the evening, Sir Thomas, and I claim your promise to accompany me to the house waither my instructions farther point."

"I attend you, Sir."

And upon a dark evening, in the end of February, Sir Thomas Hartley and his guest issued forth together. The unsuspecting Baronet had better have remained at home.

CHAPTER XII.

It was for the residence of a person often mentioned before in the progress of this story, that Sir Thomas Hartley and his guest set out on foot. We allude to the smith of the district, John Delouchery, or, as he was familiarly termed, Shawn-a-Gow-that is, Jack the Smith.

In a country district, in Ireland, the smith is a person of no little importance. He has the credit of being an artisan, whose surprising ingenuity and well-directed blows form, into various articles necessary for agriculture, the unshapely bar of iron. He is the hamlet farrier, too: he bleeds and prescribes for horses. Nay, by a very simple transmission of confidence, founded, unconsciously it may be, upon a comparison of animal economy, there appears no reason why he should not cure his neighbours as well as their beasts. Hence he may be allowed, amongst his humble friends, a rank parallel to that enjoyed, in a more exalted society, by physicians of regular degree.

His forge enjoys almost as much consideration as himself; being a kind of temple of fame, where the youths of the neighbourhood may, with profit to their characters, give publicity to their names. It is customary-indeed a matter insisted on, that the farmer who sends a piece of iron to be fabricated at the smithy, shall send with it a boy or lad, his son, or his most able-bodied young labourer, to wield the heavy sledge, while "the Gow," with his less ponderous hammer, gives the judicious fashioning blow. According to his opinion of his assistant's strength of sinew, the presiding artist has it in his power to stamp, creditably or otherwise, the rising pretensions of the youth. For, however attractive to city taste may appear the mincing pace, straitened waist, and nerveless arm of the dandy, a solid tread, strong and broad muscles, and ability

to work at any one thing from sunrise to sunset, and dance till sunrise again, if the opportunity turn up, are qualities regarded by less enlightened eyes, as indicative of praiseworthy manhood.

Many advantages are attached to the smith's establishment. Upon setting out in the world, when he requires a little help, his wife and children have the privilege of preceding all gleaners in the new-reaped field. At a convenient season of the year, he can call upon the farmers to supply their horses and cars to draught home fuel for his furnace. He is a friend of all good fellows, or, more properly, all good fellows are friends of his : how can he help being very often thirsty? And so, neighbours most commonly "treat him," and the dram, or draught of beer, that whizzes down his hot throat, seems a matter of right to which he inherits a claim. His laboratory is scarce ever destitute, particularly upon winter's nights, of chatty folk, who assemble round his ever-roaring fire, partly to stretch their hands and chins over its grateful blaze, partly to indulge the gregarious and talkative instinct of their nature. Politicians, too, very often constitute such circles, by whom grievances are discussed, remedies suggested, and associations formed, that tend to break up the quiet of a whole district, and bring their and ignorant promoters to the gibbet. But never, it will be presumed, at any period before or since, were the smithies of Ireland so often put in requisition as during the eventful time of our story. Under cover of the anvil's sound, which rung with the fabrication of weapons doomed to work out their desperate projects, revengeful conspirators assembled every evening, or, rather, every night, to hold whispering and husky talk on the coming struggle, and shape it to their own sanguine and short-sighted policy.

Along with the consciousness of superiority conferred upon Shawn-a-Gow by his calling and rank in life, he was, by nature, one who held a high opinion of himself. His words were few ; but, if they came only by intervals, Shawn thought, and others thought, too, that their pith made up for their scarcity.

His stature approached the gigantic. He had a black beard, and, by virtue of his trade, a black face. His arms, when bared for working, were coils of muscle and sinew, not unworthy of the Farnese Hercules, with appended to them-for they seemed too weighty even for such arms to wield-a pair of great, broad, bony, black fists, of which it was said, that one good blow would bring to his knees the stoutest ox that ever bellowed. And the innate pride of his physical ponderosity might have assisted Shawn in standing well in his own opinion.

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He was a man of substance, too, and dignity of bearing became him. From his youth, Shawn had been no idler, and he possessed a wife whose steady and thrifty habits turned his earnings to a good .account. Between them they were proprietors of an establishment, by the agency of which, his customers could treat him to his own ale or whiskey, and pay the reckoning to Mrs. Gow. This was the sign of "The shoeing horse;" one very appropriate to both branches of Shawn's business. The artist to whom the world was indebted for this effort of the pencil, had studied Shawn himself as the original of the shape, in the act of shoeing the horse; and, while he chuckled over his work, declared it "the living image of the Gow." None others, his wife excepted, could, however, trace ..the likeness. After remaining a long time silent, Shawn admitted, "it was as like him as the other thing was like a horse; an' that was saying as much as could be said for it." We are compelled to add, that the arms and legs seemed to originate from points a little out of natural conformation, and displayed, moreover, nothing of the herculean solidity of the real subject. As to the face, we profess no surprise at the limner's failure, in this particular, for, with equal hope of catching the features of his original, he might set about pourtraying the vissage of a man in a mask, as attempt the delineation of Shawn's countenance, disguised as he was beneath the black crust superinduced by the smoke and vapour of his furnace.

Shawn-a-Gow had a son and daughter: he loved both with a steady, taciturn regard, that was, perhaps, more sterling than if it had been demonstrative. He had been but a few days out of -his apprenticeship-some thirty years ago-when on a fine Sunday, lying on his back in a meadow, and playing, as the Irish termed it," Bullagh lea gaeehan," that is, "the breast to the sun," he began, now that he was an established artisan, escaped from seven years' fiery ordeal, to reflect upon the steps necessary to be taken for getting on in the world.

He resolved upon matrimony, as soon as it could be attained. In consideration of his being a tradesman, he should get a fortune with his wife. Within twelve months at farthest, from his Thirteen years afwedding-day, he would be the father of a son. terwards that son would be able to work in the forge, and add to his profits the produce of the labour of an additional band. there would be another son, and another at least. By the time he had become fifty years old, he could subsist on their united efforts, and consecrate to luxurious ease the rest of his life. Accordingly, Shawn did marry, quite to his expectations and tastes, if not be

And

yond them. The pretty, smiling, quiet daughter of the widow Runehan, whose public house was of old standing, became his wife. He had speculated on a spouse that would not say no, if it happened to be his pleasure to say that "the moon was made of green cheese;" and so far Bridget Runehan fully gratified his views and wishes.

About the time he had at first reckoned on, (Providence so far seeming resolved that Shawn should have his way,) his partner beecam a mother. He calmly awaited the result, for his mind was made up to it. A daughter was presented to him. Those who watched him, and knew Shawn's humour, deemed that he was sorely vexed. But, in consideration of its being a first offence, he said nothing.

A second accouchement appeared very probable. He sought a moment of serious conversation with his wife, and warned her, on pain of his displeasure, to supply him with a son. She engaged to the utmost of her power to obey her husband, but failed notwithstanding. As soon as she was able to bear the reasonable chastisement warranted by the law of England, it is true that Shawn reminded her of his threat.

The next time he felt little uneasiness. Full precautions had, he argued, been taken to bring his spouse to a sense of her duty. But a daughter still appeared; and the terrified mother, in order to gain time, at least, from his indignation, counselled her nurse to misre

present the fact. He was in great glee, called his wife " a good

girl at last," and laid out extravagantly for the christening.

But when the priest came, and that the child's name was pronounced, not even the expedient of hiding it in Latin could deceive Shawn's ear. He grew furious. The mother had spoken confidentialy to the clergyman, and engaged him on her side, and the good man exerted his eloqnence to convince Shawn of the sinfulness of combatting the will of God. All the neighbours, and particularly all the neighbours' wives, joined in the exhortation, and he was worried into an unwilling promise that, for this time, the poor woman should go unpunished. But Shawn swore an oath, in reference to future contingencies and when they occurred, so far as he was allowed, he kept it. In fact, upon the announcement of a fourth daughter, half a dozen friends, who saw him rush into the forge for his hammer, saved him, by intercepting the obstinate madman at the threshold of his wife's chamber, from the commission of some wild and perhaps dreadful act.

As if his presumption had now been sufficiently punished, Providence, upon the next occasion, really vouchsafed him a male heir, who

was estimated and beloved by his father in proportion to his former anxiety and disappointments. And now his unlucky and untimely daughters died one by one, and Shawn, though not showing as much grief at their burial as he had done at their birth, still, to the surprise of his friends, seemed sorry for them.

Mrs. Gow's last confinement produced, however, a daughter still, and he took advantage of the opportunity to evince his appeased return to natural feelings, and bestowed on the little smiling innocent a father's answering smile in return for hers.

As the boy grew up, Shawn, having acquired wealth in the world, thought it a pity to make a slavish smith of him, particularly as he gave indications of talent beyond that required to shape a horse-shoe out of a bar of iron. Consequently, his darling was educated for the priesthood. As to his only surviving daughter, the same Kitty Gow to whom allusions have heretofore been made in these chapters, he loved her with a selfish love; was very loath to part with her; and once declared, after a fit of lengthened taciturnity, by his forge-fire, that the man destined to win and wear Kitty Gow, and her mother's purse, should be worth something, and a likely fellow into the bargain.

The reader will please to remember the name of a certain Davy Moore, "the waver, son to Molly Beehan, who was the daughter of ould Davy Beehan, the great reed-maker," as, in her last conference with our heroine, Nanny the knitter described him. It will farther be borne in mind that, also, according to Nanny's report, he was about to become enlisted, at his mother's instance, in the train of the suitors of pretty Kitty Gow. Accordingly, upon the evening when Sir Thomas Hartley held with his stranger guest the conversation mentioned in the last chapter, Davy Moore appeared seated in the kitchen of Shawn-a-Gow. He had come a-wooing.

Although but approximating to forty years of age, Davy looked older. He was a large unwieldy man, possessed of great latent strength, but unconscious of the fact. Neither his glance nor his bearing betrayed any self-knowledge that he was an individual whom many might fear: on the contrary, he shambled along as if afraid of every body and everything he encountered. This arose from the continual apprehension he was in, of evil to be sustained from supernatural enemies. If his colourless face, that showed pretty nearly the dingy yellow and the unequal surface of a honeycomb, expressed any thing, and if his large, round, protruding grey eyes, ever denoted any particular state of mind, the one was ner vous inanity, and the other, a mystified state of brain. His intel