " Come baok, I say, or " " Don't shoot, ahagur." * Blood alive ! come back." " I'm coming — I'm coming," cried Michael Feeny, in a doleful voice.

" You have a pass s" " It is a pass your saying V " Yes." " Becoose it isn't right you are at all, at all." " No prevarication." " By the holy saikerments !" Again the pistol was levelled, and so persuasive was its silent argument that Michael Feeny pulled out his pass and handed it to the M'Coul with a terrible sigh of regret, which nearly shook his slender figure to pieces. " Och ! murther — murther," he said, in a plaintive voice : " I shall be killed, and stiff, and stark, and cowld before this time to-morrow." "That would not surprise me in the slightest degree," said the M'Coul, mischievously. " And why not 1" " Because to my certain knowledge, there's more than one blunderbuss waiting for you behind a wall." " Oh ! your honour, don't be spaking that way." " It's true." " Thrue, is it ?

I'm a corpse." "The blunderbusses are on full cock." " Oh ! my blood's water, and my inside's all fiddle-strings." f Away with you !" Arrah-na-Pogue, ( Arrah-oj "-the- Kiss) ; "Captain, darlint." " Well f " May I ask for the loan of that bit of a pistol you have in your hand Vs " Not if I know it. You may take what's inside it, if you're not afraid of having an attack of your old complaint, the falling sickness." " Oh, oh !" cried Michael Feeny, " it's kilt.intirely I am." "Be off!" said the M'Coul, imperiousl The diminutive rent-collector sneaked away with the gliding motion peculiar to the snake tribe, muttering as he went- " Ugh ! the bare-faced idolother. Ugh I the lost hay then. Here's a purty state of things. Worra, worra !" With this wail on hi3 lips he disappeared beneath the sheltering branches of a grove of trees.

When Michael Feeny had made himself scarce, the members of the "finest pisantry in the world " came trooping in from their hiding-places, and congrat ulated the M'Coul on the splendid achievement which he had just brought to a satisfactory conclusion. Generosity was one of Beamish M'Coul's leading traits, and he opened the bag of which he had, in a manner, robbed Feeny, though the money was in reality his own, and took from it the gold, leaving the notes at the bottom. Throwing the gold towards his followers, he cried in a loud, hearty voice, " Look out, boys ; here's something for you to feed the pigs and keep the pot a boiling until the praties come in." The men caught the money, and equally divided it amongst _ them, amidst 9uch exclamat ons as " More power, I say !" "Long life to you, sir I" " Be my sowl kind father to you !"

" May yer never ait worse mait than mutton, whish! more power !" Wishing to be alone, Beamish M'Coul addressed a few kindly words to his followers, and bid them be off to their points of 'vantage, where they might keep a good look out, and warn him of the approach of the patrol, not that he cared for the patrol now that he had Michael Feeny's pass in his possession, but he wished to be informed of their proximity. He did not seem desirous of leaving the spot, though the avowed object which had brought him there had been accomplished. Had Beamish M'Coul any further reason for staying by the lonely shore of Glendalough ? Perhaps he had. Ha ! he starts and turns anxiously towards a defile running through the valley at the base of the cliff upon whose summit stands the ruins of St. Kevin's Abbey. The pattering of tiny fairy feet is heard — a woman is advancing.

Chapter II. Fanny Power, Of Cabin-teely

Miss Fanny Power, of Cabin-teely, was the daughter of an Irish gentleman. In the prosperous days of the M'Coul she had been thrown much in contact with him, the result of which was a mutual attachment. Beamish loved her passionately, with all the raging fire of his enthusiastic nature. Love with him was, to a certain extent, an abstraction. To love wa9 to adore, to adore to worship, to worship to idolize. There was no limit to his devotion. Chivalric knights of old did not love their mistresses with more force or vehemence than did the high-spirited M'Coul. Fanny Power reciprocated his affection, but her love was not so strong and so enduring as his own. To love and to beloved by Beamish M'Coul, gentle man, was a very different thing to being the betrothed of an outlaw, upon whose head a price was set, and for whose blood the hounds of a tyrannical government were thirsting.

Poor fanny found her love sorely tried when she had to steal out of her father's house secretly, and make a long and weary pilgrimage to some lonely glen, or lake, or dell, to which her lover had crept stealthily. The M'Coul had appointed Glendalough as a rendezvous with Fanny Power. He saw that his life was unsafe in Ireland, and that if he succeeded in evad ing the officers of the law and the military, he would not be able to resume his old position in the county until he obtained a pardon from government, and that, he thought, he should be much more likely to obtain if he was in a foreign land. He had consulted with his friends, and they all advised him to escape to the coast of France. He had resolved upon adopting their advice, and he had sent a messenger to Fanny Power, requesting her to meet him at the foot of St. Kevin's Abbey, by the shore of the lonely lake of Glendalough.

She had kept the tryst. He wished to take leave of her. " By that lake whose gloomy shore Skylark never warbles o'er ; Where the cliff hangs high and steep, Gay St. Kevin stole to sleep." Padiant in all the gushing loveliness of twenty blooming summers, Fanny Power ran forward to meet her lover. Her hair had caught in the protruding branch of a tree, which had disarranged' its fastenings, and all its golden wealth fell in a shower down her back. Her blue eyes were eloquent of love, and her little hand trembled as it was closely clasped in the strong and manly grasp of Beamish M'Coul. " Oh ! Beamish, dear — dear Beamish," was all she could murmur as she fell. upon his neck, and allowed her head to rest upon his breast. " My own, my darling cushla machree," (pulse of my heart). "Oh ! Beamish," she continued, rousing herself, "and is it all true?"

" Is all what true, my love 1" " All in that cruel, cruel letter you sent me. Are you really obliged to fly from Ireland ? Must I lose thee ?" " For a time : only for a time, dearest." " It seems so dreadful. It was only this morning I took up a book in which was one of your dear, dear letters. I put it as a marker, and while I read it over again, I "kissed it a thousand times, my Beamish." " Poor child !" exclaimed the M'Coul. Fanny Power's tears began to flow. " Come, come, darling, be brave. In these troublesome times, when Ireland bleeds from every pore, we must all be brave and courageous. If you would be a patriot's bride, you must share his perils and bear with his misfortunes." " Do not leave me, Beamish," she cried, raising her tearful eyes to his and looking at him with a long, earnest pleading glance.

" Oh ! do not leave me, Beamish !" " When I am gone, my friends will exert themselves and procure a pardon for me, which will enable me to return to Ireland and to thee." " But it is so hard to part." " Let us hope it will not be a lengthened parting." « Who can tell ." Arrah-na-Pogue ; ( Arrah-of-the-Kiss ;) " I would gladly stop here, but the cause is hopeless and I can do no good. I only expose myself to useless sufferings. You do not fully understand the hardships I have put up with. Sometimes for days together I am concealed in a barn, half smothered beneath trusses of straw ; occasionally I sleep up a tree " " Up a tree !" said Fanny, with a slight laugh. " Oh ! how funny. Fancy sleeping up a tree." " It is true, however ludicrous the idea may appear to you, but it is anything but pleasant or agreeable, I can assure you." f Oh ! my poor ill-used Beamish," eried Fanny Power, throwing her arms round him as if to shield him from the attacks of the enemies.

" The people are very kind to me, and I thank them from the very bottom of my heart for their kindness. I wish I could liberate them from a foreign yoke. But the day will come," Affected to eloquence by the unhappy condition of his native land, which he proposed to leave for ever, the M'Coul raised his manly form to its full height, and turning towards the dark waters of Glendalough, exclaimed in a tragic voice — - " Oh ! my country ! how my heart bleeds for thee. Trodden as thou art beneath the iron heel of the oppressive invader ; trampled into the dust by the relentless conqueror. Oh ! Ireland, Ireland, weep for your slain sons, weep for your depopulated counties. Sigh over your starving sons, and pray for those who languish in melancholy exile. Oh ! God in heaven, pour out thy blessing upon long-suffering Ireland."

He paused. 'Overcome by his emotion, he covered his face with his hands and seemed oblivious of Miss Power's presence. In her breast the spark of patriotic fire lid not burn so ardently as it did in that of the M'Coul, and she felt jealous of I reland for absorbing so much of her lover's pathetic affection . " Beamish !" she said, impatiently. " Pardon me, my own, I had for the time forgotten thee," he replied, con fusedly. " Oh ! Beamish, if you can forget me when I am by your side, what will you do when you are miles — miles away V " My love !" ",I am not your love. You love your country better than me," she replied petulantly. " I am sure no one can like Ireland better than I do ; but I can's see what you want to make such a fuss about the Union fbr. It does us no harm. If you had not taken an active part in politics, we should not now have been obliged to separate.

I declare it is enough to break a girl's heart, and make her go into a convent." " Have you forgotten that the course of true love never did run smooth V said the M'Coul, with a smile. " Proverbs will not mend the matter. Why did you ever meddle with politics V " My blood rose up in rebellion, and I could not remain passive." " And what good have you done by your rising ?" " None." >*^sou admit it ?" " I do, with unqualified sorrow ; but although we have been miserably unsuc cessful, 1 have the consolation of not only knowing but feeling that I have done my duty as my ancestors have done theirs before them, and that is not a nega tive advantage." "If I let you go, will you promise to love me, Beamish?" " As 1 love my life." " No foreign lady shall steal you from me ¥' " May Heaven's thunder !"

" Do not asseverate ; the word of the M'Coul is always sufficient." " Absence will, if possible, Fanny darling, make my heart grow fonder," said Beamish. "No lady, however beautiful, however rich, or great, shall tempt me for one moment from my allegiance. I am yours, and yours alone, and will be yours for ever." " Bless you, Beamish, for that assurance. Now I shall be able to tolerate your absence with greater bravery. But Heaven help me I It is so hard to part with you." " Our meeting will be all the more delightful." " Oh, those politics," said Fanny, stamping her foot angrily on the floor. " I wish there were no such things as politics." All at once a clear strain rose upon the air. Both the M'Coul and Fanny listened attentively : '• Slut or slaughter, holy water, Sprinkle the Catholics every one.

Cut them asunder and make them lie under, The Protestant boys will carry their own. Lero, lero, lillibullero, lillibullero bullenala. " King James he pitched his tents between The lines for to retire ; But King William threw his bomb-shells in, And set them all on fire. Lero, lero, lillibullero, lillibullero bullenala. " July the first, in Old Bridge town, There was a grevious battle, When many a man lay on the ground By the cannon that did rattle. Lero, lero, lillibullero, lillibullero bullenala." As this song ceased, the harsh cry of a screech-owl was heard. " What is it, dear Beamish ?" inquired Fanny Power. " A signal, my dear ; the patrol are at hand and their leader ; may a bad place receive him in insulting us with his Orange songs !" "The patrol?" " Yes ; do not be alarmed, I am prepared for them."

" Thank Heaven for that; but use no violence. Will you rather not fly ? They will not take you from me, Beamish." " No, my own ; calm your fears," responded the M'Coul. The sergeant in command of the patrol had been indulging in a famous Prot estant air, which for more than two centuries had been intolerable to the Catho lic patriots, and productive of many a fight. How many a head has been bro ken owing to the provocation of " Lero, lero, lillibullero," it would be difficult to sav. The cry of the screech-owl was a signal from one of the M'Coul's followers to indicate that the patrol were at hand. They had come suddenly through one of the hill passes and had taken the scouts by surprise, so that they had not time to come down from their places of observation and give their master warning of his danger.

The patrol consisted of a sergeant and twelve men, who walked In single file, with their muskets loaded and their matches burning, so that they might be prepared for any emergency. When the patrol came within a few yards of the M'Coul, the sergeant cried " Halt !" and the men grounded arms : advancing, the sergeant, who was a bluff, honest Englishman, exclaimed, " Who are you ?" Arrah-na- Pogue ; ( Arrah-of-the-Kiss.) " A traveler, as you may perceive." " Have you a pass ?" " I have." " Produce it." " With pleasure." The M'Coul felt in his pocket and produced Michael Feeny's pass, which he handed to the sergeant, who held it up to a lantern he carried, the light of which fell upon, and enabled him to read it. " Right," he said, handing back the pass. " Sergeant !" cried the M'Coul. "Sir, to you."

" It's dangerous they tell me, to go about these hills without a guard ?" " May be so." " Would you mind seeing us on the way to Cabin-teely ?" " Sorra a bit, as they say down here," replied the sergeant. "And Sergeant?" " Sir." The M'Coul pointed to Miss Power, and, with a significant glance, said— " Not a word of this little affair. If — eh — you understand ?" " Ay, you need not fear." " I may rely upon your discretion ?" "To the death," responded the sergeant. Listing up his voice, he once more sang — " There's nought but care on every hand, In every hour that passes, oh ; What signifies the life of man, An' 'twere not for the lasses, oh!" * You are merry to-night," said Beamish M'Coul. " My spirits are low, and a little noise keeps them up," replied the sergeant, \Hth a gruff laugh. The M'Coul took Fanny by the hand, and, preceeded by the sergeant, walked to the patrol, who closed up behind them. " By y'r left, march," cried the sergeant. They did so, and their forms were soon lost in the distance.

CHAPTER II. SHAUN-THE-POST

Th_ M'Coul was generally beloved by his tenantry; he had always behaved to them with the greatest liberality. If they were unfortunate and behindhand with th<sir rent, he never pressed them for payment. A gik-1 who lived in a poor cabin with her aged mother had lately given her master shelter. He was hard pressed by the English soldiers, and he had a claim upon the kindness of Arrah Meelish, for he had given her the cabin in which she lived, and had in other ways assisted her in the day of distress. It was but a poor shelter that Arrah Meelish was enabled to give the M'Coul. The cabin was liable to a rigorous search at any moment, so that the best she could do was to let him go to the roof and sleep beneath the thatch amongst the mice and the rats. Arrah kept the fact of the M'Coul having hidden himself in her cabin a pro found secret, and her mother, who was old and foolish, was not even aware of the circumstance.

Or, TJic WkMoti! Wedding. 11 Not even Shaun the letter-carrier, or Shaun the Post, as he was called, who was Arrah Meelish's intended husband, was in the secret. Shaun had long ago made up his mind to have the pretty Arrah for his wife, and she was not at all loath to fall in with his views. There was not a more honest man in the County Wicklow than Shaun the Post, and although he was simple and humble many a woman might have been proud of his love, and have carried her head higher aster a kind word and a look from Shaun. The day aster the meeting between Miss Power and the M'Coul on the shore of Glendalough was appointed for Shaun and Arrah's wedding-day. All those who have loved and who have been married, without taking up a heavy cross in the object of their adoration, can imagine the happiness which took possession of Arrah's heart and filled the little cabin in which she lived.

The misadventure of Michael Feeny had not yet had time to be disseminated throughout the county ; but had Arrah known it, she would only have rejoiced, for she, in conjunction with others of her class, despised the process-server. Michael Feeny, however, did not despise Arrah Meelish ; he had the auda city to love her. He actually was courageous enough to fix his affections upon her, and to think that he could make an impression upon her and induce her to love him. In this belies he was greatly mistaken, for Arrah had no regard for a man who got his living by lying and deceit, and by preying upon and making capital out of the ills of his fellow-creatures. On the morning appointed for the nuptial ceremony of Shaun and Arrah Meelish, Shaun the Post was up betimes and sought Arrah's cabin. It was the happiest day in Shaun's life, and he stole in the grey dawn of the morning to the cabin door and knocked gently, hiding himself under the gable as he did so.