"And my old friend, Sir Thomas, is so well, you tell me?" said Mr. Rourke, rubbing his hands after a bumper of good claret. "I left him quite well, an hour ago."

"Heartily glad am I to hear it, Sir William, heartily glad. If all our gentlemen resembled him, we should not see the poor country in the state it is."

"The times certainly begin to wear a frightful aspect, Mr. Rourke."

"And will wear a more frightful one, Sir William. Do I speak to a friend of the poor people?"

"You do, Sir-and to an enemy of their enemies."

"Then tell me, Sir, what are the poor people to do? As in duty bound, the greater number of their priests exert themselves to put down the Northern combination that has crept in among them. But others won't let the priests do their work. The people are set mad-I am set half-mad, myself-by the burning and flogging and pitching and hanging that goes on, day after day."

"In good truth, Mr. Rourke, I believe that some wise heads promote that very madness by the means you specify, for the pur. pose of driving the people into detached and futile insurrections. That, so, one collected and well-directed blow may not be levelled at their power."

"What those wise ones mean, I do not understand. But this I understand. Whether the story we are told of the Orangeman's oath be true or not, Orangemen act as if it were true-act as if literal extermination of the people was their wish and object. And this 1 also understand, -that if the people passively submit-if they wait to be all scourged or scalped, or half or whole hanged, or shot, I do not know them, and it will be a wonder to me. Tell me, Sir William!"—he stood up, and looked fiercely on his host,

which is it better for a man-to die on his own green sod, fighting against his cruel enemies; or stay at home, to be flogged like a negro, or strung by the neck, the blaze of his own cabin to glare on his death throes ?"

Proportioned to his tall, robust, and powerful figure, the speaker had naturally a boldly-marked countenance, with a brow that could frown daringly, and a strong, intrepid eye. Yet the mixture of bluff good-humour, and candour which ran through his deportment, generally tamed his features and glances into a pleasing expression, and took away from his high carriage and formidable figure all traits of the sternness or ferocity that might otherwise attach to them. In fact, Nature had intended him for a bold, generous

soldier: a mistake had made him a clergyman. And, true to his original impress, Father Rourke, upon the first insurrectionary explosion in the County of Wexford, changed into "Father Capt'n Rourke." Flinging aside, with ease and eagerness, the cumbrous sacerdotal character, he sprang into that which had been his primitive destiny, and became, and continued to be, locally distinguished as the most daring and skilful of the few Roman Catholic priests who, in the year 1798, joined and headed the raging people.

CHAPTER XXV.

SIR THOMAS HARTLEY, quite sincere in his professsions to Sir William Judkin, believed that Harry Talbot and Rattling Bill were, generally speaking, acting in concert to prevent the union of his daughter with the young Baronet. He did not, however, so readily conclude, to the utter disgrace and degradation of a person whom he had once called his friend, that, in the charge made upon his rival's character, Talbot uttered what he conceived to be a deliberate falsehood. Sir Thomas rather supposed that the dice-thrower, in the hope of gain, was the original author of the slander; and that his patron, blinded and rendered credulous by contending passions, had accepted it, without examination, at his hands; and then, in the vague impulse for revenge, had rashly communicated it to his-former mistress.

As a preliminary step to the course he intended to pursue, Sir Thomas dispatched a messenger, at an early hour next morning, to secure the person of Nale. His own warrant, as a magistrate, was the legal authority for the arrest.

Bill was easily found. He had taken up his abode in one of those humble village hotels which exhibit, in their green glass window of two panes, a couple of dingy loaves of bread, with perhaps an equal number of salt herrings, by way of supporters to the shield, standing on their heads, because their tails would not keep them up; with, in the upper pane, a tobacco-pipe, forming one side of a triangle, of which another is a tallow-candle of the value of one halfpenny. And over the door of such an establishment may be seen a clumsy piece of board, its ground dim-red, containing white letters indifferently marked thereon, and a third of them

6.

mounted, at one side, above the others,-most falsely denoting, that good beds for travellers" are to be found under the black thatch-roof of the miserable cabin. It might be supposed, indeed, that the proprietor, half ashamed of his announcement, or the artist of being a party to it, had shrunk from stating the falsehood broadly upon the sign-board. A good portion of the letters seemed to avoid scrutiny, in order to supply, like ill-worded wills or bonds, in case of the morning remonstrance of a beguiled traveller, a point of legal debate as to the true intent and meaning of the whole declaration. But how far is this from our purpose.

Without exhibiting the least alarm, or even surprise, the juggler quietly, and with a few jeers, suffered himself to be taken prisoner. According to the instructions of Sir Thomas, he was conducted to the house of a neighbouring magistrate and Captain of Yeomanry, to be dealt with, upon the arrival of the Baronet and his witnesses, as a common vagrant, and disturber of his Majesty's peace. So spoke Sir Thomas Hartley's warrant; and so spoke the private note he addressed to Magistrate Captain Whaley.

If Sir Thomas was regarded by the peasantry as one likely to be their friend in time of necessity, he was by the loyal part of the community considered as any thing but a zealous supporter of Government. It is therefore probable, that his unadmiring brothermagistrate might have sent back the case and the offender, for his own exclusive disposal, did it not seem likely that the well-known Rattling Bill would prove to be an important agent of the spreading disaffection. He was accordingly ordered into close custody.

Sir Thomas next wrote to Harry Talbot. The letter stated that Miss Hartley had informed him of the accusation made against Sir William Judkin; and he called upon him, as a man of honour, as a Christian, and as a former friend, to meet him, by a certain hour, at Captain Whaley's, and there submit his proofs of the startling assertion. Having so far taken his measures, Sir Thomas ordered his horse, and proceeded, according to arrangement, to call upon his son-in-law elect.

The young Baronet, and his deliverer of the previous night, had but just breakfasted, when Sir Thomas joined them. Mutual greetings were exchanged between all; and then Sir Thomas learned the attempt upon the person of his young friend, the timely succour of Father Rourke, and every other circumstance. Opinions were passed as to the instigator and perpetrators of the outrage. Sir Thomas shrank from naming Talbot, with reference to the former; but slight doubt existed in his mind, that in the person of

Nale he had already secured one of the latter. The wooden-leg gave as yet little light; but the hat, half stuffed with straw and rags, and containing "The London Sheet Lottery" folded up in its crown, proclaimed, as loudly as indirect evidence could do, that Bill Nale, along with other misdeeds, had now to account for a brilliant affair of highway robbery.

The priest would be a very necessary witness upon this new charge against the hustling dice-thrower, and he accordingly set out with the two Baronets for the abode of Captain Whaley.

Sir Thomas reckoned but little on the co-operation of this gentleman, either in his capacity of magistrate, or as a man of judgment and intellect. Captain Whaley was indeed one of those to whom, in the absence or disqualification of individuals better fitted for the trust, Irish magisterial authority was heretofore, more so than at present it is, too often deputed. He could not boast of high descent: neither was he wealthy, nor possessed of much hereditary estate. In early life, at least, he had been but little habituated to the usage or manners of polished society; and, now that an unnatural state of things gave him sudden and unnatural eminence, he did not grace by intellect, by deportment, or by speech, his new station.

In truth, he stood indebted for all his present importance to his zeal and success in raising, from among the dregs of the very loyal of his parish, a yeomanry corps, of which we have before now heard, if we have not seen it-namely, "The poor Ballybreehone Cavalry." Once dubbed a captain, his commission of the peace followed, in those anomalous times, as a matter of course. And if his personal demeanour did not well agree with his novel rank, neither was his newly-acquired power exercised with that modest and wise temperance which confers upon power of every degree its most useful as well as most dignified feature. In Captain Whaley's philosophy, the sweets of power lay in its display; its best manifestation, in the extent of terror it inspired. But, after all, he was perhaps, according to the system of his day, an efficient soldier-magistrate. As our party entered Captain Whaley's handsome mansion, Rattling Bill—his hands thrust into his breast, one leg carelessly flung across the other, and on his head, although worn rakishly to one side, certainly not the same hat he had on when last we saw him-leaned his back against the table in the hall. A scoffing leer twisted his features as he glanced towards the new-comers. With perfect coolness he slowly withdrew one of his hands, doffed his recently-assumed beaver, and bestowing upon each of our friends

a separate nod of recognition,—"I'm mighty glad to see your honours brave an' hearty!" he said. Then, replacing the fearless hat, he quietly reassumed, in all its particulars, his first position.

"Have you ever seen that face before, Mr. Rourke ?" questioned Sir Thomas aside.

"It was so dark, and the time for investigation so short, I cannot be positive that he is one of my late antagonists. Yet I believe he is," the priest answered.

Sir William Judkin, whatever might be his motive, did not yet state the suspicions which, during the occurrence that put him in such peril, we attributed to him.

"But," resumed the priest, "I will ask the worthy a question. I saw you inside a hedge, on the road near Hartley Court, early last night, did I not, Sir?"

66 Maybe you did, plase your reverence. Though, as you say, the night was dark from the biggin'n', and it's hard to tell. But, likely enough. An' there's somethin' like a dhrame come into my head that I seen you too, last night, arly or late as it may turn out to be."

"We met afterwards, then? You are the man that collared

me ?"

66

Hah, hah! be asy now, your reverence."

"Come out o' that, an' none o' your cross-questions," said one of the slovenly-attired, but determined-looking yeomen, who guarded the prisoner.

"Whom do you speak to, fellow ?" questioned Father Rourke. "To a Croppy priest," said another.

The priest drew up his athletic person, flashed from one to another of the speakers a frown of angry defiance, and then turned on his heel.

"We had best proceed in our business," resumed Sir Thomas. "Pray," addressing a disengaged yeoman, "inform Captain Whaley that Sir Thomas Hartley desires to see him."

As the man with a surly compliance opened a door off the hall, a violent clashing of swords was heard, and between every loud jingle of the weapons a voice, louder and harsher, called out

"Split the roof of the helmet! Well done, Captain! A chop in the sword-arm! Well guarded, by the great Saizor! (Cæsar.) Across the smeller, now! Oh, capital, beautiful!"

"We have heard that voice apologizing for the Ballybreehone Cavalry at the review," whispered Sir Thomas to the young Barouet.

Jest desire him to walk in," answered Captain Whaley, to the