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Cut her dead, or the old one will stick like a leech."
And though I affected to pray and beseech,

She'd take no excuse, so, with head in the air,
I pass'd, unregarding my petrified fair.
What a pang!!—but I did it—and had my reward,
A shake hand from a sort of a nondescript lord-
His title is Bogwood-or Blarney, or something
Hibernian-I know his set-out is a rum thing ;-
But first he look'd round, to make sure, I suspect,
Just to see if the thing was in taste, was correct.
For these Irish are mighty punctilious, the rogues,
As they never are sure of their footing or brogues;
So abroad when an Irishman meets with another,
One finds that he'll scarcely recognize his brother:
And of these, should one feel his soft heart sentimental,
"Tis Paddy can teach well the cut continental.

I spy now approaching an old friend of mine—
An excellent fellow, who asks me to dine

Six days in the week; on occasion, who lends

Me his house, horse, and purse, the best of kind friends :"Dear lady, excuse me, I'm quite on the rack

On a friend such as this, to think to turn back;
Though faith, I must own, that he looks rather shy-
That his coat is ill cut-his collar too high-
His air not bon ton, and he looks too good-hearted
For a man upon town; yet when we last parted,
His champaign in my head-in my pocket his purse,
I swore that I'd take him for better for worse-
As the friend of my soul-my Damon!-I'm curst
If I pass him-nay, pon my soul, I will bolt first."
"What a spoony you are,” said my guide with a scoff;
"Come, do as I order, or 'tis I, sir, am off ;-

Stare him straight in the face, look marble or steel,

Or look wise, (if you can,) now then-turn on your heel; Yet still to back-out there's another manœuvre,

If this is done neatly, 'tis quite a chef-d'œuvre :

Spy sharply around, and if nobody sees,

Go up-take his hand with a good-natured squeeze ;

But look all the time as if nothing had pass'd,

If you do the thing gauchely you'll surely lose caste."
Then said I,-"It is better to let it alone,

I had much rather cut"- -so I cut-it was done.
And so having cut my bright way to bon ton,
A top-sawyer at last I keep bowling along :
All eager to have me admired-caress'd,
Sans tache et sans peur-and perfectly bless'd,
Without friend to ennuyer, or mistress to bore,
Like the diamond I cut, and I sparkle the more.

A CAPTIVITY AMONG THE ROCKITES IN THE
MOUNTAINS OF MUNSTER.'

BY AN Officer.

WE had passed Newmarket, and were approaching the picturesque Blackwater, where it issues on its southern course from the mountains, and forms the graceful boundary between the counties of Cork and my native Kerry. Castle-Island lay before us in the hazy twilight of a short winter's day,—

Whose sober sun must set at five o'clock,—

but the splendid moon, and clear frosty sky, promised to make amends.

The deep shadowy margin of the river was just assuming its darkest evening tints as we arrived in sight of the bridge, which appeared indistinctly laboring with a bustling crowd of men and horses.

"Musha! they're late from the fair!" exclaimed Paddy. "What fair?" cried the guard.

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Why then, they'll tell us, if we speak them fair. Neighbours, my fairing on you. Where did yees light your pipes last?”

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Open the ranks, boys! Coachman, pull up !" cried a voice on the road.

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"Drive on!" roared the guard, unslinging his blunderbuss. "I can't, Tom; there are cars heaped across the bridge." Guard, surrender, or I'll fire!" said the same loud voice. Easy now, my dear," said Skibbereen, " you want to kill somebody with that blunderbuss, and have us all murdered up here along with you. Drop it, now,"-striking the guard's arms two blows of his stick as he found the fellow cocking his piece. "There, now, give it to me, and also these pistols out of your pockets, that I may keep the peace for his Majesty."

In a moment we found ourselves overpowered by well-armed fellows, who sprung up on the coach at every side the instant Paddy struck the decisive blow. All around stood horses, with sack-loads ready filled for the mountain.

"Blood and ouns! what's all this for ?" said Paddy, with an air of great simplicity; "are you going to rob and murder the coach,

now?"

"Let no passenger escape! collect them all here at the barrier. Now the luggage; quick!" exclaimed the loud voice that first dictated our surrender. The crowd obeyed implicitly.

"Now, Sir, who are you?" demanded the same vehement speaker, coming forward into our group, his person muffled in a large grey coat of the ordinary homely texture, and his face concealed by a cloth mask, through which his eyes shone brightly.

"I'm Pat Skibbereen of Killiliathan, on my way from Cork to Tralee, if it please you, gentles."

"Take and bind him. He's an enemy to Ireland, and a traitor to Captain Rock!"

1 Continued from Vol. I. page 243.

"Musha! this comes of loving one's king too well! O why did I ever set up for a loyal man-why?"

"You be d-d, you crocodile !" muttered the smarting guard. "Silence! who are you?"

"Sandy Gillespie, of Glasgow, Sirs; a puir cattle-jobber, on his way through Kerry to pick up a lot of coos for the Northern markets. A vary puir mon, I am, Sirs."

"Liar!" cried the other, in the voice of exulting hatred : “ bind the villain to Skibbereen, and guard them closely up the mountain."

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Captain Rock, jewel! one word in your ear before you bind me to that Scotch fiddler. My hands are tied already, you see."

He whispered the man in the mask a few words, among which, from my proximity, aided by a nice ear and Paddy's guttural tones, I could distinguish "mail-bag."

"No; Captain Rock will make no compromise with traitors! Lead them away."

"Who are you, Sir?"

"Major Bolton, of the Honorable East India Company's service, travelling to see the far-famed lakes of Killarney."-My dress and trunk contained sufficient evidence to betray my profession; but, I thought it unsafe to give my real name and destination while the ultra-montane party was so powerful.

"Tie his hands; and do you, O'Sullivan, take charge of him. A hired mercenary should always be prepared for death or imprisonment; he knows no law but that of the strong hand, and no duty but the routine of murder which he may be paid to commit. Use no ceremony with him: if ever he returns 'twill be at a heavy ransom. -Ladies, pardon my neglect. Pray take your seats and trunks again. Captain Rock does not make war on his fair countrywomen.— Counsellor, take your's also. You are too useful, too honorable, and too kind a man, to be harmed by Captain Rock. You have saved the lives of some of my family ere now, in Cork and Limerick, during those unhealthy seasons the assizes months," said he, laughing" and perhaps may again, if I don't arrange it otherwise.-Guard! where have you hid the letter-bag? Instantly produce it, or-" (cocking a pistol.)

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"How should I have the letter-bag? Sure its coming in its natural hour by the mail. What could turn it out of its route to be given to my keeping?"

"Deliver it instantly! If I find it without your help, I'll shoot you that moment!"

"Well, then, here it is," said the dismayed guardian of the bag, unbuttoning his three coats and producing it from his corpulent paunch.

"If I have ever deserved well at your hands, captain,” said the counsellor, in a half-serious tone, "let me now deserve more, and save you and your family from the disgrace of this robbery of your friends as well as enemies. You withhold the merchant's remittance, on which his credit and means of support depend-the widow and orphan's supply is arrested by your hands-the sympathy of friendship and the vows of love are alike profaned by your violation of this

sacred trust the very aid or pardon, perhaps, that your condemned friends solicit, is lost to them for days through your foolish outrage!" "Ah, counsellor! we're not so foolish or so heartless as you think

I'll not read a single letter, or stop a single bank-note, that yourself would say ought to go on its journey; and if you'll only step up the hills with me about half a mile off this dangerous high road, to some quiet cabin where we can get a candle, I'll sort the letters in your presence, and give you back the bag and all that are not fairly black sheep and branded with the name of the enemies of Ireland.-Barney, unyoke the coach-horses and load them with the captain's flour. The coachman will get fresh ones for the ladies at the next stage, while the guard attends the ladies; and the counsellor will return with the mail-bag by the time all's right again.-Throw the major's trunk into the off creel to balance the keg of whiskey, and girth the flitches tighter round the horses, or we'll shake off our supper in the first bog we cross.--Come, counsellor !—Good night, ladies! Now, my sons, up the mountain and save your bacon!"

The order was obeyed with alacrity. The heavy-laden horses were skelped along. I was seized by two stout peasants, (one armed with a carbine, the other with a pitchfork,) who hurried me on; and the next minute the wild group of joyous mountaineers, laughing and shouting, were on their forced-march up the hill on the east bank of the Blackwater.

The broad moon on our right dispersed the shadows of evening as the motley troop turned off the high-road, and I could soon distinguish the order (or rather disorder) of our cavalcade. The horses all bearing creels (or small hampers) on each side, well filled with provisions of various kinds, were driven in the van by a number of fellows who allowed them to pick their own steps on the boggy road, which the poor beasts did with all the cheerfulness of animals that know they are returning home. Close behind these went several cows, which I afterwards learned had been intercepted on their way to the fair of Mill-street, from Lord Headly's estate of Glenbegh, to save them from the Cork victuallers, and so cut off supplies destined for the navy. On the outskirts of these docile captives, scampered several party-coloured sheep, that set all systematic driving at defiance. At one time they would stick all their heads together into a furze-bush, as obstinate as pigs;-again they would all play "follow the leader," jumping, breast-high, over a straw in their path; now starting off, as if the devil was in them, up the hill side; then chased back again by two rough-looking dogs without tails, that were hallooed after them by a grey-headed man, who seemed to have charge of these woolly Rockites. His prayers for his flock were incessant. Here, Scuttler! Jostler-Halloo!-Turn 'em there, my honies!-Hell sweat them!-I can't keep my dudheen1 in my mouth a minute together for the wild cats. Devil speed 'em! there they go again !— They'll not lave a bit of flesh under their piebald wool this blessed night wid their racing in the moon-shine. Asy, Scuttler, dear! their joints will fall through Captain Rock's gridiron if you don't worry 'em gintly. Och! its well seen yees came of high mountain blood;

1 A short tobacco-pipe.

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-bad wind to you! its well you know your own hills again. My Lord's steward might as well have left yees wid me on Knocnagossy, as I tould him last week; and here yees come, mavourneens, to make my words good."

Close to the cows' tails, my companions and I were half-led, halfdriven, under a numerous escort, armed in every sort of way that Irish ingenuity could devise. One fellow shouldered the guard's blunderbuss; another wore the captured pistols, stuck in a straw suggan, tied around his waist; a third had a pike on his shoulder; a fourth bore a scythe, tied as straight as it might be on its crooked handle; a fifth carried a pitchfork; a sixth flourished a cavalry broad-sword, and wore a reaping-hook by way of dagger; a seventh shouldered a slane;' and an eighth carried a lighted sod of turf in his hand, at which his comrades occasionally lit their pipes, but which would evidently set fire to a corn or hay-stack, a turf-clamp, or a barn-roof quite as well. As I now and then saw the fellow who bore it stop to give a friend "a cast of his office," I was struck with his appropriate incendiary organization. His breath seemed the blast of a bellows; his fingers were fire-proof; his face defied the sparks like a smith's apron, while his red hair and ferret eyes reflected the fitful light with the relentless glare of a fire-fiend.

Captain Rock, and a few men armed with guns, brought up the rear. He was the only one of the party who kept up any incognito: however, though his face was hidden by the mask, he took no pains to disguise his voice;-talked familiarly to the counsellor who was in his group, and often shouted to the crowd of drivers to direct their movements. His language was bold, hasty, confident, and most impatient under the least opposition. When his orders, delivered in English, were not readily understood or obeyed, he spoke in Irish, with surprising fluency and emphasis; and though I had been nursed in a cabin on these very mountains, where the first language I lisped was Irish,—and though I had been in the constant habit of using it in my intercourse with the peasantry till I left my native soil for India, his astonishing volubility quite baffled my powers of apprehension or translation. The brogue which pervaded his English, soon lost the character of vulgarity that it at first impressed me with, and gained on my ear at each sentence as an impassioned and impres sive style of speaking, in which every modulation had meaning,every intonation embodied a thought, and each feeling of the heart found a music of its own as it rushed to the rude lips that uttered it. But his brogue was evidently from another part of the country. His manners and pronunciation were far superior to those of the peasantry that surrounded him; and if I could have seen him out of his mountain masquerade, I doubted not I would have ranked him as a wild Irish gentleman.

My fellow-prisoners had been handcuffed together for safety by his orders, and they had not proceeded long thus coupled ere the increasing roughness of the frosty ground completely unseated what little temper was uppermost in Paddy's mind at the outset.

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You ill-favoured, measly, pig-jobber!" exclaimed the indignant

1 A sharp winged spade for cutting turf.

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