to stories from sich as are widin' there? We all know what the big priest is made of. But, did it never cross your mind, that Sir Thomas an' his son-in-law that's to be, knew a little o' the sacrets o' the time?"

"The old Croppy I've long suspected. Of Sir William not much is whispered."

"An' yet there's one or two that thinks he'd have no objections to mount the green,' if he saw things turning up for it: Th' ould grandfather didn't lave him many o' the acres clear o' charges, in one sort or another; an' a day like the day that's comin', might pay all debts an' bonds, or gain him some new acres that 'ud have nothin' to pay."

"Right, by

-! I'll keep an eye on him." "There isn't another Capt'n in Waxford County I'd budge to. But I'll put it in your way to do more than the whole o' them together. Not a Croppy, next or near, but I'll scent out for you. What does your honour think of comin' this blessed night, right a-head upon a barrell-bag full o' pikes?"

"Where, eh? be d-d! a fine thing—a fine thing for the Ballybreehoone Cavalry—eh? Where are they to be found?"

"I'll be back to you afther night-fall wid the whole story. Now I must go look at 'em agin, to see if they're safe, as I left 'em." "I'll reward you handsomely"

"Well; we b'lieve Masther Saundhers may keep his cat an' her kittens for them that wants 'em, now. Capt'n, the first job to be done, the moment I lave you, is to see some o' the boys, an' give 'em a little thrate. An', by the livin' farmer! I haven't as mooch as 'ud pay for a thimble-full."

"Here is a guinea-earnest, only, of your fair reward, when you merit it. How soon do we meet again?"

แ "About the dusk, I tould your honour," answered Bill, buttoning up his guinea. "I moost always come in the dark, an' by the back way, too—the same way your honour 'ill let me out now, for rasons plain to be seen.

"Yes-follow me."

And accordingly Captain Whaley led his new ally to the back entrance of the house.

Our friends were not without suspicions of the nature of the private conference between him and the wretch Nale; and therefore did not feel any extreme astonishment when, in a few moments, the captain reappeared before them, saying, in his most magisterial

and decided tone and manner; "I dɔ not think it necessary, Sir Thomas, to follow up this obscure business any farther."

"Indeed? may I ask your reasons, Captain ?"

"Reasons I have. Good ones, too."

"Has not the man been charged with murder?” "Without proof."

"Did he not almost confess his guilt ?"

"I do not think so."

"And your reason for allowing him to escape us, is, because you do not think so?"

66 That, and other private ones, not to be questioned, Sir Thomas. I will attend no farther to the case."

"Is this justice ?" demanded Father Rourke; "to screen a mur.. derer, because he turns informer ?"

"Priest Rourke, you'll have enough to do to look to yourself. Be d-d, Sir! I told you as much before."

Oh, good morning to your Captainship!" And the priest strode out of the room.

"Such conduet I cannot regard but as disgraceful," resumed Sir Thomas.

"And you may as well take care o' your own conduct, Mr. Baronet Hartley."

"What! no redress for me against a common assassin ?" asked Sir William.

And I'd advise you, too, my young grandee, to have a care o' yourself."

"In my estimation, as well as Sir Thomas's, you stand disgraced, Sir."

"Little caring how I stand in the estimation of either o' you." And so terminated the interview.

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Upon this day, as well as the former, Sir William dined at Hartley Court; but not tete-à-tete with its master. Sweet is food to him that hungers; drink to him that thirsts; rest to him that is weary; pleasure after pain;" safety after danger; sunshine after storm. But sweeter than any of these, or all of them together, is the reconciliation of young and ardent lovers when doubt yields to confidence; when the terror of eternal separation is replaced by the hope of eternal union. And this most delicious of earthly enjoyments did the young Baronet now experience. Again, a hand softly rested in his, which he had feared was estranged from him for ever. Again, he pressed his lips to a cheek which he had

feared to see flame against him in indignation, but which now revenged with love's own blush alone that tolerated freedom. Again, eyes met his in smiles and sparkling, which during the separation and doubts of only a few hours, sickening fancy had begun to glaze with coldness and aversion; harmonious cadences again tingled in his ears, which he had thought never to have heard more. The delicious evening long, he sat, enjoying the reflux of such a tide of happiness, as, fully to the observation of Sir Thomas, and to the sympathy of Miss Alicia, left him incapable of little else than surrendering himself to its influence.

CHAPTER XXVI.

WE have intimated that the mysterious abode of Poll Beehan and her son Davy stood on the declivity of a hill which overlooked the village lying nearest to Hartley Court. This village was one of the poorest class, chiefly consisting of the miserable hovels in which the labouring poor of Ireland drag on their lives of privation. Altogether, the number of dwellings did not exceed twenty. But, as in all society, no matter how small, there is a gradation; so, even our humble hamlet had its more fashionable (“dacent") quarter.

A few houses of some appearance of comfort, and grouped together, claimed precedence over the straggling huts of the poorer order. Peter Rooney's mansion was among them; having a fourpaned sash-window at either side of the door, besides another in the gable to light his workshop; exhibiting the thatch at top tastefully mitred, and otherwise ornamented; and flaming in an annual coat of yellow-wash, with around the windows edges of white.

But that abode over which Shawn-a-Gow presided, ranked first as to extent. It stood contiguous to the cross-roads, was of long existence, and, although the hamlet could not afford to the compound establishment the means of becoming wealthy, in the true sense of the word, still Shawn had a large share of custom, both as a smith and a vendor of strong liquors. Of two or three humble taverns, such as that in which Bill Nale had lately been found, none ever called themselves the rivals of the Gow's. A public-house, putting in strong claims, stood indeed at the other

end of the hamlet; but its straw-stuffed casements, and a few broken-necked decanters, connected to the fragments of the glass of the window, by cobwebs of long-standing, visibly indicated that the liquor to be found under its roof, was not deemed of equal flavour with that sold by Mrs. Delouchery.

The proprietor of this rival establishment was a young widow, not yet five-and-twenty, whose brow of pallid hopelessness told her despair of success in her unpromising attempt for a livelihood. Between her looks, and the device of her faded signboard, there might appear some analogy. Two curiously-shaped birds stood tip-toe thereon, at either side of a sheaf of wheat, each holding in his beak an ear of the corn, properly bent down by the artist for the birds' accommodation. The poor landlady appeared to have as little prospect of realizing her hopes of fortune, as the pigeons, crows, or whatever they were, of swallowing the grain thus held between their bills the year round.

Circumstances have changed, however. That very widow now stands a plump consequential personage, (no longer widow, by the way,) at the door of a well-supplied and well frequented country ale-house; occasionally observing to her customers, in reference to the rebellion of 1798, that it certainly was a fearful time, yet, that "tis an ill wind that blows nobody luck." Her brow of despondency has changed into one of self-content, and some importance. Iron-bars protect her house from thieves. Its interior bespeaks cheery comfort: in fact, it is the head hotel of the little village. While, of Shawn-a-Gow's mansion, not one stone stands upon another, and of Shawn-a-Gow himself there is only 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 proprie or, in Shawn-aGow'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: their manner was consequently constrained and cautious, and their discourse pursued in that subdued tone which implies danger in the topic.

Peter Rooney was 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-bottomed, 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-aGow, 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. 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.

66

"I tell ye, 'tis as thrue as that the wig is on my head, or my head on my shouldhers," said Peter Rooney, continuing a previous discourse. "Peg Kelly, the beggar, came puffin' wid the news, to-day-mornin'; an' I sent the tidin's, hot-foot, an'-never-hould, by John Foley, to the stone pound. I'll go bail there is'nt 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 undher s'and you."

"That's a name put on us for scorn, Jack Delouchery. The right name o' the brave boys is throops o' the Union, or the Irish Army o' Freedom. They came into Naas town, I tell ye, shoutin' like hearties, win their long pikes afore 'em. The soldiers' bullets