and of his standing sentinel to keep people from coming into the town, unless they said "General Johnson for him," and sincerely were his warlike labours commiserated by the listeners.

During this, Eliza was permitted, almost uninterruptedly, to pursue her own thoughts; for though her present protectors could do a kind action, they knew not how, particularly if appealed to by their own concerns at the same time, to do it gracefully or very considerately. Kitty Gow had retired to the kitchen. Suddenly a thundering peal rang at the hall-door. All started in terror. Mr. Jennings was peremptorily summoned forth to attend a full muster of his corps: by accounts just received, the entry of the rebels was instantly expected. A scene ensued of bustle, weeping, and lamenting. The poor man himself seemed overwhelmed. Standing in the middle of the floor, "Oh!" he cried, the tears glazing his eyes, "am't I an unfortunate crature, this night to be called to do, at my time o' life, what I never thought I was born to do? Oh!" he gave a lengthened groan, as one of his weeping daughters hung his little pouch across his protruding body-"too tight, Peggy, my love. Anty," to the other who knelt to button his gaiters "God bless you, Anty!-if I'm never to see you again, Biddy," cautiously accepting his musket from his wife, "Biddy, you'll take care of 'em if" his feelings abruptly hurried him out of the room; but he stopped and hesitated at the halldoor, and stopt and hesitated again; framing many excuses to himself for a little respite of time; such as, "he forgot his snuffbox," or, "he wanted to look at the flint of his fire-lock," or, "he'd just wait while Anty ran up for his nightcap, and thrust it into his pocket;-but at length he set forth, his wife and children hanging out of the windows to keep him in view as long as he was spared to their sight, and then they sank on chairs, brooding over the soldier's danger.

Sounds of alarm and battle through the town were anxiously listened for, as the signals of his immediate peril. But none such arose. In fact, the intelligence announced by Mr. Jennings's summoners proved a false alarm; and at an advanced hour of the morning he was returned safe and sound to his family. "He's coming, mother!" shouted the daughters, who had been watching him from a garret-window: and, "Aha, Peggy!" he replied, shouting up to his children from a distance, in a gay and triumphant tone "they were afraid of us, the rascals!"

Hitherto Eliza had been neglected. In the relief afforded by Mr. Jennings's return, she found herself kindly and officiously attended to. Her wishes were consulted. She was served with tea, that modern and most grateful beverage to the weary, and then ushered to a bed-chamber; where for some time we must leave her, enjoying her repose, we hope, while we turn to other matters which nearly concern her.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE little town of Ross is pleasantly, and, for all the purposes of trade and commerce, if either would but come to it, advantageously situated. In fortunate England, it would long ago have been a flourishing and wealthy place; in neglected Ireland, thirty years ago it was, and at the present day it is,—and only give some theorists their way, and at the day of judgment it will still be-a few streets, half alive, with creeping attempts at petty traffic, and encumbered with a suburb of ruinous hovels, which poverty and wretchedness have marked for their own.

About a mile above it, two considerable rivers mingle their waters, and flowing beneath wooded height, or by verdant meadow, form the fine river of Ross, a quarter of a mile broad, almost of equal depth from bank to bank, and allowing, close to the quays of the town, safe anchorage for vessels of several hundred of tons burden.

Upon every side, hills rise precipitously above the more important streets, such as they are, the suburb climbing with them, often against acclivities so sudden as to render the ascent of the pedestrian a work of much labour. From the opposite bank of the river, when the distance is sufficient to obscure the frequent features of want and ruin in the poorer dwellings, and whence are prominently visible some better structures, the church, and a mass of monastic ruins, mingling with and ennobling the cabins on the hill-side, all relieved by height and slope, meadow and plantation, and having for foreground below, the quay, and a few taper-masted vessels at its side,- -a whole picture is presented, which the lovers of landscape would pronounce to be as peculiar as it is pleasing.

Although styled New Ross, the little town claims to be of great antiquity. Four centuries since, it supported more than one monastery; upon the ruins of one of which the Protestant church, at present standing on the hill-side, has been erected. Beneath crumbling aisles, whence, in other days, floated the evening chant across the broad water, may yet be visited, close to this new place of worship, vaults, wherein lie scattered the blackened bones of the once powerful or revered ministers of an older ritual, whose knowledge, and often whose hands, reared the lofty structure

which, destroyed by puritanical hatred more than by the gradual touch of time, now refuses a decent grave to the relics of its ancient masters. And stories are related by local antiquaries of passages under the river to the monastery of Rossbercon, that crowns an opposite hill, and where the paltry steeple of a Roman Catholic chapel bears, to the pile that heretofore occupied its site, even a more humbling comparison in the minds of its visiters, than does the confronting church of the Establishment to the massive ruins with which it so badly groups.

Since 1641, when a battle of some moment was fought near to Ross-and when Cromwell, covering Ireland with desolation and carnage, anticipated time in destroying the pile we have alluded to-war had not visited the present scene of our tale. Partly, perhaps, on that account the artificial defences of Ross had been suffered to decay; or, as before supposed, may have been thrown down to allow of the extension of the streets.

Mr. Jennings received Eliza at one of the still-enduring gateways of its old walls; and three similar ones then existed at different points around the town. The complaisant sentinel was on post at the Friary-gate. Another on the hill above, and facing the north, gave entrance, through a thatched outlet, into the main street, which, winding down a long descent, led to the markethouse, whence diverged the various other principal streets.

The third gate, also standing on the summit of a hill, fronted the river. High above it, at right angles with the river, clambered, for half a mile's extent, the Irish-town, chiefly composed of the residences of the poorer classes; and here fairs were holden; and here stood the remains of the ancient stone-cross, assigned by Kitty Delouchery as the spot for her meeting with the credulous dragoon; a meeting which, it is scarcely necessary to add, never took place. Whether or not the disappointed soldier adopted her alternative of "cutting it in two wid his soord," may however seem a question; and it is answered in the negative, by stating that the cross can yet be viewed in an unsevered state; but it is not as positively stated that he did not, in his rage and chagrin, at least make the attempt.

From the last-mentioned gate, the third, the descent into the town was indeed precipitous; requiring, from an inexperienced and unexcited visiter, much cautious watchfulness of his feet,

The fourth gate was situated in the hollow to the north, and only approachable down yet another hill. And rows of houses, running upon the sites of the old defences, or other considerable impediments, denied easy access to the town of Ross, except through these gates.

The reader will soon see the necessity of this description in this place; for amid a scene of quick and fiery action, we could scarce pause to supply it; and yet, in order that he may fully understand

that coming scene; it is proper to make him acquainted with the localities of its arena.

Notwithstanding the good omens in which he had returned to his afflicted family, Mr. Jennings was soon obliged to resume his military duties, and starting from a sleep, in which he would willingly have continued till the wars were over, hastened forth in his pinching uniform, and shouldering his dreaded weapon, to join, amid real bustle, his watchful corps.

Horse, foot, and artillery came clattering and thundering into the town; and then, with all the importance of men chosen as its defenders, the formidable strangers went from house to house in search of the best quarters, ridiculing those who could not protect themselves; and bullying or threatening such as were suspected of disloyalty. In the course of the day they became variously occupied in defensive preparations. Some deepened the trenches before the old gateways; others grubbed the pavement of the streets ascending to them, in order to facilitate the labour of dragging up cannon, destined to be mounted at those important points; others strengthened the barriers: the companies not so employed underwent inspection by their officers; ammunition was served out to all; and, amid the general clang and uproar, often might be heard the cries of unhappy wretches suffering torture to compel confession of their presumed knowledge of the plans of the insurgents.

As darkness came on, the sounds of preparation increased and deepened, while they varied. Drums beat to arms; the trumpets gave the note of equipment and muster; with brows of resolute eare, the commanders went from post to post; and as each band prepared to stand to arms for the night, or hastened to an appointed position, levity was discarded from the soldier's carriage.

Scouts brought certain intelligence of the approach of the rude enemy, and before night had fully closed in, a moving black mass, composed of the body of the expected assailants, was seen, from the height called Three-bullet-gate, clustering round a countryseat which stood on an eminence about a mile distant. When they could no longer be observed amid the deepening darkness, their screams of defiance reached the town. And then from the point which had commanded a view of their uncouth muster, guns were discharged against their position, with answer of readiness for encounter; and igniting their rusty and badly mounted engines with matches of twisted straw, the insurgents broke the gloom around their high encampment with retorted roar and explosion, while again the great shout of twenty thousand men told of anticipated triumph. The garrison they threatened was something more than fifteen hundred strong.

After this interchange of defiance, comparative silence ensued in the little town; but still there was no relaxation from watchful

ness amongst its defenders, and no repose amongst its startled inhabitants. Furious assault being every instant expected, the soldiers stood at their respective positions mute or whispering, or calculating each unusual noise that reached their ears. The people, to whom every thing around them was novel, and whose notions of hostile contention were fearfully vague, experienced torturing suspense. In obedience to the peremptory commands of their protectors, they had extinguished their lights, shut up their dwellings, and assumed the stillness of repose; but, indeed, only assumed it; for in every house the inmates crouched together, anticipating the struggle that was to decide their fate; and often did they interpret the sentinel's watchword into the signal of attack, and start and tremble at the measured tread of the patroles.

The night advanced. All remained watchful, anxious, yet undisturbed. And amid this deep pause, two females were cautiously approaching the insurgent position, having escaped, no one knows how, from the jealously-guarded town. By her curious hat, her low, burly figure, and her almost preternatural mode of stumping along without the least sound, we recognise one of them to be Nanny the Knitter; and the free-moving, erect, and tripping girl at her side, is Kitty Delouchery, sent by our heroine, with Nanny as her companion and ally, and after profound consultations between them all the live-long day, to discover tidings of Sir William Judkin amongst the Wexford army of Freedom; and, should he fortunately be discovered, to acquaint him with the present situation of his bride.

About four miles distant from Ross is the hill of Carrickburne, one of those rocky elevations for which, as elsewhere mentioned, the County of Wexford is remarkable, and distinguished at a distance by the hard outline its curiously-curving brow describes against the horizon.* And on this eminence nearly the whole armed population of the county had lately assembled, and thence did twenty thousand of their body descend and take up, at Corbet-. hill, the name of the country-seat previously mentioned,—their position for the attack of Ross.

*This bill is also noted as a horrid remembrancer of the times we would illustrate. Beneath its rugged sides, where a patch of soft verdure contrasts with the surrounding barrenness stood a large barn, used as a prison by the infuriated insurgents, in which a number of human beings, of the two sexes, and of every age, were burnt alive. Whether or not this abominable act is to be visited on the general body of the armed peasants, remains a question. Their historians or apologists deny that it is so, and by their statements we are instructed to seek for the authors of the hideous occurrence amongst the cowardly who had fled from battle, or the ferocious, who were maddened into revenge by burnings and torturings inflicted on themselves or upon their relatives, or committed a short distance from the site of the memorable barn,