other, and of Shawn-a-Gow himself there is scarcely a recollection.

It was night, and contrary to the law which prohibited persons from leaving their dwellings after night-fall, Peter Rooney, and two neighbouring small farmers, sat, with the proprietor, in Shawn-a-Gow's tap-room. They knew, that if detected in their stolen conference, they incurred the penalty of transportation; yet men will, at all hazards, indulge their inclination for the interchange of opinion upon subjects of common interest. They also recollected the hideous catalogue of punishments which hung over them for having become connected with the conspiracy of the day; and their manner was consequently constrained and cautious, and their discourse pursued in that subdued tone which implies danger in the topic.

Peter Rooney appeared dressed in a more homely suit than that in which he had honoured the meeting of the Upper baronial. It was, indeed, diligently held together, on the saving maxim, "a stitch in time, saves nine;" one always recollected by Peter, in reference to his own attire, though seldom recommended to his customers. But he still mounted his full-bot

tomed, sleek-crowned, yellow wig; and a clean plaited stock, ever hung up while he sat at work, gave him an air of much decency. Upon a principle never lost sight of, namely, that of making as much of his person as he did of his understanding, he sat very erect in his chair.

Opposite to him, at the end of a long deal-table, was Shawn-a-Gow; with his tangled, black hair, and his black beard of half a week's growth, rendered even blacker by the atoms that, constantly flying from his forge, had nestled in it. He bent forward, and stretched his great brawny arms their full length along the table— a position, to him, of absolute rest; and the knuckles of his ponderous and dingy fists met together, enclosing a space within which was a two-handled pot of ale, thus formidably guarded. The others were also provided with ample measures of liquor.

"I tell ye, 'tis as thrue as that the wig is on my head, or my head on my shoulders," said Peter Roony, continuing a previous discourse: "Peg Kelly, the beggar, came puffin' wid the news, to-day-mornin'; an' I sent the tidins, hot-foot, an'-never-hould, by Joan Foley, to the stone pound; an' I'll go bail there isn't

many in Waxford County but has the news by this time."

"Did they do mooch good ?" asked the Gow.

"I tell you," answered Peter in a whisper, "the Kildare boys was up, for the counthry an' the green, an' aginst the orange, like brave champions; an' the lads o' Carlow County is on the sod, wid the same bould attempt; an' the brave County Wicklow boys, too."

"You tould that afore," said Shawn.

"It was just the mornin' o' yestherday that the Kildare throops came pourin', like the storm o' wind, into Naas town."

"You're talkin' o' King George's soldiers," again interposed the smith.

"I'm spakin o' the throops o' the Union, Jack."

"Call 'em by their right name o' Croppies, an' then we'll understand you."

"That's a name put on us for scorn, Jack Delouchery; an' the right name o' the brave boys is throops o' the Union, or o' the Irish Army o' Freedom. They came into Naas town, I bid ye, shoutin' like hearties, wid their long pikes afore 'em, an' the sodiers' bullets flew like hail among 'em, an'

"Did they bate the sodiers ?"

They fought like haroes o' the ould time, bud were forced to run."

"Well; there's an end o' that story." "The Kildare boys made slaughther in Claine, an' in the town o' Prosperous they killed their Orange murdherers; two hundred red-coats they sthretched in the sthreets; an' a hundhred Welsh throopers tumbled from their saddles wid Irish holes through their bodies."

A story seldom loses in the carriage; and Peter has here greatly exaggerated the number of the slain.

"There's somethin' in that talk," said the

smith.

"A regiment o' dhragoons, horses an' all, was laid prosthrated on the commons o' Kilcullin." Peter went on, still exaggerating; "the County Carlow done their best agin Hacketstown an' Monsthereven; and the Wicklow hearties darted their pikes through the orange at Sthratford. Ould Ireland is up for liberty; an' her thrue sons 'ill have the upper hand o' them that 'ud be her murtherers.”

"An' here, in Waxford County, they're waitin' to be murthered, out-an'-out, the mo

ment the news you are tellin' us comes to the Orangemen's ears," said one of the small farmers. Some difference of opinion followed the remark. It was said that utter terror kept the men of Wexford quiet. The farmer reported that, upon the morning of the present day, twentyfive peasants and others had been shot, "in a batch," at a village called Cullen, and that this and the like vigorous measures frightened the people into stupifaction.

The second stranger mentioned that the magistrates of the county had issued a proclamation, promising pardon and safety to all who, by a certain day, should come in with their pikes, and swear allegiance to King and Government; and it was his opinion that, if this covenant were kept with the people, the County of Wexford would remain quiet, and ought to remain quiet.

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They only want our pikes to kill us the asier," said Shawn-a-Gow.

"An' its plain to be seen they don't mane to hould to their word wid us," said Peter Rooney; "for not stoppin' their hands to let us do what they ax iv us, by a certain day, sure they're floggin', an' burnin', an' killin', as busy as if they never sent out that paper."