{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_511/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_511","id":"gutenberg_511","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/511","summary":null,"tags":["Category: British Literature","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Short Stories","Fantasy fiction, English","Ireland -- Fiction"],"text":"Produced by Judith Boss and Charles Keller\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE PURCELL PAPERS.\n\nBY THE LATE\n\nJOSEPH SHERIDAN LE FANU,\n\nAUTHOR OF 'UNCLE SILAS.'\n\nWith a Memoir by\n\nALFRED PERCEVAL GRAVES\n\nIN THREE VOLUMES.\n\nVOL. III.\n\nLONDON: RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON,\n\nPublishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty the Queen.\n\n1880.\n\n\nLibrary of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data\n\nLeFanu, Joseph Sheridan, 1814-1873.\n\nThe Purcell papers.\n\nReprint of the 1880 ed. published by R. Bentley, London.\n\nI. Title. PZ3.L518Pu5 (PR4879.L7) 823'.8 71-148813 ISBN 0-404-08880-5\n\nReprinted from an original copy in the collection of the University of\nChicago Library.\n\nFrom the edition of 1880, London First AMS edition published in 1975\nManufactured in the United States of America\n\nInternational Standard Book Number: Complete Set: 0-404-08880-5 Volume\nIII: 0-404-08883-X\n\nAMS PRESS INC.\n\nNEW YORK, N. Y. 10003\n\n\n\nCONTENTS:\n\n     JIM SULIVAN'S ADVENTURES IN THE GREAT SNOW\n     A CHAPTER IN THE HISTORY OF A TYRONE FAMILY\n     AN ADVENTURE OF HARDRESS FITZGERALD, A ROYALIST CAPTAIN\n     'THE QUARE GANDER'\n     BILLY MALOWNEY'S TASTE OF LOVE AND GLORY\n\n\n\n\n\nJIM SULIVAN'S ADVENTURES IN THE GREAT SNOW.\n\n     Being a Ninth Extract from the Legacy of the late Francis\n     Purcell, P.P. of Drumcoolagh.\n\nJim Sulivan was a dacent, honest boy as you'd find in the seven\nparishes, an' he was a beautiful singer, an' an illegant dancer\nintirely, an' a mighty plisant boy in himself; but he had the divil's\nbad luck, for he married for love, an 'av coorse he niver had an asy\nminute afther.\n\nNell Gorman was the girl he fancied, an' a beautiful slip of a girl she\nwas, jist twinty to the minute when he married her. She was as round\nan' as complate in all her shapes as a firkin, you'd think, an' her two\ncheeks was as fat an' as red, it id open your heart to look at them.\n\nBut beauty is not the thing all through, an' as beautiful as she was\nshe had the divil's tongue, an' the divil's timper, an' the divil's\nbehaviour all out; an' it was impossible for him to be in the house with\nher for while you'd count tin without havin' an argymint, an' as sure\nas she riz an argymint with him she'd hit him a wipe iv a skillet or\nwhatever lay next to her hand.\n\nWell, this wasn't at all plasin' to Jim Sulivan you may be sure, an'\nthere was scarce a week that his head wasn't plasthered up, or his back\nbint double, or his nose swelled as big as a pittaty, with the vilence\niv her timper, an' his heart was scalded everlastin'ly with her tongue;\nso he had no pace or quietness in body or soul at all at all, with the\nway she was goin' an.\n\nWell, your honour, one cowld snowin' evenin' he kim in afther his day's\nwork regulatin' the men in the farm, an' he sat down very quite by the\nfire, for he had a scrimmidge with her in the mornin', an' all he wanted\nwas an air iv the fire in pace; so divil a word he said but dhrew a\nstool an' sat down close to the fire. Well, as soon as the woman saw\nhim,\n\n'Move aff,' says she, 'an' don't be inthrudin' an the fire,' says she.\n\nWell, he kept never mindin', an' didn't let an' to hear a word she was\nsayin', so she kim over an' she had a spoon in her hand, an' she took\njist the smallest taste in life iv the boilin' wather out iv the pot,\nan' she dhropped it down an his shins, an' with that he let a roar you'd\nthink the roof id fly aff iv the house.\n\n'Hould your tongue, you barbarrian,' says she; 'you'll waken the child,'\nsays she.\n\n'An' if I done right,' says he, for the spoonful of boilin' wather riz\nhim entirely, 'I'd take yourself,' says he, 'an' I'd stuff you into the\npot an the fire, an' boil you.' says he, 'into castor oil,' says he.\n\n'That's purty behavour,' says she; 'it's fine usage you're givin' me,\nisn't it?' says she, gettin' wickeder every minute; 'but before I'm\nboiled,' says she, 'thry how you like THAT,' says she; an', sure enough,\nbefore he had time to put up his guard, she hot him a rale terrible\nclink iv the iron spoon acrass the jaw.\n\n'Hould me, some iv ye, or I'll murdher her,' says he.\n\n'Will you?' says she, an' with that she hot him another tin times as\ngood as the first.\n\n'By jabers,' says he, slappin' himself behind, 'that's the last salute\nyou'll ever give me,' says he; 'so take my last blessin',' says he, 'you\nungovernable baste!' says he--an' with that he pulled an his hat an'\nwalked out iv the door.\n\nWell, she never minded a word he said, for he used to say the same thing\nall as one every time she dhrew blood; an' she had no expectation at all\nbut he'd come back by the time supper id be ready; but faix the story\ndidn't go quite so simple this time, for while he was walkin', lonesome\nenough, down the borheen, with his heart almost broke with the pain,\nfor his shins an' his jaw was mighty troublesome, av course, with the\nthratement he got, who did he see but Mick Hanlon, his uncle's sarvint\nby, ridin' down, quite an asy, an the ould black horse, with a halter as\nlong as himself.\n\n'Is that Mr. Soolivan?' says the by. says he, as soon as he saw him a\ngood bit aff.\n\n'To be sure it is, ye spalpeen, you,' says Jim, roarin' out; 'what do\nyou want wid me this time a-day?' says he.\n\n'Don't you know me?' says the gossoon, 'it's Mick Hanlon that's in it,'\nsays he.\n\n'Oh, blur an agers, thin, it's welcome you are, Micky asthore,' says\nJim; 'how is all wid the man an' the woman beyant?' says he.\n\n'Oh!' says Micky, 'bad enough,' says he; 'the ould man's jist aff, an'\nif you don't hurry like shot,' says he, 'he'll be in glory before you\nget there,' says he.\n\n'It's jokin' ye are,' says Jim, sorrowful enough, for he was mighty\npartial to his uncle intirely.\n\n'Oh, not in the smallest taste,' says Micky; 'the breath was jist out\niv him,' says he, 'when I left the farm. \"An\", says he, \"take the ould\nblack horse,\" says he, \"for he's shure-footed for the road,\" says he,\n\"an' bring, Jim Soolivan here,\" says he, \"for I think I'd die asy af I\ncould see him onst,\" says he.'\n\n'Well,' says Jim, 'will I have time,' says he, 'to go back to the house,\nfor it would be a consolation,' says he, 'to tell the bad news to the\nwoman?' says he.\n\n'It's too late you are already,' says Micky, 'so come up behind me, for\nGod's sake,' says he, 'an' don't waste time;' an' with that he brought\nthe horse up beside the ditch, an' Jim Soolivan mounted up behind Micky,\nan' they rode off; an' tin good miles it was iv a road, an' at the other\nside iv Keeper intirely; an' it was snowin' so fast that the ould baste\ncould hardly go an at all at all, an' the two bys an his back was jist\nlike a snowball all as one, an' almost fruz an' smothered at the same\ntime, your honour; an' they wor both mighty sorrowful intirely, an'\ntheir toes almost dhroppin' aff wid the could.\n\nAnd when Jim got to the farm his uncle was gettin' an illegantly, an' he\nwas sittin' up sthrong an' warm in the bed, an' improvin' every minute,\nan' no signs av dyin' an him at all at all; so he had all his throuble\nfor nothin'.\n\nBut this wasn't all, for the snow kem so thick that it was impassible to\nget along the roads at all at all; an' faix, instead iv gettin' betther,\nnext mornin' it was only tin times worse; so Jim had jist to take it\nasy, an' stay wid his uncle antil such times as the snow id melt.\n\nWell, your honour, the evenin' Jim Soolivan wint away, whin the dark\nwas closin' in, Nell Gorman, his wife, beginned to get mighty anasy in\nherself whin she didn't see him comin' back at all; an' she was gettin'\nmore an' more frightful in herself every minute till the dark kem an',\nan' divil a taste iv her husband was coming at all at all.\n\n'Oh!' says she, 'there's no use in purtendin', I know he's kilt himself;\nhe has committed infantycide an himself,' says she, 'like a dissipated\nbliggard as he always was,' says she, 'God rest his soul. Oh, thin,\nisn't it me an' not you, Jim Soolivan, that's the unforthunate woman,'\nsays she, 'for ain't I cryin' here, an' isn't he in heaven, the\nbliggard,' says she. 'Oh, voh, voh, it's not at home comfortable with\nyour wife an' family that you are, Jim Soolivan,' says she, 'but in the\nother world, you aumathaun, in glory wid the saints I hope,' says she.\n'It's I that's the unforthunate famale,' says she, 'an' not yourself,\nJim Soolivan,' says she.\n\nAn' this way she kep' an till mornin', cryin' and lamintin; an' wid the\nfirst light she called up all the sarvint bys, an' she tould them to\ngo out an' to sarch every inch iv ground to find the corpse, 'for I'm\nsure,' says she, 'it's not to go hide himself he would,' says she.\n\nWell, they went as well as they could, rummagin' through the snow,\nantil, at last, what should they come to, sure enough, but the corpse\nof a poor thravelling man, that fell over the quarry the night before\nby rason of the snow and some liquor he had, maybe; but, at any rate,\nhe was as dead as a herrin', an' his face was knocked all to pieces jist\nlike an over-boiled pitaty, glory be to God; an' divil a taste iv a nose\nor a chin, or a hill or a hollow from one end av his face to the other\nbut was all as flat as a pancake. An' he was about Jim Soolivan's size,\nan' dhressed out exactly the same, wid a ridin' coat an' new corderhoys;\nso they carried him home, an' they were all as sure as daylight it was\nJim Soolivan himself, an' they were wondhering he'd do sich a dirty turn\nas to go kill himself for spite.\n\nWell, your honour, they waked him as well as they could, with what\nneighbours they could git togither, but by rason iv the snow, there\nwasn't enough gothered to make much divarsion; however it was a plisint\nwake enough, an' the churchyard an' the priest bein' convanient, as soon\nas the youngsthers had their bit iv fun and divarsion out iv the corpse,\nthey burried it without a great dale iv throuble; an' about three days\nafther the berrin, ould Jim Mallowney, from th'other side iv the little\nhill, her own cousin by the mother's side--he had a snug bit iv a farm\nan' a house close by, by the same token--kem walkin' in to see how she\nwas in her health, an' he dhrew a chair, an' he sot down an' beginned to\nconvarse her about one thing an' another, antil he got her quite an' asy\ninto middlin' good humour, an' as soon as he seen it was time:\n\n'I'm wondherin', says he, 'Nell Gorman, sich a handsome, likely girl,\nid be thinkin' iv nothin' but lamintin' an' the likes,' says he, 'an'\nlingerin' away her days without any consolation, or gettin' a husband,'\nsays he.\n\n'Oh,' says she, 'isn't it only three days since I burried the poor man,'\nsays she, 'an' isn't it rather soon to be talkin iv marryin' agin?'\n\n'Divil a taste,' says he, 'three days is jist the time to a minute for\ncryin' afther a husband, an' there's no occasion in life to be keepin'\nit up,' says he; 'an' besides all that,' says he, 'Shrovetide is almost\nover, an' if you don't be sturrin' yourself an' lookin' about you,\nyou'll be late,' says he, 'for this year at any rate, an' that's twelve\nmonths lost; an' who's to look afther the farm all that time,' says he,\n'an' to keep the men to their work?' says he.\n\n'It's thrue for you, Jim Mallowney,' says she, 'but I'm afeard the\nneighbours will be all talkin' about it,' says she.\n\n'Divil's cure to the word,' says he.\n\n'An' who would you advise?' says she.\n\n'Young Andy Curtis is the boy,' says he.\n\n'He's a likely boy in himself,' says she.\n\n'An' as handy a gossoon as is out,' says he.\n\n'Well, thin, Jim Mallowney,' says she, 'here's my hand, an' you may\nbe talkin' to Andy Curtis, an' if he's willin' I'm agreeble--is that\nenough?' says she.\n\nSo with that he made off with himself straight to Andy Curtis; an'\nbefore three days more was past, the weddin' kem an', an' Nell Gorman\nan' Andy Curtis was married as complate as possible; an' if the wake was\nplisint the weddin' was tin times as agreeble, an' all the neighbours\nthat could make their way to it was there, an' there was three fiddlers\nan' lots iv pipers, an' ould Connor Shamus(1) the piper himself was in\nit--by the same token it was the last weddin' he ever played music at,\nfor the next mornin', whin he was goin' home, bein' mighty hearty\nan' plisint in himself, he was smothered in the snow, undher the ould\ncastle; an' by my sowl he was a sore loss to the bys an' girls twenty\nmiles round, for he was the illigantest piper, barrin' the liquor alone,\nthat ever worked a bellas.\n\n\n     (1) Literally, Cornelius James--the last name employed as a\n     patronymic. Connor is commonly used. Corney, pronounced\n     Kurny, is just as much used in the South, as the short name\n     for Cornelius.\n\n\nWell, a week passed over smart enough, an' Nell an' her new husband was\nmighty well continted with one another, for it was too soon for her to\nbegin to regulate him the way she used with poor Jim Soolivan, so they\nwor comfortable enough; but this was too good to last, for the thaw kem\nan', an' you may be sure Jim Soolivan didn't lose a minute's time as soon\nas the heavy dhrift iv snow was melted enough between him and home to\nlet him pass, for he didn't hear a word iv news from home sinst he lift\nit, by rason that no one, good nor bad, could thravel at all, with the\nway the snow was dhrifted.\n\nSo one night, when Nell Gorman an' her new husband, Andy Curtis, was\nsnug an' warm in bed, an' fast asleep, an' everything quite, who should\ncome to the door, sure enough, but Jim Soolivan himself, an' he beginned\nflakin' the door wid a big blackthorn stick he had, an' roarin' out like\nthe divil to open the door, for he had a dhrop taken.\n\n'What the divil's the matther?' says Andy Curtis, wakenin' out iv his\nsleep.\n\n'Who's batin' the door?' says Nell; 'what's all the noise for?' says\nshe.\n\n'Who's in it?' says Andy.\n\n'It's me,' says Jim.\n\n'Who are you?' says Andy; 'what's your name?'\n\n'Jim Soolivan,' says he.\n\n'By jabers, you lie,' says Andy.\n\n'Wait till I get at you,' says Jim, hittin' the door a lick iv the\nwattle you'd hear half a mile off.\n\n'It's him, sure enough,' says Nell; 'I know his speech; it's his\nwandherin' sowl that can't get rest, the crass o' Christ betune us an'\nharm.'\n\n'Let me in,' says Jim, 'or I'll dhrive the door in a top iv yis.'\n\n'Jim Soolivan--Jim Soolivan,' says Nell, sittin' up in the bed, an'\ngropin' for a quart bottle iv holy wather she used to hang by the back\niv the bed, 'don't come in, darlin'--there's holy wather here,' says\nshe; 'but tell me from where you are is there anything that's throublin'\nyour poor sinful sowl?' says she. 'An' tell me how many masses 'ill make\nyou asy, an' by this crass, I'll buy you as many as you want,' says she.\n\n'I don't know what the divil you mane,' says Jim.\n\n'Go back,' says she, 'go back to glory, for God's sake,' says she.\n\n'Divil's cure to the bit iv me 'ill go back to glory, or anywhere else,'\nsays he, 'this blessed night; so open the door at onst' an' let me in,'\nsays he.\n\n'The Lord forbid,' says she.\n\n'By jabers, you'd betther,' says he, 'or it 'ill be the worse for you,'\nsays he; an' wid that he fell to wallopin' the door till he was fairly\ntired, an' Andy an' his wife crassin' themselves an' sayin' their\nprayers for the bare life all the time.\n\n'Jim Soolivan,' says she, as soon as he was done, 'go back, for God's\nsake, an' don't be freakenin' me an' your poor fatherless childhren,'\nsays she.\n\n'Why, you bosthoon, you,' says Jim, 'won't you let your husband in,'\nsays he, 'to his own house?' says he.\n\n'You WOR my husband, sure enough,' says she, 'but it's well you know,\nJim Soolivan, you're not my husband NOW,' says she.\n\n'You're as dhrunk as can be consaved, says Jim.\n\n'Go back, in God's name, pacibly to your grave,' says Nell.\n\n'By my sowl, it's to my grave you'll sind me, sure enough,' says he,\n'you hard-hearted bain', for I'm jist aff wid the cowld,' says he.\n\n'Jim Sulivan,' says she, 'it's in your dacent coffin you should be, you\nunforthunate sperit,' says she; 'what is it's annoyin' your sowl, in the\nwide world, at all?' says she; 'hadn't you everything complate?' says\nshe, 'the oil, an' the wake, an' the berrin'?' says she.\n\n'Och, by the hoky,' says Jim, 'it's too long I'm makin' a fool iv\nmysilf, gostherin' wid you outside iv my own door,' says he, 'for it's\nplain to be seen,' says he, 'you don't know what your're sayin', an' no\none ELSE knows what you mane, you unforthunate fool,' says he; 'so, onst\nfor all, open the door quietly,' says he, 'or, by my sowkins, I'll not\nlave a splinther together,' says he.\n\nWell, whin Nell an' Andy seen he was getting vexed, they beginned to\nbawl out their prayers, with the fright, as if the life was lavin' them;\nan' the more he bate the door, the louder they prayed, until at last Jim\nwas fairly tired out.\n\n'Bad luck to you,' says he; 'for a rale divil av a woman,' says he. I\n'can't get any advantage av you, any way; but wait till I get hould iv\nyou, that's all,' says he. An' he turned aff from the door, an' wint\nround to the cow-house, an' settled himself as well as he could, in\nthe sthraw; an' he was tired enough wid the thravellin' he had in the\nday-time, an' a good dale bothered with what liquor he had taken; so he\nwas purty sure of sleepin' wherever he thrun himself.\n\nBut, by my sowl, it wasn't the same way with the man an' the woman in\nthe house--for divil a wink iv sleep, good or bad, could they get at\nall, wid the fright iv the sperit, as they supposed; an' with the first\nlight they sint a little gossoon, as fast as he could wag, straight off,\nlike a shot, to the priest, an' to desire him, for the love o' God,\nto come to them an the minute, an' to bring, if it was plasin' to his\nraverence, all the little things he had for sayin' mass, an' savin'\nsowls, an' banishin' sperits, an' freakenin' the divil, an' the likes\niv that. An' it wasn't long till his raverence kem down, sure enough,\non the ould grey mare, wid the little mass-boy behind him, an' the\nprayer-books an' Bibles, an' all the other mystarious articles that was\nwantin', along wid him; an' as soon as he kem in, 'God save all here,'\nsays he.\n\n'God save ye, kindly, your raverence,' says they.\n\n'An' what's gone wrong wid ye?' says he; 'ye must be very bad,' says\nhe,' entirely, to disturb my devotions,' says he, 'this way, jist at\nbreakfast-time,' says he.\n\n'By my sowkins,' says Nell, 'it's bad enough we are, your raverence,'\nsays she, 'for it's poor Jim's sperit,' says she; 'God rest his sowl,\nwherever it is,' says she, 'that was wandherin' up an' down, opossite\nthe door all night,' says she, 'in the way it was no use at all, thryin'\nto get a wink iv sleep,' says she.\n\n'It's to lay it, you want me, I suppose,' says the priest.\n\n'If your raverence 'id do that same, it 'id be plasin' to us,' says\nAndy.\n\n'It'll be rather expinsive,' says the priest.\n\n'We'll not differ about the price, your raverence,' says Andy.\n\n'Did the sperit stop long?' says the priest.\n\n'Most part iv the night,' says Nell, 'the Lord be merciful to us all!'\nsays she.\n\n'That'll make it more costly than I thought,' says he. 'An' did it make\nmuch noise?' says he.\n\n'By my sowl, it's it that did,' says Andy; 'leatherin' the door wid\nsticks and stones,' says he, 'antil I fairly thought every minute,' says\nhe, 'the ould boords id smash, an' the sperit id be in an top iv us--God\nbless us,' says he.\n\n'Phiew!' says the priest; 'it'll cost a power iv money.'\n\n'Well, your raverence,' says Andy, 'take whatever you like,' says he;\n'only make sure it won't annoy us any more,' says he.\n\n'Oh! by my sowkins,' says the priest, 'it'll be the quarest ghost in the\nsiven parishes,' says he, 'if it has the courage to come back,' says he,\n'afther what I'll do this mornin', plase God,' says he; 'so we'll say\ntwelve pounds; an' God knows it's chape enough,' says he, 'considherin'\nall the sarcumstances,' says he.\n\nWell, there wasn't a second word to the bargain; so they paid him the\nmoney down, an' he sot the table doun like an althar, before the door,\nan' he settled it out vid all the things he had wid him; an' he lit a\nbit iv a holy candle, an' he scathered his holy wather right an' left;\nan' he took up a big book, an' he wint an readin' for half an hour,\ngood; an' whin he kem to the end, he tuck hould iv his little bell, and\nhe beginned to ring it for the bare life; an', by my sowl, he rung it\nso well, that he wakened Jim Sulivan in the cowhouse, where he was\nsleepin', an' up he jumped, widout a minute's delay, an' med right for\nthe house, where all the family, an' the priest, an' the little mass-boy\nwas assimbled, layin' the ghost; an' as soon as his raverence seen him\ncomin' in at the door, wid the fair fright, he flung the bell at his\nhead, an' hot him sich a lick iv it in the forehead, that he sthretched\nhim on the floor; but fain; he didn't wait to ax any questions, but he\ncut round the table as if the divil was afther him, an' out at the door,\nan' didn't stop even as much as to mount an his mare, but leathered away\ndown the borheen as fast as his legs could carry him, though the mud was\nup to his knees, savin' your presence.\n\nWell, by the time Jim kem to himself, the family persaved the mistake,\nan' Andy wint home, lavin' Nell to make the explanation. An' as soon\nas Jim heerd it all, he said he was quite contint to lave her to Andy,\nentirely; but the priest would not hear iv it; an' he jist med him marry\nhis wife over again, an' a merry weddin' it was, an' a fine collection\nfor his raverence. An' Andy was there along wid the rest, an' the priest\nput a small pinnance upon him, for bein' in too great a hurry to marry a\nwiddy.\n\nAn' bad luck to the word he'd allow anyone to say an the business, ever\nafter, at all, at all; so, av coorse, no one offinded his raverence, by\nspakin' iv the twelve pounds he got for layin' the sperit.\n\nAn' the neighbours wor all mighty well plased, to be sure, for gettin'\nall the divarsion of a wake, an' two weddin's for nothin.'\n\n\n\n\nA CHAPTER IN THE HISTORY OF A TYRONE FAMILY\n\n     Being a Tenth Extract from the Legacy of the late Francis\n     Purcell, P.P. of Drumcoolagh.\n\n\nINTRODUCTION.\n\nIn the following narrative, I have endeavoured to give as nearly as\npossible the ipsissima verba of the valued friend from whom I received\nit, conscious that any aberration from HER mode of telling the tale of\nher own life would at once impair its accuracy and its effect.\n\nWould that, with her words, I could also bring before you her animated\ngesture, her expressive countenance, the solemn and thrilling air and\naccent with which she related the dark passages in her strange story;\nand, above all, that I could communicate the impressive consciousness\nthat the narrator had seen with her own eyes, and personally acted in\nthe scenes which she described; these accompaniments, taken with the\nadditional circumstance that she who told the tale was one far too\ndeeply and sadly impressed with religious principle to misrepresent\nor fabricate what she repeated as fact, gave to the tale a depth of\ninterest which the events recorded could hardly, themselves, have\nproduced.\n\nI became acquainted with the lady from whose lips I heard this narrative\nnearly twenty years since, and the story struck my fancy so much that\nI committed it to paper while it was still fresh in my mind; and should\nits perusal afford you entertainment for a listless half hour, my labour\nshall not have been bestowed in vain.\n\nI find that I have taken the story down as she told it, in the first\nperson, and perhaps this is as it should be.\n\nShe began as follows:\n\nMy maiden name was Richardson,(1) the designation of a family of some\ndistinction in the county of Tyrone. I was the younger of two daughters,\nand we were the only children. There was a difference in our ages of\nnearly six years, so that I did not, in my childhood, enjoy that close\ncompanionship which sisterhood, in other circumstances, necessarily\ninvolves; and while I was still a child, my sister was married.\n\n\n     (1) I have carefully altered the names as they appear in the\n     original MSS., for the reader will see that some of the\n     circumstances recorded are not of a kind to reflect honour\n     upon those involved in them; and as many are still living,\n     in every way honoured and honourable, who stand in close\n     relation to the principal actors in this drama, the reader\n     will see the necessity of the course which we have adopted.\n\n\nThe person upon whom she bestowed her hand was a Mr. Carew, a gentleman\nof property and consideration in the north of England.\n\nI remember well the eventful day of the wedding; the thronging\ncarriages, the noisy menials, the loud laughter, the merry faces, and\nthe gay dresses. Such sights were then new to me, and harmonised ill\nwith the sorrowful feelings with which I regarded the event which was to\nseparate me, as it turned out, for ever from a sister whose tenderness\nalone had hitherto more than supplied all that I wanted in my mother's\naffection.\n\nThe day soon arrived which was to remove the happy couple from Ashtown\nHouse. The carriage stood at the hall-door, and my poor sister kissed me\nagain and again, telling me that I should see her soon.\n\nThe carriage drove away, and I gazed after it until my eyes filled with\ntears, and, returning slowly to my chamber, I wept more bitterly and, so\nto speak, more desolately, than ever I had done before.\n\nMy father had never seemed to love or to take an interest in me. He had\ndesired a son, and I think he never thoroughly forgave me my unfortunate\nsex.\n\nMy having come into the world at all as his child he regarded as a kind\nof fraudulent intrusion, and as his antipathy to me had its origin in\nan imperfection of mine, too radical for removal, I never even hoped to\nstand high in his good graces.\n\nMy mother was, I dare say, as fond of me as she was of anyone; but\nshe was a woman of a masculine and a worldly cast of mind. She had no\ntenderness or sympathy for the weaknesses, or even for the affections,\nof woman's nature and her demeanour towards me was peremptory, and often\neven harsh.\n\nIt is not to be supposed, then, that I found in the society of my\nparents much to supply the loss of my sister. About a year after her\nmarriage, we received letters from Mr. Carew, containing accounts of my\nsister's health, which, though not actually alarming, were calculated\nto make us seriously uneasy. The symptoms most dwelt upon were loss of\nappetite and cough.\n\nThe letters concluded by intimating that he would avail himself of my\nfather and mother's repeated invitation to spend some time at Ashtown,\nparticularly as the physician who had been consulted as to my sister's\nhealth had strongly advised a removal to her native air.\n\nThere were added repeated assurances that nothing serious was\napprehended, as it was supposed that a deranged state of the liver was\nthe only source of the symptoms which at first had seemed to intimate\nconsumption.\n\nIn accordance with this announcement, my sister and Mr. Carew arrived in\nDublin, where one of my father's carriages awaited them, in readiness to\nstart upon whatever day or hour they might choose for their departure.\n\nIt was arranged that Mr. Carew was, as soon as the day upon which they\nwere to leave Dublin was definitely fixed, to write to my father, who\nintended that the two last stages should be performed by his own horses,\nupon whose speed and safety far more reliance might be placed than\nupon those of the ordinary post-horses, which were at that time, almost\nwithout exception, of the very worst order. The journey, one of about\nninety miles, was to be divided; the larger portion being reserved for\nthe second day.\n\nOn Sunday a letter reached us, stating that the party would leave Dublin\non Monday, and, in due course, reach Ashtown upon Tuesday evening.\n\nTuesday came the evening closed in, and yet no carriage; darkness came\non, and still no sign of our expected visitors.\n\nHour after hour passed away, and it was now past twelve; the night was\nremarkably calm, scarce a breath stirring, so that any sound, such\nas that produced by the rapid movement of a vehicle, would have been\naudible at a considerable distance. For some such sound I was feverishly\nlistening.\n\nIt was, however, my father's rule to close the house at nightfall, and\nthe window-shutters being fastened, I was unable to reconnoitre the\navenue as I would have wished. It was nearly one o'clock, and we began\nalmost to despair of seeing them upon that night, when I thought I\ndistinguished the sound of wheels, but so remote and faint as to make\nme at first very uncertain. The noise approached; it became louder and\nclearer; it stopped for a moment.\n\nI now heard the shrill screaming of the rusty iron, as the avenue-gate\nrevolved on its hinges; again came the sound of wheels in rapid motion.\n\n'It is they,' said I, starting up; 'the carriage is in the avenue.'\n\nWe all stood for a few moments breathlessly listening. On thundered the\nvehicle with the speed of a whirlwind; crack went the whip, and clatter\nwent the wheels, as it rattled over the uneven pavement of the court.\nA general and furious barking from all the dogs about the house, hailed\nits arrival.\n\nWe hurried to the hall in time to hear the steps let down with the sharp\nclanging noise peculiar to the operation, and the hum of voices exerted\nin the bustle of arrival. The hall-door was now thrown open, and we all\nstepped forth to greet our visitors.\n\nThe court was perfectly empty; the moon was shining broadly and brightly\nupon all around; nothing was to be seen but the tall trees with their\nlong spectral shadows, now wet with the dews of midnight.\n\nWe stood gazing from right to left, as if suddenly awakened from a\ndream; the dogs walked suspiciously, growling and snuffing about the\ncourt, and by totally and suddenly ceasing their former loud barking,\nexpressing the predominance of fear.\n\nWe stared one upon another in perplexity and dismay, and I think I never\nbeheld more pale faces assembled. By my father's direction, we looked\nabout to find anything which might indicate or account for the noise\nwhich we had heard; but no such thing was to be seen--even the mire\nwhich lay upon the avenue was undisturbed. We returned to the house,\nmore panic-struck than I can describe.\n\nOn the next day, we learned by a messenger, who had ridden hard the\ngreater part of the night, that my sister was dead. On Sunday evening,\nshe had retired to bed rather unwell, and, on Monday, her indisposition\ndeclared itself unequivocally to be malignant fever. She became hourly\nworse and, on Tuesday night, a little after midnight, she expired.(2)\n\n\n     (2) The residuary legatee of the late Frances Purcell, who\n     has the honour of selecting such of his lamented old\n     friend's manuscripts as may appear fit for publication, in\n     order that the lore which they contain may reach the world\n     before scepticism and utility have robbed our species of the\n     precious gift of credulity, and scornfully kicked before\n     them, or trampled into annihilation those harmless fragments\n     of picturesque superstition which it is our object to\n     preserve, has been subjected to the charge of dealing too\n     largely in the marvellous; and it has been half insinuated\n     that such is his love for diablerie, that he is content to\n     wander a mile out of his way, in order to meet a fiend or a\n     goblin, and thus to sacrifice all regard for truth and\n     accuracy to the idle hope of affrighting the imagination,\n     and thus pandering to the bad taste of his reader. He begs\n     leave, then, to take this opportunity of asserting his\n     perfect innocence of all the crimes laid to his charge, and\n     to assure his reader that he never PANDERED TO HIS BAD\n     TASTE, nor went one inch out of his way to introduce witch,\n     fairy, devil, ghost, or any other of the grim fraternity of\n     the redoubted Raw-head-and-bloody-bones. His province,\n     touching these tales, has been attended with no difficulty\n     and little responsibility; indeed, he is accountable for\n     nothing more than an alteration in the names of persons\n     mentioned therein, when such a step seemed necessary, and\n     for an occasional note, whenever he conceived it possible,\n     innocently, to edge in a word. These tales have been WRITTEN\n     DOWN, as the heading of each announces, by the Rev. Francis\n     Purcell, P.P., of Drumcoolagh; and in all the instances,\n     which are many, in which the present writer has had an\n     opportunity of comparing the manuscript of his departed\n     friend with the actual traditions which are current amongst\n     the families whose fortunes they pretend to illustrate, he\n     has uniformly found that whatever of supernatural occurred\n     in the story, so far from having been exaggerated by him,\n     had been rather softened down, and, wherever it could be\n     attempted, accounted for.\n\n\nI mention this circumstance, because it was one upon which a thousand\nwild and fantastical reports were founded, though one would have thought\nthat the truth scarcely required to be improved upon; and again, because\nit produced a strong and lasting effect upon my spirits, and indeed, I\nam inclined to think, upon my character.\n\nI was, for several years after this occurrence, long after the violence\nof my grief subsided, so wretchedly low-spirited and nervous, that\nI could scarcely be said to live; and during this time, habits of\nindecision, arising out of a listless acquiescence in the will of\nothers, a fear of encountering even the slightest opposition, and a\ndisposition to shrink from what are commonly called amusements, grew\nupon me so strongly, that I have scarcely even yet altogether overcome\nthem.\n\nWe saw nothing more of Mr. Carew. He returned to England as soon as the\nmelancholy rites attendant upon the event which I have just mentioned\nwere performed; and not being altogether inconsolable, he married again\nwithin two years; after which, owing to the remoteness of our relative\nsituations, and other circumstances, we gradually lost sight of him.\n\nI was now an only child; and, as my elder sister had died without issue,\nit was evident that, in the ordinary course of things, my father's\nproperty, which was altogether in his power, would go to me; and the\nconsequence was, that before I was fourteen, Ashtown House was besieged\nby a host of suitors. However, whether it was that I was too young, or\nthat none of the aspirants to my hand stood sufficiently high in rank or\nwealth, I was suffered by both parents to do exactly as I pleased;\nand well was it for me, as I afterwards found, that fortune, or rather\nProvidence, had so ordained it, that I had not suffered my affections\nto become in any degree engaged, for my mother would never have\nsuffered any SILLY FANCY of mine, as she was in the habit of styling an\nattachment, to stand in the way of her ambitious views--views which she\nwas determined to carry into effect, in defiance of every obstacle, and\nin order to accomplish which she would not have hesitated to sacrifice\nanything so unreasonable and contemptible as a girlish passion.\n\nWhen I reached the age of sixteen, my mother's plans began to develop\nthemselves; and, at her suggestion, we moved to Dublin to sojourn for\nthe winter, in order that no time might be lost in disposing of me to\nthe best advantage.\n\nI had been too long accustomed to consider myself as of no importance\nwhatever, to believe for a moment that I was in reality the cause of all\nthe bustle and preparation which surrounded me, and being thus relieved\nfrom the pain which a consciousness of my real situation would have\ninflicted, I journeyed towards the capital with a feeling of total\nindifference.\n\nMy father's wealth and connection had established him in the best\nsociety, and, consequently, upon our arrival in the metropolis we\ncommanded whatever enjoyment or advantages its gaieties afforded.\n\nThe tumult and novelty of the scenes in which I was involved did not\nfail considerably to amuse me, and my mind gradually recovered its tone,\nwhich was naturally cheerful.\n\nIt was almost immediately known and reported that I was an heiress, and\nof course my attractions were pretty generally acknowledged.\n\nAmong the many gentlemen whom it was my fortune to please, one, ere\nlong, established himself in my mother's good graces, to the exclusion\nof all less important aspirants. However, I had not understood or even\nremarked his attentions, nor in the slightest degree suspected his or\nmy mother's plans respecting me, when I was made aware of them rather\nabruptly by my mother herself.\n\nWe had attended a splendid ball, given by Lord M----, at his residence\nin Stephen's Green, and I was, with the assistance of my waiting-maid,\nemployed in rapidly divesting myself of the rich ornaments which, in\nprofuseness and value, could scarcely have found their equals in any\nprivate family in Ireland.\n\nI had thrown myself into a lounging-chair beside the fire, listless and\nexhausted, after the fatigues of the evening, when I was aroused\nfrom the reverie into which I had fallen by the sound of footsteps\napproaching my chamber, and my mother entered.\n\n'Fanny, my dear,' said she, in her softest tone, 'I wish to say a word\nor two with you before I go to rest. You are not fatigued, love, I\nhope?'\n\n'No, no, madam, I thank you,' said I, rising at the same time from my\nseat, with the formal respect so little practised now.\n\n'Sit down, my dear,' said she, placing herself upon a chair beside me;\n'I must chat with you for a quarter of an hour or so. Saunders' (to the\nmaid) 'you may leave the room; do not close the room-door, but shut that\nof the lobby.'\n\nThis precaution against curious ears having been taken as directed, my\nmother proceeded.\n\n'You have observed, I should suppose, my dearest Fanny--indeed, you MUST\nhave observed Lord Glenfallen's marked attentions to you?'\n\n'I assure you, madam----' I began.\n\n'Well, well, that is all right,' interrupted my mother; 'of course you\nmust be modest upon the matter; but listen to me for a few moments, my\nlove, and I will prove to your satisfaction that your modesty is quite\nunnecessary in this case. You have done better than we could have hoped,\nat least so very soon. Lord Glenfallen is in love with you. I give you\njoy of your conquest;' and saying this, my mother kissed my forehead.\n\n'In love with me!' I exclaimed, in unfeigned astonishment.\n\n'Yes, in love with you,' repeated my mother; 'devotedly, distractedly in\nlove with you. Why, my dear, what is there wonderful in it? Look in the\nglass, and look at these,' she continued, pointing with a smile to the\njewels which I had just removed from my person, and which now lay a\nglittering heap upon the table.\n\n'May there not,' said I, hesitating between confusion and real\nalarm--'is it not possible that some mistake may be at the bottom of all\nthis?'\n\n'Mistake, dearest! none,' said my mother. 'None; none in the world.\nJudge for yourself; read this, my love.' And she placed in my hand a\nletter, addressed to herself, the seal of which was broken. I read\nit through with no small surprise. After some very fine complimentary\nflourishes upon my beauty and perfections, as also upon the antiquity\nand high reputation of our family, it went on to make a formal proposal\nof marriage, to be communicated or not to me at present, as my mother\nshould deem expedient; and the letter wound up by a request that the\nwriter might be permitted, upon our return to Ashtown House, which was\nsoon to take place, as the spring was now tolerably advanced, to visit\nus for a few days, in case his suit was approved.\n\n'Well, well, my dear,' said my mother, impatiently; 'do you know who\nLord Glenfallen is?'\n\n'I do, madam,' said I rather timidly, for I dreaded an altercation with\nmy mother.\n\n'Well, dear, and what frightens you?' continued she. 'Are you afraid of\na title? What has he done to alarm you? he is neither old nor ugly.'\n\nI was silent, though I might have said, 'He is neither young nor\nhandsome.'\n\n'My dear Fanny,' continued my mother, 'in sober seriousness you have\nbeen most fortunate in engaging the affections of a nobleman such as\nLord Glenfallen, young and wealthy, with first-rate--yes, acknowledged\nFIRST-RATE abilities, and of a family whose influence is not exceeded\nby that of any in Ireland. Of course you see the offer in the same light\nthat I do--indeed I think you MUST.'\n\nThis was uttered in no very dubious tone. I was so much astonished by\nthe suddenness of the whole communication that I literally did not know\nwhat to say.\n\n'You are not in love?' said my mother, turning sharply, and fixing her\ndark eyes upon me with severe scrutiny.\n\n'No, madam,' said I, promptly; horrified, as what young lady would not\nhave been, at such a query.\n\n'I'm glad to hear it,' said my mother, drily. 'Once, nearly twenty\nyears ago, a friend of mine consulted me as to how he should deal with a\ndaughter who had made what they call a love-match--beggared herself, and\ndisgraced her family; and I said, without hesitation, take no care\nfor her, but cast her off. Such punishment I awarded for an offence\ncommitted against the reputation of a family not my own; and what I\nadvised respecting the child of another, with full as small compunction\nI would DO with mine. I cannot conceive anything more unreasonable or\nintolerable than that the fortune and the character of a family should\nbe marred by the idle caprices of a girl.'\n\nShe spoke this with great severity, and paused as if she expected some\nobservation from me.\n\nI, however, said nothing.\n\n'But I need not explain to you, my dear Fanny,' she continued, 'my views\nupon this subject; you have always known them well, and I have never yet\nhad reason to believe you likely, voluntarily, to offend me, or to abuse\nor neglect any of those advantages which reason and duty tell you\nshould be improved. Come hither, my dear; kiss me, and do not look so\nfrightened. Well, now, about this letter, you need not answer it yet; of\ncourse you must be allowed time to make up your mind. In the meantime\nI will write to his lordship to give him my permission to visit us at\nAshtown. Good-night, my love.'\n\nAnd thus ended one of the most disagreeable, not to say astounding,\nconversations I had ever had. It would not be easy to describe exactly\nwhat were my feelings towards Lord Glenfallen;--whatever might have been\nmy mother's suspicions, my heart was perfectly disengaged--and hitherto,\nalthough I had not been made in the slightest degree acquainted with his\nreal views, I had liked him very much, as an agreeable, well-informed\nman, whom I was always glad to meet in society. He had served in the\nnavy in early life, and the polish which his manners received in his\nafter intercourse with courts and cities had not served to obliterate\nthat frankness of manner which belongs proverbially to the sailor.\n\nWhether this apparent candour went deeper than the outward bearing, I\nwas yet to learn. However, there was no doubt that, as far as I had seen\nof Lord Glenfallen, he was, though perhaps not so young as might have\nbeen desired in a lover, a singularly pleasing man; and whatever feeling\nunfavourable to him had found its way into my mind, arose altogether\nfrom the dread, not an unreasonable one, that constraint might be\npractised upon my inclinations. I reflected, however, that Lord\nGlenfallen was a wealthy man, and one highly thought of; and although I\ncould never expect to love him in the romantic sense of the term, yet I\nhad no doubt but that, all things considered, I might be more happy with\nhim than I could hope to be at home.\n\nWhen next I met him it was with no small embarrassment, his tact and\ngood breeding, however, soon reassured me, and effectually prevented my\nawkwardness being remarked upon. And I had the satisfaction of leaving\nDublin for the country with the full conviction that nobody, not\neven those most intimate with me, even suspected the fact of Lord\nGlenfallen's having made me a formal proposal.\n\nThis was to me a very serious subject of self-gratulation, for, besides\nmy instinctive dread of becoming the topic of the speculations of\ngossip, I felt that if the situation which I occupied in relation to\nhim were made publicly known, I should stand committed in a manner which\nwould scarcely leave me the power of retraction.\n\nThe period at which Lord Glenfallen had arranged to visit Ashtown House\nwas now fast approaching, and it became my mother's wish to form\nme thoroughly to her will, and to obtain my consent to the proposed\nmarriage before his arrival, so that all things might proceed smoothly,\nwithout apparent opposition or objection upon my part. Whatever\nobjections, therefore, I had entertained were to be subdued; whatever\ndisposition to resistance I had exhibited or had been supposed to feel,\nwere to be completely eradicated before he made his appearance; and my\nmother addressed herself to the task with a decision and energy against\nwhich even the barriers, which her imagination had created, could hardly\nhave stood.\n\nIf she had, however, expected any determined opposition from me, she was\nagreeably disappointed. My heart was perfectly free, and all my feelings\nof liking and preference were in favour of Lord Glenfallen; and I well\nknew that in case I refused to dispose of myself as I was desired,\nmy mother had alike the power and the will to render my existence as\nutterly miserable as even the most ill-assorted marriage could possibly\nhave done.\n\nYou will remember, my good friend, that I was very young and very\ncompletely under the control of my parents, both of whom, my mother\nparticularly, were unscrupulously determined in matters of this kind,\nand willing, when voluntary obedience on the part of those within their\npower was withheld, to compel a forced acquiescence by an unsparing use\nof all the engines of the most stern and rigorous domestic discipline.\n\nAll these combined, not unnaturally, induced me to resolve upon yielding\nat once, and without useless opposition, to what appeared almost to be\nmy fate.\n\nThe appointed time was come, and my now accepted suitor arrived; he was\nin high spirits, and, if possible, more entertaining than ever.\n\nI was not, however, quite in the mood to enjoy his sprightliness; but\nwhatever I wanted in gaiety was amply made up in the triumphant and\ngracious good-humour of my mother, whose smiles of benevolence and\nexultation were showered around as bountifully as the summer sunshine.\n\nI will not weary you with unnecessary prolixity. Let it suffice to say,\nthat I was married to Lord Glenfallen with all the attendant pomp and\ncircumstance of wealth, rank, and grandeur. According to the usage of\nthe times, now humanely reformed, the ceremony was made, until long past\nmidnight, the season of wild, uproarious, and promiscuous feasting and\nrevelry.\n\nOf all this I have a painfully vivid recollection, and particularly of\nthe little annoyances inflicted upon me by the dull and coarse jokes\nof the wits and wags who abound in all such places, and upon all such\noccasions.\n\nI was not sorry when, after a few days, Lord Glenfallen's carriage\nappeared at the door to convey us both from Ashtown; for any change\nwould have been a relief from the irksomeness of ceremonial and\nformality which the visits received in honour of my newly-acquired\ntitles hourly entailed upon me.\n\nIt was arranged that we were to proceed to Cahergillagh, one of the\nGlenfallen estates, lying, however, in a southern county, so that, owing\nto the difficulty of the roads at the time, a tedious journey of three\ndays intervened.\n\nI set forth with my noble companion, followed by the regrets of some,\nand by the envy of many; though God knows I little deserved the latter.\nThe three days of travel were now almost spent, when, passing the brow\nof a wild heathy hill, the domain of Cahergillagh opened suddenly upon\nour view.\n\nIt formed a striking and a beautiful scene. A lake of considerable\nextent stretching away towards the west, and reflecting from its broad,\nsmooth waters, the rich glow of the setting sun, was overhung by steep\nhills, covered by a rich mantle of velvet sward, broken here and there\nby the grey front of some old rock, and exhibiting on their shelving\nsides, their slopes and hollows, every variety of light and shade;\na thick wood of dwarf oak, birch, and hazel skirted these hills, and\nclothed the shores of the lake, running out in rich luxuriance upon\nevery promontory, and spreading upward considerably upon the side of the\nhills.\n\n'There lies the enchanted castle,' said Lord Glenfallen, pointing\ntowards a considerable level space intervening between two of the\npicturesque hills, which rose dimly around the lake.\n\nThis little plain was chiefly occupied by the same low, wild wood which\ncovered the other parts of the domain; but towards the centre a mass\nof taller and statelier forest trees stood darkly grouped together,\nand among them stood an ancient square tower, with many buildings of a\nhumbler character, forming together the manorhouse, or, as it was more\nusually called, the Court of Cahergillagh.\n\nAs we approached the level upon which the mansion stood, the winding\nroad gave us many glimpses of the time-worn castle and its surrounding\nbuildings; and seen as it was through the long vistas of the fine old\ntrees, and with the rich glow of evening upon it, I have seldom beheld\nan object more picturesquely striking.\n\nI was glad to perceive, too, that here and there the blue curling smoke\nascended from stacks of chimneys now hidden by the rich, dark ivy which,\nin a great measure, covered the building. Other indications of comfort\nmade themselves manifest as we approached; and indeed, though the place\nwas evidently one of considerable antiquity, it had nothing whatever of\nthe gloom of decay about it.\n\n'You must not, my love,' said Lord Glenfallen, 'imagine this place worse\nthan it is. I have no taste for antiquity--at least I should not choose\na house to reside in because it is old. Indeed I do not recollect that I\nwas even so romantic as to overcome my aversion to rats and rheumatism,\nthose faithful attendants upon your noble relics of feudalism; and\nI much prefer a snug, modern, unmysterious bedroom, with well-aired\nsheets, to the waving tapestry, mildewed cushions, and all the other\ninteresting appliances of romance. However, though I cannot promise you\nall the discomfort generally belonging to an old castle, you will find\nlegends and ghostly lore enough to claim your respect; and if old\nMartha be still to the fore, as I trust she is, you will soon have a\nsupernatural and appropriate anecdote for every closet and corner of\nthe mansion; but here we are--so, without more ado, welcome to\nCahergillagh!'\n\nWe now entered the hall of the castle, and while the domestics were\nemployed in conveying our trunks and other luggage which we had brought\nwith us for immediate use to the apartments which Lord Glenfallen\nhad selected for himself and me, I went with him into a spacious\nsitting-room, wainscoted with finely polished black oak, and hung round\nwith the portraits of various worthies of the Glenfallen family.\n\nThis room looked out upon an extensive level covered with the softest\ngreen sward, and irregularly bounded by the wild wood I have before\nmentioned, through the leafy arcade formed by whose boughs and trunks\nthe level beams of the setting sun were pouring. In the distance a group\nof dairymaids were plying their task, which they accompanied throughout\nwith snatches of Irish songs which, mellowed by the distance, floated\nnot unpleasingly to the ear; and beside them sat or lay, with all the\ngrave importance of conscious protection, six or seven large dogs of\nvarious kinds. Farther in the distance, and through the cloisters of the\narching wood, two or three ragged urchins were employed in driving such\nstray kine as had wandered farther than the rest to join their fellows.\n\nAs I looked upon this scene which I have described, a feeling of\ntranquillity and happiness came upon me, which I have never experienced\nin so strong a degree; and so strange to me was the sensation that my\neyes filled with tears.\n\nLord Glenfallen mistook the cause of my emotion, and taking me kindly\nand tenderly by the hand, he said:\n\n'Do not suppose, my love, that it is my intention to SETTLE here.\nWhenever you desire to leave this, you have only to let me know your\nwish, and it shall be complied with; so I must entreat of you not to\nsuffer any circumstances which I can control to give you one moment's\nuneasiness. But here is old Martha; you must be introduced to her, one\nof the heirlooms of our family.'\n\nA hale, good-humoured, erect old woman was Martha, and an agreeable\ncontrast to the grim, decrepid hag which my fancy had conjured up, as\nthe depository of all the horrible tales in which I doubted not this old\nplace was most fruitful.\n\nShe welcomed me and her master with a profusion of gratulations,\nalternately kissing our hands and apologising for the liberty, until at\nlength Lord Glenfallen put an end to this somewhat fatiguing ceremonial\nby requesting her to conduct me to my chamber if it were prepared for my\nreception.\n\nI followed Martha up an old-fashioned oak staircase into a long, dim\npassage, at the end of which lay the door which communicated with the\napartments which had been selected for our use; here the old woman\nstopped, and respectfully requested me to proceed.\n\nI accordingly opened the door, and was about to enter, when something\nlike a mass of black tapestry, as it appeared, disturbed by my sudden\napproach, fell from above the door, so as completely to screen the\naperture; the startling unexpectedness of the occurrence, and the\nrustling noise which the drapery made in its descent, caused me\ninvoluntarily to step two or three paces backwards. I turned, smiling\nand half-ashamed, to the old servant, and said:\n\n'You see what a coward I am.'\n\nThe woman looked puzzled, and, without saying any more, I was about to\ndraw aside the curtain and enter the room, when, upon turning to do so,\nI was surprised to find that nothing whatever interposed to obstruct the\npassage.\n\nI went into the room, followed by the servant-woman, and was amazed to\nfind that it, like the one below, was wainscoted, and that nothing like\ndrapery was to be found near the door.\n\n'Where is it?' said I; 'what has become of it?'\n\n'What does your ladyship wish to know?' said the old woman.\n\n'Where is the black curtain that fell across the door, when I attempted\nfirst to come to my chamber?' answered I.\n\n'The cross of Christ about us!' said the old woman, turning suddenly\npale.\n\n'What is the matter, my good friend?' said I; 'you seem frightened.'\n\n'Oh no, no, your ladyship,' said the old woman, endeavouring to conceal\nher agitation; but in vain, for tottering towards a chair, she sank into\nit, looking so deadly pale and horror-struck that I thought every moment\nshe would faint.\n\n'Merciful God, keep us from harm and danger!' muttered she at length.\n\n'What can have terrified you so?' said I, beginning to fear that she\nhad seen something more than had met my eye. 'You appear ill, my poor\nwoman!'\n\n'Nothing, nothing, my lady,' said she, rising. 'I beg your ladyship's\npardon for making so bold. May the great God defend us from misfortune!'\n\n'Martha,' said I, 'something HAS frightened you very much, and I insist\non knowing what it is; your keeping me in the dark upon the subject will\nmake me much more uneasy than anything you could tell me. I desire you,\ntherefore, to let me know what agitates you; I command you to tell me.'\n\n'Your ladyship said you saw a black curtain falling across the door when\nyou were coming into the room,' said the old woman.\n\n'I did,' said I; 'but though the whole thing appears somewhat strange, I\ncannot see anything in the matter to agitate you so excessively.'\n\n'It's for no good you saw that, my lady,' said the crone; 'something\nterrible is coming. It's a sign, my lady--a sign that never fails.'\n\n'Explain, explain what you mean, my good woman,' said I, in spite of\nmyself, catching more than I could account for, of her superstitious\nterror.\n\n'Whenever something--something BAD is going to happen to the Glenfallen\nfamily, some one that belongs to them sees a black handkerchief or\ncurtain just waved or falling before their faces. I saw it myself,'\ncontinued she, lowering her voice, 'when I was only a little girl, and\nI'll never forget it. I often heard of it before, though I never saw it\ntill then, nor since, praised be God. But I was going into Lady Jane's\nroom to waken her in the morning; and sure enough when I got first to\nthe bed and began to draw the curtain, something dark was waved across\nthe division, but only for a moment; and when I saw rightly into the\nbed, there was she lying cold and dead, God be merciful to me! So,\nmy lady, there is small blame to me to be daunted when any one of the\nfamily sees it; for it's many's the story I heard of it, though I saw it\nbut once.'\n\nI was not of a superstitious turn of mind, yet I could not resist a\nfeeling of awe very nearly allied to the fear which my companion had\nso unreservedly expressed; and when you consider my situation, the\nloneliness, antiquity, and gloom of the place, you will allow that the\nweakness was not without excuse.\n\nIn spite of old Martha's boding predictions, however, time flowed on\nin an unruffled course. One little incident however, though trifling\nin itself, I must relate, as it serves to make what follows more\nintelligible.\n\nUpon the day after my arrival, Lord Glenfallen of course desired to make\nme acquainted with the house and domain; and accordingly we set forth\nupon our ramble. When returning, he became for some time silent\nand moody, a state so unusual with him as considerably to excite my\nsurprise.\n\nI endeavoured by observations and questions to arouse him--but in\nvain. At length, as we approached the house, he said, as if speaking to\nhimself:\n\n''Twere madness--madness--madness,' repeating the words bitterly--'sure\nand speedy ruin.'\n\nThere was here a long pause; and at length, turning sharply towards me,\nin a tone very unlike that in which he had hitherto addressed me, he\nsaid:\n\n'Do you think it possible that a woman can keep a secret?'\n\n'I am sure,' said I, 'that women are very much belied upon the score\nof talkativeness, and that I may answer your question with the same\ndirectness with which you put it--I reply that I DO think a woman can\nkeep a secret.'\n\n'But I do not,' said he, drily.\n\nWe walked on in silence for a time. I was much astonished at his\nunwonted abruptness--I had almost said rudeness.\n\nAfter a considerable pause he seemed to recollect himself, and with an\neffort resuming his sprightly manner, he said:\n\n'Well, well, the next thing to keeping a secret well is, not to desire\nto possess one--talkativeness and curiosity generally go together. Now\nI shall make test of you, in the first place, respecting the latter of\nthese qualities. I shall be your BLUEBEARD--tush, why do I trifle thus?\nListen to me, my dear Fanny; I speak now in solemn earnest. What I\ndesire is intimately, inseparably, connected with your happiness and\nhonour as well as my own; and your compliance with my request will not\nbe difficult. It will impose upon you a very trifling restraint during\nyour sojourn here, which certain events which have occurred since our\narrival have determined me shall not be a long one. You must promise\nme, upon your sacred honour, that you will visit ONLY that part of the\ncastle which can be reached from the front entrance, leaving the back\nentrance and the part of the building commanded immediately by it to the\nmenials, as also the small garden whose high wall you see yonder; and\nnever at any time seek to pry or peep into them, nor to open the door\nwhich communicates from the front part of the house through the corridor\nwith the back. I do not urge this in jest or in caprice, but from\na solemn conviction that danger and misery will be the certain\nconsequences of your not observing what I prescribe. I cannot explain\nmyself further at present. Promise me, then, these things, as you hope\nfor peace here, and for mercy hereafter.'\n\nI did make the promise as desired, and he appeared relieved; his manner\nrecovered all its gaiety and elasticity: but the recollection of the\nstrange scene which I have just described dwelt painfully upon my mind.\n\nMore than a month passed away without any occurrence worth recording;\nbut I was not destined to leave Cahergillagh without further adventure.\nOne day, intending to enjoy the pleasant sunshine in a ramble through\nthe woods, I ran up to my room to procure my bonnet and shawl. Upon\nentering the chamber, I was surprised and somewhat startled to find it\noccupied. Beside the fireplace, and nearly opposite the door, seated in\na large, old-fashioned elbow-chair, was placed the figure of a lady. She\nappeared to be nearer fifty than forty, and was dressed suitably to\nher age, in a handsome suit of flowered silk; she had a profusion\nof trinkets and jewellery about her person, and many rings upon her\nfingers. But although very rich, her dress was not gaudy or in ill\ntaste. But what was remarkable in the lady was, that although her\nfeatures were handsome, and upon the whole pleasing, the pupil of each\neye was dimmed with the whiteness of cataract, and she was evidently\nstone-blind. I was for some seconds so surprised at this unaccountable\napparition, that I could not find words to address her.\n\n'Madam,' said I, 'there must be some mistake here--this is my\nbed-chamber.'\n\n'Marry come up,' said the lady, sharply; 'YOUR chamber! Where is Lord\nGlenfallen?'\n\n'He is below, madam,' replied I; 'and I am convinced he will be not a\nlittle surprised to find you here.'\n\n'I do not think he will,' said she; 'with your good leave, talk of\nwhat you know something about. Tell him I want him. Why does the minx\ndilly-dally so?'\n\nIn spite of the awe which this grim lady inspired, there was something\nin her air of confident superiority which, when I considered our\nrelative situations, was not a little irritating.\n\n'Do you know, madam, to whom you speak?' said I.\n\n'I neither know nor care,' said she; 'but I presume that you are some\none about the house, so again I desire you, if you wish to continue\nhere, to bring your master hither forthwith.'\n\n'I must tell you, madam,' said I, 'that I am Lady Glenfallen.'\n\n'What's that?' said the stranger, rapidly.\n\n'I say, madam,' I repeated, approaching her that I might be more\ndistinctly heard, 'that I am Lady Glenfallen.'\n\n'It's a lie, you trull!' cried she, in an accent which made me start,\nand at the same time, springing forward, she seized me in her grasp, and\nshook me violently, repeating, 'It's a lie--it's a lie!' with a rapidity\nand vehemence which swelled every vein of her face. The violence of her\naction, and the fury which convulsed her face, effectually terrified me,\nand disengaging myself from her grasp, I screamed as loud as I could for\nhelp. The blind woman continued to pour out a torrent of abuse upon\nme, foaming at the mouth with rage, and impotently shaking her clenched\nfists towards me.\n\nI heard Lord Glenfallen's step upon the stairs, and I instantly ran out;\nas I passed him I perceived that he was deadly pale, and just caught the\nwords: 'I hope that demon has not hurt you?'\n\nI made some answer, I forget what, and he entered the chamber, the door\nof which he locked upon the inside. What passed within I know not; but\nI heard the voices of the two speakers raised in loud and angry\naltercation.\n\nI thought I heard the shrill accents of the woman repeat the words,\n'Let her look to herself;' but I could not be quite sure. This short\nsentence, however, was, to my alarmed imagination, pregnant with fearful\nmeaning.\n\nThe storm at length subsided, though not until after a conference\nof more than two long hours. Lord Glenfallen then returned, pale and\nagitated.\n\n'That unfortunate woman,' said he, 'is out of her mind. I daresay she\ntreated you to some of her ravings; but you need not dread any further\ninterruption from her: I have brought her so far to reason. She did not\nhurt you, I trust.'\n\n'No, no,' said I; 'but she terrified me beyond measure.'\n\n'Well,' said he, 'she is likely to behave better for the future; and I\ndare swear that neither you nor she would desire, after what has passed,\nto meet again.'\n\nThis occurrence, so startling and unpleasant, so involved in mystery,\nand giving rise to so many painful surmises, afforded me no very\nagreeable food for rumination.\n\nAll attempts on my part to arrive at the truth were baffled; Lord\nGlenfallen evaded all my inquiries, and at length peremptorily forbid\nany further allusion to the matter. I was thus obliged to rest satisfied\nwith what I had actually seen, and to trust to time to resolve the\nperplexities in which the whole transaction had involved me.\n\nLord Glenfallen's temper and spirits gradually underwent a complete and\nmost painful change; he became silent and abstracted, his manner to me\nwas abrupt and often harsh, some grievous anxiety seemed ever present to\nhis mind; and under its influence his spirits sunk and his temper became\nsoured.\n\nI soon perceived that his gaiety was rather that which the stir and\nexcitement of society produce, than the result of a healthy habit\nof mind; every day confirmed me in the opinion, that the considerate\ngood-nature which I had so much admired in him was little more than\na mere manner; and to my infinite grief and surprise, the gay, kind,\nopen-hearted nobleman who had for months followed and flattered me, was\nrapidly assuming the form of a gloomy, morose, and singularly selfish\nman. This was a bitter discovery, and I strove to conceal it from myself\nas long as I could; but the truth was not to be denied, and I was forced\nto believe that Lord Glenfallen no longer loved me, and that he was at\nlittle pains to conceal the alteration in his sentiments.\n\nOne morning after breakfast, Lord Glenfallen had been for some time\nwalking silently up and down the room, buried in his moody reflections,\nwhen pausing suddenly, and turning towards me, he exclaimed:\n\n'I have it--I have it! We must go abroad, and stay there too; and\nif that does not answer, why--why, we must try some more effectual\nexpedient. Lady Glenfallen, I have become involved in heavy\nembarrassments. A wife, you know, must share the fortunes of her\nhusband, for better for worse; but I will waive my right if you prefer\nremaining here--here at Cahergillagh. For I would not have you seen\nelsewhere without the state to which your rank entitles you; besides, it\nwould break your poor mother's heart,' he added, with sneering gravity.\n'So make up your mind--Cahergillagh or France. I will start if possible\nin a week, so determine between this and then.'\n\nHe left the room, and in a few moments I saw him ride past the window,\nfollowed by a mounted servant. He had directed a domestic to inform me\nthat he should not be back until the next day.\n\nI was in very great doubt as to what course of conduct I should pursue,\nas to accompanying him in the continental tour so suddenly determined\nupon. I felt that it would be a hazard too great to encounter; for at\nCahergillagh I had always the consciousness to sustain me, that if his\ntemper at any time led him into violent or unwarrantable treatment of\nme, I had a remedy within reach, in the protection and support of my own\nfamily, from all useful and effective communication with whom, if once\nin France, I should be entirely debarred.\n\nAs to remaining at Cahergillagh in solitude, and, for aught I knew,\nexposed to hidden dangers, it appeared to me scarcely less objectionable\nthan the former proposition; and yet I feared that with one or other I\nmust comply, unless I was prepared to come to an actual breach with Lord\nGlenfallen. Full of these unpleasing doubts and perplexities, I retired\nto rest.\n\nI was wakened, after having slept uneasily for some hours, by some\nperson shaking me rudely by the shoulder; a small lamp burned in my\nroom, and by its light, to my horror and amazement, I discovered that my\nvisitant was the self-same blind old lady who had so terrified me a few\nweeks before.\n\nI started up in the bed, with a view to ring the bell, and alarm the\ndomestics; but she instantly anticipated me by saying:\n\n'Do not be frightened, silly girl! If I had wished to harm you I could\nhave done it while you were sleeping; I need not have wakened you.\nListen to me, now, attentively and fearlessly, for what I have to say\ninterests you to the full as much as it does me. Tell me here, in the\npresence of God, did Lord Glenfallen marry you--ACTUALLY MARRY you?\nSpeak the truth, woman.'\n\n'As surely as I live and speak,' I replied, 'did Lord Glenfallen marry\nme, in presence of more than a hundred witnesses.'\n\n'Well,' continued she, 'he should have told you THEN, before you\nmarried him, that he had a wife living, which wife I am. I feel you\ntremble--tush! do not be frightened. I do not mean to harm you. Mark\nme now--you are NOT his wife. When I make my story known you will be\nso neither in the eye of God nor of man. You must leave this house upon\nto-morrow. Let the world know that your husband has another wife living;\ngo you into retirement, and leave him to justice, which will surely\novertake him. If you remain in this house after to-morrow you will reap\nthe bitter fruits of your sin.'\n\nSo saying, she quitted the room, leaving me very little disposed to\nsleep.\n\nHere was food for my very worst and most terrible suspicions; still\nthere was not enough to remove all doubt. I had no proof of the truth of\nthis woman's statement.\n\nTaken by itself, there was nothing to induce me to attach weight to it;\nbut when I viewed it in connection with the extraordinary mystery of\nsome of Lord Glenfallen's proceedings, his strange anxiety to exclude me\nfrom certain portions of the mansion, doubtless lest I should encounter\nthis person--the strong influence, nay, command which she possessed over\nhim, a circumstance clearly established by the very fact of her residing\nin the very place where, of all others, he should least have desired to\nfind her--her thus acting, and continuing to act in direct contradiction\nto his wishes; when, I say, I viewed her disclosure in connection with\nall these circumstances, I could not help feeling that there was at\nleast a fearful verisimilitude in the allegations which she had made.\n\nStill I was not satisfied, nor nearly so. Young minds have a\nreluctance almost insurmountable to believing, upon anything short of\nunquestionable proof, the existence of premeditated guilt in anyone whom\nthey have ever trusted; and in support of this feeling I was assured\nthat if the assertion of Lord Glenfallen, which nothing in this woman's\nmanner had led me to disbelieve, were true, namely that her mind was\nunsound, the whole fabric of my doubts and fears must fall to the\nground.\n\nI determined to state to Lord Glenfallen freely and accurately the\nsubstance of the communication which I had just heard, and in his words\nand looks to seek for its proof or refutation. Full of these thoughts,\nI remained wakeful and excited all night, every moment fancying that I\nheard the step or saw the figure of my recent visitor, towards whom I\nfelt a species of horror and dread which I can hardly describe.\n\nThere was something in her face, though her features had evidently been\nhandsome, and were not, at first sight, unpleasing, which, upon a nearer\ninspection, seemed to indicate the habitual prevalence and indulgence\nof evil passions, and a power of expressing mere animal anger, with an\nintenseness that I have seldom seen equalled, and to which an almost\nunearthly effect was given by the convulsive quivering of the sightless\neyes.\n\nYou may easily suppose that it was no very pleasing reflection to me to\nconsider that, whenever caprice might induce her to return, I was within\nthe reach of this violent and, for aught I knew, insane woman, who had,\nupon that very night, spoken to me in a tone of menace, of which her\nmere words, divested of the manner and look with which she uttered them,\ncan convey but a faint idea.\n\nWill you believe me when I tell you that I was actually afraid to leave\nmy bed in order to secure the door, lest I should again encounter\nthe dreadful object lurking in some corner or peeping from behind the\nwindow-curtains, so very a child was I in my fears.\n\nThe morning came, and with it Lord Glenfallen. I knew not, and indeed I\ncared not, where he might have been; my thoughts were wholly engrossed\nby the terrible fears and suspicions which my last night's conference\nhad suggested to me. He was, as usual, gloomy and abstracted, and I\nfeared in no very fitting mood to hear what I had to say with patience,\nwhether the charges were true or false.\n\nI was, however, determined not to suffer the opportunity to pass,\nor Lord Glenfallen to leave the room, until, at all hazards, I had\nunburdened my mind.\n\n'My lord,' said I, after a long silence, summoning up all my\nfirmness--'my lord, I wish to say a few words to you upon a matter of\nvery great importance, of very deep concernment to you and to me.'\n\nI fixed my eyes upon him to discern, if possible, whether the\nannouncement caused him any uneasiness; but no symptom of any such\nfeeling was perceptible.\n\n'Well, my dear,' said he, 'this is no doubt a very grave preface, and\nportends, I have no doubt, something extraordinary. Pray let us have it\nwithout more ado.'\n\nHe took a chair, and seated himself nearly opposite to me.\n\n'My lord,' said I, 'I have seen the person who alarmed me so much a\nshort time since, the blind lady, again, upon last night.' His face,\nupon which my eyes were fixed, turned pale; he hesitated for a moment,\nand then said:\n\n'And did you, pray, madam, so totally forget or spurn my express\ncommand, as to enter that portion of the house from which your promise,\nI might say your oath, excluded you?--answer me that!' he added\nfiercely.\n\n'My lord,' said I, 'I have neither forgotten your COMMANDS, since such\nthey were, nor disobeyed them. I was, last night, wakened from my sleep,\nas I lay in my own chamber, and accosted by the person whom I have\nmentioned. How she found access to the room I cannot pretend to say.'\n\n'Ha! this must be looked to,' said he, half reflectively; 'and pray,'\nadded he, quickly, while in turn he fixed his eyes upon me, 'what did\nthis person say? since some comment upon her communication forms, no\ndoubt, the sequel to your preface.'\n\n'Your lordship is not mistaken,' said I; 'her statement was so\nextraordinary that I could not think of withholding it from you. She\ntold me, my lord, that you had a wife living at the time you married me,\nand that she was that wife.'\n\nLord Glenfallen became ashy pale, almost livid; he made two or three\nefforts to clear his voice to speak, but in vain, and turning suddenly\nfrom me, he walked to the window. The horror and dismay which, in the\nolden time, overwhelmed the woman of Endor when her spells unexpectedly\nconjured the dead into her presence, were but types of what I felt when\nthus presented with what appeared to be almost unequivocal evidence of\nthe guilt whose existence I had before so strongly doubted.\n\nThere was a silence of some moments, during which it were hard to\nconjecture whether I or my companion suffered most.\n\nLord Glenfallen soon recovered his self-command; he returned to the\ntable, again sat down and said:\n\n'What you have told me has so astonished me, has unfolded such a tissue\nof motiveless guilt, and in a quarter from which I had so little reason\nto look for ingratitude or treachery, that your announcement almost\ndeprived me of speech; the person in question, however, has one excuse,\nher mind is, as I told you before, unsettled. You should have remembered\nthat, and hesitated to receive as unexceptionable evidence against the\nhonour of your husband, the ravings of a lunatic. I now tell you that\nthis is the last time I shall speak to you upon this subject, and, in\nthe presence of the God who is to judge me, and as I hope for mercy in\nthe day of judgment, I swear that the charge thus brought against me is\nutterly false, unfounded, and ridiculous; I defy the world in any point\nto taint my honour; and, as I have never taken the opinion of madmen\ntouching your character or morals, I think it but fair to require that\nyou will evince a like tenderness for me; and now, once for all, never\nagain dare to repeat to me your insulting suspicions, or the clumsy and\ninfamous calumnies of fools. I shall instantly let the worthy lady who\ncontrived this somewhat original device, understand fully my opinion\nupon the matter. Good morning;' and with these words he left me again in\ndoubt, and involved in all horrors of the most agonising suspense.\n\nI had reason to think that Lord Glenfallen wreaked his vengeance upon\nthe author of the strange story which I had heard, with a violence which\nwas not satisfied with mere words, for old Martha, with whom I was a\ngreat favourite, while attending me in my room, told me that she feared\nher master had ill-used the poor blind Dutch woman, for that she had\nheard her scream as if the very life were leaving her, but added a\nrequest that I should not speak of what she had told me to any one,\nparticularly to the master.\n\n'How do you know that she is a Dutch woman?' inquired I, anxious to\nlearn anything whatever that might throw a light upon the history\nof this person, who seemed to have resolved to mix herself up in my\nfortunes.\n\n'Why, my lady,' answered Martha, 'the master often calls her the Dutch\nhag, and other names you would not like to hear, and I am sure she is\nneither English nor Irish; for, whenever they talk together, they speak\nsome queer foreign lingo, and fast enough, I'll be bound. But I ought\nnot to talk about her at all; it might be as much as my place is worth\nto mention her--only you saw her first yourself, so there can be no\ngreat harm in speaking of her now.'\n\n'How long has this lady been here?' continued I.\n\n'She came early on the morning after your ladyship's arrival,' answered\nshe; 'but do not ask me any more, for the master would think nothing of\nturning me out of doors for daring to speak of her at all, much less to\nyou, my lady.'\n\nI did not like to press the poor woman further, for her reluctance to\nspeak on this topic was evident and strong.\n\nYou will readily believe that upon the very slight grounds which my\ninformation afforded, contradicted as it was by the solemn oath of my\nhusband, and derived from what was, at best, a very questionable source,\nI could not take any very decisive measure whatever; and as to the\nmenace of the strange woman who had thus unaccountably twice intruded\nherself into my chamber, although, at the moment, it occasioned me some\nuneasiness, it was not, even in my eyes, sufficiently formidable to\ninduce my departure from Cahergillagh.\n\nA few nights after the scene which I have just mentioned, Lord\nGlenfallen having, as usual, early retired to his study, I was left\nalone in the parlour to amuse myself as best I might.\n\nIt was not strange that my thoughts should often recur to the agitating\nscenes in which I had recently taken a part.\n\nThe subject of my reflections, the solitude, the silence, and the\nlateness of the hour, as also the depression of spirits to which I had\nof late been a constant prey, tended to produce that nervous excitement\nwhich places us wholly at the mercy of the imagination.\n\nIn order to calm my spirits I was endeavouring to direct my thoughts\ninto some more pleasing channel, when I heard, or thought I heard,\nuttered, within a few yards of me, in an odd, half-sneering tone, the\nwords,\n\n'There is blood upon your ladyship's throat.'\n\nSo vivid was the impression that I started to my feet, and involuntarily\nplaced my hand upon my neck.\n\nI looked around the room for the speaker, but in vain.\n\nI went then to the room-door, which I opened, and peered into the\npassage, nearly faint with horror lest some leering, shapeless thing\nshould greet me upon the threshold.\n\nWhen I had gazed long enough to assure myself that no strange object was\nwithin sight, 'I have been too much of a rake lately; I am racking out\nmy nerves,' said I, speaking aloud, with a view to reassure myself.\n\nI rang the bell, and, attended by old Martha, I retired to settle for\nthe night.\n\nWhile the servant was--as was her custom--arranging the lamp which I\nhave already stated always burned during the night in my chamber, I\nwas employed in undressing, and, in doing so, I had recourse to a large\nlooking-glass which occupied a considerable portion of the wall in which\nit was fixed, rising from the ground to a height of about six feet--this\nmirror filled the space of a large panel in the wainscoting opposite the\nfoot of the bed.\n\nI had hardly been before it for the lapse of a minute when something\nlike a black pall was slowly waved between me and it.\n\n'Oh, God! there it is,' I exclaimed, wildly. 'I have seen it again,\nMartha--the black cloth.'\n\n'God be merciful to us, then!' answered she, tremulously crossing\nherself. 'Some misfortune is over us.'\n\n'No, no, Martha,' said I, almost instantly recovering my collectedness;\nfor, although of a nervous temperament, I had never been superstitious.\n'I do not believe in omens. You know I saw, or fancied I saw, this thing\nbefore, and nothing followed.'\n\n'The Dutch lady came the next morning,' replied she.\n\n'But surely her coming scarcely deserved such a dreadful warning,' I\nreplied.\n\n'She is a strange woman, my lady,' said Martha; 'and she is not GONE\nyet--mark my words.'\n\n'Well, well, Martha,' said I, 'I have not wit enough to change your\nopinions, nor inclination to alter mine; so I will talk no more of the\nmatter. Good-night,' and so I was left to my reflections.\n\nAfter lying for about an hour awake, I at length fell into a kind of\ndoze; but my imagination was still busy, for I was startled from this\nunrefreshing sleep by fancying that I heard a voice close to my face\nexclaim as before:\n\n'There is blood upon your ladyship's throat.'\n\nThe words were instantly followed by a loud burst of laughter.\n\nQuaking with horror, I awakened, and heard my husband enter the room.\nEven this was it relief.\n\nScared as I was, however, by the tricks which my imagination had played\nme, I preferred remaining silent, and pretending to sleep, to attempting\nto engage my husband in conversation, for I well knew that his mood was\nsuch, that his words would not, in all probability, convey anything that\nhad not better be unsaid and unheard.\n\nLord Glenfallen went into his dressing-room, which lay upon the\nright-hand side of the bed. The door lying open, I could see him by\nhimself, at full length upon a sofa, and, in about half an hour, I\nbecame aware, by his deep and regularly drawn respiration, that he was\nfast asleep.\n\nWhen slumber refuses to visit one, there is something peculiarly\nirritating, not to the temper, but to the nerves, in the consciousness\nthat some one is in your immediate presence, actually enjoying the boon\nwhich you are seeking in vain; at least, I have always found it so, and\nnever more than upon the present occasion.\n\nA thousand annoying imaginations harassed and excited me; every object\nwhich I looked upon, though ever so familiar, seemed to have acquired\na strange phantom-like character, the varying shadows thrown by the\nflickering of the lamplight, seemed shaping themselves into grotesque\nand unearthly forms, and whenever my eyes wandered to the sleeping\nfigure of my husband, his features appeared to undergo the strangest and\nmost demoniacal contortions.\n\nHour after hour was told by the old clock, and each succeeding one found\nme, if possible, less inclined to sleep than its predecessor.\n\nIt was now considerably past three; my eyes, in their involuntary\nwanderings, happened to alight upon the large mirror which was, as I\nhave said, fixed in the wall opposite the foot of the bed. A view of it\nwas commanded from where I lay, through the curtains. As I gazed fixedly\nupon it, I thought I perceived the broad sheet of glass shifting its\nposition in relation to the bed; I riveted my eyes upon it with intense\nscrutiny; it was no deception, the mirror, as if acting of its own\nimpulse, moved slowly aside, and disclosed a dark aperture in the wall,\nnearly as large as an ordinary door; a figure evidently stood in this,\nbut the light was too dim to define it accurately.\n\nIt stepped cautiously into the chamber, and with so little noise, that\nhad I not actually seen it, I do not think I should have been aware of\nits presence. It was arrayed in a kind of woollen night-dress, and a\nwhite handkerchief or cloth was bound tightly about the head; I had no\ndifficulty, spite of the strangeness of the attire, in recognising the\nblind woman whom I so much dreaded.\n\nShe stooped down, bringing her head nearly to the ground, and in that\nattitude she remained motionless for some moments, no doubt in order to\nascertain if any suspicious sound were stirring.\n\nShe was apparently satisfied by her observations, for she immediately\nrecommenced her silent progress towards a ponderous mahogany\ndressing-table of my husband's. When she had reached it, she paused\nagain, and appeared to listen attentively for some minutes; she then\nnoiselessly opened one of the drawers, from which, having groped for\nsome time, she took something, which I soon perceived to be a case of\nrazors. She opened it, and tried the edge of each of the two instruments\nupon the skin of her hand; she quickly selected one, which she fixed\nfirmly in her grasp. She now stooped down as before, and having listened\nfor a time, she, with the hand that was disengaged, groped her way into\nthe dressing-room where Lord Glenfallen lay fast asleep.\n\nI was fixed as if in the tremendous spell of a nightmare. I could not\nstir even a finger; I could not lift my voice; I could not even breathe;\nand though I expected every moment to see the sleeping man murdered, I\ncould not even close my eyes to shut out the horrible spectacle, which I\nhad not the power to avert.\n\nI saw the woman approach the sleeping figure, she laid the unoccupied\nhand lightly along his clothes, and having thus ascertained his\nidentity, she, after a brief interval, turned back and again entered my\nchamber; here she bent down again to listen.\n\nI had now not a doubt but that the razor was intended for my throat; yet\nthe terrific fascination which had locked all my powers so long, still\ncontinued to bind me fast.\n\nI felt that my life depended upon the slightest ordinary exertion, and\nyet I could not stir one joint from the position in which I lay, nor\neven make noise enough to waken Lord Glenfallen.\n\nThe murderous woman now, with long, silent steps, approached the bed;\nmy very heart seemed turning to ice; her left hand, that which was\ndisengaged, was upon the pillow; she gradually slid it forward towards\nmy head, and in an instant, with the speed of lightning, it was clutched\nin my hair, while, with the other hand, she dashed the razor at my\nthroat.\n\nA slight inaccuracy saved me from instant death; the blow fell short,\nthe point of the razor grazing my throat. In a moment, I know not how, I\nfound myself at the other side of the bed, uttering shriek after shriek;\nthe wretch was, however, determined if possible to murder me.\n\nScrambling along by the curtains, she rushed round the bed towards me;\nI seized the handle of the door to make my escape. It was, however,\nfastened. At all events, I could not open it. From the mere instinct of\nrecoiling terror, I shrunk back into a corner. She was now within a yard\nof me. Her hand was upon my face.\n\nI closed my eyes fast, expecting never to open them again, when a blow,\ninflicted from behind by a strong arm, stretched the monster senseless\nat my feet. At the same moment the door opened, and several domestics,\nalarmed by my cries, entered the apartment.\n\nI do not recollect what followed, for I fainted. One swoon succeeded\nanother, so long and death-like, that my life was considered very\ndoubtful.\n\nAt about ten o'clock, however, I sunk into a deep and refreshing sleep,\nfrom which I was awakened at about two, that I might swear my deposition\nbefore a magistrate, who attended for that purpose.\n\nI accordingly did so, as did also Lord Glenfallen, and the woman was\nfully committed to stand her trial at the ensuing assizes.\n\nI shall never forget the scene which the examination of the blind woman\nand of the other parties afforded.\n\nShe was brought into the room in the custody of two servants. She wore\na kind of flannel wrapper which had not been changed since the night\nbefore. It was torn and soiled, and here and there smeared with blood,\nwhich had flowed in large quantities from a wound in her head. The white\nhandkerchief had fallen off in the scuffle, and her grizzled hair fell\nin masses about her wild and deadly pale countenance.\n\nShe appeared perfectly composed, however, and the only regret she\nexpressed throughout, was at not having succeeded in her attempt, the\nobject of which she did not pretend to conceal.\n\nOn being asked her name, she called herself the Countess Glenfallen, and\nrefused to give any other title.\n\n'The woman's name is Flora Van-Kemp,' said Lord Glenfallen.\n\n'It WAS, it WAS, you perjured traitor and cheat!' screamed the woman;\nand then there followed a volley of words in some foreign language.\n'Is there a magistrate here?' she resumed; 'I am Lord Glenfallen's\nwife--I'll prove it--write down my words. I am willing to be hanged or\nburned, so HE meets his deserts. I did try to kill that doll of his; but\nit was he who put it into my head to do it--two wives were too many; I\nwas to murder her, or she was to hang me; listen to all I have to say.'\n\nHere Lord Glenfallen interrupted.\n\n'I think, sir,' said he, addressing the magistrate, 'that we had better\nproceed to business; this unhappy woman's furious recriminations but\nwaste our time. If she refuses to answer your questions, you had better,\nI presume, take my depositions.'\n\n'And are you going to swear away my life, you black-perjured murderer?'\nshrieked the woman. 'Sir, sir, sir, you must hear me,' she continued,\naddressing the magistrate; 'I can convict him--he bid me murder that\ngirl, and then, when I failed, he came behind me, and struck me down,\nand now he wants to swear away my life. Take down all I say.'\n\n'If it is your intention,' said the magistrate, 'to confess the crime\nwith which you stand charged, you may, upon producing sufficient\nevidence, criminate whom you please.'\n\n'Evidence!--I have no evidence but myself,' said the woman. 'I will\nswear it all--write down my testimony--write it down, I say--we shall\nhang side by side, my brave lord--all your own handy-work, my gentle\nhusband.'\n\nThis was followed by a low, insolent, and sneering laugh, which, from\none in her situation, was sufficiently horrible.\n\n'I will not at present hear anything,' replied he, 'but distinct answers\nto the questions which I shall put to you upon this matter.'\n\n'Then you shall hear nothing,' replied she sullenly, and no inducement\nor intimidation could bring her to speak again.\n\nLord Glenfallen's deposition and mine were then given, as also those of\nthe servants who had entered the room at the moment of my rescue.\n\nThe magistrate then intimated that she was committed, and must proceed\ndirectly to gaol, whither she was brought in a carriage; of Lord\nGlenfallen's, for his lordship was naturally by no means indifferent to\nthe effect which her vehement accusations against himself might produce,\nif uttered before every chance hearer whom she might meet with between\nCahergillagh and the place of confinement whither she was despatched.\n\nDuring the time which intervened between the committal and the trial\nof the prisoner, Lord Glenfallen seemed to suffer agonies of mind which\nbaffle all description; he hardly ever slept, and when he did, his\nslumbers seemed but the instruments of new tortures, and his waking\nhours were, if possible, exceeded in intensity of terrors by the dreams\nwhich disturbed his sleep.\n\nLord Glenfallen rested, if to lie in the mere attitude of repose were\nto do so, in his dressing-room, and thus I had an opportunity of\nwitnessing, far oftener than I wished it, the fearful workings of\nhis mind. His agony often broke out into such fearful paroxysms\nthat delirium and total loss of reason appeared to be impending. He\nfrequently spoke of flying from the country, and bringing with him all\nthe witnesses of the appalling scene upon which the prosecution was\nfounded; then, again, he would fiercely lament that the blow which he\nhad inflicted had not ended all.\n\nThe assizes arrived, however, and upon the day appointed Lord Glenfallen\nand I attended in order to give our evidence.\n\nThe cause was called on, and the prisoner appeared at the bar.\n\nGreat curiosity and interest were felt respecting the trial, so that the\ncourt was crowded to excess.\n\nThe prisoner, however, without appearing to take the trouble of\nlistening to the indictment, pleaded guilty, and no representations on\nthe part of the court availed to induce her to retract her plea.\n\nAfter much time had been wasted in a fruitless attempt to prevail upon\nher to reconsider her words, the court proceeded, according to the usual\nform, to pass sentence.\n\nThis having been done, the prisoner was about to be removed, when she\nsaid, in a low, distinct voice:\n\n'A word--a word, my lord!--Is Lord Glenfallen here in the court?'\n\nOn being told that he was, she raised her voice to a tone of loud\nmenace, and continued:\n\n'Hardress, Earl of Glenfallen, I accuse you here in this court of\njustice of two crimes,--first, that you married a second wife, while\nthe first was living; and again, that you prompted me to the murder, for\nattempting which I am to die. Secure him--chain him--bring him here.'\n\nThere was a laugh through the court at these words, which were naturally\ntreated by the judge as a violent extemporary recrimination, and the\nwoman was desired to be silent.\n\n'You won't take him, then?' she said; 'you won't try him? You'll let him\ngo free?'\n\nIt was intimated by the court that he would certainly be allowed 'to go\nfree,' and she was ordered again to be removed.\n\nBefore, however, the mandate was executed, she threw her arms wildly\ninto the air, and uttered one piercing shriek so full of preternatural\nrage and despair, that it might fitly have ushered a soul into those\nrealms where hope can come no more.\n\nThe sound still rang in my ears, months after the voice that had uttered\nit was for ever silent.\n\nThe wretched woman was executed in accordance with the sentence which\nhad been pronounced.\n\nFor some time after this event, Lord Glenfallen appeared, if possible,\nto suffer more than he had done before, and altogether his language,\nwhich often amounted to half confessions of the guilt imputed to him,\nand all the circumstances connected with the late occurrences, formed a\nmass of evidence so convincing that I wrote to my father, detailing the\ngrounds of my fears, and imploring him to come to Cahergillagh without\ndelay, in order to remove me from my husband's control, previously to\ntaking legal steps for a final separation.\n\nCircumstanced as I was, my existence was little short of intolerable,\nfor, besides the fearful suspicions which attached to my husband, I\nplainly perceived that if Lord Glenfallen were not relieved, and that\nspeedily, insanity must supervene. I therefore expected my father's\narrival, or at least a letter to announce it, with indescribable\nimpatience.\n\nAbout a week after the execution had taken place, Lord Glenfallen one\nmorning met me with an unusually sprightly air.\n\n'Fanny,' said he, 'I have it now for the first time in my power to\nexplain to your satisfaction everything which has hitherto appeared\nsuspicious or mysterious in my conduct. After breakfast come with me to\nmy study, and I shall, I hope, make all things clear.'\n\nThis invitation afforded me more real pleasure than I had experienced\nfor months. Something had certainly occurred to tranquillize my\nhusband's mind in no ordinary degree, and I thought it by no means\nimpossible that he would, in the proposed interview, prove himself the\nmost injured and innocent of men.\n\nFull of this hope, I repaired to his study at the appointed hour. He was\nwriting busily when I entered the room, and just raising his eyes, he\nrequested me to be seated.\n\nI took a chair as he desired, and remained silently awaiting his\nleisure, while he finished, folded, directed, and sealed his letter.\nLaying it then upon the table with the address downward, he said,\n\n'My dearest Fanny, I know I must have appeared very strange to you and\nvery unkind--often even cruel. Before the end of this week I will show\nyou the necessity of my conduct--how impossible it was that I should\nhave seemed otherwise. I am conscious that many acts of mine must have\ninevitably given rise to painful suspicions--suspicions which, indeed,\nupon one occasion, you very properly communicated to me. I have got two\nletters from a quarter which commands respect, containing information as\nto the course by which I may be enabled to prove the negative of all the\ncrimes which even the most credulous suspicion could lay to my charge. I\nexpected a third by this morning's post, containing documents which will\nset the matter for ever at rest, but owing, no doubt, to some neglect,\nor, perhaps, to some difficulty in collecting the papers, some\ninevitable delay, it has not come to hand this morning, according to my\nexpectation. I was finishing one to the very same quarter when you came\nin, and if a sound rousing be worth anything, I think I shall have a\nspecial messenger before two days have passed. I have been anxiously\nconsidering with myself, as to whether I had better imperfectly clear\nup your doubts by submitting to your inspection the two letters which I\nhave already received, or wait till I can triumphantly vindicate myself\nby the production of the documents which I have already mentioned, and I\nhave, I think, not unnaturally decided upon the latter course. However,\nthere is a person in the next room whose testimony is not without its\nvalue excuse me for one moment.'\n\nSo saying, he arose and went to the door of a closet which opened from\nthe study; this he unlocked, and half opening the door, he said, 'It is\nonly I,' and then slipped into the room and carefully closed and locked\nthe door behind him.\n\nI immediately heard his voice in animated conversation. My curiosity\nupon the subject of the letter was naturally great, so, smothering\nany little scruples which I might have felt, I resolved to look at the\naddress of the letter which lay, as my husband had left it, with its\nface upon the table. I accordingly drew it over to me and turned up the\ndirection.\n\nFor two or three moments I could scarce believe my eyes, but there\ncould be no mistake--in large characters were traced the words, 'To the\nArchangel Gabriel in Heaven.'\n\nI had scarcely returned the letter to its original position, and in\nsome degree recovered the shock which this unequivocal proof of insanity\nproduced, when the closet door was unlocked, and Lord Glenfallen\nre-entered the study, carefully closing and locking the door again upon\nthe outside.\n\n'Whom have you there?' inquired I, making a strong effort to appear\ncalm.\n\n'Perhaps,' said he, musingly, 'you might have some objection to seeing\nher, at least for a time.'\n\n'Who is it?' repeated I.\n\n'Why,' said he, 'I see no use in hiding it--the blind Dutchwoman. I have\nbeen with her the whole morning. She is very anxious to get out of that\ncloset; but you know she is odd, she is scarcely to be trusted.'\n\nA heavy gust of wind shook the door at this moment with a sound as if\nsomething more substantial were pushing against it.\n\n'Ha, ha, ha!--do you hear her?' said he, with an obstreperous burst of\nlaughter.\n\nThe wind died away in a long howl, and Lord Glenfallen, suddenly\nchecking his merriment, shrugged his shoulders, and muttered:\n\n'Poor devil, she has been hardly used.'\n\n'We had better not tease her at present with questions,' said I, in as\nunconcerned a tone as I could assume, although I felt every moment as if\nI should faint.\n\n'Humph! may be so,' said he. 'Well, come back in an hour or two, or when\nyou please, and you will find us here.'\n\nHe again unlocked the door, and entered with the same precautions\nwhich he had adopted before, locking the door upon the inside; and as\nI hurried from the room, I heard his voice again exerted as if in eager\nparley.\n\nI can hardly describe my emotions; my hopes had been raised to the\nhighest, and now, in an instant, all was gone--the dreadful consummation\nwas accomplished--the fearful retribution had fallen upon the guilty\nman--the mind was destroyed--the power to repent was gone.\n\nThe agony of the hours which followed what I would still call my AWFUL\ninterview with Lord Glenfallen, I cannot describe; my solitude was,\nhowever, broken in upon by Martha, who came to inform me of the arrival\nof a gentleman, who expected me in the parlour.\n\nI accordingly descended, and, to my great joy, found my father seated by\nthe fire.\n\nThis expedition upon his part was easily accounted for: my\ncommunications had touched the honour of the family. I speedily informed\nhim of the dreadful malady which had fallen upon the wretched man.\n\nMy father suggested the necessity of placing some person to watch him,\nto prevent his injuring himself or others.\n\nI rang the bell, and desired that one Edward Cooke, an attached servant\nof the family, should be sent to me.\n\nI told him distinctly and briefly the nature of the service required\nof him, and, attended by him, my father and I proceeded at once to the\nstudy. The door of the inner room was still closed, and everything in\nthe outer chamber remained in the same order in which I had left it.\n\nWe then advanced to the closet-door, at which we knocked, but without\nreceiving any answer.\n\nWe next tried to open the door, but in vain--it was locked upon the\ninside. We knocked more loudly, but in vain.\n\nSeriously alarmed, I desired the servant to force the door, which was,\nafter several violent efforts, accomplished, and we entered the closet.\n\nLord Glenfallen was lying on his face upon a sofa.\n\n'Hush!' said I, 'he is asleep.' We paused for a moment.\n\n'He is too still for that,' said my father.\n\nWe all of us felt a strong reluctance to approach the figure.\n\n'Edward,' said I, 'try whether your master sleeps.'\n\nThe servant approached the sofa where Lord Glenfallen lay. He leant his\near towards the head of the recumbent figure, to ascertain whether the\nsound of breathing was audible. He turned towards us, and said:\n\n'My lady, you had better not wait here; I am sure he is dead!'\n\n'Let me see the face,' said I, terribly agitated; 'you MAY be mistaken.'\n\nThe man then, in obedience to my command, turned the body round, and,\ngracious God! what a sight met my view. He was, indeed, perfectly dead.\n\nThe whole breast of the shirt, with its lace frill, was drenched with\ngore, as was the couch underneath the spot where he lay.\n\nThe head hung back, as it seemed, almost severed from the body by a\nfrightful gash, which yawned across the throat. The instrument which had\ninflicted it was found under his body.\n\nAll, then, was over; I was never to learn the history in whose\ntermination I had been so deeply and so tragically involved.\n\nThe severe discipline which my mind had undergone was not bestowed in\nvain. I directed my thoughts and my hopes to that place where there is\nno more sin, nor danger, nor sorrow.\n\nThus ends a brief tale whose prominent incidents many will recognise\nas having marked the history of a distinguished family; and though it\nrefers to a somewhat distant date, we shall be found not to have taken,\nupon that account, any liberties with the facts, but in our statement\nof all the incidents to have rigorously and faithfully adhered to the\ntruth.\n\n\n\n\nAN ADVENTURE OF HARDRESS FITZGERALD, A ROYALIST CAPTAIN.\n\n     Being an Eleventh Extract from the Legacy of the late\n     Francis Purcell, P.P. of Drumcoolagh.\n\nThe following brief narrative contains a faithful account of one of\nthe many strange incidents which chequered the life of Hardress\nFitzgerald--one of the now-forgotten heroes who flourished during the\nmost stirring and, though the most disastrous, by no means the least\nglorious period of our eventful history.\n\nHe was a captain of horse in the army of James, and shared the fortunes\nof his master, enduring privations, encountering dangers, and submitting\nto vicissitudes the most galling and ruinous, with a fortitude and a\nheroism which would, if coupled with his other virtues have rendered the\nunhappy monarch whom he served, the most illustrious among unfortunate\nprinces.\n\nI have always preferred, where I could do so with any approach to\naccuracy, to give such relations as the one which I am about to submit\nto you, in the first person, and in the words of the original narrator,\nbelieving that such a form of recitation not only gives freshness to\nthe tale, but in this particular instance, by bringing before me and\nsteadily fixing in my mind's eye the veteran royalist who himself\nrelated the occurrence which I am about to record, furnishes an\nadditional stimulant to my memory, and a proportionate check upon my\nimagination.\n\nAs nearly as I can recollect then, his statement was as follows:\n\n\nAfter the fatal battle of the Boyne, I came up in disguise to Dublin,\nas did many in a like situation, regarding the capital as furnishing\nat once a good central position of observation, and as secure a\nlurking-place as I cared to find.\n\nI would not suffer myself to believe that the cause of my royal master\nwas so desperate as it really was; and while I lay in my lodgings, which\nconsisted of the garret of a small dark house, standing in the lane\nwhich runs close by Audoen's Arch, I busied myself with continual\nprojects for the raising of the country, and the re-collecting of the\nfragments of the defeated army--plans, you will allow, sufficiently\nmagnificent for a poor devil who dared scarce show his face abroad in\nthe daylight.\n\nI believe, however, that I had not much reason to fear for my personal\nsafety, for men's minds in the city were greatly occupied with public\nevents, and private amusements and debaucheries, which were, about\nthat time, carried to an excess which our country never knew before,\nby reason of the raking together from all quarters of the empire, and\nindeed from most parts of Holland, the most dissolute and desperate\nadventurers who cared to play at hazard for their lives; and thus there\nseemed to be but little scrutiny into the characters of those who sought\nconcealment.\n\nI heard much at different times of the intentions of King James and his\nparty, but nothing with certainty.\n\nSome said that the king still lay in Ireland; others, that he had\ncrossed over to Scotland, to encourage the Highlanders, who, with Dundee\nat their head, had been stirring in his behoof; others, again, said\nthat he had taken ship for France, leaving his followers to shift for\nthemselves, and regarding his kingdom as wholly lost, which last was the\ntrue version, as I afterwards learned.\n\nAlthough I had been very active in the wars in Ireland, and had done\nmany deeds of necessary but dire severity, which have often since\ntroubled me much to think upon, yet I doubted not but that I might\neasily obtain protection for my person and property from the Prince of\nOrange, if I sought it by the ordinary submissions; but besides that my\nconscience and my affections resisted such time-serving concessions, I\nwas resolved in my own mind that the cause of the royalist party was by\nno means desperate, and I looked to keep myself unimpeded by any pledge\nor promise given to the usurping Dutchman, that I might freely and\nhonourably take a share in any struggle which might yet remain to be\nmade for the right.\n\nI therefore lay quiet, going forth from my lodgings but little, and that\nchiefly under cover of the dusk, and conversing hardly at all, except\nwith those whom I well knew.\n\nI had like once to have paid dearly for relaxing this caution; for going\ninto a tavern one evening near the Tholsel, I had the confidence to\nthrow off my hat, and sit there with my face quite exposed, when a\nfellow coming in with some troopers, they fell a-boozing, and being\nsomewhat warmed, they began to drink 'Confusion to popery,' and the\nlike, and to compel the peaceable persons who happened to sit there, to\njoin them in so doing.\n\nThough I was rather hot-blooded, I was resolved to say nothing to\nattract notice; but, at the same time, if urged to pledge the toasts\nwhich they were compelling others to drink, to resist doing so.\n\nWith the intent to withdraw myself quietly from the place, I paid my\nreckoning, and putting on my hat, was going into the street, when the\ncountryman who had come in with the soldiers called out:\n\n'Stop that popish tom-cat!'\n\nAnd running across the room, he got to the door before me, and, shutting\nit, placed his back against it, to prevent my going out.\n\nThough with much difficulty, I kept an appearance of quietness, and\nturning to the fellow, who, from his accent, I judged to be northern,\nand whose face I knew--though, to this day, I cannot say where I had\nseen him before--I observed very calmly:\n\n'Sir, I came in here with no other design than to refresh myself,\nwithout offending any man. I have paid my reckoning, and now desire to\ngo forth. If there is anything within reason that I can do to satisfy\nyou, and to prevent trouble and delay to myself, name your terms, and if\nthey be but fair, I will frankly comply with them.'\n\nHe quickly replied:\n\n'You are Hardress Fitzgerald, the bloody popish captain, that hanged the\ntwelve men at Derry.'\n\nI felt that I was in some danger, but being a strong man, and used to\nperils of all kinds, it was not easy to disconcert me.\n\nI looked then steadily at the fellow, and, in a voice of much\nconfidence, I said:\n\n'I am neither a Papist, a Royalist, nor a Fitzgerald, but an honester\nProtestant, mayhap, than many who make louder professions.'\n\n'Then drink the honest man's toast,' said he. 'Damnation to the pope,\nand confusion to skulking Jimmy and his runaway crew.'\n\n'Yourself shall hear me,' said I, taking the largest pewter pot that\nlay within my reach. 'Tapster, fill this with ale; I grieve to say I can\nafford nothing better.'\n\nI took the vessel of liquor in my hand, and walking up to him, I first\nmade a bow to the troopers who sat laughing at the sprightliness of\ntheir facetious friend, and then another to himself, when saying, 'G----\ndamn yourself and your cause!' I flung the ale straight into his face;\nand before he had time to recover himself, I struck him with my whole\nforce and weight with the pewter pot upon the head, so strong a blow,\nthat he fell, for aught I know, dead upon the floor, and nothing but the\nhandle of the vessel remained in my hand.\n\nI opened the door, but one of the dragoons drew his sabre, and ran at\nme to avenge his companion. With my hand I put aside the blade of the\nsword, narrowly escaping what he had intended for me, the point actually\ntearing open my vest. Without allowing him time to repeat his thrust,\nI struck him in the face with my clenched fist so sound a blow that he\nrolled back into the room with the force of a tennis ball.\n\nIt was well for me that the rest were half drunk, and the evening dark;\nfor otherwise my folly would infallibly have cost me my life. As it was,\nI reached my garret in safety, with a resolution to frequent taverns no\nmore until better times.\n\nMy little patience and money were wellnigh exhausted, when, after much\ndoubt and uncertainty, and many conflicting reports, I was assured that\nthe flower of the Royalist army, under the Duke of Berwick and General\nBoisleau, occupied the city of Limerick, with a determination to hold\nthat fortress against the prince's forces; and that a French fleet of\ngreat power, and well freighted with arms, ammunition, and men, was\nriding in the Shannon, under the walls of the town. But this last report\nwas, like many others then circulated, untrue; there being, indeed, a\npromise and expectation of such assistance, but no arrival of it till\ntoo late.\n\nThe army of the Prince of Orange was said to be rapidly approaching the\ntown, in order to commence the siege.\n\nOn hearing this, and being made as certain as the vagueness and\nunsatisfactory nature of my information, which came not from any\nauthentic source, would permit; at least, being sure of the main point,\nwhich all allowed--namely, that Limerick was held for the king--and\nbeing also naturally fond of enterprise, and impatient of idleness, I\ntook the resolution to travel thither, and, if possible, to throw myself\ninto the city, in order to lend what assistance I might to my former\ncompanions in arms, well knowing that any man of strong constitution\nand of some experience might easily make himself useful to a garrison in\ntheir straitened situation.\n\nWhen I had taken this resolution, I was not long in putting it into\nexecution; and, as the first step in the matter, I turned half of the\nmoney which remained with me, in all about seventeen pounds, into small\nwares and merchandise such as travelling traders used to deal in; and\nthe rest, excepting some shillings which I carried home for my immediate\nexpenses, I sewed carefully in the lining of my breeches waistband,\nhoping that the sale of my commodities might easily supply me with\nsubsistence upon the road.\n\nI left Dublin upon a Friday morning in the month of September, with a\ntolerably heavy pack upon my back.\n\nI was a strong man and a good walker, and one day with another travelled\neasily at the rate of twenty miles in each day, much time being lost\nin the towns of any note on the way, where, to avoid suspicion, I was\nobliged to make some stay, as if to sell my wares.\n\nI did not travel directly to Limerick, but turned far into Tipperary,\ngoing near to the borders of Cork.\n\nUpon the sixth day after my departure from Dublin I learned, CERTAINLY,\nfrom some fellows who were returning from trafficking with the soldiers,\nthat the army of the prince was actually encamped before Limerick, upon\nthe south side of the Shannon.\n\nIn order, then, to enter the city without interruption, I must needs\ncross the river, and I was much in doubt whether to do so by boat from\nKerry, which I might have easily done, into the Earl of Clare's land,\nand thus into the beleaguered city, or to take what seemed the easier\nway, one, however, about which I had certain misgivings--which, by the\nway, afterwards turned out to be just enough. This way was to cross the\nShannon at O'Brien's Bridge, or at Killaloe, into the county of Clare.\n\nI feared, however, that both these passes were guarded by the prince's\nforces, and resolved, if such were the case, not to essay to cross, for\nI was not fitted to sustain a scrutiny, having about me, though pretty\nsafely secured, my commission from King James--which, though a dangerous\ncompanion, I would not have parted from but with my life.\n\nI settled, then, in my own mind, that if the bridges were guarded\nI would walk as far as Portumna, where I might cross, though at a\nconsiderable sacrifice of time; and, having determined upon this course,\nI turned directly towards Killaloe.\n\nI reached the foot of the mountain, or rather high hill, called\nKeeper--which had been pointed out to me as a landmark--lying directly\nbetween me and Killaloe, in the evening, and, having ascended some way,\nthe darkness and fog overtook me.\n\nThe evening was very chilly, and myself weary, hungry, and much in need\nof sleep, so that I preferred seeking to cross the hill, though at some\nrisk, to remaining upon it throughout the night. Stumbling over rocks\nand sinking into bog-mire, as the nature of the ground varied, I slowly\nand laboriously plodded on, making very little way in proportion to the\ntoil it cost me.\n\nAfter half an hour's slow walking, or rather rambling, for, owing to\nthe dark, I very soon lost my direction, I at last heard the sound of\nrunning water, and with some little trouble reached the edge of a brook,\nwhich ran in the bottom of a deep gully. This I knew would furnish\na sure guide to the low grounds, where I might promise myself that I\nshould speedily meet with some house or cabin where I might find shelter\nfor the night.\n\nThe stream which I followed flowed at the bottom of a rough and swampy\nglen, very steep and making many abrupt turns, and so dark, owing more\nto the fog than to the want of the moon (for, though not high, I believe\nit had risen at the time), that I continually fell over fragments of\nrock and stumbled up to my middle into the rivulet, which I sought to\nfollow.\n\nIn this way, drenched, weary, and with my patience almost exhausted, I\nwas toiling onward, when, turning a sharp angle in the winding glen, I\nfound myself within some twenty yards of a group of wild-looking men,\ngathered in various attitudes round a glowing turf fire.\n\nI was so surprised at this rencontre that I stopped short, and for a\ntime was in doubt whether to turn back or to accost them.\n\nA minute's thought satisfied me that I ought to make up to the fellows,\nand trust to their good faith for whatever assistance they could give\nme.\n\nI determined, then, to do this, having great faith in the impulses of\nmy mind, which, whenever I have been in jeopardy, as in my life I often\nhave, always prompted me aright.\n\nThe strong red light of the fire showed me plainly enough that the group\nconsisted, not of soldiers, but of Irish kernes, or countrymen, most\nof them wrapped in heavy mantles, and with no other covering for their\nheads than that afforded by their long, rough hair.\n\nThere was nothing about them which I could see to intimate whether their\nobject were peaceful or warlike; but I afterwards found that they had\nweapons enough, though of their own rude fashion.\n\nThere were in all about twenty persons assembled around the fire, some\nsitting upon such blocks of stone as happened to lie in the way; others\nstretched at their length upon the ground.\n\n'God save you, boys!' said I, advancing towards the party.\n\nThe men who had been talking and laughing together instantly paused,\nand two of them--tall and powerful fellows--snatched up each a weapon,\nsomething like a short halberd with a massive iron head, an instrument\nwhich they called among themselves a rapp, and with two or three long\nstrides they came up with me, and laying hold upon my arms, drew me,\nnot, you may easily believe, making much resistance, towards the fire.\n\nWhen I reached the place where the figures were seated, the two men\nstill held me firmly, and some others threw some handfuls of dry fuel\nupon the red embers, which, blazing up, cast a strong light upon me.\n\nWhen they had satisfied themselves as to my appearance, they began to\nquestion me very closely as to my purpose in being upon the hill at\nsuch an unseasonable hour, asking me what was my occupation, where I had\nbeen, and whither I was going.\n\nThese questions were put to me in English by an old half-military\nlooking man, who translated into that language the suggestions which his\ncompanions for the most part threw out in Irish.\n\nI did not choose to commit myself to these fellows by telling them my\nreal character and purpose, and therefore I represented myself as a\npoor travelling chapman who had been at Cork, and was seeking his way\nto Killaloe, in order to cross over into Clare and thence to the city of\nGalway.\n\nMy account did not seem fully to satisfy the men.\n\nI heard one fellow say in Irish, which language I understood, 'Maybe he\nis a spy.'\n\nThey then whispered together for a time, and the little man who was\ntheir spokesman came over to me and said:\n\n'Do you know what we do with spies? we knock their brains out, my\nfriend.'\n\nHe then turned back to them with whom he had been whispering, and talked\nin a low tone again with them for a considerable time.\n\nI now felt very uncomfortable, not knowing what these savages--for they\nappeared nothing better--might design against me.\n\nTwice or thrice I had serious thoughts of breaking from them, but the\ntwo guards who were placed upon me held me fast by the arms; and even\nhad I succeeded in shaking them off, I should soon have been overtaken,\nencumbered as I was with a heavy pack, and wholly ignorant of the lie of\nthe ground; or else, if I were so exceedingly lucky as to escape out of\ntheir hands, I still had the chance of falling into those of some other\nparty of the same kind.\n\nI therefore patiently awaited the issue of their deliberations, which I\nmade no doubt affected me nearly.\n\nI turned to the men who held me, and one after the other asked them, in\ntheir own language, 'Why they held me?' adding, 'I am but a poor pedlar,\nas you see. I have neither money nor money's worth, for the sake of\nwhich you should do me hurt. You may have my pack and all that it\ncontains, if you desire it--but do not injure me.'\n\nTo all this they gave no answer, but savagely desired me to hold my\ntongue.\n\nI accordingly remained silent, determined, if the worst came, to declare\nto the whole party, who, I doubted not, were friendly, as were all the\nIrish peasantry in the south, to the Royal cause, my real character and\ndesign; and if this avowal failed me, I was resolved to make a desperate\neffort to escape, or at least to give my life at the dearest price I\ncould.\n\nI was not kept long in suspense, for the little veteran who had spoken\nto me at first came over, and desiring the two men to bring me after\nhim, led the way along a broken path, which wound by the side of the\nsteep glen.\n\nI was obliged willy nilly to go with them, and, half-dragging and\nhalf-carrying me, they brought me by the path, which now became very\nsteep, for some hundred yards without stopping, when suddenly coming to\na stand, I found myself close before the door of some house or hut,\nI could not see which, through the planks of which a strong light was\nstreaming.\n\nAt this door my conductor stopped, and tapping gently at it, it was\nopened by a stout fellow, with buff-coat and jack-boots, and pistols\nstuck in his belt, as also a long cavalry sword by his side.\n\nHe spoke with my guide, and to my no small satisfaction, in French,\nwhich convinced me that he was one of the soldiers whom Louis had sent\nto support our king, and who were said to have arrived in Limerick,\nthough, as I observed above, not with truth.\n\nI was much assured by this circumstance, and made no doubt but that I\nhad fallen in with one of those marauding parties of native Irish, who,\nplacing themselves under the guidance of men of courage and experience,\nhad done much brave and essential service to the cause of the king.\n\nThe soldier entered an inner door in the apartment, which opening\ndisclosed a rude, dreary, and dilapidated room, with a low plank\nceiling, much discoloured by the smoke which hung suspended in heavy\nmasses, descending within a few feet of the ground, and completely\nobscuring the upper regions of the chamber.\n\nA large fire of turf and heath was burning under a kind of rude chimney,\nshaped like a large funnel, but by no means discharging the functions\nfor which it was intended. Into this inauspicious apartment was I\nconducted by my strange companions. In the next room I heard voices\nemployed, as it seemed, in brief questioning and answer; and in a minute\nthe soldier reentered the room, and having said, 'Votre prisonnier--le\ngeneral veut le voir,' he led the way into the inner room, which in\npoint of comfort and cleanliness was not a whit better than the first.\n\nSeated at a clumsy plank table, placed about the middle of the floor,\nwas a powerfully built man, of almost colossal stature--his military\naccoutrements, cuirass and rich regimental clothes, soiled, deranged,\nand spattered with recent hard travel; the flowing wig, surmounted by\nthe cocked hat and plume, still rested upon his head. On the table lay\nhis sword-belt with its appendage, and a pair of long holster pistols,\nsome papers, and pen and ink; also a stone jug, and the fragments of a\nhasty meal. His attitude betokened the languor of fatigue. His left hand\nwas buried beyond the lace ruffle in the breast of his cassock, and the\nelbow of his right rested upon the table, so as to support his head.\nFrom his mouth protruded a tobacco-pipe, which as I entered he slowly\nwithdrew.\n\nA single glance at the honest, good-humoured, comely face of the soldier\nsatisfied me of his identity, and removing my hat from my head I said,\n'God save General Sarsfield!'\n\nThe general nodded\n\n'I am a prisoner here under strange circumstances,' I continued 'I\nappear before you in a strange disguise. You do not recognise Captain\nHardress Fitzgerald!'\n\n'Eh, how's this?' said he, approaching me with the light.\n\n'I am that Hardress Fitzgerald,' I repeated, 'who served under you at\nthe Boyne, and upon the day of the action had the honour to protect your\nperson at the expense of his own.' At the same time I turned aside the\nhair which covered the scar which you well know upon my forehead, and\nwhich was then much more remarkable than it is now.\n\nThe general on seeing this at once recognised me, and embracing me\ncordially, made me sit down, and while I unstrapped my pack, a tedious\njob, my fingers being nearly numbed with cold, sent the men forth to\nprocure me some provision.\n\nThe general's horse was stabled in a corner of the chamber where we sat,\nand his war-saddle lay upon the floor. At the far end of the room was\na second door, which stood half open; a bogwood fire burned on a hearth\nsomewhat less rude than the one which I had first seen, but still very\nlittle better appointed with a chimney, for thick wreaths of smoke were\neddying, with every fitful gust, about the room. Close by the fire was\nstrewed a bed of heath, intended, I supposed, for the stalwart limbs of\nthe general.\n\n'Hardress Fitzgerald,' said he, fixing his eyes gravely upon me, while\nhe slowly removed the tobacco-pipe from his mouth, 'I remember you,\nstrong, bold and cunning in your warlike trade; the more desperate an\nenterprise, the more ready for it, you. I would gladly engage you, for\nI know you trustworthy, to perform a piece of duty requiring, it may be,\nno extraordinary quality to fulfil; and yet perhaps, as accidents may\nhappen, demanding every attribute of daring and dexterity which belongs\nto you.'\n\nHere he paused for some moments.\n\nI own I felt somewhat flattered by the terms in which he spoke of me,\nknowing him to be but little given to compliments; and not having any\nplan in my head, farther than the rendering what service I might to the\ncause of the king, caring very little as to the road in which my duty\nmight lie, I frankly replied:\n\n'Sir, I hope, if opportunity offers, I shall prove to deserve the\nhonourable terms in which you are pleased to speak of me. In a righteous\ncause I fear not wounds or death; and in discharging my duty to my God\nand my king, I am ready for any hazard or any fate. Name the service you\nrequire, and if it lies within the compass of my wit or power, I will\nfully and faithfully perform it. Have I said enough?'\n\n'That is well, very well, my friend; you speak well, and manfully,'\nreplied the general. 'I want you to convey to the hands of General\nBoisleau, now in the city of Limerick, a small written packet; there is\nsome danger, mark me, of your falling in with some outpost or straggling\nparty of the prince's army. If you are taken unawares by any of the\nenemy you must dispose of the packet inside your person, rather than let\nit fall into their hands--that is, you must eat it. And if they go to\nquestion you with thumbscrews, or the like, answer nothing; let them\nknock your brains out first.' In illustration, I suppose, of the latter\nalternative, he knocked the ashes out of his pipe upon the table as he\nuttered it.\n\n'The packet,' he continued, 'you shall have to-morrow morning. Meantime\ncomfort yourself with food, and afterwards with sleep; you will want,\nmayhap, all your strength and wits on the morrow.'\n\nI applied myself forthwith to the homely fare which they had provided,\nand I confess that I never made a meal so heartily to my satisfaction.\n\nIt was a beautiful, clear, autumn morning, and the bright beams of the\nearly sun were slanting over the brown heath which clothed the sides\nof the mountain, and glittering in the thousand bright drops which the\nmelting hoar-frost had left behind it, and the white mists were lying\nlike broad lakes in the valleys, when, with my pedlar's pack upon my\nback, and General Sarsfield's precious despatch in my bosom, I set\nforth, refreshed and courageous.\n\nAs I descended the hill, my heart expanded and my spirits rose under\nthe influences which surrounded me. The keen, clear, bracing air of the\nmorning, the bright, slanting sunshine, the merry songs of the small\nbirds, and the distant sounds of awakening labour that floated up from\nthe plains, all conspired to stir my heart within me, and more like a\nmad-cap boy, broken loose from school, than a man of sober years upon\na mission of doubt and danger, I trod lightly on, whistling and singing\nalternately for very joy.\n\nAs I approached the object of my early march, I fell in with a\ncountryman, eager, as are most of his kind, for news.\n\nI gave him what little I had collected, and professing great zeal for\nthe king, which, indeed, I always cherished, I won upon his confidence\nso far, that he became much more communicative than the peasantry in\nthose quarters are generally wont to be to strangers.\n\nFrom him I learned that there was a company of dragoons in William's\nservice, quartered at Willaloe; but he could not tell whether the\npassage of the bridge was stopped by them or not. With a resolution, at\nall events, to make the attempt to cross, I approached the town. When\nI came within sight of the river, I quickly perceived that it was so\nswollen with the recent rains, as, indeed, the countryman had told me,\nthat the fords were wholly impassable.\n\nI stopped then, upon a slight eminence overlooking the village, with\na view to reconnoitre and to arrange my plans in case of interruption.\nWhile thus engaged, the wind blowing gently from the west, in which\nquarter Limerick lay, I distinctly heard the explosion of the cannon,\nwhich played from and against the city, though at a distance of eleven\nmiles at the least.\n\nI never yet heard the music that had for me half the attractions of that\nsullen sound, and as I noted again and again the distant thunder that\nproclaimed the perils, and the valour, and the faithfulness of my\nbrethren, my heart swelled with pride, and the tears rose to my eyes;\nand lifting up my hands to heaven, I prayed to God that I might be\nspared to take a part in the righteous quarrel that was there so bravely\nmaintained.\n\nI felt, indeed, at this moment a longing, more intense than I have the\npower to describe, to be at once with my brave companions in arms, and\nso inwardly excited and stirred up as if I had been actually within five\nminutes' march of the field of battle.\n\nIt was now almost noon, and I had walked hard since morning across a\ndifficult and broken country, so that I was a little fatigued, and in\nno small degree hungry. As I approached the hamlet, I was glad to see in\nthe window of a poor hovel several large cakes of meal displayed, as if\nto induce purchasers to enter.\n\nI was right in regarding this exhibition as an intimation that\nentertainment might be procured within, for upon entering and inquiring,\nI was speedily invited by the poor woman, who, it appeared, kept this\nhumble house of refreshment, to lay down my pack and seat myself by a\nponderous table, upon which she promised to serve me with a dinner fit\nfor a king; and indeed, to my mind, she amply fulfilled her engagement,\nsupplying me abundantly with eggs, bacon, and wheaten cakes, which I\ndiscussed with a zeal which almost surprised myself.\n\nHaving disposed of the solid part of my entertainment, I was proceeding\nto regale myself with a brimming measure of strong waters, when my\nattention was arrested by the sound of horses' hoofs in brisk motion\nupon the broken road, and evidently approaching the hovel in which I was\nat that moment seated.\n\nThe ominous clank of sword scabbards and the jingle of brass\naccoutrements announced, unequivocally, that the horsemen were of the\nmilitary profession.\n\n'The red-coats will stop here undoubtedly,' said the old woman,\nobserving, I suppose, the anxiety of my countenance; 'they never pass us\nwithout coming in for half an hour to drink or smoke. If you desire to\navoid them, I can hide you safely; but don't lose a moment. They will be\nhere before you can count a hundred.'\n\nI thanked the good woman for her hospitable zeal; but I felt a\nrepugnance to concealing myself as she suggested, which was enhanced by\nthe consciousness that if by any accident I were detected while lurking\nin the room, my situation would of itself inevitably lead to suspicions,\nand probably to discovery.\n\nI therefore declined her offer, and awaited in suspense the entrance of\nthe soldiers.\n\nI had time before they made their appearance to move my seat hurriedly\nfrom the table to the hearth, where, under the shade of the large\nchimney, I might observe the coming visitors with less chance of being\nmyself remarked upon.\n\nAs my hostess had anticipated, the horsemen drew up at the door of the\nhut, and five dragoons entered the dark chamber where I awaited them.\n\nLeaving their horses at the entrance, with much noise and clatter they\nproceeded to seat themselves and call for liquor.\n\nThree of these fellows were Dutchmen, and, indeed, all belonged, as I\nafterwards found, to a Dutch regiment, which had been recruited with\nIrish and English, as also partly officered from the same nations.\n\nBeing supplied with pipes and drink they soon became merry; and not\nsuffering their smoking to interfere with their conversation, they\ntalked loud and quickly, for the most part in a sort of barbarous\nlanguage, neither Dutch nor English, but compounded of both.\n\nThey were so occupied with their own jocularity that I had very great\nhopes of escaping observation altogether, and remained quietly seated in\na corner of the chimney, leaning back upon my seat as if asleep.\n\nMy taciturnity and quiescence, however, did not avail me, for one of\nthese fellows coming over to the hearth to light his pipe, perceived me,\nand looking me very hard in the face, he said:\n\n'What countryman are you, brother, that you sit with a covered head in\nthe room with the prince's soldiers?'\n\nAt the same time he tossed my hat off my head into the fire. I was not\nfool enough, though somewhat hot-blooded, to suffer the insolence of\nthis fellow to involve me in a broil so dangerous to my person and\nruinous to my schemes as a riot with these soldiers must prove. I\ntherefore, quietly taking up my hat and shaking the ashes out of it,\nobserved:\n\n'Sir, I crave your pardon if I have offended you. I am a stranger in\nthese quarters, and a poor, ignorant, humble man, desiring only to drive\nmy little trade in peace, so far as that may be done in these troublous\ntimes.'\n\n'And what may your trade be?' said the same fellow.\n\n'I am a travelling merchant,' I replied; 'and sell my wares as cheap as\nany trader in the country.'\n\n'Let us see them forthwith,' said he; 'mayhap I or my comrades may want\nsomething which you can supply. Where is thy chest, friend? Thou shalt\nhave ready money' (winking at his companions), 'ready money, and good\nweight, and sound metal; none of your rascally pinchbeck. Eh, my lads?\nBring forth the goods, and let us see.'\n\nThus urged, I should have betrayed myself had I hesitated to do as\nrequired; and anxious, upon any terms, to quiet these turbulent men\nof war, I unbuckled my pack and exhibited its contents upon the table\nbefore them.\n\n'A pair of lace ruffles, by the Lord!' said one, unceremoniously seizing\nupon the articles he named.\n\n'A phial of perfume,' continued another, tumbling over the farrago which\nI had submitted to them, 'wash-balls, combs, stationery, slippers, small\nknives, tobacco; by ----, this merchant is a prize! Mark me, honest\nfellow, the man who wrongs thee shall suffer--'fore Gad he shall; thou\nshalt be fairly dealt with' (this he said while in the act of pocketing\na small silver tobacco-box, the most valuable article in the lot). 'You\nshall come with me to head-quarters; the captain will deal with you,\nand never haggle about the price. I promise thee his good will, and thou\nwilt consider me accordingly. You'll find him a profitable customer--he\nhas money without end, and throws it about like a gentleman. If so be as\nI tell thee, I shall expect, and my comrades here, a piece or two in the\nway of a compliment--but of this anon. Come, then, with us; buckle on\nthy pack quickly, friend.'\n\nThere was no use in my declaring my willingness to deal with themselves\nin preference to their master; it was clear that they had resolved that\nI should, in the most expeditious and advantageous way, turn my goods\ninto money, that they might excise upon me to the amount of their\nwishes.\n\nThe worthy who had taken a lead in these arrangements, and who by his\nstripes I perceived to be a corporal, having insisted on my taking a\ndram with him to cement our newly-formed friendship, for which, however,\nhe requested me to pay, made me mount behind one of his comrades; and\nthe party, of which I thus formed an unwilling member, moved at a slow\ntrot towards the quarters of the troop.\n\nThey reined up their horses at the head of the long bridge, which\nat this village spans the broad waters of the Shannon connecting the\nopposite counties of Tipperary and Clare.\n\nA small tower, built originally, no doubt, to protect and to defend this\npass, occupied the near extremity of the bridge, and in its rear,\nbut connected with it, stood several straggling buildings rather\ndilapidated.\n\nA dismounted trooper kept guard at the door, and my conductor having,\ndismounted, as also the corporal, the latter inquired:\n\n'Is the captain in his quarters?'\n\n'He is,' replied the sentinel.\n\nAnd without more ado my companion shoved me into the entrance of the\nsmall dark tower, and opening a door at the extremity of the narrow\nchamber into which we had passed from the street, we entered a second\nroom in which were seated some half-dozen officers of various ranks and\nages, engaged in drinking, and smoking, and play.\n\nI glanced rapidly from man to man, and was nearly satisfied by my\ninspection, when one of the gentlemen whose back had been turned towards\nthe place where I stood, suddenly changed his position and looked\ntowards me.\n\nAs soon as I saw his face my heart sank within me, and I knew that my\nlife or death was balanced, as it were, upon a razor's edge.\n\nThe name of this man whose unexpected appearance thus affected me was\nHugh Oliver, and good and strong reason had I to dread him, for so\nbitterly did he hate me, that to this moment I do verily believe he\nwould have compassed my death if it lay in his power to do so, even at\nthe hazard of his own life and soul, for I had been--though God knows\nwith many sore strugglings and at the stern call of public duty--the\njudge and condemner of his brother; and though the military law, which I\nwas called upon to administer, would permit no other course or sentence\nthan the bloody one which I was compelled to pursue, yet even to this\nhour the recollection of that deed is heavy at my breast.\n\nAs soon as I saw this man I felt that my safety depended upon the\naccident of his not recognising me through the disguise which I had\nassumed, an accident against which were many chances, for he well knew\nmy person and appearance.\n\nIt was too late now to destroy General Sarsfield's instructions; any\nattempt to do so would ensure detection. All then depended upon a cast\nof the die.\n\nWhen the first moment of dismay and heart-sickening agitation had\npassed, it seemed to me as if my mind acquired a collectedness and\nclearness more complete and intense than I had ever experienced before.\n\nI instantly perceived that he did not know me, for turning from me to\nthe soldier with all air of indifference, he said,\n\n'Is this a prisoner or a deserter? What have you brought him here for,\nsirra?'\n\n'Your wisdom will regard him as you see fit, may it please you,' said\nthe corporal. 'The man is a travelling merchant, and, overtaking him\nupon the road, close by old Dame MacDonagh's cot, I thought I might as\nwell make a sort of prisoner of him that your honour might use him as\nit might appear most convenient; he has many commododies which are not\nunworthy of price in this wilderness, and some which you may condescend\nto make use of yourself. May he exhibit the goods he has for sale, an't\nplease you?'\n\n'Ay, let us see them,' said he.\n\n'Unbuckle your pack,' exclaimed the corporal, with the same tone\nof command with which, at the head of his guard, he would have said\n'Recover your arms.' 'Unbuckle your pack, fellow, and show your goods to\nthe captain--here, where you are.'\n\nThe conclusion of his directions was suggested by my endeavouring to\nmove round in order to get my back towards the windows, hoping, by\nkeeping my face in the shade, to escape detection.\n\nIn this manoeuvre, however, I was foiled by the imperiousness of the\nsoldier; and inwardly cursing his ill-timed interference, I proceeded to\npresent my merchandise to the loving contemplation of the officers who\nthronged around me, with a strong light from an opposite window full\nupon my face.\n\nAs I continued to traffic with these gentlemen, I observed with no small\nanxiety the eyes of Captain Oliver frequently fixed upon me with a kind\nof dubious inquiring gaze.\n\n'I think, my honest fellow,' he said at last, 'that I have seen you\nsomewhere before this. Have you often dealt with the military?'\n\n'I have traded, sir,' said I, 'with the soldiery many a time, and always\nbeen honourably treated. Will your worship please to buy a pair of lace\nruffles?--very cheap, your worship.'\n\n'Why do you wear your hair so much over your face, sir?' said Oliver,\nwithout noticing my suggestion. 'I promise you, I think no good of thee;\nthrow back your hair, and let me see thee plainly. Hold up your face,\nand look straight at me; throw back your hair, sir.'\n\nI felt that all chance of escape was at an end; and stepping forward as\nnear as the table would allow me to him, I raised my head, threw back my\nhair, and fixed my eyes sternly and boldly upon his face.\n\nI saw that he knew me instantly, for his countenance turned as pale\nas ashes with surprise and hatred. He started up, placing his hand\ninstinctively upon his sword-hilt, and glaring at me with a look so\ndeadly, that I thought every moment he would strike his sword into my\nheart. He said in a kind of whisper: 'Hardress Fitzgerald?'\n\n'Yes;' said I, boldly, for the excitement of the scene had effectually\nstirred my blood, 'Hardress Fitzgerald is before you. I know you well,\nCaptain Oliver. I know how you hate me. I know how you thirst for my\nblood; but in a good cause, and in the hands of God, I defy you.'\n\n'You are a desperate villain, sir,' said Captain Oliver; 'a rebel and a\nmurderer! Holloa, there! guard, seize him!'\n\nAs the soldiers entered, I threw my eyes hastily round the room, and\nobserving a glowing fire upon the hearth, I suddenly drew General\nSarsfield's packet from my bosom, and casting it upon the embers,\nplanted my foot upon it.\n\n'Secure the papers!' shouted the captain; and almost instantly I was\nlaid prostrate and senseless upon the floor, by a blow from the butt of\na carbine.\n\nI cannot say how long I continued in a state of torpor; but at\nlength, having slowly recovered my senses, I found myself lying firmly\nhandcuffed upon the floor of a small chamber, through a narrow loophole\nin one of whose walls the evening sun was shining. I was chilled\nwith cold and damp, and drenched in blood, which had flowed in large\nquantities from the wound on my head. By a strong effort I shook off the\nsick drowsiness which still hung upon me, and, weak and giddy, I rose\nwith pain and difficulty to my feet.\n\nThe chamber, or rather cell, in which I stood was about eight feet\nsquare, and of a height very disproportioned to its other dimensions;\nits altitude from the floor to the ceiling being not less than twelve or\nfourteen feet. A narrow slit placed high in the wall admitted a scanty\nlight, but sufficient to assure me that my prison contained nothing to\nrender the sojourn of its tenant a whit less comfortless than my worst\nenemy could have wished.\n\nMy first impulse was naturally to examine the security of the door, the\nloop-hole which I have mentioned being too high and too narrow to afford\na chance of escape. I listened attentively to ascertain if possible\nwhether or not a guard had been placed upon the outside.\n\nNot a sound was to be heard. I now placed my shoulder to the door, and\nsought with all my combined strength and weight to force it open. It,\nhowever, resisted all my efforts, and thus baffled in my appeal to mere\nanimal power, exhausted and disheartened, I threw myself on the ground.\n\nIt was not in my nature, however, long to submit to the apathy of\ndespair, and in a few minutes I was on my feet again.\n\nWith patient scrutiny I endeavoured to ascertain the nature of the\nfastenings which secured the door.\n\nThe planks, fortunately, having been nailed together fresh, had shrunk\nconsiderably, so as to leave wide chinks between each and its neighbour.\n\nBy means of these apertures I saw that my dungeon was secured, not by a\nlock, as I had feared, but by a strong wooden bar, running horizontally\nacross the door, about midway upon the outside.\n\n'Now,' thought I, 'if I can but slip my fingers through the opening of\nthe planks, I can easily remove the bar, and then----'\n\nMy attempts, however, were all frustrated by the manner in which my\nhands were fastened together, each embarrassing the other, and rendering\nmy efforts so hopelessly clumsy, that I was obliged to give them over in\ndespair.\n\nI turned with a sigh from my last hope, and began to pace my narrow\nprison floor, when my eye suddenly encountered an old rusty nail or\nholdfast sticking in the wall.\n\nAll the gold of Plutus would not have been so welcome as that rusty\npiece of iron.\n\nI instantly wrung it from the wall, and inserting the point between the\nplanks of the door into the bolt, and working it backwards and forwards,\nI had at length the unspeakable satisfaction to perceive that the beam\nwas actually yielding to my efforts, and gradually sliding into its\nberth in the wall.\n\nI have often been engaged in struggles where great bodily strength was\nrequired, and every thew and sinew in the system taxed to the uttermost;\nbut, strange as it may appear, I never was so completely exhausted and\novercome by any labour as by this comparatively trifling task.\n\nAgain and again was I obliged to desist, until my cramped finger-joints\nrecovered their power; but at length my perseverance was rewarded, for,\nlittle by little, I succeeded in removing the bolt so far as to allow\nthe door to open sufficiently to permit me to pass.\n\nWith some squeezing I succeeded in forcing my way into a small passage,\nupon which my prison-door opened.\n\nThis led into a chamber somewhat more spacious than my cell, but still\ncontaining no furniture, and affording no means of escape to one so\ncrippled with bonds as I was.\n\nAt the far extremity of this room was a door which stood ajar, and,\nstealthily passing through it, I found myself in a room containing\nnothing but a few raw hides, which rendered the atmosphere nearly\nintolerable.\n\nHere I checked myself, for I heard voices in busy conversation in the\nnext room.\n\nI stole softly to the door which separated the chamber in which I stood\nfrom that from which the voices proceeded.\n\nA moment served to convince me that any attempt upon it would be worse\nthan fruitless, for it was secured upon the outside by a strong lock,\nbesides two bars, all which I was enabled to ascertain by means of\nthe same defect in the joining of the planks which I have mentioned as\nbelonging to the inner door.\n\nI had approached this door very softly, so that, my proximity being\nwholly unsuspected by the speakers within, the conversation continued\nwithout interruption.\n\nPlanting myself close to the door, I applied my eye to one of the chinks\nwhich separated the boards, and thus obtained a full view of the chamber\nand its occupants.\n\nIt was the very apartment into which I had been first conducted. The\nouter door, which faced the one at which I stood, was closed, and at a\nsmall table were seated the only tenants of the room--two officers, one\nof whom was Captain Oliver. The latter was reading a paper, which I made\nno doubt was the document with which I had been entrusted.\n\n'The fellow deserves it, no doubt' said the junior officer. 'But,\nmethinks, considering our orders from head-quarters, you deal somewhat\ntoo hastily.'\n\n'Nephew, nephew,' said Captain Oliver, 'you mistake the tenor of our\norders. We were directed to conciliate the peasantry by fair and gentle\ntreatment, but not to suffer spies and traitors to escape. This packet\nis of some value, though not, in all its parts, intelligible to me. The\nbearer has made his way hither under a disguise, which, along with the\nother circumstances of his appearance here, is sufficient to convict him\nas a spy.'\n\nThere was a pause here, and after a few minutes the younger officer\nsaid:\n\n'Spy is a hard term, no doubt, uncle; but it is possible--nay, likely,\nthat this poor devil sought merely to carry the parcel with which he was\ncharged in safety to its destination. Pshaw! he is sufficiently punished\nif you duck him, for ten minutes or so, between the bridge and the\nmill-dam.'\n\n'Young man,' said Oliver, somewhat sternly, 'do not obtrude your advice\nwhere it is not called for; this man, for whom you plead, murdered your\nown father!'\n\nI could not see how this announcement affected the person to whom it was\naddressed, for his back was towards me; but I conjectured, easily, that\nmy last poor chance was gone, for a long silence ensued. Captain Oliver\nat length resumed:\n\n'I know the villain well. I know him capable of any crime; but, by ----,\nhis last card is played, and the game is up. He shall not see the moon\nrise to-night.'\n\nThere was here another pause.\n\nOliver rose, and going to the outer door, called:\n\n'Hewson! Hewson!'\n\nA grim-looking corporal entered.\n\n'Hewson, have your guard ready at eight o'clock, with their carbines\nclean, and a round of ball-cartridge each. Keep them sober; and,\nfurther, plant two upright posts at the near end of the bridge, with\na cross one at top, in the manner of a gibbet. See to these matters,\nHewson: I shall be with you speedily.'\n\nThe corporal made his salutations, and retired.\n\nOliver deliberately folded up the papers with which I had been\ncommissioned, and placing them in the pocket of his vest, he said:\n\n'Cunning, cunning Master Hardress Fitzgerald hath made a false step;\nthe old fox is in the toils. Hardress Fitzgerald, Hardress Fitzgerald, I\nwill blot you out.'\n\nHe repeated these words several times, at the same time rubbing his\nfinger strongly upon the table, as if he sought to erase a stain:\n\n'I WILL BLOT YOU OUT!'\n\nThere was a kind of glee in his manner and expression which chilled my\nvery heart.\n\n'You shall be first shot like a dog, and then hanged like a dog: shot\nto-night, and hung to-morrow; hung at the bridgehead--hung, until your\nbones drop asunder!'\n\nIt is impossible to describe the exultation with which he seemed to\ndwell upon, and to particularise the fate which he intended for me.\n\nI observed, however, that his face was deadly pale, and felt assured\nthat his conscience and inward convictions were struggling against his\ncruel resolve. Without further comment the two officers left the room,\nI suppose to oversee the preparations which were being made for the deed\nof which I was to be the victim.\n\nA chill, sick horror crept over me as they retired, and I felt, for the\nmoment, upon the brink of swooning. This feeling, however, speedily\ngave place to a sensation still more terrible. A state of excitement so\nintense and tremendous as to border upon literal madness, supervened; my\nbrain reeled and throbbed as if it would burst; thoughts the wildest\nand the most hideous flashed through my mind with a spontaneous rapidity\nthat scared my very soul; while, all the time, I felt a strange and\nfrightful impulse to burst into uncontrolled laughter.\n\nGradually this fearful paroxysm passed away. I kneeled and prayed\nfervently, and felt comforted and assured; but still I could not view\nthe slow approaches of certain death without an agitation little short\nof agony.\n\nI have stood in battle many a time when the chances of escape were\nfearfully small. I have confronted foemen in the deadly breach. I have\nmarched, with a constant heart, against the cannon's mouth. Again and\nagain has the beast which I bestrode been shot under me; again and again\nhave I seen the comrades who walked beside me in an instant laid for\never in the dust; again and again have I been in the thick of battle,\nand of its mortal dangers, and never felt my heart shake, or a single\nnerve tremble: but now, helpless, manacled, imprisoned, doomed, forced\nto watch the approaches of an inevitable fate--to wait, silent and\nmoveless, while death as it were crept towards me, human nature was\ntaxed to the uttermost to bear the horrible situation.\n\nI returned again to the closet in which I had found myself upon\nrecovering from the swoon.\n\nThe evening sunshine and twilight was fast melting into darkness, when\nI heard the outer door, that which communicated with the guard-room in\nwhich the officers had been amusing themselves, opened and locked again\nupon the inside.\n\nA measured step then approached, and the door of the wretched cell in\nwhich I lay being rudely pushed open, a soldier entered, who carried\nsomething in his hand; but, owing to the obscurity of the place, I could\nnot see what.\n\n'Art thou awake, fellow?' said he, in a gruff voice. 'Stir thyself; get\nupon thy legs.'\n\nHis orders were enforced by no very gentle application of his military\nboot.\n\n'Friend,' said I, rising with difficulty, 'you need not insult a dying\nman. You have been sent hither to conduct me to death. Lead on! My\ntrust is in God, that He will forgive me my sins, and receive my soul,\nredeemed by the blood of His Son.'\n\nThere here intervened a pause of some length, at the end of which the\nsoldier said, in the same gruff voice, but in a lower key:\n\n'Look ye, comrade, it will be your own fault if you die this night. On\none condition I promise to get you out of this hobble with a whole skin;\nbut if you go to any of your d----d gammon, by G--, before two hours are\npassed, you will have as many holes in your carcase as a target.'\n\n'Name your conditions,' said I, 'and if they consist with honour, I will\nnever balk at the offer.'\n\n'Here they are: you are to be shot to-night, by Captain Oliver's orders.\nThe carbines are cleaned for the job, and the cartridges served out to\nthe men. By G--, I tell you the truth!'\n\nOf this I needed not much persuasion, and intimated to the man my\nconviction that he spoke the truth.\n\n'Well, then,' he continued, 'now for the means of avoiding this ugly\nbusiness. Captain Oliver rides this night to head-quarters, with the\npapers which you carried. Before he starts he will pay you a visit,\nto fish what he can out of you with all the fine promises he can make.\nHumour him a little, and when you find an opportunity, stab him in the\nthroat above the cuirass.'\n\n'A feasible plan, surely,' said I, raising my shackled hands, 'for a man\nthus completely crippled and without a weapon.'\n\n'I will manage all that presently for you,' said the soldier. 'When you\nhave thus dealt with him, take his cloak and hat, and so forth, and put\nthem on; the papers you will find in the pocket of his vest, in a red\nleather case. Walk boldly out. I am appointed to ride with Captain\nOliver, and you will find me holding his horse and my own by the door.\nMount quickly, and I will do the same, and then we will ride for our\nlives across the bridge. You will find the holster-pistols loaded in\ncase of pursuit; and, with the devil's help, we shall reach Limerick\nwithout a hair hurt. My only condition is, that when you strike Oliver,\nyou strike home, and again and again, until he is FINISHED; and I trust\nto your honour to remember me when we reach the town.'\n\nI cannot say whether I resolved right or wrong, but I thought my\nsituation, and the conduct of Captain Oliver, warranted me in acceding\nto the conditions propounded by my visitant, and with alacrity I told\nhim so, and desired him to give me the power, as he had promised to do,\nof executing them.\n\nWith speed and promptitude he drew a small key from his pocket, and in\nan instant the manacles were removed from my hands.\n\nHow my heart bounded within me as my wrists were released from the\niron gripe of the shackles! The first step toward freedom was made--my\nself-reliance returned, and I felt assured of success.\n\n'Now for the weapon,' said I.\n\n'I fear me, you will find it rather clumsy,' said he; 'but if well\nhandled, it will do as well as the best Toledo. It is the only thing I\ncould get, but I sharpened it myself; it has an edge like a skean.'\n\nHe placed in my hand the steel head of a halberd. Grasping it firmly, I\nfound that it made by no means a bad weapon in point of convenience; for\nit felt in the hand like a heavy dagger, the portion which formed the\nblade or point being crossed nearly at the lower extremity by a small\nbar of metal, at one side shaped into the form of an axe, and at the\nother into that of a hook. These two transverse appendages being muffled\nby the folds of my cravat, which I removed for the purpose, formed a\nperfect guard or hilt, and the lower extremity formed like a tube, in\nwhich the pike-handle had been inserted, afforded ample space for the\ngrasp of my hand; the point had been made as sharp as a needle, and the\nmetal he assured me was good.\n\nThus equipped he left me, having observed, 'The captain sent me to\nbring you to your senses, and give you some water that he might find you\nproper for his visit. Here is the pitcher; I think I have revived you\nsufficiently for the captain's purpose.'\n\nWith a low savage laugh he left me to my reflections.\n\nHaving examined and adjusted the weapon, I carefully bound the ends of\nthe cravat, with which I had secured the cross part of the spear-head,\nfirmly round my wrist, so that in case of a struggle it might not\neasily be forced from my hand; and having made these precautionary\ndispositions, I sat down upon the ground with my back against the wall,\nand my hands together under my coat, awaiting my visitor.\n\nThe time wore slowly on; the dusk became dimmer and dimmer, until it\nnearly bordered on total darkness.\n\n'How's this?' said I, inwardly; 'Captain Oliver, you said I should\nnot see the moon rise to-night. Methinks you are somewhat tardy in\nfulfilling your prophecy.'\n\nAs I made this reflection, a noise at the outer door announced the\nentrance of a visitant. I knew that the decisive moment was come, and\nletting my head sink upon my breast, and assuring myself that my\nhands were concealed, I waited, in the attitude of deep dejection, the\napproach of my foe and betrayer.\n\nAs I had expected, Captain Oliver entered the room where I lay. He was\nequipped for instant duty, as far as the imperfect twilight would allow\nme to see; the long sword clanked upon the floor as he made his way\nthrough the lobbies which led to my place of confinement; his ample\nmilitary cloak hung upon his arm; his cocked hat was upon his head, and\nin all points he was prepared for the road.\n\nThis tallied exactly with what my strange informant had told me.\n\nI felt my heart swell and my breath come thick as the awful moment which\nwas to witness the death-struggle of one or other of us approached.\n\nCaptain Oliver stood within a yard or two of the place where I sat, or\nrather lay; and folding his arms, he remained silent for a minute or\ntwo, as if arranging in his mind how he should address me.\n\n'Hardress Fitzgerald,' he began at length, 'are you awake? Stand up, if\nyou desire to hear of matters nearly touching your life or death. Get\nup, I say.'\n\nI arose doggedly, and affecting the awkward movements of one whose hands\nwere bound,\n\n'Well,' said I, 'what would you of me? Is it not enough that I am thus\nimprisoned without a cause, and about, as I suspect, to suffer a most\nunjust and violent sentence, but must I also be disturbed during the\nfew moments left me for reflection and repentance by the presence of my\npersecutor? What do you want of me?'\n\n'As to your punishment, sir,' said he, 'your own deserts have no doubt\nsuggested the likelihood of it to your mind; but I now am with you to\nlet you know that whatever mitigation of your sentence you may look for,\nmust be earned by your compliance with my orders. You must frankly and\nfully explain the contents of the packet which you endeavoured this day\nto destroy; and further, you must tell all that you know of the designs\nof the popish rebels.'\n\n'And if I do this I am to expect a mitigation of my punishment--is it\nnot so?'\n\nOliver bowed.\n\n'And what IS this mitigation to be? On the honour of a soldier, what is\nit to be?' inquired I.\n\n'When you have made the disclosure required,' he replied, 'you shall\nhear. 'Tis then time to talk of indulgences.'\n\n'Methinks it would then be too late,' answered I. 'But a chance is a\nchance, and a drowning man will catch at a straw. You are an honourable\nman, Captain Oliver. I must depend, I suppose, on your good faith. Well,\nsir, before I make the desired communication I have one question more\nto put. What is to befall me in case that I, remembering the honour of\na soldier and a gentleman, reject your infamous terms, scorn your\nmitigations, and defy your utmost power?'\n\n'In that case,' replied he, coolly, 'before half an hour you shall be a\ncorpse.'\n\n'Then God have mercy on your soul!' said I; and springing forward, I\ndashed the weapon which I held at his throat.\n\nI missed my aim, but struck him full in the mouth with such force that\nmost of his front teeth were dislodged, and the point of the spear-head\npassed out under his jaw, at the ear.\n\nMy onset was so sudden and unexpected that he reeled back to the wall,\nand did not recover his equilibrium in time to prevent my dealing a\nsecond blow, which I did with my whole force. The point unfortunately\nstruck the cuirass, near the neck, and glancing aside it inflicted but a\nflesh wound, tearing the skin and tendons along the throat.\n\nHe now grappled with me, strange to say, without uttering any cry of\nalarm; being a very powerful man, and if anything rather heavier and\nmore strongly built than I, he succeeded in drawing me with him to the\nground. We fell together with a heavy crash, tugging and straining in\nwhat we were both conscious was a mortal struggle. At length I succeeded\nin getting over him, and struck him twice more in the face; still he\nstruggled with an energy which nothing but the tremendous stake at issue\ncould have sustained.\n\nI succeeded again in inflicting several more wounds upon him, any one\nof which might have been mortal. While thus contending he clutched his\nhands about my throat, so firmly that I felt the blood swelling the\nveins of my temples and face almost to bursting. Again and again I\nstruck the weapon deep into his face and throat, but life seemed to\nadhere in him with an almost INSECT tenacity.\n\nMy sight now nearly failed, my senses almost forsook me; I felt upon\nthe point of suffocation when, with one desperate effort, I struck him\nanother and a last blow in the face. The weapon which I wielded had\nlighted upon the eye, and the point penetrated the brain; the body\nquivered under me, the deadly grasp relaxed, and Oliver lay upon the\nground a corpse!\n\nAs I arose and shook the weapon and the bloody cloth from my hand, the\nmoon which he had foretold I should never see rise, shone bright and\nbroad into the room, and disclosed, with ghastly distinctness, the\nmangled features of the dead soldier; the mouth, full of clotting blood\nand broken teeth, lay open; the eye, close by whose lid the fatal wound\nhad been inflicted, was not, as might have been expected, bathed in\nblood, but had started forth nearly from the socket, and gave to the\nface, by its fearful unlikeness to the other glazing orb, a leer more\nhideous and unearthly than fancy ever saw. The wig, with all its rich\ncurls, had fallen with the hat to the floor, leaving the shorn head\nexposed, and in many places marked by the recent struggle; the rich lace\ncravat was drenched in blood, and the gay uniform in many places soiled\nwith the same.\n\nIt is hard to say, with what feelings I looked upon the unsightly and\nrevolting mass which had so lately been a living and a comely man. I had\nnot any time, however, to spare for reflection; the deed was done--the\nresponsibility was upon me, and all was registered in the book of that\nGod who judges rightly.\n\nWith eager haste I removed from the body such of the military\naccoutrements as were necessary for the purpose of my disguise. I\nbuckled on the sword, drew off the military boots, and donned them\nmyself, placed the brigadier wig and cocked hat upon my head, threw\non the cloak, drew it up about my face, and proceeded, with the papers\nwhich I found as the soldier had foretold me, and the key of the outer\nlobby, to the door of the guard-room; this I opened, and with a firm\nand rapid tread walked through the officers, who rose as I entered, and\npassed without question or interruption to the street-door. Here I was\nmet by the grimlooking corporal, Hewson, who, saluting me, said:\n\n'How soon, captain, shall the file be drawn out and the prisoner\ndespatched?'\n\n'In half an hour,' I replied, without raising my voice.\n\nThe man again saluted, and in two steps I reached the soldier who held\nthe two horses, as he had intimated.\n\n'Is all right?' said he, eagerly.\n\n'Ay,' said I, 'which horse am I to mount?'\n\nHe satisfied me upon this point, and I threw myself into the saddle; the\nsoldier mounted his horse, and dashing the spurs into the flanks of the\nanimal which I bestrode, we thundered along the narrow bridge. At the\nfar extremity a sentinel, as we approached, called out, 'Who goes there?\nstand, and give the word!' Heedless of the interruption, with my heart\nbounding with excitement, I dashed on, as did also the soldier who\naccompanied me.\n\n'Stand, or I fire! give the word!' cried the sentry.\n\n'God save the king, and to hell with the prince!' shouted I, flinging\nthe cocked hat in his face as I galloped by.\n\nThe response was the sharp report of a carbine, accompanied by the whiz\nof a bullet, which passed directly between me and my comrade, now riding\nbeside me.\n\n'Hurrah!' I shouted; 'try it again, my boy.'\n\nAnd away we went at a gallop, which bid fair to distance anything like\npursuit.\n\nNever was spur more needed, however, for soon the clatter of horses'\nhoofs, in full speed, crossing the bridge, came sharp and clear through\nthe stillness of the night.\n\nAway we went, with our pursuers close behind; one mile was passed,\nanother nearly completed. The moon now shone forth, and, turning in the\nsaddle, I looked back upon the road we had passed.\n\nOne trooper had headed the rest, and was within a hundred yards of us.\n\nI saw the fellow throw himself from his horse upon the ground.\n\nI knew his object, and said to my comrade:\n\n'Lower your body--lie flat over the saddle; the fellow is going to\nfire.'\n\nI had hardly spoken when the report of a carbine startled the echoes,\nand the ball, striking the hind leg of my companion's horse, the poor\nanimal fell headlong upon the road, throwing his rider head-foremost\nover the saddle.\n\nMy first impulse was to stop and share whatever fate might await my\ncomrade; but my second and wiser one was to spur on, and save myself and\nmy despatch.\n\nI rode on at a gallop, turning to observe my comrade's fate. I saw his\npursuer, having remounted, ride rapidly up to him, and, on reaching the\nspot where the man and horse lay, rein in and dismount.\n\nHe was hardly upon the ground, when my companion shot him dead with one\nof the holster-pistols which he had drawn from the pipe; and, leaping\nnimbly over a ditch at the side of the road, he was soon lost among the\nditches and thornbushes which covered that part of the country.\n\nAnother mile being passed, I had the satisfaction to perceive that the\npursuit was given over, and in an hour more I crossed Thomond Bridge,\nand slept that night in the fortress of Limerick, having delivered\nthe packet, the result of whose safe arrival was the destruction of\nWilliam's great train of artillery, then upon its way to the besiegers.\n\nYears after this adventure, I met in France a young officer, who I found\nhad served in Captain Oliver's regiment; and he explained what I had\nnever before understood--the motives of the man who had wrought my\ndeliverance. Strange to say, he was the foster-brother of Oliver, whom\nhe thus devoted to death, but in revenge for the most grievous wrong\nwhich one man can inflict upon another!\n\n\n\n\n'THE QUARE GANDER.'\n\n     Being a Twelfth Extract from the Legacy of the late Francis\n     Purcell, P.P. of Drumcoolagh.\n\nAs I rode at a slow walk, one soft autumn evening, from the once noted\nand noticeable town of Emly, now a squalid village, towards the no less\nremarkable town of Tipperary, I fell into a meditative mood.\n\nMy eye wandered over a glorious landscape; a broad sea of corn-fields,\nthat might have gladdened even a golden age, was waving before me;\ngroups of little cabins, with their poplars, osiers, and light mountain\nashes, clustered shelteringly around them, were scattered over the\nplain; the thin blue smoke arose floating through their boughs in the\nstill evening air. And far away with all their broad lights and shades,\nsoftened with the haze of approaching twilight, stood the bold wild\nGalties.\n\nAs I gazed on this scene, whose richness was deepened by the melancholy\nglow of the setting sun, the tears rose to my eyes, and I said:\n\n'Alas, my country! what a mournful beauty is thine. Dressed in\nloveliness and laughter, there is mortal decay at thy heart: sorrow,\nsin, and shame have mingled thy cup of misery. Strange rulers have\nbruised thee, and laughed thee to scorn, and they have made all thy\nsweetness bitter. Thy shames and sins are the austere fruits of thy\nmiseries, and thy miseries have been poured out upon thee by foreign\nhands. Alas, my stricken country! clothed with this most pity-moving\nsmile, with this most unutterably mournful loveliness, thou\nsore-grieved, thou desperately-beloved! Is there for thee, my country, a\nresurrection?'\n\nI know not how long I might have continued to rhapsodize in this strain,\nhad not my wandering thoughts been suddenly recalled to my own immediate\nneighbourhood by the monotonous clatter of a horse's hoofs upon the\nroad, evidently moving, at that peculiar pace which is neither a\nwalk nor a trot, and yet partakes of both, so much in vogue among the\nsouthern farmers.\n\nIn a moment my pursuer was up with me, and checking his steed into a\nwalk he saluted me with much respect. The cavalier was a light-built\nfellow, with good-humoured sun-burnt features, a shrewd and lively\nblack eye, and a head covered with a crop of close curly black hair, and\nsurmounted with a turf-coloured caubeen, in the packthread band of which\nwas stuck a short pipe, which had evidently seen much service.\n\nMy companion was a dealer in all kinds of local lore, and soon took\noccasion to let me see that he was so.\n\nAfter two or three short stories, in which the scandalous and\nsupernatural were happily blended, we happened to arrive at a narrow\nroad or bohreen leading to a snug-looking farm-house.\n\n'That's a comfortable bit iv a farm,' observed my comrade, pointing\ntowards the dwelling with his thumb; 'a shnug spot, and belongs to the\nMooneys this long time. 'Tis a noted place for what happened wid the\nfamous gandher there in former times.'\n\n'And what was that?' inquired I.\n\n'What was it happened wid the gandher!' ejaculated my companion in a\ntone of indignant surprise; 'the gandher iv Ballymacrucker, the gandher!\nYour raverance must be a stranger in these parts. Sure every fool knows\nall about the gandher, and Terence Mooney, that was, rest his sowl.\nBegorra, 'tis surprisin' to me how in the world you didn't hear iv the\ngandher; and may be it's funnin me ye are, your raverance.'\n\nI assured him to the contrary, and conjured him to narrate to me the\nfacts, an unacquaintance with which was sufficient it appeared to stamp\nme as an ignoramus of the first magnitude.\n\nIt did not require much entreaty to induce my communicative friend to\nrelate the circumstance, in nearly the following words:\n\n'Terence Mooney was an honest boy and well to do; an' he rinted the\nbiggest farm on this side iv the Galties; an' bein' mighty cute an' a\nsevare worker, it was small wonder he turned a good penny every harvest.\nBut unluckily he was blessed with an ilegant large family iv daughters,\nan' iv coorse his heart was allamost bruck, striving to make up fortunes\nfor the whole of them. An' there wasn't a conthrivance iv any soart or\ndescription for makin' money out iv the farm, but he was up to.\n\n'Well, among the other ways he had iv gettin' up in the world, he always\nkep a power iv turkeys, and all soarts iv poultrey; an' he was out iv\nall rason partial to geese--an' small blame to him for that same--for\ntwice't a year you can pluck them as bare as my hand--an' get a fine\nprice for the feathers, an' plenty of rale sizable eggs--an' when they\nare too ould to lay any more, you can kill them, an' sell them to the\ngintlemen for goslings, d'ye see, let alone that a goose is the most\nmanly bird that is out.\n\n'Well, it happened in the coorse iv time that one ould gandher tuck a\nwondherful likin' to Terence, an' divil a place he could go serenadin'\nabout the farm, or lookin' afther the men, but the gandher id be at his\nheels, an' rubbin' himself agin his legs, an' lookin' up in his face\njist like any other Christian id do; an' begorra, the likes iv it was\nnever seen--Terence Mooney an' the gandher wor so great.\n\n'An' at last the bird was so engagin' that Terence would not allow it\nto be plucked any more, an' kep it from that time out for love an'\naffection--just all as one like one iv his childer.\n\n'But happiness in perfection never lasts long, an' the neighbours\nbegin'd to suspect the nathur an' intentions iv the gandher, an' some iv\nthem said it was the divil, an' more iv them that it was a fairy.\n\n'Well, Terence could not but hear something of what was sayin', an' you\nmay be sure he was not altogether asy in his mind about it, an' from one\nday to another he was gettin' more ancomfortable in himself, until he\ndetarmined to sind for Jer Garvan, the fairy docthor in Garryowen, an'\nit's he was the ilegant hand at the business, an' divil a sperit id\nsay a crass word to him, no more nor a priest. An' moreover he was very\ngreat wid ould Terence Mooney--this man's father that' was.\n\n'So without more about it he was sint for, an' sure enough the divil a\nlong he was about it, for he kem back that very evenin' along wid the\nboy that was sint for him, an' as soon as he was there, an' tuck his\nsupper, an' was done talkin' for a while, he begined of coorse to look\ninto the gandher.\n\n'Well, he turned it this away an' that away, to the right an' to the\nleft, an' straight-ways an' upside-down, an' when he was tired handlin'\nit, says he to Terence Mooney:\n\n'\"Terence,\" says he, \"you must remove the bird into the next room,\" says\nhe, \"an' put a petticoat,\" says he, \"or anny other convaynience round\nhis head,\" says he.\n\n'\"An' why so?\" says Terence.\n\n'\"Becase,\" says Jer, says he.\n\n'\"Becase what?\" says Terence.\n\n'\"Becase,\" says Jer, \"if it isn't done you'll never be asy again,\" says\nhe, \"or pusilanimous in your mind,\" says he; \"so ax no more questions,\nbut do my biddin',\" says he.\n\n'\"Well,\" says Terence, \"have your own way,\" says he.\n\n'An' wid that he tuck the ould gandher, an' giv' it to one iv the\ngossoons.\n\n'\"An' take care,\" says he, \"don't smother the crathur,\" says he.\n\n'Well, as soon as the bird was gone, says Jer Garvan says he:\n\n'\"Do you know what that ould gandher IS, Terence Mooney?\"\n\n'\"Divil a taste,\" says Terence.\n\n'\"Well then,\" says Jer, \"the gandher is your own father,\" says he.\n\n'\"It's jokin' you are,\" says Terence, turnin' mighty pale; \"how can an\nould gandher be my father?\" says he.\n\n'\"I'm not funnin' you at all,\" says Jer; \"it's thrue what I tell you,\nit's your father's wandhrin' sowl,\" says he, \"that's naturally tuck\npissession iv the ould gandher's body,\" says he. \"I know him many ways,\nand I wondher,\" says he, \"you do not know the cock iv his eye yourself,\"\nsays he.\n\n'\"Oh blur an' ages!\" says Terence, \"what the divil will I ever do at all\nat all,\" says he; \"it's all over wid me, for I plucked him twelve times\nat the laste,\" says he.\n\n'\"That can't be helped now,\" says Jer; \"it was a sevare act surely,\"\nsays he, \"but it's too late to lamint for it now,\" says he; \"the only\nway to prevint what's past,\" says he, \"is to put a stop to it before it\nhappens,\" says he.\n\n'\"Thrue for you,\" says Terence, \"but how the divil did you come to the\nknowledge iv my father's sowl,\" says he, \"bein' in the owld gandher,\"\nsays he.\n\n'\"If I tould you,\" says Jer, \"you would not undherstand me,\" says\nhe, \"without book-larnin' an' gasthronomy,\" says he; \"so ax me no\nquestions,\" says he, \"an' I'll tell you no lies. But blieve me in this\nmuch,\" says he, \"it's your father that's in it,\" says he; \"an' if I\ndon't make him spake to-morrow mornin',\" says he, \"I'll give you lave to\ncall me a fool,\" says he.\n\n'\"Say no more,\" says Terence, \"that settles the business,\" says he;\n\"an' oh! blur and ages is it not a quare thing,\" says he, \"for a dacent\nrespictable man,\" says he, \"to be walkin' about the counthry in the\nshape iv an ould gandher,\" says he; \"and oh, murdher, murdher! is not\nit often I plucked him,\" says he, \"an' tundher and ouns might not I\nhave ate him,\" says he; and wid that he fell into a could parspiration,\nsavin' your prisince, an was on the pint iv faintin' wid the bare\nnotions iv it.\n\n'Well, whin he was come to himself agin, says Jerry to him quite an'\nasy:\n\n'\"Terence,\" says he, \"don't be aggravatin' yourself,\" says he; \"for I\nhave a plan composed that 'ill make him spake out,\" says he, \"an' tell\nwhat it is in the world he's wantin',\" says he; \"an' mind an' don't be\ncomin' in wid your gosther, an' to say agin anything I tell you,\" says\nhe, \"but jist purtind, as soon as the bird is brought back,\" says he,\n\"how that we're goin' to sind him to-morrow mornin' to market,\" says he.\n\"An' if he don't spake to-night,\" says he, \"or gother himself out iv\nthe place,\" says he, \"put him into the hamper airly, and sind him in the\ncart,\" says he, \"straight to Tipperary, to be sould for ating,\" says he,\n\"along wid the two gossoons,\" says he, \"an' my name isn't Jer Garvan,\"\nsays he, \"if he doesn't spake out before he's half-way,\" says he. \"An'\nmind,\" says he, \"as soon as iver he says the first word,\" says he,\n\"that very minute bring him aff to Father Crotty,\" says he; \"an' if\nhis raverince doesn't make him ratire,\" says he, \"like the rest iv his\nparishioners, glory be to God,\" says he, \"into the siclusion iv the\nflames iv purgathory,\" says he, \"there's no vartue in my charums,\" says\nhe.\n\n'Well, wid that the ould gandher was let into the room agin, an' they\nall bigined to talk iv sindin' him the nixt mornin' to be sould for\nroastin' in Tipperary, jist as if it was a thing andoubtingly settled.\nBut divil a notice the gandher tuck, no more nor if they wor spaking iv\nthe Lord-Liftinant; an' Terence desired the boys to get ready the kish\nfor the poulthry, an' to \"settle it out wid hay soft an' shnug,\" says\nhe, \"for it's the last jauntin' the poor ould gandher 'ill get in this\nworld,\" says he.\n\n'Well, as the night was gettin' late, Terence was growin' mighty\nsorrowful an' down-hearted in himself entirely wid the notions iv what\nwas goin' to happen. An' as soon as the wife an' the crathurs war fairly\nin bed, he brought out some illigint potteen, an' himself an' Jer Garvan\nsot down to it; an' begorra, the more anasy Terence got, the more he\ndhrank, and himself and Jer Garvan finished a quart betune them. It\nwasn't an imparial though, an' more's the pity, for them wasn't anvinted\nantil short since; but divil a much matther it signifies any longer if\na pint could hould two quarts, let alone what it does, sinst Father\nMathew--the Lord purloin his raverence--begin'd to give the pledge, an'\nwid the blessin' iv timperance to deginerate Ireland.\n\n'An' begorra, I have the medle myself; an' it's proud I am iv that same,\nfor abstamiousness is a fine thing, although it's mighty dhry.\n\n'Well, whin Terence finished his pint, he thought he might as well stop;\n\"for enough is as good as a faste,\" says he; \"an' I pity the vagabond,\"\nsays he, \"that is not able to conthroul his licquor,\" says he, \"an'\nto keep constantly inside iv a pint measure,\" said he; an' wid that he\nwished Jer Garvan a good-night, an' walked out iv the room.\n\n'But he wint out the wrong door, bein' a thrifle hearty in himself, an'\nnot rightly knowin' whether he was standin' on his head or his heels, or\nboth iv them at the same time, an' in place iv gettin' into bed, where\ndid he thrun himself but into the poulthry hamper, that the boys had\nsettled out ready for the gandher in the mornin'. An' sure enough he\nsunk down soft an' complate through the hay to the bottom; an' wid the\nturnin' and roulin' about in the night, the divil a bit iv him but was\ncovered up as shnug as a lumper in a pittaty furrow before mornin'.\n\n'So wid the first light, up gets the two boys, that war to take the\nsperit, as they consaved, to Tipperary; an' they cotched the ould\ngandher, an' put him in the hamper, and clapped a good wisp iv hay an'\nthe top iv him, and tied it down sthrong wid a bit iv a coard, and med\nthe sign iv the crass over him, in dhread iv any harum, an' put the\nhamper up an the car, wontherin' all the while what in the world was\nmakin' the ould burd so surprisin' heavy.\n\n'Well, they wint along quite anasy towards Tipperary, wishin' every\nminute that some iv the neighbours bound the same way id happen to fall\nin with them, for they didn't half like the notions iv havin' no company\nbut the bewitched gandher, an' small blame to them for that same.\n\n'But although they wor shaking in their skhins in dhread iv the ould\nbird beginnin' to convarse them every minute, they did not let an' to\none another, bud kep singin' an' whistlin' like mad, to keep the dread\nout iv their hearts.\n\n'Well, afther they war on the road betther nor half an hour, they kem to\nthe bad bit close by Father Crotty's, an' there was one divil of a rut\nthree feet deep at the laste; an' the car got sich a wondherful chuck\ngoin' through it, that it wakened Terence widin in the basket.\n\n'\"Bad luck to ye,\" says he, \"my bones is bruck wid yer thricks; what the\ndivil are ye doin' wid me?\"\n\n'\"Did ye hear anything quare, Thady?\" says the boy that was next to the\ncar, turnin' as white as the top iv a musharoon; \"did ye hear anything\nquare soundin' out iv the hamper?\" says he.\n\n'\"No, nor you,\" says Thady, turnin' as pale as himself, \"it's the ould\ngandher that's gruntin' wid the shakin' he's gettin',\" says he.\n\n'\"Where the divil have ye put me into,\" says Terence inside, \"bad luck\nto your sowls,\" says he, \"let me out, or I'll be smothered this minute,\"\nsays he.\n\n'\"There's no use in purtending,\" says the boy, \"the gandher's spakin',\nglory be to God,\" says he.\n\n'\"Let me out, you murdherers,\" says Terence.\n\n'\"In the name iv the blessed Vargin,\" says Thady, \"an' iv all the holy\nsaints, hould yer tongue, you unnatheral gandher,\" says he.\n\n'\"Who's that, that dar to call me nicknames?\" says Terence inside,\nroaring wid the fair passion, \"let me out, you blasphamious infiddles,\"\nsays he, \"or by this crass I'll stretch ye,\" says he.\n\n'\"In the name iv all the blessed saints in heaven,\" says Thady, \"who the\ndivil are ye?\"\n\n'\"Who the divil would I be, but Terence Mooney,\" says he. \"It's myself\nthat's in it, you unmerciful bliggards,\" says he, \"let me out, or by\nthe holy, I'll get out in spite iv yes,\" says he, \"an' by jaburs, I'll\nwallop yes in arnest,\" says he.\n\n'\"It's ould Terence, sure enough,\" says Thady, \"isn't it cute the fairy\ndocthor found him out,\" says he.\n\n'\"I'm an the pint iv snuffication,\" says Terence, \"let me out, I tell\nyou, an' wait till I get at ye,\" says he, \"for begorra, the divil a bone\nin your body but I'll powdher,\" says he.\n\n'An' wid that, he biginned kickin' and flingin' inside in the hamper,\nand dhrivin his legs agin the sides iv it, that it was a wonder he did\nnot knock it to pieces.\n\n'Well, as soon as the boys seen that, they skelped the ould horse into\na gallop as hard as he could peg towards the priest's house, through the\nruts, an' over the stones; an' you'd see the hamper fairly flyin' three\nfeet up in the air with the joultin'; glory be to God.\n\n'So it was small wondher, by the time they got to his Raverince's door,\nthe breath was fairly knocked out of poor Terence, so that he was lyin'\nspeechless in the bottom iv the hamper.\n\n'Well, whin his Raverince kem down, they up an' they tould him all\nthat happened, an' how they put the gandher into the hamper, an' how he\nbeginned to spake, an' how he confissed that he was ould Terence Mooney;\nan' they axed his honour to advise them how to get rid iv the spirit for\ngood an' all.\n\n'So says his Raverince, says he:\n\n'\"I'll take my booke,\" says he, \"an' I'll read some rale sthrong holy\nbits out iv it,\" says he, \"an' do you get a rope and put it round the\nhamper,\" says he, \"an' let it swing over the runnin' wather at the\nbridge,\" says he, \"an' it's no matther if I don't make the spirit come\nout iv it,\" says he.\n\n'Well, wid that, the priest got his horse, and tuck his booke in undher\nhis arum, an' the boys follied his Raverince, ladin' the horse down to\nthe bridge, an' divil a word out iv Terence all the way, for he seen\nit was no use spakin', an' he was afeard if he med any noise they might\nthrait him to another gallop an finish him intirely.\n\n'Well, as soon as they war all come to the bridge, the boys tuck the\nrope they had with them, an' med it fast to the top iv the hamper an'\nswung it fairly over the bridge, lettin' it hang in the air about twelve\nfeet out iv the wather.\n\n'An' his Raverince rode down to the bank of the river, close by, an'\nbeginned to read mighty loud and bould intirely.\n\n'An' when he was goin' on about five minutes, all at onst the bottom iv\nthe hamper kem out, an' down wint Terence, falling splash dash into the\nwater, an' the ould gandher a-top iv him. Down they both went to the\nbottom, wid a souse you'd hear half a mile off.\n\n'An' before they had time to rise agin, his Raverince, wid the fair\nastonishment, giv his horse one dig iv the spurs, an' before he knew\nwhere he was, in he went, horse an' all, a-top iv them, an' down to the\nbottom.\n\n'Up they all kem agin together, gaspin' and puffin', an' off down wid\nthe current wid them, like shot in under the arch iv the bridge till\nthey kem to the shallow wather.\n\n'The ould gandher was the first out, and the priest and Terence\nkem next, pantin' an' blowin' an' more than half dhrounded, an' his\nRaverince was so freckened wid the droundin' he got, and wid the sight\niv the sperit, as he consaved, that he wasn't the better of it for a\nmonth.\n\n'An' as soon as Terence could spake, he swore he'd have the life of the\ntwo gossoons; but Father Crotty would not give him his will. An' as soon\nas he was got quiter, they all endivoured to explain it; but Terence\nconsaved he went raly to bed the night before, and his wife said the\nsame to shilter him from the suspicion for havin' th' dthrop taken. An'\nhis Raverince said it was a mysthery, an' swore if he cotched\nanyone laughin' at the accident, he'd lay the horsewhip across their\nshouldhers.\n\n'An' Terence grew fonder an' fonder iv the gandher every day, until at\nlast he died in a wondherful old age, lavin' the gandher afther him an'\na large family iv childher.\n\n'An' to this day the farm is rinted by one iv Terence Mooney's lenial\nand legitimate postariors.'\n\n\n\n\nBILLY MALOWNEY'S TASTE OF LOVE AND GLORY.\n\nLet the reader fancy a soft summer evening, the fresh dews falling on\nbush and flower. The sun has just gone down, and the thrilling vespers\nof thrushes and blackbirds ring with a wild joy through the saddened\nair; the west is piled with fantastic clouds, and clothed in tints of\ncrimson and amber, melting away into a wan green, and so eastward into\nthe deepest blue, through which soon the stars will begin to peep.\n\nLet him fancy himself seated upon the low mossy wall of an ancient\nchurchyard, where hundreds of grey stones rise above the sward,\nunder the fantastic branches of two or three half-withered ash-trees,\nspreading their arms in everlasting love and sorrow over the dead.\n\nThe narrow road upon which I and my companion await the tax-cart that\nis to carry me and my basket, with its rich fruitage of speckled trout,\naway, lies at his feet, and far below spreads an undulating plain,\nrising westward again into soft hills, and traversed (every here and\nthere visibly) by a winding stream which, even through the mists of\nevening, catches and returns the funereal glories of the skies.\n\nAs the eye traces its wayward wanderings, it loses them for a moment\nin the heaving verdure of white-thorns and ash, from among which floats\nfrom some dozen rude chimneys, mostly unseen, the transparent blue film\nof turf smoke. There we know, although we cannot see it, the steep old\nbridge of Carrickadrum spans the river; and stretching away far to the\nright the valley of Lisnamoe: its steeps and hollows, its straggling\nhedges, its fair-green, its tall scattered trees, and old grey tower,\nare disappearing fast among the discoloured tints and haze of evening.\n\nThose landmarks, as we sit listlessly expecting the arrival of our\nmodest conveyance, suggest to our companion--a bare-legged Celtic\nbrother of the gentle craft, somewhat at the wrong side of forty, with\na turf-coloured caubeen, patched frieze, a clear brown complexion,\ndark-grey eyes, and a right pleasant dash of roguery in his\nfeatures--the tale, which, if the reader pleases, he is welcome to hear\nalong with me just as it falls from the lips of our humble comrade.\n\nHis words I can give, but your own fancy must supply the advantages\nof an intelligent, expressive countenance, and, what is perhaps harder\nstill, the harmony of his glorious brogue, that, like the melodies of\nour own dear country, will leave a burden of mirth or of sorrow with\nnearly equal propriety, tickling the diaphragm as easily as it plays\nwith the heart-strings, and is in itself a national music that, I trust,\nmay never, never--scouted and despised though it be--never cease, like\nthe lost tones of our harp, to be heard in the fields of my country, in\nwelcome or endearment, in fun or in sorrow, stirring the hearts of Irish\nmen and Irish women.\n\nMy friend of the caubeen and naked shanks, then, commenced, and\ncontinued his relation, as nearly as possible, in the following words:\n\n\nAv coorse ye often heerd talk of Billy Malowney, that lived by the\nbridge of Carrickadrum. 'Leum-a-rinka' was the name they put on him,\nhe was sich a beautiful dancer. An' faix, it's he was the rale sportin'\nboy, every way--killing the hares, and gaffing the salmons, an' fightin'\nthe men, an' funnin' the women, and coortin' the girls; an' be the\nsame token, there was not a colleen inside iv his jurisdiction but was\nbreakin' her heart wid the fair love iv him.\n\nWell, this was all pleasant enough, to be sure, while it lasted; but\ninhuman beings is born to misfortune, an' Bill's divarshin was not to\nlast always. A young boy can't be continially coortin' and kissin' the\ngirls (an' more's the pity) without exposin' himself to the most eminent\nparril; an' so signs all' what should happen Billy Malowney himself, but\nto fall in love at last wid little Molly Donovan, in Coolnamoe.\n\nI never could ondherstand why in the world it was Bill fell in love wid\nHER, above all the girls in the country. She was not within four stone\nweight iv being as fat as Peg Brallaghan; and as for redness in the\nface, she could not hould a candle to Judy Flaherty. (Poor Judy! she\nwas my sweetheart, the darlin', an' coorted me constant, ever antil she\nmarried a boy of the Butlers; an' it's twenty years now since she was\nburied under the ould white-thorn in Garbally. But that's no matther!)\n\nWell, at any rate, Molly Donovan tuck his fancy, an' that's everything!\nShe had smooth brown hair--as smooth as silk-an' a pair iv soft coaxin'\neyes--an' the whitest little teeth you ever seen; an', bedad, she was\nevery taste as much in love wid himself as he was.\n\nWell, now, he was raly stupid wid love: there was not a bit of fun\nleft in him. He was good for nothin' an airth bud sittin' under bushes,\nsmokin' tobacky, and sighin' till you'd wonder how in the world he got\nwind for it all.\n\nAn', bedad, he was an illigant scholar, moreover; an', so signs, it's\nmany's the song he made about her; an' if you'd be walkin' in the\nevening, a mile away from Carrickadrum, begorra you'd hear him singing\nout like a bull, all across the country, in her praises.\n\nWell, ye may be sure, ould Tim Donovan and the wife was not a bit too\nwell plased to see Bill Malowney coortin' their daughter Molly; for,\ndo ye mind, she was the only child they had, and her fortune was\nthirty-five pounds, two cows, and five illigant pigs, three iron pots\nand a skillet, an' a trifle iv poultry in hand; and no one knew how much\nbesides, whenever the Lord id be plased to call the ould people out of\nthe way into glory!\n\nSo, it was not likely ould Tim Donovan id be fallin' in love wid poor\nBill Malowney as aisy as the girls did; for, barrin' his beauty, an' his\ngun, an' his dhudheen, an' his janius, the divil a taste of property iv\nany sort or description he had in the wide world!\n\nWell, as bad as that was, Billy would not give in that her father and\nmother had the smallest taste iv a right to intherfare, good or bad.\n\n'An' you're welcome to rayfuse me,' says he, 'whin I ax your lave,'\nsays he; 'an' I'll ax your lave,' says he, 'whenever I want to coort\nyourselves,' says he; 'but it's your daughter I'm coortin' at the\npresent,' says he, 'an that's all I'll say,' says he; 'for I'd as soon\ntake a doase of salts as be discoursin' ye,' says he.\n\nSo it was a rale blazin' battle betune himself and the ould people;\nan', begorra, there was no soart iv blaguardin' that did not pass betune\nthem; an' they put a solemn injection on Molly again seein' him or\nmeetin' him for the future.\n\nBut it was all iv no use. You might as well be pursuadin' the birds agin\nflying, or sthrivin' to coax the stars out iv the sky into your hat, as\nbe talking common sinse to them that's fairly bothered and burstin'\nwid love. There's nothin' like it. The toothache an' cholic together id\ncompose you betther for an argyment than itself. It leaves you fit for\nnothin' bud nansinse.\n\nIt's stronger than whisky, for one good drop iv it will make you drunk\nfor one year, and sick, begorra, for a dozen.\n\nIt's stronger than the say, for it'll carry you round the world an'\nnever let you sink, in sunshine or storm; an', begorra, it's stronger\nthan Death himself, for it is not afeard iv him, bedad, but dares him in\nevery shape.\n\nBut lovers has quarrels sometimes, and, begorra, when they do, you'd\na'most imagine they hated one another like man and wife. An' so, signs\nan', Billy Malowney and Molly Donovan fell out one evening at ould Tom\nDundon's wake; an' whatever came betune them, she made no more about\nit but just draws her cloak round her, and away wid herself and the\nsarvant-girl home again, as if there was not a corpse, or a fiddle, or a\ntaste of divarsion in it.\n\nWell, Bill Malowney follied her down the boreen, to try could he\ndeludher her back again; but, if she was bitther before, she gave it\nto him in airnest when she got him alone to herself, and to that degree\nthat he wished her safe home, short and sulky enough, an' walked back\nagain, as mad as the devil himself, to the wake, to pay a respect to\npoor Tom Dundon.\n\nWell, my dear, it was aisy seen there was something wrong avid Billy\nMalowney, for he paid no attintion the rest of the evening to any soart\nof divarsion but the whisky alone; an' every glass he'd drink it's what\nhe'd be wishing the divil had the women, an' the worst iv bad luck to\nall soarts iv courting, until, at last, wid the goodness iv the sperits,\nan' the badness iv his temper, an' the constant flusthration iv cursin',\nhe grew all as one as you might say almost, saving your presince,\nbastely drunk!\n\nWell, who should he fall in wid, in that childish condition, as he was\ndeploying along the road almost as straight as the letter S, an' cursin'\nthe girls, an' roarin' for more whisky, but the recruiting-sargent iv\nthe Welsh Confusileers.\n\nSo, cute enough, the sargent begins to convarse him, an' it was not long\nuntil he had him sitting in Murphy's public-house, wid an elegant dandy\niv punch before him, an' the king's money safe an' snug in the lowest\nwrinkle of his breeches-pocket.\n\nSo away wid him, and the dhrums and fifes playing, an' a dozen more\nunforthunate bliggards just listed along with him, an' he shakin' hands\nwid the sargent, and swearin' agin the women every minute, until, be the\ntime he kem to himself, begorra, he was a good ten miles on the road to\nDublin, an' Molly and all behind him.\n\nIt id be no good tellin' you iv the letters he wrote to her from the\nbarracks there, nor how she was breaking her heart to go and see him\njust wanst before he'd go; but the father an' mother would not allow iv\nit be no manes.\n\nAn' so in less time than you'd be thinkin' about it, the colonel had him\npolished off into it rale elegant soger, wid his gun exercise, and his\nbagnet exercise, and his small sword, and broad sword, and pistol and\ndagger, an' all the rest, an' then away wid him on boord a man-a-war to\nfurrin parts, to fight for King George agin Bonyparty, that was great in\nthem times.\n\nWell, it was very soon in everyone's mouth how Billy Malowney was batin'\nall before him, astonishin' the ginerals, an frightenin' the inimy to\nthat degree, there was not a Frinchman dare say parley voo outside of\nthe rounds iv his camp.\n\nYou may be sure Molly was proud iv that same, though she never spoke a\nword about it; until at last the news kem home that Billy Malowney was\nsurrounded an' murdered by the Frinch army, under Napoleon Bonyparty\nhimself. The news was brought by Jack Brynn Dhas, the peddlar, that said\nhe met the corporal iv the regiment on the quay iv Limerick, an' how he\nbrought him into a public-house and thrated him to a naggin, and got all\nthe news about poor Billy Malowney out iv him while they war dhrinkin'\nit; an' a sorrowful story it was.\n\nThe way it happened, accordin' as the corporal tould him, was jist how\nthe Jook iv Wellington detarmined to fight a rale tarin' battle wid the\nFrinch, and Bonyparty at the same time was aiqually detarmined to fight\nthe divil's own scrimmidge wid the British foorces.\n\nWell, as soon as the business was pretty near ready at both sides,\nBonyparty and the general next undher himself gets up behind a bush, to\nlook at their inimies through spyglasses, and thry would they know any\niv them at the distance.\n\n'Bedadad!' says the gineral, afther a divil iv a long spy, 'I'd bet half\na pint,' says he, 'that's Bill Malowney himself,' says he, 'down there,'\nsays he.\n\n'Och!' says Bonypart, 'do you tell me so?' says he--'I'm fairly\nheart-scalded with that same Billy Malowney,' says he; 'an' I think if I\nwas wanst shut iv him I'd bate the rest iv them aisy,' says he.\n\n'I'm thinking so myself,' says the gineral, says he; 'but he's a tough\nbye,' says he.\n\n'Tough!' says Bonypart, 'he's the divil,' says he.\n\n'Begorra, I'd be better plased.' says the gineral, says he, 'to take\nhimself than the Duke iv Willinton,' says he, 'an' Sir Edward Blakeney\ninto the bargain,' says he.\n\n'The Duke of Wellinton and Gineral Blakeney,' says Bonypart, 'is great\nfor planning, no doubt,' says he; 'but Billy Malowney's the boy for\nACTION,' says he--'an' action's everything, just now,' says he.\n\nSo wid that Bonypart pushes up his cocked hat, and begins scratching his\nhead, and thinning and considherin' for the bare life, and at last says\nhe to the gineral:\n\n'Gineral Commandher iv all the Foorces,' says he, 'I've hot it,' says\nhe: 'ordher out the forlorn hope,' says he, 'an' give them as much\npowdher, both glazed and blasting,' says he, 'an' as much bullets do\nye mind, an' swan-dhrops an' chain-shot,' says he, 'an' all soorts iv\nwaipons an' combustables as they can carry; an' let them surround Bill\nMalowney,' says he, 'an' if they can get any soort iv an advantage,'\nsays he, 'let them knock him to smithereens,' says he, 'an' then take\nhim presner,' says he; 'an' tell all the bandmen iv the Frinch army,'\nsays he, 'to play up \"Garryowen,\" to keep up their sperits,' says he,\n'all the time they're advancin'. An' you may promise them anything you\nlike in my name,' says he; for, by my sowl, I don't think its many iv\nthem 'ill come back to throuble us,' says he, winkin' at him.\n\nSo away with the gineral, an' he ordhers out the forlorn hope, all'\ntells the band to play, an' everything else, just as Bonypart desired\nhim. An' sure enough, whin Billy Malowney heerd the music where he\nwas standin' taking a blast of the dhudheen to compose his mind for\nmurdherin' the Frinchmen as usual, being mighty partial to that tune\nintirely, he cocks his ear a one side, an' down he stoops to listen to\nthe music; but, begorra, who should be in his rare all the time but a\nFrinch grannideer behind a bush, and seeing him stooped in a convanient\nforum, bedad he let flies at him sthraight, and fired him right forward\nbetween the legs an' the small iv the back, glory be to God! with what\nthey call (saving your presence) a bum-shell.\n\nWell, Bill Malowney let one roar out iv him, an' away he rowled over the\nfield iv battle like a slitther (as Bonypart and the Duke iv Wellington,\nthat was watching the manoeuvres from a distance, both consayved) into\nglory.\n\nAn' sure enough the Frinch was overjoyed beyant all bounds, an' small\nblame to them--an' the Duke of Wellington, I'm toult, was never all out\nthe same man sinst.\n\nAt any rate, the news kem home how Billy Malowney was murdhered by the\nFrinch in furrin parts.\n\nWell, all this time, you may be sure, there was no want iv boys comin'\nto coort purty Molly Donovan; but one way ar another, she always\nkept puttin' them off constant. An' though her father and mother was\nnathurally anxious to get rid of her respickably, they did not like to\nmarry her off in spite iv her teeth.\n\nAn' this way, promising one while and puttin' it off another, she\nconthrived to get on from one Shrove to another, until near seven years\nwas over and gone from the time when Billy Malowney listed for furrin\nsarvice.\n\nIt was nigh hand a year from the time whin the news iv Leum-a-rinka\nbein' killed by the Frinch came home, an' in place iv forgettin' him,\nas the saisins wint over, it's what Molly was growin' paler and more\nlonesome every day, antil the neighbours thought she was fallin' into a\ndecline; and this is the way it was with her whin the fair of Lisnamoe\nkem round.\n\nIt was a beautiful evenin', just at the time iv the reapin' iv the oats,\nand the sun was shinin' through the red clouds far away over the hills\niv Cahirmore.\n\nHer father an' mother, an' the boys an' girls, was all away down in the\nfair, and Molly Sittin' all alone on the step of the stile, listening\nto the foolish little birds whistlin' among the leaves--and the sound of\nthe mountain-river flowin' through the stones an' bushes--an' the crows\nflyin' home high overhead to the woods iv Glinvarlogh--an' down in the\nglen, far away, she could see the fair-green iv Lisnamoe in the mist,\nan' sunshine among the grey rocks and threes--an' the cows an' the\nhorses, an' the blue frieze, an' the red cloaks, an' the tents, an'\nthe smoke, an' the ould round tower--all as soft an' as sorrowful as a\ndhrame iv ould times.\n\nAn' while she was looking this way, an' thinking iv Leum-a-rinka--poor\nBill iv the dance, that was sleepin' in his lonesome glory in the fields\niv Spain--she began to sing the song he used to like so well in the ould\ntimes--\n\n          'Shule, shule, shale a-roon;'\n\nan' when she ended the verse, what do you think but she heard a manly\nvoice just at the other side iv the hedge, singing the last words over\nagain!\n\nWell she knew it; her heart flutthered up like a little bird that id\nbe wounded, and then dhropped still in her breast. It was himself. In a\nminute he was through the hedge and standing before her.\n\n'Leum!' says she.\n\n'Mavourneen cuishla machree!' says he; and without another word they\nwere locked in one another's arms.\n\nWell, it id only be nansinse for me thryin' an' tell ye all the foolish\nthings they said, and how they looked in one another's faces, an'\nlaughed, an' cried, an' laughed again; and how, when they came to\nthemselves, and she was able at last to believe it was raly Billy\nhimself that was there, actially holdin' her hand, and lookin' in her\neyes the same way as ever, barrin' he was browner and boulder, an' did\nnot, maybe, look quite as merry in himself as he used to do in former\ntimes--an' fondher for all, an' more lovin' than ever--how he tould her\nall about the wars wid the Frinchmen--an' how he was wounded, and left\nfor dead in the field iv battle, bein' shot through the breast, and how\nhe was discharged, an' got a pinsion iv a full shillin' a day--and\nhow he was come back to liv the rest iv his days in the sweet glen iv\nLisnamoe, an' (if only SHE'D consint) to marry herself in spite iv them\nall.\n\nWell, ye may aisily think they had plinty to talk about, afther seven\nyears without once seein' one another; and so signs on, the time flew by\nas swift an' as pleasant as a bird on the wing, an' the sun wint down,\nan' the moon shone sweet an' soft instead, an' they two never knew a\nha'porth about it, but kept talkin' an' whisperin', an' whisperin' an'\ntalkin'; for it's wondherful how often a tinder-hearted girl will bear\nto hear a purty boy tellin' her the same story constant over an' over;\nontil at last, sure enough, they heerd the ould man himself comin' up\nthe boreen, singin' the 'Colleen Rue'--a thing he never done barrin'\nwhin he had a dhrop in; an' the misthress walkin' in front iv him, an'\ntwo illigant Kerry cows he just bought in the fair, an' the sarvint boys\ndhriving them behind.\n\n'Oh, blessed hour!' says Molly, 'here's my father.'\n\n'I'll spake to him this minute,' says Bill.\n\n'Oh, not for the world,' says she; 'he's singin' the \"Colleen Rue,\"'\nsays she, 'and no one dar raison with him,' says she.\n\n'An' where 'll I go, thin?' says he, 'for they're into the haggard an\ntop iv us,' says he, 'an' they'll see me iv I lep through the hedge,'\nsays he.\n\n'Thry the pig-sty,' says she, 'mavourneen,' says she, 'in the name iv\nGod,' says she.\n\n'Well, darlint,' says he, 'for your sake,' says he, 'I'll condescend to\nthem animals,' says he.\n\nAn' wid that he makes a dart to get in; bud, begorra, it was too\nlate--the pigs was all gone home, and the pig-sty was as full as the\nBurr coach wid six inside.\n\n'Och! blur-an'-agers,' says he, 'there is not room for a suckin'-pig,'\nsays he, 'let alone a Christian,' says he.\n\n'Well, run into the house, Billy,' says she, 'this minute,' says she,\n'an' hide yourself antil they're quiet,' says she, 'an' thin you can\nsteal out,' says she, 'anknownst to them all,' says she.\n\n'I'll do your biddin', says he, 'Molly asthore,' says he.\n\n'Run in thin,' says she, 'an' I'll go an' meet them,' says she.\n\nSo wid that away wid her, and in wint Billy, an' where 'id he hide\nhimself bud in a little closet that was off iv the room where the ould\nman and woman slep'. So he closed the doore, and sot down in an ould\nchair he found there convanient.\n\nWell, he was not well in it when all the rest iv them comes into the\nkitchen, an' ould Tim Donovan singin' the 'Colleen Rue' for the bare\nlife, an' the rest iv them sthrivin' to humour him, and doin' exactly\neverything he bid them, because they seen he was foolish be the manes iv\nthe liquor.\n\nWell, to be sure all this kep' them long enough, you may be sure, from\ngoin' to bed, so that Billy could get no manner iv an advantage to get\nout iv the house, and so he sted sittin' in the dark closet in state,\ncursin' the 'Colleen Rue,' and wondherin' to the divil whin they'd get\nthe ould man into his bed. An', as if that was not delay enough,\nwho should come in to stop for the night but Father O'Flaherty, of\nCahirmore, that was buyin' a horse at the fair! An' av course, there was\na bed to be med down for his raverence, an' some other attintions; an' a\nlong discoorse himself an' ould Mrs. Donovan had about the slaughter iv\nBilly Malowney, an' how he was buried on the field iv battle; an' his\nraverence hoped he got a dacent funeral, an' all the other convaniences\niv religion. An' so you may suppose it was pretty late in the night\nbefore all iv them got to their beds.\n\nWell, Tim Donovan could not settle to sleep at all at all, an' so\nhe kep' discoorsin' the wife about the new cows he bought, an' the\nstripphers he sould, an' so an for better than an hour, ontil from one\nthing to another he kem to talk about the pigs, an' the poulthry; and\nat last, having nothing betther to discoorse about, he begun at his\ndaughter Molly, an' all the heartscald she was to him be raison iv\nrefusin' the men. An' at last says he:\n\n'I onderstand,' says he, 'very well how it is,' says he. 'It's how she\nwas in love,' says he, 'wid that bliggard, Billy Malowney,' says he,\n'bad luck to him!' says he; for by this time he was coming to his\nraison.\n\n'Ah!' says the wife, says she, 'Tim darlint, don't be cursin' them\nthat's dead an' buried,' says she.\n\n'An' why would not I,' says he, 'if they desarve it?' says he.\n\n'Whisht,' says she, 'an' listen to that,' says she. 'In the name of the\nBlessed Vargin,' says she, 'what IS it?' says she.\n\nAn' sure enough what was it but Bill Malowney that was dhroppin' asleep\nin the closet, an' snorin' like a church organ.\n\n'Is it a pig,' says he, 'or is it a Christian?'\n\n'Arra! listen to the tune iv it,' says she; 'sure a pig never done the\nlike is that,' says she.\n\n'Whatever it is,' says he, 'it's in the room wid us,' says he. 'The Lord\nbe marciful to us!' says he.\n\n'I tould you not to be cursin',' says she; 'bad luck to you,' says she,\n'for an ommadhaun!' for she was a very religious woman in herself.\n\n'Sure, he's buried in Spain,' says he; 'an' it is not for one little\ninnocent expression,' says he, 'he'd be comin' all that a way to annoy\nthe house,' says he.\n\nWell, while they war talkin', Bill turns in the way he was sleepin'\ninto an aisier imposture; and as soon as he stopped snorin' ould Tim\nDonovan's courage riz agin, and says he:\n\n'I'll go to the kitchen,' says he, 'an' light a rish,' says he.\n\nAn' with that away wid him, an' the wife kep' workin' the beads all the\ntime, an' before he kem back Bill was snorin' as loud as ever.\n\n'Oh! bloody wars--I mane the blessed saints about us!--that deadly\nsound,' says he; 'it's going on as lively as ever,' says he.\n\n'I'm as wake as a rag,' says his wife, says she, 'wid the fair\nanasiness,' says she. 'It's out iv the little closet it's comin,' says\nshe.\n\n'Say your prayers,' says he, 'an' hould your tongue,' says he, 'while\nI discoorse it,' says he. 'An' who are ye,' says he, 'in the name iv of\nall the holy saints?' says he, givin' the door a dab iv a crusheen that\nwakened Bill inside. 'I ax,' says he, 'who are you?' says he.\n\nWell, Bill did not rightly remember where in the world he was, but he\npushed open the door, an' says he:\n\n'Billy Malowney's my name,' says he, 'an' I'll thank ye to tell me a\nbetther,' says he.\n\nWell, whin Tim Donovan heard that, an' actially seen that it was Bill\nhimself that was in it, he had not strength enough to let a bawl out iv\nhim, but he dhropt the candle out iv his hand, an' down wid himself on\nhis back in the dark.\n\nWell, the wife let a screech you'd hear at the mill iv Killraghlin,\nan'--\n\n'Oh,' says she, 'the spirit has him, body an' bones!' says she. 'Oh,\nholy St. Bridget--oh, Mother iv Marcy--oh, Father O'Flaherty!' says she,\nscreechin' murdher from out iv her bed.\n\nWell, Bill Malowney was not a minute remimberin' himself, an' so out wid\nhim quite an' aisy, an' through the kitchen; bud in place iv the door\niv the house, it's what he kem to the door iv Father O'Flaherty's little\nroom, where he was jist wakenin' wid the noise iv the screechin' an'\nbattherin'; an' bedad, Bill makes no more about it, but he jumps, wid\none boult, clever an' clane into his raverance's bed.\n\n'What do ye mane, you uncivilised bliggard?' says his raverance. 'Is\nthat a venerable way,' says he, 'to approach your clargy?' says he.\n\n'Hould your tongue,' says Bill, 'an' I'll do ye no harum,' says he.\n\n'Who are you, ye scoundhrel iv the world?' says his raverance.\n\n'Whisht!' says he? 'I'm Billy Malowney,' says he.\n\n'You lie!' says his raverance for he was frightened beyont all\nbearin'--an' he makes but one jump out iv the bed at the wrong side,\nwhere there was only jist a little place in the wall for a press,\nan' his raverance could not as much as turn in it for the wealth iv\nkingdoms. 'You lie,' says he; 'but for feared it's the truth you're\ntellin',' says he, 'here's at ye in the name iv all the blessed saints\ntogether!' says he.\n\nAn' wid that, my dear, he blazes away at him wid a Latin prayer iv the\nstrongest description, an', as he said himself afterwards, that was iv\na nature that id dhrive the divil himself up the chimley like a puff iv\ntobacky smoke, wid his tail betune his legs.\n\n'Arra, what are ye sthrivin' to say,' says Bill; says he, 'if ye don't\nhould your tongue,' says he, 'wid your parly voo;' says he, 'it's what\nI'll put my thumb on your windpipe,' says he, 'an' Billy Malowney never\nwint back iv his word yet,' says he.\n\n'Thundher-an-owns,' says his raverance, says he--seein' the Latin took\nno infect on him, at all at all an' screechin' that you'd think he'd\nrise the thatch up iv the house wid the fair fright--'and thundher and\nblazes, boys, will none iv yes come here wid a candle, but lave your\nclargy to be choked by a spirit in the dark?' says he.\n\nWell, be this time the sarvint boys and the rest iv them wor up an' half\ndressed, an' in they all run, one on top iv another, wid pitchforks and\nspades, thinkin' it was only what his raverence slep' a dhrame iv the\nlike, by means of the punch he was afther takin' just before he rowl'd\nhimself into the bed. But, begorra, whin they seen it was raly Bill\nMalowney himself that was in it, it was only who'd be foremost out\nagin, tumblin' backways, one over another, and his raverence roarin' an'\ncursin' them like mad for not waitin' for him.\n\nWell, my dear, it was betther than half an hour before Billy Malowney\ncould explain to them all how it raly was himself, for begorra they were\nall iv them persuadin' him that he was a spirit to that degree it's a\nwondher he did not give in to it, if it was only to put a stop to the\nargiment.\n\nWell, his raverence tould the ould people then, there was no use in\nsthrivin' agin the will iv Providence an' the vagaries iv love united;\nan' whin they kem to undherstand to a sartinty how Billy had a shillin'\na day for the rest iv his days, begorra they took rather a likin'\nto him, and considhered at wanst how he must have riz out of all his\nnansinse entirely, or his gracious Majesty id never have condescinded\nto show him his countenance that way every day of his life, on a silver\nshillin'.\n\nAn' so, begorra, they never stopt till it was all settled--an' there was\nnot sich a weddin' as that in the counthry sinst. It's more than forty\nyears ago, an' though I was no more nor a gossoon myself, I remimber it\nlike yestherday. Molly never looked so purty before, an' Billy Malowney\nwas plisant beyont all hearin,' to that degree that half the girls in it\nwas fairly tarin' mad--only they would not let on--they had not him\nto themselves in place iv her. An' begorra I'd be afeared to tell ye,\nbecause you would not believe me, since that blessid man Father Mathew\nput an end to all soorts of sociality, the Lord reward him, how many\ngallons iv pottieen whisky was dhrank upon that most solemn and tindher\noccasion.\n\nPat Hanlon, the piper, had a faver out iv it; an' Neddy Shawn Heigue,\nmountin' his horse the wrong way, broke his collarbone, by the manes\niv fallin' over his tail while he was feelin' for his head; an' Payther\nBrian, the horse-docther, I am tould, was never quite right in the head\never afther; an' ould Tim Donovan was singin' the 'Colleen Rue' night\nand day for a full week; an' begorra the weddin' was only the foundation\niv fun, and the beginning iv divarsion, for there was not a year for ten\nyears afther, an' more, but brought round a christenin' as regular as\nthe sasins revarted.","title":"The Purcell Papers \u2014 Volume 3","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":39299}