"Resolved—That the above resolution, together with the following letter signed by the Chairman in the name of the meeting, be forwarded to Henry Hartley, Esq.:

"'Sir—Having associated for the safety and quiet of this portion of the country, aa well as for the protection of our families and properties, we feel ourselves particularly called upon, on an occasion like the present, to stand forward and repel the attack made upon this loyal corps, and, indeed, on the whole body of yeomanry throughout this kingdom—in spiriting away, by your letters and undue influence, some of our members, and attempting to procure others to be withdrawn from a corps already enrolled, armed, and complete. Be assured, sir, we shall be at all times ready, and happy to afford every assistance in the formation of any new corps in our neighborhood, provided this co-operation shall have no effect in diminishing our own.

"'We, therefore, call upon you to reflect on the measures you have taken and are taking, and not to persevere in the error of keeping such deserters from our troop as have joined yours; as we shall in the case of your persisting to do so, most certainly publish the whole course of your proceedings in this matter for the satisfaction of our loyal brethren throughout the kingdom, and leave them to decide between you and us.

"'Philip M'Clutchy, Chairman. "'Valentine M'Cldtchy, Captain. "'Richard Armstrong, Second Lieutenant. "'Robebt M'bullet. "'Charles Cartridge. "'Boniface Buckram. "'Dudley Fulton, Secretary.'"

To these documents, which were so artfully worded as to implicate Hartley without openly committing themselves, that gentleman having already had the understanding with Lord Cumber of which our readers are already cognizant made the following brief reply.

"'To Richard Armstrong, Esq., second Lieutenant of the Castle Cumber Cavalry:—

"Sir: I have received two resolutions passed at a meeting of your troop in Castle Cumber, and regret to say, for the sake of the Yeomanry service of the country, that I cannot send any communication to those who bear the two first names on your committee. I trust I am a gentleman, and that I shall not knowingly be found corresponding with any but gentlemen. I have only now simply to say, that I repel with great coolness—for indignation I feel none—the charges that have been brought against me, both in the resolutions, and the letter which accompanied them. Neither shall I take further notice of any letters or resolutions you may send me, as I have no intention in future of corresponding with any one on the subject, with the exception of Lord Cumber himself, with whom I have had recent communications touching this matter.

"I am, sir, &c, "Henry Hartley."

Our readers are, no doubt, a good deal surprised, that Phil, knowing, from sad experience, the courage for which all the Hartley family were so remarkable, should have ventured to undertake the post of chairman, on an occasion where such charges were advanced against the gentleman in question. And, indeed, so they ought to be surprised, as upon the following morning no man living felt that sensation so deeply or painfully as did worthy Phil himself, who experienced the tortures of the damned. The whole secret of the matter, therefore, is, that Phil had lately taken to drink—to drink at all hours too—morning, noon, and night. In vain did his father remonstrate with him upon the subject; in vain did he entreat on one occasion and command on another. Phil, who was full of valor under certain circumstances, told his father he did not care a curse for him, and d—d his honor if he would allow him to curb him in that manner. The fact is, that Phil was at the present period of our tale, as corrupt and profligate a scoundrel as ever walked the earth. His father had no peace with him and received little else at his hands than contempt, abuse, and threats of being horsewhipped. Perhaps if our readers can remember the extermination scene at Drum Dhu, together with the appearance of Kate Clank, they will be disposed to think that the son's conduct now, was very like judicial punishment on the father for what his own had been. Be this as it may—on the following morning after the meeting at Castle Cumber, Phil's repentance, had it been in a good cause, ought to have raised him to the calendar. In truth, it rose to actual remorse.

"Damn my honor, M'Clutchy"—for that was now the usual respectful tone of his address to him—"were you not a precious old villain to allow me to take the chair yesterday, when you knew what cursed fire-eaters these Hartleys are?"

"That, Phil, comes of your drinking brandy so early in the day. The moment you were moved into the chair—and, by the way, I suspect M'Bullet had a mischievous design in it—I did everything in my power, that man could do, to prevent you from taking' it."

It's a d——d bounce, M'Clutchy, you did no such thing, I tell you. D—n you altogether, I say! I would rather the devil had the whole troop, as he will too, with Captain M'Clutchy at the head of them—"

"Don't get into insubordination, my hero," said his father; "why do you put me over Lord Cumber's head?"

"Ay," replied the son, "when sending you-to Headquarters, you mean; yes, my old knave, and when he and you and the whole kit of you get there, you'll know then what permanent duty means. That scoundrel Hartley will be sending a challenge to me."

"Make your mind easy, Phil," replied his virtuous father, "there is not the slightest danger of that; here's his reply to Armstrong, which Dick himself handed me in Castle Cumber, a while ago. Read that and let it console you."

Phil accordingly read Hartley's letter, in which both he and his father were mentioned with such marked respect; and never did reprieve come to a shivering, inanimate, and hopeless felon with the hangman's noose neatly settled under his left ear, with a greater sense of relief than did this communication to him. In fact, he had reached that meanness and utter degradation of soul which absolutely feels comfort, and is glad to take refuge, in the very contempt of an enemy.

"I hope you're satisfied," said his father.

"All right, my old fellow—all right, Captain M'Clutchy, Magistrate and Grand-juror. Damn my honor, but you're a fine old cock, Val—and now I have spirits to take a glass of brandy, which I hadn't this whole morning before."

"Phil," said the father, "how do you think I can ever get you appointed to the magistracy if you take to drink?"

"Drink! why, blood, my old boy, is it this to me! Do you mean to tell me that there are no drunken magistrates on the bench? Drink! why, man, let me drink, swear, and play the devil among the ladies, surely you know that my thorough Protestantism and loyalty will make up for, and redeem all. Hey, then, for the glass of brandy, in which I'll drink your health, and hang me, I'll not abuse you again—unless when you deserve it, ha, ha, ha!"

"At all events," said Val, "keep yourself steady for this day; this is the day, Phil, on which I will glut my long cherished vengeance against Brian M'Loughlin—against him and his. I shall leave them this night without a roof over their heads, as I said I would, and, Phil, when you are in possession of his property and farm, and he and his outcasts, he will then understand what I meant, when I told him with a boiling heart in Castle Cumber Fair, that his farm and mine lay snugly together."

"But what will you do with the sick woman, I mean his wife?" asked Phil, putting a glass of brandy to his lips, and winking at his father; "what will you do with the sick woman, I say?"

Val's face became so frightfully ghastly, and presented so startling a contrast between his complexion and black bushy brows, that even Phil himself got for a moment alarmed, and said:—

"My God, father, what is the matter?"

Val literally gasped, as if seeking for breath, and then putting his hand upon his heart, he said—

"Phil, I am sick here—"

"I see you are,"' said Phil, "but what is the matter, I say again? why are you sick?"

"Vengeance, Phil; I am sick with vengeance! The moment is now near, and at last I have it within my clutch;" and here he extended his hand, and literally made a clutch at some imaginary object in the air.

"Upon my honor," said Philip, "I envy you; you are a fine, consistent old villain."

"The sick woman, Phil! By the great heavens, and by all that they contain—if they do contain anything—I swear, that if every individual of them, men and women, were at the last gasp, and within one single moment of death—ha! hold," said he, checking himself, "that would never do. Death! why death would end all their sufferings."

"Oh, not all, I hope," said Phil, winking again.

"No matter," resumed Val, "their sufferings in this life it would end, and so I should no longer be either eye-witness or ear-witness of their destitution and miseries. I would see them, Phil, without house or home—without a friend on earth—without raiment, without food—ragged, starved—starved out of their very virtues—despised, spat upon, and trampled on by all! To these, Phil, I thought to have added shame—shame; but we failed—we have failed."

"No," replied Phil, "I give you my word, we did not."

"We did, sir," said the father; "Harman and she are now reconciled, and this is enough for the people, who loved her. Yes, by heavens, we have failed." Val sat, or almost dropped on a chair as he spoke, for he had been pacing through the parlor until now; and putting his two hands over his face, he sobbed out—groaned even with agony—until the tears literally gushed in torrents through his fingers. "I thought to have added shame to all I shall make them suffer," he exclaimed; "but in that I am frustrated." He here naturally clenched his hands and gnashed his teeth, like a man in the last stage of madness.

On removing his hands, too, his face, now terribly distorted out of its lineaments by the convulsive workings of this tremendous passion, presented an appearance which one might rather suppose to have been shaped in hell, so unnaturally savage and diabolical were all its outlines.

Phil, who had sat down at the same time, with his face to the back of the chair, on which his two hands were placed, supporting his chin, kept his beautiful eyes, seated as he was in that graceful attitude, fixed upon his father with a good deal of surprise. Indeed it would be a difficult thing, considering their character and situation, to find two countenances more beautifully expressive of their respective dispositions. If one could conceive the existence of any such thing as a moral looking-glass placed between them, it might naturally be supposed that Val, in looking at Phil, saw himself; and that Phil in his virtuous father's face also saw his own. The son's face and character, however, had considerably the advantage over his father's. Val's presented merely what you felt you must hate, even to abhorrence; but the son's, that which you felt to be despicable besides, and yet more detestable still.

"Well," said Phil, "all I can say is, that upon my honor, my worthy father, I don't think you shine at the pathetic. Damn it, be a man, and don't snivel in that manner, just like a furious drunken woman, when she can't get at another drunken woman who is her enemy. Surely if we failed, it wasn't our faults; but I think I can console you so far as to say we did not fail. It's not such an easy thing to suppress scandal, especially if it happens to be a lie, as it is in the present case."

"Ah," said the father with bitterness, "it was all your fault, you ill-looking Bubber-lien. (*An ignorant, awkward booby.) At your age, your grandfather would not have had to complain of want of success."

"Come, M'Clutchy—I'll not bear this—it's cursed ungenerous in you, when you know devilish well how successful I have been on the property."

"Ay," said Val, "and what was the cause of that? Was it not merely among those who were under our thumb—the poor and the struggling, who fell in consequence of your threats, and therefore through fear of us only; but when higher game and vengeful purposes were in view, see what a miserable hand you made of it. I tell you, Phil, if I were to live through a whole eternity, I could never forgive M'Loughlin the triumph that his eye had over me in Castle Cumber Fair. I felt that he looked through me—that he saw as clearly into my very heart, as you would of a summer day into a glass beehive. My eye quailed before him—my brow fell; but then—well—no matter; I have him now—ho, ho, I have him now!"

"I wonder the cars and carts are not coming before now," observed Phil, "to take away the furniture, and other valuables."

"I am surprised myself," replied Val; "they ought certainly to have been here before now. Darby got clear instructions to summon them."

"Perhaps they won't come," observed the other, "until—Gad, there's his rascally knock, at all events. Perhaps he has sent them up."

"No," said Val; "I gave him positive instructions to order them here in the first instance."

Darby now entered.

"Well, Darby," said Val, who, on account of certain misgivings, treated the embryo gaoler with more civility than usual; "what news? How many cars and carts have von got?"

Darby sat down and compressed his lips, blew out his cheeks, and after looking about the apartment for a considerable time, let out his breath gradually until the puff died away.

"What's the matter with you, Darby?" again inquired Val.

Darby went over to him, and looking seriously into his face—then suddenly laying down his hat—said, as he almost wrung his hands—

"There's a Spy, sir, on the Estate; a Popish Spy, as sure as Idolathry is rank in this benighted land."

"A Spy!" exclaimed Phil, "we know there is."

"Be quiet, Phil—who is he, Darby?"

"Why, sir, a fellow—of the name of Weasand—may Satan open a gusset in his own for him this day! Sure, one Counsellor Browbeater, at the Castle, sir—they say he's the Lord o' the Black Trot—Lord save us— whatever that is—"

"The Back Trot, Darby—go on."

"Well, sir, the Back Trot; but does that mean that he trots backwards, sir?"

"Never mind, Darby, he'll trot anyway that will serve his own purposes—go on, I tell you."

"Well, sir, sure some one has wrote to this Counsellor Browbeater about him, and what do you think, but Counsellor Browbeater has wrote to Mr. Lucre, and Mr. Lucre spoke to me, so that it's all the same as if the Castle had wrote to myself—-and axed me if I knewn anything about him."

"Well, what did you say?"

"Why, I said I did not, and neither did I then; but may I never die in sin, but I think I have a clue to him now."

"Well, and how is that?"

"Why, sir, as I was ordhering the tenantry in wid the cars and carts to remove M'Loughlin's furniture, I seen this Weasand along wid Father Roche, and there they were—the two o' them—goin' from house to house; whatever they said to the people I'm sure I don't know, but, anyhow, hell resave—hem."

"Take care, Darby," said Val, "no swearing—I fear you're but a bad convert."

"Why, blood alive, sir," replied Darby, "sure turnin' Protestant, I hope, isn't to prevent me from swearin'—don't themselves swear through thick and thin? and, verily, some of the Parsons too, are as handy at it, as if they had sarved an apprenticeship to it."

"Well, but about this fellow, the Spy?"

"Why, sir, when I ordhered the cars the people laughed at me, and said they had betther autority for keepin' them, than you had for sendin' for them; and when I axed them who it was, they laughed till you'd think they'd split. I know very well it's a Risin that's to be; and our throats will be cut by this blackguard spy, Weasand."

"And so you have got no cars," said Val.

"I got one," he replied, "and meetin' Lanty Gorman goin' home wid Square Deaker's ass—King James—or Sheemus a Cocka, as he calls him—that is, 'Jemmy the Cock,' in regard of the great courage he showed at the Boyne—I made him promise to bring him up. Lanty, sir, says the Square's a'most gone."

"Why, is he worse?" asked Val, very coolly.

"Begad, sir, sure he thinks it's the twelfth o' July; and he was always accustomed to get a keg of the Boyne Wather, whenever that day came round, to drink the loyal toasts in; and nothing would satisfy him but that Lanty would put the cart on Sheemus a Cocka, and bring him a keg of it all the way from the Boyne. Lanty to plaise him, sets off wid himself to St. Patrick's Well, where they make the Stations, and filled his keg there; and the Square, I suppose, is this moment drinkin', if he's able to drink, the Glorious Memory in blessed wather, may God forgive him, or blessed punch, for it's well known that the wather of St. Patrick's Well is able to consecrate the whiskey any day, glory be to God!"

"Damn my honor, Darby," said Phil, "but that's queer talk from a Protestant, if you are one."

"Och, sure aren't we all Protestant together, now?" replied Darby; "and sure, knowing that, where's the use of carryin' the matter too far? Sure, blood alive, you wouldn't have me betther than yourselves? I hope I know my station, gintlemen."

"Ah, Darby," said Phil, "you're a neat boy, I think."

"What's to be done?" asked Val; "their refusal to send their horses and cars must be owing to the influence of this priest Roche."

"Of course it is," replied the son; "I wish to God I had the hanging of him; but why did you send to those blasted papists at all? sure the blood-hounds were your men."

"Why did I, Phil? ah, my good shallow Son—ha, why did I?" he spoke in a low condensed whisper, "why, to sharpen my vengeance. It was my design to have made one papist aid in the oppression of another. Go off, Darby, to Castle Cumber, and let twelve or fourteen of my own corps come to M'Loughlin's with their horses and carts immediately;—call also to M'Slime's, and desire him to meet me there forthwith; and bid Hanlon and the other two fellows to wait outside until they shall be wanted. The sheriff will be at M'Loughlin's about two o'clock."

After Darby had gone, Val paused for a while, then rose, and walked about, apparently musing and reflecting, with something of uneasiness and perplexity in his looks; whilst Phil unfolded the True Blue, and began to peruse its brilliant pages with his usual nonchalance.

"Phil," said the father, "there is one thing I regret, and it is that I promised Solomon Harman's farm. We should, or rather you should, you know, have secured both—for I need not tell you that two good things are better than one, and as my friend Lucre knows—who, by the way, is about to be made a bishop of, now that he of ——— ——— has gone to his account. Solomon, however, having been aware of the fines they offered, ex officio, as the Law Agent, I thought the safest thing was to let them go snacks. If, however, we could so manage, before Lord Cumber's arrival, as to get him discarded, we might contrive to secure the other farm also. The affair of the young woman, on which I rested with a good deal of confidence, would, I am inclined to think, on second consideration, rather raise him in that profligate Lord's esteem than otherwise."

"Why, did you not hear that he was publicly expelled from the congregation?" said Phil; "and as to the history of Susanna, that's all over the parish these two days. Her father brought the matter before the congregation, and so far Solomon's hypocrisy is exposed."

"In that case, then," said Val, "something may be done yet. We must only now endeavor to impress Lord Cumber with a strong sense of what is due to public opinion, which would be outraged by having such a Law Agent on his estate. Come, leave the matter to me, and we shall turn Solomon's flank yet; I know he hates me, because I curtailed his pickings, by adopting the system of not giving leases, unless to those on whom we can depend. Besides, the little scoundrel has no political opinions whatsoever, although an Orangeman."

"Come, my old cock, no hypocrisy; what political opinions have you got?"

"Very strong ones, Phil."

"What are they?—you hate the papists, I suppose?"

"Cursed stuff, Phil; the papists are as good as other people; but still I hate them, Phil, because it's my interest to do so. A man that's not an anti-papist now is nothing, and has no chance. No, Phil, I am not without a political opinion, notwithstanding, and a strong one too."

"What is it, then?"

"Here," said he, laying his hand upon his breast, "here is my political opinion. Valentine M'Glutchy, Phil, is my political creed, and my religious one too."

"After all," replied Phil, "you are a chip of the old block."

"Yes, Phil; but I don't parade it to the world as he does—and there's the difference."

"Well, thank heaven," said the son, "I have no brains for any creed; but I know I hate Popery and the Papists as I do the devil."

"And that, Phil, is the enlightened sentiment upon which all bigotry and mutual hatred between creeds is based. But you, Phil, could never be so vexatious as a foe to Popery as I could—your very passions and prejudices would occasionally obstruct you even in persecution—but I—I can do it coolly, clearly, and upon purely philosophical principles. I hate M'Loughlin upon personal principles—I hate the man, not his religion; and here there must be passion: but in matters of religion, Phil, there is nothing so powerful—so destructive—so lasting—so sharp in persecution—and so successful, as a passionless resentment. That, Phil, is the abiding and imperishable resentment of churches and creeds, which has deluged the world with human blood."

"Curse your philosophy, I don't understand it; when I hate, I hate—and I'm sure I hate Popery, and that's enough."



CHAPTER XXIX.—Solomon Suffers a Little Retribution

—Requests Widow Lenehan to "Wrestle" for Him—Deaker's Death-Bed—Dies Loyally Whistling the Boyne Water.

The conversation had proceeded thus far, when Lanty Gorman, already spoken of, knocked at the door, and asked to see Mr. M'Clutchy.

Val went to the hall.

"Well, Lanty, what's the matter?—how is your master?"

"Plaise your honor," said the lad, "I think you ought to go to him; he's at the last gasp, sir; if you'd see the way his face is, and his eyes."

"He is worse, then?"

"I don't think it's so much sickness, sir, as—"

"As what?"

"As the liquor, your honor; he's at the Glorious Memory, sir, till he's nearly off; he thinks it's the Boyne wather he's drinkin' it in, sir, otherwise I don't b'lieve he'd take so much of it. Sheemus a Cocka and the cart's in the yard, sir; Darby said you wanted them."

"Take Sheemus a Cocka to h—l, sir," said Phil, "we don't want him—he's a kind of papist; take him away to h—l out of this."

"I can only take him to the gates, sir; unfortunately there's no entrance there for a papish, Captain Phil; if we could only get him to turn Protestant, sir, it's himself 'ud get the warm welcome. But," he proceeded, addressing Val, "wouldn't it be a charity, sir, to go over and see the state he's in; Tom Corbet, the butler, says its a burnin' sin and shame to look at him, widout any one near him but that vagabone, Miss Fuzzle, an' he dyin', like a dog."

"I shall be there immediately," replied Val. "Bring the ass home again; we do not want him. Now, Phil," he proceeded, "I shall ride over, to see how matters are going on; and in the meantime I think it would be well to get Hanlon, and those other two who were out with Darby for his protection—for the fellow pretends to be afraid, and carries arms—it would be as well, I say, to get two or three additional affidavits against this Easel prepared by my return; for we must make our case as firm as we can. Whether the fellow's a Popish Agent, or whether he's not, doesn't matter a curse. I don't think he is myself; but at all events it will be a strong proof in the eye of the government, that we are at least vigilant, active, and useful men. I will entrust his arrest to you, and you shall have the full credit of it at headquarters. I hope soon to have you on the Bench. Only I do beg, that for your own sake and mine, you will keep from the brandy. I have remitted the rents to Lord Cumber, who will soon make them fly."

In a few minutes afterwards he proceeded at full speed to the edifying death-bed of his father.

Whilst Phil is preparing the supplementary affidavits for Easel's arrest, which he stretched out considerably by interpolations drawn from his own imagination, we shall follow Darby to M'Slime's, observing, en passant, that the aforesaid Darby, as he went, might have been perceived to grin and chuckle, and sometimes give a short, low, abrupt cackle, of a nature peculiarly gratifying to himself.

"Devil a smite ever either of them left on any bone thrown me," he exclaimed. "Instead o' that they begridged me the very fees that I was entitled to, bad luck to them! Well no matther!" and here he shrugged and chuckled again, and so continued to do as he went along.

As for Solomon, he felt full occasion that morning for all his privileges and spiritual sustainment. A few days previous, he had been brought before his brother Elders by Susanna's father, whose statement was unfortunately too plain to admit of any doubt or misapprehension on the subject. These respectable men—for with but another exception they were so—discharged their duty as became them. The process of expulsion was gone into, but rather with a spirit of sorrow for the failings of an erring and sinful fellow-creature, than with any of the dogmatic and fiery indignation, which, under the plea of charity for his soul, is too often poured upon the head of a backslider. The fact now was that the consequences of his crime were about to come home to him, in a manner which required the exhibition of all the moral courage he possessed. It is unnecessary to inform our readers, that he had assumed the cloak of hypocrisy for the purpose of merely advancing his own interests among a certain section of the religious world. No sooner, however, did the history of his expulsion and its cause become general, than all those religious clients, who felt themselves scandalized by his conduct, immediately withdrew their business out of his hands, and transferred it to those of others; and not only persons of a decidedly religious character, but also almost every one who detested hypocrisy, and loved to see it exposed and punished. In truth, short as the period was since that exposure, Solomon was both surprised and mortified at the number of clients and friends who deserted him.

He was meditating over these things then that morning, when Widow Lenehan, of whom, mention has already been made, a religious woman, and notwithstanding her name, a member of the congregation to which he belonged, entered his office, accompanied by her brother.

"Ah, Mrs. Lenehan, how do you do? and my friend Palmer, I hope I see you well!"

"Pretty well, Mr. M'Slime; as well as these hard times will let us."

"Hard times! true, my friend, hard times they are indeed; very hard—yea, even as a crushing rock to those who are severely tried. But affliction is good, my friends, and if it be for our soul's health, then, indeed, it is good to be afflicted."

To this, neither Mrs. Lenehan nor her brother made any reply; and Solomon was left to console himself with a holy groan or two—given in that peculiar style which hypocrisy only can accomplish, but which is altogether out of the sphere, and beyond the capacity of true repentance.

"Mr. M'Slime," said Palmer, "my sister has at present"—which was the fact—although Solomon did not believe it—"a more advantageous opportunity of investing those eight hundred pounds which the poor woman has scraped together, and she wishes to draw them out of the funds without any delay; she wishes to sell out."

"Of course," said Solomon; "and, indeed, Mrs. Lenehan, I am delighted to hear it. How are you about to have the money invested, ma'am? Only give me the names of the parties, with the nature of the securities, and I shall have the whole matter safely managed with as little delay as may be."

"She wishes first, Mr. M'Slime, to get the money into her own hands," said Palmer, "and, I believe, I may as well state that, as a conscientious Christian woman, she does not feel justified in availing herself any longer of your professional services, Mr. M'Slime."

"Indeed," observed the widow, "I don't see how I could, Mr. M'Slime; I trust I am a Christian woman, as he says, and for a Christian woman to continue you, as her attorney, would be, I fear, to encourage hypocrisy and sin; and I feel that it would not be permitted to me to do so, unless I abuse my privileges."

"Heigho," thought Solomon, "here am I punished, as it were, in my own exact phraseology; verily, the measure is returning unto me."

"Well, Mrs. Lenehan, this is part of my individual dispensation—may it be precious to me! There is a mystery in many things, and there is a mystery in this; a mystery which, I trust, shall yet be cleared up, even so as that I shall indulge in much rejoicing when I look back upon it. Mr. Palmer, you, I trust, are a Christian man, and you, Mrs. Lenehan, a Christian woman—Now, let me ask, did you ever hear that it is possible for an innocent man to be condemned as though he were guilty? Oh! I could argue strongly on this—but that I know now is not the hour."

"Well, but to business, Mr. M'Slime; my sister wants the money into her own hands."

"And in her own hands it shall be placed, Mr. Palmer; but this, you are aware, cannot be done for a few days—until, at all events, I go to Dublin."

"When will that be?" asked Palmer. "About this day week (D.V.). Term commences on to-morrow week, but I am generally in town a day or two before.

"Very well, then, on this day week we shall be in town, too, and will call at your office about ten o'clock.

"The exact hour, my dear friend—and pray be punctual—and my friend Palmer—my dear friend, will you confer a great, an important favor on me? and you, Mrs. Lenehan, for you can?"

"What is it?" said Palmer. "When at family worship think of me. If I am what the world begins to say I am, oh! do not I require, and stand in need of your prayers, and most earnest supplications—yea, Mrs. Lenehan, even that you should wrestle for me—that I may be restored to the fold:—and if I am innocent—if—if—oh! why do I say if?" said he, turning up his eyes, and clasping his hands, whilst the tears of hypocrisy actually trickled down his cheeks, "but it is known—that precious word innocence is known? Peace be with you both!"

Darby, on his arrival, found him engaged in writing at his desk, and on casting his eye slightly at the paper he perceived that he was drawing out a bill of costs.

"Darby, my friend," said Solomon, after the first salutations were over, "when will you enter upon the duties of your new office."

"Plaise God, as soon as Mr. M'Darby leaves it—which will be in a few days, I hope; and how are you, Mr. M'Slime?"

"Tried in the furnace of affliction, nine times heated, Darby."

"It's a sad thing to be accused unjustly, Mr. M'Slime," said Darby looking him shrewdly in the face with one eye shut; "but then it's well that this—this—visitation has come upon a man that has thrue religion to support him, as you have, under it."

"Darby, my friend, there are none of us perfect—we all have our frailties—our precious little—ay! yes;—you know, Darby, the just man falleth seven times a day."

Darby started, and despite of all the influence of his new creed exclaimed—"Blessed Saints, seven times! Arra when was this, Mr. M'Slime? Troth, I think, it must be in the owld pagan times long ago, when the people were different from what they are now."

"You see, Darby, that just men, that is the Elect, have their privileges."

"Troth, if to fall seven times a day is the privilege of a just man, I'd never be anything else all my life," replied Darby; "and myself wondhers that there's e'er an unjust man alive."

"Darby, I fear that Mr. Lucre has not improved your perceptions of spiritual things."

"Why, as to that, Mr. M'Slime, if you knew Mr. Lucre's piety as well as I do—however, as you say yourself, sir, it's known, or rather it's unknown, the piety of that gintleman."

"Well, Darby, between you and me, I am just as well satisfied that you did not attach yourself, as I expected you would have done, to our congregation; for, to acknowledge a truth, Darby, which I do in all charity, I tell you, my friend, that they are awfully Pharisaical, and wretchedly deficient in a proper sense of Christian justice; I, Darby, am a proof of it. I mentioned to another person before, Darby, that the Christian devotion of an act I did, would occasion considerable risk to my own reputation, and you see it has done so. I shall bear all the blame, Darby—all shame, Darby—all opprobium, Darby, sooner than that precious vessel—hitherto precious, I should have said—and yet, perhaps, precious still—"

"He is a just man, may be," said Darby. "He is, I would trust—sooner, I say, than that precious vessel should be broken up as unprofitable."

"I suppose he is one of those vessels, sir," said Darby, "that don't wish to hould any wather, unless when it's mix—"

"He is, or rather was, a brother Elder, Darby; but then, it mattereth not; I have covered his trangressions with my charity. I permit you to say as much among your friends in the religious world, whenever you hear the name of Solomon M'Slime mentioned. It is also due to myself to say as much."

"I'm afther comin' from Mr. M'Clutchy's, sir," said Darby, "and he desired me to say that he hopes you'll attend at Mr. M'Loughlin's about two o'clock, and not to fail, as its to be a busy day wid him. The sheriffs to be there to put them out."

"I shall not fail, Darby," replied the attorney; "but who comes here, riding at a rapid pace, like a messenger who bringeth good tidings?"

Darby looked out, and at once recognized one of Deaker's grooms, riding at a smart gallop towards Solomon's house.

The latter raised the window as the man approached—

"Well, my friend, what is the matter?"

"Sir, Mr. Deaker wishes to see you above all things; he is just dying, and swears he cannot depart till you come."

"I shall order the car immediately," replied Solomon. "Say I shall not lose a moment."

The man wheeled round his horse, and galloped off at even a greater speed than before.

"Darby, my friend," said he, "I shall attend at M'Loughlin's without fail. Justice must be rendered, Darby; justice must be rendered to that wretched man and his family."

Darby looked him in the face with a peculiar expression—

"Yes, sir," said he; "plaise God, justice shall be rendhered as you say—no doubt of that."

He then left the house, and ere he had proceeded a score yards, turned and said—

"Yes, you netarnal villain—you know the justice you and M'Clutchy rendhered me—bad luck to you both, I pray, this day! Any how it'll soon come back to yez."

In a few minutes Solomon was on his way, with an anxious expectation that he had been called upon to draw up Deaker's will.

Val, on reaching his father's, heard from Tom Corbet, with a good deal of surprise, that Solomon had been sent for expressly. A glance, however, at the invalid induced him to suppose that such a message could proceed from nothing but the wild capricious impulses under which he labored. Much to his surprise also, and indeed to his mortification, he found before him two gentlemen, whom Deaker, who it appears had been conscious of his approaching dissolution, had sent for, with his usual shrewdness, to guard and preserve his loose property from his unfortunate housekeeper on the one hand, and his virtuous son Val, on the other. These gentlemen were his cousins, and indeed we are inclined to think that their presence at that precise period was, considering all things, rather seasonable than otherwise. They had not, however, arrived many minutes before Val, so that when he came, they were still in one of the parlors, waiting for Deaker's permission to see him. A little delay occurred; but the moment Val entered, with his usual privilege he proceeded straight to the sick room, whilst at the same moment a message came up to say that the other gentlemen "might come up and be d—d." The consequence was, that the three entered the room nearly together. Great was their surprise, however—at least of two of them their disgust, their abhorrence, on seeing, as they approached his bed-room, a female—Young certainly, and handsome—wrapped in a night-dress—her naked feet slippered, her nice flushed and her gait tottering, escaping, as it were, out of it.

On passing them, which it was necessary she should do, she did not seem ashamed, but turned her eyes on them with an expression of maudlin resentment, that distorted her handsome but besotted features into something that was calculated to shock those who looked upon her. There she passed, a licentious homily upon an ill-spent life—upon a life of open, steady, and undeviating profligacy; there she passed the meretricious angel of his death-bed, actually chased by the presence of men from the delirious depravity of his dying pollutions!

"There is no necessity, gentlemen," said Val, "for my making an apology for this shocking sight—you all know the life, in this respect, that my unfortunate father led."

* This, like most other scenes in the present work, is no fiction.

"In any case it is unprecedented," replied one of them; "but if he be so near death, as we apprehend, it is utterly unaccountable—it is awful." They then entered.

Deaker was lying a little raised, with an Orange silk night-cap on his head, embellished with a figure of King William on horseback. Three or four Orange pocket-handkerchiefs, each, owing to the excellent taste of the designer, with a similar decoration of his Majesty in the centre, lay about the bed, and upon a little table that stood near his head. There was no apothecary's bottles visible, for it is well known that whatever may have been the cause of Deaker's death he died not of any malady known in the Pharmacopeia. In truth, he died simply of an over-wrought effort at reviving his departed energies, joined to a most loyal, but indomitable habit of drinking the Glorious Memory in brandy.

"Well, Vulture," said he on seeing Val, "do you smell the death-damp yet, that you're here? Is the putrefaction of my filthy old carcase on the wind yet? Here Lanty, you imp," he said turning his eyes on the ripe youth as he brought in a large jug of the "Boyne"—in other words of St. Patrick's Well water—"I say you—you clip, do you smell the putrefaction of my filthy old carcase yet? eh?"

"Begad, sir, it's no the pleasantest smell in the world at the present time; and there's a pair of big, black, thievish look in' ould Ravens, sittin' for the last two or three days upon the black beech, as if they had a suspicion of something. Tom Corbet and I have fired above a dozen shots at them, and blazes to the feather we can take out o' them. So far from that, they sit there laughin' at us. Be me sowl, it's truth, gentlemen."

"Begone, sirra," said Val, "how dare you use such language as this to your master; Leave the room."

Lanty rubbed his hair with his middle finger and went reluctantly out.

"Ah," said Deaker, "I'm glad to see you bore, Dick Bredin—and you Jack—stay here till I'm in the dirt, and you'll find I have not forgotten either of you.—As for the Vulture there, he is very well able to take care of himself—he is—oh, a d——d rogue!"

Deaker's face, was such a one as, perhaps, was never witnessed on a similar occasion, if there ever were a similar occasion. It presented the cadaverous aspect of the grave, lit up into the repulsive and unnatural animation that resulted from intoxication, and the feeble expiring leer of a worse passion. There was a dead but turbid glare in his eye; half of ice, and half of fire, as it were, which when taken in connection with his past life, was perfectly dreadful and appalling. If it was not the ruling passion strong in death, it was the ruling passion struggling for a divided empire with that political Protestantism which regulated his life, but failed to control his morals.

"Here," said he, "mix me some brandy and water, or—stop, ring the bell, Dick Bredin."

Bredin rang the bell accordingly, and in a minute or so Lanty came in.

"Here, you imp, do your duty."

"Haven't you enough, sir? more, I think, will do you harm."

"Go to h—l, you young imp of perdition, do your duty, I say."

Lanty here mixed him some brandy and water, and then held it to his lips.

"Here," said he, "here is the Glorious, Pious, and Immortal Memory! hip, (hiccup) oh—ay—hip, hip, hurrah! Now, Lanty, you clip, that's one part of my duty done."

"It is, sir," replied Lanty; "you always did your duty, Square."

"Ay, but there's more to come—lay me back now, Lanty; lay me back till I whistle the Boyne Water."

Lanty accordingly laid him back a little, and he immediately commenced an attempt to whistle that celebrated air by way of consolation on his death-bed.

"He's not always settled, gentlemen," said Lanty, "and I see that one of his wandering fits is comin' on him now."

"What is the reason," said Captain Bredin—for such was the rank of the person he called Dick—"why is it that there is not a physician in attendance?"

"He would not let one of the thieves near him," replied Lanty, "for fraid they'd kill him."

"That is true," observed Val; "he always entertained a strong antipathy against them, and would consult none."

"Did Solomon M'Slime come?" he inquired.

"Here's a foot on the stairs," said Lanty, "maybe it's he—" and Lanty was right, for he had scarcely spoken when the worthy attorney entered.

"Solomon, you sleek, hypocritical rascal," said he, "I do not forget you; read that paper; you will find at the bottom of it these words, on one side, 'sworn before me, this'—no matter about the day—signed 'Randal Deaker;' and on the other, 'Susanna Bamet.' Solomon, I could not die happily without this hit at you. Your hypocrisy is known,—ha, ha, ha! Come, d—n me; I never lived a hypocrite, and I won't die one. Lanty, you imp, the brandy."

"I'll only give him a little," said the lad, looking and nodding at them.

"Come, then, 'the Glorious, Pious, and Immortal Memory!'—hip—ah, lay me down—hi-p-p-p!"

He now closed his eyes for some time, and it was observed that strange and fearful changes came over his face. Sometimes he laughed, and sometimes he groaned, and, indeed, no words could express the indescribable horror which fell upon those present, or, at least, upon most of them, as the stillness of the room was from time to time broken by the word—"damnation" pronounced in the low and hollow voice of approaching death.

Solomon, who had glanced at the affiliating affidavit made by Susanna, was the first to break the silence.

"In truth, my friends," said he, "I fear it is not good to be here; and were it not that I am anxious to witness what is rarely seen, a reprobate and blasphemous death-bed, I would depart even now."

After some time Deaker called out—"Help me up, Lanty; here, help me up, you whelp."

Lanty immediately did so, and aided him to sit nearly upright in the bed.

"The tumbler, Lanty—Lanty, my lad, 'let us eat, drink, and be mer—ry, for to-mor—row we die;' here's the glor—, pio—, and immor—I, memo—, hi-p, hi-p-p! And now I swore th—at I wo—uld die whistling it, and by that oath I will." He then looked around, and seemed to recover himself a little. "Ay," he continued, "I'll do it, if I don't I'll be d——d! lay me down, you imp of hell; there, that will do."

He then gathered his mouth and lips, as those do who whistle, and at the moment a long rattle of death was heard in his throat, then a shrill, feeble sound, like that of the wind through reeds, melancholy and wailing; issued from his white and gathered lips, and then was a silence.

For some minutes it was not broken, at length M'Clutchy went over, and on looking into his face, and feeling his pulse and heart he announced the fact of his death.

"Well," said Lanty, "he kept his word, at all events; he swore many a fearful oath, that he would die whistling the Boyne Wather, and he did: but, be my soul, he didn't die drinldn' it, as he thought. I must go and let them know in the house that he's gone.

"And bring my car to the door," said Solomon, "as quickly as you can. Well," he proceeded, "the man is now gone, and, indeed, my friends, I fear that Satan is not at this moment without a companion, if he is on his way to his own dominions."

Deaker's features at that moment presented the most extraordinary appearance. As he lay, there appeared evident upon them the somewhat comic set, which was occasioned by his attempt to whistle the Boyne Water. He had but one tooth in front, which now projected a little; and as he always whistled with his mouth twisted somewhat to the one side it would be difficult to witness such a striking sight. But, when to this we add the recollection of his life and habits, and mention the fact that the very act of whistling the Boyne Water brought forward in his face all the gross characteristics of his licentious passions, we may fairly admit that the face and features very faithfully represented the life and principles of the man who owned them.

Lanty, who had gone to acquaint the servants with his death, and to get round Solomon's car, now came in with a pale face:—

"Gentlemen," said he, "as sure as life's in me, the two black thievish ravens that sot on the black beech-tree these two days past, is off; hell resave the feather o' them's there—it's truth!—The moment the breath was out of his body they made back to where they came from; they got what they wanted, you see and it stands to reason, or what 'ud keep them watchin' there these three days. As for myself, be me sowl the first thing I'll do will be to make a severe station to St. Patrick's Well to get the grain o' the sin off o' me that has been committed in this house."

Val, for years, knew his father's disposition too well to form any expectations whatsoever from him, and, indeed, it is but just to say that old Deaker took care not to allow him an opportunity of falling into a single misconception on the subject. As a natural consequence, Val hated him, and would have come long before to an open rupture with him, were it not that he feared to make him his enemy. He also thought it possible that Deaker, out of respect for his villany, might in some capricious moment have thought of rewarding it; and so probably he might have done, were it not for two traits in his character which his worthy father especially detested—viz., cowardice and hypocrisy.

Val, on his return home, found fewer carts than he had calculated upon even among his blood-hounds. Orangemen, in the social and civil duties of life, are sterling and excellent men in general. It is only when brought together for the discharge of political duties, by such miscreants as M'Clutchy, or when met in their Lodges under the united influence of liquor and mad prejudices; or when banded together in fairs and markets under the same stimulants, and probably provoked and dared by masses of less open and more treacherous opponents; it is only then we say that their most licentious outrages were committed. Meet the Orangeman, however, in his field, or in his house and he will aid and assist you in your struggles or difficulties, as far as he can; no matter how widely you may differ from him in creed.

The fact was that on understanding the nature of the duty Val expected from them—and which the reader may perceive was not an official one, most of them absolutely refused to come. M'Loughlin, they said, had given extensive employment, and circulated large sums of money annually in the neighborhood, and they did not see why an Absentee landlord, or his Agent, should wish to throw so many hands out of employment, and to ruin so many families. They wern't on duty now, which was a different thing; but they had their own opinions on the subject—they knew Captain Phil's conduct—and d—n them, if M'Loughlin was a Papish twenty times over, if they'd lend a hand in any sense to carry away his furniture. It was all well enough when they were drunk or on duty, but they weren't drunk or on duty now.

Three or four cars and carts were all that Val found at home on his arrival there—a circumstance which, added to his recent disappointment touching Deaker—from whom he had, in fact, to the last, cherished secret expectations—inflamed his resentment against M'Loughlin almost beyond all conception.

On leaving Constitution Cottage for M'Loughlin's, he was not a little surprised to see worthy Phil walking, backward, and forward on the lawn, accompanied by no less a personage than our friend Raymond-na-hattha.

"Ah," said he to Phil, looking at him and Raymond, "there's a pair of you."

"Never mind, old fellow," said Phil with a grin, "you don't know what's ahead—a pretty bit of goods; begad, father, Raymond's a jewel:—ah, you don't know her, but I do—hip, hip, old cook."

"Phil," said Val, "you have been at the brandy; I see it in your eye, and I hear it in your speech."

"Well," said Phil, "I have, and what then—that's the chat; who's afraid, M'Clutchy?"

"Phil, Phil," said the father, "this won't do."

"I say it will do, and it must do," returned the son—"but harkee, old cock, is Deaker, the precious, d——d yet?"

"If ever man was," replied his father—"and not a penny to either of us, Phil; not as much as would jingle on his own lying tombstone, and a lying one it will be no doubt. Did you get the affidavits prepared?"

"I did, but curse the rascals, I was obliged to make them drunk before they would consent to swear them. The truth is, I put in a lot of stuff out of my own head," said Phil, "and they refused to swear to it until I made them blind."

"You must have made devilish stretches when they refused," said the father, "where are they now?"

"Locked up in the stable loft, fast asleep," replied Phil, "and ready to swear."

"It is well," said Val, "that we have affidavits and information enough for his arrest, independent of theirs. Go in, Phil, and keep yourself steady—Easel must be my own concern, I see that; he shall be arrested this day; I have everything prepared for it."

"Very well," said Phil; "with all my heart—I have better game in view," and he knowingly rubbed his finger along his nose as he spoke.

"If you were sober," said Val, "I could have wished you to witness the full glut of my vengeance upon M'Loughlin, inasmuch, my excellent son, as it was on your account I received the insult, the injury—why, by h——n, he trampled upon me!—that shall never be forgiven, but which will this day, Phil, meet the vengeance that has been hoarded up here—" and, as he spoke, he placed his hand upon his heart. "The sheriff," he added, "and his officers are there by this time—for I do assure you, Phil, I will make short work of it. As for those ungrateful scoundrels that refused to send their cars and carts, I know how to deal with them; and yet, the rascals, as matters now stand between Hartley and us, I can't afford to turn them out of the corps."

"Go ahead, I say," replied Phil; "I have better game on hands than your confounded corps, or your confounded popish M'Loughlins."

Raymond, who walked, pari passu, along with him, looked at him from time to time and, as he did, it might be observed that his eyes flashed actual fire—sometimes with an appearance of terrible indignation, and sometimes with that of exultation and delight.

Val now proceeded to execute his great mission of vengeance. As he went along—his heart literally beat with a sense of Satanic triumph and delight; his spirit became exhilarated, and all his faculties moved in a wild tumult of delirious enjoyment. He was at best but a slow horseman, but on this occasion he dashed onward with an unconscious speed that was quite unusual to him. At length he reached M'Loughlin's, whither the carts had been sent, immediately on his return from Deaker's. All there seemed very quiet and orderly; the usual appearance of business and bustle was not of course visible, for, thanks to his own malignant ingenuity and implacable resentment, there were many families in the neighborhood not only thrown out of employment, but in a state of actual destitution. Having knocked at the hall door, it was instantly opened by one of his own retainers, and without either preface or apology he entered the parlor. There was none there but M'Loughlin himself, Gordon Harvey, the excellent fellow of whom we have already spoken, and whom M'Loughlin, in consequence of his manly and humane character, had treated with kindness and respect—and Solomon M'Slime who had arrived only a few minutes before him.

"Gentlemen," said M'Loughlin, "what have I done, that I am to thank you both for your kindness in honoring a ruined man with this unusual visit."

Val gave him a long, fixed and triumphant look,—such a look as a savage gives his worst enemy, when he gets him beneath his knee, and brandishes his war-knife, before plunging it in his throat.

"Indeed, my good neighbor," replied Solomon, seeing that Val did not speak, "I believe it is a matter of conscience on the part of my friend M'Clutchy here, who is about to exhibit towards you and your family a just specimen of Christian retribution. In my view of the matter, however, he is merely the instrument; for I am one, Mr. M'Loughlin, who believe, that in whatever we do here, we are only working out purposes that are shaped above."

"What! when we rob the poor, oppress the distressed, strive to blacken the character of an innocent girl, or blast the credit of an industrious man, and bring him and his to ruin? Do you mean to say, that the scoundrel"—he looked at Val as he uttered the last word—"the scoundrel who does this, and ten times more than this, is working out the purposes of God? If you do, Sir" he continued, "carry your blasphemy elsewhere, for I tell you that you shall not utter it under this roof."

"This roof," said Val, "in two hours hence shall be no longer yours."

"I thought you pledged yourself solemnly that you would not take any hasty steps, in consequence of my embarrassments," said M'Loughlin; "but you see that I understand your character thoroughly. You are still the same treacherous and cowardly scoundrel that you ever were, and that you ever will be."

"This roof," replied Val, "in an hour or two shall be no longer yours. You and yours shall be this night roofless, homeless, houseless. This, Brian M'Loughlin, is the day of my vengeance and of my triumph. Out you go, sir, without consideration, without pity, without mercy—aye, mercy, for now you are at my mercy, and shall not find it."

"But my wife is ill of fever," said M'Loughlin, "and surely you are at all events an Irishman, and will not drag her from her sick bed—perhaps her bed of death?"

"That act of kindness to her would be kindness to you and your family, Mr. M'Loughlin, and for that reason she shall go out, if she were to expire on the moment. No; this is the day of my vengeance and my triumph. Harvey," he added, "tell Jack Stuart to come to me."

Harvey went out, and in a minute or two Stuart came in; a heavy-faced, sullen-looking villain, who strongly resembled Val himself in character, for he was equally cowardly and ferocious. Val met him in the hall—

"Stuart," said he, "I have sent up three or four fellows—the two Boyds and the two Carsons—to arrest a fellow named Easel—a Spy or something of that kind—with orders to lodge him in goal; go up and tell them to bring him here first. I have my reasons for it; he has taken an interest in this M'Loughlin, and I wish him to witness his punishment."

"Hadn't you betther put the rascal in the stocks, or give an ordher for it, till it's your honor's convenience to see him?"

"No, no, desire them to bring him here immediately—go now, and do not lose a moment."

On entering the parlor again, he rubbed his hands with perfect delight.

"Ay," said he, "this day, M'Loughlin, I have long looked for; this day, this day, ha, ha, ha!"

"M'Clutchy," said M'Loughlin, "I always knew you were a bad and black-hearted man; but that you were such a perfect devil I never knew till now. What, to drag out my sick wife!"

"Ha! ha! ha!"

"Consider that her removal now will occasion her death."

"Ha! ha! ha!"

"You will not do it; you could not do it. Would you kill her?"

"Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! M'Loughlin, this is the day of my vengeance, and my triumph. Ha, ha, ha!"

"Friend M'Clutchy," said Solomon, "permit me for one moment to remonstrate—"

"Permit the devil, sir," said Val, stamping on the floor with fury; "remonstrate! Don't you know that I have this fellow safely in my power?"

"I do," replied Solomon, "and my remonstrance would have been, had you heard me, simply and humbly to suggest that you might do the thing—-this vengeance that you speak of—in an edifying manner—or, in other words, in a mild and Christian spirit."

"Solomon, you are after all but a poor devil," said Val; "a poor pitiful scoundrel, that can't understand what full, deep-seated, and lasting vengeance means. You are only fit to sneak, and peep, and skulk about after a sly, prim, sweet-faced—but I am losing my breath to speak to you. Gordon, is the inventory taken?"

"It is, sir; Montgomery has it."

"That's well, here are the carts then—ay, and here comes the sheriff. Now for business."

"So, then, you will proceed, Mr. M'Clutchy?" said M'Loughlin.

"Proceed," he replied, looking at him, as it were, with amazement; "proceed—ha, ha, ha!"

"Truly that is unchristian mirth," observed Solomon; "I must say as much—even although your cause be a just cause, and one supported by the laws—by our blessed laws, that protect the rights of the tenant and landlord with equal justice and impartiality; for it is a glorious privilege to live under a constitution that protects the tenant from the malignity and oppression of the landlord or his agents. It is that," said Solomon; "oh, it is that precious thing, indeed."

As he spoke the words there was a slight upraising of the eyes, together with a side glance at M'Clutchy, which, though barely-perceptible, contained as much sanctified venom as could well be expressed. He had scarcely concluded, when the sheriff, having pulled up his gig, entered.

Val, notwithstanding his excessive thirst for vengeance, could not avoid feeling the deepest possible mortification since his arrival at M'Loughlin's. There was observable in this honest fellow's bearing something that vexed his oppressor sorely, and which consisted in a kind of easy, imperturbable serenity, that no threat could disturb or ruffle. Nay, there appeared a kind of lurking good-humored defiance in his eye, which, joined to the irony of his manner, aggravated the resentment of M'Clutchy to the highest pitch.

"This is an unpleasant visit, Mr. Graham," said M'Loughlin, when that official entered; "but it can't be helped."

"It is unpleasant to both of us, I assure you," replied the sheriff; "on my part, of course, you know it is an act of duty, and, indeed, a very painful one, Mr. M'Loughlin."

"I have experienced your civility, sir, before now," returned M'Loughlin, "thanks to my friends," and he eyed M'Clutchy; "and I know you to be incapable of an un-gentlemanly act. But you must feel it a distressing thing to be made, in the discharge of that duty, the unwilling instrument of oppression on the unfortunate."

"It is quite true," said the sheriff, "and the case you speak of too frequently happens, as I have reason to know."

"Pray, what are those carts for, Mr. M'Clutchy?" asked M'Loughlin.

"To remove your furniture, sir, and all your other movable property off the premises. I act in this matter by the authority of the law, and Lord Cumber's instructions."

"Dear me," said M'Loughlin, coolly, "why, you are very harsh, Mr. M'Clutchy; you might show a little forbearance, my good neighbor. Upon what authority, though, do you remove the furniture? because I did believe that the tenant was usually allowed fourteen days to pay up, before the process of an auction, and even that, you know, must take place on the premises, and not of them."

"There has been an affidavit made, that you intend to remove suddenly, that is, to make what is called a moonlight flitting, Mr. M'Loughlin, and upon that affidavit I proceed. As I said, I have the law with me, my good neighbor."

"Pray where did you pick up the honest man who was able to swear to my intentions? he surely must be a clever fellow that can make affidavit as to another man's thoughts—eh, Mr. M'Clutchy?"

Val's glances at the man, from time to time, were baleful; but, with his usual tact and plausibility, he restrained his temper before the sheriff, lest that gentleman might imagine that he had acted from any other principle than a sense of duty.

Harvey, who heard M'Clutchy's determination with deep regret, now happening to look out of the window, observed a group of persons approaching—one of the said group hard and fast in the grip of two of Val's constables; whilst, at the same time, it was quite evident, that despite the ignominy of the arrest, mirth was the predominant feeling among them, excepting only the constables. On approaching the house, they were soon known, and Val, to his manifest delight, recognized Mr. Easel as a prisoner, accompanied by Messrs. Hickman and Hartley, both of whom seemed to enjoy Easel's position between the two constables, as a very excellent subject for mirth.

"Mr. M'Clutchy," said M'Loughlin, "whether is it you or I that is about to hold a little levee in my humble parlor to-day? But I suppose I need not ask. Consider yourself at home here, my good neighbor—you are now up, and I am down; so we must only allow you to have your way."

Just then the parlor door once more opened, and the party already alluded to entered. Very distant and very polite were the salutations that passed from M'Clutchy to the party in question, which the party in question received, on the other hand, with a degree of good humor and cordiality that surprised and astounded our agent, Val, to tell the truth, felt rather queer; for, on comparing M'Loughlin's nonchalance with the significant good humor of the new comers, he was too shrewd not to feel that there was a bit of mystery somewhere, but in what quarter he could not possibly guess."

"Gentlemen," said he, falling back upon his humanity, "the duties of an Agent are often painful, but still they must be discharged. Lord Cumber, I must confess, has not been well advised, to force me to these proceedings. Mr. M'Loughlin, I acknowledge I lost temper a while ago—but the fact really is, that I proceed in this matter with great reluctance, notwithstanding what I said. Here, however," he added, turning to Easel, "is a horse of a different color."

On speaking, he put his hand into his pocket, and pulling out the Hue and Cry of a certain date, read a description, and, as he advanced, he turned his eyes with singular sagacity and satisfaction upon the person and features of poor Easel.

"Browbeater was right," said he; "you are here at full length in the Hue and Cry—middle size—of rather plausible carriage—brown hair—hazel eyes—and a very knowing look—the upper lip a good deal curled; which I see is the case; known to be in the possession of more money that ought to belong to a person in your condition—and lastly, before you came here you were hawking high treason in the King's County, in the character of a ballad-singer and vagabond. You have expended sums of money among the poor of this neighborhood, with no good intention towards the government; and the consequence is that Whiteboyism has increased rapidly since you came amongst us."

"But on what authority do you arrest me now?"

"I might arrest you at any time on suspicion; but here are affidavits, in which it is sworn that you are believed to be a popish spy and treasonable agent; and besides I have instructions from the Castle to take you."

"But what am I to do?" asked Easel,—"I am a stranger, and known here by nobody, This, certainly, is not a very Irish reception, I must say, nor is it very creditable to the hospitality of the country. You were civil enough to me when you expected me to become an Orangeman."

"Ah," replied Val, "that's a proof of your ability; you overreached me then, which is what few could have done. No—none but a master-hand like you could do it. Mr. M'Loughlin," he proceeded, "would you allow me a separate room for a few minutes? I am anxious to put some questions to this mischievous vagabond, privately."

"With all my heart," replied the other; "go into the dining-room."

"Now, you scoundrel," said Val, "that you may labor under no mistake, I think it fair to tell you that Browbeater and I know everything about you, and all the Protean shapes you have gone through for the last three years, in different parts of the kingdom Now listen to me, you d——d impostor; listen to me, I say—you have it in your power to become a useful man to the present government. They have revived the Spy system, and there is no doubt, from your acquaintance with the designs and proceedings of Whiteboyism, and of Popery in general, that you can afford very important information on the subject; if you can, your bread is baked for life. You know not the large, the incredible large staff of Spies that we have at work, and believe me, when I tell you that if you make the proper disclosures to me I shall recommend you in the strongest terms to Browbeater, who will have you placed high upon the list of informers—a respectable class of men, let me tell you, and extremely useful—so that you will be well and liberally paid for your treachery, I mean that treachery which has amor patriae to justify it. We will not attempt to control your genius in any way; you can take to ballad-singing again, if you like, or any other patriotic line of serving the government which you choose. Having premised me this much, allow me now to ask you your real name."

"For the present I must decline answering that question."

"Very proper—I see you know your business: and it is not my wish that you should say anything to criminate yourself—certainly not. But in the meantime, that you may see I am not at all in the dark, I tell you that your name is Larry O'Trap, a decent journeyman carpenter by trade, but as much a painter as I am a parson."

"I won't submit to a private examination," replied Easel; "examine me publicly—that is, before the gentlemen in the next room, and I will answer you to better purpose, perhaps; but I hate this hole and corner work."

"You will give no information, then?"

"I don't exactly say that—it is probable I may."

"Think of it, then," said Val, "and let me tell you, there is little time to be lost. I shall speak to you once again before I commit you—that is, after I shall have punished this villain M'Loughlin, whom I hate as I hate hell; and mark me, you scoundrel, and reflect on this,—I am a man who never yet forgave an injury; therefore don't make me your enemy. This M'Loughlin insulted me some years ago in Castle Cumber, and it is that insult that I am this day revenging upon his head—so think of my words."

"I shall think of them; I shall never forget them."

"Keep this fellow in close custody," said Val to the constables, as they re-entered the parlor—"until the business of the day is over. Mr. Sheriff, it is time now that you should do your duty."

"I countermand that order," said Easel. "You see, Mr. M'Clutchy," said the sheriff, smiling, "that here is a countermand."

"Here is your rent in full, Mr. M'Clutchy," said M'Loughlin, "and lest notes might not prove satisfactory, as they never do to you, there it is in gold. You will find it right."

"Well, really I am glad of this," said Val, "it would have been painful to me to have gone to extremities. Still there is the Ejectment to take place, as the leases have expired: but that, my good neighbor, will be merely a form. Of course you will be permitted to go in again as caretakers; but in the meantime we must get the furniture out, and receive possession in the proper way. I was angry, Mr. M'Loughlin, a while ago, as I said and spoke hastily—for indeed I am rather warm when promoting Lord Cumber's interests; God forgive him in the meantime, for the disagreeable duties he too frequently put to me—duties for which I am certain to incur the censure."

"I countermand the order," repeated Easel, with a singular smile on his face; "and desire you, Mr. M'Loughlin, to withhold your rent."

"You!" exclaimed Val, looking at him. "Yes!" he replied, walking over, and looking him sternly in the face.

"If it were worth while to ask your name I would—but I believe I know it already."

"Perhaps not."

"Well, perhaps not; and pray what may it be?"

"I will tell you, sir," replied Hartley. "This gentleman is—"

"Larry O'Trap, a Spy and Whiteboy Agent," said Val, looking into the Hue and Cry, and again surveying Easel. "He is imposing on you, Mr. Hartley."

"This gentleman, sir," proceeded Hartley, "is the Honorable Richard Topertoe, brother to the Right Honorable Lord Cumber—"

"And who has the honor to present you with this communication from that nobleman," said Mr. Topertoe, "which contains your Dismissal from his Agency; and this to you, Mr. M'Slime, which also contains your Dismissal as his Law Agent. The authority of each of you from this moment ceases; and yours, my sterling, excellent, and honorable friend, from this moment recommences," said he, turning to Mr. Hickman. "This letter contains your re-appointment to the situation which you so honorably scorned to hold, when you found it necessary, as his Agent, to oppress the people. Will you be good enough, Mr. M'Loughlin, to call in Mr. Harman and those other people? You shall not be left in the dark, sir," he proceeded, "as to the extent of our knowledge of your dishonesty, treachery, and persecution."

"Truly, my friend M'Clutchy, it is our duty now to act a Christian part here. This dispensation may be ultimately for our good, if we receive it in a proper spirit. May He grant it!"

M'Clutchy's face became the color of lead on perusing his dismissal, which was brief, stern, and peremptory—or as the phrase goes—short, sharp, and decisive. It was written by Lord Cumber's own hand, and to give it all due authenticity, had his seal formally attached at the bottom. Harman now entered, accompanied by Darby, Poll Doolin, and a number of those persons among the tenantry, whom M'Clutchy had robbed and persecuted. On looking at them, after having twice perused the letter of dismissal, his hands and knees trembled as if he were about to fall, and on attempting to fold the letter, it was visible to all that he could scarcely accomplish it.

"Now," proceeded Mr. Topertoe, "I may as well inform you that I have made myself thoroughly and most intimately acquainted with your conduct in all its revolting phases; I have read and transmitted to my brother two letters which passed between you and this pious gentleman, Mr. M'Slime, here, upon the subject of Messrs. M'Loughlin and Harman's property—than which, nothing more flagitious could—in the way of business, or in the performance of any public duty—enter the heart of man. Just Heaven! a poor creature, perhaps prompted by the cravings of hunger, will steal some paltry matter, not worth half a crown—perhaps a pocket-handkerchief—and forthwith out comes justice, oh, not Justice, but Law in her stead, with sword in hand, and scales most iniquitously balanced; and, lo! the unfortunate wretch is immediately dragged to a prison, and transported for life to a penal colony; whilst at the same time, rapacious villains like you, will plunder by wholesale—will wring the hearts of the poor, first by your tyranny, and afterwards rob them in their very destitution. The unhappy, struggling widow, without a husband to defend her, you would oppress, because she is helpless, and your scoundrel son would corrupt her, were she not virtuous. You would intoxicate an aged man that he might, in the unguarded moments of inebriety, surrender a valuable lease into your keeping. You would not receive your rents, except in gold, or which you made the wretched people pay, ruinous, murderous premium, by selling it but to them from day to day. You—in fact have now neither time nor patience to enumerate your monstrous corruptions and robberies, although I know them all, as you shall find ere long. There is one act, however, so refined in diabolical depravity, so deeply narked by a spirit of cowardice, revenge, and cruelty, that I might almost question whether, in the lowest depths of hell itself, anything so damnably black and satanic could originate—I allude to the plan which you conceived and got executed by your heartless, cowardly son, aided by that old woman who stands therein your presence, for ruining the stainless reputation of Mr. M'Loughlin's only daughter."

"I can prove that," said Poll, "and here I am ready and willing to do so."

"In this, however, thank God, you have failed," he continued, "yes, in this, and every other act of your villainy you have been detected, and shall be exposed and punished before the proper tribunal. It is you, sir, and such scourges of the poor and industrious classes as you, who goad the unhappy, the destitute, and despairing people into crimes that are disgraceful to the country; it is you, and such as you, who force them, maddened by your cruelty and oppression, to fall back upon revenge, when they cannot find redress or justice in the laws of the land. Unhappily the whole kingdom is studded too thickly with such men, and until property in this unfortunate country is placed upon an equal footing between landlord and tenant—until the rights and privileges of him who farms and cultivates the soil, are as well protected and secured by law as are those of the other party, so long will there be bloodshed and crime. The murderer is justly abhorred, apprehended, and punished as he ought in the sight of God and man to be: but is there no law to reach unprincipled wretches like you, whose grinding rapacity, dishonesty, and inhumanity, furnish him with the motives and incentives to the crime he commits? As for you, gentlemen, and honest men as you are," he proceeded, addressing M'Loughlin and Harman. "you remain, of course, in your farms; you shall have reasonable and fair leases, and, what is more, your credit shall be re-established on as firm a footing as ever. You shall be enabled to resume your business on an ample scale, and that as sure as I am master of two hundred thousand pounds. And now, O'Drive, a word with you:—I have fully discovered your treachery to both M'Clutchy and M'Slime; you were a willing agent in carrying out their hard and heartless excesses. You were, in truth, a thorough bailiff, without conscience, feeling, or remorse. In no instance have you ever been known to plead for, or take the part of a poor man; so far from that, I find that you have invited and solicited their confidence, only—in case they did not satisfy your petty extortions—that you might betray them to your relentless employer, whilst, under all possible circumstances you fleeced them by threats, and acted the vampire on a small scale. You are no longer a bailiff on this estate, and I have the further satisfaction to assure you, that in consequence of a private interview I had with the new bishop, the Right Rev. Dr. Lucre, concerning your appointment to the situation of under goaler at Castle Cumber, I have succeeded in getting it cancelled; so that you are at liberty to carry your low knavery to the best market you can get for it. In all this, I am authorized by my brother, who, I trust, will soon see the erroneous notions which he entertains upon the subject of property, and his duties as landlord. You, my dear friend, Mr. Hickman—my friend, I say with pride, and the friend of the poor with still greater pride—you will have the goodness to receive from Mr. M'Clutchy and M'Slime all books and documents pertaining,to the estate, that are in their possession."

"Well, be my sowl," said Darby, who was the first to break the silence that followed these observations; "if you were Lord Cumber himself, instead of his brother, I'd call that same tratement of me as purty a piece of ingratitude as ever came acrass me;—me that gave you most of the information—that sould them both, I may say—an' the letthers too that convicted them, are they forgotten?"

"There is your friend and kindred spirit, Mr. M'Clutchy," replied Mr. Topertoe, "who, only that he never forgives an injury, might get you a secret appointment among the Castle Spies and Informers, with whom, or rather it would appear, with the gentleman who drills them, he has considerable influence. It is for such a respectable corps that your talents are best adapted."

"Of a truth," said Solomon, "this is a turning of the tables, to use a somewhat vulgar adage. As for me, I know it is good to be purified in the furnace, and scourged with many stripes, as it is a fresh proof that I am cared for."

Up until this moment M'Clutchy had not uttered a single syllable, but, as we have said, he trembled very much, his temples throbbed, and his brow fell. The squint in his left eye became deeper and more guilt-like. The revulsion of feeling, coming upon him so unexpectedly as it did, was dreadful, and the tumult within him quite beyond the power of language to describe.

He merely said, and this with parched lips and slow enunciation—

"Very well, Mr. Topertoe; your wishes touching the giving up of all documents connected with the property shall be duly complied with, as far as I am concerned. That, is all I choose to say just now."

"And so far as I am concerned," said Solomon, "I can say that mine also shall be rendered up with rejoicing—with rejoicing that I have no further intercourse with a profligate and most unchristian landlord. I feel that in this thing I have cause to be rather thankful than otherwise."

"Now, M'Clutchy," said M'Loughlin, "I could overlook all your dishonesty and treacherous misrepresentation of me to Lord Cumber—your attempt to oust us out of our farms, and to put your son and M'Slime in our places—your suppressing the fact, besides that we offered a thousand pounds apiece for a renewal—your whispering away our commercial reputation, and thereby bringing us in the end to ruin—all that, I say, I could overlook and forgive; but for your foul and cowardly attempt to destroy the fair fame of our spotless child—for that, sir, in which, thank heaven, you failed, I now say, I trust, with honest pride, and tell you face to face—if you had only the manliness to look in mine—that I feel this to be the hour of my triumph—but not of my vengeance, for I trust I am a Christian man."

"As for me, M'Olutchy," said Harman, "really, on looking over your whole conduct—into which there comes not one single virtue belonging to our better nature—I am so filled with indignation, and a perception of the baseness and blackness of your heart and character, your revenge, your perfidy, and above all, your cowardice, that I can feel nothing for you but a loathing and abhorrence that really sicken me when I think of you."

"What could you expect," observed Poll Doolin, "from the son of Kate Clank and villainous ould Deaker?"

M'Clutchy never raised his eye, but taking up his hat, he and Solomon, followed soon after by Darby, took their departure in silence; Solomon occasionally shrugging his shoulders and throwing up his eyes, like a persecuted man.

"There is now no further use for preserving my incognito," observed Mr. Topertoe, "and as you, Mr. Sheriff, have had your journey for nothing, I shall feel obliged if you will join these gentlemen at the Castle Cumber Arms to dinner, where we can have an opportunity of talking these and other matters over more at our leisure."

"Do not expect me, sir," said Hartley, who felt that the delicacy of his position with regard to Lord Cumber, rendered it altogether impossible that he could be the guest of a man with whose brother he was likely soon to fight a duel.

"Well," replied Topertoe, "if you cannot come I shall regret it."

"It is really out of my power, I assure you," replied Hartley, as he bade him fare-Well.

The sheriff accepted the invitation; and after shaking hands with, and congratulating Messrs. M'Loughlin and Harman, also took his leave. He had scarcely gone, when a magnificent carriage and four dashed up to the door, in which Topertoe, accompanied by Hickman, took his seat, and again drove off towards. Castle Cumber, where the said carriage only had arrived that morning from, the metropolis.

Darby was certainly confounded by the unwelcome intelligence respecting the loss of the Gaolership, which was conveyed to him in such an unpleasant manner by Mr. Topertoe. He knew his own powers of wheedling, however, too well, to despair of being able, could he see Lucre, to replace himself as firmly as ever in his good opinion. With this purpose in view, he wended his way to the Glebe House, where he understood the newly made bishop yet was, having made arrangements to proceed the next morning to Dublin, in order to be consecrated. There was, therefore, no time to be lost, and he accordingly resolved to effect an interview if he could. On arriving, the servant, who was ignorant of the change against him which had been produced in his master's sentiments, instantly admitted him; and the bishop, who had expected a present of game from his neighbor, Lord Mountmortgage, desired him to be admitted—the servant having only intimated that the man was come."

"How is this?" said the Prelate in a loud and angry voice; "how did you get in, sir?"

"Plaise your Lordship," replied Darby, "I came in by the door, of course—an' that, your Lordship, is generally the right way; for as holy Scripture says," he proceeded, anxious to let his Lordship see how deeply he was imbued with Scriptural truth—"as holy Scripture says, 'Verily, verily, I say unto you, he that entereth not by the door into the sheep-fold, but climbeth up some other way, the same is a thief and a robber,' Indeed, my Lord, I never knewn the consolation that's in Scripture antil lately, glory be to God!"

The bishop looked at him with an angry and scrutinizing eye; for Darby's deportment, to say truth, puzzled him very much. Whether his conduct proceeded from audacity, or shear simplicity, he felt unable to determine, from anything that he could see in Darby's imperturbable features.

"What is your business with me now? asked the prelate.

"Why, your Lordship," replied Darby, "I've made out a couple of proserlytes, that will be a credit to our blessed Establishment, as soon as they're convarted. One of them, my Lord, is called Barney Butther, an' the other Tom Whiskey, in regard of—"

"Go about your business, sir," replied the prelate, reddening with indignation; "begone."

"I will, my Lord; only, my Lord, just before I go—about the Undher Gaolership?"

"Your appointment to it is cancelled," replied the other, "for many reasons; you avoided prosecuting that wild priest."

"But sure I said, my Lord, that when I'd get into my situation—"

"Your appointment to it is cancelled, I repeat; the fact is, O'Drive, I have too much regard for your morals and the advances you have recently made in scriptural knowledge to place you in such a situation. It is only some hardened sinner, some irreclaimable knave, and not an honest man like you, that oughht to be appointed to such an office; the nature of its duties would only draw you into bad habits and corrupt your principles. The fact is, your very virtues and good qualities; prevent you from getting it—for get it, you assuredly shall not."

"Is that your last detarmination, my Lord?"

"My last respecting that matter," replied the prelate.

"Then, upon my conscience," returned Darby, "according to that rule, hell resave the ha'porth of the kind there was to prevent you from bein' a bishop. I hear you're goin' up to Dublin to be consecrated, and be me sowl, you want it; but I'd take my book oath that all the grace in your church won't be able to consecrate you into thrue religion. The back o' my hand to you, I say; for I hate everything that is ungrateful."

It often happens that a petty insult, coming from an unexpected source, excites our indignation more than an offence from a higher quarter. The new made prelate actually got black in the face, and giddy in the head, with the furious fit of passion which seized him on hearing this language from Darby.

In the meantime, we leave him to cool as best he can, and follow Darby to Castle Cumber, where he thought it probable he might meet Father M'Cabe; nor was he mistaken. He found that very zealous gentleman superintending the erection of a new chapel on a site given to Father Roche by Mr Hartley. The priest, who knew that the other had recently avoided him, felt considerably surprised at seeing the bailiff approach him of his own free will.

"Well," said he, in a voice which contained equal parts of irony and anger, "what do you want with me, Mr. Protestant? Ah, what a blessed Protestant you are! and what a hawl they made when they caught you! What do you want, you shuffling scoundrel?"

"Troth, the grace o' God, I fear," replied Darby, humbly.

"And what brings you to me then? I mean, sirra, what's your business now?"

"Why, sir, devil a one o' me but's come jack to the ould creed. Troth, your Reverence, the impressions you made on me the day we had the great argument, was, wondherful. Be my sowl, it's yourself that can send home the whi—word, your Rev-a-ence, in a way that it won't aisly be forgotten. How-an-iver, sure hell resave the wie o me, but threwn back his dirty religion to Lucre—an' left him an' it—although he offered, if I'd remain wid them, to put Johnny Short out, and make me full gaoler. My Lord,' says I, 'thruth's best. I've heard both sides o' the argument from you and Father M'Cabe; an' be me sowl, if you were a bishop ten times over, you couldn't hould a candle to him at arguin' Scripture; neither are you the mild and forgiving Christian that he is. Sure I know your church well,' says I up to him. 'It's a fat church, no doubt; an' I'll tell you what's in it.'"

"'What's that, you backslidin' vagabone?'" says he.

"'Why, then, plenty of mait,' says I, 'but no salvation;' an' salvation to me, your Reverence, but he got black over the whole face and shullers wid rank passion. But sure—would your Reverence come a little more this way; I think the men's listenin' to us—but sure," continued Darby, in a low, wheedling, confidential, and friendly voice, "sure, sir, he wanted me to prosecute you for the religious instruction—for trath it was nothing else, glory be to God—that you gave me the day of the argument; an'—-now listen, your Reverence—he offered me a bribe if I'd do it."

"What bribe!"

"Why, sir, he put his hand, under his apron—sure he has a black silk apron on him now, jist for all the world like a big man cook, dressed out in murnin'—he put his hand undher his apron, and wid a hitch got it into his breeches pocket—'here's a fifty pound note for you,' says he, 'if you'll prosecute that wild priest—there's no end to his larnin,' says he, 'and I want to punish him for it; so, Darby, here's a fifty pound note, an' it'll be yours when the prosecution's over; and I'll bear all the expenses besides.'"

"And what did you say to that?" asked the priest.

"Troth," replied Darby, "I jist bid him considher his fifty pound note as waste paper—an' that Was my answer."

"And there's mine, you lying, hypocritical scoundrel," said the priest, laying his whip across the worthy bailiff's shoulders; "you have been for thirty years in the parish, and no human being ever knew you to go to your duty—you have been a scourge on the poor—-you have maligned and betrayed those who placed confidence in you—and the truth is, not a word ever comes out of your lips can be believed or trusted; when you have the marks of repentance and truth about you, I may listen to you, but not until then—begone!"

"Is that your last detarmination?" said Darby.

"No doubt of it," replied the priest; "my last, and I'll stick to it till I see you a different scoundrel from what you are."

"Ay," replied Darby; "then, upon my sowl, you're all of a kidney—all jack fellow like—an' divil rasave the dacent creed among you, barrin' the Quakers, and may heaven have a hand in me, but I think I was born to be a Quaker, or, any way, a Methodist. I wish to God I understood praichin'—at aitin' the bacon and fowl I am as good a Methodist as any of them—but, be me sowl, as I don't understand praichin', I'll stick to the Quakers, for when a man praiches there, all he has to do is to say nothing." Having uttered these sentiments in a kind of soliloquy, Darby, after having given the priest a very significant look, took his departure.

"Well," said he to himself, "if the Quakers, bad luck to them, won't take me, I know what I'll do—upon my conscience, I'll set up a new religion for myself, and sure I have as good a right to bring out a new religion myself, as many that done so. Who knows but I may have a congregation of my own yet, and troth it may aisily be as respectable as some o' them. But sure I can't be at a loss, for, plaise God, if all fails, I can go to Oxford, where I'm tould there's a manifactory of new religions—the Lord be praised for it!"

* Darby had better success in his speculations than perhaps he ever expected to have. We need not inform the generality of our readers that the sect called Darbyites were founded by him, and have been called after him to the present day, sometimes Darbyites, and sometimes Drivers.

On returning home, Val was observed to be silent and morose. The dashing speed of his ride to M'Loughlin's was not usual to him, for his motions were generally slow; it was significant, however, of the greedy spirit which stimulated him to the long wished for glut of his revenge. Not so his return. He walked his horse as if he had been a philosopher on horseback; and when Phil (now quite tipsy), who expected to see him return with all the savage triumph of vengeance in his looks, saw that he was dumb, spiritless and absolutely crestfallen, and who also observed the symptoms we spoke of, he began naturally enough to suspect that something had gone wrong. His interrogations, however, were fruitless. Val, on his inquiring the cause of these appearances, told him in a petulant fit of that ill-temper which is pecular to cowards, "to go be hanged;" a compliment which dutiful Phil returned to his worthy father with interest. This was all that passed between them, with the single exception of an observation which fell from Phil's lips as he left the dinner-table, late in the evening.

"I tell you what, M'Clutchy, you're a confounded ill-tempered old scoundrel, an-and what-what's more—o-o-over to your disgrace, a d——d bad, rotten, and unsound Protestant. How do you ex-expect, sir, that a Protestant Establishment can be sup-support-ported in this country by such scandalous con-conduct as this? hip, hip, hurra! Instead of-of being an ex-example to your son, it is your-your son, M'Clutchy, that is an example to you, hip, hip, hur—, and so good night to you, I'm—I'm on for a neat bit of business—that's all. Go to bed, you old dog."



CHAPTER XXX.—The Mountain Grave-Yard

—Dreams of a Broken Heart—The Christian Pastor at his Duty—Melancholy Meeting between a Mother and her Son—A Death-Bed that the Great might envy—Phil experiences a Specimen of the Pressure from without—Retribution—The Death of Valentine M'Clutchy.

It was now about seven o'clock in the evening; and up from the moment of Val's return, he had scarcely spoken half a dozen words. As Phil was leaving the room, however, the father called after him:—

"Phil," said he, "come here for a minute."

"Well," said Phil, staggering back, "what's in the wind now?"

"Phil," continued the father, "which of all the blood-hounds is the greatest and most remorseless villain?"

"A d——d ni-nice point to decide, when they're on-on duty," replied Phil.

"If he escapes me—" said Val in a soliloquy;—"but no matter," he added, speaking aloud; "I'm a fool for putting such a question to you. Go to bed, and sleep yourself sober."

Phil staggered out of the room in a very musical mood, slamming' the door after him with a force that made the house shake. He had not gone a hundred yards from the hall door when Raymond appeared in the distance, beckoning him forward; a signal for which he was looking out with that kind of drunken eagerness which is incapable of forethought, or any calculation whatsoever that might aid in checking the gross and onward impulses of blind and savage appetite. Phil's instinctive cowardice, however, did not abandon him. In the course of the day he primed and loaded his pistols, in order to be prepared against any of those contingencies which the fears of pusillanimous men never fail to create. On meeting with Raymond, who had been waiting for him outside, at a place previously agreed on between them, he pulled, out the fire-arms, and showed them to the fool, with a swaggering air, which, despite his intoxication, sorely belied what he felt. They then proceeded together by the mountain path, the moon occasionally showing herself by glimpses—for the night, although cloudy, was not dark, but on the contrary, when the clouds passed away, she almost might be said to flash out with singular brilliancy.