alone; and by his flurried look and excited manner, I saw there was something wrong.

"What is it, father?" said I. "Where is the major ?"

"Och, confound him! they have taken him at last," said he, wiping his forehead with agitation.

"Taken him?" said I. was he hiding?"

"Why,

"Hiding! to be sure he was hiding, and masquerading, and disguising himself; but faith those Clare fellows, there's no coming up to them; they have such practice in their own county, they would take the devil himself, if there was a writ out against him. And, to be sure, it was a clever trick they played old Bob."

Here the good priest took such a fit of laughing, that he was obliged to wipe his eyes.

"May I never," said he, "if it wasn't a good turn they played him, after what he did himself."

Maybe

"Come, father, let's hear it." "This was the way of it. you never remarked-of course you didn't, for you were only up there a couple of times-that opposite Bob's lodgings there was a mighty sweetlooking crayture, a widow-woman; she was dressed in very discreet black, and had a sorrowful look about her, that somehow or other, I think, made her even more interesting."

"I'd like to know that widow,' said Bob; for now that the fellows have a warrant against me, I could spend my days so pleasantly over there, comforting and consoling her.'

"Whisht,' said I, don't you see that she is in grief.'

"Not so much in grief,' said he, but she lets down two beautiful braids of her brown hair under her widow's cap; and whenever you see that, Father Tom, take my word for it, the game is not up.'

"I believe there was some reason in what he said, for the last time I went up to see him, he had the window open, and he was playing planxty Kelly, with all his might, on an old fiddle; and the widow would come now and then to the window, to draw the little muslin curtain, or she would open it to give a halfpenny to the beggars; or she would hold out her hand to see if it was raining-and a beautiful lily-white hand it was; but all the

time, you see, it was only exchanging looks they were. Bob was a little ashamed when he saw me in the room, but he soon recovered.

"A very charming woman that Mrs. Moriarty is,' said he, closing the window. It's a cruel pity that her fortune is all in the Grand Canal-I mean canal debentures. But indeed it comes pretty much to the same thing.'

"And so he went on raving about the widow; for by this time he knew all about it. Her maiden-name was Cassidy, and her father a distiller; and, in fact, Bob was quite delighted with his beautiful neighbour. At last I bid him good-bye, promising to call for him at eight o'clock, to come over here to you; for you see there was a back-door to the house, that led into a small alley, by which Mahon used to make his escape in the evening. He was sitting, it seems, at his window, looking out for the widow, who, for some cause or other, hadn't made her appearance the entire of the day. There he sat, with his hand on his heart, and a heavenly smile upon him for a good hour, sipping a little whiskey and water between times, to keep up his courage.

"She must be out,' said Bob to himself. She's gone to pass the day somewhere. I hope she doesn't know any of those impudent vagabonds up at the barracks. Maybe, after all, it's sick she is.'

"While he was ruminating this way, who should he see turn the corner but the widow herself. There she was, coming along, in deep weeds, with her maid after her, a fine slashing-looking figure, rather taller than he thought, and lustier every way; but it was the first time he saw her in the streets. As she got near to her door, Bob stood up to make a polite bow. Just as he did so, the widow slipped her foot, and fell down on the flags with a loud scream. The maid ran up, endeavouring to assist her, but she couldn't stir; and as she placed her hand on her leg, Bob perceived at once she had sprained her ankle. Without waiting for his hat he sprung down stairs, and rushed across the street.

"She clasped his hand with fervent gratitude, while the maid, putting her hand into her reticule, seemed fumbling for a handkerchief.

6

"I am a stranger to you, ma'am,' said Bob; but if Major Mahon, of the Roscommon

"The very man we want,' said the maid, pulling a writ out of the reticule: for a devil a thing else they were but two bailiffs from Ennis.

"The very man we want,' said the bailiffs.

"I am caught!' said Bob.
"The devil a doubt of it.'

"At the same moment the window opened overhead, and the beautiful widow looked out to see what was the matter.

"Good evening to you, ma'am,' says Bob; and I'd like to pay my respects, if I wasn't particularly engaged to these ladies here.' And with that he gave an arm to each of them, and led them down the street, as if it was his mother and sister.

"The poor major," said I. where is he now?"

"And

"On his way to Ennis in a postchaise, for it seems the ladies had a hundred pounds for their capture. Ah, poor Bob! But there is no use fretting; besides it would be sympathy thrown away, for he'll give them the slip before long. And now, captain, are you ready for the road? I have got a peremptory letter from the bishop, and must be back in Murranakilty as soon as I can."

"My dear father, I am at your disposal. I believe we can do no more for poor Joe; and as to Mr. Burke— and, by-the-bye, how is he?"

"Getting better, they say; but I believe you've spoiled a very lucrative source of his income. He was the best jumper in the west of Ireland; and they tell me you've lamed him for life. He is down at Milltown or Kilkee, or somewhere on the coast; but sure we'll have time enough to talk of these things as we go along. I'll be with you by seven o'clock. We must start early, and get to Portumna before night."

Having promised implicit obedience to the worthy priest's directions, be they what they might, I pledged myself to make up my baggage in the smallest possible space, and have breakfast ready for him before starting. After

a few other observations and some suggestions as to the kind of equipment he deemed suitable to the road, he took his leave, and I sat down alone to a little quiet reckoning with myself as to the past, the present, and the future.

From my short experience of Ireland, the only thing approaching to an abstract principle I could attain to, was the utter vanity, the perfect impossibility of any man's determining on a given line of action, or the steady pursuit of any one enterprise. No; the inevitable course of fate seems to have chosen this happy island to exhibit its phenomena whether your days be passed in love or war-or your evenings in drink or devotion, not yours be the glory for there would seem to be a kind of headlong influence at work, impelling one ever forward. Acquaintances grow up, ripen, and even bear fruit, before in other lands their roots would have caught the earth: by them your tastes are regulated, your habits controlled, your actions fashioned. You may not, it is true, lisp in the patois of blarney. You may weed your phraseology of its tropes and figures, but trust me, that if you live Ireland-if you like the people, and who does not ?-and if you are liked by them, and who would not be ?then, do I say, you will find yourself, without knowing or perceiving it, going the pace with the natives,-courtship, fun, frolic, and devilment, filling up every hour of your day, and no inconsiderable portion of your night also. One grand feature of the country seemed to me, that no matter what particular extravagance you were addicted to-no matter what strange or absurd passion to do, or seem something remarkable—you were certain of always finding some one to sympathize with, if not actually to follow you. Nothing is too strange, nothing too ridiculous, nothing too convivial, nothing too daring for Paddy. With one intuitive bound he springs into your confidence and enters into your plans. Only be open with him, conceal nothing, and he's yours heart and hand; ready to endorse your bill, to carry off a young lady, or carry a message to burn a house for a joke, or jeopardy his neck for mere pastime to go to the world's end to serve you, and, on his return, shoot you after

wards out of downright good nature. As for myself, I might have lived in England to the age of Methuselah, and yet never have seen as much of life as in the few months spent in Ireland. Society in other lands seems a kind of freemasonry, where, for lack of every real or important secret, men substitute signs and pass-words, as if to throw the charm of mystery where, after all, nothing lies concealed; but in Ireland, where national character runs in a deep or hidden channel, with cross currents and back water ever turning and winding-where all the incongruous and discordant elements of what is best and worst seem blended together there, social intercourse is free, cordial, warm, and benevolent. Men come together disposed to like each other; and what an Irishman is disposed to, he usually has a way of effecting. My brief career had not been without its troubles; but who would not have incurred such, or as

many more, to have evoked such kind interest and such warm friendship? From Phil O'Grady, my first, to Father Tom, my last friend, I had met with nothing but almost brotherly affection; and yet, I could not help acknowledging to myself that, but six short months before, I would have recoiled from the friendship of the one and the acquaintance of the other, as something to lower and degrade me. Not only would the outward observances of their manner have deterred me, but, in their very warm and earnest proffers of good-nature, I would have seen cause for suspecting and avoiding them. Thank heaven, I now knew better, and felt deeper. How this revolution became effected in me, I am not myself aware; perhaps I only say perhaps Miss Bellew had a share in effecting it.

Such were some of my thoughts as I betook myself to bed, and soon after to sleep.

I AM by no means certain that the prejudices of my English education were sufficiently overcome to prevent my feeling a kind of tingling of shame, as I took my place beside Father Tom Loftus in his gig. Early as it was, there were still some people about; and I cast a hurried glance around, to see if our equipage was not as much a matter of amusement to them as of affliction to me.

When Father Tom first spoke of his "dennet," I innocently pictured to myself something resembling the indigenous productions of Loughrea. "A little heavy or so," thought I; "strong for country roads-mayhap somewhat clumsy in the springs, and not over refined about the shafts." Heaven help my ignorance! I never fancied a vehicle whose component parts were two stout poles, surmounting a pair of low wheels, high above which was suspended, on two lofty C springs, the body of an ancient buggy; the lining of a bright scarlet, a little faded and dimmed by time, bordered by a lace of the most gaudy pattern; a flaming coat of arms, with splendid blazonry and magnificent quarterings, ornamented each panel of this strange-looking tub, into which,

for default of steps, you mounted by a ladder.

"Eh, father," said I, "what have we here? This is surely not the ——”

"Ay, captain," said the good priest, as a smile of proud satisfaction curled his lip, "that's the convaniency;' and a pleasanter and an easier never did man sit in a little heavy, to be sure; but then one can always walk up the hills, and if they're very stiff ones entirely, why it's only throwing out the ballast."

"The ballast! what do you mean?" "Just there," said he, pointing with his whip to some three or four huge pieces of limestone rock that lay in the bottom of the gig; "there's seven, maybe eight stone weight, every pound of it."

"And for heaven's sake," said I, "why do you carry that mass of rubbish along with you?"

"I'll just tell you then. The road has holes in it you could bury your father in, and when the convaniency gets into one of them, she has a way of springing up into the air, that if you're not watching, is sure to pitch you out-maybe into the bog at the side-maybe on the beast's back: I was once actually thrown into a public

house window, where there was a great deal of fun going on, and the bishop came by before I extricated myself. I assure you I had hard work to explain it to his satisfaction." There was a lurking drollery in his eye, as he said these last few words, that left me to the full as much puzzled about the accident as his worthy diocesan. "But look at the springs," he continued, there's metal for you! and do you mind the shape of the body? it's for all the world like the ancient curriculum. And look at Bathershin himself -the ould varmint! sure he's classical too-hasn't he a Roman nose? and

ain't I a Roman myself? So get up, captain-ascendite ad currum-get into the shay. And now for the dock an dhurras-the stirrup-cup, Mrs. Doolan -that's the darlin'. Ah, there's nothing like it!

Sit mihi lagena,
Ad summum plena.'

Here, captain, take a pull-beautiful milk punch!"

Draining the goblet to the bottom, which I confess was no unpleasant task, I pledged my kind hostess, who, curtseying deeply, refilled the vessel for Father Tom.

"That's it, Mary; froth it up, acushla. Hand it here, my darlingmy blessing on ye."

As he spoke, the worthy father deposited the reins at his feet, and lifted the cup with both hands to his mouth; when suddenly the little window over the inn door was burst open, and a loud tallyho was shouted out, in accents the wildest I ever listened to. I had barely time to catch the merry features of poor Tipperary Joe, when the priest's horse, more accustomed to the hunting-field than the high-road, caught up the welcome sound, gave a wild toss of his head, cocked up his tail, and, with a hearty bang of both hind legs against the front of the chariot, set off down the street as if the devil were after him. Feeling himself at liberty, as well as favoured by the ground, which was all down hill, the pace was really terrific. It was some time before I could gather up the reins, as Father Tom, jug and all, had been thrown at the first shock on his knees, to the bottom of the convaniency, where, half-suffocated by fright and

the milk punch that went wrong with him, he bellowed and coughed with all his might.

"Howld him tight-ugh, ugh, ugh! not too hard-don't chuck him for the love of-ugh, ugh uh! the reins is rotten, and the traces no better-ugh, ugh, uh! Bad luck to the villains, why didn't they catch his head?-and the stultus execrabilis-the damned fool! how he yelled!"

Almost fainting with laughter, I pulled my best at the old horse, not, however, neglecting the priest's caution about the frailty of the harness. This, however, was not the only difficulty I had to contend with, for the curriculus participating in the galloping action of the horse, swung upwards and downwards, backwards and forwards, and from one side to the other-all at once too-in a manner so perfectly addling, that it was not before we reached the first turnpike that I succeeded in arresting our progress. Here a short halt was necessary for the priest to recover himself, and examine whether either his bones or any portion of the harness had given way both had happily been found proof against mishaps, and drew from the reverend father strong encomiums upon their merits; and after a brief delay, we resumed our road, but at a much more orderly and becoming pace than before.

Once more en route, I bethought me it was high time to inquire about the direction we were about to travel, and the probable length of our journey; for I confess I was sadly ignorant as to the geography of the land we were travelling, and the only point I attempted to keep in view was the number of miles we were distant from the capital. The priest's reply was, however, any thing but instructive to me, consisting merely of a long catalogue of names, in which the syllables "kill," "whack," "nock," "shock," and

curred during my illness. The Dillons, I found, had left for Dublin, soon after my mishap. Louisa Bellew returned to her father: and Mr. Burke, whose wound had turned out a more serious affair than was at first supposed, was still confined to his bed, and a lameness for life anticipated as the inevitable result of the injury.

"Sir Simon, for once in his life," said the priest, "has taken a correct view of his nephew's character; and has, now that all danger to life is past, written him a severe letter, reflecting on his conduct. Poor Sir Simon! his life has been one tissue of trial and

disappointment throughout. Every buttress that supported his venerable house giving way, one by one, the ruin seems to threaten total downfall, ere the old man exchange the home of his fathers for his last narrow rest beside them in the church-yard. Betrayed on every hand, wronged, and ruined, he seems merely to linger on in life; like the stern-timbers of some mighty wreck, that marks the spot where once the goodly vessel perished, and are now the beacon of the quicksand to others. You know the sad story, of course, that I chiefly alluded to

"No: I am completely ignorant of the family history," said I.

The priest blushed deeply, as his dark eyebrows met in a heavy frown: then turning hastily towards me, he said, in a voice whose thick, low utterance bespoke his agitation

"Do not ask me, I beseech you, to speak further of what-had I been more collected-I had never alluded to! An unhappy duel, the consequence of a still more unhappy event, has blasted every hope in life for my poor friend. I thought-that is, I fearedlest the story might have reached As I find this is not so, you will spare

you.

my recurring to that, the bare recollection of which comes like a dark cloud over the happiest day of my existence. Promise me this, or I shall not forgive myself."

I readily gave the pledge he required, and we pursued our road-not, however, as before, but each sunk in his own reflections-silent, reserved, and thoughtful.

"In about four days," said Father Tom, at last breaking the silence, "perhaps five, we'll be drawing near Murranakilty." He then proceeded, at more length, to inform me of the various counties through which we were to pass, detailing with great accuracy the several seats we should see, the remarkable places, the ruined churches, the old castles, and even the very fox covers that lay on our route. And although my ignorance was but little enlightened by the catalogue of hard names that fell as glibly from his tongue as Italian from a Roman, yet I was both entertained and pleased with the many stories he told: some of them legends of by-gone days; some of them the more touching and truthdealing records of what had happened in his own time. Could I have borrowed any portion of his narrative powers were I able to present, in his strong, but simple language, any of the curious scenes he mentioned, I should perhaps venture on relating to my reader one of his stories; but when I think how much of the interest depended on his quaint and homely, but ever-forcible manner, as pointing with his whip to some ruined house with blackened walls and fallen chimneys, he told some narrative of rapine and of murder, I feel how much the force of reality added power to a story that in repetition might be weak and ineffective.