the face of the child, and in a moment he recognised the son of his Emily. He had seen the boy accompanying his father to the parish chapel; he looked again-the child smiled in his sleep-some of the images that arose in his little dreams had moved him. That smile was so like his mother's it reminded the old man of his Emily, and of what she had been in early life: the triumph of Nature was complete; he burst into tears-he stooped to raise the young slumberer from the ground; but, as he stooped, he felt a dizziness surrounding his temples; he staggered onward, and fell helplessly in the grass. A sort of fit was on him; it was a short, but yet a fatal one. His eyes grew heavy-the blood left his cheek indescribable turning, a nauseau of the heart, came on him-he struggled for a moment-and in another moment the struggle was over-he was chill and lifeless. A neighbour, who walked that way, found him with his face to the earth; the lamb was resting under the hawthorn, and the poor boy running about screaming in utter terror and astonishment.

-an

'He was carried home, and the preparations for a formal wake went on; the body was regularly laid out and washed the bed fitted up in mourning style, with black crosses at the feet and the head-a profusion of candles blazed about the room-refreshments (including pipes and tobacco) were procured for the use of the expected visitors; and, before the night was far advanced, the young and the old of the neighbouring cottages were collected around the deceased: all about the bed was silence, except when it was broken by the low tone of a select band, who joined in reciting the Litany for the Dead. In a scene of this kind the looks of all assembled are generally serious, while they are, probably, disposed to laugh at much of the ceremonies which are going forward. Emily received the account of her father's death from the person who conducted her son home: situated as she was, her feelings on the occasion may be easily imagined. There is something particularly touching in the thought of one whom we have loved dying and dying in anger with us: we would

give worlds, if we possessed them, to be near at the moment of death, to say or to do something that might produce reconciliation: we feel on such occasions that an opportunity is lost which can never be recovered. This was Emily's first feeling, and she silently blamed herself for not having crawled to her father's feet, and clung around them until she had extorted forgiveness: she felt angry with herself for having left to the friendly interference of others that which her own duteous perseverance or filial humility might have effected. This thought, however, was now entirely useless-he was gone to another world, and her only remaining task was to go and attend to the disposal of his aged limbs. Henry had not, as yet, heard of the melancholy occurrence; he had gone on that morning to Ferns, for the purpose of making some inquiries relative to his long-lost brother, Edward. A stranger had arrived there, who had but recently escaped from France, and he thought that, by some chance, he might have seen or heard of the wanderer. In her present state of distraction and anxiety, Emily was not disposed to wait for the return of her husband. Old Mr. Fortescue offered his services; but the night was chill and damp, and she could not think of allowing him to venture abroad. She left home in the company of a female servant; she reached the dwelling of her father-the scene of all the joys and all the troubles of her infancy: the old domestics wept aloud as they opened the door to admit her— in a moment she stood beside the lifeless remains of her father; she drew back the bed-clothes-gazed for a start on his pale and care-worn features-she seized his cold hand, that was extended on the pillow-she held it and trembled. "Oh! God," said she, "he is gone! he is gone! and his angry curse lies heavy upon me." She fell back into the arms of an aged female who stood beside her, while all that were present felt a cold shudder creeping on them, from the tone in which she uttered her words of lamentation. At this moment an aged man, dressed in black, entered the room-it was the parish priest : he pronounced a prayer as he ap

proached the bed-he took Emily by the hand-he slowly conducted her through the crowd he led her to another apartment; and, after placing her under the care of two or three prudent and sensible females, to whom she had been known from her childhood, he returned to those who were gathered about the dead. The door was slowly opened, and he stood among them. A dead silence prevailed" My friends," said the old man, "you all know the state of things around us you know that, even on Sunday last, from the blessed altar, I told you that there was some mischief going forward-some private plotsome plan against the governmentGod send that it will end well." He paused for a moment-his breath failed him, for he was weak and sickly, and the fumes of the tobacco which flew around the place affected him-"The youngest here knows that Ferns, and the parish of Ferns, ay, and the parish of Clone, and all the parishes about us, are under martial law-every child knows its forms every body knows that every man here, if he is not home within another hour, may be taken and sent across the seas. Now I see some of you stare at me, and others of you crossing yourselves; but you needn't wonder at what I'm telling you, for it is the law of the land. Go home, then, and go to your beds-if any of the women, or any of the little ones, wish to stay a while longer, they may. I am only for your good. God sees

that I don't wish to spoil your innocent merriment—I don't wish to cross your little amusements— but remember, my children, that these are dangerous troublesome times, and we ought to be all upon our guard." He turned to leave the room; and all there that had listened to him cried, as with one voice, "Heaven bless you, Father John!"

'After the warning that had been given, the men were not much disposed for remaining; the advice of the priest and the dread of the law hung heavy on them: the storytellers-the squib-makers-the players of "old dowd" and of "TurnSpit Jack"- felt an uneasiness that cast a damp over their sport; the greater number of them gradually retired, and the place was left to the women and the children. Among the women there were four or five professed keeners; and these, in due time, were called on for their contribution of melancholy harmony, or rather of dismal discord. The things said or sung on occasions of this kind are nearly all alike; there is seldom any great difference in the words-the same praise is usually dealt out to all, if a scanty entertainment happens not to chill the ardour of the panegyrists. Old Booker's death-song was regularly chanted; the copy of it, which I find among the papers from which this narrative is taken, is in Irish. The following is a tolerably correct translation :

A step was heard in the passage the latch of the door was raised-it opened, and an old man walked in; his look betrayed terror and agitation; and, before he opened his lips, it was evident that he had something of a fearful tendency to communi'cate. He spoke in a low but hurried tone-" Drop your keening-put the children directly to bed-turn down the candles, and rake up the fire!let not a glimmer of light be seen for there's murder going on around us: come to the door here, and look up to the hill-see what is doing on Curragruah." They followed him to the door-"See, the place is all in a blaze! Squire Buckey himself has been killed-and the Boys' are now plundering and burning his house and all about it. Look up to the rocks behind the house-see the crowds of armed men; they seem half-poised in the air-passing and repassing some of them have muskets, but the pikesmen can't be reckoned! God help us! what a frightful thing is a fire! See how it spreads about, and curls into the dark sky! Look at the crowd below-how red and wild their faces seem in tha strange light! They are moving now-they have seized some poor wretch that was hidingthey drag him on. Oh! mercy! it is the old white-headed steward! Some of them owed him a grudge; and now they have him among them. Oh! God! see that brute with the pike; he has fairly fastened the old inan against the tree. A flash! there's a musket gone off-some of them, in pity, have shot him-he is on the ground. But see! see! Oh, for Heaven's sake, come away! they are kicking him about like a mere football! The fire is drooping-the roof has fallen in-and who can tell how many have perished? In! in! and close the door!" cried the speaker; “I hear the tramp of cavalry-they are coming down the road." The women instantly retired-they slowly shut the door; and, on looking out through an opening, they saw a strong party of dragoons pass in full gallop down by the gate.

"Oh! but this is a dismal night," said one of the keeners; "we have death within doors and without-it

was not for nothing that I had my dreams, though my good man wouldn't hearken to them."

"A curse upon your dreams," said the old man, who stood listening; " did we want dreams or visions to tell us of what every one knew? When we saw Jem Davis locked up at midnight in his forge, making pikes-when we heard pass-words given, and knew that oaths were taken-when we saw the Boys' exercising after dusk upon the hilldid we want a witch to tell us what they were about? Wasn't martial law proclaimed? weren't the Orangemen threatening us? didn't the magistrates and the yeomen, and the North Cork, with their whipping and pitch caps, do all they could to drive the people into rebellion? and must we be talking about dreams and stories when the whole matter was as clear as the sun at noon?" They returned to the room where the dead rested; they sat in silence about the corpse until the morning dawned, and put an end to their watching, but not to their fears.

Emily, accompanied by the priest and a few friends, attended the remains of her father to the grave; he was buried among his relatives, in the churchyard of Clone. Henry Fortescue had not made his appearance at the funeral, nor had he returned during the night to his father's. Emily thought of Curragrual, and she trembled; she knew Henry's ardent temper, and she was aware of his intimacy with some who were known to be deep in the secrets of the "United Irishmen." She returned from the churchyard to Effernogue; and she sat there with her two children playing around her, anxiously expecting her husband's arrival. About sunset he made his appearance; he walked cautiously in: Emily screamed as he entered, and looked on him with doubt and terror; there was a wildness in his manner that at once realized all her fears. "Good God!" said she, "Henry, where have you been?-have you been with the murderers?"-"I have," said he, "been among the murderers!-I have been, I believe, among the damned! Oh, Emily! such a

:

night of horror as I have passed-not for worlds would I go through it again. They may murder me! but what of that?-get me something to eat, for I have tasted but little since I parted from you. Your father's sudden death has shocked me; I thought to have been at the funeralbut how could I venture there?" Emily wiped off her tears: she hastened to procure him some refreshment; and, as he sat, she questioned him about the horrible affair in which he had been engaged. "You remember," said he, "Kavanagh's message to me on yesterday morning-the story of the French stranger was all a mere pretence that stranger was, indeed, a Frenchman, but he was only an agent from the United Irishmen of Dublin: unfortunately, I had meddled too much already with these matters; but the arguments of the foreigner and of Kavanagh made me go still farther. We dined together; and, after dinner, drank rather freely the stranger left us-I remained still at the table with Kavanagh until we were both tolerably flushed: he proposed a visit to the house of a "sworn brother," near Curragruah; and, in an unlucky hour, I consented to accompany him. On arriving at the place our friend was not to be seen, but we were directed to seek him in a grove that spreads at the bottom of the hill: there we found him, in the centre of his armed associates; he was surrounded by nearly a hundred men, all provided with pikes or muskets: a sword and a case of pistols were handed to me.-I paused; but Kavanagh whispered " that there was no back-door;" meaning, of course, that I had no choice. I consequently received them, although, at the moment,my mind misgave me. Kavanagh then addressed the crowd-"My friends," said he, "I believe we are all here good men and true: we are all willing to fight for our religion and liberty we are all ready for work -but what can the best workman do without tools? We want fire-armsthere are lots of them in Squire Buckey's above there, if we could only get at them- shall we try to have them?" He looked around for a moment-"We will then go and demand them if they are given quietly

no one shall be hurt; if they resist us, let them take what they getBuckey is my cousin, but I don't care for that."

It was now dark-a scout arrived almost out of breath, and brought word that Buckey, so far from waiting to have his arms taken, had actually set out with a party of his yeomen cavalry, to seek for us in our gathering-place. The neigh or the tramp of horses was heard at a distance-the enemy approached. Каvanagh coolly ordered his men to stand to their arms; the place in which we stood was a thick grove, situated in a hollow where the road was dark and narrow. On the roadside we planted ourselves, sheltered from danger by a high ditch and a thick hedge: near an opening in this hedge stood Kavanagh with a case of pistols beside him, and a blunderbuss in his right hand. I looked at him, and I must own that at the moment I admired his calm and determined manner. The cavalry came nearerwe could distinctly hear their conversation-"It was about this grove," said one, "that we saw them last week." "No," replied another, “it was lower down, near the little stream." At this moment we were all waiting in silent anxiety: we could plainly notice each other's breathing -we whispered not, but did all by signs: an awkward fellow let his pike fall, and the sound at once discovered our hiding-place. "Here, here!" said Buckey, turning his horse to the ditch," boys, follow me." He dashed at the opening already mentionedstood upon the gap-and Kavanagh was before him.' "Cousin Buckey, I am waiting for you," cried he; and, with the word, sent the contents of the blunderbuss through the body of his unfortunate kinsman. This was the signal-all our gunsmen discharged their pieces-every shot told

and in five minutes more than a dozen of the wretched yeomanry lay lifeless in the road: the rest retreated for life; and, as we had no means of overtaking them, we allowed them to run.

"After this the men insisted on being led to the squire's dwellinghouse, to get some refreshment; they swore that their object was not plun

der. Kavanagh could not refuse; and I was obliged unwillingly to ac company them-but I can hardly bear even to think of what occurred there: most of the domestics had friends among our party-they were allowed to escape, and to take under their care two ladies, who unfortunately had remained in the house. The old steward had made himself unpopular by some turns of unnecessary severity, and for him there was no hope; he cried like a child-he laid hold on Kavanagh, who shook him off-he then clung to me-I thought to save him; but, in trying to do so, I endangered my own life. As to the burning, and what followed, I cannot talk of it-you must have heard and seen it." "Oh, Heavens !" said Emily, "it is horrible-but tell me, Henry, are you not in danger if you are seen?""Show me some place," said he, "where I can safely rest; for I am scarce able, at the present moment, to raise my head. I'll sleep, and to-morrow may settle all." She conducted him to a little room at the upper end of the house-it was a favourite place of her's, for she and Henry had often sat there at an earlier period, and talked of a thousand things interesting only to lovers. She sighed as they entered it now. She urged him to undress for the night: this he refused-he lay down upon the bed in his clothes, and, before she quitted the room, was apparently sunk in a sound slumber.

'She returned to the lower room, and was sitting there with her little girl beside her, when her eldest child, young Edward, ran in almost breathless" Mother, mother!" said he, "here are some strangers comingthey have red beards upon their lips, and long swords hanging by their sides." As he spoke they made their appearance: the party consisted of an officer and three privates belonging to one of the German regiments then stationed in the neighbourhood. These soldiers did not appear to be loreigners-they spoke English fluentfy enough, and had nothing about them that looked outlandish except their mustachios. The officer bowed as he entered, and civilly requested something in the way of a drink for himself and his men-he said they had

walked a good way, and were rather fatigued. Emily readily procured the drink; and, as she had some cold meat remaining from the festivities of the wake, she pressed them to take what they called a lunch; over this they regaled themselves for some time, till the officer gave the word to move. He arose; and, after wishing his fair hostess a good evening, he and his attendants set out on their way for Ferns.

In about a quarter of an hour, to Emily's surprise, the officer again entered the place-"You will probably be surprised," said he, "at my return-but, damn it, your good drink has made those dragoons tipsy, and I don't like to be seen along with them-I have given them the slip, and will go home to Ferns by another road-or probably you could procure me a bed for the night."

As he spoke he cautiously fastened the door. Emily took no particular notice of this, for she heard the dragoons talking outside, and their conversation was far from being agreeable. "Curse it," said one,

where did the lieutenant turn? Could he have gone again into this blasted old farm-house." "Damn that house!" said another, "they are a Popish set in it-didn't you see the old Popish prayer-book lying upon the table?-we ought to hang them or blow them all up." They were now close under the eave of the house; they spoke for a few minutes in a lowered tone, and then went away laughing. "They are gone," said the officer," and I am glad of the riddance; I find it a hard matter to keep the scoundrels in order, particularly in a lawless time like this— wherever they go they are bent on killing the men and kissing the women; to the latter they show no mercy. But have you inquired about the bed? for the night is now coming on, and the walk to Ferns is lonely and tedious."

"I shall try what can be done,” replied Emily, in a tone that was hardly audible. "And if you can bespeak a pretty bed-fellow for me, I shall take it as a favour-What think you," continued the soldier, "of taking care of me yourself?" Emily reddened and trembled-"Nay,