It was in vain to plead such pride to Ratty, who paid more attention to shooting than his lessons. His mother strove to persuade—Ratty was deaf. His "gran" strove to bribe—Ratty was incorruptible. Gusty argued—Ratty answered after his own fashion.

"Why won't you learn even a little?"

"I'm to go to that 'English fellow' in spring, and I shall have no fun then, so I'm making good use of my time now."

"Do you call it 'good use' to be so dreadfully idle and shamefully ignorant?"

"Bother!—the less I know, the more the English fellow will have to teach me, and Uncle Bob will have more worth for his money;" and then Ratty would whistle a jig, fling a fowling-piece over his shoulder, and shout "Ponto! Ponto! Ponto!" as he traversed the stable-yard; the delighted pointer would come bounding at the call, and, after circling round his young master with agile grace and yelps of glee at the sight of the gun, dash forward to the well-known "bottoms" in eager expectancy of ducks and snipe. How fared it all this time with the lord of Scatterbrain? He became established, for the present, in a house that had been a long time to let in the neighbourhood, and his mother was placed at the head of it, and Oonah still remained under his protection, though the daily sight of the girl added to Andy's grief at the desperate plight in which his ill- starred marriage placed him, to say nothing of the constant annoyance of his mother's growling at him for his making "such a Judy of himself;" for the dowager Lady Scatterbrain could not get rid of her vocabulary at once. Andy's only resource under these circumstances was to mount his horse and fly.

As for the dowager Lady Scatterbrain, she had a carriage with "a picture" on it, as she called the coat of arms, and was fond of driving past the houses of people who had been uncivil to her. Against Mrs. Casey (the renowned Matty Dwyer) she entertained an especial spite, in consideration of her treatment of her beautiful boy and her own pair of black eyes; so she determined to "pay her off" in her own way, and stopping one day at the hole in the hedge which served for entrance to the estate of the "three-cornered field," she sent the footman in to say the dowjer Lady Scatterbreen wanted to speak with "Casey's wife."

When the servant, according to instructions, delivered this message, he was sent back with the answer, "that if any lady wanted to see Casey's wife, 'Casey's wife,' was at home."

"Oh, go back, and tell the poor woman I don't want to bring her to the door of my carriage, if it's inconvaynient. I only wished to give her a little help; and tell her if she sends up eggs to the big house, Lady Scatterbreen will pay her for them."

When the servant delivered this message, Matty grew outrageous at the means "my lady" took of crowing over her, and rushing to the door, with her face flushed with rage, roared out, "Tell the old baggage I want none of her custom; let her lay eggs for herself."

The servant staggered back in amaze; and Matty, feeling he would not deliver her message, ran to the hole in the hedge and repeated her answer to my lady herself, with a great deal more which need not be recorded. Suffice it to say, my lady thought it necessary to pull up the glass, against which Matty threw a handful of mud; the servant jumped up on his perch behind the carriage, which was rapidly driven away by the coachman, but not so fast that Matty could not, by dint of running, keep it "within range" for some seconds, during which time she contrived to pelt both coachman and footman with mud, and leave her mark on their new livery. This was a salutary warning to the old woman, who was more cautious in her demonstrations of grandeur for the future. If she was stinted in the enjoyment of her new-born dignity abroad, she could indulge it at home without let or hindrance, and to this end asked Andy to let her have a hundred pounds, in one-pound notes, for a particular purpose. What this purpose was no one was told or could guess, but for a good while after she used to be closeted by herself for several hours during the day.

Andy had his hours of retirement also, for with praiseworthy industry he strove hard, poor fellow, to lift himself above the state of ignorance, and had daily attendance from the parish schoolmaster. The mysteries of "pothooks and hangers" and ABC weighed heavily on the nobleman's mind, which must have sunk under the burden of scholarship and penmanship, but for the other "ship"—the horsemanship—which was Andy's daily self- established reward for his perseverance in his lessons. Besides he really could ride; and as it was the only accomplishment of which he was master, it was no wonder he enjoyed the display of it; and, to say the truth, he did, and that on a first-rate horse too. Having appointed Murtough Murphy his law-agent, he often rode over to the town to talk with him, and as Murtough could have some fun and thirteen and fourpence also per visit, he was always glad to see his "noble friend." The high road did not suit Andy's notion of things; he preferred the variety, shortness, and diversion of going across the country on these occasions; and in one of these excursions, in the most secluded portion of his ride, which unavoidably lay through some quarries and deep broken ground, he met "Ragged Nance," who held up her finger as he approached the gorge of this lonely dell, in token that she would speak with him. Andy pulled up.

"Long life to you, my lord," said Nance, dropping a deep curtsey, "and sure I always liked you since the night you was so bowld for the sake of the poor girl—the young lady, I mane, now, God bless her—and I just wish to tell you, my lord, that I think you might as well not be going these lonely ways, for I see them hanging about here betimes, that maybe it would not be good for your health to meet; and sure, my lord, it would be a hard case if you were killed now, havin' the luck of the sick calf that lived all the winther and died in the summer."

"Is it that big blackguard, Shan More, you mane?" said Andy.

"No less," said Nance—growing deadly pale as she cast a piercing glance into the dell, and cried, in a low, hurried tone—"Talk of the divil—and there he is—I see him peep out from behind a rock."

"He's running this way," said Andy.

"Then you run the other way," said Nance; "look there—I see him strive to hide a blunderbuss under his coat—gallop off, for the love o' God! or there'll be murther."

"Maybe there will be that same," said Andy, "if I leave you here, and he suspects you gave me the hard word." [Footnote: "Hard word" implies a caution.]

"Never mind me," said Nance, "save yourself—see, he's moving fast, he'll be near enough to you soon to fire."

"Get up behind me," said Andy; "I won't leave you here."

"Run, I tell you."

"I won't."

"God bless you, then," said the woman, as Andy held out his hand and gripped hers firmly.

"Put your foot on mine," said Andy.

The woman obeyed, and was soon seated behind our hero, gripping him fast by the waist, while he pushed his horse to a fast canter.

"Hold hard now," said Andy, "for there's a stiff jump here." As he approached the ditch of which he spoke, two men sprang up from it, and one fired, as Andy cleared the leap in good style, Nance holding on gallantly. The horse was not many strokes on the opposite side, when another shot was fired in their rear, followed by a scream from the woman. To Andy's inquiry, if she was "kilt," she replied in the negative, but said "they hurt her sore," and she was "bleeding a power;" but that she could still hold on, however, and urged him to speed. The clearance of one or two more leaps gave her grievous pain; but a large common soon opened before them, which was skirted by a road leading directly to a farm-house, where Andy left the wounded woman, and then galloped off for medical aid; this soon arrived, and the wound was found not to be dangerous, though painful. The bullet had struck and pierced a tin vessel of a bottle form, in which Nance carried the liquid gratuities of the charitable, and this not only deadened the force of the ball, but glanced it also; and the escapement of the butter-milk, which the vessel contained, Nance had mistaken for the effusion of her own blood. It was a clear case, however, that if Nance had not been sitting behind Andy, Lord Scatterbrain would have been a dead man, so that his gratitude and gallantry towards the poor beggar woman proved the means of preserving his own life.



CHAPTER LI

The news of the attack on Lord Scatterbrain ran over the country like wildfire, and his conduct throughout the affair raised his character wonderfully in the opinion of all classes. Many who had hitherto held aloof from the mushroom lord, came forward to recognise the manly fellow, and cards were left at "the big house," which were never seen there before. The magistrates were active in the affair, and a reward was immediately offered for the apprehension of the offenders; but before any active steps could be taken by the authorities, Andy, immediately after the attack, collected a few stout fellows himself, and knowing where the den of Shan and his miscreants lay, he set off at the head of his party to try if he could not secure them himself; but before he did this, he despatched a vehicle to the farmhouse, where poor Nance lay wounded, with orders that she should be removed to his own house, the doctor having said that the transit would not be injurious.

A short time served to bring Andy and his followers to the private still, where a little looking about enabled them to discover the entrance, which was covered by some large stones, and a bunch of furze placed as a mask to the opening. It was clear that it was impossible for any persons inside to have thus covered the entrance, and it suggested the possibility that some of its usual inmates were then absent. Nevertheless, having such desperate characters to deal with, it was a service of danger to be leader in the descent to the cavern when the opening was cleared; but Andy was the first to enter, which he did boldly, only desiring his attendants to follow him quickly, and give him support in case of resistance. A lantern had been provided, Andy knowing the darkness of the den; and the party was thereby enabled to explore with celerity and certainty the hidden haunt of the desperadoes. The ashes of the fire were yet warm, but no one was to be seen, till Andy, drawing the screen of the bed, discovered a man lying in a seemingly helpless state, breathing with difficulty, and the straw about him dabbled with blood. On attempting to lift him, the wretch groaned heavily and muttered, "D—n you, let me alone—you've done for me—I'm dying."

The man was gently carried from the cave to the open air, which seemed slightly to revive him. His eyes opened heavily, but closed again; yet still he breathed. His wounds were staunched as well as the limited means and knowledge of the parties present allowed; and the ladder, drawn up from the cave and overlaid with tufts of heather, served to bear the sufferer to the nearest house, whence Andy ordered a mounted messenger to hurry for a doctor. The man seemed to hear what was going forward, for he faintly muttered, "the priest—the priest."

Andy, anxious to procure this most essential comfort to the dying man, went himself in search of Father Blake, whom he found at home, and who suggested that a magistrate might be also useful upon the occasion; and as Merryvale lay not much out of the way, Andy made a detour to obtain the presence of Squire Egan, while Father Blake pushed directly onward upon his ghostly mission.

Andy and the Squire arrived soon after the priest had administered spiritual comfort to the sufferer, who still retained sufficient strength to make his depositions before the Squire, the purport of which turned out to be of the utmost importance to Andy.

This man, it appeared, was the husband of Bridget, who had returned from transportation, and sought his wife and her dear brother, and his former lawless associates, on reaching Ireland. On finding Bridget had married again, his anger at her infidelity was endeavoured to be appeased by the representations made to him that it was a "good job," inasmuch as "the lord" had been screwed out of a good sum of money by way of separate maintenance, and that he would share the advantage of that. When matters were more explained, however, and the convict found this money was divided among so many, who all claimed right of share in the plunder, his discontent returned. In the first place, the pettifogger made a large haul for his services. Shan More swore it was hard if a woman's own brother was not to be the better for her luck; and Larry Hogan claimed hush-money, for he could prove Bridget's marriage, and so upset their scheme of plunder. The convict maintained his claim as husband was stronger than any; but this, all the others declared, was an outlandish notion he brought back with him from foreign parts, and did not prevail in their code of laws by any manner o' means, and even went so far as to say they thought it hard, after they had "done the job," that he was to come in and lessen their profit, which he would, as they were willing to give an even share of the spoil; and after that, he must be the most discontented villain in the world if he was not pleased.

The convict feigned contentment, but meditated at once revenge against his wife and the gang, and separate profit for himself. He thought he might stipulate for a good round sum from Lord Scatterbrain, as he could prove him free of his supposed matrimonial engagement, and inwardly resolved he would soon pay a visit to his lordship. But his intentions were suspected by the gang, and a strict watch kept upon him; and though his dissimulation and contrivance were of no inferior order, Larry Hogan was his overmatch, and the convict was detected in having been so near Lord Scatterbrain's dwelling, that they feared their secret, if not already revealed, was no longer to be trusted to their new confederate's keeping; and it was deemed advisable to knock him on the head, and shoot my lord, which they thought would prevent all chance of the invalidity of the marriage being discovered, and secure the future payment of the maintenance.

How promptly the murderous determination was acted upon, the preceding events prove. Andy's courage in the first part of the affair saved his life; his promptness in afterwards seeking to secure the offenders led to the important discovery he had just made; and as the convict's depositions could be satisfactorily backed by proofs which he showed the means of obtaining, Andy was congratulated heartily by the Squire and Father Blake, and rode home in almost delirious delight at the prospect of making Oonah his wife. On reaching the stables, he threw himself from his saddle, let the horse make his own way to his stall, dashed through the back hall, and nearly broke his neck in tumbling up-stairs, burst open the drawing-room door, and made a rush upon Oonah, whom he hugged and kissed most outrageously, amidst exclamations of the wildest affection.

Oonah, half strangled and struggling for breath, at last freed herself from his embraces, and asked him, angrily, what he was about—in which inquiry she was backed by his mother.

Andy answered by capering round the room, shouting, "Hurroo! I'm not married at all—hurroo!" He turned over the chairs, upset the tables, threw the mantelpiece ornaments into the fire, seized the poker and tongs, and banged them together as he continued dancing and shouting.

Oonah and his mother stood gazing at his antics in trembling amazement, till at last the old woman exclaimed, "Holy Vargin! he's gone mad!" whereupon she and her niece set up a violent screaming, which called Andy back to his propriety, and, as well as his excitement would permit, he told them the cause of his extravagant joy. His wonder and delight were shared by his mother and the blushing Oonah, who did not struggle so hard in Andy's embrace on his making a second vehement demonstration of his love for her.

"Let me send for Father Blake, my jewel," said Andy, "and I'll marry you at once."

His mother reminded him he must first have his present marriage proved invalid. Andy uttered several pieces of original eloquence on "the law's delay."

"Well, anyhow," said he, "I'll drink your health, my darling girl, this day, as Lady Scatterbrain—for you must consider yourself as sitch."

"Behave yourself, my lord," said Oonah, archly.

"Bother!" cried Andy, snatching another kiss.

"Hillo!" cried Dick Dawson, entering at the moment, and seeing the romping-match. "You're losing no time, I see, Andy."

Oonah was running from the room, laughing and blushing, when Dick interposed, and cried, "Ah, don't go, 'my lady,' that is to be."

Oonah slapped down the hand that barred her progress, exclaiming, "You're just as bad as he is, Mister Dawson!" and ran away.

Dick had ridden over, on hearing the news, to congratulate Andy, and consented to remain and dine with him. Oonah had rather, after what had taken place, he had not been there, for Dick backed Andy in his tormenting the girl and joined heartily in drinking to Andy's toast, which, according to promise, he gave to the health of the future Lady Scatterbrain.

It was impossible to repress Andy's wild delight; and in the excitement of the hour he tossed off bumper after bumper to all sorts of love-making toasts, till he was quite overcome by his potations, and fit for no place but bed. To this last retreat of "the glorious" he was requested to retire, and, after much coaxing, consented. He staggered over to the window-curtain, which he mistook for that of the bed; in vain they wanted to lead him elsewhere—he would sleep in no other bed but that —and, backing out at the window-pane, he made a smash, of which he seemed sensible, for he said it wasn't a fair trick to put pins in the bed. "I know it was Oonah did that!—hip!—ha! ha! Lady Scatterbrain!—never mind —hip!—I'll have my revenge on you yet!"

They could not get him up-stairs, so his mother suggested he should sleep in her room, which was on the same floor, for that night, and at last he was got into the apartment. There he was assisted to disrobe, as he stood swaying about at a dressing-table. Chancing to lay his hands on a pill-box, he mistook it for his watch.

"Stop—stop!" he stammered forth—"I must wind my watch;" and, suiting the action to the word, he began twisting about the pill-box, the lid of which came off and the pills fell about the floor. "Oh, murder!" said Lord Scatterbrain, "the works of my watch are fallin' about the flure—pick them up—pick them up—pick them up—" He could speak no more, and becoming quite incapable of all voluntary action, was undressed and put to bed, the last sound which escaped him being a faint muttering—"pick them up."



CHAPTER THE LAST

The day following the eventful one just recorded, the miserable convict breathed his last. A printed notice was posted in all the adjacent villages, offering a reward for the apprehension of Shan More and "other persons unknown," for their murderous assault; and a small reward was promised for such "private information as might lead to the apprehension of the aforesaid," &c., &c. Larry Hogan at once came forward and put the authorities on the scent, but still Shan and his accomplices remained undiscovered. Larry's information on another subject, however, was more effective. He gave his own testimony to the previous marriage of Bridget, and pointed out the means of obtaining more, so that, ere long, Lord Scatterbrain was a "free man." Though the depositions of the murdered man did not directly implicate Larry in the murderous attack, still it showed that he had participated in much of their villany; but, as in difficult cases, we must put up with bad instruments to reach the ends of justice, so this rascal was useful for his evidence and private information, and got his reward.

But he got his reward in more ways than one. He knew that he dare not longer remain in the country after what had taken place, and set off directly for Dublin by the mail, intending to proceed to England; but England he never reached. As he was proceeding down the Custom-house quay in the dusk of the evening, to get on ship-board, his arms were suddenly seized and drawn behind him by a powerful grasp, while a woman in front drew a handkerchief across his mouth, and stifled his attempted cries. His bundle was dragged from him, and the woman ransacked his pockets but they contained but a few shillings, Larry having hidden the wages of his treachery to his confederates in the folds of his neck-cloth. To pluck this from his throat, many a fierce wrench was made by the woman, when her attempts on the pockets proved worthless; but the handkerchief was knotted so tightly that she could not disengage it. The approach of some passengers along the quay alarmed the assailants of Larry, who, ere the iron grip released him, heard a deep curse in his ear growled by a voice he well knew, and then he felt himself hurled with gigantic force from the quay wall. Before the base, cheating, faithless scoundrel could make one exclamation, he was plunged into the Liffey—even before one mental aspiration for mercy, he was in the throes of suffocation! The heavy splash in the water caught the attention of those whose approach had alarmed the murderers, and seeing a man and woman running, a pursuit commenced, which ended by Newgate having two fresh tenants the next day.

And so farewell to the entire of the abominable crew, whose evil doings and merited fates have only been recorded when it became necessary to our story. It is better to leave the debased and the profligate in oblivion than drag their doings before the day; and it is with happy consciousness an Irishman may assert, that there is plenty of subject afforded by Irish character and Irish life honourable to the land, pleasing to the narrator, and sufficiently attractive to the reader, without the unwholesome exaggerations of crime which too often disfigure the fictions which pass under the title of "Irish," alike offensive to truth as to taste—alike injurious both for private and public considerations.

* * * * *

It was in the following autumn that a particular chariot drove up to the door of the Victoria Hotel, on the shore of Killarney lake. A young man of elegant bearing handed a very charming young lady from the chariot; aand that kindest and mos accommodating of hostesses, Mrs. F——, welcomed the fresh arrival with her good-humoured and smiling face.

Why, amidst the crowd of arrivals at the Victoria, one chariot should be remarkable beyond another, arose from its quiet elegance, which might strike even a casual observer; but the intelligent Mrs. F—— saw with half an eye the owners must be high-bred people. To the apartments already engaged for them they were shown; but few minutes were lost within doors where such matchless natural beauty tempted them without. A boat was immediately ordered, and then the newly arrived visitors were soon on the lake. The boatmen had already worked hard that day, having pulled one party completely round the lakes—no trifling task; but the hardy fellows again bent to their oars, and made the sleeping waters wake in golden flashes to the sunset, till told they need not pull so hard.

"Faith, then, we'll plaze you, sir," said the stroke-oarsman, with a grin, "for we have had quite enough of it to-day."

"Do you not think, Fanny," said Edward O'Connor, for it was he who spoke to his bride, "Do you not think 'tis more in unison with the tranquil hour and the coming shadows, to glide softly over the lulled waters?"

"Yes," she replied, "it seems almost sacrilege to disturb this heavenly repose by the slightest dip of the oar—see how perfectly that lovely island is reflected."

"That is Innisfallin, my lady," said the boatman, hearing her allude to the island, "where the hermitage is." As he spoke, a gleam of light sparkled on the island, which was reflected on the water.

"One might think the hermit was there too," said Fanny, "and had just lighted a lamp for his vigils."

"That's the light of the guide that shows the place to the quality, my lady, and lives on the island always in a corner of the ould ruin. And, indeed, if you'd like to see the island this evening, there's time enough, and 'twould be so much saved out of to-morrow."

The boatman's advice was acted upon, and as they glided towards the island, Fanny and Edward gazed delightedly on the towering summits of Magillicuddy's reeks, whose spiral pinnacles and graceful declivities told out sharply against the golden sky behind them, which, being perfectly reflected in the calm lake, gave a grand chain of mountain the appearance of being suspended in glowing heather, for the lake was one bright amber sheet of light below, and the mountains one massive barrier of shade, till they cut against the light above. The boat touched the shore of Innisfallin, and the delighted pair of visitants hurried to its western point to catch the sunset, lighting with its glory the matchless foliage of this enchanting spot, where every form of grace exhaustless nature can display is lavished on the arborial richness of the scene, which, in its unequalled luxuriance, gives to a fanciful beholder the idea that the trees themselves have a conscious pleasure in growing there. Oh! what a witching spot is Innisfallin!

Edward had never seen anything so beautiful in his life; and with the woman he adored resting on his arm, he quoted the lines which Moore has applied to the Vale of Cashmere, as he asked Fanny would she not like to live there.

"Would you?" said Fanny.

Edward answered—

"If woman can make the worst wilderness dear, Think—think what a heaven she must make of Cashmere."

They lingered on the island till the moon arose, and then re-embarked. The silvery light exhibited the lake under another aspect, and the dimly discovered forms of the lofty hills rose one above another, tier upon tier, circling the waters in their shadowy frame, the beauty of the scene reached a point of sublimity which might be called holy. As they returned towards the shelving strand, a long row of peeled branches, standing upright in the water, attracted Fanny's attention, and she asked their use.

"All the use in life, my lady," said the boatman, "for without the same branches, maybe it's not home to-night you'd get."

On Fanny inquiring further the meaning of the boatman's answer, she learned that the sticks were placed there to indicate the only channel which permitted a boat to approach the shore on that side of the lake, where the water was shoal, while in other parts the depth had never been fathomed.

An early excursion on the water was planned for the morning, and Edward and Fanny were wakened from their slumbers by the tones of the bugle; a soft Irish melody being breathed by Spillan, followed by a more sportive one from the other minstrel of the lake, Ganzy.

The lake now appeared under another aspect—the morning sun and morning breeze were upon it, and the sublimity with which the shades of evening had invested the mountains was changed to that of the most varied richness; for Autumn hung out its gaudy banner on the lofty hills, crowned to their summits with all variety of wood, which, though tinged by the declining year, had scarcely shed one leafy honour. The day was glorious, and the favouring breeze enabled the boat to career across the sparkling lake under canvas, till the overhanging hills of the opposite side robbed them of their aerial wings, and the sail being struck, the boatmen bent to their oars. As they passed under a promontory, clothed from the water's edge to its topmost ridge with the most luxuriant vegetation, it was pointed out to the lady as "the minister's back."

"'T is a strange name," said Fanny. "Do you know why it is called so?"

"Faix, I dunna, my lady—barrin' that it is the best covered back in the country. But here we come to the aichos," said he, resting on his oars. The example was followed by his fellows, and the bugler, lifting his instrument to his lips, gave one long well-sustained blast. It rang across the waters gallantly. It returned in a few seconds with such unearthly sweetness, as though the spirit of the departed sound had become heavenly, and revisited the place where it had expired.

Fanny and Edward listened breathlessly.

The bugle gave out its notes again in the well-known "call," and as sweetly as before the notes were returned distinctly.

And now a soft and slow and simple melody stole from the exquisitely played bugle, and phrase after phrase was echoed from the responding hills. How many an emotion stirred within Edward's breast, as the melting music fell upon his ear! In the midst of matchless beauties he heard the matchless strains of his native land, and the echoes of her old hills responding to the triumphs of her old bards. The air, too, bore with it historic associations;—it told a tale of wrong and of suffering. The wrong has ceased, the suffering is past, but the air which records them still lives.

"Oh! triumph of the minstrel!" exclaimed Edward in delight. "The tyrant crumbles in his coffin, while the song of the bard survives! The memory of a sceptred ruffian is endlessly branded by a simple strain, while many of the elaborate chronicles of his evil life have passed away and are mouldering like himself."

Scarcely had the echoes of this exquisite air died away, when the entrancement it carried was rudely broken by one of the vulgarest tunes being brayed from a bugle in a boat which was seen rounding the headland of the wooded promontory. Edward and Fanny writhed, and put their hands to their ears. "Give way, boys!" said Edward; "for pity's sake get away from these barbarians. Give way!"

Away sprang the boat. To the boatman's inquiry whether they should stop at "Lady Kenmare's Cottage," Fanny said "no," when she found on inquiry it was a particularly "show-place," being certain the vulgar party following would stop there, and therefore time might be gained in getting away from such disagreeable followers.

Dinas Island, fringed with its lovely woods, excited their admiration, as they passed underneath its shadows, and turned into Turk Lake; here the labyrinthine nature of the channels through which they had been winding was changed for a circular expanse of water, over which the lofty mountain, whence it takes its name, towers in all its wild beauty of wood, and rock, and heath.

At a certain part of the lake, the boatmen, without any visible cause, rested on their oars. On Edward asking them why they did not pull, he received this touching answer:—

"Sure, your honour would not have us disturb Ned Macarthy's grave!"

"Then a boatman was drowned here, I suppose?" said Edward.

"Yes, your honour." The boatman then told how the accident occurred "one day when there was a stag-hunt on the lake;" but as the anecdote struck Edward so forcibly that he afterwards recorded it in verse, we will give the story after his fashion.

MACARTHY'S GRAVE

I

The breeze was fresh, the morn was fair, The stag had left his dewy lair; To cheering horn and baying tongue, Killarney's echoes sweetly rung. With sweeping oar and bending mast, The eager chase was following fast; When one light skiff a maiden steer'd Beneath the deep wave disappeared: Wild shouts of terror wildly ring, A boatman brave, with gallant spring And dauntless arm, the lady bore; But he who saved—was seen no more!

II

Where weeping birches wildly wave, There boatmen show their brother's grave; And while they tell the name he bore, Suspended hangs the lifted oar; The silent drops they idly shed Seem like tears to gallant Ned; And while gently gliding by, The tale is told with moistened eye. No ripple on the slumbering lake Unhallow'd oar doth ever make; All undisturb'd, the placid wave Flows gently o'er Macarthy's grave.

Winding backwards through the channels which lead the explorers of this scene of nature's enchantment from the lower to the upper lake, the surpassing beauty of the "Eagle's nest" burst on their view; and as they hovered under its stupendous crags, clustering with all variety of verdure, the bugle and the cannon awoke the almost endless reverberation of sound which is engendered here. Passing onward, a sudden change is wrought; the soft beauty melts gradually away, and the scene hardens into frowning rocks and steep acclivities, making a befitting vestibule to the bold and bleak precipices of "The Reeks," which form the western barrier of this upper lake, whose savage grandeur is rendered more striking by the scenes of fairy-like beauty left behind. But even here, in the midst of the mightiest desolation, the vegetative vigour of the numerous islands proves the wondrous productiveness of the soil in these regions.

On their return, a great commotion was observable as they approached the rapids formed by the descending waters of the upper lake to the lower, and they were hailed and warned by some of the peasants from the shore that they must not attempt the rapids at present, as a boat, which had just been upset, lay athwart the passage. On hearing this, Edward and Fanny landed upon the falls, and walked towards the old bridge, where all was bustle and confusion, as the dripping passengers were dragged safely to shore from the capsized boat, which had been upset by the principal gentleman of the party, whose vulgar trumpetings had so disturbed the delight of Edward and Fanny, who soon recognised the renowned Andy as the instigator of the bad music and the cause of the accident. Yes, Lord Scatterbrain, true to his original practice, was author of all.

Nevertheless, he and his party, soused over head and ears as they were, took the thing in good humour, which was unbroken even by the irrepressible laughter which escaped from Edward and Fanny, as they approached and kindly offered assistance. An immediate removal to the neighbouring cottage on Dinas Island was recommended, particularly as Lady Scatterbrain was in a delicate situation, as well, indeed, as Mrs. Durfy, who, with her dear Tom, had joined Lord Scatterbrain's party of pleasure.

On reaching the cottage, sufficient change of clothes was obtained to prevent evil consequences from the ducking. This, under ordinary circumstances, might not have been easy for so many; but, fortunately, Lord Scatterbrain had ordered a complete dinner from the hotel to be served in the cottage, and some of the assistants from the Victoria, who were necessarily present, helped to dress more than the dinner. What between cookmaids and waiters, the care-taker of the cottage and the boatmen, bodies, and skirts, jackets and other conveniences, enabled the party to sit down to dinner in company, until fire could mend the mistake of his lordship. Edward and Fanny courteously joined the party; and the honour of their company was sensibly felt by Andy and Oonah, who would have borne a ducking a day for the honour of having Fanny and Edward as their guests. Oonah was by nature a nice creature, and adapted herself to her elevated position with a modest ease that was surprising. Even Andy was by this time able to conduct himself tolerably well at table—only on that particular day he did make a mistake; for when salmon (which is served at Killarney in all sorts of variety) made its appearance for the first time in the novel form "en papillote," Andy ate paper and all. He refused a second cutlet, however, saying he "thought the skin tough." The party, however, passed off mirthfully, the very accident helping the fun; for, instead of any one being called by name, the "lady in the jacket," or the "gentleman in the bedgown," were the terms of address; and, after a merrily spent evening, the beds of the Victoria gave sleep and pleasing dreams to the sojourners of Killarney.



Kind reader! the shortening space we have prescribed to our volume warns us we must draw our story to an end. Nine months after this Killarney excursion, Lord Scatterbrain met Dick Dawson near Mount Eskar, where Lord Scatterbrain had ridden to make certain inquiries about Mrs. O'Connor's health. Dick wore a smiling countenance, and to Andy's inquiry answered, "All right, and doing as well as can be expected."

Lord Scatterbrain, wishing to know whether it was a boy or a girl, made the inquiry in the true spirit of Andyism—"Tell me, Misther Dawson, are you an uncle or an aunt?"

Andy's mother died soon after of the cold caught by her ducking. On her death-bed she called Oonah to her, and said, "I leave you this quilt, alanna—'t is worth more than it appears. The hundred-pound notes Andy gave me I quilted into the lining, so that if I lived poor all my life till lately, I died under a quilt of banknotes, anyhow."

Uncle Bob was gathered to his fathers also, and left the bulk of his property to Augusta, so that Furlong had to regret his contemptible conduct in rejecting her hand. Augusta indulged in a spite to all mankind for the future, enjoying her dogs and her independence, and defying Hymen and hydrophobia for the rest of her life.

Gusty went on profiting by the early care of Edward O'Connor, whose friendship was ever his dearest possession; and Ratty, always wild, expressed a desire for leading a life of enterprise. As they are both "Irish heirs," as well as Lord Scatterbrain, and heirs under very different circumstances, it is not improbable that in our future "accounts" something may yet be heard of them, and the grateful author once more meet his kind readers.

THE END